As I watched the cockfight over the downfall of the economy, I realized that I am a pathetic excuse for a conscientious American. How do I know this? Because these are the thoughts that went through my head (or erupted from my mouth until the Hubs shushed me into submission). Feel free to judge me:
No!!!!! The Bachelorette! What happened with Constantine??? Obama's always ruining my TV nights!
Man I need a new cell phone background (I then proceeded to take multiple photos of ridiculous things in my house, ending with a slightly off center photo of an owl greeting card):
whoo...whoo is actually watching this voluntarily...oh...the Hubs is...
Good thing the US doesn't have a Capital One credit card...those bastards are unforgiving! They must be republicans.
Oh...super long pause while we stare at the newscasters...don't blink, don't blink...uncomfortable.
Nice tie Boehner... must be trying to reach those young whipper-snappers with the fresh and feisty tie. Nice try Boehner, nice try. You're still an old dude, even with your yellow polka dots!
Oh! Bitchslap! Big government = bad! Here's what I REALLY want to see Boehner!!
I wonder what Obama and Boehner's love child would look like? And then I took the time to create a composite on www.morphthing.com.Here it is:
Now that baby can pull off a green tie with yellow polka dots. What have we learned? Compromise = coolness
Since I posted about the monkey backpack leash, I have found myself obsessed with things that can cause children long-term psychological and/or emotional trauma. Instead of working, I have spent inordinate amounts of time thinking about things that scared me as a child. And I have been painstakingly searching the internet for things that creep me out or make me giggle uncontrollably (I'm told they actually have medicine for that), and I have compiled a list for your viewing pleasure.
Sing this as a lullaby (my mother actually did sing this as a lullaby...and I usually requested it....hmm.....)
2. Fun for a little while...until they look back on their formative years...why was daddy wearing a saddle? And why did mommy like to ride too?
3. Expecting a new brother or sister for your child? Trying to figure out how to explain where babies come from? Now you can use anatomically correct birthing dolls like these!
This cool little starter kit features easy recipes like blueberry pancakes, fried "chicken", enchilada bake, chocolate mousse to die for and many more! Everyone and anyone could be vegetarian because it's that easy, especially with all of the options we have in local stores like Walmart, Kroger and Aldi. Get started on everything you need to eat right for your health, for animals and for the Earth.Shoot me an email and i'll mail you a starter kit or drop one off depending on where you are located.
Stay happy, healthy and strive for greatness!
•Location: Warner Robins, Ga
•it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
As a socially conscious blogger, I feel the need to disclose certain information even if it's uncomfortable and disturbing. Today, I need to introduce you to Babyland General Hospital.
The Hubs and I met his family in north Georgia for the weekend, for some rest and relaxation. His nieces, as always when in north Georgia, wanted to make an afternoon trip to Babyland General Hospital, in Cleveland, GA. I agreed more excitedly than I probably should have because I love weird things.
For those of you who have not heard of this magical place, Babyland is where the cabbage patch kid is born. That's right, mother hill pushes out multiple babies a day from her little cabbage with a little help from some "imagicillin" and a CPD (Cabbage Patch Doctor). I have put together a little photo-journalistic collection of the experience for your viewing pleasure, in order that you might get the full experience.
Imagine this: you drive up to an immense white building on a hill. It has white columns and looks like a Gone With the Wind revival.
Not kidding...that is really Babyland General...intimidating? I feel under-dressed.
Welcome to babyland. I will be your guide for this amazing journey into the American childhood experience!
When you enter Babyland, you make your way through the preemie ward, and various nurseries...
Overcrowding leads to unhealthy living conditions. With ten babies or more per bed, they're just asking for a Rubella epidemic. (p.s. What is Rubella?)
Um...the incubators in the back contain severed heads sprouting from cabbages...and yet none of the children are crying.
Here is a close-up
Then you reach the center of the complex...the mecca...the hill of life from which babies are spawned:
Once here, you get to witness a "live birth." Let me break it down for you:
Everyone at Babyland is summoned over the loudspeaker to gather around the cabbage hill. It is like a cattle call of screaming and excited children and nervous-looking adults. Crystals light up suggesting that "Mother Cabbage" is in fact, ready to give birth (crystals will also change color to indicate if the cabbage is having a boy or a girl. The CPD announces that Mother Cabbage is "ten leaves dilated."The CPD gives mother a "shot of imagicillin" which hangs from the tree of life in an IV drip. This doctor then proceeds to pull a baby had first from a cabbage (glad that it is not a "branch" delivery), smack it on the bottom and then ask the children in the audience to name the baby. This results in the excessive screaming of children and ridiculous name combinations like Ebony Samantha, or Keyanna Jane. Children who did not speak up fast enough are crying. Then the doctor announces that the baby must have his/her first check-up at the nurses station, but after that Teague Benjamin will be available for adoption to one lucky child. (He does not mention that this newborn will cost $400 dollars.)
Want to get the experience for yourself? I found an amazing video on YouTube. I realize that it was filmed sideways, but it is the clearest and best video I could find to capture the weirdness:
Once the birthing is over, children run rampant through the cabbage patch store, grabbing item after item: the preemie, the newborn, the cabbage patch stroller. Parents suddenly are dropping ridiculous amounts of money on this paraphernalia. But tell me this, how could you not want to buy something to commemorate such an amazing experience? I could not resist the urge. I bought an imagicillin pen (shaped like a syringe...can't wait to take that through airport security!) and a small travel companion:
Meet Wilhemina! I chose the Asian doll because she had the coolest outfit...plus she was sporting a socially conscious breast cancer awareness stripe in her hair. Show you care...be aware!
Don't worry, this is not the last you will see of Wilhemina! She's bound for great adventures!!
As I left JC Penny's this afternoon, I was walking behind a little girl who was tethered to her grandmother by a furry monkey backpack...whose tail was a leash. Fascinated, I inched closer to take a picture, but then remembered that my camera phone makes a very loud clicking noise. So in order to not be considered a creeper, I refrained. I also refrained from petting the monkey. Good for me.
We'll have to make due with a similar shot:
(Not actual toddler in mall. Toddler in mall had cooler haircut. Actually I kind of wanted her haircut.)
Now, I realize that toddler leashing is a controversial topic. I can see why, as some websites refer to these leashes as "toddler restraining harnesses." Other objectionable terms: "child tether," "child leash," or "walking reins" (which leads me to wonder if there are also running reins...like booster seats instead of infant car seats). So I wanted to provide a little more information. According to http://histclo.com/style/other/teath.html (which I maybe reading illegally as the site asked for a password and I just kept hitting cancel until it gave up), the toddler leash concept dates back to the 17th century. It has slipped in and out of popularity, but seems to be in fashion once again. My favorite section describes modern toddler leashes, some of which are "unescapable."
(Perhaps????)
I realize that as a non-mom, many will say that I have no right to comment on such a contraption. But to those people I say: let me try it out on your child so that I can speak from experience. (It's only fair really.)
But since I cannot currently borrow a child, as none of my friends with toddlers live in the state, I asked the woman across from me at Panera (who was sporting a six month old) what she thought of the toddler leash. Apparently she was leashed as a child, though she mentioned it was not popular then and that her leash was basically a wrist rope that looked very similar to a dog collar/leash. She claims that her parents purchased said leash and did not make it themselves. (Um...lady, sure they purchased it...at the local pet store.) This woman was pro-leash...but then she also started spouting off about the benefits of spanking and had a strange intensity in her eyes that led me to cut the conversation short.
Personally, I can't help but wonder what kind of tricks the leashed toddler could learn. Can they learn to fetch? To heel? Can I teach them to make me iced coffee and reward them with chew toys?
When training my dog, I found that the leash can be very effective...especially the zippy ones. You give 'em a little space, and then when they are comfortable with their freedom you snap 'em back to show them who's in charge. Tough love.
I'm just saying: my brother would have felt up a lot fewer women (he loved nylons) if he had been leashed.
My conclusion?
Personally, I like the toddler leash. It's funny and just a little demeaning...which is good for kids.
Those of you who know me may find me mildly amusing. But this blog is hysterical. I want to be her friend. I laughed out loud at Starbucks...which had some people looking at me as if I had snorted my espresso, cocaine style...which I only did once (snorted espresso, not snorted cocaine), so I don't know what the big deal is. Anyway, I have to share, and to tell you that I am seriously contemplating purchasing a travel chicken. Hubs...I can buy you one, too, if you want, so you can have your very own!
So, I turned on the Today Show this morning while my husband got ready for work (yes that’s right…I have off for the summer…the joys of teaching!!), and when my local weather came on I immediately wanted to cry…or curse…’cause cursing is one of my favorite things to do.
Why, you may ask? Because today is supposed top out at around 100 degrees, but with the added joys of soup-like humidity, it will feel like 110. Now, I know those of you who live in Texas or Arizona are scoffing at my wimpiness as you read this. But to you I say…were you spawned from the depths of hell??! Because I was born in Buffalo (see my previous discussion of what this means) and my arctic youth did not prepare me to melt.
And I blame The Hubs for this of course, because it is his fault that I now live on the hell-mouth. I am slowly morphing into a creature from the depths. As I walked the dog I found myself slowing to a meandering shuffle, loping from shady spot to shady spot. I spread my arms and legs as far from each other as possible so that no part of my body touched another. I’m pretty sure I was grunting. I imagine I looked something like this:
My dog began to cower:
(Not my real dog)
I began to wonder if this swampy environment would have me growing scales and gills. I’m pretty sure I could have breathed fire (as I had not yet brushed my teeth for the day), and I found myself wanting to torture small creatures. I chased neighborhood cats and let my dog attempt to attack a squirrel (sorry Bodha, I’m sure you were just playing and this act was in no way intentionally malicious).
I began to look for Buffy the Vampire Slayer behind the perfectly manicured bushes in my neighbors’ yards, with certainty that I could take her. I mean seriously…she weighed what, 100 pounds? Plus by this point I could spray her with my thick blood which had to be black and inky, as I imagine most demon blood is. I would have the advantage of blinding her. Plus, my killer dog (who had now joined me in my obsession with taking over our gated community) would distract her until I could take her out with my dog’s zippy leash or smother her with a poop bag pulled from Bodha’s little bone shaped poop bag holder.
When I returned home, I spent some time laying directly on top of the air conditioning vent . Finally, once I reverted back to my human form, I came to this conclusion: people weren’t meant to live in Georgia. Hubs…this is directed at you.
(Disclaimer: No cats, dogs, squirrels, demons or vampire slayers were actually harmed in the events leading up to the writing of this blog post.)
I've recently discovered that I may have a problem. Apparently, being the creative sort means that I also am prone to flights of fancy. And these flights are not as whimsical as they sound. In fact, my fancy flights usually involve quite a bit of turbulence. I start with a simple thought, and then my brain twists it. The free-flowing process goes a little something like this:
Man, I haven't written any new pages in my mystery novel in almost a month...if I don't finish I'll be stuck at my job forever with no benefits or retirement...I'd better apply for jobs...maybe I should work at Starbucks...maybe I should go back to school and do something useful like pharmacology, where I'll make millions until I get sued for switching an 80 year old man's prescription with horse tranquilizer (because apparently I will be providing medication for nursing homes and large animal farms)...and my photo will be in the paper next to a picture of his bloated, foaming face...Then I'll have to flee the country and go where they can't find me...Crap, I don't have a passport... I wonder if I could swim across one of the Great Lakes and make it to Canada...but then I'll have no ID and I'll have to become a stripper to survive...my husband (AKA the Hubs) would not be pleased...maybe he could be my pimp...He'll need a proper hat for that...with a feather in it...I bet they have feathers at Michael's...and some sequins for my skimpy stripper underwear...
At this point, I will still be looking at a blank screen and hours will have passed, and I'll be feeling something like this:
The Hubs doesn't seem to understand my anxiety when he gets home from work and I race at him, panicked, from my little office. He is rightly flabbergasted at my crazy-eyed melt-down. He very sweetly tries to talk me down, but after a few summer weeks of this, his patience is obviously depleted.
But, I have discovered the solution to my apparent unnecessary anxiety. When trying to get rid of the random hives spreading over my hips continually for weeks (my body was apparently also suffering from my creative flights), I stumbled upon the wonders of Benedryl. When I kept on a regimented treatment of Benedryl ever 4-6 hours to stabilize my hives, there was an unexpected and happy side effect: the flights of fancy stopped.
That's right! A couple of little pink pills, and the voices in my head subsided. I waltzed through life contented (if not a bit doped up) with the help of an antihistamine (freeing me up to do things like write this blog)!
While I do not advocate fixing your life through use of a controlled substance...I must admit that I have a new found love of Benedryl. So my one question is this: Do I have a problem?
