RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! WE ARE BEING ATTACKED BY GIANT ANTS!!!!

OK, so I had a totally different idea for this post.  And I'm bummed because I needed to take a picture of something, and now I can't find it to take a picture of it.  And this first picture was just going to be, like, a little bitty blurb, but now I have to turn it into a whole post.  So wish me luck, right?


This morning was crazy because we had someone coming to our house for an appointment, and Joshua and Jamey both slept late, so neither of them were dressed when the dude showed up.  And that's really not all that important, but of course, because I am now having to turn a blurb into a whole post I'm filling up space with insignificant verbiage.  Deal with it.


And so I ran to the dryer because, of course, I couldn't find any pants for Joshua to wear.  So see?  It's at least a little significant.  Anyway, I run to the dryer, open it up and scream my head off.  Because THIS is what I see when I open the dryer door:

Holy CRAP, right?!?!?!?!


And I'm not saying, "Holy crap look at that dirty rag there".  It is clean.  I scrubbed my floors with tea.  But that's another story. . .and so of course I'm not saying holy crap to the rag,  It was the GIANT ANT!!!!  


And then before I could bolt out of the house yelling hysterically and it all coming out almost incoherently to anyone listening (which, let's be honest here, that would probably be, um, NO ONE...) about how we are moving right this very moment because our house is being taken over by giant ants, I remembered that the giant ant is, of course, plastic.  And that I had Mr. Ant in my back pocket last week when I did music at the preschool and the "friend" I brought to do music with me was an anteater named "Artie the Anteater" and I wanted to give "Artie" a snack, and what better to give him then a giant plastic ant?


And so all that to really just say a giant WHEW.  IT'S FAKE.  We can live in our house still.


This brings me to the whole point of this ridiculous post.  I scare myself all the time.  I don't know why.  But I do.  I will be in the house, and I know that other people live here too (including all the other voices in my head, but again, that's a post for another time), and one of them comes walking in, and I jump and give a little scream.  You know.  Because I'm sure my little boy is a thief about to steal our valuables.  Oh wait.  We have no valuables.  So see?  There really is no reason to be scared.  But I usually am.


One other example is when I was in the regular working world and I worked from one of those totally depressing lovely cubicles (why DO they only come in "ugly beige" or, even better the "oh my goodness I want to kill myself blue" color???).  Keeping in mind that these cubicles are TOTALLY OUT IN THE OPEN, and you can hear anyone coming, I would constantly hear someone coming around the corner, and guess what happened?  Uh huh.  Scare myself to death.  It's a wonder I haven't had a heart attack.  One guy would even warn me. He'd start talking and say, "Hey Carolyn, it's just me Tom,"  and then like Pavlov's dogs, he'd come into view at the entrance of my cubicle, and I'd get startled and gasp and complain that he'd scared me.  


I think there must be a solution to this.  I know what some people would say.  In a word?  Xanax.  


Husband?  He'd probably say, "Commit her".


Joshua?  He'd say, "Mommy, you're weird."


Quincy, our disgusting slobbery vile mongrel?  He'd say, "Who's Quincy?"


Does anybody else do this, or is it just me?  Um.  Don't answer that.


Happy Day, folks!

I Have No Idea What To Title This As. Just Read It. Then Make Suggestions. Thx.

This is a short, but rather necessary post.

I discovered, a while back, a lovely little feature on my blog site that I can look to see how people came to find my blog.  So for instance, if you were doing a search on "family blogs", you might see mine pop up along with 80 million other blogs.  If you click on my blog, it will take you to my blog, and then your key word search will also show up in my blog.  Make sense?  Maybe not, but I'm not going to try to explain it further because I'm just lazy that way getting ready to go get my kid off the school bus in just a little while.

I've had an increase in traffic (Yay!  And thank you!), and so I was curious about how people were finding me.  And I noticed a couple of, um. . .unusual searches people were doing to get to my blog.

There were two for "ransom notes".  Right.  So I know how people came to my blog site.  It was about the time that someone had stolen my mojo.  Remember that?  Right.  OK, but that is not the important question.  The question that begs to be asked (and answered) is:  why are people searching out "ransom notes"?  Are they wanting to draft one for some evil purpose?  Good grief, I surely hope not.  So if you were one of the ones researching ransom notes - SHAME ON YOU.  Unless it was for a gag.  Then - WAY TO GO!!!!

Then I also noticed one for "ransom note letters".  I am guessing that one of the two people looking for "ransom notes" didn't feel satisfied enough and had to go back and search for that.  And obviously, they are not all that intelligent, because they forgot they'd already clicked on my blog once, right?  (And if you are that person, and your ransom note is for evil purposes, I'm REALLY sorry I just said that.  Really.)

And then I can do nothing else but assume that yet another person who is related to the person who was doing the searches for "ransom notes" and "ransom note letters" did the next search.  It was:

WITTY CHRISTMAS WISHES FOR A PERSON IN JAIL

*******

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!  Happy Day folks!

New Year's Resolutions from 2011 - This Is Precisely Why I'm Not Doing 2012 Resolutions

Yep.  So I made a big list of resolutions for 2011.  I also kept track of the dates of when I broke the resolutions so I could see how many I kept.  I think the record speaks for itself when I say that I should never try to do any New Year's Resolutions.  Ever.


New Year's Resolutions (I Am SOOO Good At Keeping These)

I, Carolyn, will now make my resolutions for the year 2011. . .


I resolve -


to go to the doctor when I'm sick. Broken 1/18/11


to be nice to Quincy and not call him a vile filthy mongrel anymore, even though he is. Broken 1/1/11


to always remember to write thank you notes as well as to always respond promptly to party invitations. Broken 5/2/11


to completely organize my entire house. I will have a place for everything. I will always remember to put things back exactly where they are. To further that effort, I resolve


to get one of those little label maker thingies. (I've always secretly wanted one, but I really just look at it as a toy.) Broken 12/31/11 (Never did get one even though I had a whole year?  SAD.)
to cut carbs completely out of my diet. Broken 1/1/11


to go to the gym five days a week. Broken 1/7/11


to pay attention to all the latest fashion trends and start buying stylish clothes. I will stop wearing my Doc Martins because they are out of style. I will also stop wearing birth control outfits. You know what I'm talking about? I have one on today. But no more! Broken 1/3/11


to purchase a lovely designer handbag. (grrrrrrrr) KEPT IT!

to write a best selling book and have it published within the year. Broken 12/31/11 :(
to always prepare and serve my family a nutritious meal made with a loving and gentle heart. And to stop serving them breakfast for dinner once a week because it's cheap and easy. Broken 1/7/11


to always share my chocolate, my ice cream, and any other treat I get with my son and stop hoarding all the good stuff. Broken 1/2/11


to always admit to him when his MiMi and PaPa sent him that chocolate, or that cake, or that cookie and not pretend that they gave it to me. Broken 1/19/11 Don't. Judge. Me.
to not get the stomach flu even though I have a four year old who will almost certainly bring it home with him from preschool. MIRACULOUSLY KEPT IT. (Might have to keep this one after all.  Maybe that was what kept me from getting it???)
to never second guess my husband and not try to tell him how to handle our son. Broken 1/2/11


to get up every morning as soon as my son calls out and always let my husband sleep in instead of pretending I can't hear said son calling out. Broken 1/1/11 (but in my defense I was trying to wake up with a dose of Nyquil in me)

to always let my husband have the pick of what we watch on TV. Broken 1/2/11 (We started to watch Polar Express with Jman who was scared of it, and I wanted to finish watching it. Then I made him watch the end of Enchanted. HA HA HA HA!!)


to wear my tiara everywhere and only be addressed as Her Royal Highness, Princess Carolyn. If you do not address me as such, I will not answer. (Sigh. I wish I could make that one be true.) Broken 1/1/11. Sigh.


to remember not to look like an idiot when running races this year. I will have long hair, pulled back in a chic pony tail, and I will smile serenely at any Brightroom photographer I pass this year. Broken 11/12/11 See here for proof.
to learn how to decorate my home so that it no longer looks like we live in a nursing home. Broken 12/31/11  It's as bad as my BC outfits. . .
to dust the house at least twice this year. Broken 12/31/11 In my defense, dusting is BORING.
to stop looking at the vacuum cleaner as though I think it must be some kind of home improvement tool and make my husband use it because I don't understand how it works. Broken 1/2/11

to not have my son sit in front of the TV all day for a whole week so that mommy can work on the computer when I am really writing my book. (oopsie.) Broken 4/11/11


to keep up with the laundry in almost an OCD fashion instead of letting it pile up so high that we have to have a jammie day in the middle of the week. Because I now know it is embarrassing for my husband and son to show up at work and school that way. Broken 1/15/11



So let's see.  I had a total of 23 resolutions.  Aaaaaaannnnnnd, I kept - 2.  OK then. 


Happy Day, folks!

Thank Goodness My Husband Doesn't Read My Blog. . .

You know, it used to kind of offend me that my husband wasn't all that interested in reading my blog.  I'd be all like, "WHY doesn't he take an interest in this?  I LIKE this, and it's about ME, and shouldn't he be INTERESTED in ME and WHAT I LIKE?!?!?!?"

But. . .

1.  He is interested and reads it whenever he can.  However, he is usually tied up in actually working crazy amounts to try and provide for us so that I can stay home and be here for our son.  And that means much more to me than him reading my blog.  Plus, it's really me.  I can't help it if I find it offensive that he his not hitting his refresh button every 30 seconds to see if I've written anything else.  Also -

2.  Now I realize that I can totally confess stuff on here and he'll never know!  Unless one of my followers who know both of us told him about the stuff I confess.  But you wouldn't do that to me.  Right?  (I so hope all of you are nodding in agreement right now, cos here goes. . .)

I took our dishwasher apart today.

Uh-huh.  I surely did. 

So we moved into this house almost 4 years ago (sidebar - WOW!  Time flies!)  And the dishwasher has never really washed dishes all that well.  And it just got worse the longer we lived here.  Occasionally, I'd ask my very handy husband if he could take a look at it. 

OK, hold on a second.

Disclaimer time - Lest you all think what he's about to respond with is mean and how he must be a real jerk, I must say, that he's totally not.  He's a pretty great guy.  I would also bet that almost every husband who has a wife and a dishwasher would say the same thing. 

OK, back to the story.

So my handy husband would respond, "Well I'll make a deal with you.  You stop putting the dishes in without rinsing them, and I'll look at the dishwasher."  At which point I'd get irritated because I DO rinse the dishes if they are gross.  I don't put them on with lots of food on them.  But yes, occasionally, they might not be totally rinsed off.  However, what person cleans their dishes to put them in the dishwasher?  (If you do, please refrain from commenting on this blog post.  Because, 1.  You will totally throw me under the bus with my husband.  And 2.  There is something completely wrong with you and I will call the police and have you arrested for stalking.  Or OCD behavior.  Or something. . .)

So this same conversation would take place every couple of months. 

And yesterday was my breaking point.

Because I could see the gunk all built up in the bottom of the dishwasher.  In the part that you have to take apart to get to.  And I knew that was abnormal.  It looked totally gross.  I would have taken a picture for all of you to see, but I didn't want you to be disgusted by the picture and never visit my blog again.

So this morning, shortly after my lovely husband left for work, I tried running a short cycle with vinegar and baking soda to get it all cleaned out.  No dice.  Nope.  It was going to have to come apart.

So I went online and found a wonderful website that showed me how to take it apart.  I would tell you what it was, but I've already deleted it out of history so Jamey won't know what I was up to while he was at work.  Oopsie.  Did I just admit that?

Yep, so anyway, I proceeded to dismantle my entire dishwasher.  And when I got the last screw off that held the filter top thingie in place. . .well let's just say I didn't feel so good.  It was so gross.  And I started cleaning it out and that's when I knew that the people who lived here before me?  They NEVER scraped their dishes.  Not ONCE.  And in fact, they liked to just put EVERYTHING in the dishwasher.  Because I found glass.  I found stickers.  I found pins.  And the "piece de resistance" (please say that with a French accent)?  CHICKEN BONES.  WHOLE CHICKEN BONES.  And THAT, my friends,  is NOT normal.

So I got it allllllll, cleaned out, including sucking out the water that stayed standing in the bottom of it because it was so clogged up with CRAP.  I had to get that out with a turkey baster.  Uh huh.  It took forEVER.

But I just ran another cycle of dishes through and guess what?  MUCH better.

I'm so proud of myself! 

Unless it breaks.  And then, I don't know how that happened.  And if Jamey finds this post and it breaks?  Then someone hacked my blog and wrote this. 

And again - I have an AWESOME husband.  (That part, I TOTALLY wrote.)

Happy Day folks!

PS - I suppose it also doesn't help that I talked about this on Facebook. 

PPS - What if those weren't chicken bones after all? 

Well Holy Crap. . .I Actually Made - A CRAFT!

Every year Joshua wants me to re-create the same construction paper/cotton ball Santa's beard advent calendar that he had when he was in the one-year old class at his preschool.  Yes.  You heard me correctly.  The ONE-YEAR OLD CLASS (How does he remember this stuff?!?!?!  Seriously!!!)

And every year I remake it as best I can.  And it's kind of a pain, really, but he so looks forward to having it that I can't say no.  I'm such a sucker. 

So as he reminded me the other day, it's getting close time to make the calendar.  And I got to thinking, wouldn't it be nice if I could make just ONE more, and then use it year after year?  (Except that now that I've actually made one that will be reusable year after year, he's going to say he's too big for it.  And then I will ask Santa to put coal and switches in his stocking cry a lot and tell him how I sustained third degree burns from using the hot glue gun and we are putting it up anyway, and by gosh he WILL like it smile serenely and put it in my bedroom and do it myself.)

Wow.  OK, so back to my spectacular craftiness.  Which isn't really all that spectacular, but it was the best I could do.  If someone actually thinks it's a good idea, I'm sure they'll copycat it, make it totally super cute, post a picture somewhere and then theirs instead of mine will be pinned like 90 million times.  And I'll only be completely a little bitter.

So I headed to the craft store and looked around.  I used felt, but now I wonder if that foamy board stuff might have worked a bit better.  Take that for what it's worth.  I took pictures of how I basically made it, but since I don't normally "craft", I am missing a bunch of steps and I left all kinds of stuff out.  But it's not rocket science, folks.  I made it.

So the first thing you want to do is buy your supplies.  Here's my picture:

The supply list is:

Felt -

1 Red
1 White
1 Pink
2 Green - One of these was a "stiffer" felt.

Some sort of "wire"ribbon
Hot glue gun
Puffy Paint in black and red
Those little puff thingies  (100 count white ones - not too big, not too little.)
Velcro - (I bought squares of them and cut them to the size I needed.)
Stapler
Hole Punch
Black fine tip magic marker

I think that's it.  As you can tell by my descriptions of things, I definitely lack a craft gene.  It really is a miracle I made this at all.

OK.  So I used the "stiff" green felt for the backing.  Then I cut out a piece of red felt and glued it to the backing like this:

Then I cut out a pink piece shaped like this for the face and glued it on:

Then I cut out a white piece for his beard and glued it on top of the pink:

Then I cut out a little red mouth and a hat shape, as well as a pink nose and glued those on:

After that, I started gluing on the white puffy things.  I glued on enough for his hat trim, his hair, his mustache and the start of the beard:

Then I took the Velcro and trimmed them into small pieces.  Twenty-four to be exact.  I took the rough piece and stuck it to 24 of the puffy things:

Then I placed them on the rest of the beard and spaced them so I'd have the placement nice for the rest of the beard.  I'd pick one up and stick the soft side of the Velcro to the white felt:

After that was done, I took my fine tip magic marker and wrote out all the numbers:

I took my second piece of felt and cut a strip about 3 inches wide and stapled it to the top, leaving a gap so that it made a sleeve where I could slide a dowel rod (or something else) through.    I hot glued the top pieces together.  I made little ribbons out of the wire ribbon and glued them on top of the staples.  I'd have taken pictures of all this part, but I got too lazy I forgot.

Then I decided I needed a pocket to hold all the little puffy things till we were ready to use them.  I took the rest of the felt and folded it in half and stapled the sides shut.  And then I hot glued puffy things along the sides to hide the staples:

I made black puffy paint eyes, and I puffy painted "Christmas Countdown!" on the pocket.

I then slid the dowel through and wrapped it with the wire ribbon to make the hanger.

Then, with my hole punch I punched holes in the top sides of the pockets and at the bottom of the calendar.  I took my wire ribbon and strung it through so that the pocket is now hanging down from the bottom of the calendar.  And here is the finished product!

The one thing I regret is not having Joshua help me.  I wished I had, because it would have made it more special.  But frankly, I had no idea what I was doing.  'Nuff said on that.

Also, if you are someone reading this who has a craft product and you want me to test it out, I will forwarn you.  I am NOT crafty.  And you may regret asking me to try your product.  Just sayin'.

And one more thing.  I know I did not do a great job at explaining the steps here, and I more than likely (well no.  I'm sure I did) left a bunch of steps out.  So if you have questions, feel free to ask.  Unless you think it's ugly, in which case you are not nice to make fun of craft challenged people like me and you should really kiss my ass be ashamed of yourself for making fun of a normally uncrafty gal who's trying to make her little boy happy.

Happy Day, folks!

I Have NO WillPower. Please Help Me!

So if you remember, I have been training for a marathon, right?  Training has gone really well, and I'm on the cusp of my last super long run before the actual race.  It's a 20 miler on Saturday.
In light of training for a marathon, I decided it was also time to shed a few pounds.  I'd gotten away with eating what I wanted for a long time without worrying about it, but when we got back from Disney World and I looked at the pictures of myself, I just thought. . .well, frankly I just thought.  EW.  That's gross.  And doughy looking. 

So I started watching what I ate and stuff and I'm excited because I have managed to lose a bit of weight.  Cool, right?  It is really cool.  I've been feeling much better.

And then, with one little Facebook post, my entire world changed.  And I'm in danger.  SERIOUS danger.

Because of THESE:

Yes, these naughty LIMITED EDITION PUMPKIN PIE POPTARTS. 

I first heard of them last year.  However, I thought they were a myth.  I never saw them in the grocery store.  So I figured I had heard wrong, and went about my happy life. 

Then this year, I heard about them again.  From a post on Facebook.  Surely that was still just a myth, right?  A fable?  And all of a sudden, I was scared.  I had to go to the grocery store the very next day.  So I said a little prayer to God asking him to not have them in my store.  And bless me he did, for when I went the next day, they were not there!  I was SAVED!  And I said as much on Facebook.

And then my "friend", Jana, had to go and tell me that if I had, in fact, TURNED AROUND and looked across from where the regular poptart selection is, they had a WHOLE SECTION DEDICATED TO LIMITED EDITION HOLIDAY POPTARTS.

OH.  MY.  GOD.

It is unfair.

I tried to resist.  I didn't go back to the store.

Until today.  And I had to do it.  I couldn't help it.  I walked down the aisle where the poptarts were, and I swear I tried to avoid making eye contact.  I really did.  I looked to my left the whole time where the regular poptarts resided.  But then it happened.  I turned to my right.  AND THERE THEY WERE. 

I tried to justify it, and say they were for my little boy.  But I am not fooling anyone.  And now they are at home.  And we are locked in a brutal, take no prisoner style staring contest.  Me and the Poptart box.  And I think I'm losing.

See?

I swear I don't know how the box got open.  I think maybe Quincy developed opposable thumbs while I wasn't looking.  And somehow, a package of the poptarts fell out onto the table.  And now they are playing the staring game with me. . .

Uh oh.  Losing again.

Oh gosh.  Did that bag just open by itself?  I think the box of poptarts is haunted.

I'm just going to smell one.

Yep.  Smells good.  Had to bite my lip to try not to take a bite.

No.  I'm not going to do this.

See?  I'm keeping my lips shut tight!  NO WAY.  I'M NOT CAVING.

OK.  Maybe a teeeeeeeny bite. 

See how little a bite that is?

Setting it down.  Let the staredown begin again.  I'm TOTALLY going to win this.

Sigh.  It won. 

Happy Doughy Day, Folks!

PS - In case you were wondering, from the moment the box came into the house to that last picture was a duration of 37.2 seconds.  Yup.  37.2 seconds. . .

PPS - In order to protect the guilty innocent, I will not be posting a picture of how many packages are left in the poptart box after 37.2 seconds.

Let's Face It - The Following Website is *Brilliant*...

Why, you ask?


Let me show you some of their products.


I need one of these:


Totally Awesome Water Bottle


I need one because it is absolutely the truth.

I also want one of these:


Even Better Coffee Mug


Or seven.  Because there are seven days in a week, after all. . .


And then I noticed they were having a sale on these:

These are really lovely mugs

You get six of these.  So I don't know what I'd do on the seventh day.  Maybe drink from this:

Truth Mug

Because we all know it's the truth.

I would get this one, but I have a five year old getting ready to start Kindergarten and he will be learning how to read. 

"Why Does He Have to be Learning to Read?" Mug


If he were younger, I'd totally have it.  Then I'd put it away till he became a teenager, because then I know he'll be using the word himself.  But not around me, because I'll be royally peeved if he says it around me.


And in case you wonder, no, I am not getting paid to advertise for these guys.  Though I wish I could get paid for it.

I loved the mugs so much, that I then went to look at their t-shirts and hoodies.  I was afraid they would disappoint me.  They did not.


I TOTALLY want one of these:


BEST. T-shirt.


And love this one too:


So True T-shirt

And this is a must have, even though it is a men's shirt:


My "I can't wait for the new muppet movie coming out" T-shirt


My grandmother should have had this T-shirt:


Sorry mom, for the language, but you know it's true T-shirt

I could go on and on.  But I won't.  I will say, I laughed harder at this site than I have in a long time.  I don't even know what "The Onion Store" is all about.  But they are just plain funny to me.


Enjoy shopping.  I know I will!


Happy day folks!


PS - My birthday is mid-September.  So if you are looking for gift ideas, look no further.

Oopsie - It's Been a While. And Have You Ever Heard of an Exploding Turkey Burger?

Sorry that I deserted you all.  This summer has been particularly busy for some reason.  Either that or I've been exceptionally lazy.  That is probably the more likely answer.

And so since it's been very busy (because of course that option sounds much better), you'd think I have a lot to write about, right?

Not really.

But something did happen last night.  My husband's turkey burger exploded.

Let me explain.

I decided to try a new recipe last night.  It was called Mozzarella-Stuffed Italian Turkey Burgers.  Essentially, you take some ground turkey, add stuff to it, and then form 8 very thin patties.  Then you take four of the patties and lay a slice of mozzarella cheese on it.  Then you take the other patty and "seal" it so that the mozzarella cheese doesn't leak out.  Broil or grill them and enjoy, right?

So I follow the directions and make the burgers, and I must say, by the time they were broiling in the oven, I was quite pleased with myself.  Because they were smelling pretty darn tasty.  And Jamey gets home from work and, as he's changing, he asks what is for dinner.  I tell him, and then have to explain why it's not ready because these burgers take a little longer to prepare and blah blah blah.

I finally finish up the rest of dinner, and I get his burger onto a bun (I ate mine sans bun), and set it on the table.

I turn to finish getting my plate together and I hear. . .

Well I won't say what I heard.  Because let's face it.  It wasn't very pretty.

And I turn around, and Jamey is wiping at his face and his arm and his shirt, and I was like "What's WRONG?"

And I look on his plate, and it looked like the burger had an accident of some sort.

And so he's all yelling, like, "THE BURGER EXPLODED!"

And I don't want to be outdone in the yelling department, so I'm all like, "WHAT?!?!?!"

And he yells louder, "THE BURGER EXPLODED AND I GOT TURKEY JUICE ALL OVER ME AND IT'S HOT AS (you know what) AND IT HURT!!!!!"

(I decide at this point that it would be in my best interest not to yell back anymore.) I put on my sweet, concerned voice and say, "Are you OK?"

And he looks at me, and says, "This meal is NOT off to a good start."

Like it's my fault.  Really?

How the heck was I supposed to know that a turkey burger stuffed with cheese would explode when you took the first bite?  Besides, mine didn't.  Of course, that's because I was eating it with no bun, and cut into it VERY carefully after seeing the carnage on Jamey's plate.

So your lesson of the day is:  If someone else made you a burger, always ask if the burgers are stuffed with cheese.  Because if they are, they might explode.

Aren't you glad you know that now?

Happy day folks!

Old Rags and Tailors - Normal or Not Normal? THAT is the Question...

So a few days ago, I was texting back and forth with my friend Brenna.  Which is sort of funny, because she lives right down the street from me and we were both home, but I suppose it seemed like too much trouble to pick up the phone and call each other.  And why is that?  Why do people prefer texting now?  I don't get it, really, but I do the same thing as everybody else, and I don't really have a good answer for why I text over phoning.  But - I digress. 

I don't remember what the actual conversation was about.  I meant to save it, but I don't like having a bunch of extra junk on my phone, and I deleted it by accident.  And besides, you don't really have to know the whole gist of the conversation to get what it is I'm going to talk about.  Eventually.  When I get around to talking about it.  Jeez, I'm long winded today.

ANYWAY.

At the end of the conversation, Brenna mentioned something about ignoring the piles of laundry she had in her house.  (Which, of course, I think is quite smart, because who likes to do laundry when you can sit around watching movies with your kids and eat snacks all afternoon because it's a million degrees outside?  In JUNE.  The BEGINNING of JUNE.  Does not bode well.)  So she's saying she's going to ignore her laundry, and I texted her back something along the lines of this:

I don't blame you.  I am pretending my laundry is just a pile of old rags.  Because who folds up old rags anyway?

*******

I hit the send button.  And I got nothing back from her. 

And then it happened.  I had one of those thoughts.  You know the ones.

Oh my lord.  What if everybody else folds up their rags?  What if I'm not normal?  What if she's sitting down at her house thinking to herself, "I cannot believe she doesn't fold up her old rags?  I bet her linen closet is a mess!  She probably doesn't even have a label maker."  (No.  I still don't have one.  But I still have half a year.  If you remember, it was one of my resolutions.  If you are wondering, I have broken a lot of these already.  I'm going to do a mid-year update on July 1.)

I am sure everybody has feelings like this from time to time.  Or even realizations that something they do in their own home is not the "norm" to others.  (And for goodness sake, if you do not have feelings like this, please do not tell me, because it will just further the evidence that Jamey will need to put me in one of those special hospitals.  And I'll only be able to come home on occasional weekends and holidays.)

It reminds me of a Friends episode I saw.  Let's see if I can find a clip.  Be back in a few minutes. . .

I'm back!  And oh yes.  I found it.  I LOVE this.  You must watch this.  (Click on the video right now.  You will not be disappointed.)

See?  But I suppose the moral to this is that I would rather be thought of as odd for not folding up old rags than for going to a tailor like Joey's.

One more thing before I go.  I will be out of pocket the next few days, because I am going to go seeeeeeeee, my BFF!!!  I leave tomorrow to go see Yvette!  I may do another interview with her, like we did when she was here last.  Because that was fun and entertaining.  For us.  I had to clarify that in case you didn't think it was fun and entertaining. 

Happy day folks!

I Beg For an Explanation to These Two Questions

Why in the world do they have scented dishwasher detergent?

Seriously.  I want to know. 

Because it makes no sense. 

Have you ever once been running your dishwasher and thought to yourself, "My how I love the lemon scent emenating from my dishwasher?"  Or better yet, have you ever pulled out a newly cleaned dish and put it up to your nose, inhaling deeply, and said, "Aaaahhh, so lovely.  My dishes smell like they've just been plucked out of an orange grove!"

If you said yes to either of these, I'm sorry, but I think you are totally lying.  And I must (sorry mom) call bullshit.

I also beg for an explanation for this statement:

One word. . .

HUH?

Happy day folks!

Some Tips for Our Friends Who Like to Send Email Scams

SO very sorry it has been so long, my friends! But you see, my family and I, well we had to visit a certain. . .mouse. 

In Florida. 

He has a girlfriend.  And some duck friends.  And he has a dog.  And another weird friend that I think is a dog, but I'm not altogether sure, to be honest.

We had a great time!  We got back and then it was on to try to get things ready for my son's birthday party.  He turned FIVE, at Disney World. (sob!)  And his party is today.  So things have been crazy.  I have sat down to write a post several times, but just have been too busy to get very far.

I checked all my emails when we got back and I had a billion.  Including lots of the example below.  Hope you enjoy it!

This is a typical email I get on an almost daily basis.  See my thoughts below the email. 

******

Hello Dear,

Greeting to your family YOUR ATM VISA CARD IS READY

I have been waiting for you since to contact me regarding you winning amount of $2,000,000.00 (Two Million United State Dollars) loaded on your ATM visa card which we discussed. We are duly interred switched. Therefore you can make withdrawal in any location of ATM Machine Center Cash point of your choice in any part of the world and the maximum you can withdraw a day is $2,000 us dollars in your country currency, but I did not hear from you since that time. Then I went and deposited the package ATM CARD with Express Courier company, Accra, Ghana as I traveled out of the country for a short Course and I will not come back till end of first quarter of the year 2011.What you have to do now is to contact the Express Courier Security company as soon as possible to know when they will deliver your package to you because of the expiring date.

For your information, I have paid for the Clearance Certificate Fee neither of the ATM CARD showing that it is not a drug Money nor to sponsor Terrorist attack in your Country. The only money you will pay to the Courier Company to deliver your ATM CARD direct to your postal Address in your country is ($55) only being their Security Keeping Fees of the Courier Company so far.

Again, Don't be deceive by anybody to pay any other money except $55 I would have paid that but they said no, because they don't know when you will contact them and in case of demurrage. You have to contact the Express Courier Company manager for the delivery of your ATM CARD package with this information bellow immediately.

HERE IS THE COURIER COMPANY INFORMATION'S.

COURIER NAME: EXPRESS COURIER COMPANY LTD

CONTACT PERSON: DR. JAMES KOJO GOODMAN.

POSITION: FOREIGN DELIVERY DEPARTMENT.

E-MAIL: blahblahblah

Tel: + 233-241-927-182.

Finally make sure that you reconfirm your full name, your Postal address or your home address and direct telephone number to them again to avoid any mistake on the Delivery and ask them to give you the tracking number to enable you track your package over there and know when it will get to your address. Let me repeat again, try to contact them as soon as you receive this massage to avoid any further delay and remember you are to pay them their Security keeping fees of $55 ONLY for their immediate action.

As a matter of facts, make sure as the rightful beneficiary of the ATM CARD package of $2,000,000.00 (Two Million United State Dollars) you must contact them by indicating the code (2661428) so that they can find it and pick up immediately as they have it in their record.

Yours sincerely

Dr. Josephine A. Baidoo

Acting Manager of International commercial Bank Limited, Ghana (I.C.B.)

*******

Um.  Really?

Do they think I'm really that stupid?  I was only going to post those two little words.  But I can't. 

I must point out just a few things.

First.  They really should get someone who can use proper grammar to write their letters.  Because if I'm getting some mail from a bank, I would at least expect it to have good grammar.  I mean, really?  Really?

Second. (And I'm really dating myself here. . .) I personally really think they should have had the contact person be Kaja Googoo.  Just sayin'.  If you don't know what I'm talking about you are either too old, and so hahaha. . .or you are too young.  In which case I don't like you anymore.  But I mean, if you are going to try and scam someone, at least do some stuff to make it more fun for yourselves.

Third.  I actually really like how they call me "dear".  Wasn't that sweet of them?  I wonder if they thought if they put that in there that it would give me such a case of the warm fuzzies that I'd say, "Oh, you know, I totally know this is a scam, but what the heck?  I'm going to send them $55 out of the goodness of my very own, now warm and fuzzy, heart.  Yessiree. . ."

Fourth.  I also totally like how they are trying to warn me not to be deceived against any other scammers.  SO nice of them.  Isn't it?

Fifth.  I like this new word - demurrage.  For a minute, I thought they made it up.  Is that like demure damage?  The damage to my new ATM card is shy.  But no, my friends, it is an actual word.  So see?  Our scammers are providing us a new vocabulary word.  So we should all say thank you.  Demurrage, according to Wikipedia, means:

A cost associated with owning or holding currency over a given period of time. It is sometimes referred to as a carrying cost of money.

(BTW - If you already knew the meaning of the word, then I also don't like you anymore.  Because you are smart.  And that leads me to another question.  WHY are you reading this blog?)

Sixth.  And final.  I don't know why, but I find it amusing that this guy is an Acting Manager.  AND a DOCTOR.  So maybe it is true, and he shouldn't be doing this, but since he's Acting Manager AND a DOCTOR, he can't really get into trouble, because he isn't really the guy in charge.  Maybe I'll send him his $55 and he'll send me the money.  That would be nice.

Not.

Have a great day everybody!



My Apparent Issue With Balls

Yep.  I have some problems with balls.  It all started in high school.  With my gym teacher. 

Yes.  You read that correctly.

Now please remove your mind from the gutter and read below.

Two Ball Stories

Story One

So my last year of gym we had a semester of tennis, and a semester of archery.  Tennis was first, and I couldn't wait.  I loved watching tennis on TV, and I never really had the chance to actually learn how to play.  And now we were going to have an entire semester of it, and wasn't that going to be so exciting?

I already knew that I was going to be so very good, that I had planned on going and buying several new tennis outfits with those cute little skirts.  And I imagined myself going to Wimbledon, and all the sports commentators would talk about how I had been such a late starter, but yet here I was playing against Steffi Graf for the championship just three years after I started playing. 

I obviously had a very high opinion of my abilities to pick up new sports.  The problem was, although my heart knew I was absolutely supposed to be an overnight tennis sensation, the rest of me didn't. 

So over the first few weeks of gym class, the hour went like this. . .

1.  Get bucket of tennis balls and a racket.
2.  Look around for a partner.
3.  Wonder why no one will make eye contact with me.
4.  Tell myself it must be that they are afraid of the talent that is sure to come pouring out of me at any moment.
5.  Be paired up with someone who has some tennis talent already.  This person does not want to play against me, but the coach makes them.  I again reassure myself that they are actually afraid of what they must surely know is coming.
6.  Serve the first ball.
7.  Walk over to the net and get it.
8.  Serve the next 6 balls.  Watch as they fly over the fence.
9.  Serve another one.
10. Walk over to the net and get it.
11.  Hit the remaining bucket of balls, and then call over the coach to tell him that I have hit all my tennis balls over the fence.
12.  Watch as coach mutters something under his breath (Surely he didn't just say the "f" word, did he?), and wait patiently as he retrieves all the tennis balls he can find.  He usually comes back with one or two less than I started with.
13.  Wait for the person across the net from me to serve to me.
14.  Hit the first 7 serves over the fence.
15.  Hit the next two serves into the net. 
16.  Go and get the ball.
17.  Hit the remaining serves over the fence.
18.  Tell the coach we don't have any tennis balls left. 
19.  Repeat of step 12.

And this would repeat until the hour was over, or until the coach couldn't find any more tennis balls.  The coach spent an inordinate amount of time with me and my partner of the day (well, OK, just with me), trying to show me the way to hold the racket, how to swing, how to serve, etc etc.

By the way, I'm not kidding.  This is all true.

But I didn't care.  I was learning how to play tennis.  And I was stoked!  If, by some complete miracle, I did manage to keep one in play for a (very short) volley, I'd end up doing a celebratory dance as though I'd just scored the winning touchdown in the Superbowl.  That's how excited I'd get.  Because I was learning!  Wimbledon?  Get ready cos HERE. I. COME.

About a month into the semester of tennis, my gym teacher came up to me while I was picking out a tennis racket.  I remember being irritated because someone had already grabbed the one I had been using for a while.  And I remember that I had been planning on asking the school if I could take it to Wimbledon with me.  I kind of considered it "my" racket now.  I was just scoping out the other students to see if I could negotiate a trade of some sort when the coach came over and asked if I could step aside and chat with him a moment.  Since I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say, I smiled as humbly as I could, and said, "Oh, sure.  No problem."

I stood there and gloated as the other students grabbed rackets and tennis balls.  The coach got them all started, and then he came over to where I stood.  I smiled at him again as he came over and stood in front of me.

"Carolyn."

"Yes coach?" 

"You know you're failing, right?"

WHAT?!?!!?!?!?!

I'm FAILING?

That wasn't what he was supposed to say!!!!  How can I be failing?  I'm going to Wimbledon in three short years!  I need all the practice I can get!  This is ridiculous!

I looked at the coach.  I actually waited for him to say, "Just kidding!  Get out there and show me what you've got!"

But he didn't.

Instead, he said it again.

"Carolyn.  You know you're FAILING, right?"  And yes.  He said the failing part louder. 

"Um.  But I'm really trying."

"Oh.  I know.  Believe me.  I know you are."

"I really REALLY want to learn how to play."

"Right.  I get that."  Silent stare for a moment.  Then, "I'm going to give you a choice."

Oh?  Maybe some after school lessons?  Cool.
"You can either continue to try and learn how to play and I'll have to fail you, or you can SIT OUT THE REST OF THE SEMESTER AND I'LL GIVE YOU A 'C'."

WHAT?!?!?!!?!??!

I was dumbfounded.  I didn't know what to say.  I had never wanted to learn a sport so badly in all of my life.  It was unfair!  I'd been cheated! 

I stood there for a minute and pondered the two choices.  Then I heard:

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING NOT SITTING OUT!?!?!?"

My last Wimbledon dream went down like a flaming heap of dung as I heard the teacher say that.  I sat out the rest of the semester.  I was only allowed to get up and hit a ball if another teacher or staff person came out.  But I must admit.  The flame had gone out, and it wasn't nearly as exciting to hit those balls over the fence as it was before.

Story Two

This story is much shorter, but no less important.

When Jamey and I were dating, he played golf occasionally.  And when he knew he would be playing, Jamey would go to the driving range a few days before, buy a bucket of balls, and hit golf balls.

One time, he invited me to go.  And I was all excited because I knew, in that exact moment, that I was going to become the first female to win the Masters.  Or whatever tournament it was where you get that green blazer.  After all, I look awesome in green.

So off to the driving range we went.  I could hear all the talk in my head.  Everyone pointing and talking about how incredible it was that I could hit a golf ball so far and so straight.  Even in 40mph winds.  And with a putter!  They would say I could make the ball go wherever I wanted it to go. 

We get to the range, and Jamey buys two buckets of balls.  He hands me one of the golf clubs, and the smallest bucket.  We set up side by side.  I watch him hit a few, just to let myself get a feel for the whole thing. 

Then, I set up my first ball on the tee.  And I swing.  And I'm looking for it.  And I'm totally amazed.  I can't even SEE it!  It must be going so far, and so fast that. . .

"Carolyn?"

"Yes, Jamey?"  (Still scanning the horizon waiting for the ball to drop.)

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my ball."  (He doesn't sound amazed.  He sounds. . . perplexed?!?!?)

"Did you look down?"

"Huh?"  So I look down.  There's a ball sitting on the tee.  Weird.

"How'd that get there?"  (Back to looking for the ball I hit.  It's bound to land any minute now.)

"That's your ball.  You never hit it."

"What do you mean?"

"Your club didn't make contact with the ball."

"Oh."  Now I'm perplexed.  I look down again and think to myself that it must have been a fluke.

I hit it again.  And I immediately look down to make sure it left the tee.  But it's still there.  And I repeat this over and over again.  And this becomes my experience at the driving range.

1.  Swing the club.
2.  Look down to see that the ball is still there.
3.  Swing again.
4.  Repeat steps one through three several times.
5.  Swing the club.
6.  Look down.  The ball is not there.
7.  Look out about a foot from the tee.  There is the ball.
8.  Reach out, pick ball up, and replace on tee.

Repeat. 

I hit one ball the whole afternoon.  Jamey finished his bucket and then hit my bucket of balls (minus the one I had been using all afternoon.)

He never asked me to go back to the driving range again.

It's things like this that made me switch to blogging.

Happy day everyone!

Oopsie! I Made a Mistake and I NEED Some Suggestions!

Yes.  I made a mistake.  And I thought I'd share it with you all.  Because I'm nice that way and want to make you all feel better about yourselves.

My mother has a lovely little saying that I'd like to think is true about myself.  But it isn't.  But it might be for my mother.  Her saying goes like this:  Once I thought I made a mistake. But - I was wrong.

So here is my mistake of the moment.  Because I make LOTS of mistakes. 

See, I was looking on HGTV.com this afternoon because I was "watching" a show while I was on the treadmill at the gym today.  But I wasn't listening to it, because I had my headphones plugged into my iPod so I could listen to music instead.  And text my friends.  I do that all the time.  HGTV is the easiest to watch and follow what's going on for me, because you can see what the gist is of what they are doing without having to listen to what they are saying.  Besides, it's better than watching the Food network like all the skinny girls do.  That's totally unfair.  Let me see. . .let me watch a show about a bunch of delicious looking, fattening foods while I am trying to lose weight, get fit and eat healthier.  Just. Doesn't. Work. For. Me.  Plus, I like multitasking.

Anyway, so HGTV was on, and I was watching these people get a total home makeover.  And I was totally jealous.  Because our home should be on there.  I couldn't understand why these people were.  The mom and the older daughter both had expensive looking fake nails.  They had on designer clothes.  And the mom had an engagement ring the size of Wisconsin.  (I have no idea why I just picked Wisconsin.)  And the house was enormous.  It totally looked like they could pay for their own home makeover.

And I was thinking about my house, and the fact that the kitchen looks disgusting, etc etc.  Plus it looks like I am a professional interior designer for nursing homes.  My house has on a big BC outfit.  Just like my own BC outfits.  (If you haven't been following my blog, you can look up BC outfits.  I've talked about them before.  I don't want to talk about them anymore, because frankly, I still wear them a lot and it just makes me sad.)

So I went online when I got home and tried to look up the show so I could see why in the world HGTV would pay rich people to redo their homes instead of pathetically poor people like myself.  And I couldn't find the show.  But I did find this:  

Do You Have an Ugly Kitchen? Selected Homeowners Could Get a Free Remodel!

And it had a link, and I got all excited.  I clicked on the link, and it asked for an email explaining why you wanted a makeover, pictures of the ugly kitchen, and contact information.  This is the actual email I sent:
 
To: HGTV Peeps
 
Subject:  If I Spend One More Minute In My Ugly Kitchen. . .
 
Hi.
 
So here's the deal. I hate my kitchen. Seriously. We moved to this house three years ago because we needed a REAL neighborhood for our son Joshua. So he wouldn't grow up thinking he was the only child in the WORLD. We had just remodeled our previous house. We had a GORGEOUS kitchen. It had real cherry cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, beautiful wood floors and a spectacular backsplash that my husband slaved over. It really was a dream kitchen.
 
Then we moved.
 
And I threw up in my new kitchen.
 
OK, not really. But I wanted to. Because it's ugly. It's not, like 1960's/70s ugly. But the back splash is poorly done. The melamine cabinets are gross, and they are starting to delaminate. The floor is a putrid ceramic tile that is not only ugly, but was also put in very poorly. So poorly, in fact, that you feel like you are walking on the ocean because it's so WAVY. Oh. And the dishwasher doesn't work.
 
And my husband and I just can't face another renovation. I spend lots of time in here every day. And it depresses me. You don't want me to stay depressed do you? I mean I'm nice. And kind of cute. And I'll even make it look uglier if you need me to. But you must help me. You must make me not depressed. It is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE ME HAPPY. And to not want to throw up in my kitchen anymore. Even the dog throws up in here. I think he is depressed too. Look at him in the pictures and tell me you don't want to help him. If after looking at his picture, you don't want to help us, our nausea will be on your consciences forEVER.
 
So please help me. And the dog. We want a pretty, bright, lovely kitchen. This kitchen is big. And blah. And has so much potential. But its homeowners (my husband and myself), have neither the time, money, nor patience to see another kitchen renovation through again without some serious help. And Joshua is only five. And child labor is illegal. Oh and if it helps, my husband is super cute and very handy and could be very helpful to you. Just sayin'. But he won't let me hold a paintbrush. But I can hammer and stuff.


HELP US!

Sincerely,

Carolyn Davidson

Honest-to-Gosh Princess and Domestic Goddess

Follow my Blog. Or Else. http://carolynsfamilyblogspot.blogspot.com

*******

I was sure I was going to get a kitchen makeover.  I started dreaming about telling Jamey we were going to get to finally redo our kitchen.  And for FREE!  Then I realized that they asked for contact information.  So I emailed them.  Again.  And this one had my original email, but at the top I included the following:

Sorry - I was so excited about the possibility of not upchucking in my kitchen anymore, that I forgot to give you my contact info:

*******

And of course I included my contact information just like they asked.  Are you thinking that was my mistake?  Actually, it was a mistake.  But not the mistake.  Here is the description of who they are looking for, for this lovely kitchen makeover:

 

Magnetic Productions is currently searching the Los Angeles, Denver, Oklahoma City, New York City, Chicago and Dallas/Fort Worth areas for fun, outgoing, enthusiastic homeowners who have ugly kitchens in need of a makeover for a new television series!

The to-be-announced project features kitchen design remodels in various towns and cities across the country and the show is scheduled to air later this year. Homeowners with great personalities and who are willing to turn over creative control to a design team could get a complete kitchen remodel — for free!

Please send an e-mail with your contact information, what you hate about your kitchen, along with photos to *******.***

*******

Sounds great right?  Yes.  Yes it does.  Except now I need to figure out how to move my house from out of VIRGINIA to somewhere in Los Angeles, Denver, Oklahoma City, New York City, Chicago or Dallas/Fort Worth.  Any suggestions?
 

Happy day everyone!