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Thanks to Michelle for this little gem of a test.

You Are a Werewolf

You're unpredictable, moody, and downright freaky. You seem sweet and harmless, until you snap. Then you're a total monster. Very few people can predict if you're going to be Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. But for you, all your transformations seem perfectly natural. Your greatest power: Your ability to tap into nature Your greatest weakness: Lack of self control You play well with: Vampires

What Kind of Monster Are You?

(In case you were wondering: This assessment? TOTALLY on.)

My husband doesn't know The Name Game Song.
You know, the song that you learn when you are, oh, I don't know, SIX YEARS OLD.
You know, the one that goes, "Jackie, Jackie, bo backie, banana fana..."
Yeah, THAT song.

Go ahead. Feel free to take a few moments to recover about my husband not knowing this song just as I did. (Of course, the precursor to my recovery was me shrieking at him, "HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THE NAME SONG?!?")

Anyway, I have to give him credit. He's been trying to learn it after I guilted him by saying, "How are you going to teach our child or SING IT TO YOUR BOSS?!?"
(Whose name is CHUCK, btw, heh heh...)

Sunday, my first-grade nephew was in the car and said, "Uncle Todd, what are you going to name the baby?" To which my husband replied, "Ella, ella, bo bella." A total look of shock and panic crossed over my nephew's face and he shrieked, "BUT SHE'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO SPELL THAT!"




(And, dang, who knew there was actually a Name Game Song DANCE?!? GROOVY)

I had a sad realization today.
I'm starting to waddle.

Need I say more?

(and is this I have your pelvic bone in a vice grip and I'm opening it wide enough to crack feeling normal?!?!)

When recently making a road trip with my husband, we were listening to talk radio. A woman was on the show who claimed that she was going to be engaged at age 42 with no current prospects when she made the claim. At the integral moment of finding out how/when “it” happened for her, my husband had to take a business call.

A very, long, boring business call.

Post call, the following conversation ensued:

ME: You made us miss the woman who got engaged just because she claimed it.
Husband: She just found someone, sunk her talons in, and wouldn’t let go until he was forced to propose or die.
ME: Huh. Guess we didn’t miss anything.
*silence*
Husband: This only proves one thing, you know.
ME: What’s that?
H: Women control the world.
ME: HM. You’ve been confused about that before?
H: Of course not. Women own all the vaginas.
ME: You think that’s it, huh?
H: Of course.
*Silence*
ME: Well, you CAN buy vaginas now, you know.
H: Ohhh, but if a man is paying for it, women are still in control.
ME: Hm.

I did it.
I did the thing that everyone and the pregnancy literature warns you against.
I made a major change with my hair style while pregnant.

(please insert gasps of shocks here)

I went from long, thick, middle-of-my back hair to Victoria "Posh" Beckham style reverse bob. (OK, maybe not quite THAT short, but pretty close).

And, get this, INCLUDING the never-get-while-you're-pregnant BANGS! *gasp*

It's cute. So far, so good.
And, it looks really cute with the newsboy hat that I got to buy while I was out of town this week.

But "they" were right, it really doesn't make my butt look smaller (or my nice double chin for that matter).
Huh.
It made Victoria Beckham look like she weighs 98 pounds...
OH WAIT...maybe because SHE REALLY DOES ONLY WEIGH 98 POUNDS...

C'est la vie.
*sigh*

Recently, I had some "leftover" airline miles that were going to expire. Since that 10 year anniversary trip to Greece was out of the question, my husband took it upon himself to use the miles by subscribing us to a years worth of magazines that we don't need and probably won't read. He got himself mags such as Maxim, Details, and Young Hotties Posing on the Front Business Magazine, while I got Women's Health, Working Moms, and How to Lose that Pesky Back Fat Hanging Over Your Bra. After a brief "discussion" about why I got the stereotypical get-your-ass-into-shape-and-make-some-money women's mags and he got the how-to-be-a-cool-guy mags, I noticed something odd. The stack of women's mags sat there untouched (frankly, the Working Mom mag scared the hell out of me. I'm not sure if it was the "working" part or the "mom" part). I was instead drawn to the men's mags.

It's no shock that I would find the men's mags more interesting. I've never been a girly-girl and I hate gossipy women BS. I like the straight-forward, no-fluff, pull-no-punches style of men's magazines. I mean, look what I learned just thumbing through Details magazine (UM HELLLOOO...Brad Pitt on the front of Details obviously pre-new digs in his tidy white tee...):

• Many celebrites (Marc Anthony, JLo, Ray Charles, Paris Hilton, Betty & Gerald Ford & on & on...) demand PAYMENTS to appear at a charity fundraiser (and I don't mean like a Democratic Dinner, I mean like Kids With Lupus and stuff...)
• A glittery wet naked woman can hold the new Tom Ford fragrance for men in a vice grip between her legs in a way that strategically covers her "privates"
• Men don't get snippy when you write articles about them entitled, Almost Famous (*cough*Casey Affleck*cough*)
• Apparently, if you're a young, cool, and hot male, it's OK to carry a manpurse.
• Some women are stupid enough to work and pay for child care because their addicted husbands play video games all day in a cocaine-like induced frenzy.
• Texting is the new networking.
• Thinking about words like beer and keg can help bring sexy back for a man (NOTE: apparently you don't even have to be Homer Simpson for this one to work).
• Hugh Hefner has 200 pairs of silk pajamas in 20 colors.
• In a Harvard DuBois Review study, most said it would take $1 million for them to give up TV permanently. The majority of whites in the study said they would take $10,000 to turn black permanently.

You can bet your bundt cake I wouldn't have learned that stuff from Working Mom.
(And I still got to look at a 19-page "portfolio" of Brad Pitt).

From: Dr.Mark Jones
Sent: Fri 10/19/07 2:10 PM
Reply-to: nelsonomo1960@yahoo.de
To:

Dear Winner,

How are you today? Hope all is well with you and your family? I hope this mail meets you in a perfect condition. I am using this opportunity to thank you for your great effort to our unfinished transfer of fund into your account due to one reason or the other best known to you.

But I want to inform you that I have successfully transferred the Cheque out of the company to someone else who was capable of assisting me in this great venture. Due to your effort, sincerity, courage and trust worthiness you showed at the course of the transaction I want to compensate you and show my gratitude to you with the sum of $500,000.00 (five hundred thousand United States Dollars) in addition to your lottery winnings of $2.5m now amounting to $3,000,000.00 (three million United States Dollars).

I have authorized the finance house where I deposited my money to issue you international certified bank draft cashable at your bank. My dear friend I will like you to contact the finance house for the collection of this international certified bank draft. The name and contact address of the Person with your Cheque Mr Nelson Omo is as follows;

COMPENSATION HEAD OFFICER CONTACT AGENT Mr Nelson Omo
EMAIL: nelsonomo1960@yahoo.de
TELEPHONE: +234-802-836-4564

At the moment, I am very busy here because of the investment projects which myself and my new partner are having at hand. Finally, remember that I have forwarded instruction to the finance house on your behalf to send the bank draft to you as soon as you contact them without delay. Please I will like you to accept this token with good faith as this is from the bottom of my heart. Thanks and God bless you and your family. Hope to hear from you soon.

Best Regards,
DR. Mark Jones

______


From: Jackie Wilson
Sent: Sat 10/20/07 2:10 PM
To: Reply-to: nelsonomo1960@yahoo.de

Dear Dr. Jones:

Thank you for inquiring about our family. Currently I am suffering from 24-7 heartburn, bouts of major mood swings, and an uncontrollable bladder each time I sneeze, so I'm not quite sure that I would say I'm in "perfect condition", but thanks for asking. Being a doctor, perhaps you can recommend something for these pregnancy ailments?

Thank you also for recognizing my "effort, sincerity, courage and trust worthiness." It is so rare that others recognize my perfection. Thank you for that. It made me feel warm and tingly all over.
As you've been completely honest with me and seem like a law-abiding and upstanding human, I feel it is only right that I take this opportunity to inform you that you must have me confused with someone else. I have not exerted any effort (great or otherwise) to "our" transfer of funds into "my" account. I know this because:

1) I've never received an email from you (let alone corresponded), and
2) I barely have an "account", let alone one with millions of dollars in it.

I find it odd, albeit thrilling, that lack of effort on my part would net me a total amount of $3,000,000. I mean, THREE MILLION DOLLARS! This is WAY BETTER than collecting welfare, turning in soda cans for deposit money, scamming unemployment, or scratching those pesky lottery tickets with my thumbnail. You've proven that the American Dream of working hard to earn an honest living is just a bunch of baloney. BRAVO!

I was quite pleased to find out that you are involved in additional investment projects. I understand that a busy doctor such as yourself probably doesn't have time to spend all day reading and sending emails, but I was hoping you would have time to review my need for "investments". We currently rent our bookstore building and would love to buy it. If you could find it in the goodness of your God-fearing heart to provide us a no-strings-attached-grant for $500,000 (chump change to a wealthy investor such as yourself, I'm sure) then we could buy our building and proceed with the necessary updates to put a coffee shop upstairs. In addition, with your kindness, I would love to pay myself a $150,000/year salary (or any salary, for that matter), so if you could be so kind as to add that additional $150K to the current grant of $500K, that would be fantastic. I would also love to have a nanny for our forthcoming bundle of joy. I think $65K should more than cover that for a while. We would also like some extra cash to be able to help charities, friends, and family that need it. We calculated $250K to cover that. Surely a helpful, religious, and honest man such as yourself understands the need to help others? Lastly, I would love to take one last trip before the baby gets here. It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy. Renting a fully staffed, private island in the South Pacific for a month would be more than adequate. I believe $25K should provide us with that lifestyle for an entire month.

I know you said to accept the money as a "token" from the "bottom of your heart". Please don't be offended when we say that we really don't need $3 million dollars. It's just way too much. Instead, a token gift of $1 million given to us from the bottom of your heart would be more than enough. Please use the additional $2 million dollars you were going to give us to continue your crusade in helping out other, less-fortunate people than yourself. Your dedication to helping others is truly overwhelming. We could all learn a lesson from your selfless play book.


I would greatly appreciate if you contact my broker agency directly to discuss this opportunity to help a sista out.

Thank you again for giving us $1 million dollars simply out of the goodness of your heart.
We are planning a main street parade, complete with a high school marching band, flag girls, and toilet paper flower floats, on the day you come to personally present us with the gift.
We are currently speaking with the city about erecting a statue in your honor.
(Or maybe a bronze bust? We're not sure quite yet.)
Heck, at the very least, we will burn your image into a grilled cheese and sell it on EBay (proceeds will be entrusted to you and your honesty to be distributed to charity cases, of course).


Please be so kind as to send us a .jpg image of yourself at bitemyass@scammail.com so that we can get started on the grilled cheese thing ASAP (it might take us a few tries before we get it right).
Hugs and appreciation for your Blessings from God.
Your Dear Friend,
Jackie

PS-Just out of curiosity, what kind of "doctor" do you fancy yourself? I've seen some way cool places in the back of my MAD magazine where I, too, can become a doctor just by paying the $25 fee. How did this work out for you?

PPS- I find it odd that you left the "to" email address blank and instead used a blind CC for my email address. I mean, I thought we were BFFs?!? I hope this doesn't mean that I can't count on my $1 million dollar gift from you? If the $1 million dollars is not forthcoming, then the marching band and parade is DEFINITELY off. The grilled cheese will also be burned in effigy. Sorry (but I think you understand).

I swear, I think that my husband's brain cells are shrinking proportionally with the increasing size of my pregnancy belly.

Case(s) in point:

CASE #1: While shopping several weekends ago, we were looking through maternity clothes when I spotted some cute, trendy cropped sweat-type pants (of which I already have a black pair and they are SO COMFY right now). Hubby sighs and disappointingly says, "OH. I was hoping that you wouldn't notice that they have different colors of them."

CASE #2: Upon awakening a few mornings ago (which seems to be hubby's favorite time for shenanigans), he shakes my belly while booming, "HO! HO! HO!" I just give him the look and calmly say, "Don't ever do they again." To which he replies sheepishly?
"OK."
"Oh, well, maybe one more time Christmas morning."

CASE #3: During the Mandarin dress pre-party meltdown, he so helpfully reacts to the dress by saying, "EW. No. That dress is SO NOT you..."

If there is EVER a time for a husband to lie to his wife, I'm convinced it's during pregnancy.

Whenever I laugh myself into a coughing fit over something, it's generally a good indication that I need to share it on my blog. Thanks to Gigi's blog, I stole this Who are my celebrity look-a-likes?

Here are my celebrity look-a-likes:



Yes, look closer people, way UP THERE at my #7 look-a-like is none other than NSync's "I want to be an astronaut but when I couldn't I came out of the closet" LANCE BASS! My celebrity look-a-like IS LANCE BASS.

Dang, doesn't get much funnier than that on a rainy Thursday...

Just for grins, I did this one, too:


Don't you find it interesting that Jennifer Aniston only looks 97% like Jennifer Aniston?!?!
HM.

So my husband and I stopped by a STAPLES office store to buy printer ink (*yawn* I know...)
We were having some sarcastic exchange (as is normal for us), when I rebut with, "Oh yeah, I got something for you right here, buddy..." at which time I pick up the infamous STAPLES EASY BUTTON and I click it in his face. OUT OF NOWHERE, I hear this voice behind me, "Are you finding everything you need?" After squealing, peeing a little, and then regaining consciousness, I turn around to see a creepy Staples employee standing right behind me. After he walked away, my husband rolled his eyes and said, "You know they lurk around all day just waiting for people to push those buttons..."


Maybe the creepy lurking STAPLES employees need a little more work to keep them busy, ya think?!?

See more Wordless Wednesday pics from other cool peeps!

WOW.
So I'm not providing breaking news when I blog that Brad and Angelina have moved into a new pad in New York.

For $100,000/month.

And they can't even wear what they want.

Uh...HUH?!?!
Honestly, I don't care where they live (I barely care about them at all), but I did find this New York Post reporting interesting:

The snooty Towers, which sits next to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, has a "dress attire" that forbids guests to wear "T-shirts, tank tops, faded jeans, cut-offs and casual hats" in its main lobby, restaurants or other public areas.

WTF?!?
I'm sorry, but if I were someone like a Brad and Angelina paying $100K/month to live somewhere, I would wear whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
And that might just include pasties and hot pink latex panties while flitting about the lobby sing-songing, "LA LA LA LA...I'm Brad Pitt, what are you going to do?!?"
(You didn't think the *new and improved* Angelina would be caught dead in hot pink latex, did you?!?)

HM. Things are becoming increasingly clear why I'm not a celebrity.

OK. Let me first just say that I use the term "bible" loosely and for reference only. I mean, look, I used lower case letters AND quotes as to not insult anyone, er, Up There. *wave*wave*wave*

So anyway.

I'm almost finished with what I am now considering my parenting reference book:

Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank: And Other Words of Delicate Southern Wisdom by Celia Rivenbark.

I couldv'e written this book myself.

Wait.

Did I?

Oh no, wait, I'm not a skinny blond who says hons and does book tours in New York with royalty checks pouring in while eating barbecue and bon bons and sitting on my Southern-style a**. Dang. (Just kidding about the "Southern-style Ass" part, Ms. Rivenbark...heh...heh...heh *gulp*).

However, this could be my Southe'n Sista. In a witty sarcasm, she covers everything from how soccer moms dress to her inability to make good gravey (as a SOUTHERN WOMAN! *gasp*) to how she spent an entire holiday creating butt music for her entire in-law family to politics and then some in between. I mean, the woman covers a whole chapter on Krispy Kreme for goodness sake. What more could you want?!? I want her to be my new BFF.

Anyway, it's a great book. Pick it up if you need some good laughs.

I would share more with you, but I'm off to rub elbows at a luncheon with authors such as Tess Gerritsen, Jane Hamilton, Loma Landvik, Rabbi Harold Kushner and Ursula Hegi.

Don't hate me because I'm, er, connected.

(And, NO, I'm NOT wearing the MANDARIN FROCK!)

(I wonder if there will be a Krispy Kreme on the way?!?)

Can't figure out if this is going to be a TOTAL DISASTER or just DARN GOOD T.V.
Either way, I'm SO there... (er, if I remember it's on...)



(The VH1 Trailer is MUCH better, but it wouldn't work when embedded into the blog. *sigh*)

As reported previously, my freelance writing sites are quite a waste, providing much more amusement than potential for work. This week's posting winner:


I am a teacher looking for someone to help me write student recommendations. I have about 15 to write, and they must be completed by October 20th. I can provide you with background on each student, his/her strengths and weaknesses, and the context for each recommendation. I need someone to physically write them. Each one would need to be unique and not a template. Please get in touch with me if you can do this job, and have good positive feedback and are a competent writer. Please also suggest a total cost for 15 letters of recommendation.


Now, really. What has this world come to?!? I'm thinkin' that in the time you spend to provide me with a background of each of the 15 students and his/her strengths/weakness and context, (or, in the time you took to write and post the AD) you could've, oh, I don't know, spent the time WRITING YOUR OWN DAMN STUDENT RECOMMENDATIONS...

Wow.
What's next? Young hottie teachers having sex with their students?!?

This morning on talk radio they were discussing a survey that showed more people knew all of the ingrediants for a Big Mac than knew the 10 Commandments.

Before you judge, go ahead an try it. Really. Try it.

I bet the first thing you did was sing the Big Mac jingle, right?! In case you're wondering:
"Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun."
(Yep, done WITHOUT looking it up).

Now the commandments?
Nope, got through about FOUR before I had to look them up. (Admitted with sadness and shame).

This just proves it - if they put the entire Bible to the Sponge Bob theme (or something equally annoying), we would all remember it.

Try it for yourself:

I. "You shall have no other gods before me.
II. "You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand [generations] of those who love me and keep my commandments.
III. "You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.
IV. "Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your animals, nor the alien within your gates. For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.
V. "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.
VI. "You shall not murder.
VII. "You shall not commit adultery.
VIII. "You shall not steal.
IX. "You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor.
X. "You shall not covet your neighbor's house. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or his manservant or maidservant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor."

Enough said.

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So.
Last week we had a Level II Ultrasound. You know, because of my "advanced maternal age". (The doctor tried to get away with writing REASON: AMA on the form, but I quickly pointed out that she wasn't fooling me with medical jargon. I mean, I DID used to teach college medical terminology and I know for a fact that the loose Latin translation of AMA is "Bitch Too Old To Be Havin' a Baby").

Everyone was very excited about the ultrasound. Well, everyone except me. Is it me, or does everyone forget that the entire point of a test like this is to determine birth defects/problems and NOT just to find out the sex of the baby?!? Turns out, everyone DOES forget this.
Except me.

Weeks prior to the exam, I had (kind of) joked that we wouldn't be able to find out the sex at this exam. I mean, it is MY baby and to say that there is a serious stubborn streak in our family would be more than an understatement. Why should the baby cooperate? I wouldn't if I were her. I mean, who are all those people pokin' around and stuff? (Yes, I said HER because I've "felt" from day 1 that it was a girl).

Fast forward to the exam:
Everything was FINE. No sign of birth defects, etc. etc. Except that the tech couldn't get all of the views of things like the heart that she needed because - SHOCK OF ALL SHOCKS - the baby wouldn't cooperate. HM. Imagine. In fact, she just wanted to sleep. On her face. The entire time. (Um, the baby, not the tech).

At one point the tech says, "I have my suspicion about the sex. Want to know?" My husband quickly piped up and said, "Extremely lacking lately?" before he realized what she meant. (OK, he didn't really. But I KNOW he was thinking it...) When the tech said, "I think it's a girl, but of course it's hard to tell when she won't turn so I'm not 100%" we responded with an excited new parent reaction of...DEAD SILENCE. The tech finally said, "OOOO. Dead silence..." I had to 'splain to her that we just weren't shocked (since I've been saying it's a girl all along). After two tries with the tech, many different positions (from me NOT the baby) and then a "break" (which consisted of my husband relaxing in the chair while I was to walk and jump around to try and get the baby to move), the doctor also tried to get the remaining ultrasound views.

Nope.
Nada.
Nothin'.

However, he also said he thought it was a girl, but he wasn't 100% sure. How frustrating...

On a last interesting note, we received word that "Either you're having a really big baby, or you are really 2 weeks further along than we thought." To which I replied, looking lovingly at my husband, "Well, babe, it looks like this kid really isn't yours..."

Over the weekend, hubby and I went to a local charity cocktail event. Not wanting to spend hundreds of dollars on a maternity cocktail dress that I would wear ONCE during this time, I thought I was being smart by buying an oversized (read: fat girl) cocktail-ish dress for $14.99 at a consignment shop. It was black with silver thread through it (you know, so it looked all "sparkly"), 3/4 length, and had *gasp* this weird Mandarin collar. Now let me tell you something, I'm more of a floor-length, sexy sheath, cleavage kinda girl. You know, something more like THIS, and less like THIS. So, the dress I bought was TOTALLY not me. But hey, for less than $20 it could be me, right?

UH WRONG.


Fastforward to pre-party meltdown. I'll spare you the meltdown details and my poor husband near sobbing, "What should I do?!?!", but I will say this:
Mistake #1: Buying a dress that's not my "style" and that I would never, ever, under any circumstances other than being pregnant, normally wear.
(Know how to make a pregnant woman feel MORE unattractive than she already does? I do...)
Mistake #2: Not trying on the dress PRIOR TO 30 minutes before the event. Hm.

At the event, my friends tried to make me feel better (who, mind you, were wearing strapless gowns and cool halter cleavage dresses, respectively):
Overly Supportive Friend: "Well, it's CUTE. I mean, the MANDARIN COLLAR is CUUUUTE and TRENNNNNDY."
Me: "UH...Where? In ASIA, PERHAPS?!?!"
So much for accepting support.

Anyway, I lived through the frock-filled night WITHOUT alcohol while everyone else was getting smashed. There should be some prize for THAT alone...

At the event, they had instructors demonstrating and "coaching" on ballroom dancing. It was interesting, but the most interesting part of the night was AFTER the instructing and coaching. The instructors distributed flyers of their business and at the bottom of the flyer, the last bullet point for attending their classes was:

Please dress morally sensible - it is greatly appreciated.

Now, that's funny enough on its own; however, here was the picture on the flyer (yes, this is the ACTUAL picture from the flyer):

If you consider a guy with bare feet dirty-dance style grinding with a young girl in fishnets and crocodile slides "dressing morally sensible", then hey, who am I to judge? I mean, I was wearing an oversized, mandarin-collared frock that I wouldn't normally be caught dead in. I wasn't the epitomy of fashion police but I do believe I was (thank goodness!) dressed morally sensible. Only a chastity belt could've been more "Morally Sensible" than that stupid Mandarin dress. But, it might be a little late for the fashion accoutrement. (I'm just sayin'...)

What has happened to me? I have gone from being one of the most organized, motivated, hard-working people that I know to, well, a complete slug. Seriously. I've become, dare I say? LAZY.

*gasp*

My life is completely out of control.
Let me break it down for you:

My house is a mess.
And, I don't mean, I have another load of laundry to do, darn the luck! I mean, 3 more animals growing from the animal hair in the hall, dishes in the sink (that can't seem to make it another 6 inches to the DISHWASHER), laundry sorted on the bedroom floor (but NOT washed), baby crap all around the house (and the baby's not even here), and well, do I really need to go on? I mean, for Christmas my husband, er SANTA, bought me the greatest thing - an iROBOT automatic vaccuum cleaner. Guess what? I'm too lazy right now to clean the filter so that it can vaccuum ON ITS OWN every morning. (But, DEAR SANTA: Please send me the iRobot Scooba this year. I've been a very, very good girl...) Believe me, I would love to blame the Ultimate Deniator for all of this, but honestly? He's a pretty neat guy that helps out around the house. (And, by neat I don't mean groovey. I mean picks up his crap). Darn the inability to blame someone luck. *sigh*

The booksore is a mess.
I can't seem to keep up with anything at the bookstore. Just this morning I had to scale the mountain of books in the back storage room to get to the filing cabinet that holds the printer ink only to find that we were out of ink. Convenient. Our usually neat, quaint little store is a total wreck. (A good indication is when your regular customers start saying, "Do you want me to stay an help you get all of these books put away?!?")
I really need some employees.

My other businesses are a mess.
With only a few months to go before a little person consumes my entire life for the next 18+ years, you would think I would be using every waking moment to get my three businesses in order, right? HM. My freelance writing has slowed to a trickle - unfortunately - this would be the time when EXTRA MONEY could really come in handy! And my trendy tee biz? Basically runs itself (thank goodness). However, I have mountains of reseller forms - yep, people who want to carry my tees in their trendy boutiques all across the nation. Think I've jumped on this chance to basically earn money for doing NOTHING? Just putting my products in stores so that more people can buy them. Sounds easy, ya think? HM.

Anyway, I thought this was supposed to be the time in my pregnancy when that good ole nesting instinct kicks in and I want to get everything organized? Instead, nothing. Nada. No can do. Shocking that my pregnancy would have the EXACT OPPOSITE EFFECT then everyone else.

Dear God, please send me a personal assistant.
And a million dollars.
Oh, and a iRobot Scooba.
I mean, if it's not too much to ask.
Amen.

(BTW-I'm blaming Michelle for making me feel completely and adequately unorganized. Hey, I had to find some scapegoat...)

Look, I'm all for breastfeeding, or not (NO JUDGEMENT!). Do what you want and what you think is best for you/your child. Doesn't matter to me. Personally, I'm going to TRY breastfeeding. (Emphasis on try since I've heard some horror stories...). If it doesn't seem to work, resulting only in stress to me and the baby at every feeding with mutual frustration and disharmony in the land of bubble gum ice cream and rainbows, then I will bottle feed (NO JUDGEMENT!). Anyway, as I was looking through the comments/ratings of various breast pumps prior to purchasing, I stumbled upon this comment:


My Girlfriend and I decided to buy this pump and split the price in half. She used it for about 3 months 5 times daily. Then she passed it on to me. I'm still currently using it and it's been 6 months using twice to three times daily. I love this pump. It has a good suction. The black tote come in handy when you have to travel or return to work. I read other reviews that mentioned about motor went bad after a few months of use. But it's been almost 9 months for me and it's still going. Very recommend for first time mom.


Uh, HUH!??!
WHA?!?!?
(Honestly, when I first started reading I assumed that a guy was writing the comment, NOT A REAL GIRL FRIEND!).

There's something about having my breast suctioning at the same place that my girlfriend's breast was suctioning that I find well, just, OOOKEY. I mean, I LOVE my girlfriends, but I just don't want to LOOOOOVE my girlfriends. (NO JUDGEMENT!)

I am married to the biggest denial hound in the world (MAYBE the Universe). Whatever happens in my house, my husband is the first to say, I didn't do it. It wasn't me. Or, some form thereof. Most of the time, I can't even get out the full accusation before a NOT ME! is hurled in my direction. And, hey, guess what? We are the only two human species that live here! If it wasn't me, is it wrong of me to assume that it is the only other thing with opposable thumbs living here?!? I think not.

Previous conversations have included the likes of:

Since you drove my car last night, where did you put my keys?
Dunno, didn't have them.

Who has been using my towel?!?!
I didn't do it!

Who drank that case of beer and ordered all that Pay-Per-View Porn?!?
Wasn't me.
(Ok. Ok. I made the last one up, but, heh heh...)

Sometimes he'll even try to throw our friends under the bus in order to save himself.

Who were those skanky blond Ho's you were talking to?
UH...Wasn't me, Dennis told me to!

(Ok. I made that one up, too, but you get the point.)
(They were really brunette.)
(Sorry, Dennis, but you know it's true...)
(er, the throwing under the bus part, not the skanky Ho part)

Anyway...

I don't know what has caused this in my husband? Possibly living a life with a bullying younger sister who always got her way while my husband always got blamed to the point of an eventual cat-like nail fight and fork stabbing? (Hey, I'm not judging, I'm just sayin' a dose of therapy and psychotropic drugs all around may have been helpful in THAT family...). But this behavior is now quite concerning since we have a little one on the way. Because, I can tell you right now, I absolutely CANNOT handle two people screaming at me "I DIDN'T DO IT!" when they break my prized vase because they were throwing a football in the house when I told them not to. (OK, that was really a Brady Bunch episode, but hey, it can happen).

Today's Ultimate Denianator episode:
Background: On Wednesdays, I get to "sleep in" because the store opens late. I use "sleep in" loosely, because after not being able to get comfortable all night, having a "starving" cat b*tching at you outside your door at 6 a.m. and then the dog taking his cue to lick a face (helloooo...like I didn't know that you've been doing the pee-pee dance on my head since 4:35 a.m.?!?!), well, it really isn't sleeping in.

Today, I make my way into the kitchen to make some toast and SQUISHY SPLAT, I step on a sopping wet rug in front of the kitchen sink. I mean, this was no OOPS, I dropped a cup of coffee on the rug. This was soaked and pooling onto the tile all around. This could mean one of two things:
1. Ms. Princess Kitty Pee (NOT to be confused with the other one, has decided, yet again, to "bless" us with her ability to pee on every rug and item we have in our house (which is why we have a house full of hardwood floors AND ABSOLUTELY NO AREA RUGS. It's a good look, especially in a formal dining room), OR
2. That slow drip, drip, drip under the sink has finally caught up with us.

I pad away on my "morning off" to find the Ultimate Denianator (UD).

ME: So, did you happen to notice that the entire kitchen was flooded when you got up this morning?!? (Yes, I certainly have a flair for the dramatic).
UD: HUH?!?!
ME: Kitchen. Rug. Flooded. (UD follows me back into kitchen)
ME: (picking up the soaked rug) Uh, you didn't notice this when you came in to make coffee this morning?!?
UD: NO!
UD: I only made coffee!
UD: I didn't even go near the sink! (FYI-the coffee maker is RIGHT NEXT TO THE SINK)
UD: I didn't even turn on the light!
Me: *sigh*

Over the weekend, hubby and I visited a well-known home store to buy some trash cans for home (I KNOW, who can believe how we live it up on weekends! WOOHOO!). As we were standing in line to check out, there was a family waiting behind us.

Hubby: These are HUGE trashcans. These should work really well.
ME: Opening and shutting the lid. Yeah, we should be able to fit AT LEAST two dead bodies in each of these.
Hubby: (without missing a beat) And we won't even need to cut them up. They should fold up nice and neat in these.

The family behind us? Moved to the next lane.

And that, people? That's how it's done...

DANG! THIS was the blow-up costume I was going to wear for Halloween:

Or, was this one of those photo-op cardboard stand-ups that you walk behind and put your head on?!?!

Huh. I guess size DOESN'T always matter...

(And, dude, like, seriously, a sock would do wonders...)

A BIG CREEPY MAN (BCM) was just in the store. And, I emphasize BIG MAN (big enough and strange enough for me to actually consider that if he wanted to build a sacrificial alter in my back room with me as the offering that I would probably lose).

Strange Occurrence #1: Deep throaty pscyhotic laughter coming from back, non-fiction room. Creepy enough that I was afraid to go back there and see what it was all about. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me:

BCM: You know, looking at the self-help section, I just realized that it's all a crock. All of the people with the highest self esteem are the psychopaths and serial killers.
ME: HM. Never quite thought of it that way.
_____

Strange Occurence #2: BCM comes to the front of the store.
BCM: You know, I was just wondering if Barbara Bush ever considered aborting George and if she's sad that she didn't follow through with it.
ME: HM. I certainly hope not. I wouldn't want anyone to abort anyone else.

WTF

_____

Strange Occurence #3: BCM looking at our flyers for our Halloween Party.
BCM: So, are you celebrating the traditional Halloween here?
ME: HM. What do you mean?
BCM: You know, celebrate the season of darkness and cold with hollowed-out, lighted pumpkin heads guiding the way from house to house as you ask for fat for the feasts of the spirits.
ME: *blink*blink*blink*
ME: Er, was there a question in there somewhere?!?


The freaks come out this time of year, they surely do...

No secret here that own a used bookstore in a small town. My business kicks my a** (not to be confused with my business kicks a**), but I love it. On most days (and 99.9% of the time), it's a wonderful, fun, cool job - harder than anything I've ever done, but still fulfilling. There's that dreaded .1% that does want to make me want to saw a blunt object across my carotid until I'm flopping around on the floor. But, hey, nothing is perfect, right?

Before I go further, let's digress, shall we?
Let me 'splain something about owning a business in a small waterfront touristy kinda community - most people here don't seem to take their business too seriously (totally perplexing to me, but hey...). They open when they want, close when they want, do want they want...well most, except US. I mean, good for them, but I think if you run a business you should, well, RUN YOUR BUSINESS. We have RELIGIOUSLY and CONSISTENTLY stayed open within in our posted hours for the last year-and-half. Well, OK, except those times in the first 3 months of the pregnancy when I was spewing Exorcist-Alien type of matter from my mouth - then I closed ('cause really? Who wants to clean bile off a book before they buy it?). IF we were going to be closed, say on the slim chance that we took a day or two off *GASP*, then we posted it well in advance, put it on our VM and our website. Why am I telling you all of this? Because, aside from the KMART and CVS, we may be one of the most consistent businesses in this town. No arrogance, just fact.

So, imagine my surprise last Friday, when I'm sitting at the front counter paying bills 10 minutes before we open (also known as "getting here early to take care of the 'CEO' functions") and I hear an incredibly jarring *BANG*BANG*BANG* on the glass of our door. I look up in shock, anticipating the green hand of the Incredible Hulk to be hanging on the inside of my door. Instead, it was just a small crowd (4 people) gathered outside of the door. Before I go further, let me ask this question:

Have you EVER IN YOUR LIFE banged on a door of a store that wasn't open?!?
HM.
Me either.

Anway...
I'm more than mildly annoyed because:
1. Getting here early is the only time I have to take care of the mundane side of business,
2. We were not open because it was NOT TIME FOR US TO OPEN, and
3. THE INCREDIBLE HULKTRESS WAS BUSTING THROUGH MY F-ING WINDOW.

So, I open FIVE MINUTES EARLY MIND YOU (which may not seem like a big deal, but for those of you who own your own businesses, you understand. Oh, the things you can accomplish in 5 minutes without customers/clients around), to a public lynching. I open the door to a barrage (not in a nice barrage questioning way), of
"Why aren't you open? You're LATE!!"
"You saw us standing out here, why wouldn't you open?"
"What were you doing, anyway?"
(all of which is NONE OF THEIR BIDNESS, BTW)

The best part? Two of the people waiting to lynch me are just out for their morning walk and decided to get in on the early morning fun WITH NO INTENTION OF COMING IN THE STORE. HELLLOOOO...move along grandma and grandpa, you're going to miss the early bird specials at Big Boy...

WTF?!?

As the Incredible Hulktress pushes past me to go inside, she grunts,
"You're LATE! It's five after"

and, I couldn't resist. Usually, when customers annoy me and I want to tell them where they can spend a toasty eternity, I just do my signature blank *blink*blink*blink* stare with no comment. This morning, I had had it:

ME: I'm not late, we open at 10.
Incredible Hulktress (IH): I said it's FIVE AFTER. Your clock is SLOW.
ME: Well actually, I go by my computer, which is callibrated and synchronized to international time, so, if anything, I would say that your watch IS FAST. Honestly, I have NO IDEA what 'callibrated and synchronized' to international time means, but it sounded DAMN GOOD.
IH: I don't think so. *sigh* I need to know if you have these books...whipping out a list
ME: OOOO...sorry...you'll have to wait just a few minutes. Since you're EARLY, I will need to finish opening my store...

What a juvenile and unnecessary exchange, but hey, I have an alien growing inside of my that says I have the right to have my head explode at anytime I want. SO, NAH NAH NUH NAH NAH.

*ahem*

Her list? Consisted of the morning's BEST SELLER LIST. (In case you missed it, scroll up, this is a USED BOOKSTORE). Of course we didn't have any of the TEN BOOKS ON THE LIST.

IH: Well, you know, I'm trying really hard to support your local business, but you're making it very difficult when you have NOTHING that I want. (btw-I love when people tell me how grateful I should be that they patronize my store. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much).
ME: *blink*blink*blink*
ME: Well, let me explain something to you that you seem to have missed about this store. We are a USED BOOKSTORE. USED. Which means, we are NEVER, I repeat NEVER going to have the current day's bestseller list unless you've ordered them from us.
IH: *grunt*spew*pfflt* It says on your windows have a new books, too. Damn the advertising!
ME: True. We do have a limited amount of new books, but most people who want books off the bestseller list ORDER THEM FROM US.
IH: *grunt*grumble*spat*
ME: smile

Her last coup de gras? She tries to pay with a $50 dollar bill (for a $6 sale). Which I laugh at uncontrollably. Shockingly, she comes up with the exact change when I say to her (in a mom kinda way), "AHH. Now, you know very well, you are my very first customer. I cannot break a $50 dollar bill."

I hope she comes real back soon, it was a fantastcially fun way to start my day.
BuhBye.
Don't let the door hit you...
*blink*blink*blink*

Addendum: I should've listened to my friend Jeanne on this day when she said, "After that, close, go home, take the day off." I was really wishing I had listened later that day when my computer started doing a physical memory dump and completely crashed. I blame it all on the Incredible Hulktress...