I never really paid attention to the recall of children's items before, because, well, I didn't have to. But now I freak out everytime I see something on T.V. about a baby item recall. Case in point: my husband was awakened out of a deep sleep last night as I punched him repeatedly on the arm shrieking, "I think that's the travel play pen we have!" (I have no idea if it really is, but pregnancy hormones, what can I say?)

Anway, it was this story:

Kolcraft Recalls Play Yards After the Death of a 10-Month-Old Child

I must admit, I've read the story several times trying to understand/figure out how EXACTLY this happened. According to the story, this was the play yard in question:

Now, here's my confusion: How big is a baby at 10 months? 20 pounds? 30 pounds? Less? More? I have no idea, but why the heck were the parents stuffing this child under the removable changing table on top? According to the story, the baby sadly strangled himself on the loop of the strap that hangs down from this changing table. HELLLOOOO?!?!

My husband was doing some weird pushing around on my stomach thing while we were lying in bed.

Me: What are you doing?!?
Hubby: Well the book I'm reading says that your uterus is about the size of a honeydew melon right now. I want to see if I can feel it.
Me: *stunned silence*
Me: I'm not some kind of science experiement, you know.
Hubby: *giggles* Well, you ARE, kind of...
Me: *sigh*

The next time I feel like I'm a really bad parent, I'm going to pull out this article:

Couple save dogs, marijuana, leave behind 4-year-old

The two people "...were concerned about getting two dogs out, and told an officer that no other people or animals were inside."
(Hey, don't get me wrong, I love my dogs as much as anyone else, but WTF?!?)

Fire Chief Bill Brucker was quoted as saying,
"It blows my mind. I'm a father of three children. When they brought that boy out, it hits you totally," Brucker said Tuesday. "How do you put somebody to bed and not remember that they're inside? I just find it hard to believe."

Ok, there are some key parts of the story:
mobile home park
MARIJUANA
girlfriend
MARIJUANA
Beaver (County) (just because it's funny...)
MARIJUANA

Come on, Chief Brucker, is it REALLY that hard to believe?!?!

You know, I can't really figure out if freelance websites are useless or if it is just me. I belong to a couple of these sites where people/businesses list jobs and I can bid on the job if I feel so inclined. Honestly, it's very rare that I feel so inclined. Luckily, most of my freelance work comes from one publishing company that I've been EXTREMELY BLESSED to work with on a regular basis for about 5 years (don't get me wrong, I still need fill-ins for down times, thus membership to the freelance sites). Other stuff comes from referrels. After that? I can't remember one job that I've bid on and "won" through one of these freelance writing sites. Lately, I haven't even been viewing the listings regularly because I find myself becoming very annoyed. Many of the postings are ridiculous - like the business who wanted a freelancer to write an E-book but only had a budget of $175. Pa-lease. I find most of the listings insulting to my talent and experience. And then I think, are there really writers who take these jobs for this little money?!? Amazing to me.

Anyway, a while back I posted on a guy who had asked for a freelancer to write a eulogy for him. Today, this was the posting winner:

Project: Memo-report on online learning. I am an Uni Student. This is one of my school assignments. I am very bad in English. So I have no idea how to write. I want this report to be done before 2nd Oct 2007. My Uni is very strict on plagiarism. So please try to use your own words & put references. Honestly I can't effort too much on just a small assignment. So please charge me with very resonable price

Would this guy:

a. Be better at English if he, say, DID HIS OWN ASSIGNMENTS/WORK?!?!
b. Understand the effects of plagiarism better if a sassy freelance writer took this job and then plagiarized the entire thing?
c. Be willing to pay what a true writer's time and expertise is REALLY worth if he admitted that he was asking the writer to compromise his/her ethics by CHEATING for him?!?
d. All of the above.

SCORING: 10 points for A; 20 points for B; 30 points for C; 10,000,000 points for D and a free wiffle ball bat to beat the guy about the head and neck.

Seriously, if I had the time, I would do some of these projects just to teach these people a lesson. Instead, I have to fill my time writing about useless things on my blog, thank you very much.

Thanks to Michelle for this. I had to steal it from her blog because it was so funny (er, in the juvenile funny way):

1. My rock star name (first pet's name and current car)
Doggie Saab

2. My gangsta name (favourite ice cream flavour plus cookie)
Bubble Gum *duh* Snickerdoodle
(WOW. Scary gangsta...)

3. My fly girl name (first letter of first name, first three letters of last name)
J-Wil

4. My detective name (favorite color, favorite animal)
Black Dog

5. My soap opera name (middle name, city of birth)
Kristina Indianapolis

6. My Star Wars name (first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name)
Wil-Ja

7. My superhero name (second favorite color, favorite drink, add “the”)
The Red Margarita

8. My Nascar name (the first names of your grandfathers)
Stallard James

9. My stripper name (favorite perfume, favorite sweet)
Victoria Krispy-Kreme
(heh heh heh)

10. My witness protection name (mother’s and father’s middle names)
Joyce Kenneth

11. My weather anchor name (fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city beginning with the same letter)
Zimbala Zimbabwee

(OK, it was the ONLY Z geographical name I could think of...)

12. My spy name (favorite season/flower)
Autumn Daisy

13. Cartoon name (favorite fruit plus garment you’re wearing, with an “ie” or “y” added)
Banana Hoodie

14. Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast plus favorite tree)
Muffin Maple

15. Your rockstar tour name (favorite hobby plus favorite weather element, with “the” and “tour”)
The Reading Sunshine Tour

(try it, you'll like it...)

This past week marked my fourth month of pregnancy. Those supposed, glorious "you'll feel WONDERFUL, dance on the CLOUDS, be back to your OLD SELF" months.

HMPF.

I must say, I'm not sad to see the first 3 months gone. I felt sick, all day, everyday, 7 days a week for those 3 months (the cruelest practical joke ever - naming it "morning sickness"). I threw up some, but not everyday. I just felt like it everyday (all day, non-stop, 7 days a week). And, believe me, I would've much rather thrown up than lived with the feeling that I was going to throw up (non-stop, all day, everyday...you get the point).

I was waiting for that magic button of 4 months - a barrage of promises like "Oooo, you'll get all of your energy back at 4 months, just like magic!" or "You'll feel MUCH better once you get out of your first trimester" or "Wait 'til the second trimester, you'll feel like your old self again!"

LIES. ALL LIES I TELL YOU.

OK, the regaining energy was PARTIALLY true, but the rest? COMPLETE LIES.

I'm in the magical second trimester - the one that is supposed to have all the rainbows and dancing unicorns and cotton candy? Guess what? It ain't gettin' much better. The all day, every day feeling of nausea HAS subsided, but in it's place is the actual puking now (yep, that thing I wished for in the first trimester). Except, it's happening when I'm asleep. I feel sick when I'm falling asleep, I finally get to sleep, and then I throw up...a little...in my mouth. Which then leads to a nice 20 minutes to 1 hour of filling toilet bowl after toilet bowl of throat burning, gut wrenching stomach acid. (MMMMM) I mean, how much will be actual food when your dinner consisted of some saltines with a little bit of plain cream cheese spread on them?

My husband was super supportive this weekend when he held up the baby magazine he was reading from the doctor and said, "you know, it says here that you moms should feel really good at this point in the pregnancy" as he gave me that judgemental is this all just a ploy to get attention look. I would like to tell you my response, but the laser beams from my eyes disintegrated him before the conversation could move further. So sorry.

So, what do I do? No, NOT call my doctor. I talk to other moms because, hey, that's what all that handy pre-baby literature tells you to do - seek out other moms for "support" - emphasis on SUPPORT.

So I tell my friend (name withheld to protect the innocent) what was happening with the throwing-up-a-little-in-my-mouth-thing-at-night-leading-to-bile-puking. Her response? [insert weird face] "Oh, I've never heard of such a thing."

HM.

So, I go for door #2. A regular customer at the store who has become a friend and is a former nurse. I go through the throwing-up-a-little-in-my-mouth-thing-at-night-leading-to-bile-puking story. Her response? [insert revulsion] "EW. I've never in all my medical years heard of THAT."

HM.

So much for "mommy" support.
(Perhaps I'll just talk to my doctor about it).

'Brady Bunch' Star Reveals All About Lesbian Fling With TV Sister

Poor Alice. She never got anything...

This is for you, my Canadian friends:

Dollar briefly hits parity, highest level since '76.

Addendum: Interesting Canadian comment on the story:
If our dollar is now worth the same as the US dollar, why does it cost $5,000 more for a car, 25% more for books and 25% more for gas?Only a sucker will buy anything in Canada. It is time to get the prices in Canada down to parity with the US. -Brian

My comment? BUY YOUR BOOKS IN THE U.S.!!

(this addendum brought to you by the Totally Self-Serving Committee)

Here's my new blog rating as of today:



This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

cocaine (6x) crap (4x) poop (2x) crappy (1x)

(Demise since last rating)

Come on, you're telling me that anyone under 17 hasn't heard cocaine, crap, poop, or crappy?!!?

What the...

I have...had...162 pages of emails, 529 unread emails.

162 PAGES.
529 UNREAD.

I get anywhere from 200-400 emails a day. No, I'm not really popular (ok, I am, but not for that reason). I have 3 businesses that I juggle throughout each day. Here's the problem:

I have different websites and email addresses for each business. Because of the volume, I have them all funnel into 1 email account (my personal account) so that I can get immediate notifications and get an "overview" of everything that's going on at once. Sounds like a great idea, right? Not so much. In THEORY it's a good idea - especially if I would answer, file, and/or delete them as they come in/are taken care of. However, it rarely works this well. Most of the time, I am so busy at the store that I open the emails (not even all of them, as evidence by the 529 UNREAD emails), but I get distracted and sometimes it's days (or weeks) before I get back to the non-urgent ones.

Now all of you people that have been "yelling" at me for my lack of response to personal emails have an idea why. They've been lost in THE EMAIL ABYSS.

Yeah. Sucks to be me.

In case you were wondering, that's equivalent to the number of germs on 485 toilet seats. Therefore, I proudly display this badge of honor:

2,426,760How Many Germs Live On Your Keyboard?
This is fantastic news for a germaphobe who washes her hands non-stop (I can only imagine if I didn't).

Subtitled: My sad demise into a bubble gum ice cream frenzy (AKA: I owe you an explanation about all the bubble gum ice cream references on this blog)


As part of our quest for culture and diversity last week, I planned a "side trip"...to Krispy Kreme. (Because, what says more after a weenie-filled culture and diversity day than a trip to Krispy Kreme?) And, BECAUSE I'M PREGNANT AND I WANTED KRISPY KREME, OK?!? BACK OFF...

Anyway...

After our day of "touristing" at the museum, we set off to find the nearest Krispy Kreme per my printed directions from the always reliable MAPQUEST (which was, thankfully, only about 5 miles away). As we get closer, the nice little female voice (read: annoying and loud) of the GPS system told us: DESTINATION ON RIGHT! I slowly gaze up, drool forming in the corner of my mouth, only to find THIS staring back at me:Look, Dunkin Donuts are FINE, but they ARE NOT Krispy Kreme donuts (and shame on you if you don't know the difference). One of two things happened: 1) this was an ingenious marketing ploy (putting your biz address in, but naming it Krispy Kreme), or 2) Dunkin Donuts had purchased my beloved Krispy Kreme. Either way, there were no hot-glazed-melt-in-your-mouth pieces of fried dough for me. However, this Dunkin Donuts also happened to be a dual Baskin Robbins (which I know FOR A FACT carries my pink bubble gum ice cream. However, don't be fooled by the pic on the link because I'm CERTAIN that what is pictured is STRAWBERRY because it is CERTAINLY NOT pink bubble gum - I consider myself quite the connoisseur). As we drive by, I scream STOP! BUBBLE GUM ICE CREAM! (and almost give my husband a heart attack). To make a long story short, they didn't have it (because why would they have something a pregnant woman has been craving for months now?!?) AND, OF COURSE, they had no Krispy Kremes (because, like, why would a Dunkin Donuts?!?).

Yes, my life is sad but true.


BACKGROUND ON THE BUBBLE GUM: For this bubble gum ice cream fetish, I blame my parents. There was a small ice cream shop in a nearby town where I lived growing up. They had this delicious pink bubble gum ice cream. The ice cream IS pink, tastes like bubble gum and then there are square pieces of bubble gum all through the ice cream. Yes, they were hard from being frozen into the ice cream, no you really couldn't chew/blow bubbles with them, yes, they almost broke your teeth, but they were yummy to eat/swallow with your ice cream. My brother and I used to get it ALL. THE. TIME.


FAST FORWARD 38 YEARS: OK, I'm not a big ice cream person (shockingly enough), but WITHOUT FAIL, each time we go somewhere to get ice cream, I look for pink bubblegum. I've looked at ice cream shops. I've looked online (correction: spent countless, pregnancy-induced frenzied cravings online) trying to find where I can order it.


IT IS NOWHERE.


I mean, it's "seasonal" at Baskin Robbins (I mean, if you live near one, or near one that carries it at all). supposedly Breyers has bubble gum ice cream, but, personally, I think it's an urban myth (as I've never seen it AND it is certainly NOT the pink bubble gum ice cream I've discussed). I'm obviously not the only who wants it. I mean, I've found a recipe for bubble gum ice cream (but heck, who has time for that when I would gladly pay $52 to have it shipped to me IF I COULD FIND SOMEWHERE TO ORDER IT), merchandise celebrating it, forums/blogs about it. SO WHAT GIVES!??!


I was beginning to think it was a cruel, cruel joke being played on me. Until last Saturday, that is. We were out driving around (also known as procrastinating about a house that needs to be cleaned) when we found this little roadside custard place, Cheryl's Custard & More. And, guess what? They still didn't have bubble gum ice cream. HOWEVER, they did have bubble gum flavored custard. It WASN'T ice cream (it was custard). It WAS pink. It DIDN'T have bubble gum pieces. But it DID taste just like the pink bubble gum ice cream I grew up with.


And it will do just fine for now.
God Bless, Cheryl. God Bless.

This was very amusing:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
cocaine(2x) crap (1x)

(See dad? My husband was COMPLETELY exaggerating when he told you that I "curse like a sailor". Now I have proof. And, it was on the Internet, so it must be true.)

Seriously people, STOP BRINGING IN YOUR MOLDY, DISGUSTING, PREVIOUSLY RODENT INFESTED BOOKS and expecting store credit for them.

Does this LOOK like your run of the mill WE'LL-TAKE-ANY-CRAPPY-USED-BOOK kinda store?!?!

I think not.

(and I had to disinfect my ENTIRE BODY after your books. I mean, EW.)

I get daily email pregnancy "tips" called The Kick. Today were tips about which salon/spa treatments are OK (and not OK) while you are pregnant. This was one of the tips:

Your hair may seem thicker than usual, so stay on top of your style with regular trims (think twice, though, about big changes while you’re PG—getting bangs won’t make your butt look any smaller).

Dang. I was really betting on that big bang-butt theory.

Last week, my husband and I closed the store and took a few days off (which we RARELY do). Don't get me wrong, I love the quaint little town we live in, but it is, shall we say, lacking a little in diversity and culture. On Friday, we decided to visit a museum in the city for some culture and diversity.

We definitely need to get out more often.

Because, seriously, how can you be in a bad mood when you get to come to your business everyday and look at this?!?!

Don't hate the playa, just hate the game.

Addendum: That may or may not be the Canadian OZ in the right-hand corner of the 2nd picture...

Canadian customer (CC): Do you take Canadian money?
ME: No. But we'll happily take Mastercard or Visa.
CC: *huff* *sigh* *whew*grunt*
ME: *blink*blink*blink*
CC: I'm just getting one book then. I mean, IF I can find any US money in here.
CC: *huff*sigh*Digs around in purse *sigh*huff*
CC:*huff* I don't understand why you don't take our money. I mean, we take YOUR money over there. *sigh*grunt*
ME: HM.
CC: You know, your money is only worth one penny to us right now anyway.
ME: HM.
ME: That will be $2.47, U.S. *smile*

(yep, all that for a two dollar sale)

****

ME: Watches dirty, dingy van pull up full of dirty, dingy kids and dirty, dingy parents smoking. Watches dirty, dingy family come in the store, cringing at the thought that they are probably bringing dirty, dingy, smoke-filled books to trade in.

Dirty Dingy Family (DDF): How does this trade in thing work? I have two boxes of books in the car (insert dirty dingy books in dirty dingy car)
ME: You can trade in books for store credit and then you get to use half of your purchase price in credit.
DDF: OH. You don't just get to trade one for another book?!?!
ME: Uh, no.
DDF: OH. Let's go then. *huff*
DDF Kid: Mama, what's that SMELL in here?!?

(gee, I don't know, kid, it's probably something like, say, CLEANLINESS)

****

And it's only Tuesday.

Being pregnant is terrifying.
Truly. (Especially when you weren't PLANNING to be 5 months pregnant on your 10 year wedding anniversary in October when you wanted to go to someowhere cool, like, oh, I don't know, GREECE, and then 7 months pregnant on your 39th birthday next year...But I digress...)

I have to admit, I have no idea what I'm doing (for the first time in a very long time) and it's terrifying. For example, is that half a glass of diet coke with caffeine *gasp* going to make my child grow a unicorn horn?!? And, what about those 7 margaritas I imbibed on my dock on July 4th before I knew I was pregnant?!?(Just kidding mom & dad *ahem*). What about the fact that I really want absolutely no protein at all? Am I creating a vegan or a jellyfish?!? (Or a sailor considering I've been devouring Captain Crunch cereal by the boxes for the first time since I was 9. Hey, a girl has to get her milk somehow!) What about a few times when I forgot to take my pre-natal vitamin? Serious defects?!? And, is beer-battered fish a double whammy?!?

I can tell you one thing, it's definitely too much pressure for an old chick who's pretty much always known what was going to happen in her life. The next thing you know I'll be unsupervised and running with scissors.

Oh my...is this turning into a mommy blog?!?

This is your TV choice when you are up at 4 a.m. on a Sunday morning.



Thank goodness I had 18,000 episodes of THIS TiVo'd instead.

So.

I ran across an article about the Texas State Fair and all the fried food they sell there. Here's a sampling for your cholesterol-ridden arteries:

Deep Fried Oreos
Deep Fried Twinkies
Deep Fried Latte (yes, LATTE, as in COFFEE)
Fried Cookie Dough
Fried Guacamole Bites (blasphemy! BTW-Tomorrow, Sept. 15 is National Guacamole Day, you may want to try the Fried Gauc Bites as a tribute - I still say BLASPHEMY)
Peach Cobbler on a Stick
Fried Chili Frito Burrito
Fried Banana Pudding
Fried Sweet Potato Pie

And the latest and greatest? DEEP FRIED COKE
(as in cola for those drug addicts who read this site and are getting all excited but needed clarification)



What's next?!?

I'd keep an eye on the women and children in Texas if I were you.
A note to my husband: Be proud of your home state, baby, be proud!

(And, if they come up with deep fried bubble gum ice cream, I am SO THERE)
(And, seriously, you REALLY CAN find a video of ANYTHING YOU NEED on youtube...fascinating)

Can someone PLEASE explain Gefilte fish to me?!?!



Because, like, fish in a jellied broth...EW. (Shouldn't it be GEL-filte fish, then?!?!)

Addendum: I must admit, I have a teeny tiny obsession with the G-fish. It comes up, on occasion, when I'm channeling...

My 20th year high school reunion is this weekend.

20 years.
Wow.

20 years since I've worried (or cared) about what people thought about me.
20 years since I've gotten hives about whose party I would or wouldn't be invited to.
20 years since I've had a BFF that changed daily depending on who you did (or didn't) tick off.
20 years since I've hated calculus class.
20 years since I've had square cafeteria pizza.
20 years since I've cried because my hair didn't look good enough to go to school that day.

20 years.
Wow.

I've been perusing the reunion website (which was really interesting since I don't talk to anyone from high school any longer). However, I've been feeling kind of "down" after that. I'm not really sure why. Reminder of, gee, I don't know, MORTALITY?!?

So, am I going? No. I'm not going. There's too much going on in my life. Not only that, there was always so much, I don't know, judgement associated with high school. As we've gotten older, maybe it has changed. Maybe not. But, I really wasn't up for finding out.

Anyway, here's to you, TCHS class of 1987!
(and my husband wanted me to tell you: "I closed the door and got the prom queen impregnated!")

I don't get The Secret by Rhonda Byrne.

Let me first start by saying that I haven't read it. But I'm ALWAYS skeptical of things that everyone jumps on the proverbial bandwagon to support.

And I hate.
Loathe.
Despise.
Reading what everyone else is reading at the time. I mean, it took me until Sopranos' very last season to start watching it. I've also NEVER read Harry Potter.

Not any of them.
Not even one page.
(and, yes, I own a bookstore)
(shut up)

Haven't seen the movies, either.
Nope.

Anyway...

For some reason, I've always been suspicious (and skeptical) of The Secret that everyone's raving about. I'm all about self-help, self-motivating books. But, hey, what's the big secret? There's some big life secret that I'm only going to be in on if I read this book? I don't think so. Unless the secret is how I can buy a yummy Krispy Kreme franchise for only $10 per month or how I can make it through one more day without my pregnancy boobs growing exponentially, then I'm out.

I was talking to a customer about the book one day. She ordered it for someone else because she had started reading it and just knew that this other person had to have the book. I inquired what was so great about it (don't worry, I divulged that I had not read it). She babbled on and on incoherently (or maybe I just lost interest) and then she said something that made my skeptical little ears perk up again.

HER: It has these phrases that repeat after each paragraph.
Me: Oh yeah? Like what?
HER: Oh, I don't know. Like self-positive phrases. They just keep repeating.
Me: Oh, you mean like drink-the-koolaid-brainwashing mantras?

A week later she brings the book back to trade in for store credit.

Me: So, how was it?
HER: I didn't finish it.
Me: Why not?
HER: After my discussion with you, it did seem a little cultish brainwashing weird. I just couldn't get past the repeating phrases.

HM.

And that's how I learned the secret to The Secret without even reading it.
It's brainwashing.

(It probably also flashes Drink Coke or Visit the Concession Stand for More Popcorn randomly throughout the book as you're reading.)

Each week I get an "Ages and Stages" email that tells me what's goin' on in my uterus (*lalalala*) at certain points during the pregnancy. Today, some of the helpful *ahem* info listed was:

Week 15 Checklist
Sports & Exercises to Avoid During Pregnancy:
Roller-blading
Skateboarding
Off-road biking
Surfing
Scuba-diving
Water-skiing
Downhill skiing
Horseback riding
Any exercises that require you to lie on your back

Hmm. What do you think they meant by the last one?!? Now, I'm pretty sure it was that "sport" that got me into this mess in the first place.

I'm just sayin'

(and don't think I'm not printing this to show my husband for the next 6 months)

When you come into a small, independent business like, say, MY BOOKSTORE, and clog up my toilet, please at least have the decency to purchase something after.

It's the very least you can do.

A fellow business owner and friend of mine just informed me that the sign in front of her business was scrambled from:

2nd Annual Oktoberfest

to

2nd Annual Cocktoberfest

Touche, Sign Scrambler. Touche.

Ok, so I didn't see the MTV Video Music Awards last night (I was probably too busy watching reruns of Dog the Bounty Hunter or something), but I did hear all the Britney backlash this morning on talk radio. Honestly? I really don't care if she sucked (or didn't suck). But all I kept hearing were words like bloated, out of shape, and disgusting. So, of course, I had to GOOGLE pics this morning. All I have to say is if this is what we consider bloated, out of shape, and disgusting in a woman who has had two children(!) then we - our women and young women - are in deeper trouble than I thought.

I won't get on a soapbox about when it became disgusting for women to be curvy (again). I'll just simply say - Shame on us.
Really.

(I'll take this bloated, out of shape, and disgusting body any day...)

Addendum: Cute boots. (I said, BOOTS you pervs...)

OH.
I am SO teaching my baby to read! (What a great party trick. heh heh)





Is it wrong to pimp your baby before it's even born?!?
HM.

Now that you've been here for a few months, it has become increasingly clear that we need to set some ground rules. The new Ninja Cocaine Kitty (NCK) Ground Rules, effective immediately, are as follows:

1. The kitchen counters are not your racetrack. Please do not use them to gain height and speed on your enemies.

2. Please do not stalk and then hide by the back door so that you can attack the 2 dogs every time I let them back into the house. They don't like this. REALLY.

3. That weird shrieking-growling-hissing combo sound that the adult cat makes when you attack her with your mad Ninja Cocaine Kitty skills is not her way of saying, "Please continue biting and attacking me. It feels really good and this is loads of fun. Bring on the love!" She doesn't like it. Please stop this behavior immediately.

4. The bay window in the kitchen with all the plants and glass bottles was not set up as your personal obstacle course. Please stop using it as such.

5. The flick on your nose to get you to release your Ninja Cocaine Kitty death grip is NOT an invitation to quickly regroup and then fling yourself again at the same spot on my arm with 10x the strength. Please stop.

6. THIS. IS. NOT. YOUR. HOUSE. We were here before you, we'll be here after you.


We reserve the right to update, change, and/or add to the Ninja Cocaine Kitty Ground Rules as needed.

this is what I feel like:

Can't the Oompa Loompa's just take me off to the De-juicing Room or something?!?

You can drink your own pee.
Seriously.

This may seem like an off-the-wall posting, but (for some unknown reason) this is a topic that comes up quite often in our house. When I used to teach college anatomy and medical terminology, this was a favorite "fun fact" of mine to share with college students. This disclosure was always followed by 10 minutes of hysterical discussion about how and when to drink your own pee (and I often got the question, "Can you drink someone else's pee?" Those wacky college kids). I mean, urine is something like 95% water, so why not?

People have survived in the wilderness by drinking their own pee. There is something actually called urine therapy. When writing this post, I decided to look up urine therapy and see what I got:

"Most devotees drink the midstream of their morning urine. Some prefer it straight and steaming hot; others mix it with juice or serve it over fruit. Some prefer a couple of urine drops mixed with a tablespoon of water applied sublingually several times a day. Some wash themselves in their own golden fluid to improve their skin quality. Many modern Japanese women are said to engage in urine bathing [Hellloooo, golden shower anyone!?]. The truly daring use their own urine as an enema. Urine is not quite the breakfast of champions, but it is the elixir of choice of a number of holy men in India where drinking urine has been practiced for thousands of years."

OK, so the "some prefer it straight and steaming hot" got to even me. *gulp*

Anyway, the most recent discussion on drinking your own pee was prompted when I told my husband that the baby, in utero, will drink it's own pee (or, more accurately, the urine will cycle through the baby's mouth). At which point my husband replied, staring skeptically at me sideways, "You're lying again. You make all of this up in an attempt to, one day, see one of us drink our own urine."

HM. Maybe, maybe not.

So I was watching The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch (shut up) a couple of nights ago. One of the "big money making ideas" was a guy who came up with something called Toilet Tunes (I s- you not. heh heh). Be sure to watch the "commercial" because it's hysterically funny.





I can't believe that they did an entire segment on this with a straight face. I guess when you're making millions covering other people's butt music it's easy to do.

BTW- I LOVE that there's a 6 unit limit on your order and that you can get a free spa pillow. WHAT?!?!

*sigh*

(I'm starting to see a poop-related theme on this site...)

Once I found out I was pregnant and they took the 8OOO pages of family history (apologies to my older brother - I HAD to let them know about the lobotomy), they also did a full gynecological exam including a pap smear (I know, too much information, but this is integral to the story). My exam came back as "suspicious cells" so I had to have a colposcopy. I'll spare you the complete details of THAT.

The day the Girl Friday (aka: $7/hour girl who works in the doctor's office) called to tell me about my "suspicious cells" I tried to get her to tell me what it meant over the phone, but instead I got a sing-songy "OH! The doctor will explain all of that to you when you come in for your colposcopy." I mean, there were so many questions like, What made the cells suspicious? Were they wearing a trench coat, fedora, and sunglasses at noon on a 92-degree summer day? (Because frankly, I'm ALWAYS suspicious of THAT). I couldn't get the Girl Friday to answer any of my questions - she kept repeating "suspicious cells" and "colposcopy" like it had some drooling Pavlovian effect every time someone asked a question. Maybe she was hitting the lever with her little paw and getting a treat each time? I have no idea. Thank goodness my background is in healthcare and I used to teach college anatomy and medical terminology courses. Therefore, I was armed with just enough information to make me dangerous and insane about my prognosis before I had the appointment. That was HELPFUL.

I tell my friend Jeanne about the "suspicious cells" and the "colposcopy" at which time she insists that they'll do a biopsy. Since a colposcopy is an exam where they use an instrument (colposcope) to magnify your cervix and vagina (*lalalalalalalala*), I assured her "...they were just going to take a look. They would've told me if they were going to do a biopsy with it, too." Famous last words.

Fast forward to the appointment:

I get to the appointment and I'm escorted on the walk of shame back to the room. The conversation goes something like this:

Clueless Nurse (CN): Did you take some Motrin?

ME: *confused* UH NO, no one told me to...

CN: *shock, awe & disbelief* YOU DIDN'T TAKE ANY MOTRIN?

ME: *total panic* NO! NO ONE TOLD ME TO!

CN: *sigh* Did you at least take Tylenol?!?

ME: *getting angry* NO

CN: Do you have any Tylenol in your purse?!?

ME: *hellooo? isn't this a doctor's office?!?* UH NO.

CN: *sigh* Should I get you some Tylenol?

ME: Well, I guess it depends on how painful this EXAM is going to be.

CN: *flips open my record* Is there any chance you could be pregnant?

ME: *complete disbelief* Uh, I think that was firmly established about 12 weeks ago.

CN: Ah yes, I see.

Fast forward to next week:

I call the office to verify something about the next appointment. The same Clueless Nurse answers the phone (I'm quite familiar with her voice by now). I can hear her pulling up my record on the computer as I give her the usual demographics.

ME: I wanted to verify something about my ultrasound next week.

CN: Is there a chance you could be pregnant?

...

Yep - no lie ('cos why would anything be easy for a 38-year old pregnant woman with "suspicious cells"?)

Ok. Call me crazy, but I SO don't get CraigsList. I have friends that talk about it like it's the greatest thing ever invented. I can NEVER find anything on it, and if BY SOME SLIM CHANCE I do, it's a complete fluke and I can never figure out how to contact the person with the listing (and I consider myself pretty computer savvy). It's not user friendly and it's not aesthetically pleasing (and I'm ALL ABOUT the pretty things) . In fact, it reminds me of those awful DOS-based program days (and, again, if it doesn't have some pretty pictures to keep my attention then I'm out).


I just don't get it. So sue me.

Is it wrong that I just spent the entire Labor Day weekend unlaboring by watching reruns of Fox's reality TV show Paradise Hotel?

That's OK, right?
right?

RIGHT?!?!