Totally Would Have Been A Rat-Pack Groupie

My experience with Pandora radio falls into a few different categories… As I mentioned in my post about how completely stunted my thinking process is, I spend most of my work day listening to Pandora. Occasionally I listen to it while in the shower at home, or while putting on makeup (ha, like THAT ever fucking happens) or while doing my hair (ha, like THAT ever fucking happens either – ponytails and plastic clips are my BFFs). But mostly, I listen to it at work. Because my thinking process could be equated to that of a three year old cracked up on Pixie Stix and Mountain Dew, I often have strange ideas while listening to Pandora.

While I listen to my Kelly Clarkson station, I often have fantasies of bursting out in song at work. As if it is socially appropriate to bust out in a terribly off-key rendition of, ‘Tough Lover’ in the middle of a workday. After all, who the fuck doesn’t want to be serenaded by my screechy voice squeaking out a horrible version of something by Christina Aguliera? The answer to that is NO ONE, of course. There is no one person who would not be completely blown away by the sweetly well-intentioned sound of my pathetic attempts at being an awesome singer. In my ego-centric delusions, I am met by applause and copious amounts of flattery… Why no, I haven’t had any professional singing lessons. It’s all pretty much self-taught, thankyouverymuch.

While I listen to my Alan Menken (read: mostly Disney songs and musical numbers) station, I think to myself that it would be so damn awesome to be a mermaid. And it becomes really difficult to keep myself from singing along with the songs I’ve had memorized since the age of 7. To satisfy my insanity, I will lip-sync along with these words and I will promise myself that this year, goddamn it, I WILL dress up like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to satisfy my inner 8-year-old – even if I have to hand-sew myself a fucking blue gingham dress. And because my son would look motherfucking ADORABLE in a Cowardly Lion costume. Except he’d be majorly pissed that I prevented him from being Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, Thor or some equally masculine comic book character that reigns supreme on the playground that year. But fuck it, I’m paying for the damn thing. Sadly, this will only end one way; with me buying the $25 comic book character costume with the fake muscles that he will inevitably try and convince me would be the best thing ever to wear to school under his clothes because MOOO-OOOOMMMM…. Everyone will think I have big muscles! No, kiddo. No, they won’t. Because the fake Styrofoam muscles look like a 12-year old photoshopped them onto a costume. This station constantly leads to disappointment and sadness all around.

When I listen to my Static-X station, it is usually up deafeningly loud and it is usually because I’m pissed and contemplating things that would inevitably end up with me playing a game of cat and mouse with a profiler from the FBI.

When I listen to my Christmas Don’t Be Late (Alvin and the Chipmunks) station, it is because I’m not listening to it because it is my son’s station. And he loves nothing more than to listen to (and be sung) Christmas carols any time of the year. Perhaps he thinks that if he listens to Christmas music, it will make the joyous holiday come around that much faster. I don’t know. His mind is as screwed up as, if not more so than, mine.

My Dean Martin station is another station that constantly leads to sadfaces and dashed hopes and dreams. Because I listen to the music of an era long gone, and I see myself in a beautiful A-line cocktail dress with some super adorable coordinating shoes and a jaunty little hat perched flirtatiously over one eye, cat-eye makeup and red lipstick, and completely in my element. I see myself at some glamorously Mad Men-esque party, martini in hand, telling funny jokes and stories that have everyone enraptured. And then the band strikes up something wonderful like, ‘In The Mood’ or the French, ‘La Vie En Rose’ (also, I can’t hear that song and NOT picture Audrey Hepburn serenading Humphrey Bogart in Sabrina), and a dashing partner in a well-tailored suit whisks me out on to the dance floor. He leads me through a beautiful dance, and the atmosphere is intoxicating. And then I realize that the era I would have thrived in is long gone. We just don’t have the same class and standard that we used to. Granted, a lot of other things have come a long way in terms of social acceptance, but some of the wonderful qualities that were commonplace have gone the way of the Dodo bird. I am also incredibly sad that I’m too young to have had the opportunity to thrown my cat at Dean Martin. And if you are young enough to think that ‘Little Bitty Pretty One’ was originally sung by Aaron Carter, you can go fuck yourself.

Pandora is depressing as all fuck.

It's Almost Back-to-School Time!

The first day of school is coming up in just over a month. A new school year, full of struggles, arguments to get homework done, tearing my hair out because he just won’t put on his pants in the morning… And, best of all, celebrating his progress, achievements and growth. First grade was a year of leaps and bounds in terms of his academic progress. His method of learning is very similar to mine. It may look like Greek to him at first, but once he understands something, he doesn’t lose it and he flies from that point on. He’s a smart little boy, and I’m so proud of how well he does in school.

I found this great article today, The 31 BestBack-to-School Tips for 2013, and I wanted to share it with all of you. Some of the tips I read will be really beneficial for us this school year, and some of them don’t really apply to us.

Some of my favorites include:

Celebrate the first day – Start a first-day-of-school tradition, such as making their favorite breakfast, going out for ice cream after school, or slipping an encouraging note in their backpack.

Choose brain food, not junk food – I’m just as guilty as some other moms are of slipping my son processed cheese and cracker packets as a pre-dinner snack, but peanut butter on whole wheat crackers or a smoothie would be so much better for him – not to mention he loves pressing the button on the Ninja blender.

Create a home gallery – They suggest stringing up empty picture frames with clothespins glued to them so you can rotate artwork, graded tests and school projects. I don’t know about you, but I’m personally convinced that schools are singlehandedly responsible for deforestation with the INSANE amount of paperwork that comes home in my son’s folder every day. This is a good way to allow him to choose what to display while letting me recycle a bunch of the stuff he doesn’t so I can avoid the Leaning Tower of Handouts on my side tables.

Expand attention span – This focuses on reading aloud, or having your child read aloud to you, a book every night. This allows their attention span to get back into the groove of remembering details.

Schedule playtime before homework time – This is one of those, ‘of course, why didn’t I think of that’ type tips. My son is 7, and he’s got enough energy, if it could be harnessed, to power a skyscraper. It makes sense to let kids burn off that energy to help them focus better on their schoolwork.

Make a morning checklist – I can’t tell you how many times last year I wondered if CPS would be called if I allowed my son to just go to school in his underwear because it was such a hassle to get him to dress every morning. The checklist idea puts them in charge of getting themselves ready, and they can feel it is an accomplishment rather than a chore and can help motivate them to take on more responsibility in the future.

Take an a.m. breather – I have done this sporadically in the past, but I have always enjoyed it. Setting aside 5 minutes to crawl into bed with your child and snuggling them quietly can be a very peaceful way to start the day that benefits both of you. My son is a cuddler, so this suits us to a T. Tweaking this for you and your children’s personalities and relationships shouldn’t be too difficult.

These are just a few of the great tips in the article that I think will work for us this year. However, I encourage you to check out the article, because there are plenty more tips – such as making them more responsible for their allowance, downloading apps to keep track of after-school engagements, and exploring ethical dilemmas with, ‘what if’ scenarios – that I’m sure will hit home for you and your child or children. After all, as a parent you know that anything that will ease the school year turmoil is one small victory on the way to winning the war…

My Mind Jumps About Like A Spidermonkey Jacked Up On Mountain Dew.

I had a brilliant stroke of genius for a blog topic today. I had to start making a list, because I was busy doing worky-things and I couldn’t just start writing, much as I would have liked to. If you need evidence that I’m batshit crazy, here it is, my idea list:

Penny per mile to operate.

Math is bullshit.

Aliens don’t wear hats.

Circus peanuts – eating a bagful.

Lip-syncing at my desk.

Yeah, there’s something irrevocably wrong with my mind. I’m also slightly impressed with myself that I spelled, ‘irrevocably’ correctly on the first try. So now that I have my introduction of sorts typed up, let’s move on, shall we?

Penny per mile to operate.

My job essentially to be an un-glorified Grammar Nazi. It suits me really well, even if my brain sometimes wants to commit brain-suicide a’la jumping into a running Ninja blender as a result of some of the terrible things people do to the English language. I wouldn’t call myself a crazy, hardcore Grammar Nazi… I am far too lazy for that. I’m more like Grammar Nazi Lite. I see things everywhere like the restaurants that spell, ‘vegetable’ as, ‘vegetabal’ or, ‘pickle’ as, ‘pickel’. Or the car wash that used the incorrect version of, ‘too’. And then I take pictures of these things and look at them by myself, giggling at their stupidity and feeling strangely complete in my superiority.

As satisfying as I find my grasp on the English language to be, I find my grasp on mathematics that much more lacking. I hate math. So fucking much. So this is also going to be Math is Bullshit, because I said so. I was proofing a slide today that stated that a particular model scooter costs a penny per mile to operate. I attempted to rouse my math-brain to figure out how many miles per gallon a scooter would get if it cost a penny per mile to operate.

And how do these assholes get off assuming something costs a penny per mile to operate? Have they not seen the prices of gas bobbing up and down like a hooker’s head? It’s $4.39 per gallon, and then a week later it’s $3.59 per gallon. How does that allow you to accurately advertise it as operating for a penny per mile?

And then I remembered that I don’t know math, because I suck at it. And I gave up the fight. Because honestly, this is what always happens:

Story Problem:

If a scooter operates at 0.01 cents per mile and the cost of gasoline is $3.59, how many miles per gallon will the scooter run at?

My Brain Turns It Into:

If I have 10 ice cubes and you have 11 apples, how many pancakes will fit on the roof? (Answer: Purple, because aliens don’t wear hats.) Fucking hate math…

I bought a bag of circus peanuts today. Circus peanuts seem to have a Quentin Tarantino effect on people… They either love them or hate them. I love them. I can only seem to eat part of the bag on very rare occasions. Usually I start eating the bag, and I’m happy. And I continue eating them. And I think to myself that I should stop eating them. So I stop for a bit. But I’ve already made my crucial mistake… I forgot to put the bag away. Aw, one more won’t hurt. I’ll stop after that. Three more later, and I’ve decided that I’m going to stop eating them. They’re delicious and all, but I’m pretty sure that they’re made from the same chemicals that are in sheet rock. My resolve strengthens, and I pick the bag up to put it in my drawer. And I realize there are only four left. Fuck it, I may as well eat them. What’s the point of saving four circus peanuts? So I’ve eaten the whole bag. And I feel slightly sick to my stomach. This probably explains why I only buy circus peanuts every six months or so. That’s about how long my stomach-memory takes to stop flip-flopping when I look at circus peanuts after a binge.

I am fortunate enough to have a job that allows me to sit in my wee sparkly cubicle (I have decorated my cube with a ridiculous amount of sparkle and glitter – and I’ve got Christmas lights in it) and I can listen to Pandora pretty much all day long. Because I had to upgrade to Pandora|One - because they’re fuckheads and only allow so many hours of unpaid play per month without it – I have my stations fairly customized. And as a result, I know the words to a lot of songs that play throughout the day. On a related side-note, I’ve always had a secret yearning to perform. My closest brushes with performing were my solo in 10^th grade, a duet with my good friend at a talent show, and karaoke. Of course, that’s not counting my poor car… If cars had ears, it would probably look weird, and its ears would be bleeding. The point of all this is that I really enjoy sitting at my desk and lip synching to the songs that play on Pandora. I have a (not so) secret desire to perform  at a drag show sometime. As a female. Yeah, I know, drag queens are usually men dressed as women (and some of them are hotter dressed as a woman than I am), but it would be so much fun to get up on stage, dressed in something over-the-top sparkly and lip sync to a fabulous song. And I don’t just lip-sync. I perform that motherfucker. Anything from the movie Burlesque is a surefire guarantee to get my ass moving, along with Selena Gomez And The Scene. Cause my heart pumps the blood of a performer. Or a dork who flails about like the white girl she is.

People Should Be Thankful That It's Not Socially Acceptable For Me To Hit Them In Public

I swear to all that is holy, while I have only waitressed a time or two in my life, I have enormous respect for anyone who can be considered waitstaff. If you have ever seen the movie Waiting - you know the cardinal rule. Don't fuck with people that handle your food.



Almost all of us, at some point or another, have witnessed the douchebaggery that abounds when crotchety assholes decide to crawl out from underneath their rocks and go out to eat. If you haven't, you are extremely fortunate. There are people who go out in public and make general fucktarded spectacles of themselves.



Today afforded me one such observation. Aaron and I went to Olive Garden for lunch around 11:00, and being as they had just opened it was really quiet. A first, I must say. Usually Olive Garden is crawling with everyone and their grandparents who all want tables for 46 with 19 high chairs for the herd of baby sonofabitches they towed along that will inevitably screech like howler monkeys while no one takes them to the restroom for a 'talk'. (Hint: You're all fucking stupid.) However, we were seated at a nice, quiet booth and had a really sweet waitress. It was looking to be a very splendid meal.



Shortly after we had started in on our soups, an elderly couple was seated at the booth next to ours. When I see older couples out having meals together, my first thought is generally, "Aww, that's so sweet." Today was no different. To me, food is love, and sharing a delicious meal with someone I love... It just generally tends to not get much better than that.



Deceptively cute old people are seated and the waitress brings them a sample of wine and asks what they would like to drink. The fact that they sampled the wine and ordered Diet Cokes should have clued me in to the fact that they were grade A cheapskates. The waitress brings back their drinks and asks if they're ready to order yet.


Old Woman: "Yes, we're going to do the two for steak thing."



Tolerant Waitress: "I'm not sure what you mean."



OW: "You know, the steak thing for $25. The one on the chalkboard."



TW: "Oh, yes! You mean the steak gorgonzola alfredo?"



OW: "Yes, that's what I meant."



TW: "Sure! Just so you know, it will be an extra $4 per person for the steak because it's a premium entree."



OW: "What do you mean? They didn't put anything about that on the board up front!"



TW: "Well," *picks up the table card where the 2 for $25 list is printed, where it clearly states that the premium entrees are $3.99 extra* "Actually, it says it right here."



OW: "Well it doesn't say so on the chalkboard up front."



This argument then proceeds to volley for the NEXT. FIVE. MINUTES. I was so thrilled with the waitress for not backing off. They tried everything they could think of... It was so funny. They tried asking how much it would be without the appetizer or dessert (which is part of the 2 for $25 deal) - would it be just the $25 then? She tells them it will be full price ($15.50) each, but they won't get the choice of an appetizer or dessert. Basically, they would pay $31 for the steak entrees alone, but for $33 they can get the entrees and a choice of appetizer or dessert. This seems like a no-brainer, right? $2 for dessert? BRING ON THE LEMON CREAM PIE!! At least, that's what I would have said.



Old lady and her husband just weren't having it. They were so indignant that the chalkboard advertisement was so 'misleading' and 'deceptive'. Meanwhile, all Aaron and I can do is look at each other and try not to roundhouse kick the bastards in the face. As Aaron observed, just fucking order something else! It's not fucking rocket science! You're going to Olive Garden and you shouldn't really assume it's going to be cheap unless you're getting the unlimited soup, salad and breadsticks meal.



Finally, they settle on something and order their soups. All is finally quiet, or so we thought. As they're eating their soup, we are quietly mocking them to ourselves. Hey, don't judge. If I acted like a royal twatwaffle in public, I'd fully expect that other people would mock me. Then they are almost finished with their soup. And proceed to scrape the bowls. *SCREESCREESCREESCREESCREESCREESCREE* Are you FUCKING kidding me?!! There is more in the back, all you have to do is ask!! The look of shock and incredulity in Aaron's eyes was mirrored in my own. What possible call is there to scrape the bowls? Ugh. Use your motherfucking breadstick like a normal person, dickbag.



So as we were leaving, I left a note on the restaurant copy of the receipt; "Seriously, you have the patience of a saint. I would have flipped. You are awesome." Hopefully she understood what I meant. I really wish it was permissible for waitstaff to hit people on the nose with rolled-up magazines... Like dogs. "You want to get premium entrees for standard entree prices? No." *smack* "No." Wouldn't that be the best thing in the history of EVER? Don't be a goddamn fuckrag, and you won't have issues. I sincerely hope that she spit in their steak alfredo.



After lunch, we decided to go see a movie. (Also: Superior Value Cinema is the shit - $6 for two people... I'll gladly wait a while after a release date to pay less for two people than one regular cinema ticket.) And there were two morons in the theatre eating their popcorn at the rate of what sounded like one kernel at a time. With their mouths open. Why are people allowed to leave their houses when they can't chew with their mouths closed?! It is so abhorrently disgusting and just generally fucking annoying. I could understand chewing with your mouth open if your nose is stuffed or something similar... But even then, you can still chew slower so that you don't make the annoying cow-chewing-cud sound.



Moral of the Story: If you can't avoid being a giant gaping cuntface, just stay the fuck home.