Friday, February 4, 2011

A smattering of pointless crap.

Snow storms, pop-up warm patches of weather, family members in bad health, dogs who insist on pooping behind the couch no matter how many times you take them outside I AM TALKING TO YOU, ALICE, kids with head colds and green snot, kids getting shots at the doctor and screaming bloody murder, and, later today, more snow storms! My head feels like it is about ready to explode. I offer up as proof of my mental status the fact that I was debating between writing about those Vicks-scented Kleenexes or Things That Can Possibly Make Your Dog's Turds Turn Purple. All of that to say, I've got nothin'. So I give you a post about...nothing. Random thoughts from a stir-crazy mom over the last week or so. You're WELCOME.

Barbie: A Fashion Fairytale. Also known as Barbie: Catalyst For The Apocalypse, End Times Are Drawing Near. This movie made me want to stab both my eyeballs and eardrums just to escape the glitterific awesomeness that is this movie. Thanks, Barbie, for stealing not only an hour and a half of my life, but also parts of my soul. You entertained my five year old and made her scream with glee, but these are some of the comments that could be heard from the husband's side of the couch while watching your movie. "I wish that Barbie would run for president. You know, so someone could assassinate her. I would do it. I would risk it." And, "I wonder if they could have found a way to put Barbie on the spaceship Challenger." And (after watching seventeen previews for other Barbie movies in which she discovers she is both a championship surfer and a mermaid, both a fashionista and a fairy), "Next up, Barbie: The Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Her crown of thorns has sassy sparkles!". This is the trailer for the Fairy Secret video. She's walking the runway. She's fabulous and glittery. She's.....A FAIRY?! Holy shit! Barbie? You just made me question everything I know about reality.


Dear Gym Bunnies: You know who you are. You know why you are at the gym (hint: It isn't to break a good sweat and get in shape). You should also know that you look like an imbecile, strolling out of the locker room wearing shimmery eyeshadows, hot-pink lipstick, and a tshirt so tight that I can see your nipples through it. Stop. Just stop it now, mkay? You could just do us all a favor and stand outside with a sign that reads "I am here to pick up guys. Call 931-555-5454 if interested." You would also save yourself the embarrassment of walking at a one-mile-per-hour pace on the treadmill while flipping your ponytail in the direction of the losers over in the weights section. Can I ask you something, Temptress of the Treadmill? Why do you think it is that you see the same backwards-ballcap-wearing morons at the gym at 9:30am every single day? I'll tell you a secret: It's because they more likely than not DON'T HAVE JOBS. They are mid-to-late twenties losers who live with their parents and watch Jersey Shore marathons, and have the spare time to spend five hours a day at the gym. Just so you know.


Sadly, this picture is not far off from what I see at the gym every day. What you can't see is the smell of desperation and the half-a-bottle of Clinique Happy in the air.

The husband and I recently (a good two years behind the rest of civilization, I know) watched Food Inc. And I wanted to throw up, then clean my refrigerator and pantry of every single thing and start over. And then maybe throw up some more. Y'all, meat is disgusting. It would seem that it is making us sick and/or possibly killing us. Resisting the urge to drive an hour to Whole Foods and blow five hundred bucks, the husband and I decided that we would go organic for the really important stuff: Meat, milk, eggs, fruits and veggies. We just can't realistically afford for EVERY single thing in our house to be organic or all natural. We agreed that sometimes it's just okay for a kid to have a frozen Eggo waffle. But today. OH, today! I met a mother that just takes the cake (the cake would almost certainly, in her case, be flour-less, egg-less, gluten-free, and consist mainly of air and love). At the library she raved on and on about how a good 50% of her husband's salary goes toward making sure that every single bite of food that passes her children's' lips is organic and dairy free. She ranted about how she is currently MAD at Whole Foods because of some super scandalous alfalfa sprout controversy. Alfalfagate 2011, I assume. This woman didn't know a single person in the room, yet projected her beliefs and cuh-raziness onto anyone unlucky enough to be within a twenty foot radius of her. After a (no joke) fifteen minute long lecture on why her kids don't eat meat and it causes them to have crazy tantrums and be out of control, her five year old daughter began to beat a little boy's head with a toy truck. OrganiMom rushed over, scooped up her daughter, and held her tightly while whispering weird sounds. Probably putting a curse on the little boy's mother because they had said something about going to McDonalds for lunch. Anyway, the little girl just kept screaming and screaming and STILL TRYING TO HIT THE BOY, who couldn't have been more than two years old. I was dumbstruck. At that moment, another mother who I presume I could be best friends with based on her quick wit, whispered, "Hmmm. Maybe she got a hold of some meat?" Ha. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHA.


"Chicken McCruelty: Broken Wings And Legs...but SOOOO GOOD!"