The news really sucks lately. Here are some awesome headlines in my local news:
Tahoe woman petitions over concern about coyotes.
You live in the FOREST. Your little rat dog was probably just an appetizer to the coyotes who moved in long before you did. I'm sorry you lost your dog, but come on. Move back to the city.
Man accused of beating woman to death after being denied cigarette.
I will not comment on this story because I'm trying not to swear. And the only words I can use to describe this guy are swear words.
Sparks police arrest man who allegedly shot at officers, partygoers, Sunday morning.
Surprisingly, this man did not actually shoot anyone. It sounds like he put out a hell of an effort, but luckily his aim is about as good as mine.
Police seek suspect who stabbed juvenile in downtown Reno.
Not just any juvenile, a 13-year old. Who was walking with a 14-year old. I'm not going to pass judgement as to why they were in that part of downtown but I will happily pass judgement on the guy who stabbed the kid. Did I add that he stabbed him in the back? Literally. Way to go tough guy, stab an unsuspecting, unarmed kid in the back. Definitely proves your toughness and worth. Hope you got into the gang.
And some people are just plain idiots. Yes, I'm talking about the Balloon Boy hoax. These people sound totally awesome. And sane. And like great parents. "After we get done driving into this tornado with our kids unbuckled in the backseat of our car, let's go home and teach them about lying to the police!" "Great idea, honey!" D-bags.
I also just read about Target's "Illegal alien" costume and how people are outraged over it. It's a COSTUME. Sure, it might be mildly offensive to some people, but it's for Halloween, a time when everyone gets into ridiculous costumes and demands candy. Get over it.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Yes, I have become THAT mother.
Hello old friend. Long time no post. I guess I'll just jump right back in though.
Today is a "day off" for me. Instead of doing the usual catching up on housework I decided that I was long overdue for a trip to a store that I once had a love affair with: Victoria's Secret.
Now, I used to be the girl that would go into VS and grab everything that looked like it might fit me, and flounce off to the fitting room to play dress-up. I'd have salesgirls bring me new sizes, different colors, and compliments before spending way too much money. Apparently that girl is gone. Instead, I have morphed unknowingly into that mom. Which mom you ask? Let me tell you.
I feel I should point out I know exactly what style, size, and color bra I am looking for.
Within 13 seconds of walking in the store I am asked if I need help finding anything. As I peel lacy panties off BBP's bald head and pry them from her fat little first I smile and say "yes, a nanny would be nice" in hopes of getting a smile out of her and not having to pay for the XL panties BBP is now attempting to eat. She gives me a "this lady is craaaazy" look and rushes off to do something, anything, to get away from us. I chase her down and explain exactly what I am looking for.
"Oh, that style is on sale because we're coming out with a new line" she says, smiling sweetly. "Try the bins over on that table."
Yes, searching through bins is JUST what I want to do.
While I dig through stacks of bras I sense someone staring at me in all of my "I didn't get a shower this morning because BBP was up for hours in the middle of the night screaming like a deranged mental patient" glory. I guess looks aren't that deceiving. Just as I get ready to explain that there IS a reason I look like this, I realize it is not my messy hair and glasses she's looking at. She's staring, apparently horrified, at my 3 year old daughter that has successfully put a bra on. Awesome.
In an effort to hurry this expedition along I grab any bra that seems to be within 2 sizes of what I'm looking for. I also convince the annoyed salesgirl to grab a few bras in the size I actually need while I explain to BP that she has at least a few more years (decades) to go until she will be wearing lacy red bras.
Off to the fitting rooms.
"Mommy, that's where your boobies go" BP tells me as I attempt to smush myself into a bra obviously too small.
"MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA" yells BBP as she desperately signs "milk" and bobs her head up and down, eager to help me try out the functionality (is that a word?) of the bra.
"Can I get you any other sizes?" yells the salesgirl through the door, attempting to drown out the sounds of my children giggling hysterically as they play tug-of-war with a bra.
Now I'm sweating. BP is sulking because I told her she could not try on another bra, BBP is pissed because I took away the granola bar she found in my purse (I would have let them fight over it but there was peanut butter in it, which we haven't tried with BBP yet) and about 2.7 seconds away from a full-out tantrum. She may be small, but her screams are anything but dainty.
This is not quite what I had in mind.
FINALLY. A bra that fits. Who cares if it is the most expensive? I do care a bit that it is completely boring, but hey, it fits.
A handful of panties later we're ready to go. Wait, BBP somehow got ahold of some lingerie and has it wrapped around her neck like a scarf. How did she do that while I was holding her? Oh, yes, The Accomplice. BP's favorite new activity is Get BBP In Trouble. So, instead of trying to prevent her from doing naughty things, she encourages her, apparently by handing her lingerie to fashion into scarves and hats. We definitely need to leave ASAP.
I have bribed the girls into settling down while I pay (I have yet to tell DP what the total damage was even after I convinced the salesgirl I shouldn't have to pay for the chewed-on lingerie..if it was my size, I'd be all for it, heck, I would have handed it to her myself) and all is well until we make it to the car.
"Mommy, I have to go pooooootty."
Hike to the bathroom or let her use the little potty in the back of the car? Yup, that was my child peeing in the middle of the mall parking lot on a training potty.
All's well that ends well.
Today is a "day off" for me. Instead of doing the usual catching up on housework I decided that I was long overdue for a trip to a store that I once had a love affair with: Victoria's Secret.
Now, I used to be the girl that would go into VS and grab everything that looked like it might fit me, and flounce off to the fitting room to play dress-up. I'd have salesgirls bring me new sizes, different colors, and compliments before spending way too much money. Apparently that girl is gone. Instead, I have morphed unknowingly into that mom. Which mom you ask? Let me tell you.
I feel I should point out I know exactly what style, size, and color bra I am looking for.
Within 13 seconds of walking in the store I am asked if I need help finding anything. As I peel lacy panties off BBP's bald head and pry them from her fat little first I smile and say "yes, a nanny would be nice" in hopes of getting a smile out of her and not having to pay for the XL panties BBP is now attempting to eat. She gives me a "this lady is craaaazy" look and rushes off to do something, anything, to get away from us. I chase her down and explain exactly what I am looking for.
"Oh, that style is on sale because we're coming out with a new line" she says, smiling sweetly. "Try the bins over on that table."
Yes, searching through bins is JUST what I want to do.
While I dig through stacks of bras I sense someone staring at me in all of my "I didn't get a shower this morning because BBP was up for hours in the middle of the night screaming like a deranged mental patient" glory. I guess looks aren't that deceiving. Just as I get ready to explain that there IS a reason I look like this, I realize it is not my messy hair and glasses she's looking at. She's staring, apparently horrified, at my 3 year old daughter that has successfully put a bra on. Awesome.
In an effort to hurry this expedition along I grab any bra that seems to be within 2 sizes of what I'm looking for. I also convince the annoyed salesgirl to grab a few bras in the size I actually need while I explain to BP that she has at least a few more years (decades) to go until she will be wearing lacy red bras.
Off to the fitting rooms.
"Mommy, that's where your boobies go" BP tells me as I attempt to smush myself into a bra obviously too small.
"MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA" yells BBP as she desperately signs "milk" and bobs her head up and down, eager to help me try out the functionality (is that a word?) of the bra.
"Can I get you any other sizes?" yells the salesgirl through the door, attempting to drown out the sounds of my children giggling hysterically as they play tug-of-war with a bra.
Now I'm sweating. BP is sulking because I told her she could not try on another bra, BBP is pissed because I took away the granola bar she found in my purse (I would have let them fight over it but there was peanut butter in it, which we haven't tried with BBP yet) and about 2.7 seconds away from a full-out tantrum. She may be small, but her screams are anything but dainty.
This is not quite what I had in mind.
FINALLY. A bra that fits. Who cares if it is the most expensive? I do care a bit that it is completely boring, but hey, it fits.
A handful of panties later we're ready to go. Wait, BBP somehow got ahold of some lingerie and has it wrapped around her neck like a scarf. How did she do that while I was holding her? Oh, yes, The Accomplice. BP's favorite new activity is Get BBP In Trouble. So, instead of trying to prevent her from doing naughty things, she encourages her, apparently by handing her lingerie to fashion into scarves and hats. We definitely need to leave ASAP.
I have bribed the girls into settling down while I pay (I have yet to tell DP what the total damage was even after I convinced the salesgirl I shouldn't have to pay for the chewed-on lingerie..if it was my size, I'd be all for it, heck, I would have handed it to her myself) and all is well until we make it to the car.
"Mommy, I have to go pooooootty."
Hike to the bathroom or let her use the little potty in the back of the car? Yup, that was my child peeing in the middle of the mall parking lot on a training potty.
All's well that ends well.
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