Explain this.

http://www.crocodilebaby.com/qs/product/17/5662/263388/0/0


No way. Do you mop the floor with the baby too?

State of the Economy Address

So we all know that the dang United States economy has gone to hell in a hand basket, or some other super grandmariffic saying. Pretty much sucks. As someone who paid $4.47/gallon for stupid gas today, I'm a little annoyed. I really don't need any Chevron or Exxon execs sitting on TV in their Armani suits telling us basically we just need to use less. As if we are all mindlessly driving around, twiddling our thumbs and doing donuts in abandoned parking lots. While drinking Slurpees.
NO, most of us have to go to WORK, to earn the money, to pay for the gas. And ridiculous health care premiums. Because those rat finks are in the kahoots with the oil peeps, for sure. Except for their not wearing Armani, they like more of the Versace look.


All this and I'll probably be rationing dirt next. And just when I think the economy can't get any worse, this happened:






Can I get a break? um... and some stamps? I'm kind of fresh out of them, and well, the cost of them go up too.

Duncan Hines is my boyfriend

Made cupcakes for the hubby's birthday the other day. Made them into footballs..obviously, and the sprinkles are little football helmets and jimmies. Why those little candy sprinkle things are called jimmies, I dunno. Perhaps Hanks or Harveys just didn't have the same ring. maybe they are made out of something nasty like toothpaste and cod liver oil, baked in a tin can, and they laugh their asses off with their whole "jimmied" product. Who knows. Weird.

I didn't go super Martha and bake them from scratch with flour and all that overrated basic household staples jazz. Nosirreee, I brought home my boyfriend Duncan and we had ourselves a baking party. Betty Crocker was begging to come over, but she tries to sell herself as a better product than Duncan, and I need to stand by my man. Know what I mean?

These are the final product. Throw some butter wrappers on the counter and sprinkle cocoa dust in the air, and I can even make a fool out of Paula Deen thinking these were full of homemade goodness. (Love ya Paula!)

It's five o'clock somewhere

Middle woke me up at 5:15 to ask me if the potty worked. Five frick frackin fifteen. Simply because we had to water turned off for a few hours to work on the sprinkler system the day before. She had since gone potty and the water was on. All was well. But, I guess, at the butt crack of dawn, potty anxiety is heightened.

I wanted to throw her in a chair in a darkened cinder block cell, and interrogate her in a menacing voice under a dimly lit lamp, until sweat beaded on her brow, asking, "why... just WHY the thought of just flushing the dang thing was too much to comprehend"... and then accept my guest appearance on Law and Order SVU like a champ.... which would lead to an Emmy nomination...

and then I remembered I wasn't auditioning, it was 5 in the gall dang morning and my head hurt just thinking about uttering a sound, so I cracked an eye and murmured "yeah." and went back to bed.

Until she came in and asked if I was sleeping. And why the "paper toilet" (her unique terminology for toilet paper) is white. At five frick frackin twenty.

And thus begins my day.

Some info

Things that I love:

fireflies in the summer. cheese enchiladas. little baby feet. the notebook.
romance by ralph lauren. smell of sunscreen. black and white photos. carrot cake.
pizza fridays. skirts. gymboree. hubby's laugh. reading US weekly in the bathtub.
my kids little sayings. bedtime. slurpees. hydrangeas. snuggles. maya angelou. pink. my children. my husband. my family. myself.

Not a fan of:

california drivers. crocs. sushi. dockers pulled over the stomach. kids who lick snot off their nose. bleu cheese. tie dye. ballet flats. dirty socks. fish.
kool aid. abstract paintings. Newsweek. dog poop.

Clinton and Obama, eat yer heart out.

It's amazing that we have been doing the whole Clinton/Obama campaigns for so long. So many people, torn on who to choose. Constant analyzing on what cost Clinton votes, or why people like one and not the other. How to win, and come out on top. I'm sure a whole lot of moola has been handed out to "advisers" on what should be the next move in their political chess game.

Next time, ask an 8 year old.

I was watching the Today show, and of course it was the elections, non-stop. The following conversation between Oldielocks and I ensued.

"Mom, do you want to be president?"

"Uh..... no. I wouldn't find that job fun."

"I would. I'm gonna be the president."

"Good for you. Go to school, and learn about how to be a president." (I am such a help.)

"I already know. All about the 3 branches of government: the judicial, alleged-slative, and elective. And the White house has 10 bowling alleys and lots of fireplaces." (I think I might have to do my research-TEN bowling alleys? What the nasty bowling shoes and greasy t-shirts?)

"That's important stuff.... it's a hard job." (Not to be confused with jobs under the president's desk, not that kind of job.)

"yes, you check yes or no on a bill. But it would be fun to make the choices for all the United States."

"Yes, but if things go wrong, it's your job to make it right, it's a big responsibility." (Perhaps I should remind past presidents about that little moral tidbit...)

"Well, when I am president, chocolate will be free."

"all chocolate? Hershey's kisses?"

"It's chocolate isn't it?" ( I wonder where the sass comes from) "Hershey's, m and m's, the whole candy section of chocolate."

"well, who will pay the chocolate makers?" (I am always the dream squasher)

"Well, since chocolate is free, I will make the cost of Twizzlers 4 dollars."

(DANGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG she is good, inflate the price of something else, to cover the price of chocolate....)

"And, if people don't like chocolate, they get Twizzlers for free, and chocolate for $4.37." (dang chocolate went up like it was a gas price or something.)

And my little President went off to get dressed for the day. Perhaps if we went back to choosing presidents based on the things that matter, like chocolate and twizzlers, instead of whose pastor said what, and whose supporter did what, we'd get a president that makes choices that matter. Just sayin'.

Vote Oldielocks, 2044!

Life in the fast lane

Let's discuss the fast lane. It's the lane to the far left in which the cars go faster than all the other cars. If you're late, in a hurry, got the hershey squirts and need a bathroom, it's the lane you take. You got a hot date, hot pizza that's getting cold, or just an overachiever that has spent their life graduating magna cum laude, entertaining foreign dignitaries and single handedly building an eco friendly house... then yeah, it's the one for you.

Now that we have covered that left lane = fast cars, it is completely inappropriate to be driving along in the middle lane, brushing your teeth and decide that 65 is too slow, so swerving into the fast lane is a better option, but slam on your brakes when you get over there. Because that small one car length that was between the car in front and back, was not for you to fill, it was more of a STOPPING DISTANCE, should one need to slam on their brakes in the fast lane. The horn honking and friendly gesture was not an initiation into the fast lane club, it was more of a big fat "you suck" in traffic speak, so wipe the crap eatin grin off your face, like you accomplished something great, like the cure for hemorrhoids. Or something.

Better yet, let's skip to the 1992 volvo mom today. Who was knitting a sweater and baking cookies in the fast lane. I've seen a constipated tortoise haul ass faster than her. She wasn't even going 65, singing along probably to Michael Bolton, or listening to talk radio. She literally thought she was the pace car for Nascar, with the 76 bajillion cars lined up behind her. As we all made the detour to the right, she would look at each car that passed, and perhaps by the 11th that went around her, a light bulb should have gone off, and she could have crawled a few lanes over. But as I looked behind in the disappearing landscape, she was there, leading the Calvary, at about 60 miles an hour. I guess she wanted to be featured on the Happily Ever Laughter Wall O' Shame.