Especially Wednesday.

My to-do list on Tivo gets me hot.

Fruit on the bottom, hope on top.

You know how Yoplait has that thing where they will donate money to breast cancer research if you send in the lids you collect from their yogurt cups?

Do you think it's gross that whoever collects the lids knows that every one of them has been licked by somebody?

I'm alive, see?

So, my son has his own playlist on my iPod. We listen to his music on the way to school sometimes, or in the afternoons. It's got some cool stuff on it that we can enjoy together, such as The Devil Went Down to Georgia and The Safety Dance. It's also got some stuff on there that I don't enjoy so much but I let him listen to anyway, such as the theme songs to Ben 10 and Johnny Test. (not to be confused with Jonny Quest)

Occasionally his songs will pop up when I'm alone and I have my iPod on shuffle. I skip them and move on to the next normal song. However...

I do have to admit that I listen to the song from the Speed Racer movie. I do. It's so embarrassing, and I have to roll up my windows, and I can only listen to half of it anyway, but I like it. It makes me laugh.

Roller coasters make me laugh, too.

You should listen to the Speed Racer song. It might make you laugh.

Did you know...

That it's Istanbul not Constantinople?
Istanbul! Not Constantinople!

Been a long time gone, Constantinople.

Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night.

Did you know that?
Seriously!

I may not buy the best marbles, Furious Ball, but I sure can use them!

How much fun can you have with an empty room and a bag of marbles?



No furniture means you can throw them all over the place.









That clear one bounced straight into my camera just after I snapped this picture.







Starting to get bored....







So, the answer is:

A lot! But clean up sucks and you will find marbles all over the house for the next week or so.

I knew it was coming.

But I still wasn't prepared for it.

My son figured out that there is no tooth fairy. I know he's at that age, and I know it's normal, maybe even a good thing, but it's still sad to me. I love that he's getting older and we have great conversations now (and sometimes really odd conversations, such as the other day when he asked me what I would do if I had someone in my life who could make things out of duct tape) but sometimes I wonder where my baby went.

And I know this means that the whole Santa thing will be coming up soon, and I'm so not ready for that. I might have to ask him to fake it for me, just for one more year. I'm not above that. I'll promise extra special presents if he goes along with it and everything.

Maybe even cash if he agrees to wearing feety pajamas.

Damn you, Michael Ian Black!

Damn you for challenging Tucker Max to a fight. Damn you for telling me that Tucker Max's book is the #1 seller in the humor category on Amazon, which led me to believe it's funny. Damn you for making me finish this book even though I really, REALLY don't want to. Ok, that last one is my own issue, but I'm happier blaming Michael Ian Black for my problems.

Seriously, if there are any 19 year old frat boys reading this who want me to send them the book, please let me know. Because you are definitely the target audience for this book. It is page after page of "Dude, my friends and I got really drunk, and then we acted like complete assholes, and then I fucked some random chick. The end." Sure, there's stories about blow jobs in there, and some arrests, and more vomit/shit/piss than anyone could be (or should be) comfortable with. This is one blog-turned-book that never should have happened. And what kind of a name is Tucker? Your parents really wanted to drive home the importance of making your bed, Tucker?

I hate myself for wasting my time on this. But I can't give in. If I stop reading this book before the end then the terrorists win.

Def Leppard: Love Bites is on the radio right now.

I saw a license plate this weekend that stated "I love doves."

Weird, that one.

And one this morning that simply said "oregano."

People around here have odd interests.

Not that I don't dig oregano. I do. I just wouldn't proclaim it on my license plate. And sure, doves make a cute cooing sound, but even that gets old after a while.

Hard core.

I saw a lady at Longs a little while ago that you wouldn't believe. She was about 70 years old and her cart was filled with vodka and adult diapers. I swear. Three big old gallon jugs of cheap vodka and like six packs of adult diapers. I guess there's something to be said for knowing yourself. If I knew I was going to drink myself into oblivion and pee the bed, I might be inclined to make the same purchases, I don't know. I'd at least have a little shame though, and not be holding up the line to have the stock boy check for more vodka in the back. That's just plain greedy, grandma.

You know what?

I had a really good weekend.

What I should have said was nothing.

So this guy calls me yesterday from the Chamber of Commerce. We get our labor law posters/books/pamphlets from them and he was calling to let me know about a new product that they have for the human resources department. I explained that we don't have an HR department, exactly, because we only have four employees here. Ah, yes, no need for this interactive website then, I see. I let him know that we make sure we have the correct posters displayed and that we hand out the correct pamphlets once a year, but beyond that we don't really have any HR issues wth the staff. Then I said "We're over here..." and I trailed off because I realized I was about to tell a representative from the Chamber of Commerce that "We're over here sexually harrassing each other all the time." and I didn't think he would find that funny at all. For once in my life my filter worked. Great success.

You know what I was just thinking?

I was just thinking that I'm kind of stupid. Every year I go see Lyle Lovett in concert. And every year he talks about hanging around Saratoga, going to the restaurants, meeting the people. And never before has it even occurred to me that I should go down there and look for him. Not until today, when I was driving home from work and Creeps Like Me came on my ipod. He's already gone, but maybe next year I'll remember.

Maybe next year.

I have something to say.

What was it again?

Um, I forgot.

Not because of acid reflux, either.

I was thinking today, as I drove home, what if you went to a karaoke place and went up on stage but instead of singing you just moved your mouth like you were lip synching? Would anybody get the joke?

And don't ask me why I think of such things. I just do.

never,

ever buy mentos from the liquor store over by the crack hotel on Broadway.

because fruity mentos should never, ever crack in two when you bite into them.

mentos don't crack.

people crack.

I'm all hopped up on the Sudafed...

And I can't tell if I like it or I hate it.

I'm a little shaky. I'm clenching my jaw like the tweakers do. I talk without knowing what I'm going to say until the words actually leave my mouth, which led me into a weird conversation with my co-worker about teabagging. I think I'm hungry, but I'm not exactly sure. I can't finish anything I start.

But hey! My nose isn't running!

No wonder they keep this shit locked up, huh?

I just needed some lactobacillus rhamnosus!

I stopped by Whole Foods today for a minute, and as I was waiting in line I saw one of those hippie mom magazines proclaiming "Circumcision does not prevent HIV."

And I think: Really? This was up for debate? I sure hope they didn't waste a bunch of my tax money on that study. I'm pretty sure every third grader in America knows that.

Because honestly, how could circumcision prevent HIV? Before I started this post I looked into the whole thing (a little bit) and saw that some people believe it can reduce the risk of HIV. But reduce the risk and prevent are two completely different stories. Also, I think Africa should take all the help it can get when it comes to HIV. That goes for you too, Haiti. If it helps, awesome. But how are they going to prove it? Seems like a really difficult study to keep under control. Seriously, like, I'm talking about the actual control group. Sucks to be them, am I right?

Anyway, my point is not whether or not circumcision can prevent/reduce the risk of HIV. My point is this:

Stay the hell away from Whole Foods market. All that hemp clothing and unwashed hair and Birkenstocks. I barely survived. And my kid wouldn't eat the damn yogurt anyway.

Addition.

My house number is 1827.

The 1 and the 8 add up to 9.
The 2 and the 7 add up to 9.

This makes me happy.

Is that weird?

Children's Cancer Research.

How do they know? How do they know that if they send me something I'll feel guilty and send them money? I don't really need seventy thousand return address labels, but sometimes they're actually cute. I prefer the ones that don't say Ms. before my name. I sent in some money a month or two ago for some cute summery labels, but they said Ms. Then a couple weeks ago I get some new ones with no Ms. and I feel bad using them without donating, so I did. Then yesterday they sent me a fucking calendar! A calendar! Sure it's got birds on it and I'd never use it, and never mind that fact that it's July, so by January it will be lost. I think it's just plain rude, guilt tripping me into sending money to save children from cancer.

Selfish bastards.

I walked into a door, fell down some stairs, anything!

Don't you think that if you go to a social function with a big bandage across the side of your face that you're morally obligated to tell people why you have a big bandage across the side of your face? I mean, you know people are looking at it, you know people are coming up with their own ideas which are probably way worse than the actual story. Just tell the reason and be done with it. It's your duty.

I'm not saying I want to hear the story behind every band-aid, but when it's something on your face or your neck, basically anything above the shoulders, I think you have to tell people how it happened. You just have to.

And if you don't...

I'm going to blog about it.