MWF Seeks Moving Advice

Share

Pin It

Instead of spending time in front of the computer like I once did reading your blogs, laughing at your blogs, reading your tweets, retweeting your tweets, starring your tweets, reading your Facebook posts, commenting on your status updates and pinning things on Pinterest like I just learned to do not too long ago, I'm:

• cleaning every nook and cranny (ew, right?) of my house
• gutting out closets
• putting toys at the bottom of boxes that I know my kids will ask about the very next day even though they never play with it
• putting a gazillion hanging baskets everywhere outside
• wishing hanging baskets came with their own sprinkler system
• wishing we had a sprinkler system
• watering grass that was just put in yesterday
• watering grass for an hour because we have to keep moving the sprinkler
• turning on the water sprayer while the spout is pointed towards my face (that happened this morning)
• trying to rush and water the inside plants but putting too much water in them and having to mop up the river that quickly forms in my hallway and snapping at my husband "I WAS JUST WATERING THE PLANTS!" when he asks, "What happened??"
• telling my kids to just "go play" and million times even though I know most of their toys are nowhere to be found
• learning how to pronounce frieze
• wondering if frieze carpet will go out of style next week
• trying to will someone to come look at our house the moment we put it on the market and hoping that someone isn't a complete weirdo
• stuffing books in my bra drawer when I hear the realtor at the door
• feeling bad that I'm not using all the realtors suggested to me by friends
• eating off paper plates and paper cups, even though I prefer the real thing
• eating too much frozen food because I can't mess up the kitchen
• being grouchy because I'm stressed
• wishing I could just read your blogs and tweets
• wondering how people move over and over again, especially with lots of pets or kids
• missing my house already
• getting teary-eyed thinking about how excited I was when I first bought the house
• getting teary-eyed remembering that I brought both of my baby boys home here
• getting teary-eyed because I can't get the water stains off the dadgum shower stall
• becoming overly excited when someone suggests Dawn and vinegar or lemon oil wax to clean the shower stall and anticipating the result once I try it
• being proud of the grout in my kitchen that I slaved over with baking soda, water and a tile brush
• staring longingly at my books that I can't read because I collapse in bed from exhaustion at night
• thinking UHAUL charges a lot for their boxes
• stopping by the nutrition store that advertises "CHEAP BOXES!!!" and walking away with 100 small shoeboxes and some fish oil that I didn't want to buy but that cooky lady at the counter wouldn't quit hawking it so now it's mine
• remembering that I still need to gut out some of the attic so that new buyers can see all the space it offers
• looking on-line at houses, houses, houses and more houses
• praying about WHERE TO MOVE EXACTLY
• feeling strong as I move boxes but knowing I am not
• sweating
• sweating
• sweating
• being mean to my husband and kids when I don't mean to and hoping they'll forgive me
• missing my neighbors already
• putting my hair in a ponytail
• appreciating that I have a home at all with plants to water and food to store and people to love
• appreciating YOU and the fact that you stop by here even though I've been the sorriest blog friend in the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD
• hoping you know that I will be back like before once that sign gets stuck in the yard, we find a house and MOVE!

So, yeah, any advice you can give me about not becoming a crazy lady who wants to forget it all and live in the cardboard box up there with a water bottle and some crackers, please...let me hear it.

To all the CDs I've loved before... (and "Finding the Funny" #23!)

Share

Pin It

Some of you may remember that I met Bill O'Reilly on my honeymoon. I saw him several times throughout our stay in Grand Cayman, as we were staying in the same hotel. Attempts at becoming BFF's with him were unsuccessful. It's not that I really wanted to be his friend friend, it's just that I bet he'd have a lot of extra cash to spend on good appetizers, fun snorkeling adventures and as many Big Reds as I possibly could drink.

It never happened.

So, this is a story about what happened after that and also about, well, all the CDs I've loved before....

Back to Bill... Luckily, I was able to get over the awful devastation of a friendship-not-to-be because a) I was on my honeymoon (hello!), b) it was Bill O'Reilly (duh) and c) I spotted some men playing the heck out of some steel drums about midway through the trip. That island music drowned out all of the tears I was crying inside over Mr. Billy.

As my husband and I approached the sound of drums being made to sound like the intro to a Kenny Chesney song (he thinks he's, like, Jamaican or something), I quickly became enamored. "Awww, listen to that, Chris!", I said to my really, really, really new husband. He thought it sounded nice, but he wasn't swaying to the music while holding the peace sign up in the air. (Well, I wasn't either, but I totally should have. I would've looked all mellow and island-ish.)

After I came out of my steel drum coma, I spotted the card table set off to the side of the drummers. They were selling CDs.

"I need that CD!"

"No, you don't."

"I do! Yes, I do! It will remind me of our honeymoon! Please, please, please, please, please let's buy it."

The look.

"Okay. FINE. I know you won't listen to it again. It's such a waste of money."

"I will. I promise I will."

Never listened to it. I mean, maybe I did for a few days afterwards, but, yeah, that's it.

Fast forward to our 10-year anniversary trip to New Orleans. We were waiting in the loooooooong line of people outside of Cafe du Monde for the famous beignets and cafe au lait. There were TONS of people waiting with us. We slowly moved through the line like coffee-loving tortoises. After I got bored of wondering where the people went that used to work there and how it was that another family came to own the place when they didn't speak even speak French at all and were kind of throwing me off of my Louisiana French experience, my thoughts settled on a group of older men playing saxophones.

This saxophone-playing jazz/gospel group was keeping us, their captive audience, entertained with their music. One of my favorite pasttimes is to imitate old white men in a Baptist church singing gospel music, so, this was just my thing. I love to sing the main melody and then add in that deep, deep-voiced bass singer adding his little two cents throughout the song. It's kind of a mix of really old lady, Broadway and a 89-year-old man named Tom Smith all mixed together. These weren't old white men, though. They were better. They had some spunk. Some jazz going on, youknowwhati'msayin?

"CDs!! WE'VE...GOT...CDs!!" shouted the main singer breathlessly as he walked up and down the beignet-starved line after belting out his tunes. "TEN DOLLARS!"

"We need that CD", I whispered through clenched teeth to my husband, knowing I'd meet resistance.

"We don't need it, Kelley. You won't listen to it."

"I will! It will remind me of our time on our honeymoon!! Please, please, please get it. Look, that man needs us to buy one. Proceeds probably go to help victims of Hurricane Katrina."

The look.

"Fine. Here's $10. I can't believe you're buying that CD. None of that money is going to anyone involved in Hurricane Katrina, either. I can't believe I just handed you $10 to buy that CD."

"You don't know that. It might be!"

Annnnnd...you guessed it. Bought it and I didn't really listen to it. Maybe I listened to a few songs for about 4 days, but then it all fizzled out. Our relationship soured like so many before.

CDs and I have an awful track history. The first time we meet, we are BFF's. We may first lock eyes in Grand Cayman, in New Orleans or across the aisle at Target. "I need you", I always mouth to him. He smiles back. Not long thereafter, I want to take the CD with me to the store. I want to take him inside my house. I laugh and I cry with it. I want to buy BFF necklaces for it, maybe even promise rings. We sing along together while holding hands, swaying back and forth and closing our eyes as we hit the strong notes together. We contemplate being a duet team on American Idol or The Voice. I carry it on my hip like a small child.

But, then, I drop it like a skillet that you put in the oven and forgot about until you preheated the oven one day to 350 and then peeked in there to see it sitting there all mad and stuff, because, "Hello! Get me out of here!" and then you realize it was, like, super hot and so you grabbed your oven mitts and took it out. (I couldn't think of a good cliche, so this was the next best thing.)

These CDs I loved, my BFF CDs even, get shuffled under the other CDs that have lost my affection. I decide to listen to the radio instead. Or my iPod. Or my son's version of Twinko, Twinko Wittu Stah. Or it gets stuffed in a cardboard box situated under my short-sleeved shirts in my closet with the TONS of CDs I have from the 80s and 90s that I can't part with because, well, they're CDs! They're the original!

Over the years, there have only been a few that have stayed my BFF for more than a few weeks. I love the theme music from the first season of Felicity. I used to listen to the soundtracks for Moulin Rouge and Primal Fear a lot. The Beastie Boys. WARREN G. Garth Brooks' No Fences. I'm noticing a trend here... I think I treated my CDs better when I had more time alone in the car. I think that's it, because all of those CDs I treated right I encountered before I had children! The light totally clicked in my brain. Totally. Clicked.

I feel like I need to go and write a letter of apology to my CDs. For real. Poor things. It's not their fault, right? Especially those CDs from Cayman and New Orleans?? Oh, man, I'm really getting emotional over here. I'm absolutely inconsolable! IT WASN'T THEIR FAULT!

I'M SORRY, CDs!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so sorry! GAH! My heart! Can you hear me, CDs??? And, tapes, I'm so, so sorry!!! I will never recover from the injustice I have bestowed up on all of you innocent tapes! Will I ever get over this physical pain in my chest from all the hurt I've caused you both??

*Becomes miraculously composed*

Tell me, have you ever treated a CD wrong? Which CDs have you treated right? And tapes?

_________________________________

And now...

Anna and I love that you all come here to find some funny and leave some funny! If you are new to this link-up, here's the scoop: we want to read your humor posts. You can link up a post that you wrote in the past or one that you wrote this week. FYI, my life has been way more hectic than usual, so I am a little behind in commenting on the posts that you have linked up in the last two weeks. I can't wait to catch up!

Here are the most clicked posts from last week:

#1 The Slut Next Door from Confessions of the Id

#2 So My Son Is Pregnant from Jeff Vrabel

#3 To My Pregnant Friends from Adventures with the Henrys

#4 My toddler learned to text! from Random Hand Prints

#5- TIE Potty Training: Epic Fail from Pink Owl Momma

#5 TIE I Have No Idea What I Am Doing- 1 Year as a Mom from A Bubby Life

Also, Tracy from Logy Express is sharing her top 5 favorites today, so you'll definitely want to head over there by clicking HERE to find out if she picked yours and to see some other funny posts! Thanks, Tracy!

Top 5 Cakes You Should Never Serve at a Party

Share

Pin It

We are probably all familiar with the blog, Cake Wrecks. This blog features cakes gone wrong for one reason or another. They're ugly. They're tacky. They're ugly and tacky. Or just funny. Or ugly, tacky and funny. Actually, they're always funny, because that's the point of the blog. I could spend a lot of time on that blog looking at all of the different cakes, but I think my favorite would be "the one that started it all", which is also on the cover of Jen Yates' New York Times Best Seller:

Source

I wish I had thought of that blog idea first, Jen.

But, I didn't.

*Takes a moment to squint eyes and contort face in a very jealous way*

That's why THIS post is not going to be about those kinds of cakes nor will it be about cake flavors. If you want to serve carrot cake at your 4-year-old's birthday party, HAVE AT IT. No, this post is about other cakes that you just wouldn't want to serve at any party ever. I thought I should mention this in case you start Googling "cakes" and find yourself confronted with one or more of these tasty delights.

#1 SUET CAKE

Unless you are inviting a ton of birds to your house to party it up, I'm thinking you'll want to steer clear of these. With the exception of your Aunt Agnes, PEOPLE DON'T LIKE TO EAT GROUND UP INSECTS. The other possible exception besides Aunt Agnes, though, is the 80s group "Flock of Seagulls". They'd probably love it. Source

#2 URINAL CAKE

Apparently, some people must be very fond of this cake choice. Even though it's made with lots of ammonia, I can see where the appeal of serving urinal cakes may be quite strong. THEY COME IN INDIVIDUAL SERVINGS. It's like a stinkin' cupcake! In fact, it's shaped exactly like a Hostess cupcake, which is actually making it more appealing by the second. Ammonia is bad for you, though, right? I'll Google that in a few minutes. (Also? They're pink! Perfect for a girl party!) Source

#3 CAKE OF SOAP

Gathering a bunch of people together for a party and then revealing that your birthday cake is actually a cake of soap will result in lots of hard feelings toward you. Trust me. I tried it once and my Aunt Erthelene hasn't spoken to me to this day and I totally made that up. If, however, you have a room full of foul-mouthed five-year-olds, which is often the case in this rapidly declining culture of ours (Can I get an Amen?), you may want to consider having a Cake of Soap on the sidelines.

The word "sidelines" offers a good segue to a my sidenote (and also gives me the chance to use the word "segue") about liquid hand soap. I actually found this image above from the blog, "The Farmer's Nest". She shows you how to make a GALLON of liquid hand soap from one bar (or cake!) of soap. I'm totally going to try it!

#4 RICE CAKE

If you have the budget to give every one their very own rice cake and your party is inside a Whole Foods with people smelling like patchouli, well, then you might be able to get by with this one. If you only have enough money to shell out for one rice cake and/or the people coming to your party are big fans of pizza, THIS WON'T WORK. First off, the rice cake is a booger to cut into 8 separate slices. Rice flies everywhere! Kids get hit in the eye with shards of dry rice! There's no taste! People will hate you! The pieces are smaller than a hummingibird's armpit! I mean, really, the list is endless. Think long and hard about who is coming to your party before going this route. Source

#5 A SUITCAKE

The primary reason not to serve this one at any party is because it's made of leather and presents a fire hazard with the candles stuck haphazardly on top. I still LOVE the idea of a suitcake made of real cake, though. It could be served at going away parties all over the United States! It's a SUITCAKE! Oh, man, I love it so much, I feel like making it for the next occasion, even if it's the Fourth of July.

"Kelley, why is the cake shaped like a suitcase for a Fourth of July party?"

"Because, it's a SUITCAKE! Get it? HAHAHAHA!!! It's not a suitCASE. It's a suitCAKE! HAHAHAHA!!! Happy Fourth of July!!! Where are the sparklers?"

When I Googled "suitcakes", I only found suit cakes, as in Giorgio Armani.

This may keep me up tonight.

ADDENDUM: My very first comment on this post was to inform me that there are, in fact, one gazillion to the infinite power of suitcase cakes out there. See? What I want to know is if they called them "suitcase cakes" or "suitcakes". Huh? Huh? (If they called them "suitcakes", please don't tell me.) Either way, boo on me. I'm still going to make one for the Fourth of July, though. (Thanks for letting me know, Trish!)

Carry on, now. I know you have more important things to do with your time.

My Top 7 Social Media Tips Wrapped Up In Fortune Cookies

Share

Pin It

Those of us who invest a lot of our time each week into social media, whether it's blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Globbittron (totally made that up) or Zinnerista (that one, too), we may find ourselves getting disappointed every now and then. Perhaps we expected more from our efforts by this point or maybe we feel unappreciated, forgotten, not heard or like we have toilet paper stuck on the bottom of our shoes. (Actually, that last one isn't a feeling, it's the truth. Can you take care of that really quickly?)

I'm thinking if we social media types realized that we were sometimes all in the same boat, more or less, we'd feel better. If we realized that sometimes we all feel like what we've written reeks of pteryodactyl breath or rhino gas, we would give ourselves a break. We would just keep forging ahead and keep writing. In my attempt to get us to stop crying and contorting our face in a really unattractive way, *I started a fortune cookie business called Social Media Fortune Cookies. (I know. It is an extremely creative cookie name.) My top 7 cookies, out of the tons I slaved over baking and out of the tons of little slips of paper I slaved over typing (those little dadgum rectangles are hard to fit into a typewriter just right), are below.

*bold-faced lie

We can pore over every detail of a blog post before we hit "send" and STILL miss a typo. So, this is to say that typos happen to us all. Some more than others. I'm looking at you, Reynold.

Future versions of this cookie will have "Facebook status updates", "blogs", "the funny papers", "your tattoos" and "The Greensheet"  instead of "tweets". No matter which one it may be, sometimes we spend too much time doing it. Get some sleep, son! 

This is totally my motto. I know that people don't love everything I write on my blog, on my Facebook page and in my Twitter account, but...I really don't care. That much. I mean, I care, but I write what I want to write ultimately, even if some of it smells like the Miami Heat's armpits after their game last night combined with a few armpits from the Oklahoma City Thunder.

We get hung up on likes, retweets, comments and stars (for those that favorite tweets on Twitter and use Favstar- a whole other topic).  We also get hung up on followers. Combine it all together and it still doesn't even come close to measuring our worth as people, amirite?

Though we may mean it MOST of the time, look me in the eye and tell me you haven't written "LOL" when you didn't actually laugh out loud. Come on now, folks! You can write LOL if you want, too, though, especially if you write it about anything I write. Hee, hee. Kidding, of coursenotreally.

Actually, he wants the whole thing. If you don't have a kid, that lady next to you totally wants a bite. Really, both just want you to give them some eye contact. We could probably all afford to take a social media break every now and then and, like, throw a ball to our kids. Or dogs. Or that co-worker in accounting who is fond of a good pick-up game of hot potato using a tennis ball from the bottom of one of her walker's legs.

If you are one of those that sprint to the dryer as soon as it finishes, then yay you. If you're like me, you have some clothes in the dryer and they've been there for two days now. GET THAT MESS OUT!

That's it for the cookies. For now. I realize they weren't all related to social media and weren't all really "tips", but must I refer you to cookie #3? I'll be rolling out more Social Media Fortune Cookies in the near future, but don't look for them at any store near you because I'm making this all up, of course.  You never know, though, I just may bust out a little fortune cookie side business in the future at a busy intersection near you and go by the name Kelfucius.

Just so you know, these little cookies were inspired by the "Blog Tips" gathering movement over at The SITS Girls website.  You should totally go visit their place to see all of the fancy little tricks bloggers have up their puffy pink sleeves.

*Fortune cookie image from here.

Top 10 Ways I Entertain Myself at Home Depot When My Husband Wants to Stay In There Forever and Ever (and "Finding the Funny" #23!)

Share

Pin It

My husband once spent SIX HOURS inside Best Buy. SIX HOURS. That's 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 separate hours. We weren't married yet and he was purchasing a TV.  He sort of obsesses over purchases. As true as that is, I'm pretty sure he was in Best Buy a little longer than expected because it was also the day he first saw Britney Spear's video on a gazillion different screens for "Hit Me Baby One More Time". Mmmm-hmmmm. Pretty sure. That skinny little heifer.

So, six hours. The man is capable of shopping and staying in one place for a long, long, long time with or without a Britney Spears video in front of him. Unlike many women, I don't really LOVE to shop. I grew up going to the mall a lot with my family and I remember daydreaming of sitting at home in my backyard reading or playing or something while going in and out of stores. I'm not a shopper.

When I find myself at a store that I am ready to leave but can't, I find ways to entertain myself. This is exactly what happened at Home Depot last week. We are getting our house ready to sell, so we needed lots of different things from the store. After I did the necessary perusing and choosing and agreeing and disagreeing and "no way"-ing and "check this out"-ing and deciding, I still found myself in the store while my husband pondered and brewed and pondered some more.

So, these were the 10 ways I entertained myself within the orange and tan walls of The Home Depot, which, by the way, is another area of discussion. It's just "Home Depot", amirite? Not "The Home Depot". I mean, it IS officially "The Home Depot" but that "The" totally needs to take a hike.

#1 ANNOY MY HUSBAND

 

Deep down, I didn't give a rip what any of these things were and had no clue what purpose any of them served or, really, if they had any purpose in life at all. That didn't stop me from standing RIGHT next my husband, though, and acting like I did. As I saw him reach for something, say that red "actuator disc", I'd reach for the actuator disc AT THE SAME EXACT MOMENT while saying something like, "We could really use a red actuator disc." He smiled the first 200 times I did but was ready to ask the animal shelter if they accept humans at #203.

#2 ADMIRE THE

ARTWORK OF OTHERS

I saw this lovely model next to the wooden shutters and started to giggle. That lady to her right is saying, "Girlfriend, how did you get the lead spot in this window treatment ad with those teeth? You are not better than me. You may think you are better than me, but YOU'RE NOT! I have on a cute necklace!!"




#3 CONTEMPLATE SIZING CHARTS

 

Are these lights classified as A, B, C and DD instead of watts? 






#4 SECOND-GUESS PRODUCT NAMERS

 A defiant flash light sounds like one that wouldn't hold a battery charge for long.







#5 GET NAUSEOUS

 You may have another word that brings you down, but one of mine is definitely FLANGE. FLANGE. FLANGE. No way. Noooooo way. Not a fan.





 #6 BECOME INDIGNANT OVER REALLY, REALLY STUPID THINGS

Monkey or gorilla? PICK ONE!!!






#7 PRETEND I'M IN A SCARY MOVIE

 "Chris, do you see a  HAND coming out of the WALL?  AHHHHHH!!! RUN!!! RUNNNNN!!!!!!  Please, for the love of gaskets and hoses, we've been here forever. Let's go."





#8 BECOME SIDETRACKED BY SINKS

The sink people are out of control.




#9 SYMPATHIZE WITH AWKWARD TOOLS

Stubby probably gets turned down by all of the ladies.





#10 LOOK FOR WORDS WITH FRIENDS WORDS TO IMPRESS PEOPLE THAT ARE BEATING ME OVER AND OVER AGAIN LIKE MY COUSIN IN FLORIDA, SCOTT.

Turns out "SAE" is an acronym or something. Dang it.

Feel free to use any of my ideas for your entertainment the next time you are at Home Depot or Loew's. You may have a long list of your own and don't need mine at all. Maybe your list includes playing on the tractors? Seriously, please don't be stingy with your good ideas. Share them with us! Make Home Depot such a fun place to be that you consider taking a family vacation there and encourage others to do the same!

_____________________________________

 

 

Are you back to link up with us? Let's high five!! If you are new here, let's high five, too! No, let's high ten. New linkers get high tens. ANYWAY, seriously, Anna and I love reading your older or more recent humor posts each week and appreciate very much that you stop by to share them here with all of us.

Most Clicked Links from Last Week

#1 - Showing Us His Business Take 10 with Tricia

#2 - Tie - A Mythical Beast & My Blockaded Vagina Let Me Start by Saying...

#2 - Tie - Peeing In the Shower & Other Things To Think About Hollow Tree Ventures

#3 - 5 Ways to Keep the Cat from EATING the Hamster ODNT

#4 - Tie - Family Dating FAILs. Funny now. Not then. Honest Mom

#4 - Tie - Are You Mom Enough to Shut Up? Ninja Mom

#5 - How NOT to greet your husband Karifur's Weblog

See the Favorites!

Kim at Let Me Start by Saying... is sharing her FIVE favorite posts from last week's party. (And I hear there are even a few honorable mentions!)

Visit Let Me Start by Saying... to see if you were one of Kim's favorites!

The Case of the Mistaken Skid Marks

Share

Pin It

My husband and I met in college in Austin. When we first started dating, he lived in a decent apartment with three other guys. They decided they wanted a little more square footage and moved to a small house in DA HOOD not long thereafter. My husband and I regularly debate how hoodish it really was with him believing it was less so than me.

It was the hood.

And I know 'hoods.

So, anyway, he lived there. It really doesn't matter for the story's purpose that he lived in a kind of scary location, but I wanted to share it with you anyhow. Sets the scene, you know? He lived there with those same three guys who happened to all be home with some other friends when I went to visit around the spring of 1996. We hadn't been dating that long and I didn't really know his roommates all that well yet.

They were all watching sports of some sort on TV when I needed to go into the restroom to WASH MY HANDS. I didn't even use the bathroom.

Someone else did, though, if you know what I mean. Someone who left behind some, ahem, how shall I say it...evidence at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

Okay, skid marks. I'll just say it. They left SKID MARKS.

I was mortifed. If I walked out of the bathroom with skid marks at the bottom of the toilet, the next person that came in there would think it was me. MY THEN-BOYFRIEND'S ROOMMATES AND THEIR FRIENDS CANNOT THINK I LEFT BEHIND SKID MARKS.

What was I supposed to do??? Do I clean said skid marks? BUT THERE WAS NO TOILET BRUSH BECAUSE THESE ARE GUYS AND THEY DON'T OWN TOILET BRUSHES. One of the mothers of one of the roommates actually cleaned the bathroom whenever she visited FROM DALLAS. I'm pretty sure that was the only time that toilet got cleaned out and you know she didn't visit every week.

I wasn't reaching my hand down in that water to scrub them off either.

The only thing I could think to do was rush out, whisper about my discovery to my boyfriend, have him go in there and then come out. Then if anyone made the discovery, they would think he did it. Guys are shameless about their skid marks. Obviously.

So, I walked briskly out and sat down by my boyfriend, leaned over and whispered, "You have to go in the bathroom. Someone left skid marks..."

"What are you saying? I can't hear you-- YEAH! THEY SCORED!! Seriously, why are you whispering?"

Still whispering I say, "Someone left skid marks and I want you to go in there and..."

"Are you telling me you left SKID MARKS? HAHAHA!!!"

All game related chatter and noise immediately ceases. Somehow this conversation has been noticed by guys who were, seconds before, completely engaged in the game on TV. All at once, all the guys (not a single girl in there but me) in the room begin to laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!! SKID MARKS!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Kelley left skid marks!! HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Still trying to quietly talk just to him, "Chris! I was telling you they weren't mine! You know that! I was telling you to go in there and take care of them. You know those aren't---"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!", they all continue.

"They're not mine!"

"Oh, Kelley, you know I'm joking."

He got the look. I. WAS. SO. EMBARRASSED.

I can take a joke and be the joke, but not when it comes to whether or not those skid marks were mine.

It's kind of like when someone destroys a toilet stall right before you enter, they disappear like a ninja, you emerge from your rose-smelling stall, go to the sink to wash your hands and then someone enters the restroom. THEY DON'T REALIZE THE ROSE-SMELLING STALL BELONGS TO YOU AND THE AARDVARK-IN-HEAT-WITH-AWFUL-B.O.-SMELLING STALL BELONGS TO THE NINJA. It's terrible. Really tragic.

Equally tragic is knowing one of those guys not believing that my boyfriend was joking and thinking that I left those skid marks that day.

I mean, honestly, is there anything more devastating in all the world?

(What would you have done?)

What Kind of Hugger Are You: A Diagram (And, "Fiinding the Funny" #22!)

Share

Pin It

I like giving hugs and I like receiving hugs, but I like my hugs to be of a certain type and I give hugs of a certain type. I'm more high-maintenance than you thought, aren't I? I'm not? Rude.

Anyway, if I know you well and you try to pull one over on me that is not my preference, I will make you redo it. Basically, huggers fall into four categories, as you can see by the Venn diagram I created over at GraphJam.

I am most definitely a squeezer. A light squeezer. I have family that are also squeezers, but they're tight squeezers. After a hug from them, you check the pavement for organs they may have squeezed right out of you. (One time I found part of my spleen after a hug at a family picnic and had no clue what to do with it afterwards. I just threw it away and, surprisingly, have done well without it.) You also check for broken bones.

What I'm not is a patter or a smoother. No way, Jose. Or, as my grandmother has been known to say, "No way, Josie". I'm thinking she's thinking that's how you pronounce Jose?

No, you'll receive no back pats or smooths from me.

I'm not a fan of light touches.

 I'm not a fan of someone tapping me lightly on the shoulder either. Icky, icky, icky. I will have to smooth that out with my hand once the tap is finished. Essentially, I'm wiping off tap-tap-tap residue on my shoulder. I like a firm hand placed on my shoulder or something. Or just call my name. Call it loudly, though, because I've got that lovely hearing loss thing going on.

Emily Maynard, the Bachelorette, is a smoother. You obviously know I watch the show since I wrote posts about why I'd be an awful bachelorette and why I'd also be an awful contestant on "The Bachelor". I've watched her give MANY hugs and she's smoothing backs out left and right. I'm pretty sure Emily, and other smoothers like her, think they are adding an extra dose of love to their hugs with their smoothing ways. If you give me a hug this way, I will appreciate it, but I will remember that you are a smoother. 

Smoothing distracts me. I will wonder for a while after the hug if you meant the smoothing as a "there, there" or just as an extra dose of love.

Back patters make me feel like I'm being burped. Maybe all that friendly patting takes me back to days of babyhood when I had awful gas I couldn't get rid of on my own, so my mother had to pat the heck out of my back until I felt better. Maybe I'm also remembering days back then when I didn't have gas and she was still patting away anyway. It's not like I could have said, "LADY! I'M FINE! I DON'T HAVE GAS!!"

Back patters also seem to rush the hug. I don't want to stand in an embrace forever. Don't misunderstand me. I just want a genuine let's-hug-it-out moment without all the extraneous hand motions- patting or smoothing.

As for the show-off, they're patting and smoothing and squeezing all at once, which is absolutely impressive. That person wants you to remember you've been hugged by them. If the show-off would hug just a moment longer, you might feel like you've been given a mini-massage, which, let's be honest, would be kind of nice. I bet that Chinese masseuse that got a little frisky with me that one time is a major show-off hugger.

So, let's hear it. Which one are you? 

Quick sidenote: I have a giveaway going on for a $25 Amazon gift card and 6-month trial to KidsEmail.org. Click here if you are interested in either one.

_____________________________

And now...

Anna and I were only going to do this link-up once or twice a month when we started, but we wanted to see what the response was like before we made a decision. That first week, so many of you linked up and there has been a steady flow of people sharing their funny ever since. We both seriously laugh out loud at your posts all the time and really appreciate that you make "Finding the Funny" a little part of your life!

Most Clicked Links from Last Week

#1 - I Never Wish My Kids Knew... The Mom of the Year

#2 - I Take the Pill. Shhhh... Confessions of the ID

#3 - Now she wants a Hamster? Where's the cat? ODNT

#4 - I'm Not Sexy. And I Know It. The Spin Cycle

#5 - My Top 10 Fears for the Summer The Healthy Mom

See the Favorites!

Pish Posh is sharing her FIVE favorite posts from last week's party.



Visit Pish Posh to see if you were one of her favorites!

The #1 Reason Why I Shake My Fist at the Gas Station Cashier (and an Amazon giftcard giveaway)

Share

Pin It

The #1 reason I shake my fist at the cashier doesn't have to do with money. You'll see the reason in the last picture. Before you take a look at that one, I've provided some other photos for your viewing pleasure. If you are on Instagram, you may have seen a couple of these. If you don't know what Instagram is all about, let's forget I brought it up.

You may not buy special car seats for your $1.95 bouncy balls, but we sure as heck do!! Do you know if a car suddenly stopped, a bouncy ball would fly through the air and bounce off the windshield going really fast?  STRAP THE SUCKERS UP! Okay, my 4-year-old did this and I have no clue why.

Even the egg whites have their own reality show. This is going too far.

You know you're too hooked on The Hunger Games if "Peeta" is the first word you try to arrange from these letters. If you tried to arrange "TACG" first, see a specialist.

When I saw that the dollar store was selling steaks, you know I had to take a picture of that mess. I actually did go inside, but I got sidetracked by the book graveyard before I found the steaks. I just kept thinking of the hours and hours people put into writing these books and now they're collecting dust on the dollar store bookshelves. I acutally bought the book The Rocket That Fell to the Earth: Roger Clemens and the Rage for Baseball Immortality by Jeff Pearlman. I've only read page one so far, but actually intend on reading the whole thing. We'll see...

THIS is the #1 reason... Every time I see the gasoline choices arranged this way, I slit my eyes and stare through the glass at the cashier for a good long while. They never see me, though. I know they're trying to trick me. I firmly believe that the choices should go from least to greatest, not the reverse. If they put the least amount right smack dab in the middle, I slit my eyes for a really long time and then shake my fist in the air. They never see that, either. LOOK AT ME! I'M ANGRY OVER HERE!

That's it for my photo album.

______________________________________

Before you go to make copies of my pictures to hang over your mantle, I'd like to get your opinion on something...

E-mail accounts and kids.

When should they be introduced?

My sons are 4 and 7, so I was thinking it would be a long time before I hooked them up. A couple of weeks ago, however, KidsEmail.org contacted me about their services and, shortly thereafter, my 7-year-old had an account.

He. Loves. It. He truly has had a lot of fun receiving encouraging messages from his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, his dad and me. He feels all big and grown up, I think. On top of reading the fun messages, it has allowed us to work on his writing and spelling skills.

The other awesome thing about it is that he can only receive e-mails and send e-mails to the contacts list that is set up by the parent. So, that person in Nigeria wanting to give him $1,000,000 will have to keep his wad of cash to himself. In addition to that, there are all sorts of settings you can arrange so that you can receive notifications of new e-mails your child receives, e-mails he sends out, whether or not the e-mails can receive digital images, etc. You can be as Big Brotherish as you want to be.

If you are interested in trying it out, anyone can go on-line and try it for 30 days free of charge. Once the 30 days has passed and you haven't renewed it, it drops. It doesn't just bill your card or anything like that. If you are interested in trying it out for a longer period of time for free, you can enter this giveaway for:

*6 months free access to KidsEmail.org

and a

*$25 Amazon Gift Card.

If this is something you would like to try out, sign up with Rafflecopter below!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

My Unofficial Vacation Guide for...Cut-and-Shoot, Texas

Share

Pin It

Where the men are tough, the horses are swift, and the women are soft and
where we take a bath every Saturday night whether we need one or not! 
Source

In December 2011, I had the intention of spotlighting some cities that don't get much tourism love. My first city to highlight was Compton, California. For one reason 'tother (I'm getting in a hickish mood right about nah), I stopped with that one. I would love to sing the praises of other cities, so please send on your suggestions.
The city I am going to highlight today is one in my neck of the woods: Cut-and-Shoot, Texas.

Cut-and-Shoot, Texas.

You read it right.

I am not from there. I was born in Houston, went to college in Austin, moved back to Houston and now live in a suburb of Houston.  I don't live in Cut-and-Shoot.

But, it ain't too far, folks.

Source

So, if you ever do decide to venture on out to Cut-and-Shoot, do be sure to take our little handy vacation guide with you.  Here are some things you will want to know:

HISTORY OF THE NAME: Legend has it that three different churches, two different Baptist churches and a Methodist church, built a "Community House" where all denominations could preach, except Mormons and Apostolics. When Preacher Stamps, a man of Apostolic persuasion, came into town, the townspeople who supported him wanted him to preach at the Community House. Preacher Stamps, a man known for his saloon-loving and dancing ways, was not very respected by some. So, basically, two groups formed- those in support of using the House for all denominations and those who wanted it closed to the Apostolics. Basically, a fight broke out over it and, although no cutting and shooting actually happened, an 8-year-old was heard to say, "I'm going to cut around the corner and shoot through the bushes in a minute!" That line was told over and over again in the retelling of that day and "Cut-and-Shoot" eventually became the town name. In all honesty, is there a more peaceful-sounding or pleasant name for a place?  I think not. For more information, go here.

STATS: As of the census of 2000, there are 1,158 people residing in the town. Given that there has been 12 years since that census, let's go crazy and say there are 2,000 people now. An official stats guide on-line told me that of those 1,158 people back then, 0.00% were Pacific Islander. I'm going to go really crazy and say that that number is more like 0.01% now. It's a very diverse place.

PLACES TO STAY IN THE TOWN ITSELF: Nowhere. There are no hotels in Cut-and-Shoot, son. You are going to have to make your way back up the road to the highway and find one there. Bet you can find a Comfort Inn real quick.

THINGS TO DO:

#1: Celebrity Home Tours- There's only one celebrity from the town and it's Roy "Cut and Shoot" Harris, a retired heavyweight boxer. He's 78 years old now and has six kids. It's unclear if he still resides here, so the celebrity home tour will just be you walking around asking people, "Hey, you happen to know where Roy 'Cut and Shoot' Harris lives?" Make sure to wear good shoes. Oh, and just so you know who you are looking for...

THEN
(Source)

NOW
Source

#2: A City Hall visit- We don't mean go outside, so don't get all giddy. Just stand in the parking lot, take a picture in front of City Hall and slap it inside your Christmas card in December.

Source

#3 Go wild boar hunting: In 2009, a medical Radiology worker (??) shot an 1800 POUND WILD BOAR NEAR CUT-AND-SHOOT, TEXAS. Here's the proof:

You got me. That's an urban legend. It turns out that this wild boar is actually 700+ pounds and was not shot near Cut-and-Shoot, like the urban legend claimed, but it was shot in Turkey instead. It's still a real hog, though, and it's still dang huge. I can promise you there are some large wild hogs running around Cut-and-Shoot, so if huntin' is your thang, get to cuttin' and shootin' while you're visiting.

PLACES TO EAT: You've got three choices: A) Go to Leija's Mexican Food Restaurant (the only actual restaurant in Cut-and-Shoot that I could find), B) Walk inside the Shamrock pictured below and get you a bag of pork rinds and a Big Red or C) Get out your bow and arruh (I promise you that's how it's pronounced in Cut-and-Shoot) and start hog hunting (see #3 above).

Source

I don't really know why you are still reading. I figured you'd be making arrangements to get your fanny into this town right away. (Fanny. Learn it. People like to use that word in Cut-and-Shoot, too, I promise ye.)

E.T., the Orangutan and My Son

Share

Pin It

Source

As I wash dishes and stare at the rice I burnt on the bottom of my silver pot, I hear sniffles. I look over and see my first grader with a deep frown on his face as he watches the IMAX movie, Born to be Wild. This movie is narrated by Morgan Freeman and is about orphaned elephants and orangutans in Kenya and Borneo, respectively. I started to watch it with him at the beginning, but then got up to make dinner.

He senses me.

He turns away and buries his face in the pillow.

He's crying. And hiding it.

He dries his tears, regains his composure and tries to watch the show again hoping I don't notice.

I say nothing.

Not yet.

I know he's not ready to talk.


I recognize this scene very well. A couple of years ago he watched some of Where The Wild Things Are. In certain parts,his face was sad. His shoulders drooped. After the movie ended, I couldn't find him. Moments later, there he was.

Bawling. Quietly.

Not wanting to be found.

Hiding the fact that his heart had been stomped on by a movie.

The monsters were sad Max had to leave.

My son was even sadder.

E.T. was the same thing. He could barely stand to see Elliott send E.T. away. The pain Elliot felt and the pain E.T. felt were magnified within my son's chest many times over. After the movie, I couldn't find him.

But then I did.

Sobbing. Silently.

Not wanting to be found.

It was real to him. His emotions were intense but he felt like he needed to shield them from me. This isn't always the case with him. I have, of course, seen him laugh and cry many, many times. I have seen him cry over injustices he feels he has received or physical pain or being sad about something he loves breaking to pieces.

I guess the broken heart cry is different. It's more raw. It's a deeper pain.

The cry that happens when your heart breaks for someone else is different.

When I see that his demeanor has changed, I feel like it is the right time to ask him about his feelings. It may not be that way with all children, or all people, but it's that way with my little dude. So, I asked him, "Did something sad happen in that movie Born to be Wild?"

I thought an orangutan had died.

He begins to tell me about the "orangu-" but he chokes up and tells me I need to watch it for myself later.  "The whole thing."

Wanting to be comforted, however, he tries again and is able to get out the words, "they had to drop him off in the jungle all by himself." No tears flowed out of his eyes, but his lips quivered. Quivered and stopped. At the tender age of 7, he is trying to be strong, though no one has said he couldn't let the tears flow. No one has told him crying was bad. No one in our family has said, "Boys don't cry."

In each movie, E.T., Born To Be Wild and Where The Whild Things Are, a character is leaving a place where they are loved and cared about for another place. A place the other characters know nothing about. Maybe this is where his tears come from- the fear of leaving people he loves and setting off all by himself.

The fear of being alone in a big world.

For as long as I possibly can, I will wrap my arms around him to remind him that he is not.