In which I play plagued to save Christmas.

Today I join the ranks of cut-throat deal shoppers. The annual Warehouse toy sale is today. This means ridiculously cheap brand name toys and 23847293487293423428792873 shrewd and heartless Moms & Grammies.

Normally, I hate shopping (and don't get me wrong, I still hate shopping), however..... for the past few years, I've managed to get allllll the Christmas gifts for the kids for under $300. Thus, I have to do it. Biting this bullet ensures that I will not have to step foot in even one mall in December and THAT is a beautiful thing. This toy sale is brutes, though. SOMANYPEOPLE. You have to have a contingency plan, I've found. The year before last, waiting in the 3 hour line was like playing survivor. You have to choose the correct line & form alliances with other people so that you can go to the bathroom sometimes and be willing to step over people who have died, or you will never get out. The more friends you make in line, the faster you get to the cashier. You divide and conquer. I have a new strategy. I am ready.

I've put on my protective gear, practiced my contagious sounding cough and painted red around my eyes.. because nothing makes people back the #$%& off like a really contagious looking sale-crazed woman. "Um.. maybe we should come back later.." they'll say as I am writhing & drooling alkaseltzer bubbles from my mouth in front of the 2010 Holiday Barbies. What this conveys is, "Back off people, I'm going to be first in line here. If you want one of these Barbies, you'll have to go to your car and get your hand sanitizer first", leaving me a large enough window of time to get in, get my shiz and get. out. Or maybe they'll call the police. Who knows? You have to take risks if you want your holiday season to be truly wonderful. I need to find some way to spurt fake blood around.

K, gotta go do my warm ups.

____________________

UPDATE:

Dear Self

Here's a handy tip: Yesterday's cold coffee goes down the drain and not into the coffee maker's fresh water receptacle. Have fun cleaning it out since you turned it on in your simpleminded stupor and let it singe the coffee into burned coffee mud in the bottom of the incredibly difficult to clean, made-for-water-only boiler.

Thanks. Smells awesome.

Love Self.

PS. You look like hell today. Do your hair.

PSS. Why would I do my hair? because headscarves.

PSSS.. Headscarves, Self? I suppose you're wearing jogging pants, too.

PSSSS... Uh... it's LAUNDRY day.

PSSSSS. Flylady.com says that you should get dressed to your shoes EVERY DAY.

PPPPPPS. We gave up on flylady, remember?

PSPSPSssS.. What's on the toast? Peanut Butter?

PssPPpsppPP... Yep.

PpppPSSSSSSS. Gimme a bite.

In Turkey, they're called 'kaput'.

Sooo... The clinic today had a large, colorful candy dish filled to the brim with an assortment of condoms in shiny & attractive packages and a sign that read:

"PLEASE HELP YOURSELF!"...

...With little smiles and exclamation points and STICKERS. Like the adults wouldn't know what the bowl held without stickers attracting them to it. You know who's attracted to stickers? NOT adults. Adults are attracted to condoms. Just to be clear. Any condoms. Decorated or not. "Say.. is that a condom over there? Let me at it. I want to look at it", we'll say. "Hmm.. looks pretty plain, I'll take it anyway." To reiterate: no need for stickers.

Now I could go into the different nuances and deep societal relevance of that statement being pasted to a free condom dispenser, heaven knows I agree. We should help ourselves and the clinic is all about helping people help themselves and that is important... but Guuuuuuuys! Put the freebee condoms higher up on the shelf PLEASE?? Not out beside the kid prizes for good behavior. The adult prizes should be separate from the kid prizes. ALWAYS SEPARATE. Giant Bowl-o-Prophylactics: Top shelf. Every time. Here is why:

The thing is, I already have to drag 3 kids into the clinic and try to keep them occupied while we wait because they have no toys, no books & no TV; just a giant, enchanting, photogenic, attractive, sticker laden bowl full of candyesque condoms. It's like a cruel game of keep-away from the cauldron full of rainbow mystery. Of course the kids gravitated around it. Once I saw it, III was even tempted to fill my pockets because they went all out and bought a sparkle-rainbow assortment. But I don't actually need them *ahem* or anything so.... It was best to leave them for others. I'm a good person that way.

Anyhow, just so you know, I would have happily avoided the whole condom discussion for another couple of years- However, my rotten little kids can read and they KNOW about free samples (what was I thinking, teaching them to READ?? It's just asking for trouble if you really think about it). We go to Costco specifically to see what kinds of samples are available as a fun family outing. Everyone looks forward to Sample Day. LOVE samples. Howeverrrr, we were one of only two families waiting in the waiting room... the other family also had 3 curious little children following my kids every move. My kid grabbed 3 of the condom packages and walked over to me. Not to be outdone, my other kid grabbed about 8 of them. Then the conversation ensued:

"No, I'M having the blue one. "

"I saw it first!"

"No, you have this one, it has a picture of a rooster."

"NO WAY, I get the blue one... MOOOOOOoooOom!"

"What are you guys even doing??" I say.

"FREE SAMPLES, MOM! CAN WE HAVE ONE? "

"Free samples of what? GAH! UH.... NO."

"BUT THEY'RE FREE, SEE? Saaaaaaamples!!"

"Yes, they are free, but you don't need one."

"WHY NOT?"

"Because you don't."

"What are they?"

All tiny heads in the room snap toward me for the moment of truth, even the other peoples' kids. Now, Readers, I am not in the habit of lessoning the children of strangers about the ins and outs of condom use. (Get it? Ins and OUTS?? Fine. Don't laugh, I knew this was going to be awkward).

"They're just grown up stuff, we'll talk about it at home"

"WHY? WHAT ARE THEY FOR?"

"They're condoms, honey. They're not for kids."

"CONDOMS? COOOOonnnnNNNdOmmmms.... What's that? Candy? "

"No"

"Is it like a wet napkin?"

"NO"

"*whispering audibly* Is it for your lady problems?"

"Apparently. My lady problems currently involve a whole bunch of kids... so.."

"I DON'T GET IT. Why can't we have a sample??"

"You don't need a sample of that."

"It's circle shaped. Feel."

"I know it is. Stop feeling that. Put. Them. Back. In. The. Bowl."

"AWW.. I was going to make a tower."

"You can't make a condom tower."

"Whyyyy? I'm BORED."

*Whisper-yelling* Because they are for butts, okay? They're for people's butts. Are you happy? They are balloons and they're for people's butts.

*Intrigue heightens x 298,348%*
*Other mother bores holes through the side of my head with her steely glare*
*stranger kid whispers in her sister's ear*
*sister's eyes become huge*
*My ears bleed from the sonic anger boom coming from the other mother's soul*
*She has ninja mind powers and my head is shriveling up, good thing we're at a health clinic, the doctors will help me get my head back to it's proper, average size*
*maybe I can ask them to just sort of, leave the frontal lobe area a little larger so that I have more thinking space*

"OH MY GAWD. WHY DO YOU NEED BALLOONS FOR YOUR BUTT???"

"SO.... Who wants...... *checking purse*...... $13 and 43 cents? Was that a store with candy I saw just downstairs? Eh, kids? Mmm... we love candy... and me with this money and nothing to spend it on...."

Now, at this point I am sure you are judging me through your computer monitors for not being an upfront and articulate parent... but you have to admit that they ARE balloons and that they ARE for your butt. So that's one mom-point for Michelle. *high five*

Then I arrived at home & went to hang up my child's jacket and what falls out of his pocket? Yeah. The blue one. My mom-point is gone now. I'm just glad I didn't get a call from the school on Monday about it. At home is the best place for unwanted condom samples to fall out of your child's clothing. We can ALL agree with that. Or worse, he could have made it to the birthday party he's been invited to on Sunday with a pocket full of previously undetected condom samples. How would THAT have played out?

So I like to see life's bowl of condoms as half empty instead of half full..and empty is better because it means that people are taking steps to protect themselves.. or it means that I have to check my kids' backpacks before school. So maybe the bowl IS half full. All I know is that half the condoms are missing and someone is responsible. Ideally a very lucky grown person with a consenting partner has emptied it.... So you see? There is always a silver liner. GET IT? Liners are like condoms... kind of. So it's a joke. Anyway, I'm not very funny right now because of all the condoms & stress. Basically, I can't tell what is going on.


Bonus: Love in any language:
English- Condom
Turkish- kaput (<--haha). Czech - Kondom
Finnish- kondomi
French- préservatif
German- Präser
Spanish- profiláctico
Polish- prezerwatywa
Swahili- kondomu
Dutch- condoom or kapotje

You're welcome.

Just in case you want to die of awesome, do this:

Make this violently chocolate pudding/cake/mess. It's like chocolate volcano. The cake part rises up out of the thick pudding-saucy stuff like magic.

Looks hideous, yes?

Heat your oven to 350 degrees.

Combine these things in a bowl:
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking powder
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp cocoa (dark dutch process cocoa if you have it, otherwise regular baking cocoa is fine, but definitely not AS awesome)
1/2 cup of milk with 2 tbsp butter or margerine melted into it. Use butter. Just do it.

Mix it until it's a sticky glob and spread it into a greased 8x8 pan

THEN combine in a diffent bowl:
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup cocoa (again, use dutch process cocoa if at all possible for maximum chocolate mind blowing)

Sprinkle it on top of the other mixture. Just sprinkle it, don't mix it in.

THEN pour 2 cups of boiling hot water over the whole thing, don't mix anything, and stuff it in the oven for 35 minutes. Serve immediately with some kind of ice cream or whipped cream or just milk poured on it. Die of awesome. It contains about 39872342385656622019283 calories per serving.

Poorman Starbucks Revisited.

Another frugal option is to visit a Starbucks and pour all of the delicious empties you can find into one cup and ask the barista to microwave it for you. Top with your own whipped topping and sprinkles. Voila. You are a trendy starbucks haver.

Waste not want not. Sneaky, eh?

Now read the post below this.

The Walmartian Abduction Risk (and pet alligators)

I basically live in crippling fear of being featured on the People of Walmart blog. I loathe Walmart as it is, but sometimes I have no choice. Like if twilight posters or glue on googly eyes are on sale or something, and I'm making googly eyed twilight crafts that day- I have to go. I'm chained by price rollbacks like a pet alligator on a leash. "Sure I'm here. I'm going to bite your knees off in a minute th....OOoOoh! Are those Mr Clean Magic Erasers really only 99 cents??? Oh, I'd better get loads!". Then live in self loathing for the rest of the day, with the magic erasers spread around me like ill begotten blood money. "WHAT HAVE I DOOOOOOOONE???? I said I'd never do this again! I'm sorry family and loved ones. I am sorry", as I scrub and scrub and scrub away the dirty feeling.

But what if one day, I realize that I have to go there at like 11 pm and I'm already in my purple velvet mini skirt and "Git r Done, America" sleeveless denim print work shirt tied at the midriff and the only shoes I can find are my white, thigh high, vinyl, six inch, high heeled boots with extra zippers and my pink feathered shabby cowgirl hat that I bought out of a trans-am on the side of the highway one day when I was driving to the country fever beaver festival with my internet cousin, Starla_Dawn58 and what if our beat up old truck broke down with nary another traveller in sight? Then what if we spotted the man with the black t-top trans am selling his wares, thinning & worn out sandy mullet blowing in the wind, wrangler jeans, the crater in his shirtless pigeon chest collecting morning dew as he lay on the hood of his spectacular hot rod?.... Then the punishing decision... should I buy the rose/kitten print, beadazzled, artfully shredded and beaded t shirt.. or feathered cowboy sunhat...? Or should I just cut the legs off of my white nylons and wear the gusset on my head? What if that happened?



And then what if I have to hurry because Walmart is closing and I'm never going to make it on time so I just throw on a Lucky Charms Members only jacket and head on over. And then what if someone takes a photo of me and decides that it should go on the Walmartian website? I will be soooo mortified, you guys. I wouldn't even have time to mace them.


But for real. What if I pass out from Sprawlmart/McDonalds fumes one day and fall into one of their clothes racks, get tangled up, come to and stand up only to realize that a pimp did my make up while I was passed out and I'm all surrounded by fizzy mouthed Walmart paparazzi and BINGODAMMIT- a picture of me tangled up in tube tops and green checkered jeans ends up the internetz.

I hope that doesn't ever happen.

Some things.

1. If I do not see Zombieland straight away, I might lose the ability to breathe. Zombies AND rollercoasters??? *heave* My only issue is that they did not make it in 3D. This must be remedied, You hear me, Columbia Pictures??? Hop to it. I'll be waiting with my 3D glasses on.
2. I love froot loops so very much.
3. My ipod touch is taking way too long to update. Blast!! It is also not allowing me to use my itunes giftcard. I have $14.01 in riches to fritter away spend on important business application upgrades and such. *UPDATE* after reading the stupid fine print on the stupid giftcard, I've found out that I can't buy applications with it. I feel irrationally angry about this.
4. The Lovesong of J.Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot still makes me weep like a little pantywaist (which technically I am, seeing as I always wear them. Ladies do). It also makes me want to roll up my trousers (and start calling pants, 'trousers'... or start calling panties, 'trouserettes' because hey- awesome new word. That would make me a trouserettewaist, which sounds a little like tourette's. Tourette'swaist sounds edgier.. like don't mess with THAT chick. See what I'm talking about? No Self, don't delete that last bit. It was solid blogging gold!). It also makes me want to paint the cat yellow.

The Mind Boggles.

Winkers <--click

If ever there was an important reason to eat more twinkies and fried egg sandwiches with mayo, this would be it. Take in every glorious second, Fashionistas. Even you could own a pair of staring eye pants that flinch under the weight of your hefting fundament. Eat up. The more rubenesque your rumpus, the better they wince. If you've got it, paint giant, yellowish, unsymmetrical owl eyes on it and wiggle past all those hooters gals who can't even get their winkers to wink for lack of leg crease. Oh how you could snicker at them.... I personally plan on ordering a pair with a nice set of dentures on each arse cheek. Then I'll wear high heels so that everyone will hear the clicking to go along with the clacking. I'll be the toast of the town.

I'm thinking of selling promotional merchandise for my blog. Any takers?

Seeing Beer Dogs for the Criminally Insane.

You know what gives me a red rump? There is no bud light lime in any of the stores in Ottawa anywhere. Everyone is sold out. Which one of you is buying it all??? Huh? Get some help, eh? Stop using up all my beers. Sure- I only looked in one store and then just went home, but I'm just going to go ahead and assume by the condescending smirk the beer store clerk gave me when I asked if they had any while pointing at their giant poster of it, that nobody has any. Nobody. Well maybe the french do, but Gatineau is alllLLLllllll the way over there. Also, I am not pleased that the Canadian beer geniuses haven't come up with a Canadian version of lime infused beer, or if they have, they've forgotten to send me a registered notice about it in the mail. It had better not be Kokanee, either. Ew. Not that I would normally touch a regular budweiser with a million bazillion foot pole. The lime kind is A-OK. The only thing more depressing than this whole scenario is reading Post Secrets.

All this after spending the afternoon at the Canadian seeing eye dog farm. I'm not joking. We went for a tour because hey, free donuts and water! Also educational stuff for the kiddies. But it was blistering hot out and all I could focus on was all the bud lite lime I was going to purchase on my way home. The dogs were pretty nice, though. I thought about putting one in my vehicle, because hey... it's not like anyone would see anyway, right? Plus they said that the dogs are totally free, and I think only giving them to the blind is discrimination against the visually unimpaired. Oh man. That was kind of a tactless joke, eh? I'm a jerk. Sorry visually impaired people. If it makes you feel better, I owe money on my taxes. Also, FYI, I put money in the plastic dog and everything, don't write me hate letters, k?. The universe has rebalanced itelf. No bad Karmel for me.

What I should have done, though, if I'd have only known about this whole no lime beer shenanigan, was stop at every beer store on the way home until I found my lime beer. I need a lime beer finding dog. A seeing lime beer dog if you will. I would name him Beery the Beerdog, or Fender.... or Mister Sprinklybeer or Limey Beerstard.

The End.

PS.. check this out. Radioactive, Conjoined, Mutant Strawberry!:

Awesome.

Cyborg Tiger-Unicorns.

So I've been a little MIA and all distracted lately. Distracted from the internet. By things like chores. What gives? Boring eh? In any case, I've just finished a triple espresso latte of secret knowledge & power and I have some important things to share with you in point form now.

• I bought steak today. $40 worth of it. That's 4 steaks at $10 each. I didn't actually mean to do this. I got through the checkout with my squirming, mangled hoard of children and failed to notice how much the steaks were going to be. So we're having steak. I like steak, but the kids don't. Tonight they will see the light, though, because dammit- THAT steak was expensive and there are starving kids in Disneyland to consider. Well, it wasn't THAT expensive as far as steak goes, but when considering that they would much rather eat hot dogs or hamburger prepared in ANY way imaginable (I'm pretty sure they'd eat it boiled in yak milk as long as it is HAMBURGER), it's kind of nerve wracking to buy them $20 worth of steak by accident. Freeze half of it for later, you say? Meh.

• Last night, Neil learned a lesson in giving a litre of orange pop to an 8 year old juuuUUuuust before taking her into a movie theatre. I opted not to go to the movies last night thank GAWD. Eleanore has stopped being fun there, so I got to stay home and watch reruns of True Blood. Anyway, I am trying to stop laughing at the predicament he put himself into, bless his pea pickin' little heart. Orange Pop is to Libby as cocaine speedballs are to a colony of paranoid, manic, manipulative spider monkeys.

• I just realized that I forgot about my bread dough raising and now it's deflated all over the place like a brand new mother's deflated pile of skin for a belly (Show a picture of THAT mess to teenage girls and see if they ever want to have sex). It's going to gross me out now. I should go deal with it. Aaaaaanytime, I'll go check on it. Here I go... Off to clean up the deflated bread dough on my cupboard.... Riiiight now. Hey! Lookie! Sparkles! I'd better keep nice and still here in my chair until they go away. Pretty!

• The new G.I. Joe movie coming out has the following elements featured in it from what I can tell by the preview: Ninjas, submarines, aliens, giant robots, bombs, suspenseful music and a poor plotline just bursting with half-baked conspiracies. If I find out that it has Disco Criminal Samurai Vampire Nuns in it too, I might have to camp outside the theatre until it arrives.

• At bootcamp today, they were painting with epoxy based paint while we worked out. Nothing like huffing paint while over-exerting yourself. It was kind of like high school. I felt extra hilarious and entertaining today. I told Sue to go stick her finger in Instructor-Dale's smoothie. It was solid gold material. Solid. Gold. Oh how we laughed.
  

The End.

Because I can put whatever I want on the internet.

That's how they git you. They're under the $#%&@& ground!

So tonight I'm going on a real live date! I've had this post stewing around in my head all afternoon, by the way. Even when I was laying half consciously on the couch, reclaiming the sleep I'd lost by my ridiculous adventure into boot camp at 6 am. Even as Neil and I sat at the restaurant, gnawing on deep fried dill pickles (which I've decided are my newest and most potent vice after triple espressos), I stewed. It rolled and sloshed around in my brain like a half filled barrel of fish aboard an express train to hell, and you can imagine what THAT must be like. I even felt a little sea sick.

So. I wonder what we should do on our date... at first we had considered going and renting a fancy hotel room, but you know what? You can totally nap at mattress world for free, except for that time that I fell asleep there chewing gum- First they wanted me to BUY the mattress, but as if. I told them that there was gum stuck to it and there is no way I'm buying a gummy mattress, so I loaded up my take-out boxes and my sleeping bag and vowed never to return.

No no, naps are an awesome date idea and all, but I'm thinking of something much jazzier. We've already taken Neil's phone to the repair shop to have the glass replaced from an unknown and mysterious incident which caused the glass to crack and has nothing to do with me borrowing it and going out for martinis the other night. It's something else altogether and frankly I'm a little offended at the implicating feeling I'm getting from all of you who are glaring unapprovingly at your monitors right now. I can tell, you know and I'll thank you kindly to knock it off. So basically we can cross that activity off the date night list of fun rendezvous ideas.

I'm a little disappointed that the date isn't tomorrow night as the Mayfair is featuring the movie, Tremors. I haven't seen Tremors in a theatre. I only saw Tremors when I was 11ish years old on late night satellite when I'd snuck up to watch TV one night. I was not allowed to watch Tremors for a very valid reason. That reason is that I may or may not have had the inability to tell horror monsters from reality and I might have believed that there was a very real possiblity that the show was actually a documentary about living beings (because what if it WAS?). Once I saw the monsters in the movies, they probably existed which would lead to my mother being annoyed to death with my paranoia. In fact, after watching it, I distinctly remember playing at my friend, Donna's house, and trying desperately to jump on her trampoline without alerting the underground space worms as to my location so that they wouldn't explode from the earth and slurp me down their terrible, muddy throats, moreover, I had to still appear to be cool and fun to hang around. It was a fine balance to walk.

I also refused to go into the basement and avoided it at all costs just in case a tremor worm burst through the concrete and sucked me into the ground adjacent to me. I felt pretty safe in the winter, thanks to frozen ground- but I developed a genuine fear of making the ground vibrate in any way. So I was a very light stepper. Being pregnant helped that whole stepping lightly precaution. In fact, when I was pregnant, I remember stomping around, hoping that the ground WOULD open up and swallow me. Even if it was just for a few hours of nap time.

Well. I want to let you know that I've gotten over it (pretty much) and in celebration, it would be prudent to watch Tremors at the Mayfair Theatre/renew my very real fear of giant underground predatory worms for my date if a nap is going to be totally out of the question.

How to deal.

WELL. I turn 30 in 1 day, 15 hours, 6 minutes and 2ish seconds. How. did. this. happen? I feel like I should go buy something made of crushed velvet leopard print with rhinestones that read, "Hot Mama" and hang out in a karaoke bar during day time hours or something. I already like karaoke and I do already find teenagers a little frightening- plus they're probably on drugs, so- y'know- I'm moving along nicely with my 'out of touch with the youth' directive.

By the time my kids are actual teenagers, I should be good and embarrassing- which we all know is the best kind of parenting leverage that there is. "You got a tongue ring, dearest Daughter? WELL then I'm getting six of them. What time should I arrive at your school to show all of your friends? In the morning? I'll make an appointment with your teacher to show the class straight away. Should I wear my new leopard print leisure suit? Do you think the school will mind if I bring along my martini-in-a-water-bottle? MwahahahahAHHAHAHAHA! " It's a brilliant plan. I'm pretty excited about the whole thing.

So yeah. Almost there.

I covet Dale's ricotta, okay?

I was going to take my camera to boot camp today, but at 5:30 am, I am satisfied that I even remembered to wear pants (this time). Not that anyone else there would notice. Most people arrive blinking with their hair still mashed to one side of their heads and really, the only thing anyone can focus on is Instructor Dale's breakfast smoothie. "What's in the smoothie, Dale?" 8 or 11 women ask, eyeballing it the way a bunch of out of shape Eves in the Garden of Eden would eyeball the forbidden fruit of knowledge- and Dale is the snake/devil tempting everyone. "Field berries and ricotta." Says Dale/Satan. "Ricotta, huh?" The women ask. "Yeah *smirk*. It's a long story."

I'll bet it is. I bet it's a very long, intriguing story about berries & lasagna cheese all blended together that we would all laugh heartily at and feel enlightened about thereafter. "Ohhhh..... I seeeee." We'd all say while nodding thoughtfully after Dale related the long, complicated story to us. Then we'd make mental notes to purchase ricotta and field berries (I also think that a couple/few ounces of Jamaican rum would be nice in it) for the next boot camp class.

The point is that I don't really care WHY there is ricotta in it (even though it's the cheese intended for lasagna). I would personally like to just steal Dale/The Devil's smoothie, sneak out to the hall and give it a try, but I just know there are stool-pigeons in that class. (They're the perky ones who already know why someone would put ricotta in their smoothie and also feel smug about this knowledge) I'd get busted and then what? Everyone would be watching me like vultures and I'd be looking behind my back for the rest of the boot camp sessions- possibly forever. They might even give me a nickname like- 'The Bootcamp Breakfast Bandito' or 'That crazy freak at bootcamp' or 'Shirley' (because why not?). Well I don't want to get caught up in that kind of criminal lifestyle anyway. My family is just too important to me.

All I know is that it sits on the counter and everyone's head does a wide eyed, owl-esque 180 as they run past it. Who's gonna be the first to steal the forbidden fruit? Huh? WHO?

Who? Who? WHO?

The Hills have I.

Today I ran up a big fat, steep grassy hill. I haven't done that since I was a kid. I was pretty exhilarated that I was so nimble vaguely capable. So once at the top, I enjoyed the view of Moonie's Bay while trying to will away my butt cramp and decided to run back down juuuust like my kids. Bad idea, Self. I forgot about that suspended moment in time that occurs when running down a steep hill. It's that mental purgatory made up of sheer panic when you realize that your legs are running faster under your body than time allows and they begin to take on a mind of their own, picking up speed faster and faster until you are a teeth chattering, jiggling, wailing mass just praying for God to make your feet heavier and screaming at small children to hit the deck because Heaven knows- there is NOTHING you can do about it.

"Wowee Mom. You can run REALLY fast! Was what you said a swear??"

"No, I said 'Rolling Ducks', didn't you see them? They were all kinds of tricky. Geez. You should pay more attention to nature, ungrateful kids." (there is a lesson in everything)

Well I was afraid that if I actually tried to stop, I might have launched myself into the picnic of the large, non-english speaking family who were happily chattering away over lunch at the bottom of the hill, or into an unsuspecting cyclist. Try explaining THAT while attempting to look like you meant it so that you might keep some small semblance of your dignity.

Yeah, who am I kidding? My dignity left the moment I made the critical decision to hurl myself off of a large, public hill.

Neo Citran is good for your thinking.

So I've been neglecting my mega nerd blogging duties this week. I've had company, my parents actually. Company + Parents= Comparentsny or Pomparnents for short. I like the sound of that second one. Pomparnents were here. Sounds pretty impressive like they were celebrities. Now I have the flu so I'm kinda hopped up on Neo Citran hot toddies (breakfast of champions). Hence this stupid post. I quite honestly don't know why you're still reading this. Get a book for God's sake.

Anyhow, It's April Fools day. Thousands of kajillions of bloggers will post some kind of tricky lie about themselves. So. Me too. Here it is: I'm quitting. Hahahah. As if. Had you goin' for a second there, 31 Subscribers. What? That's what everyone posts on April fools? Then all their subscribers beg them to stay? Then a jovial post about "Gee you guys are swell, I'm not really deleting the blog" and then allllll the subscribers give a collective sigh and hearty laugh? Damn. Well, I'm no sheep blogger (sheep +blogger = bleepgor.). So here's a better one: . HAHAHAHA No I don't! Fooled you, Fool! Man I'm hilarious. Oh wait, I forgot to post a second lie. Damn't.

I have my own haircutting tools now. Thought I'd throw that out there.

That is all. I'm off to try and make a disgusting tuna loaf look like cake. OH how my kids will be fooled. Maybe I'll make little tiny fool hats for them to wear, too. We'll all prance around the street like court jesters displaying our tunaloaf that looks like cake. Then I'll tell them they're grounded if they don't comply cheerfully. THAT would be so tricky. It's pretty easy/fun to trick your own kids on April Fool's (or any time you feel like it) since you can tell them they're not getting their allowance if they don't believe you/do what you say.

Here is something to look at while you try to sort that all out in your minds:

A BEaUtIfUL crystal thing.

Wow. Dumbest blog ever. I can't believe I'm about to hit 'publish'.

Please don't unsubscribe... it just kinda came out. I can do better. I promise I can. I can photoshop something.... honest. You have to realize that I have the flu and Neo Citran is like super mind altering cold medicine.... I know you Canadians will understand... STAY? STAY.

How to be more like me in just 20 seconds.

-Put your baby onto her happypotty.

-Don't realize that she has peed in it.

-Have her stand up and dump half of the pee onto your leg

-Have the realization that there was, in fact, pee in that happypotty.

-Get up to take remaining happypotty contents to dump out while complaining/rejoicing at the baby for a job well done.

-Get leg caught on the baby gate while complaining/rejoicing/moving toward toilet with happypotty half full of pee. Continue toward the toilet anyway.

-Take a large, slow motion step, keeping your other leg firmly attached to the top of the baby gate.

-Trip, while watching the contents of the potty fly into the air, flip around twice and land directly onto the cut you got from the baby gate while your older child jumps around you, wildly hollering, "EMERGENCY ALERT! EMERGENCY ALERT!".

Now excuse me, I'm going to go watch Xanadu. Don't judge me.