Sparklecakes

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Douchebag.

In Uncategorized on February 1, 2010 at 7:36 pm

There I am standing in the fem hygiene aisle of Meijer when I see it.

Feminine deoderent spray.

What the hell is that?  Deoderent for the vag?  Who buys this stuff?  Who uses it?  More importantly, who has the forethought to walk into a store to purchase this stuff?  Do you just get up one morning and think, “You know, I know I’ve finally got that pesky underarm issue under control, but it would really just be great if I could eliminate the apparent abandoned fish market odor I’ve got going on in my drawers.  I wonder if they’ve got a spray for that.” 

You’re in luck!  It turns out they do!  How did I go 27 years without knowing about this?!

I begin scanning the shelves with gusto.  I know, it’s weird that I get excited about something like a Febreeze for your lady parts, if you will.  They actually have spray to make your va-jay-jay smell like Tropical rain among other ridiculous scents.  Whoa.  What is going on here?  Who invented this stuff and thought, “I’d really like to go for an exotic feel for the nether region.  I want to get a nice whiff of a tropical rain storm every time I drop trou.” 

Oh, Summer’s Eve.  You creep me out.  Truly.  And it’s not just the fact that your whole company is built around the goal of turning a vagina that smells like hot garbage into a veritable bouquet of orchids.  No.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, the scents you’ve chosen to, um, enhance your products really are weird.  The names alone make them sound very floral and old lady-esque.  It’s the fact that whoever created Summer’s Eve had a need for this stuff that really skeeves me out.  Someone had a need of vaginal odor eaters and went out and created it.  

God bless America. 

You’re totally catering to the wrong audience though.  I can almost garauntee you that most women aren’t sitting around their homes by themselves wondering how they can better their own personal scent for themselves.  Women only worry about that stuff when they’ve got a hot date with a sex beast and they know that tonight is the night.  And when that time comes, I don’t think said sex beast wants to rip off a pair of panties and suddenly get knocked in the nostrils with a scent that reminds him of his Great Aunt Hilda.  Total wa-wa-waaaa sitution. 

Have you thought about coming out with some scents for his pleasure?  Hmm?  Like, oh, I don’t know- Pepperoni pizza?  Leather?  New car smell?  Money?  Beer?!  I could see a guy really getting into that!  Maybe more women who have never bought your product would start deeming it a necessity if they knew that their man would go apeshit enough over the scent of money that he might spend some, er- extra time?- in that vacinity.

Mull over my ideas, Summer’s Eve.  When you decide to put them into play, I’ll be waiting for reap the rewards from your new found boost in sales.  Checks can be made payable to Sarah.

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Nougat

In Uncategorized on January 16, 2010 at 4:18 am

 “Babe!  I friggin’ dislodged my filling from my tooth.  Stupid frozen Snicker’s bar…”

“What?  You mean refrigerated.  I put it in the refrigerator for you.”

“Yeah, I know.  And then I moved it to the freezer.”

“What the hell?!  Why would you do that?”

“I dunno.  Why do you put Zingers in the freezer?  Because they taste better that way.  Jesus, you’re dense when you first wake up.”

“No, I’m not dense.  It’s not the same thing, Sarah.  Zingers are cake, they don’t freeze all the way!  It’s not like a Snicker’s bar.”

“Well a Snicker’s bar doesn’t freeze all the way either.  The nougat doesn’t get that hard….well, I mean, I guess it does.  But that’s not what ruined my tooth, it was the caramel.”

“Sarah, I’ve had nougat before.  It gets hard in the freezer.  Don’t bullshit me.”

“Oh really?  You’ve had a Snicker’s bar?  How’d that work out for you?  You’re allergic to peanuts.  I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

“No!  I’ve had frozen 3 Musketeers, ok?  It’s the same thing.”

“Um, actually it’s not the same thing, it lacks the caramel and peanuts that make a Snicker’s a Snicker’s.  Besides, that’s not nougat.  It’s like, whipped marshmallow shit with chocolate in it.”

“No, it’s not.  It’s nougat.  Listen to me!  Milky Way, Snicker’s, 3 Musketeers they’re all-”

“Made by Mars.  Contain more consanants than vowels.  Make no sense for being the name of a candy-”

“GAH!  NO!  Damn it.  They all have nougat.”

“No.  3 Musketeers does not.  I’m googling this shit.  And when I come back with an answer that backs up my own claim, I’ll have a list of demands.”

“Will one of those be to go fuck yourself?”

“Yeah, babe, one of my demands for you is for me to go fuck myself.  You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

I busy myself Googling as he begins to make his coffee for work.  I’m excited.  I’m giddy.  I love being right.  I love it so much I’m thinking about divorcing him and marrying myself.  I click on the 3 Musketeer’s website that Google provides me with and then-

“Well, what’s it say?  Am I right?”

“Ya know, babe.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, yes!  I’m right!  I’m right!  YES!”

“You suck.  Who cares?  This is like one out of close to a billion times.”

He saunters over to me with his hand raised out like the damn Pope.  Seriously?  You’ve got to be kidding.

“Go ahead, Sarah.  Kiss the hand.”

I consider biting it. 

“Shut up.  I’m going upstairs.  I’m blogging about this.”

“And then everyone will know that you were wrong and I was right!”

“Are you kidding me?  I’m totally switching this around.  People are just going to think that you’re a douche who doesn’t know what nougat is.”

“Wha-?  Why?!  Oh, come on, Sarah!  You better tell it like it is.”

“No.  I get to be the hero on my blog.  You get to be my bumbling sidekick.  Know your role!”

Pointless arguments.  Just one of the many reasons that I am so vomitously in love with the wonder-man that is my husband. 

I love you, babe.  Happy Anniversary.

Because climbing a fucking mountain to solve a water crisis makes complete sense…

In Uncategorized on January 14, 2010 at 4:51 am

Dear (insert desperate B-list celebrity on ridiculous Mt. Kilimanjaro climb here),

Well, wow. After six days, some snow, some altitude sickness, and a whole lotta publicity, you finally made it to the the summit. Congratulations! You have single handedly solved the water crisis that is affecting millions each day!

Yeah. So I’m full of shit.

I swear to God. Never in my life have I come across a bigger bunch of tools than you kids. When I first came across an article about this brilliant plan of climbing a fucking mountain to bring awareness to us self-absorbed pricks in the U.S. and water to the thirsty, I literally did a spittake. Coffee. All over the damn page. Next, several questions popped into my mind:

  1. Jessica Biel? Emile Hirsch? I’m sorry, were all the important celebs that people look to for charity guidance (i.e. those that actually give a shit about which celeb is supporting what cause) taken? The last semi-decent film Emile “the douch” Hirsch was in was Into the Wild and have we forgotten that Jessica hasn’t done anything since playing the token slutty daughter on 7th Heaven? Oh. No one else wanted to do it? Because it was a pointless venture? Dude.
  2. With my point being made about the clout that these celebrities don’t posess, really, what was the goal? If you wanted to just gather a group of overpaid individuals to climb a mountain, why didn’t you just say so? Because you had to go and turn it into a, “Look at me, look at me! I help good!” event.
  3. Is it too much to ask that the sponsors of this even simply reach out? I mean, why not strike up a conversation neighbor style like I had to when I was forced to sell low-grade chocolate door to door for junior high? “Hey- so we’d like to collect some money to make sure everyone has access to clean drinking water? Could you donate a few bucks? Otherwise I’m afraid we’re going to have to take a bunch of spoiled rich kids and a few overly liberal women who enjoy giving their armpits the “fuzzy squirrel” treatment up to the top of a mountain to get some attention here. What? No. We’re not going to leave them up there. Oh- that’s so generous of you! Thank you for your donation!”

I started thinking. I wonder what that climb was like. Being in such close proximity with so many idiots must have been thrilling. Did Lupe talk non-stop about being on the Twilight: New Moon soundtrack? Did Jessica attempt to show off her killer snow bunny moves that she learned on the set of Powder Blue, nearly falling off a ledge and almost taking the rest of you down with her? Did Emile Hirsch start waxing poetic about what an “awesome Hamlet” he’s going to be and how he can “play Hamlet like no other?” I’m amazed that no one leapt to their demise. I think I would have.

Here’s a thought. You guys get paid millions of dollars each year for showing up at stores to shop, guest DJing at hot spots around the world, and for just being pretty and showing up to a set to act like your someone else for a few months. Why don’t you get crazy and cut a nice fat check a piece? Oooh! Or to show your dedication to the cause, why don’t you go through what these villagers have to go through each day! You can drink infested water or just go without. Your choice. If people don’t take you seriously now, they probably won’t might then!

Off to make a dartboard with your group picture,

Sarah

“Sometimes when someone has a crush on you they make you a mix tape, to give you a clue.”

In Uncategorized on December 2, 2009 at 2:05 am

Do I have some kind of magnetic device on me that draws in creepiness? 

Do I?!

Furthermore, is Borders some kind of pit of despair for all who are alone and smell of cat food?  (Aside from me, damn it.  I’ve got a husband and kids.  I was in the childrens’ section!)  I mean, first we had the Feminazi experience a few short weeks ago and now I’ve had an encounter with, perhaps, the craziest type of fan of all time. OF ALL TIME!

What kind of fan?  As if you need to ask.  She was a Twitard.  I say that lovingly, but it’s really the only name I can think of for her.  “Desperate old woman” comes to mind, but that’s kind of a mouthful.  This woman was between 40 and 50 yrs. old and was spotted at the computer kiosk that Borders has available for those who want to download music to their respective devices.  “Janet,” we’ll call her, was huddled around a computer with a Borders employee, “Winston,” who looked all too psyched to be there.  (Sensing the sarcasm?)

While I was heading towards the cafe to pick up a little caffeine action, I over hear Janet explaining to Winston how important it is that she download the perfect playlist to her iPod because she’d be burning someone a CD for Christmas.  And this wasn’t just any someone.  Oh, no.  This someone was getting a CD in the hopes that he would listen to it and suddenly come to his senses that Janet was the only woman for him.  This someone is Robert Pattinson.

I know….I know….

(Waiting patiently for you to wipe the tears and clean yourself up.  If you did not pee yourself, I’m not sure what to do with you.)

I stopped dead in my tracks, causing my son to run into the back of my knee and dead leg me right in front of Janet.  I fell.  Like an asshole.  I climbed up into one of the arm chairs close by and pulled the kids over with me. 

We weren’t going anywhereI had to hear this.

Winston: “What exactly is it that you’re looking for, ma’am?”

Janet: “I want it to speak to him.  I’ve got a prepared list that I’ll be downloading but I’ve never really used iTunes before so I need to know how to work it.”

Winston: “Well, what’s the first song you’re looking for?”

Janet:  “Umm…it’s a song by Ginuwine.  It’s called Pony.”

Ohmyfuckinghellshutupshutupshutup!  She is not doing this!!!

Winston:  “Ok, well you put it into the search bar by either artist or title and it’ll pull up all of your matches.  Then you just download.”

Janet:  “Do you think that’s too forward?  Have you heard that song?  I want Rob to hear this CD and just…know….you know?”

She then proceeds to speak some of the lyrics to poor Winston.

Do you know how much I want to be making this up right now?

Winston is starting to look terribly uncomfortable and unamused.  I see my friend that I came to Borders with and flag her down so that she can sit with the boys.  This woman needs saved from herself.  Or maybe she needs some songs that just scream “I think you’re awesomesauce!” or, perhaps, “I’m fucking crazy and know where you sleep!”  One of the two.

I introduce myself to her.  I tell her I couldn’t help but over hear she’s got some mix tape fever.  I just happen to be queen of the mix tape.  My husband was in Iraq for awhile, I tell her.  I made him mixes all the time.  What do you have so far?

She shows me what she calls her “shortlist” of must haves on there.  Lady, “Pony” isn’t even half the problem if you’re worried about inappropriateness.  With the message you’re sending, the postal carrier delivering this could sue you for sexual harrassment.  Well, at least if Rob ever gets this he’ll know there’s a middle aged woman in Ohio that’s totally ok with being used as a sperm recepticle.  Good to know.

I make small talk with her as I pretend to play Wurdle on my iTouch when in reality I’m Tweeting with a few chicks on Twitter.  I inform them of the travesty that is taking place in front of my very eyes.  They begin to coach me on songs to suggest that she add to her mix.

“Uh, hey.  Have you thought of including a little Sting?  Maybe some NIN?  It doesn’t get any more romantic than “Fields of Gold” or “Closer.”

Janet:  “You know, I thought “Fields of Gold” would have been a perfect song for when they had Bella and Edward running through that field towards the end of New Moon.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well then you should totally add that on there.”

Janet:  “I think I might.  And what’s “Closer?”  Nevermind.  I just like the title.  It expresses my feelings.”

I’m going to hell.  I’m going to hell for encouraging this woman to send creepy songs to this dude but I’m going to hell laughing.

“Oh!  What about a little, “Get out of my dreams?”

Janet:  “Oh, you’re good!”

“Totes.  “More Than Words,” by Extreme works, too.”

Janet:  “I don’t know.  That’s about being in love and I don’t know that we’re ready for that.”

Oh, of course.  You don’t know that you and Rob are ready to admit you love each other.  That’s totally sane sounding.  Sure.  And just so we’re clear, sending him a song about being in love is coming on too strong but a song about wanting shmexy naked time is cool, right?  Ok.  Good.

I notice a few minutes later that she’s downloading some material that’s probably familiar to him.  Very familiar.

“Oh, wow.  That’s different.  You’re sending him his own music?”

Janet:  “Well, why wouldn’t I?  I want him to know that I know who he is.  I know him.  I’m including a song by him, his sister, and songs by his friends.  I don’t like that you’re giving me the looks that you have been.  I think I know a little bit more about hooking a guy than you.”

Hmph.  That explains why I’m married and you’re not.  But nevermind those details.  There’s a lot to be said about stalking a man into submission.  Dream those dreams, lady!  Once he finds out that you two are virtually acting out your own version of Fatal Attraction, he’ll come a-runnin’!

“I didn’t mean to offend you.  I’ve just never met such a die hard fan of, well, anyone.  I mean, he’s a cracker jack vampire, really, but -”

Janet:  “But?”

“Nothing.  I was going to say he looks a little “special” in the face sometimes, but I think that can happen to anyone.”

I refrain from telling her that his smile makes him a serious contender for the role of Corky in a future “Life Goes On” movie; sans make-up.

Janet:  “He is special (well, that jab went over her head) and I’m not a fan.  I think we’re meant to be.  There’s a difference.  Once he hears these songs and sees how much work I put into the cover artwork, he’ll know.”

“Oh, yeah?  Are you an artist or something?”

Janet:  “Well, a photoshop artist.  I cut out that Kristen gal’s head and put mine in it’s place.  It looks like it really happened.  I’m keeping a copy for myself.  Did you know you can order poster sized prints on Photobucket?”

Fuck….she’s nuts.  Get the kids.  Get the kids and go.

No.  No.  Wait.  I need to download her playlist.  This needs to be shared.

“Umm, hey, you don’t care if I download this after you’re through, do you?  You picked such a great mix.  I’d love to have it on my iTouch.”

Janet:  “Of course.  You have to buy it though, ok?”

Umm…duh.

So, without further ado, may I present the playlist that is going to get Rob out of Janet’s dreams and into her car…hopefully into a seat and not the trunk. 

  1. Pony – Ginuwine
  2. Why Don’t You Love Me – Beyonce
  3. Voyeur (I’m Watching You) – Lizzy Borden
  4. London Calling – The Clash
  5. Put it (I can’t even type the rest out. I wish I was joking.)- Akinyele
  6. Closer – NIN
  7. Every Breath You Take – The Police (really, Janet. Stalker’s cliche.)
  8. I Wanna Know – Joe
  9. As Long As You Love Me – Backstreet Boys
  10. You Sexy Thing – Hot Chocolate
  11. Fields of Gold – Sting
  12. Doin’ Fine – Robert Pattinson
  13. Get Out of My Dreams- Charly Records Studio Group
  14. Kiss Is a Knife – Marcus Foster
  15. Love to Love You Baby – Donna Summer
  16. Breathe Me – Sia
  17. Heaven – Warrant
  18. Paprazzi – Lady Gaga
  19. Sweet Child O’ Mine – Guns ‘n Roses (Dude…he could be your child.)
  20. Being a Mockingbird – Bobby Long
  21. Invisible – Clay Aiken
  22. God Save the Queen – Sex Pistols
  23. Pretty Boy – Sam Bradley
  24. Just Breathe – Headspinz (ft. Lizzy Pattinson)

That has to be the best/worst thirty some odd dollars I’ve ever spent in my life. 

Janet walked off into the sunset, heading home to burn her CDs and order her poster sized stalker memoribilia of her and Rob at…well….wherever he and Kristen were. 

Let’s all pause and take a moment to send good thoughts to Janet.  I have a feeling she’s going to be on America’s Most Wanted one day.

Feminists are kinda skanky…

In Uncategorized on November 10, 2009 at 6:21 am

Have you ever noticed that a lot of the women that claim to be feminists also have a lot of sexual partners? 

Ok- well I have.  And for the sake of this post, you’re going to take me at my word and follow like a blind sheep to slaughter, savvy?

The other day, I was at Borders and encountered a group of angry man-hatin’-stay-at-home-mom-bashin’-feminazis sitting around the cafe portion having a meeting of some sorts.  At least they made it look like a meeting.  I’m starting to wonder after what I heard that perhaps it was a self-help group for STD ridden ladies of the night.

The women were attempting to quietly discuss something extremely intellectual, I’m sure.  Probably discussing Sartre.  The discussion, however, took a quick turn for the worse when one of the women loudly declared, “We fought for our vaginas!  Own it!” 

I squeed while I was waiting in line for my super-fat-toffee-nut-why-hold-the-whipped-cream-I-love-cellulite latte.  Literally squeed.  I knew this was about to be way more interesting than my literary journal I was hoping to delve into.  Certainly much more interesting than the book on screenplay mechanics.  In fact, this might be a total screenplay idea about to play out in front of me.  GOLD MINE!

“All I’m saying,” the lady loudly continued, “is that we, as women, own our bodies.  You can use your vagina however you want.”  Well, how profound of you, weirdo.  No kidding!  Just keep your usage to yourself.  One of her companions said something that didn’t quite reach the decibal I needed it to in order to properly eavesdrop, but angry feminazi made sure I got caught up on the convo:  “Look, you’re fighting it.  If he calls you up for a booty call, accept it.  He’s your plaything.  Not the other way around.  I don’t even know what to say to you right now.  Do you have any idea how many people I’ve slept with?  Hundreds!  It’s not like I’ve just limited myself to men, either.  They always think they’re on their game and that they care if they don’t call.  I don’t!  In fact, I go into it hoping they don’t call.  I’m a woman, damn it.”

I’m about ready to pee myself at this point.  I’m also about ready to poke out my mind’s eye, crawl into a cave and never come out, and spontaneously combust from the squeeing I do when something exciting is happening.  This had a squee factor of 10.

The table resounded with clinking coffee cups, high fives, and who knows, maybe a few “Hear hears!”  The woman continued, “My foremothers didn’t fight in this country so that we could be tied down to men in a 9-5 relationship (as a side note, what in the hell is that?!).  They wanted us to go and explore our options and to never stop that exploring.  When we explore other people, we explore ourselves, and that’s what we should be about.”

NO!  You did not just say that!!!  Oh, Feminazi, you are my new hero.  You are total WIN.  Brill.  Just brill.  These women were in total stupid-smile-dead-behind-the-eyes awe of her and all I’m thinking is, “Gross, get away, she’s germariffic!  She’s admitted to sleeping with half of the U.S. population while exploring herself!”  I’m not a huge supporter of feminism anyway, I’m a little old fashioned like that, but this was a fabulous all new low for it.  I thought feminism was about wanting to work outside of the home, equal pay or equal work, etc.  Never did I equate it with booty calls and angry women engaging in hate sex.  I get the possible message in there somewhere about owning your body, but….reallyI mean, really?!? 

So, what about you?  Ever ran into a group of angry women wanting to get you alone in a dark room?

Look down and away from the camera, please

In Uncategorized on October 30, 2009 at 5:26 am

I was lying on the bed all sprawled out with my husband a few nights ago, talking about nothing in particular, stealing a few kisses here and there.  Nothin’ too schmexy.  Just all innocent, butterfly inducing goodness.  That’s when I suddenly got the overwhelming sense of de ja vu. 

I totally felt high school again.  *wretch*

But it was cute at the same time.  It is nice to know that after 7 years my man can still keep it chaste-kisses-intertwined-fingers-enamored-glances real with me.

I started laughing and told him how I felt completely juvenile at that point.  I mean, let’s face it.  Once married how often do you just kind of sit around and hand hold and cuddle and induce waves of nausea to all that witness the cuteness that is you in love?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Once you’re married, there is no more of that.  There’s barely even making out.  It’s, “Will you freaking just- no wait, you’re on my hair. You are fucking on my hair! God bless it.  Just hurry up, ok?  They’re all down for a nap for I don’t know how long and we need to reach quota.  *heavy breathing*  Did you take out the trash or no?” 

Anyway, the sudden back track into territory long since forgotten brought us to the topic of dating and high school; something I’m sure we’ve covered so many times before but this time I let a little more loose than I have in the past.

I was so freaking emo in high school.  I’m ashamed to say it, but I totally was.  I listened to Chris Carrabba like he was the patron saint of feelings and remember telling myself how his lyrics really spoke to me.  That I could <u>so</u> totally relate. 

Really, Sarah? 

Really?

Oh, it’s so true.  I had Dashboard’s The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most on repeat for weeks.  I remember listening to The Brilliant Dance after a break-up and having a good cry.  Again.  And again.  And again.  I mean, why wouldn’t a virginal 18-yr. old Sarah relate to lyrics about lost lovers and such?  Psh, I was totally hand holding and kissing by that time. 

Definitely scorned lover territory.

Holy shit do I want to rewind time and smack myself.  At the very least, I’d like to do some kind of verbal assault.   

“Hey former self!  Get out of bed and get dressed for God’s sake!  Will we be crying and singing lyrics again, today?  I mean, you dated him for a few weeks!  Casually, even!  Do we really need to wail out the lyrics to Bitter Pill?  Could you get a grip on yourself?  Oh!  You’re getting dress- a sweater with thumb holes in the sleeves?  A black hoodie…good.  Yeah, you need that.  Oh, yeah, definitely add on the Dickies and the Converse.  I mean, really, you’re going to need to dress like that in the summer.  Remember to stay out of the sun!” 

Former self would then proceed to drive around listening to more Dashboard and crying in the car.  But I digress, lucky does not even begin to describe what wonderful timing had to happen in order for me to meet Hubs after that wretched phase in my life.  While I rambled on and on to him about my emo phase, he looked utterly confused.  He knew that I was a bit of a wildcard in high school (I got my tongue pierced on a date…on a date, people.) and he’s always known me to be a bit of a drama queen, but he had no idea about the cheezy love affair with Chris Carrabba. 

What did come out of this besides a complete time suck?  Hubs now knows some of the lyrics to songs that I felt such a powerful connection to and listened to when I wanted vindication.  For me?  Obviously the trip down memory lane sparked some kind of trippy need in me because I proceeded to download the aforementioned album to my iPod.  Followed by the Ataris.  Followed by Reggie and the Full Effect….maybe a little New Found Glory, too. 

Slippery slope, kids.  Slippery slope.

Behind the Times or A Tale in Which Sarah Finally Finds Herself Emersed in the Twilight Saga

In Uncategorized on August 8, 2009 at 8:48 pm

“NO!” I thought to myself.  “What the eff are all these freaks doing walking around Barnes and Noble?!  This is my date night!  I was just about to buy myself a latte and read the tabloids in the corner.  You creeps in your emo wear are messing everything up!”

We had just moved back to Indiana and hubs was working a lot of overtime to keep us afloat.  I never got to go out by myself any more and when I finally got a chance to wine and dine solo, every idiot in the Indy area was dressed to the vampire nines and crowding me out of my haven.  “You guys suck,” I thought.  “I just popped out a kid and you’re ruining my precious me time!  Of course, you wouldn’t understand that.  You’re probably all virgins.”

The front store display caught my eye as I strode out of the store.  It was the red and white flower, specifically, that made me stop and wonder.  I skimmed, I smirked.  Vampires!  Cripes, seriously?!  It explained the get ups, but it still didn’t explain the hysteria.  I didn’t even bother reading the back of the book to see what clues it might give me as it to what this all impressive pile of paper was about.  No. Thank. You.

I thought nothing more of the “Twilight Saga” until the movie came out on DVD.  I noticed it was labled as an option for On Demand viewing on cable and watched a preview.  I admit, it piqued my Photobucketinterest.  Solely based on dying to know what all the screaming and adoring fans were for and why these novels continued to sit on the NY Times Best Seller list, I bought it. 

I fell in love immediately.

I am asahmed to say that the sheer gorgeousness of Robert Pattinson had me buy the movie several times.  I totally could have bought the 3 Disc Collector’s Addition twice (which I finally did last night) but no matter!  I watched it.  I loved it.  I began to get excited about the sequel coming out in November.

My parents came down a few months later and casually, over dinner, the subject of Twilight was brought up.  My mom informed me justPhotobucket how much I was missing by not reading the actual books and I didn’t even give it a second thought.  I mean, seriously, watching some vampire eye candy on TV was way better than reading about a teen vampire saga, right?  Oh my God, it had to be.  I just couldn’t sink to that level.  I couldn’t believe my mom had.  Seriously.

Then, it struck.  Curiousity got the best of me (just call me Whiskers!- curious….like a cat….get it?) and I bought Twilight on a whim three days ago during a spur of the moment trip for paper plates at Costco.  I devoured it in 8 hours.  I finally got around to purchasing New Moon last night (yes, the same trip I bought the DVD in) and finished that this evening before dinner and now I am 200 plus pages into Eclipse. 

WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH THESE BOOKS?!?!?!

I keep thinking it’s how intense and brooding Edward is, how protective he is.  Hubs tells me women are stupid because any other guy who didn’t look like Robert Pattinson would have a restraining order slapped on his ass for being psychotically controlling. 

Anyway, point, I love these books.  I reccommend them.  And now I have Eclipse calling my name because I really want to see if Edward really is ok with Bella going to La Push whenever. 

Yeah, I totally just said that.

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.

"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?