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.

Countdown Day 1

In theory, it sounds like a superb endeavor; however, I'm acquainted with myself well enough to know that I will most likely fail, hard.

But alas, I'm giving it a go.

Hello neglected blog and 12.5 readers (.5 for the one of you that's pregnant).

For you, my sweets, is a holly-jolly get-you-in-the-mood-while-it's-87-degrees-outside countdown to Christmas (forget the hot chocolate, who's up for a Slurpee?)

Check it -

Ugly Sweater Christmas Party 2012

This baby did NOT take home the grand prize.  Surprisingly, there were attendees clothed in sweaters as awful as my own, and mine has peppermint swirls for buttons.

A recount you say?  I agree.  We're puzzled.

About my ying and his yang

Both Clint and I nervously spoke in church this past Sunday.  Clint's talk was spiritual and thoughtful.  A couple sitting in the second row sobbed.  My talk was irreverent and amusing.  A wife had to shush her husband because he was laughing so loud.   Both Clint and I had the missionaries over for dinner tonight.  Clint asked them how God's errand was going and about their general well-being.  I asked them what's the worst meal they'd ever been served, what they want to be when they grow up, Paul Ryan Yeah or Nay (Paul who? they said), and if we could play a round of guess their first name.  The visit ended either two ways - they left feeling spiritually uplifted or they left feeling refreshed by the change of pace.  Both are good feelings.  So invite us to your parties.  Clint will inspire you to finally make that change you've known you should have made a long time ago, and I'll make you feel like you're doing everything right.

    

about NPR

My unenviable children have only the sweet sounds of NPR's lulling commentary to listen to while driving with me.  

Clint's better at balancing talk radio and Top 40, and is their source for all things current.  For the 8 minutes a week the kids are alone with Clint in the car, they suck up all things Katy Perry and the like, committing to memory every verse and chorus, to later use as ammunition on the playground against the assault of "you're the loser who can't sing along with your friends cuz you don't know the words cuz you're mom's a loser too".  Unfortunately for my children, I'm the head chauffeur so NPR is their primary source of sound waves.  

And they're listening.  Sort of.  Emersen's probably learning a thing or two through osmosis, but Asher's paying attention.  While listening to All Things Considered, Asher's interest was piqued and it lead to a very enlightening, albeit controversial, exchange.

Asher: "What does "the Republicans want Obama out" mean?"

Me: "It means there's some people called the Republicans that don't want Obama to be president anymore."

Asher: "How do they make it so he can't be president anymore?"

Me: "A bunch of grown-ups get together in a room and they say "Raise your hand if you want Obama to go away" and if most of the people in the room want Obama to go away, then he does."

Asher:  "But isn't Obama the President of America?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher: "But doesn't Jesus love America and think that America is the best ever?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher:  "So does that mean that Jesus doesn't love the Republicans?"

Me: "........"

For safety reasons involving myself and family members, my response to last question will not be made public at this time.

NPR's reporting runs the gamut; some reports are preceded with disclosures about possible upcoming inappropriate material for the younger listener. 

Here is the reply I offered Asher to his question while listening at home to a streaming episode of Diane Rehm.  Tell me if you could have done any better -

Me: "Uh, hmmm, well, it's a, it's you know, um, a, uh, thing that maybe, uh, maybe when you're a little older I will, um, I can explain it to you."  





Asher's question: "Mom, what's Gay Sex?"

about free food

Deal of the Day at Sonic: 

When you order a Large Dr. Pepper, 2 Corn Dogs, a Cheeseburger, a Power-Aid Slush, and Medium Sweet Potato Tots, your order is free!  It's a $10 and change savings.  

But you must act quickly

Here's the deets- 

Starting at 9:30am, paint your daughter's ceiling.  90 minutes later, stupidly rinse out a paint tray in the gutter.  Plead to your God that the neighbor cop won't come out of her house since you're clearly breaking a law concerning the proper disposal of a chemical substance.  Swear a bit when you notice that the more hose water you spray, the more you add to the stationary pools of white water in the gutters of the two houses flanking your own.  Swear again and spend the next 20 minutes herding Benjamin Moore Dove White down the gutter towards the storm drain that looks to be 37 miles away.  You'll run out of hose before you can make much of an impact, so you'll arrive at a point where all you're doing is wasting water.  After you feel you've done all you can to shift the culpability from you to another neighbor, run inside and quickly change out of your dedicated painting apparel - very low slung since the elasticity has stretched to it's limits during both pregnancies, gray GAP yoga stretchy pants, with a 6 inch hole in the crotch, that you purchased 20 lbs ago.  On the way out the door to pick up your already waiting at the curb Kindergartner, whose asking at that very moment "why is my mommy always late, teacher? doesn't she love me?" grab your wallet since you promised the little ones lunch from Sonic.  Upon arriving, order the meal as stated above.  Notice you have $6 dollars in your wallet and no debit card (the misplaced debit card is a highly occurring event as most of your friends can attest to since you have a running tab with at least 4 of them) to pay for a bill of $10 and change.  Curse to yourself that YET AGAIN, it's looking like you'll need to drive up to the window to tell them you have no way to pay for your meal (you're no stranger to this).  Pat yourself down and say a silent prayer of gratitude that in your haste to dress, you clothed yourself in the same apparel as yesterday, which has the thin plastic form of victory in your back pocket.  At the point of sale, with your debit card between your legs, patiently wait for several minutes.  The line in back of you will be at least 6 cars deep, all waiting on you and your tots.  Panic will start to set in because you know that when you're waiting in the drive-thru 6 cars back YOU blame the gluttonous driver at the window for the delay because clearly they've ordered too much food for the the poorly staffed kitchen to quickly microwave.  After several more minutes of listening to the employee yell at thirty second intervals "How's it going on her tots?", "Her tots ready yet?", "Lady's waiting for her tots" you're now VERY aware of the drivers in the waiting cars, watching their 30 minute lunch break tick to an end.  After waiting at least 8 minutes, weak with anxiety, Sonic will finally hand you your items; you'll be too relived to notice the outstretched fingers waiting for payment - just gun the gas and drive off with your debit card still between your legs.  

Not to fret.  Hell is still a ways off.  About a mile down the road, you'll realize your folly, but continue on.  5 hours later, swing by and they'll thank you for your honesty by comping your meal.  And they'll throw in a mint.

About my happenings

Bi-annual posting coming your way.  Because I tend to ask more questions about you than I answer about myself, it seems the only insight you can glean regarding my happenings are provided by my hanging on a thread blog.  I'm like a blank canvas.  Let's color it in a little with irrevocably true information about the last 6 months - I've ran a marathon a day; I've slogged through Moby Dick and didn't skip ANY of the whaling chapters; I've learned Cantonese.  Twice. Dà Zhīfáng Sāhuǎng.

For realsies.  Our home address is a little different.  We're a few miles east of our (sniff sniff) Alameda house.  After reviewing 9 offers, we chose to sell it to an older-ish couple who both grew up in Tempe and whose family 25 years ago owned the liquor store I frequented with my mother as a wee lass and from which I 5-finger-discounted a pack of rolos.  The smuggled goods were later quietly fished out from my pants pocket where the warm summer day had turned 10 individually wrapped rolos into 1.  It was devoured in it's entirety, paper and all - the fear of chocking on aluminum wrappings and being caught completely tainting the experience.

The new homeowners won our hearts after writing a letter gushing and goo-ing at the beauty of the house.  We closed on a Thursday afternoon and by Friday morning, the Alameda estate's beauty included a stripped kitchen and several demolished walls.  The homeowners are making room for their custom ordered sink from Paris.  No joke.  Miss you orange Formica countertop.

The children fair well.  Emma's in 5th grade and Asher's in Kindergarten.  Do I have a picture of either of them on their first day of school?  No. Did I have every intention of photographing them on their second day of school and lying about when it was taken?  Yes.  Did I photograph them on their second day of school?  No, and neither any subsequent day.  They'll forgive me for the missing scrapbook page.  Wait, I don't scrapbook.  Terrible mom am I.  A mess all around.  I do have a picture of Asher doing his best impersonation of Ray Charles.  Is it PC to scrapbook a picture of Asher impersonating a blind man?  Jury's still out.

about backpacking

Camping is a bit masochistic, no?  Yet I continue to endure it.  It's difficult and dirty and hot and cold and dirty and tiring and dirty. And while camping is all of those things, this past weekend we Draneys and Sauers made things more difficult, if that's even possible, by packing everything onto our backs and walking a mile away from the dedicated ipod charger that is our car.

After the exhausting mile hike up the most treacherous terrain known to man, also referred to as Horton Creek Trail 1: Grade Gentle, we picked the site we deemed would be most suitable for unicorn sitings...






... and a few gypsy children were spotted as well.







This gypsy girl gave a convincing modelesque pose...

...and of course man did the stupid manly stuff that man does when he's in the manly wilderness environment.











It's the poor, wincing manly-man on the bottom who came up with the grand idea to leave our DVRs and memory foam pillows.  Meals consisted of virtually weightless Mountain House dehydrated beef teriyaki, oatmeal, and a bag of crushed, dry peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Trader Joes sponsored our excursion by providing us with plenty of dehydrated fruit to snack on, as well as a carton of mush that once resembled inside-out carrot cookies that someone thought would last the trek smashed between 2 sleeping bags (all fingers point to myself). We truly lived off the land and used the creek to supply our water for cooking, washing, and re-hydrating.


We only suffered through a few injuries -
a broken toe of a 4 year old after a powerful stubbing and a thrown out back by the 34 year old Clintly-manly-man after trying to escape what he claimed to be a fire-breathing wasp (fly).


I did my best to steal this baby's affections...









... and while her mother slept in until 9am(!!), the cutest baby in existence napped on my shoulder while I whispered subconscious disapproval about her mother still sleeping even though the baby and her brothers had been up since 6am and I would never do that to her and I would never take her backpacking if she didn't want to go and I'll always give her cookies for dinner...











Asher somehow managed to become more God-like in that he suddenly became buoyant enough to walk on water...











... oh, nope, that's just a rock he's standing on which makes more sense since somehow he managed to set the world record for being tattled on for bad behavior 54.9 times in the span of 24 hours.


Good highlights you ask? I'd have to say it was my friend's fabulous pork burrito I finished off at the Mexican restaurant we dined in on the way up to Payson, and the mushroom, garlic, tomato pizza we ate on the way out.  Trend alert:  I like food.


crap, I guess maybe the good company and memories can be considered highlights, but please but don't tell Clint or Ryan I said that since they'll throw it in my face when I say no to the next backpacking trip.

about cheesy yearbook quotes

Stay Sweet!
Don't Change!
2 Good 2 B 4-gotten!
KIT!
Have A Kick Butt Summer!
1953 called and wants their hat back.
Why do your lips look weird?

about losing my stuff

We're going to play a little game called WHERE IS JAYLEE'S WALLET and/or KEYS and/or PHONE and/or WEDDING RING?

At any time, I'm unable locate one or more of these objects. My wedding ring comes in first place as the most sought after article. I frequently remove it to wash my hands, clean the dishes, scratch my bum bum, etc., and I place it on whatever pseudo-flat surface is within arms reach. Last week it was precariously placed on the top of the couch's arm rest where it rested for several days. A year ago, my ring went missing for several weeks and after much searching, I assumed it had fallen out of my pocket (another favorite place I keep it) in some parking lot. To my great relief, I finally found it shoved in the crease of our couch. Afterwards, I vowed to always know where my ring was. That lasted about 9 minutes. Clint once found my ring amongst the carpet fibers on our bedroom floor and seized an opportunity to teach me a lesson. I quickly noticed it was MIA, and searched for several days, not letting it be known to Clint that anything was amiss, unaware that he had full knowledge of it's hidden location and was enjoying my panic. Tird.

The Second place/First loser reigning champ is my wallet. Recently, on a grocery shopping excursion, I grabbed for my wallet as I was getting out of the car, only to find it wasn't there, nor in any other of it's usual 12 spots. I figured it must have been left behind at Sunflower. Without panic, I drove back, secretly thanking the stars that I had left it at a Sunflower rather than a Walmart. Isn't that a terrible thing to say? I associate Sunflower with hippy-dippy, Merrel clad, curry smelling folk who wouldn't dare rock Mother Earth's boat by keeping a wallet's contents for themselves. I associate Walmart with hip-hoppy, nike clad, $5 Little Caeser's pizza take-out smelling individuals who would probably flip off Mother Earth if she unintentionally cut in front of them at a Redbox. I found my wallet in the cart I used, the cart that I had precariously positioned between 4 conjoining parking spots (I'm a lazy cart put-er away-er). Crisis averted.

I made my way to Walmart, bought my Herdez salsa (only $1.68!), and continued on to Frys. As I was getting out of the car, I noticed my phone was missing. I was certain that it came into Walmart with me, and I got in the car and drove back to Walmart. I looked for my strategically placed cart, only to find the parking lot had recently been swept. I spoke with the greeter, my checkout lady, and I backtracked my shopping path, only to come up empty handed. Customer service was a bust, suggesting that I call my phone (with what?). When I got home and had a phone, I called my cell, fully expecting to hear it ringing from some recess of the car, only to have someone answer it. Walmart's customer service was in possession of my phone and had been while I was at the store asking about it. They required that I fully explain my background image before releasing it back to me.



It's an inappropriate picture of a 4 year old?










I think I'm doomed and won't learn anything meaningful from these near misses until one time I actually come up empty handed. Any words of advice?

about sandwiches

Emma's girl scout troop volunteered to prepare 100 sack lunches for distribution through the Phoenix Rescue Mission, which is an organization that serves the Phoenix homeless. Five squirrely 9 year olds got together and pb&j'ed the heck out of 200 slices of bread. After the bags were packed and the sandwiches were sufficiently squished underneath bottles of water and granola bars, I offered to drop them off at the Mission's main campus, which was located inside a dilapidated industrial park in downtown Phoenix.  Asher was going to tag along, so I took the opportunity to explain to him what exactly we were doing and how our actions were benefiting those less fortunate. He was very interested in the fact that people can live outside rather than in a home and he asked where they slept. I told him that I've seen quite a few gentlemen sleeping on park benches.  To him that sounds like the ideal situation - play at the park, sleep on the bench, and repeat. As I pulled up to the center to speak with the gate keeper, I noticed there were at least 30 men of the homeless variety milling around the gated entrance (and by gated I mean a locked barbed wire fence). Asher noticed the men as well and quickly seized an opportunity. He proceeded to take off his seat belt, roll down his window, and stick half his body out of the car to yell loudly

"WHY DON'T YOU GUYS LIVE IN A HOME?
DO YOU SLEEP ON THE SWINGS TOO?"

about Easter

A comparative look between my Passover Seder and the Internet's Passover Seder

A respectable Jewish family's Seder pic lifted from Wikipedia

Elijah's cup is the understated silver goblet downstage

My Grandmother's Seder

Martha Stewart's adaptation of a Seder place setting

My Grandmother's adaptation of a Seder place setting

What Mrs. Stewart does with her Matzo crackers







What we do with ours







Emma showcasing a few of the 10 plagues - Frogs, Lice, Locusts...







and Darkness







10 minutes prior to Seder







10 minutes into Seder







11 minutes prior to Seder







11 minutes into Seder







and after all that Seder business was over, we Draney's celebrated Christ's death via Zombie Booth (the most disturbing app ever)

about customer service

Are there any among you who are as irritated as I with Hobby Lobby's method of ringing up merchandise? Hand entering prices is antiquated, and it makes for very sloppy receipts since I have to pencil all over them to remind myself what I purchased.  SCRAPBOOK ITEM is vague. They hand count every item - there is no computer keeping a tally.  I recently purchased 10 of the same item, and while I was at the cashier, we both took turns counting them. Twice I came up with the number 10, and twice he came up with the number 11. He stared at me, willing me to break and agree with his 11. I broke and said "fine, ring it up for 11."

As most of my purchases go, days later I decided to return my 10/11 items. Lo and behold, the returns cashier counted 10 items, and proceeded to credit me for only 10 items.

Breezy Jaylee - "Oh, you only credited me for 10 items. The receipt says that I purchased 11 items, but that's only because one of your cashier's counted incorrectly."
 
Cashier - "Hmm, well, I can only credit you for the items that you're returning, which are 10."

Ironic Jaylee - "Yes, but when the cashier was ringing them up, he and I took turns counting and I kept counting 10 and he kept counting 11, and we ultimately decided to go with his count. "

Cashier - "I understand, but since you're only returning 10 items, I can only credit you for 10 items."

Flabbergasted Jaylee - "Why would I by 11 items? Doesn't that seem like a weird number? I know I only took 10 items from your store that day, and I was incorrectly charged for an additional item."

At this point she calls the manager over and explains the situation.

Manager - "We can't credit you for an item that we don't have at the time of return."

Furious Jaylee - "Look, I shop at Hobby Lobby all the time, more than I do your competitors. I understand your policy, but it was YOUR cashier's mistake. Can you please credit me for that additional item, and chalk it up to good customer service?"

The managers turns to the cashier and says "Just give her the credit."
 
I was returning scrapbook paper on sale for $.05 each.  Cha ching!  It's the principle people. 

about real important stuff

True things -

The older-ly ladies at LAFitness have NO qualms with the nude female form. While in the buff, Myrtle and Gertrude had a lengthy conversation about embroidery floss.

After 20 minutes or so, your spinach and blueberry smoothie will cease to look bluish/purple and will revert to it's default color of greenish/brown.




My Iphone is much more user friendly than Clint's Droid Incredible.

I'm fascinated with Utah's culture, but would not, could not, ever live there, unless supposing I were elected Emperor of Utah.

If I were elected Emperor of Utah, I would ban the word "Anthro".  It's Anthroplogie, people.  And stop shopping there so much.  That sweater you bought yesterday could have paid for 1 child's cleft palate surgery in Africa.

There's nothing hotter than a man in an apron holding a pile of raw meat.



When people start a sentence with "I don't mean to brag" I think, in fact, they do.

I don't know how to say no. I can barely type it. That's why I don't answer my phone.

Doritos and Tomatoes.




Being inquisitive isn't considered nosy when you're Diane Rehm.

I frequently confuse the words Entomology and Etymology.

The rebel in the white shirt must have the darnedest time finding tattoo-showcasing apparel in his town of Cedar City, Utah. Cruella on his right stole his jeans from an 11 year old girl.



Passive aggressive behavior: Blech.

It's annoying when people start most of their sentences with "I heard on NPR the other day....". I never do that.

I heard on NPR the other day that Glenn was leaving Fox. Poor Glenn. No more hour long sessions standing in front of a whiteboard, sketching out a complicated diagram of the world's demise which inevitably sends me running to Costco for a 20 lb bag of rice.

about the saucer breast

A friend recently came across the silliest nursing cover in existence.

Does "nursing cover" come to mind? All I can see (or not see since it's camouflaged, yuk yuk) is "flying saucer".

Depending on surrounding company, I may or may not choose to use a cover while I'm nursing.  I seem to have become a bit more brazen, so come my 6th kid, I won't even bother wearing a shirt. A blanket has sufficed when needed, so I've found that all the new en vogue "hooter hiders" are overkill. 

It's intended purpose, in case the picture's point didn't come across, is to be used as follows -

The website touts it's a modern bonnet, but how can it be modern when I found it's Arizona version while thrifting at an antique store?





In case you'd like to grab one of these puppies for yourself, here's the website. I promise I won't laugh too hard.