I'm listening to Eminem's 'Shake That Ass'. I'm hopelessly addicted to virtually every song with a good beat, regardless of how ridiculous the lyrics are. I even bought the damn thing off iTunes for a buck. That brings me to a whole new level of loser.
Speaking of loser, I spent part of the evening playing Neverwinter Nights. Geekster was out for sushi (ick, puke, gag) and came home shortly after nine. He wanted to know if I wanted to watch the last three episodes of Dead Like Me. Of course, I was playing my game at the time. You could see the bind I was in. I said 'Don't you have any email to check, first?' trying to stall so I could finish buying equipment for my ranger.
Of course, this reminded me of the video my friend Sprockett (touch my monkey!) sent me the link to yesterday. I am these guys, minus the geeky charm and the boy parts.
So I went shopping with The Madre today. We hit a thrift store in search of used baby items. I found nothing but two adorable pairs of newborn shoes. I couldn't pick, so I bought both. Don't roll your eyes at me. It was a thrift store! Any money growing on the tree in the back yard goes directly in my minivan payments. But I do love me my van. If it were a person, I'd have an affair with it. Instead, I do what most married people do to those they're having an affair with: I turn it on, take it for a ride and leave it lonely and full of my crap. It's a beautiful love we share. I'll come spend time with you soon, baby, I promise.
So anyway, I might have found more thrift store treasures but instead had to steer my mother away from frightening clothing choices. She's a lovely woman and normally a spiffy dresser when she buys new, but there's something about her and second hand clothing that creates a toxic chemical reaction. It's almost like if it costs less than $5, she can overlook a few issues the item might have. Therefore, I've put together a few shopping tips for when I can't be there to steer her clear of major fashion suicide:
1. Checkered patterns of any kind are not good on anything. Especially pants. No checkers are 'classy' unless you lived in the 1920s.
2. Pants with boot cuts are your friend. I promise they won't swallow your feet.
3. Any pants with stirrups are to be put back immediately, regardless of brand name, material or any other endearing quality. They are not even to be tried on, but instead to be placed back on the rack immediately. Stirrups = flipped hair and too much hairspray. Stirrups = Flashdance soundtrack. Stirrups = NEVER.
4. Just because it's purple - and even that lovely 'regal purple' or whatever you call it, does not make it nice. Remember: Barney is purple. Grimace is purple. There's a purple Teletubby that beats all the other teletubbies up for a purse. He's even that regal purple. Did I mention he also likes to wear tutus?
That being said, the scariest part of the entire trip was the maternity section. I will have nightmares for a very, very long time. We saw some stuff that should never have been mass produced. I did manage to find two shirts, but they were the ONLY half-decent things there. I only bought them because I felt sorry for them. I didn't want two presentable tops to be left there with all the ugly ones. It's like sticking the cheerleaders on a school band trip. They might have all the power at the high school, but get them on the band's tour bus and they're going to get their asses kicked by the tuba girl with the braces and her saxophone playing posse. I feel like I did those shirts a very big favour. There's a special place in heaven for people like me.
So after this weekend I need to start propositioning editors. "Hey baby, what does a girl have to do to get an article published around here? *wink*"
Okay, but seriously. I have to start shopping around for a place to write an article. Or five. Do you know how intimidating that is? I have no ins in the writing world. Heck, I'm an uneducated stay-at-home-mom who writes in a damn blog every day. Not the most likely person to get her work in print. But I've sort of promised myself that I will have a thriving career in freelance writing. Then Uma and I can tell people how every working woman is a superwoman while we ask the nannies to go grab our children from school. Oh, and could they fix us some dinner, too? It's hard work doing interviews.
Anyway, I appreciate all the feedback I get on here. I know I call you all losers for reading, but I actually do like the fact that people bother to check in and read what I have to say. It shows me that even self-absorbed exhibitionists have friends. Or at the very least, they have people who read about them for the sole purpose of turning off the monitor afterwards and thanking their lucky stars that they're not nearly as screwed up as that girl.
Must go to bed. I have my morning Tims run (Mama Chaos, you really do need a Tims nearby so you too can cake up your heart valves with baked goodness and creamy coffee), some cleaning up to do and a grocery store run. I think I'll wear something purple with stirrups. And maybe a tutu.
Speaking of loser, I spent part of the evening playing Neverwinter Nights. Geekster was out for sushi (ick, puke, gag) and came home shortly after nine. He wanted to know if I wanted to watch the last three episodes of Dead Like Me. Of course, I was playing my game at the time. You could see the bind I was in. I said 'Don't you have any email to check, first?' trying to stall so I could finish buying equipment for my ranger.
Of course, this reminded me of the video my friend Sprockett (touch my monkey!) sent me the link to yesterday. I am these guys, minus the geeky charm and the boy parts.
So I went shopping with The Madre today. We hit a thrift store in search of used baby items. I found nothing but two adorable pairs of newborn shoes. I couldn't pick, so I bought both. Don't roll your eyes at me. It was a thrift store! Any money growing on the tree in the back yard goes directly in my minivan payments. But I do love me my van. If it were a person, I'd have an affair with it. Instead, I do what most married people do to those they're having an affair with: I turn it on, take it for a ride and leave it lonely and full of my crap. It's a beautiful love we share. I'll come spend time with you soon, baby, I promise.
So anyway, I might have found more thrift store treasures but instead had to steer my mother away from frightening clothing choices. She's a lovely woman and normally a spiffy dresser when she buys new, but there's something about her and second hand clothing that creates a toxic chemical reaction. It's almost like if it costs less than $5, she can overlook a few issues the item might have. Therefore, I've put together a few shopping tips for when I can't be there to steer her clear of major fashion suicide:
1. Checkered patterns of any kind are not good on anything. Especially pants. No checkers are 'classy' unless you lived in the 1920s.
2. Pants with boot cuts are your friend. I promise they won't swallow your feet.
3. Any pants with stirrups are to be put back immediately, regardless of brand name, material or any other endearing quality. They are not even to be tried on, but instead to be placed back on the rack immediately. Stirrups = flipped hair and too much hairspray. Stirrups = Flashdance soundtrack. Stirrups = NEVER.
4. Just because it's purple - and even that lovely 'regal purple' or whatever you call it, does not make it nice. Remember: Barney is purple. Grimace is purple. There's a purple Teletubby that beats all the other teletubbies up for a purse. He's even that regal purple. Did I mention he also likes to wear tutus?
That being said, the scariest part of the entire trip was the maternity section. I will have nightmares for a very, very long time. We saw some stuff that should never have been mass produced. I did manage to find two shirts, but they were the ONLY half-decent things there. I only bought them because I felt sorry for them. I didn't want two presentable tops to be left there with all the ugly ones. It's like sticking the cheerleaders on a school band trip. They might have all the power at the high school, but get them on the band's tour bus and they're going to get their asses kicked by the tuba girl with the braces and her saxophone playing posse. I feel like I did those shirts a very big favour. There's a special place in heaven for people like me.
So after this weekend I need to start propositioning editors. "Hey baby, what does a girl have to do to get an article published around here? *wink*"
Okay, but seriously. I have to start shopping around for a place to write an article. Or five. Do you know how intimidating that is? I have no ins in the writing world. Heck, I'm an uneducated stay-at-home-mom who writes in a damn blog every day. Not the most likely person to get her work in print. But I've sort of promised myself that I will have a thriving career in freelance writing. Then Uma and I can tell people how every working woman is a superwoman while we ask the nannies to go grab our children from school. Oh, and could they fix us some dinner, too? It's hard work doing interviews.
Anyway, I appreciate all the feedback I get on here. I know I call you all losers for reading, but I actually do like the fact that people bother to check in and read what I have to say. It shows me that even self-absorbed exhibitionists have friends. Or at the very least, they have people who read about them for the sole purpose of turning off the monitor afterwards and thanking their lucky stars that they're not nearly as screwed up as that girl.
Must go to bed. I have my morning Tims run (Mama Chaos, you really do need a Tims nearby so you too can cake up your heart valves with baked goodness and creamy coffee), some cleaning up to do and a grocery store run. I think I'll wear something purple with stirrups. And maybe a tutu.