Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades
There is no higher high than the $89 top found on clearance for $6.99…
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Backseat pilot
It’s been kind of a long week. You know the sort of week where you have a million things going on and various sorts of angst over things you need to be handling and then you have half a dozen friends dealing with various things that make you say to yourself, “Self, it is about time to get over your own damn self because just LOOK at what these OTHER people are dealing with and not whining… well, okay, they ARE whining, and in fact whining TO ME, but they are ENTITLED, because they’re dealing with serious things and really your little bits of anxiety over work or the imaginary deadly disease you are busy diagnosing yourself with are really just small potatoes compared to these other things so kindly just SHUT UP and move on and have a fun-size Butterfinger or SOMETHING and just GET A GRIP,” that sort of week?
No?
Oh. Nevermind, then. It’s uh, been a long week. Full of… stuff. Normal stuff. Yeah.
Hey! How about that team? You know, the one that plays… uh… that sport!
Why are you looking at me like that??
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I came, I saw, I flicked
I know you’re all relieved to know that I recovered from my Mechanical Difficulty of yesterday. Who knew the Swiffer CarpetFlick was so high-tech?? Not me. Of course, I am rather gifted when it comes to producing a STUPID_USER_ON_DEVICE error on almost any machine….
(Oh, my. It’s been a long time since I made a nerdy engineering joke. I feel dirty.)
Anyway, I was VERY EXCITED to use my new CarpetFlick once I figured out that it wasn’t broken. Except that I had a bunch of other stuff to do today, like, I dunno, work, and try to get my daughter to confess to her latest misdeeds after I’ve already told her I know about them, and do laundry, because Monkey didn’t have any clean pants, and just, you know, stuff.
But finally I said, NO MORE. It is TIME TO FLICK, other responsibilities be damned!
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All humanitarian, all the time
I believe I have just one mission on this planet, and that is to serve others. I comfort babies, I help old ladies across the street, I buy girl scout cookies purely because it helps those adorable tykes raise money, I let people send me free stuff!
Okay, I confess: I buy girl scout cookies because I like them.
But letting people send me free stuff, that’s completely altruistic. It makes them happy and I like to do my part in helping others, no matter the sacrifice to myself. It’s just my cross to bear, I suppose. If I have a flaw, it’s that I care TOO MUCH.
(I have no idea why my grandmother used to call me Sarah Heartburn….)
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I’m changing my last name to Amazon
Today was the kind of day that makes you want to run out into the yard and play ring around the rosey with woodland creatures. Or I suspect it would, for people who aren’t dead inside and somewhat sluggish from the consumption of twelve pounds of candy in the last 24 hours. But suffice it to say that it’s not normally 70 degrees and sunny on November 1st, around here.
What I should’ve done today was rake leaves and tend to my yard. I considered it, actually. Then I came up with a whole list of things I’d rather do than rake. The list included such goodies as accidentally dye my hair black again, step on a rusty nail, cover myself in papercuts and bathe in lemon juice, and crack my elbow on the shelf in my shower. Wait. The cracking my elbow thing was just an accident this morning. And it hurt like hell. Anyway, I was not inclined to rake, because I know that soon all of that stuff with be underneath snow where no one can see it. And as we all know, things we cannot see don’t exist. Lalalala!
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Peanut butter coma
It turns out that years of adapting to a food-allergic child has paid off in spades. Sure, yeah–the kid never died. Great. Whatever. I’m talking about IMPORTANT matters, here. Like that even though they can have it, now, neither child particularly likes peanuts or peanut butter, and they both still consider a nickel a treat a pretty good bargain.
For the low price of one hour trolling the neighborhood and a handful of loose change I bought myself nirvana: Reese’s cups, Snickers bars, Butterfingers, and Almond Joys.
Heaven. I didn’t expect to be nauseous in heaven, but I’m hoping that part will pass….
My favorite crimefighters
In case you haven’t been following things over at my other haunt, you might want to pop over and look at today’s post, which contains a picture of some very cool superheroes.
Have a spooktacular evening, everyone!
And no one lost a finger
I have some friends who are Party People. I don’t mean they like to party as in, go out trolling at bars and getting hammered. Puh-lease. We are all, um, old, and mostly married, with small kids. No, here in suburbia we have family parties and get hammered while our children run around and punch each other.
Ahahahahaha! I kid. First of all, most injuries are of the “he fell on me on the trampoline” variety. Second, not everyone gets hammered. For example, I am generally too paranoid to drink at all when I have the kids with me, given that a single drink is likely to make me loopy. Plus, damn, I have a lot of friends who could outdrink many fratboys without even breaking a sweat. They don’t get hammered, they just drink and keep on wiping runny noses and tying shoes.
Me, I never host parties. I don’t know how, on account of I am a social retard. I mean, sure, I GO to all of these parties, and it seems very simple: People show up, mill around, and eat and drink. But that seems beyond my abilities, somehow. Thankfully I’m still able to show up at these functions when everyone else hosts them!
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Handy “how-to”s*
How to… sleep in in the morning:
Give the children permission to rise and fetch their own breakfasts, play downstairs, and watch cartoons. You should be able to grab an extra hour of sleep before the screaming becomes too loud. This approach is not recommended if you will be troubled by any of the following–
A) Trails of pop-tart crumbs
B) Milk spilled on the floor
C) 325 pieces of dollhouse furniture set out like a wee furniture warehouse showfloor all over the living room floor
D) Your son wearing a pink unitard
E) Your daughter wearing your son’s brand-new dress socks
How to… get the kids to clean up their mess:
Offer to take them to a movie later on if they’re good. Be sure to bring it up again–wistfully–any time they wander off task. “I guess we won’t be able to see that movie, after all,” followed by a heavy sigh, for example, works wonderfully.
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My eyes!!
I am watching the Food Network and was so excited to see that we’d be learning how a red velvet cake is made. I mean, I live in New England, and red velvet cake is not a staple around here. So, yay! What a thrilling way to spend my Friday night!
Except that Al Roker was chatting with the bakery lady while they made the cake together, and then he… he… *shudder* he spanked himself with the rubber spatula while declaring the cake “sexy.”
That was just wrong on so many different levels. Any desire I had for red velvet cake? GONE.
In fact, I think there’s an entire market waiting to be tapped with the Roker Aversion Diet. They could call it RAD for short, and people everywhere who previously failed every diet will soon be thin, just from having to watch Al Roker being playful with foods they used to love. Gah.
In other news, the world ended today.
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