The Husband was gone for a few days last week and every time he goes, Cali gets all squirrely and tempermental.  So on Thursday morning, she informed me she was leaving home to find a new house and a new Mommy and Daddy.  She packed her rolling suitcase with a bottle of water, two pairs of shoes, my earplugs and grocery list, a couple of Little People and some weird pillow thing.  As she headed down the drive-way, dragging her ecclectic blend of prized possessions behind her, she looked over her shoulder and informed me:

“I’m headed outta this town like sputter sputter sput.”

(She got that from the book, Sputter, Sputter, Sput! by Bob Staake.)

But really.  How you can you take someone seriously when THIS is how they pose for pictures on a regular basis?

Anyway…on a completely different and irrelevant note, I began the 14 day Activia challenge yesterday!  They’ve got their work cut out for them considering my digestive track has been hosed since birth.  I fully expect a refund in two weeks.  How do they verify their products’ ineffectiveness?  By the amount of toilet paper that has or hasn’t been used?  I’m just saying….something to think about.  Anyway, I’m always up for a challenge…especially when the challenge spotlights my colon.

I used to work at Sears.  Under the escalator between automotive and women’s underpants.  I made keys and engraved tacky novelty gifts such as pens, i.d. bracelets, mugs, etc.  That was back before a computer cut the keys.  You had to have skill and skill I had.  On the off chance that the key turned out gimpy, resulting in a return visit from an irate customer, I’d put up my “I’ll Be Right Back” sign and go hide in the bathroom with that week’s circular. 

So I guess I have a wee bit of a soft spot for Sears.   You know what I miss though?  Those popcorn and nut machines they’d have sitting in the aisles.  Warm cashews.  Whatta treat!!  I think they were even affordable back then.  As far as the clothing went, I don’t know of a single kid growing up who got excited about going to Sears with their Mama to purchase school clothing.  And you certainly didn’t tell anyone your clothes came from Sears.  Two weeks before the start of school, Sears would become a melting pot of ashamed kids, all of  ‘em hiding behind racks of corduroy pants and plaid snap shirts, praying that they wouldn’t be seen by their class-mates, who were ALSO in Sears.

Anyway…a few days ago we got a mini-magazine from Sears Roebuck.  My husband looked at it first.  He tossed it into my lap, saying “Take a look in there.  What’s up with Sears?”

So I took a look.  I can’t really describe the style of clothing.  And it wasn’t just a small section…it was the WHOLE magazine. After giving it much thought, I jumped to the following conclusions:

1)   The family that wears leather together, stays together.

2)  There are snake-hatin’ pimps in Elf-land:

3)  Man Fur is making a comeback.  So’s the ladies:

4)  Oliver Twist and the Queen of England paid Sears a vast sum of money:

5)  People who are inclined to expose themselves are more financially secure:

6)   The pythons pissed off a female member who sits on the Sears Board of Directors:

7)  Davy Crockett started talking a bunch of smack to PETA which escalated into an outright brawl.  Sears put their money on Davy Crockett.  They were not disappointed:

8)  Women of ill repute are not above purchasing their streetwear at an affordable and respectable price:

I don’t know why this surprises me.  Afterall, Sears found it apropriate to run THIS ad and had no problem looking at themselves everyday in the  mirror and they slept like well-fed babies at night:

Sears:  Where else?  They’re guaranteed!  It’s the good life at a great price!  So come see the softer side of Sears.

Yeah, I know….a jacked up combo to be sure.  But I didn’t want to do separate posts.  So, here’s Cali’s new tutu and ballet bag.  Unless you know Cali, you won’t find this tutu and bag at all funny….the sparkles…the pink.  If Cali had her way, she’d be playing NFL football with pink polish, blush, some sparkles and thangs…and taking great pride in clothes-lining the quarterback.    Maybe it’s because we never pushed her one way or the other.  We just let her take the lead.  Now she’s a 4 year old comedian who is already showing signs of superb athletic, art and musical talent.

Speaking of music…my all-time fave singer in the whole wide of the world is Annie Lennox.  While I’m working, I’m usually playing her “Songs of Mass Destruction” CD….and Cali has learned every song, word for word…and here’s the kicker.  The kid stays in tune with Annie’s pipes.  I can’t even do that…and I spent the majority of my youth focused on singing and piano.  She’s got vibrato and everything!  But there’s one song in particular that she plays over and over…”Smithereens”.  Which happens to be a very special song to me for a whole lot of reasons.

Now enough of the sentiment! Here’s the tutu and bag.

…and we’re walking…we’re walking. The grown-up stuff! This letter here was sent to me with a little note that said this: “This made me think of you.” So here’s to the ladies:

This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to
American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products.
She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It’s PC Magazine’s 2007 editors’
choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.

Dear Mr… Thatcher, 

 I have been a loyal user of your ‘Always’ maxi pads forover 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite
 feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the
 only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

 Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call ‘an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.’ Isn’t the human body amazing? 

 As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer’s monthly visits from ‘Aunt Flo’. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. 

 The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants…
 Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: ‘Have a Happy Period.’

 Are you f—–g kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness – actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything ‘happy’ about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreen’s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. 

 For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say something that’s actually pertinent, like ‘Put down the Hammer’ or ‘Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong’.

 Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that’s a promise I will keep.

  Cindy

This is just about the funniest thing I’ve seen in a good long time.  Sad thing is, I’ve actually sported quite a few of these ‘do’s.  You simply MUST put down whatever it is you’re working on and waste a significant amount of time doing this.  You won’t regret it.  And everyone will be laughing AT you in the process. 

In thru the nose…out the mouth. The Zen way to reduce stress. That combined with a martini (no olives, please), a swift kick to the head and a couple of Ambien. Actually, things are moving in a not-so-chaotic fashion, which is virtually miraculous considering Matt and I are doing this move entirely by ourselves. (NOTE: Our families are not tyrants who refuse to help their children. They simply live 5,000 light years away.) As for the friends? Ain’t it somethin’ how everyone vanishes as soon as you mention the word “Move”? Gone. Pfffft. Just like that. No answering the phones, hiding behind the dill pickle display at the grocery store to avoid making eye contact. ALL of ‘em went and broke their backs and are having to work an unnatural amount of over-time.

Kidding kidding. Am I? Yes, I am. Really? Sure. Okay. So..as if the move wasn’t enough, we’re pulling off a neighborhood yard sale tomorrow morning, kicking off at the stupid hour of 7am. I’m gonna be out there in a lawn chair, ball-cap pulled down over my eyes, muttering, “Boxes…tape. Transfer cable. Change address. Feed the raccoons.” I figure if the shoppers sense I’m ‘unstable’, they’ll quickly make their purchases and be on their way.

Now. I need to run and chase my tail for the remainder of the day. But before I wrap this up…lemme give you this little piece of advice. If you don’t want to catch a nasty case of the Stinky Swiney Flu…DO NOT DO THIS! (It’s not rocket science, people.)

I’d love to sit and pound out a philosophical post on joy and butterflys…but Alas! No time. So I’ll post this pic that I ran across last night that made me laugh so hard I almost up-chucked. It may not be funny to you, but this is all ya’ll are gettin’ today.

I don’t have any footage of last night’s house-burgling. I wish I did, but alas…I do not. The call came in at approximately 8:42 pm…

“Hunny, there are 2 raccoons up in our house eating our cat food and hissing at me! One of ‘em snarled at me! What’ll I do?! I gotta go….” *click*

Turns out the Husband was making himself a turkey samich when he heard some snarling behind him. Turns around and there be two coons, one standing guard with bared toof and the other burgling all the cat food. They were fixing to wreck the bathroom when Husband got hold of ‘em with a golf club and high-powered pellet gun.

I returned home shortly thereafter and saw the two of them standing in front of the car like, “You’re going nowhere lady. Nowhere.” So I picked up my cell, rang the Hubby inside the house:

“Get out here with some pots and pans, these coons got me cornered!”

I noticed coon tracks on my car this morning. Thank gawd we’re moving.

I’m ’bout to get Caddyshack up in here.

(I have a Stinks2bme Saga over on Facebook, so I thought I’d start posting them here too.)

Dear Columbia House:

By now, I’m sure you are well aware that I am in custody of your Collection Midget. I don’t take kindly to a Midget showing up at my place of employment and sticking a Glock 9mm into my armpit while hissing something about contracts, breaches and leeches.

I’m sure your apathy will completely blind you to the fact that there’s a special ‘Columbia House’ wing in hell for you, your family, pets ‘n friends. Perhaps this same optical impairment will prevent you from even realizing you are missing one of your Midget Collection Goons.

But since money is time, time is cash and hampsters like eggs, I’m sure you’ll pay attention to my following requests…no…DEMANDS:

1) You WILL call me every single day, numerous times a day, to remind me of my brilliance and cunning.

2) You WILL send me $583.77 every week for the care and feeding of your Midget.

3) You WILL simply fill in the enclosed invoice, including your credit card number, expiration date and those three numbers on the back of your card, authorizing this card to be used for any and all purchases made payable to Tiffany & Co.

4) You WILL only eat canned Clam Chowder (not the good kind either. I’m talking the stuff that’s 15 cents a can.)

5) You WILL change your name and all identifying documents to “Columbia Out House ‘n Hazing Place”.

Should these demands be ignored, defied, mocked, scoffed or pointed to in jest, the following will happen.

A) I will stop feeding your Midget.

B) I will put your Midget in shrink-wrap and put him in a box the size of an SUV and send him back to you C.O.D. (That’s ‘Cash on Delivery’, fools).

C) I will then buy a house, three cars, my kids’ college education (8 years, ya’ll….my kid ain’t stupid) and a year’s supply of Pop Tarts with YOUR credit card and feign innocence if questioned on the validity of my purchases.

Your Undying Enemy,
April

P.S. Your Midget says he knows things about you, a goat and paper clips…and he’ll talk for peanuts.