The ugly details...

You are reading this post because you are obviously:

1. Bored;
2. Enjoy reading about other people suffering;
3. Trying to figure out what I'm whining about;
4. You saw a lady standing in the grocery store, giving a death glare to a texting, gum-chomping cow that was blocking the entire aisle in the frozen food section and you're trying to figure out if it was really me (Yes, it was.); or, most likely it's because...
5. You are nice.

5:32am... I woke up, eight minutes before my alarm clock goes off. Or, more accurately, I woke up for the 6th time in the last two hours, but this time it wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep. And of course the first thing I thought of was "I'm tired as fuck," which was immediately followed by "No, really. Fuck. Tired as fuck." I pulled on my mom uniform (running shorts, long sleeve shirt, ponytail) and headed downstairs to dishwasher emptying/newspaper fetching/coffee making/dog feeding/breakfast making bliss.

6:00... Because I'm lame and would feel a little bit guilty if I were to sleep in while my oldest kids found their own breakfast and got themselves to the bus stop, I made something to eat for kid #1: scrambled eggs, bacon and toast with jelly. Upon seeing this hot, well-balanced first meal of the day, he said "Oh, well, there's no way I'm going to eat all this. If I eat those eggs I'll just feel uuuugggghgh." Because I hadn't ingested much caffeine yet, I only had enough energy to say "Fine. Eat whatever" instead of "Fine. Eat whatever and then I'll shove the rest of it up your nose." Note to self: Frosted Lucky Charms are magically delicious, and a bowl of cold cereal is a nutritious part of a well-balanced breakfast.

6:50... After kid #1 glared at me a few times and then stumbled out the door in time to catch the bus, kid #2 appeared for breakfast. Upon seeing his plate of freshly made scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, he muttered something like "I hope this doesn't make me sick" before taking a few very unenthusiastic bites. Note to self: A smack in the face is a nutritious part of a well-balanced breakfast.

7:45... After kid #2 left for the bus, kid #3 appeared for breakfast. Upon seeing her plate of freshly made scrambled eggs, bacon and a muffin, she declared the eggs as "too hot to eat" and proceeded to eat the muffin. Note to self: Aruba is very nice this time of year.

9:10... Several hours (well, technically only an hour or so, but it felt like several) later, and after a couple dozen pleas of "get dressed, brush your teeth, practice piano, pack your backpack, brush your teeth, where are your socks," I dropped kid #3 off at school and headed to the grocery store, still wearing my running shorts, shirt, ponytail plus two additional items: a fancy lip balm called Carmex and a baseball hat.

9:30... Do you have any lettuce that doesn't look like it's been sitting in a monsoon? Oh, ha ha, I know it looks that way but no, I haven't worked out this morning. You seem to be out of the mild Italian sausage that is on sale, so can I substitute a different brand? Oh, hi, wow, yes, you do sound very busy! I don't care if that's the coupon item, that ham tastes like cardboard. Excuse me, but can I get past your cart? No, I need the 10.5 oz box of Cheez-Its because that's what's listed on your stupid coupon. Do you have a gallon of 1% milk that doesn't expire in two days? No, ma'am, I'm not that Chinese lady that taught your daughter how to ice skate. Gawd, do I ever love grocery shopping, especially with coupons!

10:30... Because I'm lame, I went to a second grocery store (yes, Byerly's) where they have the most amazing chicken tenders, which happened to be BOGO, and since I have to bring dinner to tennis for the boys on Wednesdays I thought I'd be nice and make sandwiches with these chicken tenders. And of course I also made sure to get fresh buns for these sandwiches. Because I'm lame. Oh, and also according to more than a couple people, now that the kids are in school I have ALL KINDS OF TIME TO MYSELF SO I CAN SHOP ALL THE TIME!

11:15... Finally home, just in time to finish the laundry, clean part of the house, put the groceries away, walk the dog and inhale some lunch. And then I need to brush and floss my teeth so that I can get to my dentist appointment! It's really super important to be on time to the dentist! So I'm sure to be punctual and get there five minutes early because, in addition to being lame, I just loooove going to the dentist! Mmm, gotta love that dentist office smell!

1:35... Twenty minutes after my appointment was scheduled -- after I was assured that the hygienist was running on time -- I'm sitting in the waiting room, thinking about the 142 things I still need to get done. So I did what I've always wanted to do: told them to cancel my appointment and then walked out. And anyway, I had just flossed and brushed in the middle of the day, so my teeth already felt cleaner than usual.

2:30... Kid #1 walks in the door, followed by... his friend? The friend who wasn't supposed to ride the bus to our house and is instead supposed to be at his own house, waiting for his mom to pick him up. So now I have an extra kid (who happens to have the loudest voice ever given to a teenage boy) in my house for the next hour, and he's hungry. Like, really hungry. And really loud.

3:10... Kid #2 walks in the door, gets ready for tennis, and then immediately walks out the door. Their ride arrived... over ten minutes early. Goodbye, loud talker!

3:45... I walk out the door carrying a cooler packed with dinner (yum, chicken sandwiches!), kid #3's tennis bag and my tote bag so that I can pick the youngest kid up at the elementary school, aka Parking Lot of Torture. Today is no different, and I somehow resist honking and/or gesturing toward five different people, including one dude that nearly ran over a child because he should have the right to go the wrong way on a one-way.

5:30... After arriving at the club, quickly feeding kid #3, sending her to her tennis lesson and then (because I still have my running shorts on) hammering out a three mile walk/run, the boys wrap up their tennis lesson and appear for dinner. I pull out the sandwiches and, five minutes into eating them, kid #1 declares them "a pain in the butt to eat because the bread is too chewy." Note to self: Stop feeding children anything besides gruel and knuckle sandwiches.

Add to all of this the smooshing of my child, the fact that no one else in my family has the ability to recognize when the recycling bin is full, children that are still genuinely shocked that bedtime arrives each and every night, a dog that wants in when he's out and out when he's in, a school I.D. that was distributed to a child and lost by the child on the same day and finally, the worst part of all: I was supposed to go out with friends. But by 9:00, I really didn't have the energy to be all high maintenance and get myself dressed in anything besides pajamas, so I skipped out on the cathartic fun and stayed home. I know this makes me sound even lamer, but at that moment, just having enough energy to brush my teeth was doubtful. I figured that would be okay, though, because after all, I had already brushed them twice.

Quality Control

For those of you that have been reading this blog for longer than 13 days, you know that I have admitted to being:

• borderline OCD/ADHD
• just-shy-of-a-control freak
• excessively anal
• Type A to a fault
• not quite a perfectionist
• slightly demanding
• fashionably challenged
• occasionally passive/aggressive (Wait a second, maybe I haven't admitted this one yet. But if you have a problem with that, then I just won't talk to you for awhile.)
• a tad judgmental and sometimes even critical

One thing that I'm not, though, is picky -- I just want things the way I want them, and that is for things to not suck. And when I mean things, I mean tangible items that I've went out of my way to purchase with money that could have been used to purchase other items that didn't suck. And normally I'm pretty good about avoiding the bruised apples and the white t-shirt with the lipstick stain still hanging on the rack, but over the last few days, my luck with certain products has not been so good.

Yummy, furry strawberries! I know that there are some people that do the majority of their grocery shopping at Costco, but I try to limit my warehouse purchases to carbs, chips, soap, potstickers, bacon, salami, salad, canned tuna, Craisins, Wheat Thins, frozen ravioli, granola bars, towels, popsicles, Vitamin Water, tilapia, and the entire produce section, especially berries.

The upside of buying berries at Costco is that you get a shit load of berries for not that much money. The downside of buying berries, especially strawberries, in a container that could double as checkable luggage is that you can only really see the berries that are on the surface, unable to see the ticking time bomb lurking in the middle.

Last week, I brought home what I thought was a perfect container of red, shiny, juicy, fragrant strawberries. I looked forward to berries in my yogurt, strawberry shortcake and maybe even strawberry daiquiris. So when I opened the lid the day after purchase to find what looked like seven generations of gray hamsters living in the middle of the container, my hopes of shortcake disappeared and the sight of moldy berries caused twinges of nausea that felt a lot like a daiquiri-induced hangover, without ever actually getting to consume the drink.

Pissed off and still craving strawberries, I dropped the hunk of mold into the garbage, went to a grocery store that sold food in quantities suitable for a normal-sized human and noticed that quarts of strawberries were on sale for $1.99! Score! I'll take two! Two quarts of strawberries for under $4! Well, technically if you counted the massive amount of red-tinted mold that was now in my garbage, these berries ended up costing $9, so score! Two quarts of berries for $9!

And I thought I was flat! Since I end up spending several hours at some form of tennis activity each day and don't want to be either A) poor, or; B) on a first-name basis with the employees at Subway, I always pack a cooler with sandwiches, fruit and something to drink (that may or may not resemble a flask). And to save even more money, I always bring my own 24-oz. Diet Coke (that may or may not end up having some Captain added to it at some point). Now I don't know about you, but for me the sound, that pffftthhhsssshhhthht that I hear when I initially twist off the cap, is like auditory crack, especially if I've just ran a few miles, taken a shower, am kid-free for a few precious minutes and about to open a fresh bag of chips.

This was the case on Monday, except for some reason I was craving my Diet Coke even more than usual. So imagine my state of shock when I pulled the ice cold bottle out of my cooler, twisted the top, and heard...nothing. I twisted it shut again, just to see if I was caught in a nightmare, and then opened it again. Nothing. I looked at the bottle in search of bubbles and saw...nothing. It looked like cold coffee. My palms got sweaty, my tongue felt heavy and I felt like I was going to cry. What the hell? Who's been fucking with my Diet Coke! Kick my dog, throw toilet paper in my trees, key my car, but DON'T MESS WITH MY DIET COKE GODDAMIT!

Oh, wait. They sell Diet Coke at the cafe in the club for $2. Never mind.

Real Mangled. Sometime around the middle of each month, I happily yank new issues of all my magazines from the mailbox, go through the process of removing the dozens of pain in the ass inserts and perfume strips, and then stack them next to my side of the bed so that I can read them two, maybe three pages at a time each night before my head starts bob bob bobbing and I pass out from exhaustion.

Normally, these magazines arrive unharmed and with their covers intact, which is always a surprise to me considering all of the equipment they have to pass through before they are delivered. There was this one time, though, that the "Newsweek" arrived with a corner of the cover ripped off, which didn't bother me but must have bothered our carrier because he was kind enough to put it in a plastic sleeve and include an "Oops, sorry for the destruction of your mail! We'll try harder next time" note. I thought this was a bit excessive, but whatever.

So when I pulled my new issue of "Real Simple" out of the mailbox, I was a little surprised to not find a "sorry we mangled your mail" note since, in my opinion, this seems to represent just a tad more destruction than a missing corner. What do you think...

I don't know if you can tell from the pictures, but it's like the entire magazine was sucked into a Little Tikes wood chipper, bent in half, chewed on by a teething hyena, used for bow and arrow target practice, and then stuck in my mailbox. Initially I was pissed, but then the optimist in me took over and I figured it would eventually end up looking a lot worse than this after it had been rolled up a few times and used to swat a kid on the head. So after deciding what the hell I'll just deal with it I opened it up to do my required routine of removing all of the inserts and perfume samples.

And I shit you not, this is the page I opened to:

Since when did "Real Simple" start running such naggy ads customized for each of it's subscribers? And why do they think I need to be reminded that the drinking age is 21, because it's been 21 forever! I should know because of all those years I spent trying to figure out how I was going to get beer for Friday nights!

Speaking of beer, it's been a hell of a long week and I think I need one. Or maybe I'll have a daiquiri instead. Possibly even strawberry.

Odds and Ends

I was kind of wondering if my Type A/Anal Freak personality traits were genetic, and Zoe was kind enough to prove that they are.

And if you're wondering, this is her bookstore.

I Just bought Zach new shorts for the summer and had the hardest time finding a size that would stay o him, because this is the look that he is definitely NOT going for.

I'm still trying to decide what was funnier: A) Zoe laughing loudly at this guy while saying "I can see his butt! What the heck!?" of B) The look on the guy's face when he heard Zoe laughing at him.

I guess I should probably go to Target and buy Zoe her stupid inflatable pool sooner than I thought.

Although, according to her, this is not her pool: she is reading in her "hot tub."

The 80's called and they want their Zubaz back.

Just be glad I didn't take a picture of this guy while he was upright and walking around.

Apparently when a guy hits a certain age, someone just sends them a uniform to wear everyday.

P.S. Doug, I promise that if I ever see you wearing black socks with a pair of shorts, I will kill you.

This is straight from the department of W.T.F.

Kind of reminds me of the beef marrow bones.

Zoe learned how to put her own Band-Aids on. If you look closely enough, you can see Big Bird.

The Ends:

A couple days before Zach's high school tennis banquet, I told Charlie that he should go to the banquet with us because: A) he would be playing for the high school team next year and it would be good to start showing your support for the team now; B) It's nice to show support for family members, and C) I wouldn't have to make him dinner. For the next 48 hours, I ended up hearing the following phrases repeated to me from Charlie no fewer than 32 times:

• "So they aren't playing tennis at the banquet?"
• "What would I do there?"
• "Why do I have to go again? I'm just wondering."
• "Is Justin going to go? If Justin's not going, why do I have to go?"
• "Is there food there?"
• "Should I bring my racquets?"
• "So what is this for exactly, and why aren't we playing tennis?"
• "Seriously, I really have to go to this thing?"
• "What kind of shirt would I have to wear? What? But that shirt has buttons."
• "Are they eating before or after they play tennis?"

I tried to remain calm and controlled while replying to all of these questions and comments, but eventually my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I told him fine. Stay home because you obviously don't want to go. It's disappointing that you don't want to go. Oh my god I'm going crazy. Gee I'm so excited for when you have your own tennis banquets, I wonder if you'll even go to those. I'm mad. Yes, this is me being mad. Here's your stupid dinner. To which he replied, tearily:

• "Why do I have to stay home? I don't get it! Why don't I get to go?"

At this point I somehow managed to not throw back a shot of vodka, left Charlie to dine on his delicious ham sandwich and bowl of soup, grabbed my keys and walked out the door with Zach and Zoe. I had developed a thin film of sweat on my forehead but was otherwise feeling pretty great because I was actually wearing impractical footwear and a dressy outfit that didn't scream "Look at ME! I'm a MOM!"

And then -- THEN -- as we're getting in the car, Zach says "Hey mom, those pants are kind of bizarre. But whatever."

Feeling the love, that's all I can say. Feeling. The. LOVE.

I Need Therapy After the Retail

Since Zoe's birthday was on Wednesday and Father's Day is the day after we get back from vacation, I've had to endure more shopping than usual. As a result, this post is directed toward all facets of the retail industry that are bitching because consumers are preferring to shop online rather than wander into their stores. If you really want us, the consumer, to shop at your store and make impulse purchases from your strategically arranged end caps, here's a tip: STOP SUCKING!

Target: I understand that you aim to please in every aspect, you are obviously making a huge emphasis toward improving customer service, and you want all of your team members to appear educated and knowledgeable. In order to achieve this goal, though, you might want to teach some of your team members to use a little thing called common sense. For example, if a customer is walking quickly and doesn't make eye contact, that's usually a pretty good sign that she knows what she's looking for (birthday gift card, box of Nerds, toothpaste and sandwich bags), where to find it and is probably in a hurry, so requiring a team member to shout "Can I help you find something?" as she's sprinting by is less than pointless, because she obviously knows what aisle the sandwich bags are in. I have had the pleasure of having five, yes five different team members ask me this question within a two minute time frame. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I can occasionally look dazed and confused while standing in the home of the bullseye, but FIVE? That meant that I had to say "No, thank you" five different times, each time with a little more annoyance than the time before. I'm sure the last guy thought I was PMSing or something because the no thank you sounded a lot like "What the fuck, NO! Get off my case!" but honestly, FIVE TIMES? And even if you do say why yes, yes I do need help, I'm looking for crew socks and a new garden hose, Joe Team Member usually just jumps on his walkie talkie and ends up having to ask someone else which, in my opinion, doesn't exactly scream "knowledgeable team member."

Grocery Stores: It's 4:00, so you might want to open up a few more lanes, create self-check out lanes that actually work, quit rearranging the aisles every three months and stop cluttering up the aisles with patio furniture. Also, if you can sell fresh bananas in the cereal aisle you should certainly be able to put a basket of fresh lemons and limes in the aisle next to the tonic. And after the chaos that I witnessed during one recent trip, it might be best to schedule pre-school field trips on the days that don't coincide with free donuts and coffee for the senior citizens. Those two events are bad enough on their own without having to be intertwined into a perfect storm.

Best Buy: Holy crap do I hate this store right now. There is nothing in there that I can't find on Amazon.com, so I rarely even subject myself to the insanity. But occasionally I need something sooner than now and don't have time to wait for even two-day shipping so I head to what I envision hell would be like if the devil wore a blue shirt and sat around in air conditioning. It used to be that trying to find something on the always-changing shelves was the biggest pain in the ass, but I've recently discovered that now the worst part of the Best Buy experience is paying for your crap. During one recent trip (when, shockingly enough, I was in a hurry) I was asked the following questions, and I mostly answered them by just moving my head around since answering with actual words would have resulted in not-very-friendly responses:

1. Are you ready to check-out? (No, I've been standing here next to the "Please wait here for the next available cashier" sign holding these items because I like to waste my time.)
2. Are you paying with cash? (This is a weird question. Does anyone use cash anymore? No one pays for even a cookie with cash.)
3. Do you want to purchase the replacement plan for this video game? (That's the dumbest question ever, and no.)
4. Do you want to purchase the replacement plan for this DVD? (Okay, I stand corrected. This is the dumbest question ever, and still no.)
5. Is this a good show? (Yes, since I typically don't pay money to own full seasons of shitty shows.)
6. Oh, an iPad case. Do you have an iPad? (Oh, that case is for an iPad? I thought it was just for a really big iPod!)
7. Oh, that's kind of odd. I don't think they make an iPod that big. (Moron, yes, I have an iPad.)
8. Oooooh, iPad's are neat. (Yes, they are.)
9. Do you want to have your receipts emailed to you? (No)
10. You have been selected to receive a discount magazine subscription if you choose to do so. Are you interested? (You have been selected to get smacked in the head if you don't quit asking me all of these questions. And no.)
11. Are you a Reward Zone member? (Yes, I already gave you my card.)
12. Oh, yes you did. I'm not usually up here working as a cashier. I'm more of a department manager. (Wow, so I guess they'll give that job to just about anyone then?)
13. Okay, so please scan your card. Oh wait, did I offer you the replacement plan on the video game? (Yes, you did. And the answer is still no.)
14. Do you want the receipt with you or in the bag, or would you prefer to have it emailed to you? (Just. Give. Me. The. Receipt. I'm. In. A. Hurry.)
15. Is there anything else you need? (Yes, but they don't sell beer at Best Buy.)

The Magical, Edible Pig

The best thing about the non-winter seasons in Minnesota is being able to crack open a couple beers and throw some hunks of meat on the grill without shoveling a path and freezing my ass off. As soon as the snow is gone I often find myself standing in my favorite butcher shop, gnawing on a beef stick, staring at the huge assortment of chops, roasts and ribs, thinking "Man, it would suck to be a vegetarian."

It's not that I need to eat meat at every meal, but the addition of some turkey to a sandwich or some beef to a burger definitely makes meals more appetizing. There have been times when I've made a meat-free dinner, but it's usually by accident and I'm usually starving as soon as the last plate is loaded into the dishwasher. I occasionally eat fish and have tried veggie burgers and tofu, but inevitably I always end up making something that has clucked, mooed or oinked.

When it comes to what kind of animals I cook and consume, I'm not very adventurous and I mostly stick to the boring standards: beef, chicken, turkey and of course my favorite animal of all time, the pig. Even Zoe (who is not much of a carnivore) will happily eat pork tenderloin, gnaw on a BBQ rib and has yet to find a hunk of ham that she doesn't like. And I'm pretty sure that even vegetarians enjoy a piece of smoked, thick-cut bacon once in a while.

Yeah, I like Thanksgiving turkey and last year I made a great pot of beef-filled chili on Christmas Eve, but Easter is my favorite holiday when it comes to food because it's pig from morning to night. Bacon with breakfast, a midday ham dinner, and then ham sandwiches in the evening. Plus, there's always leftovers that can be thrown into an omelette, tossed with some pasta or eaten without utensils right out of the fridge. Pigs, though filthy and slightly fragrant, are delicious.

I realize that I could, and maybe should, be more open-minded about what meats are edible and that the best places to broaden my culinary horizons are at ethnic grocery stores and meat markets. While I was out running errands a few days ago I noticed an ethnic shop conveniently located next door to my tailor, and judging by the storefront I assume that it's a butcher. I could just run in and pick up a unique hunk of meat, right after I drop off my dress!

And then I looked down at the sidewalk in front of the store:

And that's when I decided that although some people may enjoy shopping here, my horizons really don't need any broadening and on Sunday I'll be happily chowing down on a boring, predictable, Easter pig which, if you notice, they don't even bother to sell at this butcher. But at least they have camel and goat.

A New Leaf

With the arrival of cute, furry spring animal babies, fragrant spring flowers, green grass, leaves on the trees and the exposure of acres of extremely pale flesh, I have decided to make some changes to my life/family/perspective/attitude. Some of these changes might take a little more effort than others, but hopefully with a lot of dedication and focus, I'll be able to pull it off.

• When one of my kids talks back to me or gives me an answer that I don't entirely agree with, instead of automatically launching into a yell-fest and pointing out how crappy their behavior is, from now on I'll remain silent, assume that they must be having a hard day and get them a cookie.
• If/when my neighbor vacuums his cars or uses his lawn mower/leaf blower/weed whacker three times a week at 9:00 p.m., instead of glaring at him and wishing for a disfiguring accident, I will simply shut all of my windows and doors and wait patiently for him to finish.
• While shopping, if someone is on the phone and in my way, instead of "nudging" her cart out of the way or saying "excuse me" using my outside voice, I will assume that her phone call is about something very, very important. Therefore, I will turn around, go back down the aisle and find a different route that doesn't inconvenience or interrupt her.
• When someone has 24 items in the "15 items or less" line, I won't glare at the back of their selfish, clueless head until they start to squirm with discomfort or wonder if they're so stupid that they don't know how to count, but will instead just assume that they're in a bigger hurry than me.
• If I go into a fitting room to try clothes on and the pants/shorts/ swimwear ends up looking more like sausage casing/shrink wrap than apparel, I won't automatically start cursing the fashion industry and starve myself, but will just go get a different size. A much larger, roomier, oh-my-god-I'm-not-18-anymore size.
• When my kids piss me off, instead of automatically yelling before I reach for a beer or the bottle of Ketel One, I will take a deep breath, count to 500 and if needed, leave the room until I feel calm.
• Even though perfect drinking weather might occur at some point between Monday and Friday, I will only drink on the weekends.
• Oh yeah, happy April Fools Day.

Impressive, No. Loud and Obnoxious, Yes.

On Sunday, Zach and I headed downtown Minneapolis for yet another piano recital. Since the boys do several recitals every year, they're not really that big of a deal anymore and are actually more of a nuisance since they're always scheduled in the middle of the day on Sundays. This particular recital was more annoying than most because since the other performers made their grandparents and third cousins attend, the room was filled to capacity resulting in a standing-room-only situation. Zach eventually got a seat, but I ended up standing next to a woman that reeked of Indian food. I hate Indian food.

One thing that got me through this hour-and-a-half of mouth-breathing was knowing that I was grilling steaks for dinner. Unfortunately, I also knew that I had to stop at the grocery store after the recital to buy these steaks, which meant that Zach had to come with me. Imagine my surprise, then, when the shopping experience did not consist of him following me around the store, sighing loudly at every opportunity and complaining about it taking too long. In fact, we actually had a great time together because we made fun of everyone else.

The grocery store we stopped at is located in a suburb that I'm not exactly sure how to describe, so I'll just call it "Home of the Dickheads and Overpopulated With Assholes and Bitches." You're probably wondering why I bothered to subject myself to such a pretentious shopping experience, and the answer is: the ribeyes were on sale.

While we were waiting in line at the deli, a woman whose hair was 19 different shades of blonde, had a purse so big that it wouldn't have qualified as carry-on baggage and was apparently incapable of removing her ginormous sunglasses while indoors wandered up and waited behind me. When the deli lady asked her if she needed help, she hollered "Why yes, I do! Thank you sweetheart!" and then for some reason she started laughing like a hyena. Zach looked at me like "holy crap did you hear that what in the hell is wrong with this woman" and I gave him the exact same look. She then proceeded to tell the deli lady that she wanted turkey, but not just any old turkey. She wanted something different and amazing. Something that was really unique and had some zing. No shit. She used all of these adjectives for turkey. She then proceeded to shout at the deli lady, calling her girlfriend, honey, sistah and then sweetheart one more time before she finally wandered toward the floral section.

A couple minutes later, we saw another woman (also with her sunglasses on) that was talking REALLY LOUDLY TO HER TWO DAUGHTERS TELLING THEM THAT THEY WERE MAKING SPECTACULAR CHOICES IN THE CRACKER AISLE AND OH MY STARS THOSE CRACKERS LOOK DELISH WOW MY LITTLE DARLINGS ARE AMAZING! Again, Zach looked at me and actually said "Holy crap, is everyone at this store insane? I hate it when people talk so loud and fake and stuck-up. They don't look cool, they look stupid." So there you have it, loud stuck-up bitches: teenage boys think you look, and sound, like morons.

Now, I could have taken the mature route and told my kid to just ignore them and be nice because gee whiz, everyone has their own insecurities and mannerisms and some people need more attention than others, but that wouldn't have been very fun. So instead Zach and I wandered through the store, shouting at each other. In produce I shouted "Ooooh yummy! Smell the delectable ripeness of these pears Zach! They smell amazing and scrumptious!" In the condiment aisle, Zach yelled "Wow! That ketchup is so red! It's spectacular!" In the bakery I hollered "Wow! These hot dog buns are so soft and fresh! I bet they're delightful!"

While I was shouting about some chips and turning into an aisle, I had to stop because the cracker lady was standing in my way, loudly reciting the entire inventory of the olive oil shelf. She was so impressed by the sound of her own voice that she didn't hear me say "excuse me" twice. Finally she noticed me and said "Oh. I'm in the way aren't I. Where did everyone go? I need to go find my Jessica. JESSICA!" Then Zach said "I think if I go lay down over there, block the entire aisle and shout at the ceiling, I'd be less annoying than that woman."

I'm proud of the fact that my kids get good grades and put a lot of effort into their sports and music. Of course they piss me off sometimes, but when they display great instincts and are able to identify the morons of the world with such precision, these are the moments that tell me yeah, I really am doing something right.

Is Everyone Insane?

Since there are etiquette classes available for table manners, maybe a shopping etiquette class should be required before a person can put a foot inside a grocery store or Target. Lately, it seems like every time I'm out running errands all I come across are rude, arrogant, selfish, inconsiderate, clueless morons. It could be that everyone is suffering from SADS, or a lack of peripheral vision, or have just decided that they don't give a rats ass what anyone thinks of them because, obviously, their time/space/ego/life is much more important than everyone else's. Ideally I'd like to never have to subject my lack of patience to a retail industry ever again, but since my family requires things like food, toothpaste, vodka and science project supplies I am forced to put myself in the middle of an idiot convention on an almost daily basis.

Watch Out! If you are walking through the parking lot and see that I'm already backing up out of my spot, please do not start walking faster just so that you can go behind me and give me a nasty look like I was about to run you over and "Oh my god look where you're going why didn't you see me!" I didn't see you because I don't have x-ray vision that allows me to see through SUV's and minivans. Besides, if I had seen you, I would have been backing up much faster.

Crosswalk Courtesy: Just because the crosswalk lines span the entire width of the parking lot, it doesn't mean that you should walk diagonally through the entire crosswalk at a snail's pace while holding the hand of a small child, texting, or like I saw yesterday, doing both and pushing the cart with your foot.

Chatty Cathy: If, while shopping, you bump into someone you know and are just dying to talk to them, find a far-off corner where A) we don't have to listen to you and B) you aren't blocking off an entire aisle because you guys parked your carts facing each other. And when someone has to get by and says "Excuse me," you do not have the right to sigh loudly and roll your eyes as you move your cart because we interrupted your riveting conversation about the upcoming dance recital where your daughters get to dress up as daisies.

We're All In A Hurry: I don't know how many times I've almost been run over because some crazy cart-pushing person (who is almost always on the phone) comes flying out of an aisle without bothering to see if they're about to bash into someone that is right there. Usually, I say "Oh, SORRY!" like, sorry you're a stupid bitch and don't know how to perform the simple task of navigating aisles with even basic common courtesy. Inevitably, the person either ends up ignoring me because they never saw me or they stare at me with their eyeballs bulging out of their face, sigh loudly and say "that's okay," like their lack of brain function is all my fault.

Yes, I See Your Child. Now Go Away. Since I now have the luxury of having a two-hour window each morning to run errands without a kid tagging along, I prefer to not have to acknowledge each and every small child I see. The other day there was a little girl with a limited vocabulary sitting in one of those gargantuan wide-right-turn carts who kept looking at me and saying "Hi, hi, hi, hi" while I was trying to find some decent grapes. I finally said hi back and the mom gave that goofy little giggle and smiled at me with that "Isn't she just the most precious wonderful adorable thing you've ever seen" look, even though she wasn't that cute. So of course she continued to say hi and I played along for a couple more hi's and then made a break for it before I went insane. Unfortunately, the girl started shrieking "HI! HI! HHHHHIIIIIIII!" at the top of her lungs and I heard the mom say "Oh, sweetie. Where did that lady go?" I'll tell you where that lady went: to the other side of the store. I got a glimpse of her later on in aisle 7, but since I wasn't pushing a ginormous car cart, I was able to turn around quickly and run the other way.

The Deli Dilemma: If you really can't decide what pasta salad to get because they all look so delectable, never hesitate to tell the always-patient deli employee to "Go ahead and help her first" because some of us are just there for a pound of turkey.

Get Off The Phone: Get off the phone.

The Daily Beef About Chicken

Considering the fact that my husband is a writer and owns an ad agency and as a result I have friends that produce work for a wide range of clients, I don't often criticize or complain about the commercials I see, at least not in public. After all, in this economy anyone who is still employed in the advertising industry is fortunate, even if that means that they have to write spots that aren't creative masterpieces for things like tampons or dog food. Occasionally though, I see a TV spot that is so bad for so many reasons I can't help but talk about it.

Yes, Tyson chicken nuggets. I'm referring to you.

Since Zoe realizes that most commercials (except dad's TV spots, of course) are crap, she keeps the remote handy whenever she is watching TV so that she can either hit the mute button or fast forward through them (if what she's watching is on DVR). Unfortunately, the first time this Tyson spot aired in our house, she wasn't quick enough with the mute.

Just in case it wasn't already difficult enough to get young kids to eat something besides fries, chicken nuggets and cookies, Tyson has decided to run a commercial starring adorable youngsters making faces of disgust and talking about all the foods that they hate. This list includes perfectly edible items like sausage, asparagus, meatloaf, pasta and string beans. One little girl says that "pasghetti" (the one thing that I thought all kids loved), looks like worms.

Since she heard the voices of children instead of my voice, Zoe immediately paid attention. "Hey that girl says meatloaf is gross. And string beans sound gross. What? Spaghetti is made out of worms? Oh look, that boy really likes those chicken nuggets. Those chicken nuggets look good."

While I hate it when people blame TV and other forms of media for brainwashing their kids and turning them into mindless consumers, I get a little pissed off when some chicken company thinks it's funny to make the job of feeding kids harder than it already is. I have no problem telling Zoe "No I am not buying you Moon Sand just because you saw it on TV" or "No I am not buying those cookies just because you saw the elf cartoon on TV" since these are items that I was never planning on purchasing no matter how spectacular they looked in the commercial. I would, however, like her to eat the meatloaf and beans that I sometimes make for dinner without having to hear her say "but the girl on TV said that meatloaf was gross."

I reminded Zoe that she likes meatloaf (covered in ketchup), string beans are the same beans that she's eaten several times and that no, of course spaghetti is not made out of worms. I also told her that this particular commercial and the kids in it are stupid because although that boy was lucky enough to get some green grapes with his chicken nuggets, he never ate them. I also maybe said something like did you know those all natural ingredients used to make Tyson chicken nuggets are actually chicken feet and feathers.

The ironic thing is that Tyson claims that "they can make my job a little easier." I guess they're sort of right, since now when I'm grocery shopping I'll be able to skip going down the aisle with the Tyson chicken nuggets.

A Few Random Thoughts

Over the last few days I have tried to be more patient and aware of the people around me and as a result, I've learned a couple things. None of it seemed important enough to write an entire post about, and when lumped together into one entry they still don't seem very important. But here they are anyway.

• If the providers at certain medical facilities would like to see their female patients on a more regular basis, maybe the Ob/Gyn should start offering complimentary bikini waxes with an exam, a mammogram should come with a massage and the dentist should offer free lip waxes anytime the drill comes out.
• Along those same lines, when a guy signs up for a gym membership he should be required to receive a complimentary back wax.
• If you want to fit into a pair of jeans that are sized in the single digits but like to eat actual food and drink beer that doesn't taste like shit, shop at the Gap.
• Radiohead is great music to listen to in the car, at a party or at the bar. But is it great for a workout? With the exception of "15 Step," not so much. All it did was make me thirsty for something other than water and make me wish that I was either at a party or at the bar.
• I overheard the following conversation in the grocery store: "Can I have candy? No. Please I want candy! No. How come I can't have candy, because I really want some! Not now no candy. Candy candy candy you get me a treat! I said no. BUT MAAAAAWWWM I WAAAAAANT CAAAAANNNNNDEEEEEE! Oh, okay, here." Sorry lady but you just screwed yourself and yes, I saw your kid smirk at you.
• After a recent trip to the dentist it has occurred to me that four shots of booze would have the same numbing effects as two shots of novocaine, but would be a hell of a lot more enjoyable and my nose wouldn't have still been numb three hours later.
• Anyone who has had plastic surgery that isn't medically necessary automatically forfeits any and all rights to criticize or laugh at those of us that haven't been stretched, stitched, augmented or lifted and aren't hauling around coconut-sized sacks of silicone.
• There are a lot of women this year that have decided to completely ignore the pick-up procedures at school. Here's the thing, other moms aren't looking at you sitting in your fancy SUV because we're impressed by your car and think you're a rebel because you are breaking the rules. We are glaring in your direction with flames shooting out of our eyes because we hate you. We don't think your car is anything special, we hate your stuck-up attitude, we hate the fact that you're sending a message to your kids that it's okay to be an inconsiderate moron, we hate that you sit there and talk on your Bedazzled cell phone and never notice that you're blocking traffic, we hate your ginormous celebrity wanna-be sunglasses that you wear even when it's cloudy and we wish you would either get a clue or go away.
• I'm pretty sure that the whacked-out mom at the post office, despite what the words to her song implied, wasn't there with her little girl to buy "stamp stamp stampity stamps oh la la la so here we go along we go la la to get the stamp stampity stampy stamps." I think she was just getting stamps.
• I will stop picking on vegetarians when they: A) Stop being a pain in the ass. There is really nothing worse than going out with someone who gets pleasure out of being high maintenance and bringing attention to themselves and their wacked-out dietary choices by questioning each and every ingredient. Oh, and here's a little secret: When you ask the server if the kitchen uses vegetable stock for the soup, the server will say yes and the stock is made with chickens. And B) Stop giving me nasty looks as I sink my teeth into a bacon cheeseburger and let the grease drip down my chin. Just quietly enjoy your BLT made with Fakin' Bacon and let me enjoy the fact that my meal is better than yours. Ah, who am I kidding, I will never stop picking on vegetarians, but if they weren't such a pain I'd probably pick on them a little less.

I Can't Find It

Since I am often on the receiving end of generalizations, I don't like to say things that are all encompassing to any specific group of individuals, like "the male gender sucks at finding things." So I'll just say gee, it seems that the boys in my house sure do have difficulties locating certain objects like, for example, everything.

There was one time when we were on vacation when, after his shower, instead of looking on the towel rack over the toilet to find a bath towel, Charlie just assumed there weren't any and used a washcloth to dry himself off. There have been several times when I've been accused of losing various tennis shirts, only to look in their closet and find them hanging in plain view.

Everytime they ask me where things are or can't find something, I always think back to one of the most hellacious trips to the grocery store that I have ever made. It involved two boys on a quest to find one box of Capri Suns. How hard can it be, right? I sent them off to find the item and waited in line at the deli for my processed meats and salad. While I waited I noticed that the boy in front of me, who was no more than 17-years-old, was shopping by himself. He was holding a list that had obviously been written by his mom, had put the eggs and bread in the seat section of the cart so they wouldn't get smashed and was managing to pronounce actual words in a volume loud enough to hear while he ordered a pound of turkey and some Swiss cheese. I stood there watching him, thinking wow, it's a good thing I have my boys learning how to find things in a grocery store at such a young age so that they will also be able to do the shopping for me when they're older. I'm a good parent who is teaching her children to be responsible!

I was prepared to praise the boys and tell them "Job well done! Thank you!" when they returned to the cart with the Capri Suns, but when I saw them wandering toward me carrying a box of the most disgusting generic orange drink ever created by mankind, my thoughts became "I am a sucky mom whose boys can't even manage to read 'BEVERAGES & JUICE' on the sign hanging over their heads."

"They are all out of Capri Sun. In fact, I don't think this store sells any juice boxes." My intelligent oldest child who gets straight-A's actually thought that a fucking grocery store didn't sell juice boxes. What the hell.

I sent them away again (mostly for their own safety) to return the pouches of flavored orange food coloring and to find the god damn Capri Sun box and wasn't at all surprised when they returned two minutes later, empty-handed. "Nope. No juice boxes. We looked really hard this time."

At this point, I think I said something like "you're a couple of morons" and started telling them about the teenage boy I saw who could manage to not only find juice boxes, but put actual food in his cart and be helpful to his mom. Then Zach said something like "I don't care about grocery shopping" and this filled me with enough rage to make me temporarily blackout, because I don't remember what else I hissed at him through my clenched teeth.

A couple nights ago Zach pulled an unopened bag of Sun Chips out of the pantry and stuffed a few handfuls in his mouth. Since I'm in a workout more/stop eating like shit phase, I left the kitchen. After a few minutes of munching, I heard him putting the bag away (Note to Frito Lay: Maybe you could have made the new compostable Sun Chips bag louder. What the hell did you guys use to make these things? Sheet metal?). He wandered in and out of the pantry and around the kitchen for a full minute before he yelled "Where are all the chip clips? I can't find one anywhere!"

From two rooms away, I said, "They're in the pantry, right in front of your face."

"No they're not! I looked there! They're not in the....oh, wait a second. Here they are."

Yeah, I can see how they were easy to miss. After all, they're labeled Chip Clip, not Sun Chips Chip Clip To Be Used By Helpless Boys.

But On The Bright Side...

I woke up on Monday morning wondering what I was going to do with all my free time since the kids didn't have school. I originally thought that maybe I could take them out to lunch, or even have Zach babysit so I could get a pedicure. And then I realized that those thoughts were delusional. Zach had a science project to finish and a test to study for, there was a piano lesson and a tennis lesson to get to, and I was hoping to get to the grocery store. Though this was busier than what I would have wanted for a day off from school, I was hoping that with a little bit of advance planning, I could find the time to do something fun. By 9am, I realized those hopes were as fictional as my pedicure.

Good News: No school, so I didn't have to do school drop-off.

Bad News: No school, so the kids are home.

Bad News: The error message "Remove packing material, clear carriage jam" popped up on our two-month-new printer, even though the packing material was removed two months ago.

Good News: After recovering from the shock of talking to an HP customer service rep that was actually knowledgeable, helpful, and understanding, I was told that the printer was a piece of shit, but under warranty, and would be replaced free of charge.

Bad News: The new printer would take five to seven business days to arrive.

More Bad News: Zach had a science project that needed to be printed.

Good News: Somehow managed to get old printer working, but only in black, so hopefully colorful pie charts aren't an integral component of Zach's science project.

Good News: Managed to get to the grocery store during the piano lesson.

Bad News: Forgot bananas.

Random News: In an attempt to be "helpful," Zoe put the hamburger buns on the conveyor belt, after she pulled them through one of the leg holes on the cart. Now they look more like hot dog buns.

Good News: Decided to stop at Target to pick up a prescription and bananas on my way to tennis lessons. Figured I'd better call and make sure that my "take once a day at the same time every day so I don't get knocked up again" drugs had been refilled.

Bad News: Was told that the prescription wouldn't be ready. So, after I dropped Charlie off at tennis, I stopped at grocery store #2 to pick up bananas.

Of-Course-It-Is News: After I got home, I received an automated phone call from Target telling me that "my prescription has automatically been refilled, and is now available for pickup."

Bad News: After dinner, Zach printed his colorless science project report, which also ended up being blackless due to a lack of toner in the backup printer.

Good News: After saving the report on his flash drive, my best friend/ kindred spirit/fellow vodka lover/Mac owner said, "Come on over and print it at my house."

Bad News: Best friend's printer is out of magenta toner, which shouldn't make a difference since we're only printing in black, but printer doesn't understand logic.

Funny News: Best friend shared a disgusting "you won't believe what my dog ate" story. The feminine hygiene item that the dog ate is really, really gross, which is why it made me laugh.

Worst News: This story wasn't told over a couple martinis.

Not Surprising News: I got home, without a printed science project, to find that the 11-year-old had suddenly lost the ability to tell time and doesn't realize it's past his bedtime.

Good News: Zach tells me that he can print the project at school.

Bad News: I will have to bring Zach to school early on Tuesday morning.

Good News: Wave of energy and overwhelming motivation to avoid driving kid to school at 7am hits me, and I decide to get back in the car and go pick up toner, along with my prescription.

Bad News: What the hell am I thinking? The pharmacy is closed. I might as well go to WalMart, which is closer.

Icky News: I went to WalMart. But at least I picked up my friend's magenta toner while I was there.

About Fucking Time News: Science project printed, and the stapler didn't break.

Annoying News: I don't have house plants because I never water them, and sometimes the dog's water dish is empty, but the yellow light on the piano humidifier started flashing, which silently tells me: "THE PIANO NEEDS WATER! THE PIANO NEEDS WATER! THE DAMN PIANO NEEDS WATER!"

Good News: I ignore it until the morning. After all, I'll have time since I don't have to drive Zach to school at 7am.

Good News: After completing his project and studying for a test, Zach went to bed at 10:30. Finally, all the kids are in bed!

Bad News: His door opened 12 seconds later so that he could tell me that the lightbulb in his reading lamp just burned out.

Good News: I have a lightbulb.

Best News: I know that my prescription has been refilled.

Bad News: I discovered I was out of tequila.

Great News: I always have vodka.

Someone Buys That Crap After All

Whenever I'm in line at the grocery store, I often pass the time and make myself feel better by checking out what the person in front of me is buying. I know it could be considered an invasion of privacy, but it's not like I'm taking pictures of their stuff and the temptation to judge is impossible to resist. They stand there clutching a stack of coupons, their purchases evenly spread out on the conveyor belt and besides, what else am I supposed to do? Strike up a conversation about the weather?

Me: "Gee, it's really cold outside. Completely sucks ass."

Weird person buying Hostess Fruit Pies: "Yeah."

There are almost always a few items that get my attention and answer the question, "Who the hell buys this crap?" Sometimes it's an obscene amount of white bread, corned beef hash, those weird little fruit drinks that they sell in the produce department, Hungry Man dinners, olive loaf, pork rinds, or ten cans of Spam. Rarely, though, is it ever a complete freak show from one plastic divider to the next, which is what made yesterday so special.

I ran in for romaine and bananas, stepped into the line for 15 items or less, and instead of glaring at the woman in the process of buying 28 cans of chicken noodle soup, I couldn't take my eyes off of the four packages of beef marrow bones. And the three cans of generic cream of mushroom soup. And the 12-pack of grocery store 3.2 beer. When she told the cashier that she also needed to buy two packs of Marlboro Lights and I got a whiff of her quilted coat, I started to wonder what her house smells like, or, after she cooks the marrow bones, will smell like. And did you know that cigarettes are now almost $6.00 a pack?

If someone told me that they saw a crazy, chain-smoking, check-writing old lady wearing a hot pink stocking hat buying eight pounds of beef marrow bones, I wouldn't believe them, because although we've all seen the bones in the meat department, no on actually buys them, right?

That's why I took a picture:

Ten New Rights For Twenty-Ten

Winter break is officially over! Now that Doug is back at the office and the kids are out of the house and enjoying school's nurturing atmosphere, I can finally get back to my hobbies, which alternate between running around and running around maniacally. Since this is Minnesota and, for the next two months, the temperature will rarely crawl above 25 degrees, the running is pretty much limited to errands and kid-related crap. Once it gets nice out, though, I'll get busier and the crazy people will start to surface, pasty-white legs and all. In order to keep these outings as pleasant and stress-free as possible, I have decided that since I'm not making any New Year's resolutions, I needed some new rights.

1. If I am behind someone that is driving more than ten miles under the speed limit, weaving between lanes, failing to accelerate at a green light, sitting at a stop sign with no intention of proceeding, or basically being a shitty driver, and this person is obviously texting or talking while simultaneously trying to fetch French fries off of the car floor and shove a double cheeseburger into their mouth, I have the right to honk at them no fewer than five times. Gestures are also acceptable as long as there aren't any kids in the car with me.
2. When another shopper at Target or the grocery store repeatedly gets in my way, and they're talking on the phone, I have the right to say "Excuse me" in a voice louder than necessary, while simultaneously giving them a look that says: "You're an inconsiderate moron. Get off the fucking phone."
3. I have the right to not have to love all of my neighbors, especially the one that specializes in using loud yard equipment after 9pm.
4. If, while at the park, someone starts talking to me about potty training, ECFE, moms clubs, sleeping habits, or is bitching about their spouse, I have the right to say: "Those topics bore me. Go away." If, however, the person compliments me on my cute flip-flops, shares details about a little-known happy hour, or wants to rip on the mom who is talking about potty training, I have the right to ask her to move in with me.
5. If a teenager that doesn't belong to me shows up in my backyard at noon for the 16th day in a row this summer, I have the right to ask him where he's having lunch and say, "Sorry, but we're all out of food."
6. If someone gives me a backhanded compliment, I have the right to not always accept it gracefully and with a smile.
7. If a little kid with a giant booger hanging out of his nose asks me for help on the monkey bars while his mom sits her bib-overalled butt on the park bench talking about potty training, I have the right to say: "NO! I'm busy. Go ask your mom."
8. When some skinny bitch fishes for compliments by saying that she "looks fat" and is "getting lines around her eyes," or asks me, "Does this Brazilian-cut bikini make me look fat?" I have the right to agree with her and answer "Yes, it does."
9. If unattended kids are throwing fistfuls of rocks at the park, and my daughter is in the direct line of fire, I have the right to yell at someone else's unattended kids and/or throw rocks back.
10. I have the right to grill more steak, less chicken, and drink more vodka.

Feel free to add to this list of rights, or use some of them for yourself as needed. After all, sharing is fun, even though I always reserve the right to say "No, it's mine!"