about my next husband

5 firemen stood in my airspace today.  I made sure to nose-breathe.  I still had asparagus on my breath from my hastily abandoned dinner.

5 firemen stood in my kitchen today.  The scent of crock-pot beans lingered in the air.  I marveled at all their tools.  Then I noticed all the medical equipment they brought in.  wink.

5 firemen stood next to me today.  Several times I slowly shut my eyes while I inhaled their musky "hey-baby-i-just-put-out-a-fire-and-saved-a-cat" scent.  I think I heard Marvin Gaye in the background.

5 firemen stood next to Clint today.  But Clint's "i-have-food-lodged-in-my-throat-why-does-jaylee-look-like-she's-in-a-febreeze-commercial?" choking noise managed to ruin the moment.

Oh yeah.  Clint choked on dinner tonight.  Chicken.

Not to worry.  He was never in any real danger.  His midget esophagus hasn't grown since he was 5 (my expert opinion), and he's had a few similar episodes in the past.  This one was the worst and he endured about 30 minutes of severely constricted breathing.  While the 5 fireman stared at Clint, trying to assess their course of action, I stared at the 5 fireman.

As soon as the decision was made to transport him to the hospital, Clint's body started working again.  Darn.  No EMTs.  Just as well.  They'd have been women with my luck.

Fortunately, Clint's still with us.

But the firemen aren't.

Firemen work the same shift every week, right?  'Cuz I really liked the older chap with the sandy blonde hair.

Did I just pour gasoline all over my house and light a match?  How clumsy.

disclaimer:

Sorry to offend those with small esophagi, those who have burned their house down, and midgets.  If you happen to know any firemen, more specifically the firemen that were at my house today, or any that are in the above picture, please give them my thanks.  And my phone number.

about REAL food

Today I committed a pho paw, a fow pa, and a fo paa.  So many ways to misspell it phonetically.

I was in line at Joe's REAL bbq.  You know, the place that serves REEEAAALLL bbq, rather than the made in China bbq that uses pork-food and bbq sauce substitute.

But I digest.

In line, next to the REAL bbq cashier, were desserts that looked REAL fake.  Plastic-fake.

So I asked her if they were real.  Except I didn't ask her if they were real.  Maybe I thought to ask her if they were real?  Except I didn't even think to ask her.  I just stuck my finger down through the top of the lemon cake.

I'm super mature - said no one ever.

The REAL cashier looked at the newly formed sinkhole, then at me, then back at the sinkhole.

I offered to purchase the cake.  I did...'nt.

We locked eyes for 3.256 seconds.  Then she smiled and said "don't worry about it.  it happens all the time."

She was REAL understanding.


(this photo is irrelevant except that every time I come across it, I want to pull Clint by the shorthairs and quietly whisper in his ear that I will raise fifty shades of hades if he ever again leaves the nutcase in the blue shirt by himself on the edge of a precipice)

About Optical Areas

For his birthday, the Clint-ernator treated himself to new glasses.  

Too bad so sad for Clint, his birthday falls in the beginning of January, and since this last Christmas and every preceding Christmas because who are we kidding, I blew our Christmas budget out of the water as if it were a submarine in a game of Battleship I played with the 6 year old who doesn't keep track of his previous location inquiries.  Drives me crazy.  

Not the blowing of the Christmas budget; the six year old who refuses to play the game correctly and subsequently loses every time.  And in this house, we play for realsies.  Which means my loser kids cry. But what do I care?  I won.

January funds are ultimately tight since they're needed to cover December's 3 letter word (fittingly rhymes with crass).  

On Clint's birthday this year, he politely thanked me for the toothpaste, re-fried beans, and a youth winter basketball registration fee that I purchased in honor of his name, but was somehow not satisfied with the effort.  Or the beans.  Enter glasses.

He is now quite fetching in his optical area (sounds naughty).  He has a whole new face.  Kinda stinks that the girl with perfect eyesight is stuck with the same dumb face she's had for the last 35 years.  

Except I did get some onion goggles for Christmas.

About Nuts

Congrats on surviving through the end of the world.  I imagine that since it's only 11:45pm, I still have 15 nail-biting minutes to get through, but I'm feeling pretty confident that my 10 year old potato pearls will yet again fail to see the light of day.

In celebration of the possibility of dying, a well-connected friend and her daughter treated Emersen and I to Ballet Arizona's Nutcracker.  Who else would I want to spend my last night of human existence with than my friend and 2000 strangers?  We can all fight over gum and linty Werther's originals when we hear the asteroids starting to land.

I LOVED it.  The ballet, not the Apocalypse   Emersen liked it.  Not enough to deserve an underline, but enough that she would be willing to see it again next year ("why does the plum girl dance so long?").

It was the Nutcracker on crack (ha!) i.e. the mice threw in some Thriller moves and Mother Ginger was most definitely watching Gangum Style on his phone while waiting in the wings.  Mr. Sexy Lady would have been proud.  No joke.

Speaking of Nutcrackers, one of my most favorite family members brought this little nugget to a white elephant party.

Hillary-arious.  

Made that one up myself. 

Could you eat any nuts that came from between those legs?  I can't.

We all knew I'd fail at my countdown

Some over-zealous yahoo at Target thought it would be a clever idea to partner up with Neiman Markus.

Dear Over-Zealous Yahoo:  

Target is where I purchase my q-tips for $.20 less than Fry's, hangers for $.25 less than Big-Lots, and Rubber Maid bins for $2 less than Lowes. 

Target exists solely for the cheapskate who likes to buy the occasional purse on clearance while crossing off tampons from her list.  

I inquire this - who did Target have in mind as their target audience (that's funny) when it signed the contract to sell clothing designed by Tracy Reese?  (who btw designed this jacket, I want it I want it I want it, and will only cost me 15 plasma donations)

The frock in question

Priced at

 

Marchesa's name graces this dress

As well as her price point

No Target customer I know would ever purchase a hideous, 5 lb be-jeweled shirt for $80, or a $100 white (white!) dress for their 4 year old.  That's about 4-5 plasma donations each.

And "Hand Beaded" doesn't evoke a sense of worth; I only imagine the severely under-paid 14-year-old in Indonesia.  

I look forward to seeing the above merchandise on the clearance rack, because we both know you're not moving many of these puppies at their current pricing schedule.

Sincerely,  

Bewildered

Countdown Day 3

I'm on a roll people.

For the past 4-5ish years, our family has kicked off the holiday season by doing a bit of ornament procuring.  The kids each pick out an ornament to their liking, with the minimal condition that it may not be bigger than my outstretched hand.  The winners this year:

My children fill their gender roles so effortlessly.

When they're grown, they'll take all their ornaments with them to hang on their own trees.  My hope is that they'll remember the wonderful family memories we've created each year picking out our tree's eye-candy.  I imagine their reminiscing will go something like this:

Asher:  Hey Emma, remember when you got this ballerina ornament?

Emma: Yeah, it almost didn't satisfy mom's hand ruler requirement.  Didn't I get that at Michaels?

Asher: No, I think it was Joannes.  Michaels wasn't 50% off that week.

Emma:  Oh yeah.  But, wait, what about your tractor ornament?  I thought that was from Joannes?

Asher:  Nope, wrong again.  That was the year mom forgot to take us, and Hobby Lobby was the only store that still had ornaments in stock in February.  But your snowflake was from Michaels.

Emma:  Umm, I'm pretty sure that was from World Market.  If I remember correctly, Dad was working that night and Mom needed a mixing bowl, so we picked up our ornaments at the same time.  She had a coupon or something.

Asher:  That's right!  Isn't that the year we didn't put the tree up till Christmas Eve?

Emma:  No, that was the year she told us we'd go see the Temple lights and get hot chocolate, but we just ended up driving around a few times in our cul de sac drinking some warm capri-suns that were about to expire.

Asher: I think she had a girl's night out planned that night.  

Emma: Ah yes, the true spirit of Christmas.

Such sweet, sweet memories.

Countdown Day 2

Flee at once and go purchase yourself a box of these tanned, cheerful men-folk.

 



Upon receipt, please report back that you, as well, fell victim to consuming these stout little boys by the fist-full.  This December, let's celebrate elastic waistbands and empire shirts.