Happy Halloween, Sinners!

31 10 2012

Tonight I clicked a link to a Halloween Chick tract. Chick tracts are, as best I can tell, cartoon gospel tracts meant to be used by evangelical Christians. Approximately 2 hours later, I knew I had to share with you guys. Seriously, it’s like going down the rabbit hole. When you start reading these things, you may never come back. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. They’re like crack. Hilarious, overzealous crack.

Here’s a little summary for you:

Sure, Halloween seems all fun and crap, but really, it’s a pagan holiday masterminded by Satan, who’s trying to snatch away your eternal soul. And yes, you may be frickin’ Mother Teresa, but unless you actually say “I accept you into my life, Jesus,” it sucks to be you, because you’re headed straight for Hell. THE END.

Anyway. You really need to check these things out. Just don’t start drinking that Kool-Aid, because then we can’t be friends anymore.

FYI: Here we have a perfect example of how not to comfort your child when his best friend is hit by a car:

And yes, this does all remind me of the “Hilloween” episode of King of the Hill. If you’ve seen it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, you can Google it, or go on with your merry life blissfully unaware.

I realize this post is a little bit…manic. Life is a little off-kilter right now, but this made me giggle enough that I had to share.

Just remember, kids – the truly frightening people are the ones who give out religious tracts instead of candy.


A New Level of Lazy

23 06 2012

I often joke that I’m inherently lazy. This isn’t actually true. Like many people, I do like to take shortcuts. And yes, I’ll sit on the couch wanting a glass of water for at least20 minutes until my husband stands up and I can say, “Hey, while you’re up…”

I know.So pathetic.

Still, I have my limits, and today they were pushed so far that I had to take a picture and illustrate it for you. See how ambitious and not at all lazy I am?


Seriously, sir? It was too much work to return your cart? May your automobile be violated by a thousand unreturned carts.

*Grocery shopping after a 10-hour shift makes me a little bit stabby.

**Really, though. That’s ridiculous.

***Yesterday was my birthday and I had to cancel my birthday date with Car (Cajun food! Avengers!) because I felt like I was going to puke but then I didn’t puke which was almost even more sad, if that’s possible.

****Redeeming factor: My parents got me a Kindle Fire for my birthday, which is 20 shades of awesome. Not 50 shades, because that would be creepy.

*****Not that I’ve read that series. Pervs.

******Seriously, I haven’t read it. I can tell you don’t believe me, but I really haven’t (I heard the writing really sucks).

*******Not that I’d read it if the writing didn’t suck. OBVIOUSLY. I’m going to stop talking about it now.

********If you don’t know which books I’m talking about you’re probably really confused, aren’t you? Ha! Sucker!

We’ll Have a Good Time Then

13 06 2012

On Saturday I was running late as usual. (Say it with me: I KNOW! Who would’ve thought?) As I put on my makeup and tracked how much time I had to get ready for the baby shower that started at 10 am, Big G asked me to play Uno with him.

Note: Uno is one of Big G’s current obsessions. Let’s just say If I woke up tomorrow morning and someone told me Uno had been outlawed, I wouldn’t cry.

After I told him I was (as per usual) late for my intended destination, he found a new target.

“Dad, will you play Uno with me?”

“Not right now, Big G,” Car replied, walking to the next room.

As he walked past me, I couldn’t help myself. I burst into song.

“And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man in the moon…”


He continued on to the bathroom and I collapsed in giggles.

*Fun fact: before I left for the baby shower, I spotted Car playing Uno. Score one for Harry Chapin!
**If you don’t know the song “Cat’s in the Cradle” you’re the luckiest person ever.
***Seriously. That song plays in my head every damn time I tell my kids I don’t have time for something. I despise Harry Chapin for that.

The Best Phone Survey Ever

17 05 2012

I know, it sounds impossible. How can a great phone survey exist? And how did I stay on the phone long enough to find out?

I have no good answer to either question, but I believe the following were contributing factors:

  1. I have a freakish sense of humor and am far too easily amused.
  2. Their phone system lacked the usual long pause that warns me I must immediately hang up.
  3. I was trying to get rid of her and told her the youngest male in the home over 18 was unavailable.
  4. I was thus unprepared when she asked for the youngest female in the home over 18. (Me: “Crap! If I use the same excuse twice, she’ll know I’m lying!“)
  5. I was too tired to come up with another excuse.
  6. I am—as a general rule—too polite to simply hang up on someone once I’ve made verbal contact. I make the rare exception when I’ve firmly told someone to go away and he or she just keeps talking.


The woman started by asking a question about Walmart, and then one about Target. Once we established that I’m a Target fangirl and think Walmart can suck it, she moved into the bulk of the survey.

Oh, Walmart. Just give up, already. Phone surveys to find out what people think of you? Just Google it.

Now, I was very honest. From the get-go I told her that I couldn’t possibly be impartial because I used to work for Walmart. She didn’t care, because that wasn’t in her script. Fair enough. Then she asked me all sorts of questions about whether I thought Walmart was a) better than chocolate or b) a minion of Satan.

I was thoroughly bored and about to ask just how much longer she was planning to test my patience, BUT THEN. It went a little something like this:

Survey monkey: “There have been some stories about Walmart’s operations in Mexico in the news lately…blah blah blah…corporate officers bribing Mexican officials….blah blah…have you heard any of these?”

Me: (because I apparently live in a cave) “Nope.”

Survey monkey: “From what I’ve told you about this story, does it make your opinion of Walmart more or less favorable?”

Me: “Wait, what? Does bribing Mexican officials make me like Walmart more or less? That’s, like, the best question ever.

Survey monkey: “So…more or less favorable?”

Me: *giggling* “Yeah, I’m going to have to go with less favorable.”

Survey monkey: “Would you say it’s a little less favorable ormuch less favorable?”

Me: *snorting with laughter* Much less favorable.”

Survey monkey: “Now I have some questions simply for demographic purposes…”

That was two hours ago and I’m still giggling. Thank you, dear survey monkey, for doing your thankless job tonight. You made my day.

*I think next week I might blog every day to try to get back in the habit. Remind me about that, won’t you? I’ll probably forget in the next three days.

**I now understand why people don’t sign their kids up for lots of sports. Soccer was entertaining enough, but watching kindergarteners play T-ball? I’m not saying it’s on par with watching paint dry, but it’s no trip to Disneyland.

***Speaking of watching paint dry, still no diagnosis for Big G…

Special Delivery

29 02 2012


Yesterday kind of sucked. I’m out of my magical ADD pills and my children, as best I can tell, are minions of Satan (today is obviously going well).

BUT THEN? Car brought home free pizza prepared by the Son of Almighty God.

To make my night even better, Car and I had this conversation:

Car: “How are you going to blog about this without being sacrilegious?”

Me: *chortle*

Car: “Oh. Right.”

Seriously, it’s like for a brief moment he forgot who he was married to.

For the next hour, every time I glanced at the pizza box, I burst into giggles and Car just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Next up: Chinese food from Elijah the prophet. Hey, a girl can dream!

*I will forever be bitter about how sacrilegious is spelled. It’s just wrong.

**The pizza wasn’t that great. You’d think Jesus would have the power to make fabulous pizza.

***Would it be inappropriate to make a joke here about Jews making lousy Italian food?


*****I just checked with my Jewish friend Meredith, and she says the joke is fine, but for the record she makes excellent pizza.

******I assume Meredith speaks for all Jews. It’s only fair since she does the same with Mormons and me. It’s cool. I’d rather she think I speak for Mormons than, say, Mitt Romney.

*******Hahahaha! I kid!


Search Me

12 01 2012

Every once in a while I glance at my stats—not to see how many people read my blog (that number just depresses me, as based on my sheer awesomeness I should have thousands–nay, millionsof readers), but to find out from whence y’all came. What site referred you? What magical combination of terms did you type into the search engine to be led so very astray?

I really should know better than to ask these questions.


A few things here:

  1. Who asks a question like that? 
  2. Who googles it? 
  3. Why the hell did it lead them to my blog?

I know I talk about poop a fair amount on this blog, but to the best of my recollection (though I’m sure I killed a few brain cells with the drugs), I’ve never named—or even contemplated naming—a bowel movement.

I thought the “megatron baby birth certificate” search was hilariously random until I realized someone was probably looking for proof that people actually named their child Megatron based on the number of likes or fans or something received on Facebook. If I cared more I’d look it up but honestly, I’ve lost interest now that it isn’t a cartoon baby Megatron.

I do find it hilarious that I consistently (seriously, every day) get hits from “Billy Blanks,” since the only time I’ve mentioned him on my blog is when I talked about how phenomenally creepy I find his peek-a-boo nipples.

FYI: I’m perfectly aware most of my readers are my friends and family. Bless you for finding me amusing enough that you’re willing to a) maintain contact with me and b) read my nonsensical ramblings. As for the rest of you—those who found me through blogging, mutual friends, Twitter, or (heaven forbid) freakish search engine requests and have, for some bizarre reason, come back for more—please seek professional help.

*I totally just upped my search ranking for “Billy Blanks.” BOOYAH!

**I think we all know if I had to name a bowel movement, I’d name it Bob. Partly because I name everything Bob, and partly because Mr. Hanky is already taken.

***Wait, did I talk about Mr. Hanky in a blog once? That might sort of explain the naming of feces. But not really.

****If you don’t know who Mr. Hanky is, you probably shouldn’t look it up. You might be scarred for life. I’m looking at you, mom and dad.

*****Wait, how would I know it was my last bowel movement? Are we talking about the last one I had (say, this morning), or the last one I would ever have? That might make a difference. If I actually know it’s my last crap on this earth maybe it means I’m on death row and I’ll want to name my poop something more bad-ass than Bob. You know, something like Slash. Or Killer. Or Captain Huggy Face.

******I’m trying to not contemplate the implications of having poop named Slash, but I’m failing miserably.

*******I also might be snort laughing.

********From now on, every time I need to use the bathroom, I’m going to say, “I gotta go make a Captain Huggy Face.”

*********I so win at blogging right now.

File under O for Obvious

1 01 2012

For those who have always wondered, "What is this 'ice' and why is it here?"

Pop Quiz, Hot Shot

17 08 2011

We have a nice set of picture cards that we can use to play Memory with the kids. (They also came with Bingo cards, but just try to keep a 5-year-old and 3-year-old focused on a game of Bingo until the bitter end. Go ahead. I dare you.)

These cards are large and have pretty drawings. I like them…with one horrifyingly painful exception. I try to ignore it, but every time I clean up the cards, this one card taunts me. I’m actually contemplating removing the pair from the deck because I can’t cope with it.

Yeah, I have issues. Still, take a gander and tell me what you think.

Name that flower:

Pretty flower! It’s pink and white, and so very lovely! What could possibly be wrong with such a flower?

Only one thing, really, but it’s oh-so-important:

No. Just…no. I even covered up the word on the card and asked Car what flower it was. His reply: “Um, tulip?”

It’s like they do these things just to mess with me.

As I continued my rant, Car interrupted with, “Well, roses are red…”

“But it’s not even red! It’s pink!”

That’s when I realized the time had come to write the best “Roses are Red” poem known to man.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Admit that’s a tulip
Or I will cut you.

*Update: It’s the next morning and I’m fixing a grammatical error. Who let me write a threatening “Roses are red” poem late at night?

**Went a little crazy with the ellipses, didn’t I?

***I just realized my children are frighteningly quiet. No more asterisks. Time to investigate.

Non-Sticky Tapes

14 06 2011

Of all the things that annoy me about Dora and Diego (believe me, I could write several posts on that topic alone), a really random one keeps cropping up: my boys have developed a propensity for the phrase “sticky tape.”

“Mom, I need some sticky tape!”

Every time I hear that, I mutter, “As opposed to the non-sticky tape?”

Yes, I’m aware there are different types of tape, but really, when kids are involved? It’s scotch or masking tape and they both stick.


Since we’re on the subject of tape, last week I was searching through my junk drawer for my Club Nouveau tape (long story) when I ran across several completely awesome objects of interest.

Item one:

Circa-1980s Cabbage Patch Kid Birth Certificate

Item two:

Circa-1988 Mix Tape List

Items three through fourteen:

Seriously y’all, I just don’t understand why I wasn’t more popular in Jr. High.

Do Not Repeat After Me

26 05 2011

Big G wasn’t a repeater. Other parents would tell stories about their kids repeating horrifying things at the most inopportune moments, and I’d brace myself with the sure knowledge that my time would come…but for the most part it didn’t. (I’m fully aware he’ll still repeat awful things, but he’s now at an age where he can be punished for such actions.)

As I hear is usually the case, Little G is an entirely different child from Big G. One marked difference: He’s a serial repeater. I think part of this relates to his time spent in speech therapy—when you spend years trying to get a kid to repeat the words you’re saying, that habit stays with him. It generally doesn’t bother me. After all, you don’t know cute until you’ve seen a 3-year-old repeat lines of Megatron’s dialogue.

Yesterday we were at grandpa’s house watching The Price is Right. (I like typing that sentence, because it makes grandpa sound about 80 years old.) The show had reached the final round—the Showcase Showdown—and the second Showcase featured…a trip to Amsterdam!

“Whoo-hoo!” I yelled. “Marijuana and hookers!”

Then came the garbled voice from next to me on the couch: “Mariwaaaaa and hooooers!”

Confession: There was a (possibly not small) part of me that really wanted to teach him to say it clearly. I firmly believe it would be hilarious to hear Little G run around repeating that. I know. I am not a good person. I am, however, surrounded by very good people who would be mortified by a 3-year-old yelling out “Marijuana and hookers!” at random intervals, so I restrained myself.

You’re welcome, Car.

Best. Mom. Ever.