SFTC PRESENTS: TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK LIVING IN FRANCE

Good Monday morning after Thanksgiving bloggers and bloggettes. You too? Yeah, I'm right there with ya. Recovering from Thanksgiving, Black Friday, the day after Black Friday, and Saturday morning my 14 month old daughter was diagnosed with croup and ear infections. I am on a roll! So I am re-posting my Friday post, Top Blog of the Week, to give Mimi a little extra face time, just in case you missed her during the holiday madness. And also because I got nothing else. And I'm super tired. And I am sooooo behind in looking at your comments and emails, and visiting your wonderful blogs, it may be next Christmas before I get caught up.

But I will surive. Thank you always for your loyalty and your comments. It will be returned. Without further ado, I present for your blogging pleasure, Mimi.

I love this gal. She is like your very best girlfriend that lives next door except I've never ever met her and she lives on the computer. Often times I've wished we could just hang out and watch scary movies together. Like The Exorcist. This scene really freaks her out. I've used it in about three posts now. You know her as Mimi. I only know her as a hot crock pot full of blogging fun. Let's give a warm round of applause for my TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK

LIVING IN FRANCE

First things first. I'm nothing if not honest.

And that is the reason why I have to tell you right off the bat that I'm so getting the diarrhea just thinking about doing a guest post on SFTC. Because, let's face it. This blog rocks. And I don't want to screw it up.

Here's some useless information on me:

I'm a stay at home mom. I seize on just about every opportunity to get on here and blab my business because...well...I get bored, I have a huge mouth and really no shame.

I love infomercials and I cuss too much, although surprisingly, hardly ever on my blog. I dig potty humor and I just heard Diego (you know, Dora's big headed freak of a cousin) say the word Oxpecker and I can't stop laughing.

I have 2 boys who I love more than life but have seriously considered stabbing my eardrums with a sharp pin so I can't hear them fighting with each other, asking me to re-fill their cups or fix one more Hotwheels. I lovingly refer to these days as "Mom Fail" days. You know the ones. The ones you end up on the front lawn curled up in a fetal position, sucking your thumb and singing nursery rhymes. What...you don't have days like this?

I have OCD. No joke. It leads me to do stupid things like buy Pumpkin Spice candles every time I see one but never burn them. I have about 30 Pumpkin Spice candles right now. Maybe I'll gift them for Christmas this year?

I can help you organize your spice cabinet in about 30 seconds flat. Just don't ask me to make a definitive decision about anything, because that, I can not do.

When I get nervous I laugh uncontrollably. I've done this at weddings and funerals. It's inappropriate and I know it; which makes it that much more difficult to live through.

I tend to have pretty bad luck. If you can only imagine a circumstance happening in a movie; chances are it's happened to me.

Prime example; before my husband and I were married my parents took us out to a nice dinner. It was only our 4th or 5th date. At some point during the meal I started laughing uncontrollably and all of the burps that I'd been swallowing so as not to let them out at the table, came out. I was so embarrassed and horrified that there was nothing else for someone as freaky special as me to do. I laughed. Which magnified the burps which then turned into barf.

I barfed on the table. In front of my boyfriend. In front of the entire restaurant. At some point I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and I looked like a freakin' maniac. Crazy laughing with barf on my chin.

I really don't know what was better about that evening. The fact that my boyfriend went around stealing napkins off of peoples tables and throwing them at me or the fact that when he went out to the car while I was in the bathroom, he informed my dad that I was "busy scraping chunks off my face."

He still married me. Either I'm that cool, or he's that dumb. You decide.

The bottom line is this: there are only 2 surefire ways to make oneself feel better about their lot in life.

1. Go to Walmart and people-watch.

2. Come visit my blog and see the kinds of situations I find myself in on pretty much a daily basis.

Thank you SFTC for giving me another outlet in which to ramble about meaningless fodder! You rock!

Oh Mimi! Thanks for making us feel better about our own pathetic lives! Now be a good SFTC follower and leave a comment over at Mimi's spot on the internet.

Wanna know a funny joke? I used to think she really lived in France and even asked her if she spoke French. What a retard. Yeah, that oughta make you feel better about your IQ too.

Anyhow, let's get down to the question at hand: what's the most embarrassing date moment of your life? POST IT IN THE COMMENTS! I can't tell you mine, because that's in an upcoming blog post. But that's not keeping you from spilling your dirt!

SFTC PRESENTS TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK LIVING IN FRANCE

I love this gal. She is like your very best girlfriend that lives next door except I've never ever met her and she lives on the computer. Often times I've wished we could just hang out and watch scary movies together. Like The Exorcist. This scene really freaks her out. I've used it in about three posts now. You know her as Mimi. I only know her as a hot crock pot full of blogging fun. Let's give a warm round of applause for my TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK

LIVING IN FRANCE

First things first. I'm nothing if not honest.

And that is the reason why I have to tell you right off the bat that I'm so getting the diarrhea just thinking about doing a guest post on SFTC. Because, let's face it. This blog rocks. And I don't want to screw it up.

Here's some useless information on me:

I'm a stay at home mom. I seize on just about every opportunity to get on here and blab my business because...well...I get bored, I have a huge mouth and really no shame.

I love infomercials and I cuss too much, although surprisingly, hardly ever on my blog. I dig potty humor and I just heard Diego (you know, Dora's big headed freak of a cousin) say the word Oxpecker and I can't stop laughing.

I have 2 boys who I love more than life but have seriously considered stabbing my eardrums with a sharp pin so I can't hear them fighting with each other, asking me to re-fill their cups or fix one more Hotwheels. I lovingly refer to these days as "Mom Fail" days. You know the ones. The ones you end up on the front lawn curled up in a fetal position, sucking your thumb and singing nursery rhymes. What...you don't have days like this?

I have OCD. No joke. It leads me to do stupid things like buy Pumpkin Spice candles every time I see one but never burn them. I have about 30 Pumpkin Spice candles right now. Maybe I'll gift them for Christmas this year?

I can help you organize your spice cabinet in about 30 seconds flat. Just don't ask me to make a definitive decision about anything, because that, I can not do.

When I get nervous I laugh uncontrollably. I've done this at weddings and funerals. It's inappropriate and I know it; which makes it that much more difficult to live through.

I tend to have pretty bad luck. If you can only imagine a circumstance happening in a movie; chances are it's happened to me.

Prime example; before my husband and I were married my parents took us out to a nice dinner. It was only our 4th or 5th date. At some point during the meal I started laughing uncontrollably and all of the burps that I'd been swallowing so as not to let them out at the table, came out. I was so embarrassed and horrified that there was nothing else for someone as freaky special as me to do. I laughed. Which magnified the burps which then turned into barf.

I barfed on the table. In front of my boyfriend. In front of the entire restaurant. At some point I caught a glimpse of myself in the window and I looked like a freakin' maniac. Crazy laughing with barf on my chin.

I really don't know what was better about that evening. The fact that my boyfriend went around stealing napkins off of peoples tables and throwing them at me or the fact that when he went out to the car while I was in the bathroom, he informed my dad that I was "busy scraping chunks off my face."

He still married me. Either I'm that cool, or he's that dumb. You decide.

The bottom line is this: there are only 2 surefire ways to make oneself feel better about their lot in life.

1. Go to Walmart and people-watch.

2. Come visit my blog and see the kinds of situations I find myself in on pretty much a daily basis.

Thank you SFTC for giving me another outlet in which to ramble about meaningless fodder! You rock!

Oh Mimi! Thanks for making us feel better about our own pathetic lives! Now be a good SFTC follower and leave a comment over at Mimi's spot on the internet.

Wanna know a funny joke? I used to think she really lived in France and even asked her if she spoke French. What a retard. Yeah, that oughta make you feel better about your IQ too.

Anyhow, let's get down to the question at hand: what's the most embarrassing date moment of your life? POST IT IN THE COMMENTS! I can't tell you mine, because that's in an upcoming blog post. But that's not keeping you from spilling your dirt!

WOULD YOU EAT THANKSGIVING DINNER BEFORE EVERYONE ARRIVED? IF YOU WOULD, YOU ARE A MORON, AND NEED TO BE JACK SLAPPED IN THE FACE, AT LEAST TWICE.

Am I known as an individual who struggles with punctuality? Absolutely. This has been (one of) my lesser-liked qualities through out my life. I've always wished to be a morning person and a stickler for time keeping. Somehow I've never managed to master either. As I grow older, I have improved by leaps and bounds, but at times it is still an issue. Like every single Sunday.

Cut to a Thanksgiving dinner scheduled for 1 pm. I was driving to my parent's home from forty minutes away, (while the rest of my family live in the same town), and I arrived at seven minutes past 1:00. I walked in the house and saw my entire family sitting at the table, passing the turkey, and buttering the rolls. I was at about a 50 on the Ah Hell No scale. It was not as if I had been hours late. And even worse, it felt as if I were being taught a lesson.

As you can well imagine, this put a stick so far up my craw, that I'm not sure whether my body composition isn't 2% walnut to this day. I was so mad. You can't even fathom how mad I was. And we all know that anger is just the wig hurt wears on bad hair days. It was all I could do to sit and eat, when what I really wanted to do was grab some sort of heavy longish spiky weapon and start busting up the place. And truly, if it weren't for my son, I would have turned tail and left.

Cut to Christmas morning. Every year we're rushing, rushing, rushing, because my son (much like his mother) does not wake at the crack of dawn to open presents. By the time we wake him up, open gifts, go through stockings, pick up trash, get showered, eat breakfast, load the car, and get on the highway, it's a mad rush to squeeze everything in. We don't have time to stop and savor our family Christmas. My kids don't get to open their toys out of the box or play with them or even look at them for more than a couple of seconds because we've got to hurry, hurry, hurry. This annoys me. A lot. One particular year it annoyed me more than usual. That year, I decided we would savor Christmas morning. If they were going to eat Thanksgiving dinner when I was seven minutes late, what would they do when I was seven hours late?

I was actually only three hours late, but not only did they eat dinner, break down my Grandmother's huge buffet table and put away all of the food, but they also opened all of the presents. We had missed absolutely everything. Which didn't really matter much to me. I was too busy teaching them a lesson. But it mattered immensely to my son. He didn't have to say anything. I could see the bewildered look in his eyes and recognized it as the same one I must have had on that Thanksgiving afternoon.

How could you? Doesn't it matter if I'm not here? Even a little bit?

I could have kicked myself. In my quest to prove a point, I had hurt the person I love most in this world. An innocent little boy and my precious son. And the cost of ruining his Christmas wasn't worth it. I vowed to sacrifice my own family's time on Christmas in an effort to always be on time to family gatherings, and not because my family had taught me a lesson

...but because my son had.

Okay, there's got to be some good stuff out there! What is the crappiest thing your family ever did to you? Holiday or otherwise. And get out of here you my-family-is-great people! Show me your scars! SHOW ME YOUR SCARS! Whatever you've got, POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

LOOK AT MY NEW BLOG DESIGN! ISN'T IT THE BLOG DIGGITY?! COME AND TAKE A LOOK AND ENTER TO WIN A FREE BLOG MAKEOVER!

Just in case anyone didn't have a chance to enter the blog makeover contest yesterday, I am re-posting it again today. Good luck!

Well, what d'ya think? I was going for a simplified streamlined look that would highlight my writing and eliminate all of the extras. I wanted a simple color scheme, a simple header, and a simple sidebar, and I think I have achieved all of that!

I went with the second picture because a) I am ready for a change b) the third picture did have my entire name on it which I didn't even realize until it was pointed out to me (thanks Lee!) and c) it kind of looks like I am speaking in the picture which relates to my blog.

I chose the fleur-de-lis as my signature symbol. It's French translation is "lily flower" also known as the iris. The iris is my favorite flower and is also a shout out to my women's fraternity and all of my sisters who have supported me and my blog from the beginning! Where my sistahs at!

I think my new look represents me and what I want to display to the world! Simplified elegance blended with a dash of writing entertainment. I hope you enjoy it!

I have to give a big thank you to Jenna and her team over at Bloggy Blog Designz for offering to give me the makeover for free! She has been a dream to work with and possesses the patience of a saint!

In her quest for sainthood, Jenna has offered to sponsor a contest over at her blog to give one of my followers a free blog makeover! How crazy is that? CRAZY! I know! In addition, if you are not a winner of the contest, she will still give SFTC followers a 15% discount towards her blog design services! Talk about Merry Christmas to you! Just click on the Bloggy Blog Designz link below to enter Jenna's contest and a chance at your free blog makeover! Good luck!

BLOGGY BLOG DESIGNZ

What to discuss with my fabulous followers aka thankless weasels on this most momentous of occasions? I thought about asking what annoys you about other blogs, design-wise, but I feel talking bad about other people's blogs is like calling their kids ugly. I don't like it.

So how about what is something you love to see on blogs? Or what blog do you love to look at because the design is so awesome? And don't be shy! Give a shout out and leave a link for your own blog if you want!

Whatever you got for me POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

LOOK AT MY NEW BLOG DESIGN! ISN'T IT THE BLOG DIGITTY? COME AND VISIT FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A FREE BLOG MAKEOVER

I interrupt today's regular Tuesday blog post to bring you my new and improved blog design.

Well, what d'ya think? I was going for a simplified streamlined look that would highlight my writing and eliminate all of the extras. I wanted a simple color scheme, a simple header, and a simple sidebar, and I think I have achieved all of that!

I went with the second picture because a) I am ready for a change b) the third picture did have my entire name on it which I didn't even realize until it was pointed out to me (thanks Lee!) and c) it kind of looks like I am speaking in the picture which relates to my blog.

I chose the fleur-de-lis as my signature symbol. It's French translation is "lily flower" also known as the iris. The iris is my favorite flower and is also a shout out to my women's fraternity and all of my sisters who have supported me and my blog from the beginning! Where my sistahs at!

I think my new look represents me and what I want to display to the world! Simplified elegance blended with a dash of writing entertainment. I hope you enjoy it!

I have to give a big thank you to Jenna and her team over at Bloggy Blog Designz for offering to give me the makeover for free! She has been a dream to work with and possesses the patience of a saint!

In her quest for sainthood, Jenna has offered to sponsor a contest over at her blog to give one of my followers a free blog makeover! How crazy is that? CRAZY! I know! In addition, if you are not a winner of the contest, she will still give SFTC followers a 15% discount towards her blog design services! Talk about Merry Christmas to you! Just click on the Bloggy Blog Designz link below to enter Jenna's contest and a chance at your free blog makeover! Good luck!

BLOGGY BLOG DESIGNZ

What to discuss with my fabulous followers aka thankless weasels on this most momentous of occasions? I thought about asking what annoys you about other blogs, design-wise, but I feel talking bad about other people's blogs is like calling their kids ugly. I don't like it.

So how about what is something you love to see on blogs? Or what blog do you love to look at because the design is so awesome? And don't be shy! Give a shout out and leave a link for your own blog if you want!

Whatever you got for me POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

Post Script

I did another post for today (see below) and my blog update got done a little earlier than anticipated so it got bumped, but I think it is one of my best posts, and not (that) long, so please take just a sec to scroll down and read it if you would. I'm pretty proud of it.

STYROFOAM IS ESSENTIALLY USELESS IN ANY HARD CORE CAFETERIA SLASH GANG WAR BATTLE, UNLESS YOU FORTIFY IT WITH A COUPLE OF HOMEMADE SHANKS

As I dropped my son off at school this morning, he grabbed his backpack, and was beginning to walk towards the school door, when he suddenly turned and gave me a look of sheer terror. His lower lip began to quiver as he explained that I had forgotten to give him lunch money and he didn't have enough to purchase a lunch.

I told him not to worry, that the cafeteria would give him credit and I would send in money tomorrow to cover it. All he said was, I'm a little worried about doing that, mom. I played it off, telling him it would be alright. I am a firm believer that sometimes kids need to be placed in uncomfortable situations to help them learn to handle less-than-ideal circumstances. It's a life skill that we all need.

But something about that sweet little man's face nagged at my heart all day. So I decided to surprise him by meeting him at school for lunch. This required me not getting to visit so many blogs and waking my daughter up from her morning nap. Two things I would prefer not to do, but something told me this was more important.

When he finally realized I was standing at the cafeteria door, the look of obvious relief on his face told me I had made the right choice. He and his friends were excited and we were all laughing and talking about the big holiday ahead and the class feast tomorrow.

We got our trays of food and headed for the lunch lady at the check out counter, who immediately upon catching sight of my son, erupted into a rant normally reserved for military drill sergeants.

INSERT MY KID'S NAME HERE! You do NOT have enough money in your account for this lunch! Now we have to give you a SEVENTY CENT CREDIT.

Apparently a seventy cent credit is the equivalent to torturing three fluffy small white kittens. On a church alter. While reading Salman Rushdie out loud. While listening to Marilyn Manson on your iPod. OR ... wait for it ... eating one small baby.

Insert lunch lady's big heaving pain-in-the-*ss sigh. She is heaving and sighing and gnashing her teeth with incredible visible annoyance. She reaches under her desk and whips out an orange piece of paper, slaps it down on the table, and with another sigh, begins writing.

I stepped up to the counter, threw down my Styromfoam plate with as much indignation as I could muster, which, it's Styrofoam, you're not going to get a whole lot of street cred slinging a light as a feather plate around the cafeteria. I mean, let's face it, if it hadn't had food on it, it probably would've just floated around back and forth in the air and landed on someone's tennis shoes three people over. Styrofoam just isn't the kind of prop you need in a cafeteria slash gang war. It's just not. So I slam down my plate, and I say to her,

I AM HIS MOTHER!

Wouldn't you know, this caused an abrupt change in attitudes. She was all rainbows and happiness and sunshine and beer.

I threw a $10 bill at her and told her to add all of it to his lunch account except for one quarter. That quarter was for her to go downtown and pay a rat to chew off the stick she had shoved up her *ss that morning.

I really didn't say that. I am a lady. Well, not really, but there were a lot of children around and it wasn't the time nor the place. Or I hate confrontation. Or I would prefer to talk about her behind her back to the other moms. Or I would rather place an anonymous phone call to the school's attendance line to rat her out.

PUN INTENDED.

In the meantime, let me just say to you, Madam Lunch Lady of the Heaving Bosom of Sighs and Orange slips of Naughty Paper, may you find your path to hell paved with Styrofoam trays of half-eaten chicken nuggets, with no dipping sauces, cold corn, and only white milk. You are rude, deliberately mean to children whose parents forget to give them lunch money and environmentally unfriendly. You, my black-hair-net-wearing-friend, are only a slice of meatloaf away from eternal damnation for that combination of evil.

And added bonus - God texted me and He thinks you're stupid.

So there.

Ya fatty.

What is the meanest thing an adult ever did to you as a child? It has to be special for it to have stuck in your memory this long, so these comments are bound to be good ones. Whatever you have for me POST IT IN THE COMMENTS

YET ANOTHER REASON WHY I WANT TO START HACKING UP PEOPLE. AND THIS TIME, I'M SERIOUS.

My husband said to me, You never blog about me. I replied, Do you really want me to?

If he had a second thought to that question, it would probably have been, no, I don't really want you to blog about me. But he probably got too distracted by the remote or beeping noises coming from the computer to realize I had asked him a follow up question to his initial question. Men are reliable like that.

So now that I am blogging about him, what to blog? What to blog? Do I blog about how we call his laptop Karen?

This is in reference to Plankton's robotic wife on the Nickolodeon TV show, Spongebob Squarepants and good luck to you if you have no idea what I am talking about, because it means SBSQ has not rotted your brain. Yet.

We call his wife ... cough ... I mean ... laptop, Karen, because he prefers her above any other. I have mentioned to him on several occasions that not only will I put Karen in the casket with him but have also requested that she perform the eulogy. It's just that she knows him way better than I do.

Or should I blog about his man cave? It can't really be categorized as a man cave, because the term cave implies that once you enter, there will be a viable escape. I prefer to call it the man-abyss. It is deep. It is dark. It is dank. It is smelly. And there are things lurking on the bottom of it that aren't yet recognized by science. How he manages to spend so much time in there and not fall prey to a fatal case of ecol i, is beyond my grasp.

Or should I blog about his uncanny ability to leave us with the most abysmal landscaping in the neighborhood, despite the fact that he is the owner of a landscape company. I do realize he has planted flowers in the front of the house and blown the leaves to the street. The front looks good. Unfortunately our home, like many many others, has four sides to it. The other three sides are ... shudder. Seriously, don't even get me started. I avoid our backyard like the plague, because every time I go back there and see pallets, and pavers, and bricks, and sod, and dead bushes, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, I just want to start hacking people up. People being my husband.

So what's a blogger to do? I still can't put my mouse on it. When it comes to my husband, what exactly should I blog about? I guess I'll just blog about how despite all of his faults, he works very hard so that I can:

• stay home and be the constant witness to my kid's lives
• blog on my very own snazzy blue laptop
• scrapbook for 12 hours on a Sunday whenever I feel like it
• go shopping on Black Friday with plenty of money in my pocket
• go to musicals and Cavs games and concerts and sit in the best seats
• send my kids to soccer camp and Gymboree and Disney
• and much much more
  

He does it all for us. He does it so we can live a life that I think will never be perfect but is still pretty darn good. So thanks. For everything.

(now clean up the yard, ya a-hole)

What is something your spouse/partner/friend does that makes you completely mental? Whatever you got for me POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

SFTC PRESENTS TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK: DIARY OF A MAD BATHROOM

Before we get started, please take a minute after visiting my TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK to scroll down to the next post to check out the awards I got from my awesome followers this week and the great blogs I gave them to!Thanks!

I love this crazy blogging gal. She is like the funniest person you know except that person has been possessed by someone even funnier. Someone like, um, Larry the Cable Guy. Or Will Ferrell. Or Steve Carell. Her comments are a laugh riot, and are mini-versions of her blog posts. What more can I say? The chick is funny. And if you don't follow her, you're stupid. And I mean really stupid. Not just mildly stupid. Really stupid. You know her as DG. I only know her as a hot crockpot full of mad cap bathroom fun. Let's give a warm round of applause for the TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK

DIARY OF A MAD BATHROOM

ONE TREE CHIN

Look, nobody said that getting older was glamorous, but chin hair? Really? For about five years now, I have been doing battle with a foe so evil, so vile, that I live in a constant state of alert for its reappearance. I’m talking about my chin hair and it’s a doozie. Yes, I said chin hair. Singular.

Now some of you are going to read this and say “Be-yotch, have you lost your damn mind complaining about one little chin hair? I sit up in this electrolysis chair weekly with some angry hermaphrodite zapping me with rads or whatever and you are complaining about one lonely chin hair? “And you would be justified to say that, except, this is no ordinary hair. This is a super hair.

Super in what way? Well I’ll tell you. Besides having a sweet-ass CD collection and a vacation condo in Aruba, this is one BIG freaking hair. It is not so much a hair as it is a tree, lovingly planted on my chin by the hands of time. Let me tell you the story of how we met . . .

About five years ago, I was laid off from the company where I had worked for eighteen years. Suddenly, I was thrust out into the uncomfortable world of job interviews (aka brown nosing and groveling) without any real practice. One morning I rolled up on an Eyeglass Manufacturer who was looking for a Business Analyst for their manufacturing system. Dressed in my best ugly interview suit, I did a quick rearview mirror check for spinach in the teeth and what do I see in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun? A half inch long chin hair. Cripes man! It was just waving in the wind. How did I not ever see this before? Giving its length, it had to be cultivating for a while and someone was force feeding it Miracle Gro.

Utterly unprepared for the cosmetic challenge I had before me, I tried to pull the hair out with my fingers. Let me just say that without the laser beam precision and gripping power of a tweezers, this is no easy feat. I pulled and tugged and pinched and yanked, but it kept slipping out of my grip. Finally after about 10 minutes of wrestling with it, it came out, PAINFULLY. This thing had more roots than Pam Anderson between touch-ups. Double checking the mirror, I could see that there was no longer a hair there, but there was a nickel sized circle of angry red skin from all my pulling. Undaunted, I marched into that interview and gave my best dog and pony show.

Did I get the job? No, but I did get what was to be the beginning of a five year war with the hair on my chin. Let me tell you a little something about chin hair . . . it’s mutable. It will change its texture, color, length on a whim. Back then, it was fine in texture and a soft brown color. Today, it is a big, wide tree stump of a hair, but it has grayed (bonus!), so I don’t see it as easily, I have to rely on feeling. If I run my hand over my chin and sustain a flesh wound, it’s time to pluck. Pretty, I know.

There is an upside to this story and that is that it never brought any more friends to the party. It is a solitary hair and does not wish to share the real estate with anyone else. And I am truly thankful for its greedy, anti-social behavior.

As a delightful post script to this story, I later found out through the grapevine that the girl that got the job at the eyewear manufacturer was a former coworker of mine. Her last name? Chin. I wish I were kidding. I’m not.

OH DG! Thanks so much for regaling us with tales of your chin hair slash tree stump! Don't we all wish we had something similar to share? Oh but I think we do! Now be a good SFTC follower and go leave a comment in DG'S blog bathroom. As for me, let me know what is the most vile disgusting thing about yourself? And if you are perfection, what grosses you out about others? Like warts, stray nose hairs, etc. Whatever you have for me, post it in the comments!

Thanks for all of my comment love! My family is coming to stay with us tomorrow so I've got lots on my to do list so you won't see me on your blogs today but I will be back as scheduled on Monday! Have a great weekend!

CRIB AWARDS - NOVEMBER 20, 2009

In a last ditch effort to stay on top of my awards, I am going to try and hand them out on a more regular basis. So here goes:

Thanks to Kass at Redoing The Undone and The "K" Is No Longer Silent for the

MUSTEROLE AWARD

(made in Cleveland, Ohio, no less - GO CAVS). This lady is a class act and wonderfully creative mind! Go and follow her! Now! After my last awards post, I challenged my followers to create ever new and exciting awards and she ran with it and made up this award just for me! I think. According to Kass, it is given to blogs that counter the irritating effects of daily living. Thank you so much Kass. You are nicer than my own sister.

I pass this award to TATTYTIARA, Home of Cynthia the One and a Half-Eyed Supercat. You know me, I like funny. Funny is my favorite. This gal is a hoot and a half. No, scratch that, three hoots and three quarters. You have to go and check her out. ASAP.

Thanks to Insanity Kim (which, by the way, the name suits her incredibly well) at A Parent's Life to Behold, Through the Eyes of Insanity and Bliss (clearly there was some contest to give your blog the longest name humanly possible and Kim walked away with a silver medal) for my next award

SPICY BLOGGY BABE AWARD

Her raw honesty and humor never fail to amuse me. I have read her posts out loud to friends over the phone, and could barely even get through it because I was laughing so hard. I am providing the link to the post I am talking about. You have to check her out and follow! Geez! Don't be an idiot! Fantastic Flashback Friday Funness.

I forward this award to The Waylaid Wordsmith at How Not To Write A Book. This woman tells it like it is, doesn't mince words, and feels as though she is my long lost doppleganger. I love her writing. Check her out and follow!

THIS MAY BE THE MOST IMPORTANT DECISION OF YOUR LIFE. SERIOUSLY. DON'T SCREW IT UP THIS TIME.

My blog is getting a long overdue (and free, no less) makeover and I need to decide on a profile picture. Please vote accordingly (1, 2, or 3). Thanks to Jenna and her crew for all of their hard work and patience!

Keep an eye out, because during my big reveal, Jenna has graciously offered to give a free blog makeover to one of my followers! How cool is that? I know! Super cool!

It's all over at Bloggy Blog Designz

Picture #1) Smell me now

Picture #2) Oh nooooooooooooooooo.

Picture #3) I heart my fans

DO YOU KNOW WHAT CAN SUCK THE FUN RIGHT OUT OF A SUNNY AFTERNOON? A STICK IMPALING YOUR LEG. THAT DOES IT EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I was eight months pregnant. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. As a family we decided to enjoy the free miniature train rides offered at our local park. My son was a Thomas the Tank Engine and steam train enthusiast. We had ridden these miniature trains for years. We loved these trains.

Each miniature train would have an engine car with its operator and attached to that were the riding cars, which you just sat down on, straddle style. When there were a lot of riding cars, the end cars tend to get whipped around the turns and at times derailed. Mind you, I had personally been on these trains when they had derailed in the past, but no injuries ever occurred and no one had been thrown from the train.

This particular time we were on the last car, my husband, my pregnant self, and my 6 year old son. We came too quick around the bend and our rail car went straight off the tracks. All three of us were thrown from the train. My husband and son were thrown clear, but for whatever reason, my foot become entangled in the wheels of our car and I was drug, face-down (hence belly down) for several feet before the train came to a halt.

My son jumped up and yelled,

THAT WAS AWESOME!

And of course he thought that was awesome. He was six. And unimpaled. A few bystanders and my husband helped me to my feet. I patted myself down, wiped off the dust, dirt, and dead leaves, and pronounced myself 'okay'. It was then that I noticed it.

When I say it, I am referring to a stick about a ball point pen in diameter, sticking out of my leg. I thought it had just poked my skin, and I reached down to pull it out. It did not pull out. Oh my God. It's not coming out. It's not coming out. It's not coming out. It's not coming out. It's not coming out.

Hyper-ventilating, I whisper to my husband

There's a @$%# stick in my leg.

I keep repeating this over and over. I am in shock. I feel no pain. Only shock. We don't re board the train. We waddle to the car for a drive to the ER. At this point, I fully release myself to experience the horror that is my situation. I am whimpering like a two year old.

I have been impaled by a stick. A stick is stuck in my leg. It won't come out. This is going to require needles, possibly scissors, a razor blade, a scalpel, Novocaine, blood, a hospital visit, doctors, nurses, a cold examination room ... but also maybe some Demerol. This could have an upside. But ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod I have a stick in my leg!

I call my best friend to meet us at the hospital and collect my son. I could barely get out the words.

There's been an accident.

And the quick reassurances that go along with that statement that all is not as bad as originally feared. I mean, it's just a stick in my leg. It's just A STICK IN MY LEG! A STICK IN MY LEG! OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, JESUS, JOSEPH, AND MARY, THERE IS A STICK STUCK IN MY LEG.

More uncontrollable sobbing.

I was totally completely 100,000% freaked out. I mean THERE WAS A STICK IN MY LEG! Do you not get it, people? A stick. Sticking out of my skin. Stuck. Part of it was in my leg. Part of it was outside of my leg. But it was a stuck stick in my leg. ohgodhereIgo

GAG. BARF. HEAVE. QUEASE. SLAM.

Just had a partial faint-spaz-attack thinking about it again.

We get to the ER, the doctor (and I use that term loosely) tried to convince me that a numbing shot would just add insult to injury. Why hurt myself for nothing? The stick would pull right out. He also refused to let me listen to my unborn child's heartbeat. I was being 'silly' because my baby was fine. I insisted on the fetal heart monitor and thank goodness I insisted on the shot.

Picture the same doctor twenty minutes after injecting me with the numbing shot twisting and prying and pulling and sweating and heaving and stopping to say,

Man, that thing's really in there.

Really? You are a retard and I can't believe you have been given permission to use a scalpel anywhere near my fat, fragile, and fertile incubating body. I have a stick in my leg, dammit. Just how in the samity sam hell are you going to get that thing out? Refer to a medical journal. Phone a friend. Call your lifeline. I don't care.

JUSTGETTHISYUCKYGROSSBLOODYSTICKOUTOFMYLEG.

After slicing open my skin with a scalpel (btw, the stick was impaled in my left leg in the fleshy side part of the skin -at least mine is fleshy- not behind the knee but on the inside of the knee) he tugged and pulled and cut and cut and pulled until the stick was removed bit by bit.

They sent me home with antibiotics and told me to return if there was any redness or inflammation.

I was at the doctor two days later. I then spent the next four days in hospital on IV antibiotics to prevent the infection in my leg from spreading to my abdomen and my heart and killing my unborn child and myself. But I got to hear my baby's heartbeat every 4 hours. That was the only bright spot of each day.

I was released from the hospital and prescribed further antiobiotics to take at home. The antibiotics cost $2000. Since I have no health insurance, they were free. Sometimes it pays to be broke. Not usually, but sometimes.

I continued to remove additional pieces of the stick from my festering leg wound for the next 4 weeks. Each piece was approximately the size of a large toothpick. When the final piece was removed, the wound healed fast. And now I have a permanent scar to remind me of the time I faced death on a speeding locomotive at our local county miniature train park.

Seriously, that stick could've impaled my eye or my stomach or my child. But it didn't. But we don't ride those trains anymore either. Because it so easily could.

And now, it's just a funny story and we laugh about it all the time.

That is until someone else gets impaled by a stick riding the miniature trains.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Ya thankless Weasels.

And Oprah, the answer is, yes. I will be on your show.

I know that was long, but it was a story that needed to be told. What is the most heinous yet ridiculous injury you have ever sustained? I want all of the gruesome gory details, complete with pictures if possible. I have no pictures by the way. I am kicking myself now. What an awesome scrapbook page would that make, huh? Anyhow, I'm off track (pun intended) send me your injury stories and POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

By the by, one of my newest followers, Texas Britches, gave me a shout out and link up to her latest post THE GREAT PEE-PEE FIASCO OF 1996. That's right. It's another pee pants story. Check her out. She's fabo.

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE TIME I ALMOST HAD TO POOP IN A WENDY'S BAG. C'MON THIS IS EVEN BETTER THAN WHEN I PEED MYSELF IN CHURCH.

This post was inspired by Matty at Matty's Thoughts. Check him out.

A million lifetimes ago I had a real job. I was a young sprite of 24 or 25. Fresh out of college with my political science degree, working as a quality facilitator for a corrugated box manufacturer. Sounds just exactly as exciting as it was. For whatever reason, I was convinced that I would enjoy this job more if it existed in the Southern United States. Thus I began my long standing relationship with the corrugated box factory head hunters.

It was on yet another one of these interviews in Greenville, South Carolina, that I was driving to the International Airport (and I use that term loosely) to return my rental car. I had woken up late and decided to pop through the Wendy's drive thru to grab a quick bite. It was past breakfast time, so a Biggie Fry and large Coke later, I was back on the road.

Whoops-a-daisy.

A couple of years earlier I had surgery to remove my gall bladder. This causes serious bouts of explosive diarrhea even when you take care to properly eat---no fast foods, no spicy or greasy foods, etc. It gets even worse if you skip meals. Say, if you don't eat breakfast or lunch and then sit down to dinner. Just set your timer for 20 minutes, because in about that length of time you are going to have stomach cramps and a hot flow of steaming excrement flying out of your backside. Trust me. I know.

So I'm driving down the road and I'm just finishing my last fry when it hits me. I know it's coming and there is nothing I can do about it. I am going 70 mph down an interstate. I can't poop all over this rental car. Not to mention if I did poop myself, how am I going to hide that fact once I do locate a restroom? Lie on my back and spiderwalk to the bathroom?

The cramps are becoming more and more intense. I am clenching my butt cheeks for dear life. FOR DEAR LIFE. But it's coming. What in the @#$#@%$ am I going to do? My eyes are scrambling around the car. What can I poop in? What can I poop in? My knock off Louis Vutton purse? Not an option. It was a gift. My briefcase. Too skinny. My butt would never fit. I need something more round and bag-like. The straw from the Coke? Hmmm. Not big enough to utilize as a funnel. I look all over the car. Then I spot it. The perfect receptacle.

The Wendy's fast food bag.

I tried and failed to poop into the Wendy's fast food bag. I did pull over a couple of times but could not actually FORCE myself to sit in my rental car, pull down my pants, and poop into a Wendy's bag alongside a busy highway. Plus, it seemed like every time I pulled over the cramps would subside. I knew my only option was to high tail it to the airport bathrooms. They were my only hope.

As I'm pulling into the rental car garage I am moaning and panting like a lunatic. I am literally ready to EXPLODE. My butt cheeks are aching from the constant clenching. It was a nightmare. A nightmare.

I park the car, grab my luggage, and am running full sprint to the airport bathrooms. In high heels. Dragging a suitcase that has NO WHEELS (what an idiot). At least, thank God this was before 9/11 and the security stuff or I never would have made it.

I got to the bathrooms, slammed shut the door and SWOOSH. Out came that toxic dump my intestines had been screaming to release for the past 40 minutes. It was such a relief. Normally I am CPABH disabled (can't poop anywhere but home) but this was so severe, I just let it all out. The stink. The juice-filled farts. The moans. The groans. The squeakers. Everything. I can not recall any other time in my life where it felt so good to poop.

It felt so good to poop.

The End.

Now, I can not be the only one who has pooped themselves and DON'T BE SHY we have all done it. Haven't we? Yes? Please say I am not alone! Or maybe where is the weirdest place you HAVE pooped, if you won't actually admit to pooping in your pants. Whatever you've got for me LEAVE IT IN THE COMMENTS!

IT'S OKAY TO TOUCH THE SCREEN. IT WON'T HURT YOU. JUST TOUCH IT. GO ON. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO. OR. CRIB AWARDS, NOVEMBER 2009.

It's been a bit over a month since my last awards post. That could be due to the fact that the last awards post took me four hours. I smartened up this time and had a running draft so I could just cut and paste each time a new award came my way.

Thanks to my wonderful followers for their blog love! It never ever gets old! These bloggers and writers are truly top of the crib, so go check them out! If you don't, you're just dumb. Seriously, der-dee-der.

For the newbies, I don't post rules or follow them. I just list the awards with the accolades and then forward them to one or two blogs that have caught my eye or old favs that I want to share with the entire blogosphere.

Here goes:

ONE LOVELY BLOG AWARD given by

Personalized Sketches and Sentiments, Chantel at Growing Up ... Townsend Style, Joey at Big Teeth and Clouds, Erin Ellis at A Real Housewife, and DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom who writes, This is a crazy-funny lady who gets LOTS of awards, so I won't get offended if she does not do all the tagging and whatnot. She's a blast and her new background is truly lovely. So there!



I award to Cathy at Antsy Pants.


HOT AWARD given by Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes


I award to Amanda at Martinis or Diaper-Genies?


YOU GIVE GOOD BLOG AWARD given by Erin at The Mother Load and 5th Sister at The 5th Sister who writes, A new cyber pal that has had me laughing to the point of tears on several occasions. I would love to have her over for coffee some day. Go ahead...go visit her. She's a riot!



I award to my Rican hurricane, Grissell at stay @ home mom who knew



BEST BLOG AWARD given by Nikki at Simple Travels in My Homeland and MamaOTwins+1 at 3 Boys + 1 Hubby = What's Next who writes, I bow down to this lady - she has got her stuff together - or falling apart - or she's screaming to get out of her crib which says it all. If you are not one of her followers - go do it NOW! And Mesina at and then there was me who writes, I just love, love love this blogger! Such funny and great posts, just go see her!



I award to Tattoos and Teething Rings


ONE OF THE WORLD'S GREAT READS given by the girl with flour in her hair at Peeling an Orange with a Screwdriver



I award to Mesina at and then there was me


MY HEAD IS UP HERE AWARD given by Girl Meets Gun at Head in the Clouds for being her 40th follower.


MY FRIENDS AWARD given by Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry


I award to my favorite gals in the nursery and if I left anyone out, just suck it, because seriously I hate this little laptop I am working on and I am ready to murder the first breathing thing that enters my peripheral vision:

Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry
Lee the Hotflash Queen at Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes
Daffy at Batcrap Crazy
kys at Stir-Fry Awesomeness
DG at Diary of a Mad Bathroom
Chief at Hiding from the Kids
Jill at HurstBurst
Sandy at Shell in Your Pocket


OVER THE TOP AWARD given by One Cluttered Brain at One Cluttered Brain who writes, ROFL wet-your-pants blog! You will die laughing from this one. She is hilarious!!! And if you follow her she returns the favor. :)



I award this to Insanity Kim at A Parent's Life to Behold, Through the Eyes of Insanity & Bliss


DRAGON LOYALTY AWARD given by Vodka Logic


I award this to (obviously) Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry



LOVE YA AWARD given by Steph at Steph in the City


I award this to Sara at Sara Spelled Without an H



TELL IT LIKE IT IS AWARD given by Crazy Baby Mama at Crazy Baby Mama




I award this to Riot Kitty


SUPER SCRIBBLER AWARD given by Tattoos and Teething Rings


I award to Arizona Momma at Our Daze in the Dessert



HONEST SCRAP given by Georgine at Olive Juice and Krimsin at The Official Blog of Krimsin who writes, One of the funniest blogs I have in my blogroll, kindred spirit in how she thinks


I award this to Ed's Funny Pages


HEARTFELT BLOGGER AWARD given by Elizabeth at Confessions From a Working Mom who writes, she's won a ton of awards already, but hopefully there's room for one more on her shelf (uh, I mean sidebar!)


I award this to Erin at The Mother Load


BADASS BLOGGER given by Leigh at Leigh vs Laundry


I award this to Scandalous Housewife

Okay, this time it only took me two and a half hours. During which the following things were driving me insane: the dog smacking her jowls, the half-dead cat mewing incessantly and then the half-dead cat lapping water out of a cup on the kitchen table, about a foot away from computer, my son whining for his dinner, my son not listening to me when I tell him to do anything (except of course when I lose my mind and begin yelling at him) my daughter waking from her nap every 27 seconds because my son insists on this time to 'straighten his room' and his bedroom is directly beside hers, the complete wreck of a house because all I have done today is gone to church, gone to the library, gone to the grocery, and blogged, my aching back, my drying contact lenses, and my aching shoulders from this useless brassiere (seriously, my hoo-has are still hanging to my belly button) and that's all I went through just to bring this bit of cribby goodness to you.

You're welcome. Thankless weasels.

Let's get creative. Don't just say CONGRATS ON YOUR AWARDS. Let's make up awards that have not yet been created and spread through out the blogosphere. Such as my last one the ALOT OF CRAP AWARD - BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT. Or just say congrats. At this point, I don't really care. Ya weasels.

SFTC PRESENTS: TOP BLOG OF THE WEEK - MARTINIS OR DIAPER-GENIES

This week's Top Blog of the Week is Martinis or Diaper-Genies. This blogger is one funny chicklet. Her posts rock. Her comments rock. I give her five out of five blankets in the crib. A twenty-something married gal, contemplating a free life or a wee-one life. With lots of other good stuff thrown in. You know her as Amanda. I only know her as a delightful dish of crazy with a heaping portion of hilarity! Please give a warm round of applause for the SFTC Top Blog of the Week

Martinis or Diaper-Genies

Hi soon to be bestfriendsforever! I’m Amanda from Martinis or Diaper-Genies which we call MODG around our parts. I’m a regular girl who does regular stuff and my selection process for new friends is pretty much like anyone else’s. I judge how similar you are to me (more is better), how pretty you are (what? like you don’t do it), followed by a professional interview. Normal stuff. So since I knew this is how you would be potentially selecting me as a new friend, I thought I'd facilitate the process for you.

In terms of the interview part, I’ve decided to skip the whole, scheduling an appointment, wearing a business suit and exchanging resumes thing. Instead, I’m providing my interview for you right here. And I found an excellent interviewer, me.

So Amanda, What is Martinis or Diaper Genies all about? Sounds like a weird combination.

Great question friend of friends. MODG is a blog dedicated to my quest to determine if/when I should have a baby. As a 29 year old married chick who gets her kicks from Britney Spears, Bravo reality programming, and the occasional designer shoe, I’m not sure if I’m ready yet to give all that selfish stuff up. Plus I hear babies dislike wine.

Wow, you sound selfish and crazy. So you talk about this baby stuff every day even though you don’t have one?

No, while I’m in the “martini” phase of my life I talk about fabulous society girl type things like that time I listened to my stupid friend who said I should do a “salt water cleanse” with her and ended up accidentally pooping on the floor. Other hot topics include my obsession with Suri Cruise, the number of times my husband B has rolled his eyes at me in any given day and also pizza. It’s riveting stuff.

Amanda, you realize that Speaking from the Crib is a respectable blog with respectable readers (the writer is questionable), why should they read the crap you write every day?

Well, when you dig out from underneath the crap, I really am struggling to figure out myself, my life and maybe a future family. I’m very honest with who I am, what I do and what I like and hate. I have some great readers who are mostly mommies that school me on motherhood. I love blogs like this one because I learn firsthand from honest people what day to day life is for a mom and it keeps me in check. And if that doesn’t work from you, I have Single Guy Tuesdays and Confession Fridays. They are pretty amazing if you ask me…and you did.

Ok Amanda, sounds like a blog I’ll check out, become a google follower of, a facebook fan of and a twitter follower all at once! Any final thoughts?

I hope you stop by and please bring some Shiraz and cookies like any good guest would. You’ll either love me or hate me and I hope you tell me either way. My best blog friend hates me and that means I love her even more. In conclusion I’ll share a picture of myself. I don’t do this too often at MODG so consider this your free gift for making it through this interview. Since I know you’re judging my attractiveness, I picked a picture that makes up for appearances with the addition of witty humor.

And as I always say: Sharing is Caring and Peeing is Believing.

Thank you Amanda for sharing your whimsical blog-ness with us today. We are all sufficiently delighted. Now be a good SFTC follower and take a mo to hop over to Amanda's martini glass and leave her a comment too! Be sure to let her know you found her at the crib!

You wouldn't think I'd have to say that crap, but seriously, some people have zero manners.

Okay, what question to pose to my loyal cribites today? Have YOU farted today? I know you have. That's too easy. Hmmm. Would you rather drink a martini or change a dirty poopy diaper? Also too easy.

Back to the farts. Are you an OPEN farter ie will you fart in front of intimate friends and family in the comfort of your own home (some people have an intestinal condition that prevents them from NOT farting, so ease up sally) OR are you a CLOSET farter ie you would rather die than fart in front of anyone.

NK. That's a good 'un.

CAN YOU SMELL WHAT I'M COOKIN'? IT'S A HOT CROCK POT FULL OF SOCCER SASS. SMELL ME NOW. SMELL ME NOW.

Another soccer season is over. My son's team blew chunks. Wait. Wait. I told myself I would be kinder. My son's team did not excel this season. Better? At this age (7) why some parents have not grasped that their child does not want to play, is beyond me. To all parents of sucky players, if your son is consistently tangled in the net of the goal WHEN THEY ARE THE GOALIE, chances are, their head is not in the game. Nor shall it ever be. If my son did that, I would beat him senseless. I would. But I digress.

As the season went on, the weather grew cooler and as the baby became more mobile, watching the games became increasingly difficult. It's hard to scream at your soccer-playing kid like a frenzied mental patient while swinging your baby on the playground 100 feet away. Then you really look like a crazy. And you are. But that's beside the point.

I decided to sit in the car to watch. This way we are warm and the baby can play in a contained area, and I can focus on the game more. And this little arrangement had an additional benefit. I could now say WHATEVER I WANTED about WHOEVER I WANTED and no one would be the wiser! OH HAPPY DAY!

I was now fully crazed, foaming-at-the-mouth, belligerent, taunting psychopath soccer mom. On crack. Sometimes meth. When my son would score a goal, I would blow the horn and pound on the roof; occasionally, I would roll down the window and yell GOOOALLLLLL! Like I said, I went a little crazy.

I'm sure they could see my mouth moving. I'm sure they could tell I was yelling. I'm sure they would've loved to know exactly what I was saying. It was something along the lines of

Are you kidding me?

What in the sam hell are you doing?

God, that kid sucks.

Run! Get the freaking ball! Jesus God in heaven!

Knock him down, son. Just push him out of your way. KILL HIM! KILL HIM!

Get the @$#@#$ ball! TAKE IT! Take the #$%#$% ball.

Oh God, not again. Get that kid off the field.

Can you smell what I'm cooking? It's a hot crock pot full of soccer sass. Smell me now, biotches. Smell me now. I honestly can not help myself. I become crazed. For those who don't understand, it's a little thing that happens to you when YOUR KID IS ACTUALLY GOOD AT THE SPORT. Gives you a little something to cheer about.

If you find yourself sitting on the field with your thumb up your butt and a cork in your mouth (or vice versa) it's most likely due to the fact that your kid doesn't know if they are on a soccer field or a corn field. GET 'EM OUTTA THERE! Good God people! Get. them. outta. there.

Again, I must digress. Cut to one of the last games of the season. I'm fired up. I'm yelling. Carrying on. Talking/yelling to myself. My daughter keeps looking at me with a puzzled face. I keep glancing at her with a quick smile,

Oh no, baby girl, momma loves you. Your brother's soccer team just sucks so bad she's losing her mind. But momma loves you!

Then back to the yelling. It is then that I notice that the outside noises don't sound quite as muffled as usual. And I notice parents pointedly looking towards my car. A lot of them. Almost all of them. That is the moment when I turn and look and see that ...

my rear windows were rolled down.

Apparently my son had rolled them down on the way to soccer and never bothered to roll them back up. And in my soccer madness I had failed to notice that they were down.

Not so happy day. Now all I can smell is a hot crock pot full of shame, but also, indignation. I mean, if their kids didn't suck so bad, I wouldn't even have to yell, now would I?

The End

Side note: My parents came to watch my son's last game and I explained to them that because of the cold weather and the baby, I normally sit in the car. And my son proudly tells them that another reason I sit in the car is so I can say bad words. Tattle tale.

Give me an embarrassing sports-related moment! Either you or your kids or someone you know. Whatever you've got for me POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

SPEAKING FROM THE PEW: I THINK WE SHOULD ALL TALK ABOUT THE TIME WE PEED OURSELVES IN CHURCH. C'MON. IT'LL BE FUN.

As a side note, this post was inspired by Cathy at Antsy Pants go check her out.

I was too old to be peeing myself. Somewhere in the third to fourth grade category. I was staying with my aunt while my parents were out of town. I felt uber fab in my velour fuchsia Sunday School dress. Even more fabulous because I was wearing my first pair of deep, dark, savage tan panty hose with ... wait for it ... my first pair of slip on high-heeled leather CLOGS.

I was standing in the very church that my grandfather had ministered in years before, feeling very mature and sophisticated in my hose and clogs. Until I felt the overwhelming urge to pee. I told my cousin I had to pee. She advised me to wait until after the prayer.

I waited until after the prayer; however, my pee did not. It ran down my legs, saturating my panty hose, flowing all over my brand new LEATHER clogs, and slowly began to make its fateful journey across the wooden floor of the church to the front of the sanctuary. I could see it running down the floor away from me, but I wasn't in a position to see where the stinkery flow of yellow hell was headed.

I knew it was most likely weaving its way towards the pew directly in front of me. At the very least. Covering other people's sensible Sunday shoes. Or precious leather clogs. I don't know. It was unspeakable. I felt mortified and completely helpless. What was I to do? Tap the lady in front of me, Excuse me ma'am, God bless you, but you are standing in a puddle of my urine. So sorry for the untimely leakage of my bodily fluids onto your BOGO Payless pumps.

What I do know is that when my cousin motioned for me to go to the bathroom, I whispered

It's too late.

My God was it too late! She looked down and realized that indeed it was too late. She took me back to her parent's house. I changed clothes and we returned to church to bring the rest of her family home. Nary a word was ever said to me about it. TO MY FACE! Oh the shame!

To this day I still wonder if the people in the pews knew the wet substance they were standing in was my urine. And if it stank. And if the parishioners started exclaiming and wailing and gnashing their clogs when they realized they were knee deep in my whiz.

And for the love of God, who had to clean it up?

So gross.

Dear Lord and Jesus, I apologize for the pee. My bladder knew not what it could and could not contain through out a lengthy non-denominational prayer. Amen.

Okay, just like breathing, we have ALL done it. I want the pee pants stories. Give them to me! IN THE COMMENTS!

WHY AM I A WEIRDO MAGNET? IS IT MY BREATH? MY YELLOWING TEETH? THE CONSTANT LOOK OF BEWILDERMENT THAT ADORNS MY PUSS? WHAT? WHAT IS IT?

I was walking my dog on a beautiful Fall day. My daughter was asleep in her stroller. I was chatting on the phone to a good friend (retain that). We were nearing the end of the walk, so the dog was calm, and not trying to drag me to my untimely death. I'm always envisioning my bloodied corpse being drug through the streets at the end of a tattered dog halter. My dog, of course, would be completely oblivious to the fact that I had ceased walking. She would just be irritated that she had to drag a fat white chick past the dreamy Doberman's house. She's just so ... juvenile.

As we cut across the library parking lot, a questionable looking man approaches me. He could care less about disturbing the sleeping baby in the stroller, or the fact that I am talking on the phone. Nay. He cares not. He walks straight up to my dog, begins to pet her (as a side note: this is very dangerous. Don't pet strange dogs. Ever.) and launches into a 14 minute dissertation of his personal pet ownership philosophy.

Weirdo: Ahhhh! Is this a chocolate lab? It is isn't it? She's a beauty. I used to have a dog just like this. Well, it was a black lab. Best dog I ever had. Best dog. Great with kids. Great with other dogs. You just couldn't ask for a better dog, could ya? She passed away 7 years, 5 months, 13 days, 2 hours, and 4 minutes ago. Ya know, people wanna get these pit bulls and Rottweilers and all these vicious breeds. It's crazy! Who would get a dog like that? I mean, what's with these people! They can keep their crazy dogs, right?

This could be a rhetorical question, but I am using it as my cue to escape my version of weirdo-guy-off-the-street-talking-to-me hell.

Me to weirdo: That's right! The heck with those people. They can keep those crazy dogs!

I turn on my heel and motor as fast as possible tethered to a maniacal Labrador while pushing a baby stroller over pot-holed one hundred year old death trap sidewalks. Not really super fast. But fast enough to escape the weirdo. And his yap.

Note to all, weirdo or otherwise,

When you happen upon someone talking on the phone, it is rude to begin a conversation with them. Super duper rude. Furthermore, if they are talking on the phone, they probably don't care to hear your life story. They really don't. If you're that inclined to tell complete strangers every second of your miserable life ...

start a blog.

Post scipt: After reading this, I just sound like a real a-hole. In true Larry the Cable Guy fashion

Dear Lord, I apologize for thinking such jerkish thoughts about this harmless old fart. Please make my heart less black and nasty and more rainbow and peppermint patty. In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

We all know there are some real nut jobs out there, so I'm anxious to hear what you've got for me! What is the nuttiest thing a complete stranger has ever confided in you? Whatever you've got, POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE A COMPLETE WANKER, STAY AT HOME IN BED, AND QUIT RUINING MY BLACK FRIDAY SHOPPING EXPERIENCE

Lately I have received texts from my friend containing cryptic messages, such as 45. Or 24. To the outside observer they appear to be meaningless numbers. To me they signify only one thing: the number of days left until Black Friday.

For the shopping illiterate, Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving, reported to be the busiest shopping day of the year. Stores open at ungodly hours, offering rock-bottom prices to those who opt to take advantage. I've gotten video gaming chairs for $30, portable DVD players for $20, DVDs for $5 ... I could go on forever. The deals are truly amazing.

I did not always participate in this yearly shopping ritual. I am not an early riser and there was not a sale on the planet that would have me awake at 3 am. But my friend somehow convinced me that it wasn't only the monetary savings, but the experience itself that was worth being up, showered, and on the road to Toys R Us at 3:45 am. And ya know what? She was right.

Black Friday is the official kick off to the holiday season, and we are there, on the front line, getting this holiday party started! We've got our three essentials: a cup of piping hot chocolate, our carefully constructed gift lists, and the most important thing of all ... holiday cheer!

Nothing gets my stocking in a twist quicker than a pissy retail shopper on Black Friday. If you're that @$#%$#% tired then STAY HOME. No one wants you or your attitude standing behind them in line at Wal-mart. A line that will no doubt be 7 miles long, and irritate your already fragile dispostion for every second you have to stand in it.

A few years back, we were at Target and this condescending moron, asked the associate at the jewelry counter if they carried iPod purses. In a very helpful manner, the associate explained that they were not in jewelry but were available in electronics. With the iPods. Imagine. This was met with the following response:

Ohhhhhhh reeeeeaaaaallllllly? They're PURSES, aren't they?

Madam, you are, were, and shall always be a retard. To this day, we still make fun of you. The tone was not necessary. A simple thank you would have sufficed. This poor woman was getting paid a pittance to help your stupid a** find a carrying case for an iPod. At 5 in the morning. Not exactly on my list of orgasmic shopping moments. The least you could have done was be nice to her. Go bah humbug yourself. Twice.

Here's to all of my holly jolly Black Friday shoppers and the 15 days we have left until BF 2009. May the day come quickly! I'm itching to shop for my loved ones! And most importantly ... may it coincide with a paycheck. And not 40 million pissy, irritable, cheerless scrooges on their period.

What is something people do during the holidays to get your stockings in a twist? Whatever you have for me, POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!

I'VE BEEN MAIMED BY MY HALF-DEAD CAT AND OTHER TALES FOR A SUNNY SUNDAY

After a lengthy struggle, I am back. The culprit for my extended absence has been many things (laziness, both kids at home, one kid sick, then the other kid sick, then the husband hoards the 'good' computer, and the list continues) but the most significant reason I have been gone is due to my ailing cat. She was diagnosed with a kidney infection a few weeks back and I have had to give her antibiotic pills every day. Which was fine. Until she began to recover. Now, it's borderline suicide.

To medicate her, I have to place one finger on her nose to tip her head back. Then I have to place the other hand on her lower jaw and pull it open. Then I have to drop the pill into the back of her throat, hold her mouth shut until she licks (which signifies the pill has been consumed) and release. Thank God I have seventeen hands. Sometimes a birth defect does come in handy. Mind you, because of her illness, this cat is a wreck. She's lost some weight. She's lost some fur. She's lost her appetite. She's lost many things. But what she clearly has not lost is her will to maim her care-giver.

The last attempt to medicate caused her to swat my hand, whereby her nail became stuck inside the skin of my right pinky finger. I finally managed to disengage her claw, at which point, I dropped to the kitchen floor in excruciating pain. The wound was the size of a pin prick but she had somehow managed to injure the nerve in my hand. For the last few days, the pinky finger was entirely without feeling and about a quarter of my right hand pins and needles. Numb hands make typing difficult. All this for trying to shove a pill down a half-dead cat's throat.

POST SCRIPT

Even as I read this it sounds completely preposterous. It sounds like something you make up that is so 'out there' people would never dare question it's credibility, because then they would look like the idiots. Sad enough that it is 100% true and even sadder that it refers to my own ridiculous life.

I want the crazy cat ladies to come flying out of the woodwork for this one! I want to hear tales of pet woes and triumphs! What is something you had to do for your pet that was either weird or caused you physical injury or that you are just embarrassed to admit? Whatever it is POST IT IN THE COMMENTS!