Its' Rodent Season!

I have reason to believe that one of my children is a mouse. I haven't been able to prove it just yet, but I'm devising a plan to weed out the filthy little rodent. Why do I hold such a strange suspicion? Well, aside from the fact that my mind is slightly askew...

Every time I come home from the store with a new brick of cheese, it lasts all of one day. We're talking the economy eight dollar brick of cheddar. It doesn't just magically disappear, either. It goes bite by bite. Whenever I open the fridge to grab something, I notice the cheese has another huge chomp mark taken out of it. I have gathered all of the kids together and scolded, "Whomever is the cheese culprit, will be found out and punished severely. On top of the raging constipation you will suffer, there will community service and some other hiddeous and painful affliction (which I will make up when the time comes.) The cheese is not for eating, dammit! (Oh wait...)"

They all just snickered and ran off to find some item that they had yet to vandalize, and rectify the situation. I sat, thinking of a way to catch the cheese chomper. When it hit me...

A mouse trap! I'm going to put a mouse trap on top of the cheese brick. It will catch the chomper and teach him/her a lesson at the same time. It's brilliant! I told Daniel of my plan and he didn't think it was a great idea, "Uhhhh... Effective, yes. Illegal, definitely. You'll go to jail for that." He stopped short when he saw the gleam of hope in my eye.

"Exactly...it's a win/win situation. I eliminate the cheese problem and I get a vacation. What's not to love?"

Now, I'm off to find a mouse trap. Shhhhhhhh! Be vewy, vewy quiet...I'm hunting a wodent!

The Big "DELETE"

My husband made me remove my last post. I told him that it was all in good fun, but he threatened to take away my credit card. I argued that lots of famous comedians make racial jokes that cross the line. He said that the key word in my sentence was, "famous."
I looked at him as if he didn't know of my bloggy fame. He just rolled his eyes and continued: "When Carlos Mencia or Dave Chappelle do it, it's okay. But you are a very unfamous white female...not okay. We are about to be on national television, viewed by millions of people. Those people may find your blog, read that post and decide to teach you a lesson in tolerance. I would hate to see what happens should a disgruntled person find our home."

Fine. He ruins all of my fun. So here's my apology:

I'm sorry that I made light of the war and the KKK. I, in no way, endorse mal treatment of any race, religion or creed (even if it does make for a good joke.) I, in all of my ignorant middle class whiteness admit to being in the wrong. I will never attempt such a foul and hurtful blog ever again. I swear all of this upon fear of losing my credit card...erm...I mean, fear of the wrath of God.

I switched my give-a-damn to sleep mode.

We have a situation here. Either I blow so hard at being funny, that my posts are failing to strike people as humorous, or too many of my readers just don't have a sense of humor. Either way, it is starting to piss me off.

So I'll say this one more time:
This is a humor blog. That means that most of what I write is supposed to be funny, laughter inducing and sometimes quite disgusting. It should be taken as one big effing joke (kinda like my parental control. See? Another JOKE.) If I have to explain all of these things on a regular basis, then I either need to find some readers that find the humor in my crude posts and routine self degradation, or admit to defeat and stop trying to write a humor blog.

Granted, there are days when I feel inspired to write something sincerely serious. When that happens, I always let you know in the beginning of the post. Otherwise, read these posts knowing that I'm laughing as I write them. I really do adore my children. I think that being a SAHM is the most rewarding job in the world! I feel so blessed to be who I am. I know that I'm not old. In fact, I think I'm pretty hot for a mother of seven. I know that I am smart and good hearted. I think that covers just about everything.

I am saying all of this because I am tired of getting emails and comments from people who are worried that I'm an ingrate or on my way to the nut house. Trust me, I'm pretty normal and still have enough sanity to know that it is okay to make fun of myself and my role. However, if reading this blog makes you worried or puts bad thoughts about me into your noggin...then I will not be offended if you discontinue your readership. There are plenty of nice, fluffy momalicious blogs out there. This isn't one of them. I can't please everyone, so I'm gonna please me. It brings me joy to write in jest. If you wish to join me on this crazy, satirical, sarcasm drenched journey, then hop aboard. If not, please step out of the way or I'll run your ass over as I peel out!

A Hairy Situation

Ever wish you had one of those memory eraser gadgets that the Men In Black used? Yeah, me too. Case in point: Daniel Jr. and I were at Red Robin last night, enjoying some mother/son time and dinner, when it happened. I plucked a black, curly hair from my southwest pasta. Aaaaaaaagggghhhhhh! I despise hair in my food. Even my own hair, when accidentally stirred into the spaghetti and discovered in my mouth, makes me cringe.

I called the waitress over. "Ummmm...(gag) there's a (gag) hair in my (gag, gag, gag) food (gag and throw up a little in my mouth.)

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I'll get you a new one."

"What? No. No. I will never be able to eat this dish again."

"Well, how about some dessert?"

"Lady, I cannot eat one more thing tonight...and maybe ever."

"How about a dessert to go, then?"

"Are you serious?"

"Can I get you anything at all (in a snotty, sarcastic tone?)"

"Yes, my appetite would be nice. And a barf bag. And some Listerine. And a blow torch."

"Your dinner is on the house, mam."

"Gee, Thanks."

We got ready to leave and I gagged a few more times, then puked a little on the floor.
Daniel Jr. turned to me, laughing like a hyena, "No..dinner is not on the house. It's on their floor!"
Did I leave the puke where it landed? Your damn skippy, I did.
I guess the waitress will know what it's like to lose her appetite as she cleans up the puddle of regurgitated pasta...

Sometimes...two is not better than one!

More Funny Pictures at pYzam.com

Truth Be Told...

I'd like to think that I am a person of my word. But when it comes to parenting...I'm full of crap. I never say what I mean or mean what I say. I realized this the other day as I was screaming at the top of my lungs and not one child acknowledged my threats of going to bed without dinner. Even Reed rolled his eyes at me...and he's not even 2 yet. "They know I'm full of it," I told myself. They have learned that one tenth of what I utter is actually parental truth. The rest is just fluff and outright bullshit. So exactly what kinds of verbal feces am I spewing to make these kids give me as much credibility as the public gives O.J. Simpson. I've compiled a list of the top ten things I say, and what I really mean. (F=falsehood and T=the truth behind the lie):

1. F= Nobody is getting a treat at the store, unless you behave.
T= Even if you act like little hellish beasts, everybody will end up getting the mega size bag of
teeth rotting sour candy, only because I do not want to deal with seven screaming children.

2. F= These are tears of joy.
T= These are tears of self pity and despair, because I'm wondering what I did to deserve the torture you kids so whole heartedly inflict upon me day after day.

3. F= If you don't stop it, I'm gonna whoop ass and take names.
T= I'm totally bluffing. I have no intention of getting off the couch and actually following through.

4. F= I'm not angry that you spilled, it was just an accident.
T= I'm freakin' pissed that you spilled and if it wasn't cruelty, I'd make you lick it off the floor!

5. F= You look adorable in that outfit that grandma gave you!
T= Holy crap, someone call the dork patrol. We have a serious fashion violation here!

6. F= Daddy and I are not arguing, we are just having a loud discussion.
T= Daddy and I want to choke each other but are restraining ourselves in front of you.

7. F= I am going out for coffee because I just need some quiet time.
T= I am going out for coffee because I do not have enough gas in the car to drive to Vegas, become a showgirl and never look back!

8. F= Your painting looks just like a giraffe!
T= Yes, it would look like a giraffe if I was on acid and only had 5% of my vision left.

9. F= Don't' worry, the shot is not going to hurt a bit.
T= Oh shit, brace yourself while I leave the room and plug my ears!

10. F= I always love being your mommy. It is the best job in the world.
T= I love being your mommy when you are asleep and not destroying the house or beating up your siblings. It is the best job (for someone like me, only because I can't be fired.) In fact, I suck at this gig so bad, that I'm surprised that you all don't voluntarily go to a foster home. Now I know why some kids grow up to be such screwed up adults...they had moms like me!

** now, before you all leave me mean comments about how terrible this is, relax. This is just an overly exaggerated post that I write in jest. (well, most of it anyway.) For more fun and wonderful posts, visit the people who don't suck at what they do, by clicking here!

The Replacement

The phone rang at seven twenty this morning. I was busy checking my email, so I ignored it. Then it rang again, five minutes later. I was responding to comments on my B5 blog, so I ignore it. This time, the caller left a message:

(in a mock sobbing voice)
"This is your husband. What happened to our morning phone conversations? When I went to bed last night, you were busy at the computer. When I left this morning, you were still busy at the computer. If I install some keys on my manhood, will you pay me some attention? What does a guy have to do? Do I need to glue a screen to my face and install a chat tool? Do I need to start asking you what's for dinner by leaving a comment on your blogs? Remember when I was all you thought about? I've been replaced by Dell and I don't like it. I used to be the only one who would 'deliver hits to your site.' Now, thousands of strangers are doing it every day. Why is this happening? How can we resolve this?"

I answered the phone:
"You can still hit my site, dear, but you'll have to pay me the going rate, per hit and you'd better not download any viruses."

I think my husband is starting to regret buying me a laptop for Christmas. I think I'd better take tonight off and peck on his keyboard.
While I'm away, feel free to check out some other funny stuff here!

Can I ask a favor?

Memo to all mothers:

When sending home potentially messy or dangerous party favors with our children, please warn us! How shitty was it to find out that half of the stuff in the kids' goody bags from the birthday party they attended today, was either oozing, explosive or the secret absorbent substance in diapers. WTF??? I thought it was a pixie stick...the next thing I knew, the kids added water and suddenly my house looked like someone had ripped open fifty wet diapers and scattered the contents around. Apparently it was called, "magic snow." Magic snow my ass! That was a freaking nightmare. It should have been called migraine in a straw!

Then, there was a package that looked some what innocent. The kids mistook it for candy. Reed ate one and started immediately foaming at the mouth. I grabbed the package...Alkaseltzer! It was the key ingredient for making rockets. So we took it out of Reed's mouth and used it to make the rocket project (described on a tiny piece of paper in the goody bag.) It should have included a warning to do the project OUTSIDE. Holy crap! That thing shot off like an M80 in the living room. Poor Reed was standing in the line of fire and got pelted in the forehead.

By the time I went through the goody bags and removed all of the other potentially dangerous/disastrous items, the kids were left with a kaleidoscope and some Smarties. I wasn't taking any chances, though, and chucked them into the trash as well. From now on... all goody bags will be thoroughly searched before my kids get to enjoy the contents.

The only cool thing about the whole episode was the other tiny note in the bag, regarding the "magic snow." It said that if you let the water evaporate, it will return to its original powder form. You know what that means, right? I can just let Reed's pee diapers dry out and reuse those suckers!! Woohoo! I guess today wasn't so bad after all!

P.S. Don't forget to visit Humor-Blogs. You'll never believe what they have in their goody bags!

Is My Crazy Showing?

The Ten Commandments of The Crazy Person's Guide To Feigning Sanity:

1. If you run out of your medication and the doctor's office fails to refill your prescription on time, thou shalt not threaten to drive down the to the office with your seven children and whoop some incompetent receptionist ass. (I had trouble obeying this one today. Fortunately, the receptionist heard the rage and desperation in my voice and decided to spare her own life by calling in a refill immediately...smart lady.)

2. Thou shalt employ the flight then fight method. When on the verge of a meltdown in a shopping mall, look for the nearest exit and try to escape before the voices in your head instruct you to chew out the nearest pesky sales associate. When escape is not an option...go ahead and let loose on the perfume wielding cosmetic consultant, everyone secretly wants to do it and they'll mentally applaud you for it.

3. Thou shalt always carry an extra bottle of meds in your purse...better yet carry several of them. Better to have it and not to need it, than need it and not have it.

4. Thou shalt chew lots of gum. Nobody will ever notice that your really clenching your teeth in order to keep yourself from telling them to shut up before you let your alter ego unleash his/her suppressed rage.

5. Thou shalt not poison people who piss you off. The medicated person is always the first suspect. Try a little liquid laxative instead. It blends surprisingly well into many delicious recipes and is rapidly effective.

6. Thou shalt not respond to the voices in your head when in public. Unless of course, you have kids and can convince others that you are talking to them. It's works in the same manner as blaming your kids for your accidental farts.

7. Thou shalt practice the art of lying. The insane are notorious for being brutally honest. Society frowns upon honesty. The sane are shameless flatterers and "truth stretchers." You will be found out unless you can learn to say something nice and look like you mean it. (This is how I learned that my own husband was insane. He's a horrible liar and habitually offends people.)

8. Thou shalt conceal your nervous ticks. My husband taught me to do so by suppressing them for up to an hour and then excusing yourself to the restroom where you are free to writhe and gyrate for a good five minutes. This is an acquired ability which may take awhile to master.

9. Thou shalt make fun of the insane. Defending them will only give you away. But don't do it too much. It's like the guy who constantly tells gay jokes at work...nobody is surprised when he is discovered in the copy room with Ted from Accounting.

10. Thou shalt not fight your insanity. As the wise Patrick says, fighting it will only make you more insane. Instead, focus on the positive aspects. Like the fact that you know your final destination in this life...the nut house. Some people do not have the comfort of knowing where the road may lead. But we do. And I hear that the pudding there is fabulous!

There you have it. Feel free to add any that I may have missed. Oh, and pop on over to Humor Blogs. They all have their crazy on display for the world to see.

Satan's A$$ and My Face...a perfect match

Waxing. It's the not so great American past time of the majority of females, including me. I wax because if I don't, I will look like a werewolf. In fact, my side burns are so hairy that I have to use the strips that are designed for legs, just to get all of the hair. Gross, I know. But it's a fact of life. So today I realized that my sideburns were starting resemble Elvis Presley's. I grabbed the leg sized strips and began my hair removal routine.
I was almost ready to place the strip on my jaw line/ear/cheek area when a child screamed a blood curdling scream. The strip accidentally caught a cluster of long hairs and I tried to yank it away before it got hold of more. Unfortunately, I made a little bald spot right above my ear. Shitballs!
I finished waxing the burns and went to get the pain relieving oil that comes in the wax package. I found only the topless, empty bottle in the cupboard. Shitballs! So I grabbed the next best thing, sunburn spray. Surely the aloe would have a soothing effect on my reddened sideburns and bald spot. I sprayed it on. A firey sensation torched my already irritated areas. I looked at the ingredient list on the bottle. As I scanned the list, I realized that it was not my sunburn spray. It was Daniel's spray bottle of Tinactin. I had just used anti fungal foot spray on my newly waxed face. Shitballs!
I'm leaving in a half an hour to pick up the kids. I have not showered. My teeth have fuzzy green sweaters keeping them warm. I smell like a festering heap of compost. And now....my face is blazing hot and as red as Satan's hiney. Oh well, at least I won't have to worry about getting athlete's foot on my sideburns!
Happy Friday!

Pure Evil

Oh...my...gawd. I have an evil twin. And I thought I'd be the evil twin! Seriously, click here to meet my twin.
After you trip out on that...click this!

Say Cheese!

We do not own many expensive things for the fact that they would just be destroyed within minutes of taking them out of the packaging. My lap top, our television and our video camera are the only items that we've purchased for more than 100 dollars. Our television receives daily abuse and it still works. This tells me that we made a good choice in selecting a brand. However, we've yet to find one that is resistant to crayons and permanent marker. Trenton has a habit of drawing mustaches on tv personalities. We have about twenty floating mustaches on our screen right now. I don't even bother wiping them off, as it will just inspire him to draw bigger,furrier ones.


My lap top has survived, so far, without suffering any major abuse. I've had to shoo masticating children away many times, for fear that the crumbs or drool will ruin the keyboard. But that's about it. Our video camera, however, has taken several beatings. The kids are always stealing it and taking pictures. I have found it in so many odd places, the dryer, the top of the swing set, in the dog's kennel...I could go on forever. Here are a few of the pictures I've recently discovered in our catalog. Mind you, I did not take these. (I'll spare you the ones of their butts.)




From top left: Daniel Jr. showing off his newly acquired eyelid flipping trick; Phillip snorting water balloons; Marlie's monkey nostrils and beaver teeth; Trenton doing...I have no idea what he's doing.
I think I'm going to invest in a kid friendly camera for them, just so that they do not destroy mine. Of course they'll probably just use it to take more pictures of their butts.

About As Real As My...

You know what really pisses me off? Shows like the "Real Housewives Of The OC." Hello? Real housewives? I agree that they are real human beings. I would also agree that they are really citizens of Orange County. I know because my husband did a lot of work at Coto De Caza, their private, gated neighborhood. But I'll be damned if I agree with them being real housewives. Here's what I find disturbing about the name of the show:

First, let's define the term, "housewife": (noun) a married woman who manages her own household, esp. as her principal occupation. (source:Dictionary.com)

Do those women really manage their own household as an occupation? They have maids, rarely cook for their families and fritter away most of their time shopping, socializing and being anywhere but their house. Most of the husbands manage the finances, or have accountants who do it. Most have business ventures outside of the home, or work from the home.

I have a hard time accepting that they can in good conscience, call themselves real housewives. Here is a list of what the "real" average American housewife does in a week:

• cooks most meals for the family
• cleans at least some of the house (even if she has help)
• has some part in managing the finances
• volunteers at her kids' schools, sports teams, extra curricular activities
• washes, folds and puts away the laundry
• showers (if she gets a chance)
• grocery shops
• spends time reading, playing with and doing homework with her children
• figures out how to stick to the family budget and still buy little Johnny the new shoes that he needs.
• schedules and takes kids to doctors and dentist appointments

When I start seeing more the above and less of the usual irresponsible, spoiled rich brat behavior that these "housewives" demonstrate, then I will consider the show title an accurate one. But if you ask me, they need to drop those prima donnas and cast some real, true housewives who actually perform their duties and are closer to the norm. Of course, they will probably lose their ratings, but at least I'll be happy!

Thursday Thirteen: Why I Do Not Suck

I'm sitting in my favorite spot, watching snow drifts dance down and form a downy blanket over my yard. It's a beautiful sight to take in from my warm spot on the couch. Watching snow fall is so peaceful. In fact, even Ella's shrill screams cannot ruin my moment of serenity.
Okay...back to the task at hand. I was instructed to make a list of the thirteen reasons why I do not suck, to counteract my previous list. So here goes:

Why I Do Not Suck:

1. I get an unspeakable amount of joy from helping other people.

2. My kids are my first priority, my husband my second, myself last (and I like it that way)

3. I do not suck at writing. Apparently some people would agree (not all, but some.)

4. I can be funny at times (of course, I have good material.)

5. I am a good cook. My great grandma taught me well.

6. For some reason, I have a slender figure, which I am most appreciative for since it has nothing to do with will power or working out (because I have none and am lazy.)

7. I am smart. Maybe not street smart, but book smart.

8. I am a driven person. When I get an idea to do something, I give it my all.

9. I am stubborn. I know it sounds negative, but I can make it work in my favor whenever necessary.

10. I am a good wife. I didn't say perfect...but I never stop trying to make my husband feel like he's the luckiest man alive.

11. I am generous. Sometimes too generous, if you ask Daniel.

12. I am compassionate. I would adopt every child I came across, if I could.

13. I am able to see the reasons why I do not suck, as well as the reasons I do. I'm not a pessimist, just a realist who knows that with the great things, are some not so great things. Everyone has them, but not everyone is willing to share them. I am.

*I urge everyone who reads this to make your own list and post it up for all to see. We are all deserving of a day of self appreciation! And now I will return to my snow appreciation. Peace be with you all.

If only...

If only someone would have told me ten years ago:

• That drinking alcohol makes you want to do naughty things with cute boys.
  


• That doing naughty things = pregnancy...even if you try to prevent it.
  


• That pregnancy does things to the body...strange, horrible things.
  


• That being pregnant is the easy part!
  


• That raising kids does things to the mind...strange, horrible things.
  


• That the mind too easily forgets the damage that the body has suffered and longs for more kids.
  


• That the next kid will be an angel compared to the first one and make you want to have more.
  


• That your need to indulge in some wine to counter act the stress of having three kids will only make you do more naughty things.
  


• That after the fourth kid, you're already used to looking, smelling and feeling like crap...so what's one more kid, right?
  


• That all of the above things become a never ending cycle, until you reach the limits of your sanity and you decide (or your body decides for you,) that it is time to stop all this drinking, doing naughty things and spawning more little reasons to drink.
  


• That after you stop the cycle...you miss it and wonder why you ever wanted to stop.
  

...I would have done it anyway!

Nothing Is Safe Anymore...

How the hell does a virus spread from humans to a computer? I kid you not, my brand bleeping new lap top computer caught a virus and went into hibernation mode, last night. I discovered this when I turned it on to do some email sorting and the damn thing had a little message telling me that it was hibernating. HIBERNATING??? Bears hibernate. Snakes hibernate. Computers should not be allowed to hibernate!!!

I spent two hours on the phone with Dell today, restoring my system. Do you have any idea how hard it is to try and decipher the English of outsourced Dell employees? I might as well be talking to Reed. On top of it all, the kids were all screaming and having a yogurt/gold fish cracker fight, while I was asking the customer service rep to repeat her sentence for the twentieth time. I might as well have been talking to Reed and wearing ear plugs, for the love of Pete!

Why is Dell outsourcing employees form the Philippines and expecting us to understand their version of English? I'll tell you why. They know that we are already frustrated because of the computer problem at hand. So they asked themselves, "How can we get around having to help the thousands of people who were stupid enough to buy a Dell and experience problems on a weekly basis? Oh...I know! Let's put in an automated answering system that is voice activated, but cannot decipher what the consumer is requesting. If the customer still insists on talking to a live person, we'll put them on hold for a half an hour with some ridiculously cacophonous music, composed with the intent to drive people away. Hmmmm...what else can we do? I've got it! Let's hire customer service representatives from another country, make sure that their accents are so thick that none of what they say is decipherable and let them piss off the consumer so badly, that they finally hang up and throw their computer out the window. Then, when they regret destroying the computer later, they will call us and order a new one. But this time, they will not be put on hold and an American customer service rep will assist them in their purchase. It's brilliant!"

I'd like five minutes alone with the rat bastard who came up with this whole concept. I'd lock him up in a solitary confinement cell, blast that horrendous hold music into the room's surround sound system, let my kids loose in the cell with a big vat of yogurt and gold fish crackers, then let the Filipino customer service lady read him the instructions on how to escape. Now let's see who's frustrated!!

I've Been Hit!

Oh shit balls... I really wish that I would have been able to escape the wrath of Vinny The Virus. But I can wish in one hand and crap in the other...ugh...I don't even want to think about the word "crap." Let's just forget that little comparison.

I'm guessing that I contracted the virus last night. How can I be so confident that my assumption is correct? Let's just say that I had a close encounter with Vinny's army of viral bacteria. I was changing Reed's 63rd (you know what) diaper, last night. Our dog, who has an obsession with (you know what) diapers, was lurking behind me in hopes that I would turn my attention from the soiled item for one second. She got her wish when I ran out of baby wipes and had to grab a few more to finish the job. As soon as my head was turned, that rascal grabbed the (you know what) diaper and took off.

I quickly re-diapered Reed and took off after the dog. She was under the dining room table, had already disassembled it and was casually snacking on the contents. I bent down to remove it from her mouth. That's when it happened. She decided to repay me with doggie kisses...diarrhea covered doggie kisses...on my lips!!! You would have thought that a man with Leprosy had just french kissed me. I ran straight to the bathroom, screaming and scrubbing my mouth with anti-bacterial soap. I didn't even care that it tasted like poison. I was scrubbing and gagging for at least five minutes.

But alas, my attempts at killing Vinny's troops of terrible tormentors was futile. I have fallen victim to the vehement virus that has plagued our home for seven days now. If I don't make it, just know that I love you all. I have handed the blogging torch over to my dear husband. In the event that I do perish, this blog will become a source of hard knock parenting techniques, critiques of the latest UFC matches and a dating site (which was my idea,) to find a new wife. Granted, she must be ugly, a good cook and unable to have sexual relations. Please pray for my speedy recovery!

Doesn't Anyone Want My Cookies?

Hmmmm...perhaps some of you didn't hear me when I said that Marlie is SELLING GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!!!
Or maybe you heard, but are hesitant to order after reading that we've all been suffering from a stomach virus and have coated the insides of our house with the byproducts of said virus. Fear not! We do not yet have the cookies in our possession. I'm sure that they are still being made by sweat shop workers.....erm....magical tree dwelling elves. They will not be delivered until February 23rd, at which point I'm sure we will be over this whole barf/diarrhea episode. I'll even clean the residue off the walls and floors before I bring the cookies home.
This year, I have decided to store the cookies at my Mom's house (is that ok mom?) in order to save myself from buying 35 extra boxes to replace the ones that Ella opened and ate last year. I have also devised a system of labeling the boxes so that we know which people's cookies we ate because we were craving them and they were conveniently within reach. Worry not...I always replace them. Well, almost always.
I've also vowed to deliver the cookies on February 24th, the day after I receive them. Of course, if you consider that I am never on time for anything, it could very well be weeks after that date. But no more than a few months, at most. In fact, I'm so on top of things, that when I found two boxes of cookies on my closet shelf, last week, I promptly took them over to the neighbor who ordered them. Since they were a little mangled from having shoes on top of them, I offered to give them to her at half price. I'm not sure what she was saying, as it was spoken in some freaky voo doo language as she slammed the door. But I'm pretty sure she'll drop of the money any day now.
Anyway, I'm sure that most of you are just been really busy and completely intend to order cookies from us. As you can plainly see, our professionalism is unsurpassed and the mere four dollars a box is very affordable! I'll be taking orders via my email address until Feb 10th, so hurry and get those orders in!
Oh...and don't forget to click here! They always deliver hot, fresh humor on a daily basis...and it's free!

Ahhhh...the good ol' days

I used to love finding old pictures of my high school days. Now it's just down right depressing. I can't believe that there was ever a time when I was carefree. What happened to the youthful glow and a gleam of hope in my eye? Children. That's what happened. They came into this world with one mission... to steal the youthful glow and erase the gleam of hope...and they succeeded. Here are the before photos:

Did you see how happy I looked? I had friends, I lived moments of glory, I was ...awake! Here is that same vibrant, happy-go-lucky girl, ten years later:

My life has become a sad pendulum swing between moments of exhaustion...


and moments of sheer INSANITY.

Factory Freeze

If my stomach was a factory, this is what it would sound like right now:

Ted (manager of food processing): "Hey Bob, whadda we do with this salad from yesterday?"


Bob (assistant manager): "Gee Ted, I dunno. That was supposed to be sent down to Bill in shipping."


Ted: "Hey Bill, why is this salad still here?"


Bill (head of shipping): "Well Ted, the boss is still deciding whether to send it down to the large intestine or back up to the returns department."


Ted: "Bill, this stuff is stinking up the place. We gotta get it outta here! Call Jane in the returns department and tell her you're sending up a day old shipment. It needs to go out ASAP."


Bill: "Sure thing, Ted."

So for now, I wait with great hope that Jane has called in sick today and cannot process any return orders. I'm really hoping that the salad gets sent to the large intestine, instead. Day six of the Prescott Puke Fest: the virus has moved on to Phillip and Trenton. I was so tired last night that Daniel had to tend to the spewage. This morning, he did not feel up to par. But, being the tough ass that he is, he denied it and went to work anyway. I'm still not sure if my own nausea and unprocessed salad is the beginning stage of the ugly virus, or just my reaction to the hideous odor that has taken over ever square inch of this house. I'll keep you posted...

A Vicious Cycle

My latest post at Supernanny Rules focused on the long term effects of Divorce, on children. I wrote the post as I sat with my mom, who just broke up with her boyfriend of eight years. I can't help but think that if my dad hadn't chosen to change his lifestyle, this never would have to happen. I know that what my dad did, had to be done, but it still continues to wreak havoc on our lives, fourteen years later.
Saturday night, I packed my bags and left for my mom's house. Having gone through many of my mom's break ups, I know how traumatic it is for her. I know that when she calls to tell me that the relationship is over, it signals the