To Anonymous

Since I took such a long break from blogging, I knew that probably no one was reading this blog anymore. So I took it as an opportunity to sell out and make money.

Glad someone took the time to comment, though, to call me a sell out, because it lets me know I still have readers.  Anonymous comments are kinda hard to swallow, but I actually kinda like being called out.  Keeps me ticking.  So to all of you silent readers out there:  comment!  It's easy to use obscure link-ups as a conveyor belt to paypal accounts.  But if I know that I actually am writing to an audience I'll have a little more substance.  But I can't promise no link-ups (because I love $30 in my paypal every 8 weeks.)

I've been punk'd

There was all this hype about a huge snowstorm that was supposed to hit last night.  My bff, in her usual fashion, stocked up on milk and beer.  Me, in my atypical but becoming all too familiar fashion, stocked up on beef barley soup and pastry hearts.  Oh, the joys to be hormonal and weight gain expected.  Anyway, this "snowstorm" maybe maybe would've thrown San Diego for a loop.  But not us Buffalonians.  The pending anxiety of it, however, threw everyone (University at Buffalo included) into a tizzy, schools and businesses closing.  (I'm warming up at the mere idea of this)  My next door neighbor's plow came at least twice during the night.  Naturally, I expected to wake up and see nothing but a winter wonderland.  Instead I woke up to see no more snow than there was on the branches and the steps to the play set in the backyard.  (La Jolla I'm coming for the rest of the winter).

me!??!?!?!!?

I've recently begun to think that I'm constantly being Punk'd.  Like there are all sorts of conspiracies around me and hidden cameras are just waiting to get a ridiculous reaction out of me.  My reaction always ends up being, "am I being punk'd?" which always ends up twice as ridiculous because a) I'm not on camera, b) I give myself away by thinking the world revolves around me.  So by the light of the moon this morning, only half-way in my pajamas, I squintedly asked aloud, "am I being punk'd?"  There was no snow, but next door neighbor's driveway had been repeatedly plowed, and the ice trucks were up and down my street all night long.  Whaat?  But apparently, here we are, in the middle of a storm.  I'm dutifully eating my beef barley soup and pastry hearts, and I turned up the heat, just for effect.

Pink to Crimson

The only time in my life I've ever been relieved to find that I had low comment numbers on a blog post was yesterday.  So shame on you if you didn't read it, because you'll probably have no idea what I was talking about.  OHHHbut I'll explain.  I wouldn't leave you hanging that bad.

Over the weekend I received an email to do some advertising on my blog (for money!  Oh for the love of money.)  My friends were over as I was checking me email.  And we may or may not have been carousing.    Anydrinkfest I eagerly (oh so eagerly!) replied to my email just to have my gmail go apesnap on me.  So I googled this person's name who sent me the email and clicked on the link that brought me no where.  All I could find was his facebook, linkdin, myspace.  But then, oh then, I saw something about a virus.  So I looked at it and behold! I found it, I caught him!  This "man" was not a man, he was a virus (from which I'll with hold his name.  Because I leaked it like whoa this weekend.)  A virus that gives you all sorts of popups!  I virus that is a nuisance, though not that  bad.

I panicked and like any other good blogger I blogged about it immediately (after the headache subsided the next day).  I titled the post 'I'll be damned, ________.'  And damned was I when I received an email from him this morning.  Damned was I when I rechecked my references.  Damned was I when I realized you should never drink and read emails.  Or research spam and viruses.  Damned was I when I realized I lost my visions of laying in a bed of cash that I'd earned through blogging (without using Adsense!).  Damnit.

But in all seriousness, I do owe this guy a sincere apology.  It is totally not my style to slam someone's name, especially all over the www.  But I really did think that his name was the name of a virus, so I didn't have any hesitation.  I was sure satellites were watching in my windows all day, until I got his email.  I felt like such a predator.  Sorry, ______.

Now who wants their business in my sidebar???

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. ps this is a major TMI POST

I'm debating about how detailed to get with this post.  This much I'll tell you.  I've never cared so little about drinking 1180 calories worth of cranberry juice in my life.  I will gain one inch (and that's a compromise, calories, so don't push it) around my waist if the burning OH THE BURNING will go away. I do not once more want to sink to my knees because I have to go SO BAD then crawl to the throne and have nothing come out.  Tinkle constipation, friends.  That's what I'll call it.  Because calling it a UTI would be TMI.

So let's leave with a little poll.  You know I love polls.  Situation: We have 1 roll of toilet paper left.  I'm dashing through Wegmans with vitamin C, cranberry juice and water.  I pay, and go into the bathroom so I can make it until I get home.  In the bathroom I realize that we are in the midst of running out of toilet paper (at home), and at the rate I'm going (or not) we'll be out in the morning.  Would it be unethical to steal a roll from Wegman's bathroom?  Remember:  THE BURNING.  I cannot possibly run to the opposite end of the story to get toilet paper.  Let's have at it.

ps.  I did not steal any toilet paper.  I also did not run to the other end of the store to buy some.  I merely put it out of my mind and figured I would cross that bridge when I get to it.  That's always a bad decision.  I always make that decision.

Put through the wringer

Well congratulations, me!  I've had my first mean anonymous commenters on my last post.  Although, really they're not that anonymous.

I wrote a (mean, in retrospect) comment on someone else's blog.  Along the lines of, wow that was boring. Only because I'm every day thoroughly entertained by this person.  I've read the blog for at least a year every day, sometimes checking MORE than once in hopes that there'd be another post.

My comment:  funny?  Apparently not.  Hurtful?  Apparently so.  But whoa Uncle Sam did I get some nassssty things said about me.  On that blog.  On facebook.  AHHHH and such is the life of being able to say whatever you want to another person because this is all virtual.

Hey, at least I didn't try to disguise myself and comment as Anonymous.  Righteous.

If I were the type of person who remained speechless at shocking times, i'd be speechless. absolutely.

I'm probably 10 months behind on this post.  A while ago (oh, say 10 months ago) I heard of Pajama Jeans (PJ, k?  you don't expect me to keep typing 'pajama jeans,' do you?  That's like a tongue twister for my wrists) and I was a little depressed.  Kinda like, okay I know the Snuggie made it big, but that was a long stretch and they're going out faster than you can say 'Snuggies for kids and dogs.'  But you, PJ?  You're not going to make it big.  Maybe in a van down by the river.  But the only thing big about that is the super sized meals four times a day.

Today I reheard of the PJs and became increasingly sad.  Why?  Because I received a catalog (look it up if you're less than twenty years old) in the mail today for Mother's Day that had PJ all over it.  Damn scammers!  They are trying to convince mY HUSBAND that it is okay for ME to wear jeans during the day then while you sleep, then THEN pajamas at night then when you wake up all day.  They're trying to get him to buy it!

Let's be clear.  There are those days that I bum around the house all day and wear my pajamas until it's time to go to bed again.  Those are the days that I apologize profusely to Mr Incredible for being an embarrassing contributor to society and his family and promise myself that I will never forgive myself if he needs to go on prozac at some point in time.  All because I wore my pajamas too long.  That happens about once a week and Mr Incredible doesn't even notice.

Then there are the nights where I drink one bottle too many of wine and coincidentally fall asleep in my jeans, just to wake up the next morning to get on another pair of jeans.  This is not okay either, but hey.  it happens.

All of this being said, I'm starting to like the concept.  joke.  JOKE.  relax.

Do they come in skinny jeans?

Everyone loves a bathing suit fiasco story

I'm really not the hoarding type of person, but when I was younger (like 5th grade) my grandmother gave me one of her bathing suits.  Now this is not your typical gramma bathing suits.  My grandmother was glam con cigarettes all the time.  Love the feathas type.  Even towards the end when she was oxygen she would look women up and down.

I love love love my Grandmother.

So today when we were getting ready to go to our local indoor pool (for all of you who were in shock the last time I mentioned a pool in the winter) I decided I didn't want to wear my old old suit (yellow Victoria's Secret bikini circa 2002)((I don't wear it aymore))(((actually that's what I wore instead of a maternity bathing suit)))((((I got looks all. the. time.)))), my old bathing suit (last summer green tankini.  MOM SUIT), new suit (Athleta brown not sure if it fits yet one piece).  I wanted to try on my grandmother's very Juicy Couture-ish black glam bathing suit.  20 years old?  30? 40? 50?  No joke.  It very well could be 50 years old.  Looks like this, only black with spaghetti straps (via Design Mom).

So I put it on, which in itself is a mini triumph because my Grandma was PEEEE tite.

Mr Incredible:  awesome suit.  Is that your new one?
me:  no, it was my Grandma W's.
him: no really, is that the one that just came?  I love it.
me:  no really, it was my grandma's
him: okay (rolls eyes) where did you get it then?
me: the bin from my parent's basement
him: you can tell me you bought another bathing suit, I won't mind
me: I SWEAR ON MY GRANDMOTHER'S SOUL  it was hers and now it's mine.  circa 1950.
him, feeling the material: they didn't make bathing suit material like this back then.
me: ok.  It was my grandmother's bathing suit.

So off we trot to the pool. I understand now that I should've realized that my grandmother was not athletic.  She loved fashion, she loved her smokes, and she loved looking good.  I probably should not have swam laps in this leisure suit of sorts, but alas!  I swam laps, talked to the guy next to me, waved frantically at my kids in the kiddie pool.  WITH THE HEADLIGHTS ON.  AND OUT.  true story the end.

I know you didn't think you just entered into a contest, but in fact, you did.

So as you all know, I had a pretty bad day.  I'll probably get into it tomorrow when I have more energy, but I've got to say.  You folks really brought it today.  I mean.  I feel fat.  I'm tired, my house is a wreck blah blah blah.    Oh, and while grocery shopping my HUGE cart with a car in the front and carseat in the back that I wasn't using because I was carrying the baby crashed into one of those sticker printing produce thing and it fell over and smashed into a million pieces.  I threw up my white flag and walked away.  That was just the type of day I was having.  But you guys.  I'm pleased with the company I was in today.  So thank you for sharing your misery.

But maybe my day wasn't so bad after all:

Namaste-Heather had a pretty bad day, I think.

Google

Have you ever googled your friends and family?? Some pretty funny things come up. For instance, when I google my name my high school cross country times appear, as do community races that I've run in all my years. (nothing impressive, folks.)

Here's what happened when I googled my eldest child's name: (I know you're shining down on us from heaven, Dad!!)

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