Bonanza Jellybean

The Price on Not Being "Dorky" Is Apparently $25.

You know, I have come to the conclusion that women get a bad rap when it comes to shopping. The stereotype is that we're all into the color, the cut, does it make me look fat, and all the other things guys consider minutiae. And there is some truth to that, BUT...

We've got NOTHING on the guys.

OH SURE, they ACT like they don't care.
But they do.
Excessively.

Today, I went to the wonderful little soccer store around the corner to meet Dunk and ensure that he bought a new pair of indoor soccer shoes.
See, he doesn't WANT new stuff, or so he says, but this time? NO DISCUSSION.

And why the "no discussion" stance?
Dunk had knee surgery in December. For a soccer injury. On the right knee.
Last Thursday night, he popped the LEFT knee.
The theory is that regular cleats get dug into the turf and don't give, which means that if enough pressure is applied and the foot won't move, the knee or ankle will.
And I've had enough.
Hence, NEW SHOES.

Now, normally, I just buy him stuff when he isn't with me and take it back if it doesn't fit. And like most wives out there, I do pretty well because I know his sizes and brands better than he does.
I do this because it is WAY easier than taking him with me.

Today went well, considering...
Considering that when he needed a western hat for our horse shows he had to try on about 213 hats in 8 different stores in 4 different states (SC, NC, TN and GA) over the course of a year to find ONE.
I'm not kidding.
What could be so hard about a HAT? Well, LET'S SEE...
"Too wide, too narrow, pinches his ears, pinches his forehead, wobbles back and forth, too light, too dark, too brown, too slouchy, too stiff, too scratchy, the band was kind of "dorky", the brim was too wide, the brim was too narrow, someone he didn't like had the same one, too tall, too short, too rolled, too thick, too thin, and just plain ugly."
Every single attempt ended with both of us totally annoyed with each other, with me uttering the words "Just PICK ONE ALREADY" and him saying "But none of them are RIGHT" at least 12 times.

The RIGHT hat? Was in Tennessee.
We live in South Carolina.
They don't touch.

So you can see how I might be nervous about the shoes.

He got there before me today and did manage to pick a pair, unassisted, before I got there.
I was so proud. And more than a little relieved.

We only had one little issue. Because I had to be stupid and say something.

Me: Hey, how about these? These are cool.

Dunk: I don't like them.

Me: Why not?

Dunk: The leather's too... shiny.

They were more expensive than what he picked, so I let it go. And took a deep breath, because it was over and I didn't have to cross state lines.

And then...
On the way to checkout...

Me: Hey! They have the exact same shoe here on clearance. It's $25 cheaper!

Dunk: I don't like those.

Me: But they're the SAME.

Dunk: But the stripes are RED.

Me: OK, so the stripes are red. The soccer club's colors are red and blue. You'll MATCH.

Dunk: But I don't like red stripes. I like WHITE stripes. I wear WHITE stripes.

Me: It's the SAME SHOE for $25 less. You'll pay $25 for a STRIPE COLOR?

Dunk: Yes. Red's dorky.

It was worth $25 to end it right there.

One of Those Moments

You know, sometimes when you crawl into bed after a good hot shower, completely whipped from the day, and your other half is already there, all asleep and warm, and your child is in bed after giving you a big hug and a kiss in her adorable sleepy way, and your dogs are next to your side of the bed already curled up and asleep, yet making sure they're in position to guard over you should the unforeseen occur, and the cat is curled up at the foot of the bed, for once not attacking or wrecking anything, and your favorite sheets and down comforter are already warm, you just have to take a breath and say to yourself...

Damn, I've got it good.

It Must Be Nice

Those words. UGH.
Does anyone have ANY IDEA how many times I've heard those words in the last few days? Apparently, I have the life to be coveted by everyone around me. Something BIZARRE is going on, because it's been the mantra of the fucking week.

Which is PISSING ME THE FUCK OFF.

SO, for all you people who have said these words to me yet have no fucking idea what reality IS before you opened your DAMN MOUTHS...

It must be nice to get to go back to bed after we leave in the morning.
Yeah, IT IS. It would also be nice to be able to fall asleep like a normal person so you don't wake up tired every damn day. And have a fine working knowledge of that fact that no matter how many channels you pay for, there generally isn't SHIT on at 2am.
Three guesses who said this one. And take him out of the group I'm pissed at, because he already apologized.

It must be nice to have inherited all that money.
Well, sure. It was. But after we paid off 10 years of debt and replaced two vehicles that were on their last legs and bought some of our land back from the predatory bank that was trying to steal it and paid an assload of vet bills for a mysteriously infected horse and mangled dog and replaced the shit in our house that was foul (carpet, windows, etc.), we weren't exactly rolling in it. Still aren't. Life didn't exactly change much just because the bank account grew. And shrunk.

It must be nice to have a mom that spoils you like that.
Oh, YOU THINK? This is the same woman that I had to SCREAM at during the whole estate process to remind her that I existed too, not just my sisters. This is also the same woman who cashed in all my savings bonds when I was younger without telling me, so when I went to get my COLLEGE MONEY, there was no college money. This is also the same woman who told me I better get a scholarship or I wouldn't go, no matter how good my grades were, because she NEW kids to worry about.
GRANTED, she's better now. Much. But it took World War 3. And she thinks she's paying me back.
Besides, if I don't get her to spend some on us, my sisters will eat up all of it. Because you know, all 23 year olds need a Range Rover. And a annual trip to Puerto Rico.

It must be nice to get to dress how you want for work.
It must be nice to come in to work whenever you want.
YEAH, IT IS. It would also be nice to be paid what I'm worth. Which El Jefe and I have discussed, and he and I have the understanding that I make less than I could because of the other stuff- flexible schedule, comfortable clothes, bringing the dog to work, etc.
Also? I do my work without having to be babysat. I think for myself and make decisions. I know what needs to be done and do it. And I do good work.
The commenters cannot say the same.
I EARNED IT, PEOPLE. So shut the fuck up.
Or I'll tell you "Because I'm special, and you're not." Like usual.

It must be nice to be able to afford private school for your child.
Huh. Well, we afforded it before we could afford it- we had no other options in our minds. The local public school just wasn't acceptable. And life is hard enough without starting at a deficit. Don't even ask how many times the overdraft paid the tuition check.
Oh? And maybe if you wouldn't go out to lunch every day and keep pimping out your car, you could afford it too. Much better to have new rims than a smart kid, right?

So basically, now that I've typed it all, it all comes down to privileges and money.

Both of which, for the most part, were EARNED.
In one way or the other, whether by emotional or professional toil.

So basically, SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL YOU WALK A MILE IN MY SHOES.
Oh, wait.
You don't have shoes as nice as mine, and I wouldn't let you put your nasty, skank feet anywhere near them.
I guess that must be nice for me, too, right?

It's because I'm SPECIAL, and you're NOT.
So there.

I Hope This Gives a Clue How Much Effort I Normally Put In

I have 10 minutes to write something here today so I don't sink back into "lazy sorry-ass who can't even be bothered to gripe about something in written form" mode.
You know, after I have been so good for ALL OF TWO DAYS.

8 minutes.
Fuck.

I've actually been WORKING today, for El Jefe is gone and actually expects something to be done when he gets back.
And somehow, I don't think Bejeweled High Score Internet Champion is what he's looking for.
What he's seeking might actually be something closer to a catalog. With the shit we sell IN IT. So you know, we can actually sell some of it. And keep getting paid.
I like getting paid.

6 minutes.
MO. THER. FUCK. ER.

I always have this thing that I do my best work at the last minute.

Kind of shot that theory to shit, now haven't I?

5 minutes.
Hmmm. At least the clock on the freakin' computer's right now...

Still 5 minutes...
Ummmm, GREAT. The husband's calling.
He wants to tell me about soccer games on TV tonight.
And he's really being sweet and cute on the phone as I type.
And yes, honey, you can comment a bunch.

3 MINUTES!
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! Why is it that when I want time to go by, it creeps by with the rapidity of a frozen snail, but now? NO. It goes by all "Let's speed it up just to fuck with her. Hee hee."

2 minutes.
My toe still hurts from soccer the other night. Maybe I should stop wiggling it. Except that one of the greatest joys in my life is cracking the big toe on my right foot. I have to do it every night before I go to sleep.

1 minute.
Spellcheck?
Fuck it. I'm sure it's OBVIOUS what I was TRYING to say.
I hope.

Time's up.
Off to soccer practice.

I Think This Must Be Karmic Retribution for Bragging About My SAT Score on the Phone Yesterday...

Yesterday...

2:30 pm
DAMN, this day is taking forever. At least Work Husband and El Jefe (the boss) left on their trip early- they said they would leave at 2, but they left at 1. DAMN, 4 o'clock needs to HURRY THE FUCK UP, because I can only play Bejeweled so many times in one day.

2:56 pm
Uggggggggghhhhhhhh.

3:25 pm
Uh oh. El Jefe is back. What does he mean "Why am I still here?" It's only 3:30, and I don't leave until 4 on soccer practice days. I think must be another one of his shitty jokes about my attendance policies.

3:38 pm
OK, enough of this shit. Besides, I have to go get those little brush thingies from CVS for Soccer Chick's braces.

3:52 pm
Errand accomplished. Wow- only 10 'til 4. I think I'll run by Arby's, since I'm right here and all and could really use some potato cakes...

4:05 pm
COULD THEY BE ANY SLOWER AT THE DRIVE-THRU? Sheesh. Oh well. I'm still only about 5 minutes late.

4:07 pm
Yum. Potato cakes.

4:39 pm
Hmmmmm, what's this? I'm pulling into the school, and there are kids EVERYWHERE on the playground. They usually don't come out until 5... Well, they probably brought them outside because the weather's so good. They do that sometimes.

4:45 pm
Soccer Chick: Why are you here so late?!? I have PRACTICE.
Me: I'm not THAT late- 15 minutes isn't so bad. Besides, I'm late because I stopped to get your little tooth brushy things. And eat.
Soccer Chick: Ummmm, OK. What time is it?
Me: It's 4:45! Don't worry- we have plenty of time to get you to practice.
Soccer Chick: Well, because when they signed me out, they wrote 5:45.
Me: Well, they're just stupid and wrong. Get in the car already.

4:54 pm
Cell phone rings.
Dunk: WHERE ARE YOU???
Me: We're coming, DAMMIT.
Muffled scuffling sound.
Me: What the hell was THAT?
Dunk: Oh, H**** just tried to nutmeg me with the ball.
Me: Wow- she's already there? She never gets there this early.
Dunk: What are you talking about?!? It's 5 'til 6. Practice is at SIX.
Me: It's NOT. It's 5 'til- OH SHIT.
Dunk: Uh huh.
Me: THE WORK COMPUTER DIDN'T CHANGE TIME!! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!
Dunk: It's OK. Just get here.
Me: SHE'S NOT EVEN CHANGED YET!
Dunk: It's OK. SETTLE DOWN.
Me: SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.
Dunk: Did you change your watch and car clock?
Me: YES. But I only watched the clock on the computer at work and thought everything was fine. I set it to change, but-
Dunk: I thought Macs were supposed to be SO SMART.
Me: They are. It's their users who are apparently dumbasses.
Dunk: You know, this wouldn't be so funny if I hadn't teased you already about being an hour late because you forgot to change a clock. I must be psychic.
Me: FUCK YOU.

4:58 pm 5:58pm
Driving at top V6 Nissan Murano speed, cursing other drivers who obviously know what time it is so they're in no hurry.
Me: Baby, I'm SO SORRY. I got the time wrong because my clock at work was wrong.
Soccer Chick: I knew when they wrote down my time at school.
Me: You did?
Soccer Chick: Yep. But I thought you might get upset if I said anything else. I feel bad for how upset you get when you mess things up for me.
Me: Look- start stripping NOW. I'll grab your bag out of the back as soon as we get there, but at least you'll be ready.
Soccer Chick: But I can't be NAKED going down the road!
Me: We have tinted windows. No one can see your little butt through the window. Promise. And I am REALLY sorry. You've never been late to practice before. Not even one time. And now you are because your mother's an idiot who forgot about the time changing.
Soccer Chick: It's OK. You're still a great Mom. Even if you're stupid sometimes.

Life Could Just Not Go On

In lieu of anything actually INTERESTING or INSIGHTFUL or any of those other "I" words that currently are the bane of my writing existence (Because does anyone really want to hear about my new fabulous soccer jersey for my new team? Didn't think so. Even though I think I'm going to start sleeping in it. Or about how I think it's totally pointless for Sirius Satellite Radio to run ads for the NFL draft coverage on the gay station? Again, didn't think so.), I decided to just make a list. A list for the betterment of all humanity, actually, because I'm a total picky-ass snob, so if I like this stuff, it's good and can benefit everyone's life in wondrous and amazing ways.

And again, nothing going on. Do you REALLY THINK I would write about a RAZOR if there was?
Exactly.

SEVEN SILLY, MUNDANE DAILY THINGS THAT I COULD JUST NOT DO WITHOUT:

1. My family.
   Which kind of goes without saying, but if I don't list them, they'll be all "WAAAAHHHHH! You can do without us?!? Waaaaahhhhh!" So I'm getting my love and adoration and preemptive whining strike out of the way now. Yes, I love you two. There. Happy?
2. Diet Mountain Dew Code Red
   The nectar of the gods. Seriously. And in all reality and seriousness, if you're trying to do the diet thing but can't stand the taste of the sweeteners, try one of the drinks that's cherry flavored. The cherry covers up the aftertaste.
   And don't tell me about water. When they add caffeine along with the fluoride, I'll be all over it.
3. Marlboro Ultra Light Menthols
   Yes, I suck and can't quit. And it's bad for me. And it's horrible. And BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. All you righteous non-smoker types have to deal with the uncertainty of what will actually bring about your demise, whereas I AM IN TOTAL CONTROL AND AM CHOOSING MY OWN DEATH METHOD. Hey, to a controlling personality, there's comfort in that. And yes, I am a PRO at self-justification.
4. The Derek and Romaine Show on OutQ on Sirius
   Because, I KID YOU NOT, this is the funniest shit you have ever heard. And you don't have to be gay to get it or be entertained by it. My new lifelong dream is to be interviewed by them on their show. Where I can say "fuck" all I like. And talk about wildly inappropriate things in a public arena. OK, well, ANOTHER public arena... THEY SHOULD TOTALLY INTERVIEW ALL THREE BITCHES!! THAT WOULD SOOOOOOOOOO ROCK. And so what if we're not gay? We're funny and bitchy and wildly inappropriate. What else is there?
   And all of this inappropriateness is because it's satellite and wonderful that way. If you have Sirius, try 109 from 6-10pm. You'll thank me. Unless you're easily offended. Then you won't.
5. My Intuition Razor
   Never before have I loved a razor so much. No more cuts or nicks, no more razor burn, and the sensitive skin kind keeps my legs from itching. Which is good, because no one wants to sit at work all day with itchy legs that at any moment might make you break out into a full-blown chimpanzee-with-crabs attack. And no one wants to see me in shorts with scabs all the way up my shins from where I scratched IN MY SLEEP and no idea I even did it. Well, no one really wants to see me in shorts ANYWAY, but that's NOT THE POINT.
   Winter can be a very trying time for me.
   Did I mention it's 70 degrees here today? Now you know why I stay in the south.
   Yet my legs are still a bit itchy. Fuckers.
6. A Set of Fingernail Clippers
   And not because my nails grow at light speed in manner which requires me to trim them hourly so that I don't run the risk of looking like a sloth. Because how in the hell ELSE am I supposed to turn my cuticles into a BLOODY HASH while I drive down the road or take a smoke break while thinking about all the horrible, icky, stressful things I have to deal with daily?
   OK, well, I do it when I'm not stressed too. Always have.
   And I don't bite them because my mom used that nasty-tasting shit to break me of it FOREVER ago, which it did. I no longer bite my nails. But I found a way around it. I SHOWED HER, NOW DIDN'T I?
7. Sharpies
   God, is there LIFE WITHOUT SHARPIES? How would I write Soccer Chick's name on everything to avoid the heinous 8-year-old kleptomaniac attacks that happen DAILY at school? And how would she remember her name if I didn't write it on everything? How would I mark up jobs at work? How would I make grocery lists? (Yes, I make them in Sharpie.) How would I write notes to Dunk when he has to cook about exactly what to do at every step so we have something edible for dinner? How would I do gift tags on presents? How would I cover up scuffs on my shoes? (Not the good ones. Those I just cry over and curse the existence of the offending object that dared touch my shoe. And kick it sometimes. Which defeats the purpose.)
   There's something about that thick, definitive line that brings order to an otherwise chaotic life. It's necessary.

So now, you get to tell me yours! YEA!
Is this how a meme is born? HOLY SHIT, I gave birth and didn't even know it!
You can do it in comments or on your own- just add a link in the comments, because this is the kind of nut-case stuff I like to read. You know, the everyday shit that really means we're all freaks.
Hey, it's better than ANOTHER Britney meltdown, right?

A Dink By Any Other Name...

I gave in to karma.

Meet Dink. Ok, well, meet ANOTHER Dink.

And to top it off, he has decided that Soccer Chick is HIS person. (Aussies get very attached to one person, usually, and while they may love everyone else too, that's their person and that's the end of it.)

She's outside feeding hin treats and teaching him to fetch now.

When he stands up and puts his paws on her shoulders (we're trying to break him of that, by the way) he's taller than she is.

It's not the same, but it's good in its own way.
He's already a hell of a lot of fun.
70 pound puppies tend to be that way. :)

Apparently, My Groupie Claim to Fame Was Really Just a 8" Piece of Plastic. With Movable Hips.

Dear DEFINITELY Dismissed Imaginary Boyfriend Bon Jovi,

I know you're surprised to hear from me after my last tirade at you, as you OBVIOUSLY did not take one little smidge of my advice. That's your choice, and I can understand that. I think you're totally misguided and that all the Botox has leaked into your brain and possibly caused some kind of neurological imbalance that results in delusions of continuing popularity, but opinions are like assholes, right?

However, I have a totally new bone to pick with you.
You have become a severe embarrassment to me.
Just wanted to let you know.

As I am a run-of-the-mill wife and mom these days with a gradually spreading ass who spends her time at the grocery store and soccer practice, I now look back on my wild and hedonistic days with a fond, rueful nostalgia. I was one hell of an idiot, but I had a good time doing it. Being a full-fledged road whore isn't something you tell your kid about, but you know, it is a conversation piece at parties. It was one thing I've done that a lot of people would have liked to have done but never got the chance, and in a twisted way, it sets me apart in my little pea-brained moments of self-examination. It was COOL.

And you were the crowning jewel in my whorish little crown.

NOT COOL, however, is coming home to...

Dunk: Guess what I heard today?

Me: What?

Dunk: Jon Bon Jovi's going to be made into an action figure! (followed by mildly superior giggling)

Me: Ummmm, WHAT?

Dunk: I heard it on Sirius today on the way home. He's going to be a DOLL! (followed by more giggling)

Me: PLEASE tell me you're kidding.

Dunk: Nope. I was thinking of getting you one for your birthday! Then you could have your very own Jon Bon Jovi doll! (giggling)

Me: And what am I supposed to do with THAT? Wax its chest and take it to Democratic fundraisers to do a little acoustic set?

Dunk: Well, I do remember how you used to LOVE him... he was SO cool, right? How many of his concerts did you go to?

Me: Fuck you.

I really didn't want to believe him about the whole thing. I really didn't.
And then. I found THIS.
And this, MR. FAKE-ASS SELLOUT WHO IS NOW RUINING THE LAST MORSEL OF COOL I HAD, is why I have to declare my open hatred of you.

Now, instead of having former rock god as a former liaison, I have an eight inch piece of plastic with movable hips. The description was a little vague- I mean, do you include removable 80s hair for when I'm feeling nostalgic? How about press-on tattoos? Are a Harley for the old days and a Prius for now sold separately? How about your very own CHEST WAXING KIT that YOU CAN USE ON YOURSELF TOO??

And HOW DARE YOU drag Richie into this morass of complete over-the-hill sellout with you?!? What does his doll do? Divorce starlets? Does it come with a companion Heather/Denise/Cher doll with removable breast implants?

Bratz doesn't seem so bad now.

You know, I should have gone after one of the more toxic guys with the horrific drug problems.
Then they could've OD'd before someone cast their ass in plastic and made my youth a source of ridicule.

BECAUSE OF YOU, I am now changing my story from youthful groupiedom to "I lived in a convent until I was 22."
Because you know, a Pope action figure isn't quite as horrific.

Denying I ever met you,
Dink

PS- I do have a Morpheus action figure from The Matrix, and I bet it would kick your doll's ASS.