Sparklecakes

Archive for July, 2009|Monthly archive page

Wow.

In Uncategorized on July 26, 2009 at 1:11 am

So this evening Liz and I are walking back to our hotel from PJ’s, a bar across from the Sheraton, where we hung out with a few of my all time favorite bloggers: Andrea from Mommy Snacks, Amy from MomAdvice, and Bargain Briana herself. It was a chalking up to be a great last night in Chicago and I left the bar happily caffeinated (I just can’t do alcohol) and a little slap happy. No one told me that sleep was definitely NOT on the Blogher agenda.

We get on our hotel’s street and see a couple, probably in their early 20s, making out in between a posh cafe and a grocery/deli. It started out as maybe just a little hand holding, a little kissing, and we watched it quickly progress into face eating/groping in about 5 steps. Sure, we could have quit watching, but seriously, if you’re going to go at it on the street, be prepared for an audience.

Anywho, by the time we’re passing them, this innocent make out session had turned into a full force under-the-skirt amature hour side show. Liz and I were dying! Aside from the visibility of, what looked like, this guy giving the girl an uppercut hit to the crotch, the girl smacked the back of her head into the brick wall behind her about 3 or 4 times- in pain or ecstasy, I’m not sure-and proceeded to roll her eyes into the back of her head. We were crying we were laughing so hard, got into our hotel, and then proceeded to try and talk our roommates into going back outside with us to jokingly form a line near this guy.

No, we didn’t form a line, but we did end up staying awake until 4:30 am that morning laughing about what the hell some people do in public. Oh, Chicago….you have no shame.

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"Can I get a jump?"

In Uncategorized on July 15, 2009 at 11:35 pm

The Vue died on us a few days ago.  I’m really starting to hate Saturn as this piece of eternal rotting shit is starting to cost us more money than it’s worth.  (If you can possibly help it, I would highly suggest not buying one.)

Anywho-

Hubs and I both thought it was the alternator because of the creepy clicking noise it was making when we tried to start the car.  To make a long story short (er…shorter) he jumped it this evening and, lo and behold, it started.  Apparently the dome light was left on and all it needed was a good kick in the pants. 

“Great!” I think.  “We’re in business…and now off to shop!”

I get in the Vue after Hubs tells me letting it run is in it’s best interest and if I’m heading in to town, all the better.  I get to Target, park, mindlessly shop the evening away, and then attempt to start the car. 

(You totally saw this one coming, right?)

It didn’t start!  “NO!” you gasp.  HA!  It’s true.

I call my husband and angrily inform him that the car is NOT starting, Target is closing and NO ONE is around to give me a jump, and WTF?  That’s when dear sweet hubby takes it upon himself to inform me that he didn’t think it was a good idea to take the Vue until he had the chance to turn it off and restart it but since I seemed so intent on taking it that he just kept his mouth shut.

So- let me get this straight.  Because I volunteered to take the car into town I was “intent on taking it” and because of that fact, you kept your mouth shut about your turning it off and restarting idea that would have prevented me from being stranded in the GD parking lot.  Right?  RIGHT?!?! 

Midway between him telling me this and me starting a year-long ass chewing, another VUE comes into the lot to pick someone up.  I hurriedly run up to the car to ask for a jump.  I’m pleasantly surprised and grateful to find an older, nice looking man with kids in the back seat. 

“Hi.  I am so sorry to bother you.  My car isn’t starting and my husband seems to think if I got it jumped that it would work for me.  Do you think you could help me out?”

Nice man- “I’m sorry, I don’t have any jumper cables.”

“Oh!  No worries, I stay prepared.  I’ve got some.”

Nice man- “F*ck.  Fine.  I guess I’m the lucky guy that gets to jump your car then.”

“Oh, well I don’t want to be a both-”

Jerk- “Where’d you park?”

So after awkward silence, swearing festivities taking place while he’s trying to figure out how to lift up his hood, and some snide remarks about me not knowing how to place jumper cables, my car started and I was getting back behind the wheel.

“Thank you again!  I really appreciate it!  Have a good night!”

Oh- what’s that?  Sign language?  Aww, you go eff yourself to you sack of crap.  WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE RUNNING AROUND HERE?!?!

Water Works

In Uncategorized on July 14, 2009 at 8:17 am

I am starting to think I have some kind of severe emotional problem.  It can happen anytime, anywhere, while doing nothing in particular.  I’d love to say that it began after I became a mother, but then I’d be lying.  It has, however, gotten much, much worse.

I cry. 

And it’s not just crying.  It’s all out streamingtearshotsnotdrippingsilentlyconvulsingshakingshoulders crying.  Over what?  Here’s yesterday’s list:

-little girl playing with a puppy in her front yard.  “How nice.” I thought  “Not a care in the world.  She just looks so happy.  And look at that puppy.  They are each others’ whole world—”  and Niagara Falls.

-watching an excerpt from America’s Got Talent on The Soup.  THE SOUP for God’s sake.  They showed a clip of some boy dancing with a whole group or girls and they all looked like they were having so much fun.  So much fun that it made me cry.  (As a side note, if you’ve never watched The Soup, you should.  Any show that relentlessly makes fun of the idiots on television is SO on my DVR list.)

-hearing the local marching band have summer practice.  Seriously?  I mean, did it bring back some kind of fond memory of band camp in my subconscious?  I don’t think so.  However, at the point in the music where the trumpets chimed in, I lost it. 

I didn’t used to be like this.  Sure, I cried like an idiot at certain sad points in movies.  I have no problem getting to the point where I’m so happy I could cry.  I do!  But now that I’ve got kids, it’s a totally different ball game than the old shed-tears-during-The-Chipmunks-Great-Adventure-when-they-take-the-penguin-away-from-his-mom routine (and yeah, I still cry when I see that movie to this day). 

So, am I the only idiot that cries over anything and everything?  Am I the only ‘tard that finds such happiness in stupid moments that it brings me to tears?  Cripes, maybe I need some Zoloft. 

Do you think they’ll be passing out swag bags at BlogHer?

I don't like Oprah

In Uncategorized on July 4, 2009 at 8:24 am

I rarely watch Oprah. 

I think she’s a little dangerous.  I think she likes to shoot her mouth off without really knowing what she’s talking about.  Case in point:  hypothyroidism.  I’ve got it.  I’m being treated for it.  I know sometimes parts of your body give out on you for unexplained reasons.  So please, Oprah, don’t tell me and the rest of the women watching you, searching for answers, that your thyroid gets “blown out” when you, “swallow the things you need to say.” 

Seriously?! 

Is that not the most searching-for-fairies-in-the-forest crackpot thing you’ve ever heard?!  Jiminy.

If you’re a powerful voice in the world, doesn’t that come with a sort of responsibility?  Shouldn’t you want to put out facts and medically viable information if you’re going to choose to talk about health issues?  Should she advocate a supposed fountain of youth that includes shooting up your va-jay-jay with estrogen and gulping down 60-some pills each morning just because Suzanne Sommers says it works for her?  Yes, everyone has a choice, but you can tell by looking at the women that sit in her audience that they hang on every word that comes out of her mouth.  I bet you a good portion went to their doctors the following week demanding vaginal shots and wanting to talk about how they’ve been swallowing so much and they really have some stuff they want to get off their chests. 

BARF.

What do you think?  Do you think Oprah takes it to far?  Do you think she’s simply introducing new ideas?  Do you think she’s quack-tastic?