Saturday, May 31, 2008


I really should have thought this thing out a little more clearly. I am kind of an enigma in the fact that I am a planner, and yet I'm not. I can be compulsive, and yet I can think things through, debate the pros and cons, and then come to a decision. I like spontaneity, and yet I don't like surprises. Are you following me?? No?? I know, I am nuts.

So when I started the whole blog thing, I never really thought anyone but my friends and family would read it. I thought it would be a cool way of keeping people informed about the happenings in our lives. And I also really felt it would be a great creative outlet for me. I could get all the jumbled thoughts and tangled mess out of my brain. I have always loved to write, so what a great way to expand that hobby, right? Right?

Well, yes and no.

There are two things I wish I had thought out.

First, and I realized this almost immediately, I should have stayed anonymous. I should have done this for me and me alone. My little secret world. That way I could vent about the things that irritate me. And when I say things, I really mean people. I could have given everyone code names that match their personality. I could have talked about this person, or what someone said when that happened. I could have said all the things I want to but can't.

Do you know why I didn't do this?? Because, and this may surprise some of you, ha ha, I am way too much of an attention whore. I know! What an embarrassing thing to admit! But I want to be myself, I want to be honest. I am not a meek, mild little girl. I am loud. I am boisterous. I am extroverted. And while I hate to say I thrive on the attention of other people, I do tend to bloom when I know people are paying attention. There I said it. I admit it. I just put it all out there and now you know. The thought of writing all these posts and not receiving back any positive reinforcement made me feel like a dried up, wilted flower. And I can't have that, now can I? So of course the obvious thing to do was tell my friends. "Hey, I started a blog! Come read it!" And then sit back, and bask in the glow of their adoration.

The second thing I did not think about, and this is the most important, I never realized how it might affect my family. I never took their feelings into consideration. I was so focused on my new form of free therapy, I didn't even realize they might be a little uncomfortable with me revealing personal information for all the world. Yes! The world!! As you can see, I now have a dot in Africa. There are a whole lotta strangers reading about my life. And that doesn't bother me. But it may bother some people close to me, and that hurts my heart a little.

Now I have never posted anything too personal. And I think my lovely husband was a little terrified that everything he did, everything we discussed, every embarrassing or intimate moment had the potential to be my next post. I always kind of felt there were some topics that were completely off limits. But my idea of what is private may be different from my family's idea of what is private. I will still talk about them. I will still tell the funny stories, provided they are not hurtful to others. But I won't refer to any of them by their real names anymore. I realize it's a little late and I already have named them. But from this point on, my husband is Uberman (yeah, I totally came up with that name on my own), my oldest son is Junior, my middle son is Mac and my daughter is Boo.

And yes, I went back through my old posts and changed their names.

My family is my top priority. I would hate it if something I said or did hurt them in any way. But if anyone out there is reading this and is thinking of starting a blog of their own, my advice is to stay anonymous. I really wish I had.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

There's No Cure for Stupid

People are stupid. And of course, since I am indeed, a person, I mean me too. (See definition for narcolepsy.)

For example, I stopped today at, um, an undisclosed location, ahem, for a diet coke with vanilla. When the girl handed it to me she asked if I would need any salt or ketchup. Uuhhh, no thanks? I think the vanilla is all the extra flavor I need.

I went to the grocery store on Tuesday and the check out girl asked me if I needed any ass or stamps. Exsqueeze me? "Um, I meant ICE. Do you need any ice?" Oh good! Because as you can see, I have plenty of ass. I actually have a surplus, but I'm working on it. Stamps would be great though, because I'm fresh out of those.

One of our company asshats came into the office today. He asked if I had any White-Out. I handed him the corrective tape and watched in awe as he raised it to his ear and shook it.

Me: What are you doing?
He: Shaking it.
Me: Uh-huh. Hmmm. Why?
He: To mix it up.
Me: Dude, it's corrective tape.
He (looking at it): What do you mean?
Me: You don't have to shake it.
He: Why?
Me: Because, it's, um, dry. It's like tape-puh. (Yes, I felt the need to enunciate.)
He: Is it sticky?
Me: Uh, no.
He: I was wondering why it wasn't making any noise.
Me: And I am wondering how you got a masters degree.
He (trying to hand it back to me): How do I work it?
Me: Can you just step away from my desk? Please??

I went to Walgreens this afternoon for Benadryl. The check out guy feels the need to state the obvious. "Someone has allergies." Um, no. I just liked the box because it was pink and pretty. I just smiled at him. He tells me my total is $6.15. I give him $11.15.

He: Will that be cash?
Me: Ummm. Yeah, that is cash.
He: You gave me too much money.
Me: Yes, can you please give me back a five?
He: Why can't I just give you back your one and four other ones?
Me: Because I want a five. Is that okay? (Smile)
He (closing cash register): Okay. Now tell me exactly what you want.
Me: I gave you a ten, a one and fifteen cents. I am asking you to give me back a five in change.
He: I think I need to get the manager.
Me: I think you need a whole lot more than that.

Am I expecting too much? I didn't feel the need to explain to him that my boys needed $5 each for an activity and I only had one $5. If one got a five and the other got five ones we could have an issue. Other mommies, are you with me on this?? I just thought Walgreens Guy could help me out with this. I thought we were like comrades because he works with the public, I have worked with the public. You know, we have a connection. But nooooo. Walgreens Guy left me hanging.

I've told y'all before I used to be a waitress. Yeah, I totally sucked at it. But I was good with the dealing with the public part of the job. I have stories, oh boy do I have stories. Here's a few...

Working the breakfast shift you spend a lot of time discussing eggs with people. When your server asks you "How would you like your eggs cooked?" The appropriate answers are as follows: Over Easy, Over Medium, Over Hard, Sunny Side Up, Scrambled, Poached, or Basted. Please notice "Fried" is not an option. Neither is "Over." I used to get really snippy with the "over" people. I would say "Over Night?" or "Over a Flame?" Over what??? Give me some specifics! Although once I did get "In a window" from a hungover frat boy. I almost gave him a hug. Sweet little thing.

When you are giving people a lot of options on what drinks or salad dressings are available, it is very easy to see who's stupid at the table. I'd go through the whole list of beverages, even though they are listed in detail on the back of the menu. "Coke, Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, Sprite, Root Beer, Lemonade, Orange Juice, Iced Tea, Coffee, Hot Chocolate, Water." Every. Single. Time. "Don't you have Dr. Pepper?" Why yes we do, but I didn't want to tell you about it. Shhh, it's a secret. You look more like a Shirley Temple kind of guy anyway.

Or I'd go through the whole list of salad dressings: "House, Thousand Island, Italian Vinaigrette, French, Lo Cal Catalina and Balsamic Vinaigrette." The obvious question next is "Don't you have Ranch?" or "Do you have Bleu Cheese?" Dude, did I say Ranch or Bleu Cheese??

So my day ends with this story. I called my OBGYN office to make my appointment for my annual oil change. The receptionist asks my name. I tell her. She asks me to spell it. I start spelling my last name.

She: No, how do you spell your first name?
Me: It's April. Like the month?
She: And how do you spell it?
Me: Um, just like the month. A-P-R-I-L.

Is it me? Are my expectations a little too high? How do I, lovable, bubbly A-P-R-I-L, always manage to bring out the C-R-A-Z-Y in everyone?

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Inspiration from Diet Coke

Yesterday my new friend Chris at Diet Coke Rocks had this beautiful and inspiring post. Anyone who has struggled with their "Bigger" self will relate. I have been taking a little break from the weight watching, even after promising the lovely Brenda I would start again with her. This post was just the kick in the ass I needed.

It reminded me of all the reasons I started in the first place. Plain and simple - I don't want to be that girl anymore. I want my confidence back. I want to feel healthy. I want to enjoy shopping for new clothes. Oh who am I kidding? I loved shopping for fat clothes, too. Shopping is and always has been part of my cardio. But, I don't want to avoid seeing people from my past because I am worried about that look in their eyes. You know that look? "Oh wow, she's really packed on the pounds!" Even if they don't say it, you can see it. It hurts.

I don't want my husband to introduce me to friends or co-workers and see that they are thinking "Poor Uberman. He's so cute and has a chubby wife." Even though he loves me no matter what, I care about what people think when they see us together.

Chris was sweet enough to post my Bigger story on her blog. I had more comments today from other women just like me, just like Chris. Women who are struggling to get their bodies back. It felt so good to hear from these women. I have worked too hard to give up when I have not reached my goal.

So guess what I did today? I wore a pair of pants that I had from last summer, before I started with my weight loss plan. I had them stuffed way back in the closet with the maternity clothes I will never need again and the work suits I still can't get rid of from 1997. Yeah, really. I pulled them out and I wore them. With a belt - because they are two sizes too big. But I needed to remind myself how good it feels to know that I am smaller than I was this time last year. They were uncomfortable and annoying because they kept sagging. I had to pull them up every time I got out of my chair. I had to keep checking to make sure my shirt was covering my goodies. I am sure the He and She bosses saw more of me than necessary today. Thank God for cute knickers, eh?

If all goes well, I am going to Italy in November. I want to be within 10 pounds of my goal weight by then. There is no reason why I can't do it. I can't believe I am putting this out there, but now I am accountable to everyone who reads this. To Chris and all her lovely friends who commented today. To my blogging BFF Brenda. To anyone else who is going through this. And most importantly, to myself. Cue Rocky theme song...

.... Smokin' Hot April is making a comeback!

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Google This

So apparently I blog about Sonic too much.

I got a cool new site meter, did you notice? Don't panic, I am not breaking up with Cluster Map. I still love him. It's just that he doesn't give me as much info as the new super cool site meter. The site meter tells me how people are getting to my blog, which is pretty wicked awesome.

And today it told me that three people, three separate individuals, found me by searching "sonic fries with that shake" on the Google. Um, that's a little embarrassing. And disturbing at the same time.

Maybe I need to break up with Sonic?

Sunday, May 25, 2008

The Queen Reviews a Movie

You know in the movie High Fidelity where Rob makes a list of his top 5 dream jobs? I have totally done that. Mine is not nearly as specific as his, with dates detailing when that job would have been the most fun, inspiring or lucrative, but I have still actually sat, put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and made that list. Most of the jobs on my list are some type of journalist. And somewhere at the top of the list is Movie Critic. The bottom of the list - event planner. I can throw one kick ass par-tay, let me tell you what.
I seriously can't think of a better job than getting paid to watch movies and then present your opinion about what you just saw. And I really don't think we have enough normal people in this field. A lot of movie critics are so busy looking for the symbolism, the underlying poignant meaning, the moral, the superiority of the cinematography, and all that other crap that some of us really don't care about. Why do we go to the movies? We go for entertainment, right? Are we going so some writer, director and group of actors can teach us how to be better human beings? I think not. We go to laugh, to escape and to be entertained. In my opinion, if the film makes us think twice about a certain issue, or see something from a different perspective, that's just gravy.
This afternoon Uberman and I went to see the new Indiana Jones movie. Was it a good movie? Uh, it was okay. Yep, just okay. I liked it. I am glad I saw it. I thought it was worth $18 and a few hours of a hot date with my husband. But it wasn't as good as the Indy's of yore. I laughed a few times, I was creeped out a few times, and being codependent, I worried a lot that Indy was going to fall and break a hip. He's still as handsome as ever, but he's moving a little slower and he's looking a little, well, old. I never really had a moment in the movie where I was white knuckling the arm rest going "Oh, is he going to make it out of this one?" It was a little campy, predictable, and a whole lot unrealistic. But, it was entertaining.
Did I leave the theater a little disappointed? Yeah, maybe a little. But I went to be entertained, and I was entertained. Uberman will probably go see it again with the boys. It had a little bit of violence, but nothing they haven't seen before in other movies. And there were a few times when Shia let some choice words fly, but I'm pretty sure they hear worse from kids at school. So in my scale of Go See It, Rent It, or Skip It, I say Go See It.
And let me just tell you this. If I were a 16 year old girl again, I would totally have Shia's face plastered all over my locker. Does that make me a pervert?

Friday, May 23, 2008

The Name Game

Yesterday, in her comment on my previous post, my good friend, The Lovely Kristen, outed my middle name. Which is really no big deal. To her. Because she has a pretty middle name. With kind of a sweet story regarding how she got this middle name. Which I won't share because I RESPECT HER PRIVACY. So a word to the wise, watch your back KLAMS. You're a scrappy little thing but I could totally take you. Did you ever realize if you include your middle name your initials spell out KLAMS? That is funny! Not nearly as good as Raia's. Which leads me to my next paragraph.
Back in our single days, my friend Raia (I'll call her Raia to distinguish her from the 82 Andrea's I know) met a cute boy. And there were sparks. You could see them. And as we left Cute Boy with his pack of friends that night, I told her "You are totally going to marry him." And then she told me his last name. And I said "You totally CAN NOT marry him." Or at the very least, take his last name. Which would ruin her initials and the possibility of monogrammed towels forever. Unless! She uses her maiden name as her middle name! Yes! What a swell idea! How smart is your best friend April??
Did she listen to me? NO! She married Cute Boy, took his last name and kept her middle name. And now the lovely Raia has the initials ASS.
We put a lot of importance on a name, don't we? When someone is pregnant we immediately want to know "So, have you picked a name?" Why do we always feel the need to tell people we hate the name they picked because we knew a kid with that name in third grade and he spent all his time under his desk picking his nose? Or we knew a girl in high school with that name and well, let's just say she wasn't popular because she was a cheerleader, wink wink. Why do we do this? News flash - it's not our baby to name! And we've all done it, me included. The name bashing, I mean. Not the nose picking or high school whoring.
We chose Junior's real first name because it sounded strong and couldn't easily be shortened. A lot of people didn't like the name, and we even thought about changing it a few months before he was born. But we really loved it and decided it was our decision so we kept it. Not that it matters, because in school he goes by his middle name anyway. Needless to say, his name was not as uncommon as we thought.
When we chose Mac's name, our announcement was greeted by our parents' wide eyes and the sound of chirping crickets. "Did she say (insert kid's name here)? Is that even a name?" We chose it because it was one syllable and not common. And now? We know at least eight other kids with some variation of this name.
Both of our boys' middle names are after baseball players. I won't tell you which ones, but it wouldn't be hard to figure out. They are unusual names, not Spooneybarger or Zito weird, but not common like Thomas or Young. A lot of my husband's friends are surprised I agreed to this, and even further, to name our daughter after a Ney York Yankee. But baseball is a part of Uberman, a part of our family, and I thought it was cool that they had a story behind their names. And I did nix his Dimaggio and Mantle suggestions. Although I almost agreed to Gehrig, but I thought everyone would say "Garrett?"
Now the only problem with naming your kids after famous or well known people that are still living is, you always run the risk these people could, someday, get caught in a seedy motel with three kilo's of cocaine and a dead hooker. Or they could be found guilty of lying to a grand jury about the usage of steroids. Or they could be accused of brutally murdering their ex-wife and her waiter friend. Bet all those people who named their kids OJ are totally regretting it, eh?
So I do my best to keep my mouth shut when people tell me what names they are considering for their babies. First of all, who am I to say anything when my kids have weird names? And second and most important - not my baby to name.
However, I really do wish someone had intervened when my mother was choosing a name for me. I was born in the early 70's, and I guess it could have been worse. I could have been named Rainbow or Moon Beam. Sunshine would have been cool. But my mom chose April. Even though I was not born or conceived in April. She just liked the name. And because she was a little on the hippie side, she chose a poetic middle name to go with it. April Dawn. Can't you just smell the, ahem, incense? Can't you just hear the melodic harmonies of the Mamas and Papas swelling in the background?
Can't you just see the name in big pink scrawly handwriting . . . on the box of a feminine hygiene product?
Mom - What were you thinking??

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

I Still Do

Fourteen years ago today I was a blushing bride.
I was anxious and excited. All glammed up in a beautiful white dress. Showing a little cleavage for the first time ever, which I proudly pointed out to my soon-to-be-father-in-law. I had a smaller waist and a fresher face. And a handsome groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle. As we walked toward him, my dad chuckled and kept telling me to slow down.
We were so young. We had no idea what the future held for us, but we knew we would face it together.
We've had fourteen years of laughter, and sometimes tears. We have won and lost. We've bought and sold. We have apologized and forgiven. We've had richer and poorer. We've had sickness and health. We have loved, honored and cherished. And yes ladies and gentlemen, I have even occasionally obeyed.
We are lucky. We have that relationship where we can communicate without speaking. We trade looks, touches, jabs, pinches and the occasional kick under the table. We finish each other's sentences and always say what the other is thinking. We know one another's reactions well before they happen. And yet we still continue to surprise each other.
My heart still beats faster when I see him. I still love smelling his cologne lingering in the bathroom after he has left for work. I still love the sound of his voice when I answer the phone.
It hasn't been perfect. It hasn't been easy. But we have always faced it together. In his words, the trials we have faced are what keep us sharp and ready for whatever comes our way. No matter what we have been through, we always come out on top. Together and stronger. And laughing. Shaking our fists ruefully at the world. We were just meant to be.
And for all you suckas taking bets at our wedding - Ha ha! Who's laughing now, yo??

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

You're My Boy, Blue!

One of my coworkers is an older gentleman. And when I say older I really mean old. Remembers listening to the radio shows for entertainment while wearing knickers and a newsboy cap old. I have not asked him, because that would be rude, but I am guessing he's around eighty. Eight Zero. I know, God bless his little failing heart, huh? But seriously, he is a nice man.

However, he is a bit, um, technologically challenged? Which can seriously bummerfy my day. (Yep, totally just made that word up. I think it rocks.)

Like everyone else in the 21st century, we work in a business that heavily relies on computers and various electronic devices. We fax, we email, we text, we scan, we upload & download, we import & export. If the server goes down, if the power goes out, if we have no cell service, we are screwed.
Unfortunately, Old Guy refuses to get with times. He hand writes everything. And the He Boss is so patient and understanding. He figures the guy doesn't do that much business with us so what's the big deal if we (meaning me) have to transfer all of his handwritten files to an electronic format? Which means I spend my afternoon deciphering his scribbles, calling him with questions on shorthand (shorthand people!), and entering all of the data into the programs we use. He actually made a joke about how it's too bad he has to spend so much time writing all this stuff when I just have to type it up anyway, too bad he can't just send it all to me through Morse code. I laughed but I am terrified he was a little serious.

Because he doesn't use the computer much, if I need to communicate with him, I have to call him. Which for some reason, and totally not a fault on his part, irritates the crap out of me. It is so much easier for me to be productive and multi-task if I don't have to stop and actually talk to someone. Have you ever noticed that talking on the phone takes concentration? And a lot of energy? But typing? There are no tangents to distract you from the point, there's no exchange of polite banter, there's no sitting and listening to stories that took place back in '39 when the world was apparently a Utopia. It's direct and to the point. And my preferable mode of communication in professional relationships. I find it terribly inconvenient to just stop everything I am doing to call him when I could just shoot him a quick email. Are you following me on this or am I just coming off as a horrible, impatient jerk? Totally rhetorical question, just to let you know. I came home and complained about this issue to my wonderfully understanding husband. He kindly reminded me that I had just spent two hours the night before talking to his mother on the phone about uncomfortable shoes, colon cleansing and the sex of Brad and Angelina's upcoming twins. Bad example, Babealicious. Obviously I am not discussing such poignant and socially relevant issues at work with Old Guy. Hello?

So yesterday I call Old Guy to let him know his paycheck is ready and he can either come pick it up at the office or we can send it snail mail. Guess what he says to me??

"You guys really need to get with it and sign up for direct deposit."

Dude. Are you flipping kidding me?

Friday, May 16, 2008

Oh Blog It

So I'm having a little bit of a blogging crisis. A lot of new people have stopped by lately (thanks again for the link Coffee Bean, that was really sweet). People like her and her and her. Oh and this lady has an awesome blog title. And this nice lady and this one. And this girl who told me I reminded her of her mom. Um, thanks? Your mom must rock. And be super young, hip and cool. Like me. Because I see on your profile that you are 24, and um, I really really want to take this as a compliment. I got my first blogging marriage proposal from this girl. But I think she'll change her mind when she finds out my daughter was named after a New York Yankee. (She's a Red Sox fan. Sigh.) But I hope she won't hold it against me and we can still be friends.

Everyone left really nice comments. And well, now I'm, um, scared shipless. Everyone's like "Oh April, you are so funny!" And you are right, I am. I can't help it. And thank you for noticing. But what if I'm not? What if my funny-ness just runs out? What if, I shudder to think, I can no longer find material to entertain the masses? Everything that has happened in the last few days, I am over analyzing. "Is that funny? Was that a comical moment I can spin into a blog post?? Is this moment blogworthy?" Oh the pressure! The agony and anxiety! The desire to not suck!

Why is it that blog comments are so invigorating? What is it about a real life friend or a total stranger leaving you a little note that just makes your day? Is it the acceptance? The affirmation? The reassurance that what you are writing about is worthy to be read? I have no idea what the answer is. All I know is that when I see there are comments, I am over the moon.

I think I am addicted to blogging. And all that comes with it. Writing it, reading others, commenting, reading other people's comments. There are some flipping funny people in this world. And there are some sick-o's, too. You know who you are. But I think I may have a problem. I check my comments when I get up, a few times at work, when I get home and before I go to bed. No wonder my laundry mountain is growing. Sigh. I sound pathetic.

Hi. I'm April and I'm a blog-addict. (All together, "Hi April.")

I know I am totally addicted to my cluster map. I love that little bugger. I love seeing how many hits I got each day and if I got any new red dots. But it's definitely a love-hate relationship because right now I'm a little mad at it. Why you ask? I think it's ripping me off. I think it's going skimpy on the dots. Yesterday I should have gotten a dot in New Zealand. But look at New Zealand. For those of you who are geography challenged, it's that long island south east of Australia. If you don't know where Australia is, you need to look it up on the Google. Did y'all see President Bush talking about the Google? Seriously, that man needs to stop doing interviews. So back to New Zealand. Where is my dot, Cluster Map? What the H?

Look how international I have become! I know! So exciting. Someone in Australia has looked at my blog more than 10 times. I know this because their dot is growing. How cool is that?

Nicole Kidman, if that is you - Hi and good luck with the baby. Oh and I like Keith way better than that other crazy guy you were married to.

If that dot is Hugh Jackman - What's up Baby?

If that dot is just some random person in Australia, Welcome! Let's be mates, okay? I'm not really an idiot. I mean I realize the population of Australia is over 21,000,000 (I totally just looked it up on the Wikipedia), and the chances of that dot being Nicole or Hugh are pretty slim, but you know, just in case. Either way I'm glad you're here.

I was so excited when I saw the red dot in Asia. Junior was looking at the map with me and I said "Oh look, I've got a new dot in Indonesia." And Junior says, "Um, Mom? That's Japan." Yeah, do you know how bad it sucks when you realize your 10 year old is smarter than you? Of course I played it off really well. I was all "Yeah I know, I am just making sure you are paying attention in school." And he says "Oh yeah, I know." I don't think I fooled him. But how sweet of him to not make me feel like a dumb ass.

I'm getting no love from Africa. What is up with that? It's now my goal to get a dot in Africa so instead of being international, I can be GLOBAL. I guess I need one in Antarctica too. So if any of you know anyone in Africa or Antarctica and can hook me up with a dot, well that would be so neighborly. And I'll send you a certificate that says "I was instrumental in April's successful plot for World Domination." Plus you can be a member of the blogging "In Crowd." Which means you're cool. And really, who doesn't want to be cool?

So I will leave you with this story. Yesterday I was looking at the blog titled Wonderful World of Wieners. Junior came into the office and looks at me a little funny after he sees the computer screen. "Mom? What are you looking at? Is that website appropriate? Does dad know you are looking at that? Is that why you always tell us to make wise choices when we are on the computer?" Ah, the joys of having a ten year old in public school.

Peace out Peeps.

**** UPDATE ****
Apparently I was too hard on Cluster Map. Sorry Dude. He's just a day behind on updating my dots. As you can see, I now have more dots in Australia and drumroll please . . . . a dot in New Zealand! Thank you Diet Coke Rocks! You rock too! And so does Cluster Map, just a little late.
And just out of curiosity, I have a question for the Aussies. When I was in Austria this fall they had T-shirts and keychains and coffee mugs that said "No Kangaroos in Austria." Apparently there are some really stupid people in the world, who knew? So do you guys have merchandise that says "No Von Trapps in Australia" or "The Hills Are Not Alive in Australia"? Seriously, one of you should totally market that. I am sure you get your fair share of stupid people touring down under, right? Those keychains were flying off the shelves in Salzburg. I bought one. Just saying.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Random Letters

To the guy at Sonic who dispensed my morning diet coke with vanilla,

My friend, you have a gift. It was the perfect blend of fizzy carbonated beverage and sweet hint of vanilla goodness. It was by far the best diet coke with vanilla I have ever had. It is therefore my opinion that you should pursue a career in chemistry. I wish you good health and prosperity for the rest of your life. Just please, be sure to train your fellow carhops and assist them in mastering your mixology skills.

Warmest regards,

The crazy lady who freaked out when she realized she had no money and paid for her Diet Coke with Vanilla via debit card. (Sorry about the tip, I'll catch you on the flip side)


To the fellow mommy dropping her son off at preschool this morning,

Seriously, would it have killed you to hold the monstrous, heavy gate open for the additional two seconds it may have taken me to walk the 10 feet that separated us when you looked right at me, knew I was coming and could plainly see I had my hands full with my daughter's tote bag, a cell phone, a set of keys, my sunglasses, a gallon of milk, two boxes of fish crackers, 18 slices of cheese and 9 apples? You're awesome. Thanks a mill.

In Christ,

The mommy who glared at you with grinding teeth as she put everything on the ground in order to open the gate. while simultaneously trying to cover the mouth of her four year old who kept saying "That was rude, huh Mommy?"


To my fellow drivers on the east bound 101 this morning,

You know that mysterious wet substance falling from the sky this morning? It's called RAIN, people. Say it with me - Errraaaayyyynnnuh. It's that stuff you hear about from the people who moved here from Seattle. It's not acid or toxic waste. It's completely natural and normal. I know we don't see a lot of it here in the desert, but trust me, it is not damaging to your paint or hazardous to your health. It's just God's way of recycling water. So relax Chicken Little. The sky's not falling. There's no need to slam on the brakes and creep along at 35 miles per hour. On the freeway. Some of us have places to be. And for the love of Noah - it was sprinkling. Not even umbrella worthy!

Until tomorrow,

The lady in the black Yukon usually singing loudly and totally unaware you can still hear her when the windows (yours and hers) are rolled up.


To the blonde chick in the red mustang,

I used to be you. Young and stupid. Driving around like a complete moron thinking I was so hot in my convertible. So I come to you from the future - sooner or later that mustang turns into a minivan and instead of rapping out loud with Fiddy and the boys, you're gonna be singing along to Hakuna Matata. In order for you to get your future babies safely to their future destinations, you're gonna need both your eyes. So how 'bout setting the alarm clock a few minutes earlier and putting your mascara on at home, huh? We've already got enough men yelling at us about our driving abilities. You are not helping our case here. Pay attention to the road. And back off a little, will ya? I usually make someone buy me a drink before I let them get that close to my rear end. Mmmmkay?

Until tomorrow,

Yukon lady who flipped you, I mean waived at you when you blew by her hoping to make the almost red light.

P.S. What part of "photo enforcement zone" don't you get? But I bet your mascara looks beautiful in the picture attached to the ticket they're going to send you.


To the lady in front of me at Einstein Bagels this afternoon,

Look. I realize you would rather have a drink instead of the chips or potato salad. However, that is not an option. The big giant menu in front of you clearly states "All sandwiches come with a pickle and your choice of chips, potato salad or cole slaw." You see? It never says drink. Not even once in that sentence. So here's an idea. Buy a drink. Yes! You buy a drink, they give you a cup and you take it to that big red machine in the corner and choose from 10 soft drinks available! Or, you can ask for iced tea. Or they have a variety of water, juice and milk in the big cold refrigerator behind you. Mmmkay? You see the guy you are complaining to? His name tag says "Assistant Manager." Not owner. Not Mr. Einstein. Not even Manager. He doesn't care that you think it's unfair they do not offer a combo meal with a drink. He doesn't make the rules. He just takes your money and creates the bagel making schedule. So please, I am begging you, shut up and deal with it. The 11 people behind me and I have lives we need to get back to.

Hungry and irritated,

Tasty Turkey, no sprouts or tomatoes

PS - Have you even tried the potato salad? It is Divine! A gift from God above and the Rabbi who blessed it. Try it, you'll forget you ever wanted a drink.


To Junior's fourth grade class room mom,

Thank you for all of your hard work in organizing the class parties all year and the end of year gift for the teacher. It's women like you who make this world a better place for crazy, unorganized and forgetful women like me. I want to be you in my next life! Way to represent the moms out there!
Much love and admiration,

Junior's Frazzled Mom


To the kid in Mac's second grade class who taught him that "Dicks" was more than the name of a sporting goods store,

You're a peach. I bet your parents are so proud. Hey Guess what? There's no such thing as Santa. Nope. Or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. It's all lies your parents told you to trick you into being good. And since that didn't work, here's another little nugget of information for you. That puppy you just got? They bought it for you because they feel guilty about their impending divorce. I know it, they know it, the whole neighborhood knows it. So there you go. Kinda makes you want to mind your own business, huh? Little creep.


Mac's Ticked Off Mom


To my bathroom scale,

I hear you snickering at me as I walk by. Get over yourself. It was one cookie. And when I say one cookie I really mean two. But still, there is no need to mock me. And I am totally aware you and the downstairs TiVo are talking about me behind my back. You think you are so slick. We'll see who's laughing when you find your cold ass sitting out in the middle of the driveway at the next garage sale. Piece of crap. You don't scare me anymore.

Two sizes smaller,

The fat chick who likes to jump on you in the morning (Funny. This is how I sign notes to my husband too.)


To Blogger,

What the flip is up with your spacing issues? You drive me crazy! You know how I like things even and symmetrical. Work it out or I'm leaving you. Wordpress is more attractive anyway.


April's Reign (not the porn site)

Monday, May 12, 2008

Misfire of the Synapse

After coming down with the Blahs on Friday, it became apparent to me that my mind was not working to its usual 100% capacity. Uberman and I may or may not have had the following conversation via cell phone while I was on my way home from work:

Me: (Recounting story I had heard on the news earlier in the day) Isn't that disgusting? The guy was into narcolepsy.
He: What? How can you be into narcolepsy?
Me: I know! Some people are so sick!
He: No, I mean how can you be "into" it?
Me: What?
He: Narcolepsy. He liked sleeping?
Me: No, aren't you listening to me? He liked to have sex with dead people.
He: (laughing) Um, Babe, that's necrophilia. (more laughing)
Me: Oh, wait. What did I say?
He: You said Narcolepsy. Which is uncontrollable sleep. (still laughing)
Me: Oh my God, I'm stupid. Did I tell you I don't feel well?
He: (Laughing harder)

Sunday, May 11, 2008

For the Moms

I am a really lucky person. I have two amazing moms.

There's the one who grew me inside her, and allowed me to come out. She's the one who rocked me to sleep by tracing the slope of my nose with her finger. A trait I used later when rocking my own babies. She's the one who raised me alone, often working two jobs to give me not only the things I needed, but some of the things I wanted. She's the one who gave me my love for reading by making me read every day, allowing me to buy as many books as I wanted with the Scholastic Book order at school, and began letting me read the books she loved after making sure they were appropriate. She is the one who encouraged me to look up words I didn't know and use them in sentences so I would never forget them. She is the one who told me I should write my thoughts and feelings, and she always respected my privacy. She is the one who allowed me my freedom as a teenager, but insisted I do not violate her trust. She is the one who saw Uberman as my future husband well before I saw him as more than a friend. She knows when I need honesty and when I just need an ear to listen. She has been there for me no matter what I needed. She has taught me to be strong, independent and persistent. She has laughed with me, cried with me and grown up with me. I am the person I am because of who she is. Above all, she is my friend.

Thank you Mom, for all that you do and all you have done. I love you.

My other mom is the one I got when I married her son. She is the one who showed me the importance of being a good wife. She is the one who taught me the importance of the little details. She is the one who taught me to inspect something thoroughly before I purchased it and to always choose an item from the back or the bottom of the stack. She is the one who showed me how to fold a napkin, make a bow and frost a cookie. She taught me the importance of quality over quantity, and to never settle for something you don't really want. She has taught me to be adventurous and the importance of seeing as much of the world as I can. She has taught me to be more careful with my words and more selective of the feelings I convey to others. She has taught me the importance of being proud of who I am and where I came from. She has listened to me complain and cry over the most insignificant things and she has always showed me how to look at the problem from a different point of view. She has held my babies when I was exhausted and needed rest. She has been there without question when I have called and said "I need your help." She has laughed with me and cried with me. I am so honored and so proud that she is my friend.

Thank you Elena, for your patience, your generosity and your acceptance. I love you more than words can say.

Yes, I am lucky. I have an amazing support system of friends and family to laugh with, learn from and lean on. For all my girls - the ones who so generously share their thoughts, opinions, stories, ideas, recipes, advice, tips, laughter and countless boxes of kleenex - I love you! Thank you for being an important part of my life! I hope you all had a wonderful and restful Mother's Day!

Friday, May 9, 2008

I've Got a Case of the Blahs

I think I'm coming down with something. I feel a little icky today. Icky and achy. And I'm tired. So tired. I could lay my head down on this desk right now and take a siesta. You like that? Apparently my oncoming illness is making me bilingual.

Maybe it's the weather. It's kind of an overcast day in the Valley of the Sun. Not quite a grey day, as Mac calls them, where there's a chance of rain. Just that hazy white cloud stuff blocking the sun but not the heat. Oh dear Lord is it hot already. Muy caliente. Maybe I am feeling sick because of my imminent summer electric bill. I hate going to the mailbox and hearing that evil little beast cackling at me.

Maybe it's the stock market, which is really pissing me off today. I'm just sitting here watching the price of oil climb and the dollar sink. And my gas light dinged at me on the way to work this morning. I think that is my least favorite sound. But I think I was in a mopey mood before that. Which is very odd for me. I am usually a pretty upbeat person. But today I am not myself. No bueno.

Maybe it's my hair. I am not having a good hair day today. I look like Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men. And my eyes feel kind of puffy. Hey, you know the actress who plays Josh Brolin's mother in law in that movie? The one in the back of the taxi with his wife going "I've got the cancer?" I saw that lady at Disneyland like 5 years ago. I talked to her for about a half hour. Her name is Beth Grant and she is super nice. Now whenever we see her in something Uberman says "Hey, there's your friend." She was on The Office a few weeks ago, the one with the dinner party at Michael and Jan's? She was Dwight's date. We're like this. (I'm holding up my right hand and crossing my middle finger over my index finger.) I don't know why she always plays an old lady. She looks so much younger and prettier in person. Why am I telling you this? I think I'm a little delirious. I must have a fever. Soy enfermo. Or is it enferma because I'm a girl?

I do not have time to be sick. This month is chock full of activities. But next month I'm wide open. Is it chock full or chalk full? Chalk full doesn't make any sense. But I don't think I am either.

I need to turn CNBC off. It's making me feel worse. My stock is flat lining. Maybe there's Real World marathon on. Or a really uplifting episode of Little House on the Prairie. Or maybe I'll just watch the Backyardigans. Or Telemundo.

I think my mind's been taken over by pod people. I need to snap out of it. I think I'll go get some cookies at Paradise Bakery. And a Diet Coke. Screw weight watchers. I am not in the mood.

The Happy Queen will return tomorrow, I promise. Unless she's got her head stuck in the throne. Ha! See I'm feeling better already.

Adios amigos.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Still, I Believe

I was blog surfing the other night after the kids went to bed and Uberman was at a D-Backs game, when I came across this post.

I have read this blog before, I find the writer fascinating because he is very different from me. He is a British guy living in America and his point of view on Americans and the way we live is interesting. Not that I always agree with him, but I think it's informative and often humorous. He is obviously well educated and I will be the first to admit that yeah, he is smarter than I am. I'm totally okay with that.

One of the things I have learned to do really well as a grown up, is accept the fact that everyone has their own beliefs. To each his own, right? We are not all the same. It's what makes the world such a fascinating place. I can usually shrug off someone's negative comments about my beliefs and not take it personally. But this post on Christianity stuck with me. My heart felt heavy after reading it.

Here's the deal. I am a Christian. What that means to me is that I have a personal relationship with God. I accept that Jesus was the son of God and died for the sins of man. I have issues with the term "born-again." I think it has a negative connotation. You tell someone you are a born again Christian and right away they start assuming you are some kind of pew jumping, snake charming zealot who bombs abortion clinics and hates gays.

I attend a non-denominational church. I attend this church for the teaching and the opportunities to meet other people who believe the same way that I do. I pray every day. I not only ask God for things, I thank Him for things. I acknowledge His existence in my life. I ask Him to reveal Himself to other people I know. There are too many things that have happened in my life without reason or explanation for me to dismiss them as coincidence. This is why I choose to believe.

Am I perfect? No. Do I make mistakes? Yes. Do I still sin? Yes. Do I occasionally use inappropriate language? Yes. Is that language going to condemn me to eternity in damnation? No, I don't think so. I am not the type of Christian who stands on corners preaching to others about the fires of hell and the wages of sin. I am not the type of Christian that hates gay people and curses their existence. I don't hate anybody. I am not the judge. I live my life to the best of my ability. I try to find the best in everyone. All I ask is that I am given that same respect.

Do I know why bad things happen to good or innocent people? No. I don't know why a cyclone hit Myanmar and thousands of people are dead. I don't know why we lost so many people in Katrina or the Tsunami or even something preventable like 9/11. I don't know.

What I do know is that my faith is the very core of my being. My faith is what gets me out of bed when I'm afraid of what the day will bring. My faith allows me to forgive and to find the good in someone or something. My faith in God is what gives me compassion, understanding, generosity. My faith in God is what gives me hope. I can't imagine how empty I would feel if I did not believe in something greater than myself. It's not just the promise of life after death and rewards in Heaven. It's those little moments that we get, here in our worldly lives, where we can see God is at work. It's someone reaching out to another person in compassion. It's watching the good in people help someone else. It's the human spirit alive. Where else can that come from? That, my friend, is God.

Does my belief in God make me an idiot? No. Do I think this man is an idiot for not believing? No. But I do think it's sad that he does not have that same hope.

My grandfather was minister for more than fifty years. His faith was constantly tested through out his life. When he passed away last September, he had already buried two of his own children. I can't think of anything that would make me question the existence of God more. But he never did. I would ask him the same questions this blogger was asking. Why does God allow terrible things to happen? His answer surprised me. He looked me in the eyes and said "I don't know." Then he went on to tell me a story of a man who never stopped to see the little things like a flower blooming or a stranger's smile. It wasn't until a tragic event happened that he heard a voice saying "Can you see me now?" Maybe God allows these things to happen to get our attention. Or to see if those of us who have our eyes on Him will look away.

I asked my Grandpa, "When you get to Heaven, will you ask God why He allowed you to suffer so much when you have dedicated your life to serving Him?" I will never, ever forget his response.

"The only thing I need to hear when I get to Heaven is 'Well done thou good and faithful servant.'"

I chose not to comment on this man's post. It's his blog and he's allowed to say what he feels. Plus I don't want to pick a fight with someone I don't know. So I choose to pray for him. I choose to pray for his wife and their soon to be born child who I believe is a gift to them from God. I choose to pray for his health, his prosperity and his good fortune. And most of all, I pray for God to show Himself to a man who once believed. Even though he has turned his back, God is still there.

And I think he knows this.

So I am asking you, no matter what your faith is, if you can please join me in this. Take a minute today to pray for a total stranger. Maybe he'll see that being a Christian is more than asking for explanations.

And I leave you with this. The song they played at my Grandpa's funeral, a song he could have written. A song I can't listen to without tears on my cheeks.

Peace out.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Reigning Reality

I could never be on a reality show where the point is winning money. I've got no game. I'm not good at the whole strategy and alliance part of it. I just realized I am basically saying I am not smart enough to be on a reality show. That's pathetic. But seriously, I am not a schemer. My brain just doesn't work like that. I would be too busy trying to make friends, have fun and make sure everyone liked me. I'd be that moron who gets voted off and never saw it coming. Not because I thought I was running the game, but because I was too stupid to realize we were playing a game and not just hanging out and having a good time. I'd be the one in the exit interview going "Yeah, wow. I am shocked. I mean wow. I thought everyone had my back. I mean I had everyone else's back, you know? Wow. I am just so surprised right now. I thought I played a good game, and obviously they thought I was a huge threat. I don't know. Wow. I guess I should feel flattered. But it was a great experience. I wouldn't change a thing." Not that I've really sat and thought about what I would say in the exit interview of a reality show or anything. I mean what kind of a loser does that?

Let's talk about Survivor for a minute. I could never do this show for several reasons. First, I am not a camper. Nope. To me, camping is staying at one of those old hotels across the street from Disneyland. I have zero desire to sleep under the stars and poop in the jungle. I am terrified of snakes and rats and I'm not a big fan of most bugs. Second, my athletic ability is, um, well . . . non-existent. I'm cracking up right now just imagining my big ass trying to get through one of those obstacle courses. So yeah, I'm definitely more of an indoor girl. Plus I really, really like to eat. And I'm not talking rice, coconuts and the occasional fish. I like food. So to me, the chance of winning one million dollars is no where near worth hanging at the beach with a bunch of strangers and no toilet paper or caffeine for 39 days. Even if I did get the opportunity to ask Jeff Probst if I could stick my finger in his dimples. I would seriously rock at the puzzles though.

I couldn't do Big Brother because A) it would suck being the token old chick, and B) all those young kids getting drunk and fighting and hooking up would irritate the crap out of me. And what if some major world event happened while I was in there and I had no idea? And by the time I got out (voted out for being a dumb ass), I would have missed all the news? Like when Princess Diana died, I was on a houseboat in Lake Powell for the entire week. I missed the whole thing. It was very traumatic.

I could totally win the Biggest Loser. I could. I know I could. Except I don't think they would take me now. And I might get a little star struck talking to Alison Sweeney. And the temptation to get sucked back into watching Days of Our Lives again would be too overwhelming. But I turned my back on that show a long time ago. Well, after Bo and Hope had finally found happiness and then here comes Billie again. My God, why can't they just let them be?? And it also really irritated me that John and Marlena went away for their honeymoon, leaving behind little Belle and Brady, and upon their return didn't even notice the kids had aged, oh, 15 years or so?? And they thought we wouldn't notice either. That's when I said, you know what? The writers of this show think we are stupid. It is so fake, I can't take it anymore. Yep, that's what did it, the rapid age progression of the kids. But oh how I was riveted when Marlena was possessed by the Devil. Because that totally happens to people, I've heard about it at church. Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Biggest Loser. And just my luck I would get stuck with Jillian as my trainer. I would totally want to kick her ass for yelling at me and flaring her nostrils so much when she talked. But who am I kidding? She could kill me. She could probably just do that sneer thing she does and I would start crying like a little girl. She scares the hell out of me. I would definitely want to be assigned to Bob. I bet he has great fashion tips and knows how to make a low calorie Appletini. We would so be BFF's.

I would reign supreme at the Amazing Race. I would be so outstanding in my awesomeness they would have to change the show to April's Amazing Race. They would send Phil back to Australia and ask me to be the new host. You know why? Because I rock the casbah when it comes to reading maps. Oh yeah baby. London? Took over that city with my bad map reading self. I had British people asking me where things were. Yep. True story. Paris too. Of course nobody there asked me anything. And if they did my two years of high school French didn't help me figure out what they were saying. French people roll their eyes a lot. Have you ever noticed that? So the language thing might be a minor issue with the Amazing Race, but I would definitely win the big money. Although, again, the athletic ability, or lack thereof, could be an eensy weensy issue. And if any of the tasks required eating something gross, like cow lips or camel scrotum, I am probably not your girl. I don't know why I even said probably. That leaves it open for some sort of hope. If I have to eat something they are trying to say is an "exotic delicacy," which to me is code for "Totally discouraged by both the FDA and the USDA," there is no way I am trying it. Spending time in foreign countries, fine. Spending time in foreign hospitals with cholera-like symptoms, not so fine. But most importantly, I could not do the Amazing Race because I would want to stop and really see the sights. I would need a while to sit and take in the places I was visiting. And you just don't have time to do that when you are trying to win a million dollars. Plus I hate to fly and have to hit the sauce before boarding a plane. Half the time on that show there is no time or extra money to hit the bar before you go to the gate. So that show is mos def out!

I couldn't do the Apprentice because I care too much about being accepted by my team mates. And I think I am more afraid of Ivanka Trump than Jillian from Biggest Loser. I couldn't do Hells Kitchen because I already cook for three people who are impossible to please and extremely picky about the texture of their chicken. Gordon Ramsay wouldn't be enough of a challenge for me I think. Plus I have no desire to have my own restaurant. Gawd, that sounds like a really bad dream. And I have been known to throw bran muffins at people who called me names when I served them. Dude, if by any slim chance you are reading this and you remember this incident that took place in February of 1990 . . . you suck. And I'm still mad at you. And you totally deserved it. And the coffee I spilled in your lap by accident starting the whole debacle, where I profusely apologized, which triumphantly ended with a bran muffin stuck to the side of your face and a written reprimand in my file, ruining my chances to become a lead waitress. Whatever that means. But according to the general manager, that was a pretty big deal. I think I did okay in life anyway. So there. Creepy bran muffin eater.

I could never do a show like the Bachelor, where someone is trying to find love. Especially when it's a bunch of women trying to land one guy. The main reason being, I am happily married already, obvs. And the second reason being I am waaaayyy to much of a feminist for shows like this. These women are reduced to cattiness, back stabbing and whoring themselves out for the possibility of having this guy break up with them a few months after the shows final most dramatic rose ceremony ever. It's disgusting. Keep your rose dude. No thanks. But still, I am dying to see who's going to win Farmer Takes a Wife. I already have two favorites. Um, does this make me a hypocrite?? Have you seen this show? It's like a bad car accident, you can not tear your eyes away as much as it's making you sick. And instead of giving them a rose, or even a corn stalk which I thought would have been appropriate, the girls know they are chosen if there is an egg under their chicken. I swear to God, I am not making this up. I was actually sitting on my couch all nervous going "Oh. I hope she finds an egg!" Hey, don't judge me. What am I supposed to watch? Heroes and Private Practice aren't coming back until Fall. Freaking writer's strike.

Now if there was a show to find the next TV critic who could simultaneously fold 8 loads of laundry and catch up on her TiVo, and the contestant would be totally unaware of the other players?? Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have found our winner.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Conversations with a Four Year Old

I had two boys before God finally blessed me with the baby girl I had prayed for. Not that I love her any more than my fabulous boys, it's just that I feel better knowing I have another girl in the house. Even though we are still out numbered, at least we have each other.

We spend a lot of time in the car together, where we have deep conversations about life, our world view and how purple nail polish makes our heart feel purpley. Which is a good thing. She sits at the kitchen counter while I cook dinner or do the dishes and we talk about how Twistable Crayola Crayons are way better than regular crayons because there is no paper to peel away, therefore creating less mess to clean up. She sits on my bed with me while I fold clothes and we talk about which Disney Princess is the smartest (Belle), the craftiest (Cinderella), and who would put on the best party (Snow White).

And even though she is only four, Boo already has her own thoughts, opinions and ideas about what's important and who she is and wants to be. Here are some examples:

Conversation One: Boo as American Idol Judge

Me: (singing) It's too late to 'pologize. It's toooo laaaaaate....."
Boo: Mommy, I don't really like it when you sing.
Me: You don't? Why?
Boo: Because you're not very good.

Conversation Two: Boo as Competitor

Boo: Mommy, let's play colors.
Me: Okay.
Boo: I'll be Purple and you be Pink, okay?
Me: Okay.
Boo: You go first.
Me: Okay, uuuuummmmm. Pink house.
Boo: Okay, my turn. I forgot to tell you, if you say flower, you win.
Me: Okay.
Boo: Purple flower. I win!!
(I have no idea what the point is of this game, but she loves it. And she always wins. Is it wrong that I want to win? Just once?? I want to win a game that has no point, no rules and no prize other than saying "I win.")

Conversation Three: Boo as Party Planner

Boo: Mommy, let's pretend like we are having a party.
Me: Oh that sounds like fun!
Boo: I'll call you and I'll say "Would you like to come to a party?"
Me: Okay, and I'll say "Why yes Boo, I would love to come to your party."
Boo: (giggling) Okay! Say . . . Fiveish?
Me: (trying not to laugh) Yes, fiveish sounds fabulous.
Boo: Um, is that what you are going to wear?
Me: I thought we were talking on the phone.

Conversation Four: Boo as Stylist

Boo: Mommy, today I want to wear my purple skirt and my white shirt and my white socks with the big ruffles and my black shoes.
Me: Okay.
Boo: No, not that shirt, the one with the ribbon here (pointing to her chest).
Me: Okay.
Boo: No, not those socks. I said big ruffles.
Me: What are these?
Boo: Little ruffles.
Me: Oh. My mistake.

Conversation Five: Boo as Ultimate Hostess

Boo: (pointing to a hot pink rubber ice cube tray that makes ice in the shape of hearts, butterflies and flowers) Mommy, I want this.
Me: It's for ice, sweetie.
Boo: Yes, I know.
Me: Why do you want that?
Boo: (in a tone that says Duh!) So I can have pretty ice.

Conversation Six: Boo as America's Next Top Model Judge

Boo: Whatchya doin?
Nana (my mom): Putting my makeup on.
Boo: Why?
Nana: So I look pretty.
Boo: Oh. (Sits and watches Nana put on her makeup) Are you done?
Nana: Yes. (Smiles at Boo.)
Boo: Oh.... It didn't work.

Conversation Seven: Boo as Negotiator

Boo: Bubba, can you please get me some chocolate milk?
Junior: Sure, Boo.
Boo: Thanks Bubba, you are my bestest brother.
Mac: What about me, Boo?
Boo: I don't know. What are you going to get me?

Conversation Eight: Boo as Fashion Editor

Boo: Mommy, who's that?
Me: Suri Cruise.
Boo: Who is she?
Me: A movie star's little girl. She's cute, huh?
Boo: I guess. But why is she wearing those shoes with that dress?

Conversation Nine: Boo as Shopping Enthusiast

Me: (waking Boo in her car seat) Boo, wake up, Sweetie. We're here.
Boo: (sleepily looks around) Where are we?
Me: The store.
Boo: (eyes widen) Oh! Do they have clothes here?

Conversation Ten: Boo as Name Brand Enthusiast

Boo: (playing with new dishes) Mommy, where did these come from?
Me: Granny gave them to you for Christmas.
Boo: No, where did they come from?
Me: Granny gave them to you.
Boo: No, (rolls eyes) like where in Phoenix?
Me: What? I don't know what you are asking.
Boo: (exasperated, exhales loudly and spreads arms wide) Did these dishes come from Pottery Barn? Because those (pointing to other dishes) came from Pottery Barn.
Me: (trying not to laugh) Um, no. They came from Costco.

Ah, yes. She is my little answer to prayer. And we all know that God has a sense of humor. Sometimes He gives us exactly what we prayed for. I think I'm in trouble.
P.S. I haven't decided yet if I want to post pictures of the kids, so in the mean time, you get Boo from Monsters Inc. Anyone who knows her will tell you I might as well have posted a picture of our Boo, this is exactly what she looks like.

Friday, May 2, 2008

The Welcome Wagon

The house next door to us has been empty since we moved in. Two years ago. And of course any time we would see there were people looking at it, Uberman and I would size them up and hope beyond hope they were cool and not crazy like the family that lived next door in our previous neighborhood. Oh and let me just tell you, that's a blog for another day. Those people were cuckoo for coco puffs.

Anyhoo, we often played the "Oh I hope they can be our new best friends" game. Uberman grew up in a neighborhood where everyone was like family and they walked in and out of each other's homes. He loved that. And since I grew up in about 85 neighborhoods, I never really had that but always wanted it. Although, I am not even sure if there are neighborhoods like that anymore. But either way, we had fun coming up with a wish list of characteristics for our new next door best friends. He would have to be interested in cars and sports, especially baseball, and have an appreciation for foreign beer. She would have to be fun and friendly, but not prettier than I, and always let me be the leader and dominate the conversation. Plus it would be a bonus if she liked to scrapbook and do crafty stuff. And of course they would have to have three kids, two boys and a girl, just like us, around the same ages as our kids. You know, typical stuff everyone wants for their neighbors slash new BFF's.

So last week we were totally stoked when we saw the house had been sold. Finally! Cool new neighbors to cap off our whole this is the perfect neighborhood other than the new sex offender but still so glad we live here dream come true. (Jess, please don't hate me for that sentence.)

This week, as we have been coming and going, we have seen some moving trucks and boxes being unloaded in the garage, but no sign of the actual new owners. Then yesterday, I was rushing to get each boy to separate baseball games in separate locations, on time no less, when I thought I saw, what I thought may be, the new She Neighbor in her garage. Now seeing as I was in a MAJOR hurry and I wasn't even really sure that was her, and she wasn't even looking at me, I got in the car. I backed out of the driveway, and just as I was turning to back into the street I thought I caught a glimpse of someone jogging right behind the right side of my rear bumper. I slammed on the brake and craned my neck to the right to confirm there was indeed a person behind me.

I almost, almost, sort of, um, hit her. Yep. It was her. The new She Neighbor. And she was pissed. She spun around giving me the "What the hell?" hands in the air sign. You know what I'm talking about, right? I rolled down the passenger window and gave her a little wave.

Me: (smiling apologetically) I am so sorry! I didn't see you!
She: I'm right here.
Me: Um, yeah, I know. I am really sorry. Really, I am so embarrassed.
She: (shakes head and spins around, does the little "What the hell?" sign again, starts jogging away)
Me: Sorry...
Junior: Yeah, I don't think you guys are gonna be friends.
Me: Yeah, well, she exercises.

I should have told her that's how we roll in this neighborhood. Instead of bringing you a muffin basket, we just try to run you down. It's our own version of hazing. Our little way of saying "Welcome!"

I replayed the whole story for Uberman. He's like "Great. We're trying to make a good impression and you tried to kill her." I didn't actually hit her. I missed her by at least 12 inches. And yeah, I probably should have been a little more careful backing out. But she was perfectly safe and sound and able to run off without any medical intervention. I don't know what she's all bent out of shape over. And I said sorry. Uberman suggested I bake them some cookies and take it over as a peace offering.

But something tells me she's not much of cookie eater. And I may have been able to overlook the jogging, but if you don't eat cookies, you're dead to me.