Celebrity Letters: David Bromstadt

Dear David,

You know, I totally respect that you won the first Design Star contest with all your stunning talent, you taught yourself how to build, and you create wonderful artwork for every client on your show, Color Splash. I even find some really awesome ideas I'd like to try. It's great, I'm happy for you, good wishes.

Thing is, though, I'm starting to see a pattern in your work. You're too liberal with the orange.

No, seriously. You use it TOO MUCH. And it's even worse when you bust out the avocado green to complement it. I swear it's like an episode of That 70s Show, only with no bald guy calling everyone a dumbass, and the furniture pieces are way nicer.

I suppose I can't really blame you for some of the color choices, because it seems to be some kind of interior decorating trend, if any of the other shows on that channel are any indication. But I say buck the trend! Do you really want to be responsible for bring back decor from the seventies? Gack! If your clients say they want warm tones, give them a warmed-up beige with some red. I have yet to hear anyone say "Please, give me more orange." That's like "I gotta have more cow bell." Who the hell asks for that?

Yours,
Sleepless Mama

P. S. If it's any consolation, you're way better than Constance Ramos. She uses entirely too much pink. In her commercial, she's standing there trying to name the pink paint. She loves the pastels and floral, which I guess is just her thing, but the pink has got to stop. Even when she goes for bolder colors, they are still PINK or PURPLE. When the homeowner is telling her that a color looks too "festive" (emasculating) for his taste, you'd think she'd take the hint, but no. Please, if you see her, tell her it's not cool, nor awesome, nor tasteful by any stretch of the word, for a grown man to have a pinkish-red wall anywhere other than his daughter's bedroom, or possibly his wife's bathroom (and even then, no). If she gives you shit about the orange, remind her that at least orange works for more than one gender.

Kelley and Traci #2

I wrote this last summer and never published it. After dusting it off and shining it up a bit, I thought I'd share it with you.

*****
Kelley: Hello?

Traci: Did you watch HGTV this morning?

Kelley: Yeah, the kids actually took a nap, so I had the TV to myself.

Traci: Oh my god, did you SEE that hideous room they redid on Decorating Cents?

Kelley: You mean the perfectly classy dining room with dark walnut stained antique furniture and beautiful windows?

Traci: Yes! And they put up that awful wallpaper!

Kelley: And the purple paint on the other wall!

Traci: I can't believe she painted those chairs white!

Kelley: And covered those gorgeous windows with those awful floral curtains!

Traci: The sconces!

Kelley: The PURPLE in a FORMAL DINING ROOM!

Traci: I swear, every time they redo a room on that show, it's like they don't even listen to what the homeowner wants.

Kelley: I could ask for Whimsical Modern, and they'd still do my living room in Country Moron Grandmother on Crystal Meth. In a dull purple.

Traci: You know that's why they didn't show the homeowner pre-interview and reaction shots. Clearly the lady of the house hated it.

Kelley: Damn skippy... So, did you watch High School Musical 2 last week?

Traci: So help me God, I did. My daughters have been talking about it nonstop for months.

Kelley: I wasn't too impressed by the songs. You?

Traci: I just wanted all those boys to cut their damn hair. Especially Zac Efron. Dude is starting to look gay.

Kelley: And I hear Hannah Montana was in the movie too?

Traci: There's nothing quite like an online election determining which kid from another idiot show should appear on a new idiot show.

Kelley: Democracy in action, honey.

Traci: Seriously, what is with all these stupid live action shows on Disney and Nickelodeon? It's like nobody in the entire cast of characters knows how to behave with anything that resembles common sense.

Kelley: I know! I had to sit through an episode of Suite Life, and I was completely floored when the hotel manager not only took the suggestion of a pair of 12-year-old boys, but allowed them to RUN an UNDERAGE NIGHTCLUB.

Traci: And what about That's So Raven? What the hell is wrong with those people?

Kelley: Don't get me started on that show. Raven doesn't even have the excuse of playing a preteen with no life experience. Her character is in high school; surely she's old enough to know that dressing in a disguise won't fool your own parents.

Traci: I tell you, if it weren't for HGTV, I'd completely lose my shit. That channel keeps me sane.

Kelley: You know, you should really read more books.

Traci: Like I have money for that.

Kelley: Library's free, hon.

Traci: Gas isn't, and the library's too far to walk.

Kelley: You can't ask your kid to grab a book for you at the school library?

Traci: You know that conservative-prick district only keeps censor-approved books. How am I going to get my chic-lit fix there?

Kelley: Okay, that is it, I am lending you my Vonnegut. You need to broaden those horizons.

Traci: I might be better off borrowing your How-To-Make-Beautiful-Decor-Out-Of-Cheap-Shit-From-The-Dollar-Store book.

Kelley: I don't have a-- oh, I get it. Your man still saving up for that motorcycle?

Traci: No, now he's saving up for a Wii.

Kelley: A wee? What?

Traci: You know, a Wii.

Kelley: He's getting penis enhancement surgery?

Traci: No! Although that wouldn't be a bad idea. No, I mean he's saving up for the new Nintendo Wii game system.

Kelley: Is that, like, a little bitty game system?

Traci: Now you're just being silly.

Kelley: Yes, I am. So you're telling me he hasn't even saved up enough for a video game system?

Traci: No, the game system is only $250 or something, and the games are $50. I'm saying he finally got the hint that we needed to spend some money on a family vacation now, before our kids get too sarcastic to take anywhere nice.

Kelley: Wow, how'd you manage that?

Traci: I sent The Girl to a day camp this summer, and we got a call from the counselor about behavior issues. I asked her to call my husband at work and tell him exactly what our daughter said and did. He came home and yelled for a while, and then I patiently explained to him that if he didn't spend some Quality Time with her, he should expect the rudeness directed at him soon, and completely without remorse from The Girl.

Kelley: So where'd you go?

Traci: Camping. There's nothing to make you appreciate all the cool places you normally get to go like dragging your family to the middle of nowhere with no showers or electricity and only one tent for shelter. I told The Girl that if she didn't shape up and lose the attitude, I'd take her camping once or twice a month to the same spot with no amenities.

Kelley: What if she likes camping?

Traci: Are you kidding? The whole week was "I'm hot, I'm icky, I feel gross, I hate crapping in the special camping toilet, why can't we go eat at McDonald's, what do you mean we have to skin this squirrel for dinner?" The minute I threatened to extend our trip, she shut her mouth completely.
Kelley: You, madame, are an evil genius.

Traci: I call it creative parenting.

Freaking hilarious

Sorry I've not posted in a long time. I hope to rectify that just as soon as I can get motivated (by which I mean when the temperature rises too high for me to do anything but stay indoors all day).

I've got two videos for all you gamers out there who have a sense of humor (you overly serious types need to get over yourselves, because there is more to life than having ten level 70 characters).

First one I can only link to, since GraveD1gger has disabled embedding (that adorable little anal-retentive wack-job). Check out Guild Wars vs. WoW on YouTube. For those of you not familiar with Guild Wars or World of Warcraft, they are the same game, only with different people. No, Bizarro Dad, they are not different, I don't care if GW has better graphics while WoW has better game play, they are the same damn thing. They don't even have different people, really, because you play with the same people on both games, you kept the same character name, and you do the exact same shit.

The second video I'm attempting to embed. It's Part One of a series called The Guild. All seven episodes are available to view on YouTube, or you can check out their website, www.watchtheguild.com.

From an Angry Wife

Dear Idiot Brother-in-law,

You are an ungrateful snot. Pay your god damned car note before you completely fuck up your brother's credit. If my husband and I can't buy a house or get a student loan because of YOU and your ridiculous need to drive a sports car, I will BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU.

Don't ask us for Christmas or birthday presents anymore. Don't ask for "help" buying a motorcycle. Pay us back the money you already owe us (which is accruing interest, by the way), and start acting like a responsible adult instead of a hissy-fit-throwing child. How can you be so behind on your bills when YOU HAVE A FREE APARTMENT?!

You're a jackass and I can't stand you. Stop coming to the house when Bizarro Dad is not here.

Up yours,
Sleepless Mama

Dear Betty Crocker

I don't know which executive thought it was a bright idea to discontinue the SuperMoist Cinnamon Swirl Cake Mix, but s/he was an absolute IDIOT to do so, especially now that Christmas is here. I cannot tell you how many requests I get for Cinnamon Swirl Cake With Raisins from family and friends. Now I've had to improvise with the Butter Pecan, which, by the way, tastes like really old banana bread that should have been tossed into the trash can a week ago. The fool in charge of making this kind of product decision needs a foot in the ass. Bring back the Cinnamon Swirl!

The preceding is a copy of the letter I sent to Betty Crocker Consumer Services. I expect to be presented with a picture of a size nine in someone's rectum any day now, along with a twelve-pack of Cinnamon Swirl cake mix.

Image courtesy of Amazon.com, who are really nice people that would LOVE to sell me a twelve-pack of Cinnamon Swirl cake mix, if only Betty Crocker would get off her fat ass and put it back in production.

Dear Houston Rockets

You suck.

Nah, not really. You aren't that bad.

And I know the Denver Nuggets are a tough team, what with them being able to fly and all.

But you totally screwed up, Bettier, fouling that dude at 4.5 seconds left in double overtime.

I was willing to flash you if you'd won.

(Well, I was willing to flash the TV.)

BUT NO.

You can't hang on to a lead to save yourself from a titty-less existence.

So I'm just going to have to keep them right here under my shirt.

Do better next game, fellas.

Graphic courtesy of abc13.com.

Dog and Cat Diary

Taken from a MySpace bulletin.

DOG DIARY

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

CAT DIARY

Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am... "Bastards!"

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - - but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released...and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously brain damaged or drug induced.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the captors regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe... for now..........

Letter to a skank

Dear Whore-y Bitch,

That security guard you asked to walk you out to your car in the parking lot? Yeah, he's married.

Flirting with him was not a good idea.

Nor was hugging him.

And especially not the part where you shook your ass near his face three times when he bent down to turn on the escalator. Three times.

By the way, that last part was caught on tape. And replayed for everyone in the office to see.

Back the fuck off. Seriously. Back. The fuck. Off. Girls like you are the reason so many women hate each other. Girls like you are also the reason I keep bricks in my purse.

Yours,
The Wife

How To Annoy Your Loved Ones and Make Them Not Want to Help You

1. Get into a relationship with and eventually marry a loser who lies, cheats on you, and makes you feel bad about yourself.
2. Move this loser in with you, into a home that your family is providing for you.
3. Keep having kids with the guy, even though he obviously doesn't really want to help you take care of them.
4. Don't give him any real consequences when he stays out until 4 in the morning.
5. Keep asking your family for money the whole time, since he obviously isn't providing enough.
6. When your family does give you money, spend it on stupid stuff that you don't need.
7. Lie unconvincingly to everyone, including yourself, about the loser's nocturnal habits.
8. Accumulate tons of circumstantial evidence that he's cheating, and talk about it with friends and family, but never do anything about it.
9. Tell him you're kicking him out, but let him back into the house anyway because you're too busy trying to be civil to realize that what you need to do is let your anger work for you and make him understand that you're serious.
10. Keep having sex with him, even though you suspect he's cheating.
11. Do this for five years.
12. Kick him out when you finally have "concrete" proof of infidelity (as in a third party calls your house asking for his mistress, preferably over a legal matter).
13. Now that you're a single mother, don't even start looking for a job for at least two months.
14. Complain that you have to be in the MOOD to find a job.
15. Tell your parents not to give you any money so that you'll get off your ass and get a job, and then complain when they won't give you any money.
16. Rely on your parents for everying that food stamps won't pay for, like electricity and toilet paper.
17. Complain that you can't get a job unless you get a car.
18. Complain about why public transportation is a terribly inconvenient way to travel, and that you'd be able to do everything you need to do if you just had a car.
19. Forget that when your parents gave you money before you kicked your husband out, you HAD enough for a used car. In fact, forget that they gave you money.
20. Beg your sister to buy things for your kids or to move in and help you with bills, even though she's told you "no" many times.
21. Ask for free babysitting from your sick mother, your friends with kids of their own, and your in-laws. Ask for it all the time. And during the time they are babysitting, use that time to search for jobs you know you don't want and can't (or won't) accept.
22. Don't make up your mind about whether you want your husband to come home or not.
23. Take FOREVER to file a child support claim against him. In fact, wait until he's not working anymore. Because then you'll get some money.
24. When you speak to your husband, demand that he buy you a car. Because that's going to happen when he's not working. (He may buy a car, actually, but I promise you that his mistress is paying for it.)
25. Complain to your friends and family that he won't hurry up and buy you a car, and that he should be buying you a car.
26. Act like you're the only single mother of three in the world, when in fact you're not even the only one in your neighborhood.
27. Yell at your children constantly, and then complain to your would-be babysitters that the two-year-old is always screaming.
28. Act surprised and upset when your mother doesn't want to babysit your hellcat children after being hospitalized for heart problems.
29. Ask people for favors that you know PERFECTLY WELL conflict with their own schedules.
30. Interrupt your friends and family with constant phone calls, also during times that conflict with their routine.
31. Cry that you need help and you don't understand why nobody wants to help you.

Do Some Good and Win Some Prizes

Want to give to a charity but don't know which one to choose? Wishing you could get something in return for your donation besides a tax deduction?

Try the Tomato Nation Fall Contest! Simply donate to one of the charities listed in the TN challenge on DonorsChoose (any amount is fine, seriously, even if it's $5), and forward your e-mail receipt to Sars (webmistress of Tomato Nation). You'll have a chance to win fabulous prizes, including books, Glarkware merchandise, My So-Called Life DVDs (autographed by Claire Danes, who is donor-matching), gift certificates, a Wonderfalls script signed by Tim Minear, and other great prizes. Only one entry per person, not per donation.

Currently the challenge is in Bonus Round II. If this is completed by the time you're ready to donate, please glance to the left and see if a new round has begun on the General Blog Leaderboard. As of this writing, over $47,ooo has been raised for charities and schools across the country!

For contest rules and questions, and to find out what kind of self-humiliation Sars will be displaying before an unsuspecting public in return for our donations, please visit Sars at TomatoNation.com. Contest runs from now until October 31st.

Memo to Good Morning America

Dear GMA,

I know we've grown into an increasingly voyeuristic culture. With little starlets running amok every time you turn around, and millions of people desperate for any shred of evidence proving that they are in fact better than highly paid celebrities, it's easy to see why the media business is booming and the paparazzi are even more in-your-face than ever before.

But please, GMA, you don't need to feed the beast by making it a point to ask excessively private questions when you interview Brad Pitt. The man is an actor and an activist. That's all I want from him. I couldn't give two shits about what his bedtime routine is with his little bundles of joy. Let him talk about his new movie or whatever cause he's supporting. If you really feel like putting him through the ringer, ask him how he can claim to be some big eco-warrior and yet still use massive amounts of air-polluting fuel when he takes private jets all over the globe.

To repeat: I don't care about Brad Pitt's personal life and what he does with his kids. When he starts actively seeking a new wife, then maybe let me know, because I have several beautiful single cousins who would LOVE to be Mrs. Brad Pitt. Other than that, leave it alone. I can see the neatness and symmetry of displaying a loving father who behaves responsibly opposite a rehab-happy white trash pop star who can't be bothered to learn how to operate a car seat (yes, I mean Britney, and no, I don't want to hear about her either). However, I'd really rather hear about what new projects Brad's working on that might actually have some kind of impact on my life. If I want parenting advice, there are magazines, websites, books, teachers, pediatricians, and veteran mothers across the street. I don't need Brad Pitt to set an example for me.

So, Good Morning America, please go back to your exposes on why everything is the government's fault and your cooking demonstrations. Otherwise, I'm just going to do what I did this morning: change the channel.

All the best,
Me

"How To" Series

I'm pleased to introduce a new feature here at "Sleep? What's That?" Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the How To series, in which I discuss creative solutions to problems both abnormal and mundane.

Today's topic:
How To Get a Glue Trap Off a Toddler's Bare Foot

1. If the trap is also stuck to something else, get that thing off first. Rip that sucker off, but be sure not to yank the child's leg when you do this. Also, if the glue trap is also stuck to the floor, please remember to maintain a firm grip on the toddler's ankle, but DO NOT pull by the leg. Pull from the edge of the glue trap.
2. Carry your toddler to the kitchen sink. No, not the bathroom, trust me on this, everything you'll need will be in the kitchen. Sit your child on the countertop with his/her feet in the sink.
3. Press record on your video camera.
4. Pour some cooking oil (preferably the cheapest stuff you have) onto the foot. Using a back and forth motion with your finger, work the oil between the sole of the foot and the glue trap to separate them. Be gentle, and do not try to yank the trap off, lest you take some of your child's skin off. Continue applying oil as needed. Once you have completely removed the trap and discarded it, there may still be a large amount of glue remaining on the foot. Proceed with steps 5 through 9.
5. Using a clean hand or utensil, scoop out a handful of smooth peanut butter and apply it to your child's foot. Using your hands only, rub the peanut butter onto the glue. You may need to scrape some of it off, so use either a fingernail (please not a sharp one) or a spoon.
6. If the peanut butter method still has not removed all the glue, move on to very warm water and dish soap. Be careful with your water temperature, lest you cause skin burns. Once again, scraping will likely be necessary.
7. If, after the soapy water method, you still have not removed all the glue, just use a DRY spoon and fingernails.
8. If you still cannot get all the glue off, you might try rubbing the glue with an ice cube. Be aware, your child will scream. Once the glue is hardened by the cold, it should respond to scraping with more of a flaking reaction.
9. If that doesn't work, please take your child to the emergency room. Don't forget to take the video camera.
10. Call your exterminator and demand a refund, especially if you noticed teeth marks or rodent hair but no actual rodents on the glue trap in the first place.

Best. Prison. Ever.

Dude, if I ever commit a crime and must be incarcerated, deport me to the Philipines and send me over to THAT prison. Reformation never looked so fun.

Traits

I enter the bedroom, plop down on my husband's stomach, and start kissing his face.
Me: *smooch smooch smooch*
Bizarro Dad: Okay, okay, I get it. You love me.
Me: Of course I do.
BD: It's all a front.
Me: What is? My kissing you?
BD: Your loving me. You only love me because you love my beautiful-baby-producing ability.
Me: So you're saying I only love you because I... love you? And because we made pretty kids?
BD: Yep, that's right. You said, "I think that's the one with the right genes."
Me: (giggling) You got me honey. I sat down and made a Punnett square and determined that all your most desirable features that I liked would be dominant, and all the ones I didn't like would be recessive to my dominant ones. Thus we would reproduce highly attractive offspring.
BD: I knew it.
Me: Unfortunately, Sia accidentally inherited your tiny-butt gene.
BD: Well, they can't be perfect.
Me: And it's probably better that way. Can you imagine how much trouble we'll have with her as a teenager if she has a big ass?
BD: Terrible, I tell you.
Enter Sia, who climbs onto our bed.
Me: Hi sweety.
BD: Poor baby, what did I do to you? You don't have a butt.
Sia: (putting hand on her butt) It's right here, Daddy.

Hamburger Hinderer

I hate Hamburger Helper.

The smell of it cooking makes me want to vomit. Its lumpy, slimy texture in my mouth makes me think I am vomiting. Besides which, cheeseburger and macaroni together are just unnatural.

I used to love the stuff.

Cheeseburger Macaroni was probably the last meal I fixed for my ex-fiance. In this very kitchen, no less. He was ecstatic. He said it was his favorite. He told me I was "such a good wife for making it."

The following week he started complaining about our weekend routine (I drive an hour to spend the weekend in the same town as him, we hang out, we have dinner and watch a video, we make out on the couch, he goes home and I drive an hour back to my college town). Then he started complaining about a lot of other things, all of which he insisted were my fault. Then he said he wanted to date a fifteen-year-old girl. She was a plus and I was a minus.

I hate Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper.

My husband loves it, and insisted on buying a package last time we went grocery shopping.

I can't even stand looking at the box. It screams at me silently, and I can hear it in every room of the house.

"You are inadequate!"

Lex Luthor: Moron

If you've ever wondered what it would be like to see Lex Luthor:

• Wear a track suit instead of Armani suits
• Talk like some kind of VJ
• Look like he's obviously uncomfortable talking like a VJ, but do it anyway
• Not know the socially acceptable behavior for any given situation (i.e. whether or not he should remove his shirt in a parking lot in the middle of someone else's face-off)
• Make up stupid answers to direct questions and expect to be taken seriously
• Not be able to hang on to everything he wants just because he has money
• Get served
• Get told that he has a small dick
• Have hair

Please rent Kickin' It Old Skool, starring Jamie Kennedy and featuring Smallville's Michael Rosenbaum (a.k.a. Lex Luthor when he was young and handsome and not played by an old fart).

Photos courtesy of about.com. Apologies to Michael Rosenbaum, who is totally hot in real life, ESPECIALLY when he's bald!

Grammy Mammy Pants

There are two things that run in my family along the matriarchal line: diabetes, and storing all our fat in the front of our stomachs, resulting in that six-months-pregnant look throughout the year.

Grandma, a diabetic of many years and a great lover of Dr Pepper and Mexican pastries, has finally reached the point of requiring insulin shots. It's kind of sad, but at least it's a tiny needle attached to a self-measuring device that looks like a pen, rather than the giant nail stuck to a glass tube her sister and mother used back in the day. Naturally Grandma has to worry about the usual related ailments, like slow-healing cuts and bug bites, shakiness, confusion, hypertension, and those whacked-out mood swings. Perhaps the strangest symptom of her diabetes has been her constant annoyance at anything squeezing her.

I wish I could count the number of times she's repeated "Diabetics don't like having anything pressing on us." She means things like the shoulder straps of purses, anything with a tight waistband, and overly tight socks (you've not been truly disturbed until you've seen a centenarian in leg warmers and flip-flops). But most of all, she can't stand to wear pants. In fact, I think it would not be a stretch to say she's probably never worn a single pair of pants in all of her 78 years. Elastic waist, jeans, slacks, belted stuff, things held up by suspenders, it doesn't matter, if the thing has a separate hole for each leg and is not a skirt or dress, she won't wear it, clamoring "It hurts, it hurts, I know it hurts, even though I have never tried it on, ever, I know it hurts."

However, for reasons that are bathroom related and are too gross to share with you, my grandma has now been forced to wear pants when she visits doctors' offices and labs.

Just as Grandma was worried about the possibility of giant needle-nails big enough to crucify with, she's also been concerned about the vice-grip waist of the slacks of yesteryear. She seems to forget that modern weighty women do not bother with the girdles and pointy bras of 50 years ago or, so help me, corsets. We would rather buy a larger size with a smaller number and feel comfortable while they trick ourselves into feeling thin.

Be that as it may, Mom and I were still worried that the elastic waistband of some stretch pants might still be too tight for my delicate little old flower of a granny. In fact, I thought it very likely that she'd let my mom buy the pants and then just not wear them. And of all the things that run in my family, the most powerful is the sense of pissed-offed-ness that comes from spending good money on something that isn't going to be used at all.

And then inspiration struck.

Since I inherited the looks-like-a-beer-gut gut, I've found that the easiest way to be comfortable without tossing on sweats is to put on my old maternity jeans. The elastic is a good two inches wide, so I don't have a narrow piece of rubber slicing into my belly, and it rests higher up on the abdomen. There are no drawstrings to stand there and mess with before I sit on the Throne. And the pants actually look nice while still being designed to expand as I need them to. I told Mom all about it.

I wonder if Grandma knows that she and I are basically wearing the exact same preggo pants without either of us actually being pregnant?

12 Things That Mildly Suck

1. Pimple in the ear canal
2. All these idiotic shows about bounty hunters (which, by the way, cops make fun of, especially Dog the Bounty Hunter, which, who wouldn't? It's blatantly obvious that they're all hamming it up for the camera)
3. A 500+ piece puzzle nearly completed with one piece missing from the box
4. 35 minutes for lunch, 20 minutes of which are spent waiting in the lunch line
5. Being hungry and having no idea what snack to fix
6. Insects destroying the last of my summer crop, thus eliminating the kids' hopes for a "Giant Vegetable Competition"
7. Screwing up a sudoku puzzle . . . in pen
8. Bunk-ass rhymes get featured on CSI: Miami, when people with better flow go unnoticed
9. A MOUSE!!!! EEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!
10. David Blaine and all the other Houdini wanna-bes (I'm looking at YOU, Criss Angel) who basically do nothing of use and get paid for it
11. Five-year-old daughter has barely been at school a week, and already there's some boy poking her shoulder softly in the lunch line and pressing up against her in a weird little "I want to hug you but I can't so I'll just not use my arms" way
12. Having to wait ten years before I can use the traditional threat of Mexican mothers: "Touch my daughter and I'll hang you by your balls in my front yard"

Edgy Mommy

You know that feeling you get when you're nervous about something but you're trying not to show it, but it keeps on popping out anyway?

That's what I'm like today, on my oldest child's first day of school.

There were no tears, just a few moments of agitation when I realized that my daughter was listed as a car-rider instead of a walker, at which point I began to freak out just a little bit at the thought of my poor five-year-old being left to wander in a sea of car-riders at the front of the school, doing battle with traffic and older kids all alone. I tend to exaggerate negative scenarios when I'm nervous.

Walking home after dropping her off this morning was sad. Little Sia, who wanted to wear her backpack just like Gina, got upset with us for not letting her stay at school. This made me even more freaked out, until she started asking us to carry her on the way back, and I realized she's still got some baby left in her.

My mom, who lives across the street from me, "just so happened" to be out mowing her ditch as we trudged home. When she saw us pass by, the mower magically disappeared and she walked over to inform me that she'd already cried this morning and that my daughter now belongs to the school district, not me. I don't know why she keeps telling me this. Maybe because that's how she felt when my brother or I started school. Or maybe she just always felt that I didn't belong to her because I was a Grandma's Girl, and she wanted me to know what that felt like (i.e.: rub my nose in it). I get paranoid about the intentions of others when I get nervous.

As a nice surprise, we brought over the old-fashioned desk from Grandma's that I used for my homework when I was in elementary school.

Solid wood and metal construction, with a swivel seat and a hinged desktop that opens to storage space. Notice the black circle in the top right corner. That's not a painted-on circle, my friends. It's a hole. For an inkwell.

I focus on something minute when I'm nervous.

Mom stayed with me for part of the day, doing me the favor of distracting me with unrelated subjects, like income tax evasion. The rest of the day, however, dragged on like a recital of the first nine chapters of 1 Chronicles. And Azariah begat Helez, and Helez begat Eleasah... I had to do something with all that time and jittery energy, so I made a coconut pie. Yes, that's right, I have turned into Kitty Forman.

Every time the phone rang, I thought it might be the school and jumped about six feet in the air (a feat to be applauded, as I am less than five feet tall). Fortunately it was always a family member calling to ask a question or keep me informed of good news. For once I am thankful that my sister-in-law is an active busybody with so much influence in the school, because it means she was allowed to go check in with my daughter's teacher without needing to make an appointment first. Turns out I gave birth not to a girl, but to a Chatty Cathy doll.

Finally, thank Father Time, 3:00 rolled around and our whole family once again made the trek to the school. And waited. And waited. And stood around waiting some more. It is apparently school policy to wait until ALL the cars picking up their kids are gone before dismissing the walkers. We were there for a good half an hour.

And what happened when they finally let my baby out of there? First of all, she walked out into 90 degree weather wearing a sweater, because it was so freaking cold in that school. And then they made her go the long way around to the small gate (about 40 yards away) instead of bringing her to the main gate (where the cars would be entering, if there were any cars left, which there weren't, because they waited FORTY YEARS to make sure there were no moving vehicles). But my poor Gina, she was having none of that. She caught sight of us as I was trying to take her picture, and she wrenched herself away from the older girl holding her hand and came running to me in tears. I rushed out to meet her. It was just like on TV, when you see two people running to each other across a field in slow motion, only the grass wasn't as high, and her father was yelling "Go back! Go back!"

As I walked her back to the rest of the kids (after all, she must get used to going the right way, no matter how stupid it is), I found out why she's so upset.

"Mommy, they took away all my school surprise!"

"Your school supplies?"

"Yeah, I lost them, they're missing! I want my school sur-plies, Mommy. I let them down."

Cue Bizarro Dad and me trying very hard not to laugh and failing.

I would post a picture of her highly upset face as she told me "We'll talk about it later," (which, by the way, when the heck did she start saying things like that? What are they teaching her in that school?) but the picture contains too much private information. Apparently on the first day of school, they not only put your name on your clothes, but also your grade level, classroom number, lunch card number, how you get home, favorite ice cream flavor, and the names of the last five places you used a public restroom. Paranoid much, Principal Geometry?

Well, at least it's over. And at least I got to tease my mom by telling her that since she's the first of three generations of our family to attend this school, that means Gina is referring to her when she says "My ancestors went to this school."

Oh, hell. I just remembered: I have to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

Ridiculous Commercials about Private Products

Quilted Northern
A mother and her 7-year-old daughter emerge from the shower, towel off, and begin their daily beauty regimen. A narrator blathers on about the way we take care of ourselves and the people we care about. Random shots of packages of Quilted Northern toilet paper are woven in with shots of Mom and Girl using every hygiene and skin care product known to man EXCEPT for toilet paper. Girl carefully takes note of how Mom applies lotion. My problem: Where does the toilet paper come in? Obviously they don't need toilet paper to comb their hair. Was there a cut scene riddled with toilet conversation?

Mom: Oh Sweet Pea, are you ready for Mommy to wipe your ass?
Girl: No thank you, Mother, I think I've got that part of the bathroom routine down pat. Let's move on to moisturizing, and then I have to do my multiplication tables for school tomorrow.
Mom: (tearful) My baby's growing up!

Hanes, featuring Michael Jordan and Cuba Gooding, Jr.
Okay, I have to admit, I am a major fan of Michael Jordan underwear commercials. (Yes, I know all my readers are men and you don't want to hear it. I dig bald dudes in drawers. Deal with it.) But I can't say I'm liking the addition of Cuba. For some reason his behavior in these ads mirrors the type of buffoonish characters he's been playing in film lately. It's annoying, and it distracts, nay, detracts, from anything good I might otherwise have gleaned from whatever he's appearing in. Seriously, would you (if you're straight) yell across a crowded room of people (with cameras) to a member of the same sex, "I'm wearing your underwear!" Nice to know he's putting that Academy Award winning talent to use.

Then again, we should perhaps call into question Mr. Jordan's initial action of leaving Mr. Gooding a gift basket full of boxers. With a bow on top. And a hand-written card. I'm willing to accept that guys talk about which underwear are comfortable (although that might be a stretch of the imagination bordering on foolishness), but giving them as gifts? And not as part the obligatory Christmas gift swap that invariably includes a pack of socks, cigarettes, and a bottle of Jack Daniels? Oh, Michael, how could you betray me for the other side!? I defended your baldness as sexy for YEARS.

Viva Viagra
The only pill Elvis never took, and they use the tune of his song, "Viva Las Vegas," to promote the damn thing on TV. Curiously enough, I don't ever recall seeing this commercial, but I always hear it loud and clear from the kitchen, just as I'm getting ready to start preparing food. No wonder I keep skipping meals. Can you imagine trying to handle a package of meat (heh) and hearing this crap? And Bizarro Dad is confused as to why I've stopped cooking the sumptuous meals.

ExtenZe
I would like to thank Bizarro Dad for staying up late one night and calling me over specifically to laugh at this strange infomercial. A product is discussed (is it a pill? a cream? a machine? what? oh, it's an herbal supplement), the results of use being the lengthening of "his special place," "his certain body part," "his pathetically small penis," etc. Someone with a microphone and a cameraman randomly walks up to couples in the street and asks if they've used this product, and whether it's effective. Oddly enough, several people of many ethnic backgrounds (and even a foreign couple with an exotic accent) all admit, ON CAMERA, that they have not only heard of this stuff, but they've used it and had noticeably effective results. Most, if not all, of these people were on the same street. Must have been an International Mangina Maintenance convention in town.

I can't watch any further than that without cracking up or changing the channel in disgust, so I couldn't tell you all the statistics and test results, none of which I'd believe anyway, since I already don't believe that many people on the same street have tried the same penis-enhancing herbs and admit it. In front of their women. And total strangers. ON TELEVISION. In the interest of thoroughness, I found that you can buy a 3-pack of 180c bottles of this stuff. In the product reviews, a self-proclaimed professional nutritionist declares (in nearly all caps) that this product is unsafe for human consumption due to both absurdly high levels of some herbs and the presence of a known toxic herb. Too bad Greg "Dr. Safe" wasn't on the same street as all the ExtenZe users getting interviewed. He might have injected some much-needed reality into the proceedings. Then again, judging by the body of his comment, perhaps he was listening in on the "Surgical Enhancement" lecture.