Tag Archives: shopping

From a punctuation period to my period…the embarrassing journey.

My 7-year-old, Tres, is like most 7 year olds when it comes to ending their written sentences.  He doesn’t do it.  Maybe there are 7 year olds in existence who are punctuation nazis but I remember my other two demonstrating the exact same rebellion against the question mark, the exclamation mark and the period.  Each day his take home papers contain his teachers corrections and the 1/2 points subtracted for the missing punctuation.  While I was stressing the importance (bribery is normally my parenting method of choice) and the necessity of ending sentences, we came to the period and I paused.

Humph, the period.  So small.  So boring compared to the other ending marks yet so powerful.  So final.  Period.

While I was pondering the mass and depth of the period (wearing my deep in thought, blank expression no doubt) Mr. Pavlov announced that we were going to the mall.  Tres took advantage of my blank expression, which wouldn’t remain blank for too long (Mr. Pavlov despises the mall) and the mall announcement to bolt from the punctuation prison I held him in.  At least my prison serves chocolate (bribery).

Once at the mall Mr. Pavlov grabbed his mini-me (Dos) and informed us that they were going to Dicks. Period.  I opened my mouth to protest but they were gone.

Uno, looked first at me, then at Tres and said through her chuckles  “have fun with that cuz I’m going to shop.” Period.  I opened my mouth to beg for mercy but she was gone.

Tres was oblivious to the very obvious ditching that was occurring as he was in mall crack mode.  Period.

He was like the energizer bunny fueled by a nuclear power plant.  His eyes were darting, his mouth was open…wide, and he was forming words faster that my normally quick communication center could process.  He skipped, danced, sang, ran, touched (a lot), begged (for everything) and was enjoying the mall heaven he found himself in.  I smiled and thought…He is his mother’s son…and considering the brief affair I had with the male (god) Abercrombie mall clerk who likely sired him probably didn’t hurt either.  Whoa, where did that come from? Sounds believable huh?  Not to worry, he is (the humanly hot) Mr. Pavlov’s all the way.  Period.  Period.  Period…..

I really have to stop reading all of those deep, entangled, relationshipinal novels.

Ok. Wow. Too much mall crack. Let’s erase (the total greek god) male Abercrombie (have you seen those Abercrombie adds?!?) figment of my imagination and get back to watching Tres.

While observing him in his mall splendor, I suddenly forgot about the murder I planned to carry out on certain members of our family.  Then the inevitable happened.  He grabbed his crotch and began the perfectly choreographed maneuvers of the pee dance.  It seemed as if the massive mall beverage he chugged during our pass through the food court needed to make an exit.

Truth be told, my Pepsi was beating on the sphincter of my bladder too so I found us a bathroom.  A women’s bathroom.  The men’s bathroom was all the way on the other side of the store and I was not about to have my vulnerable, mall loving, 7-year-old enter that dark and dangerous place alone.  There are sick penis whacker offers out there!  Period.  I read about it and the disgusting, deranged event is forever seared in black and white print (with my own visual images) in my brain!

It wouldn’t be the first time I dragged him into the women’s bathroom with me.  He knew the drill.  Or so I thought.  The bathroom looked like a sardine can packed with women (mostly elderly) doing the adult version of the pee dance.  Finally, our turn came.  I sent him into the stall beside me.  He did his business like a typical male and beat my squat pants down.  He exited the stall, washed his hands and stood along the wall.  Perfect.  This is going great!  I thought.  Then I heard these words

Mom, I gotta  get out of here because it smells really bad like old lady perfume and it is burning out my eyes!

After telling him to remain put, Period, I inwardly apologized to the several elderly women in the stalls adjoining mine for his bluntness but couldn’t help but agree.  He did have a valid olfactory point and my sinuses were in an uproar too.

Then he belted,

Hey Mom, did you start your period?!”

I was speechless.  Silence fell upon the entire bathroom minus a few shocked inhalation gasps.  Toilets ceased to flush.  Toilet paper failed to rattle from their dispensers. And I was processing how best to respond, I mean…

Did he just ask THAT?!?  But all doubts were erased when he repeated (much louder this time)

MOM, I saaaid did you start your period?!?  Because I think I see some….

Whoa, I had heard enough! That did it!  I coughed loudly, flushed my toilet multiple times and exited my stall hoping to the living God of heaven to exit that place as quickly as I could.

I shot him a look that spoke volumes.  The ‘shut up you verbose kid’ kind and even thought about forgoing hand washing in order to exit the face reddening situation 20 seconds faster.  But I decided against leaving the germs undisturbed on my hands because he would surely call me out on my filthiness.  And it’s just gross.

Once on the outside I informed him that it was not a good idea to question me about my female body functions in such a highly populated and public place.

He shrugged and replied,

Well I thought that the women’s bathroom would be the place to talk about it!  Periods belong in a sentence and periods belong in bathrooms.

For the second time that day I was speechless.  Period.

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The friendless loser and the pimps.

My daughter and I were engaging in some retail therapy recently when she asked me a weighted question.

“Mom, would you rather have a ton of friends that are insincere and secretly hate you or be a friendless loser.”

I think I recall hearing this question posed on a TV show before.  I didn’t want to brush her off with a half-hearted answer (because I could tell that she really wanted some earth shattering stuff from me) so I pondered my response for a moment.  While I was pondering away, I overheard two women talking about their blogs and I paused longer than normal for my aging brain cells.  Taking the opportunity presented to her, my daughter took off to drool over the newest item of distraction.  Earth shattering stuff from Mom could obviously wait.

Ok, now I don’t know why or how but for some reason I just stumble upon situations that expose me to entertaining episodes or conversations.  I’ve had friends laugh at my ability to attract amusing situations and I often joke about my various mutant powers.  I think bionic hearing (a.k.a. eavesdropping) is a mad mutant skill (not necessarily of the power status – yet) that I possess.  For actual reals.  Just check out The cool moms and I’m not perfect but pretty darn close.  Really.  Check them out.  It happens.

The blogging babes were discussing and comparing their various methods of blog pimping – I think “blog pimping” was even their exact phrase.  They had my full attention (although I never made eye contact) and I semi creeperishily lingered by fondling every single bottle of the 100+ display of nail polish (my engrossed shopper disguise).  Hey, a girl can never be too choosy with what she puts on her nails right? Only….one look at my nails would surely blow my cover.  They don’t exactly emit the choosy vibe but rather scream a pathetic For the love of mankind, just cover me in something woman!!

Thankfully the blogging babes were too enthralled in their pimping conversation to notice the sketchy individual molesting the bottles of polish beside them.  Because I had to hide my surprise at the information I was overhearing (I’m not like Lady Gaga and cannot pull off her P-p-p-poker Face), I reached for some aviators and a scarf.  Sketchy officially turned celebrity bad disguise weird. No, (blushing) I’m not a celebrity.  The weird is open for debate.

What prompted the possibly weird need for masking of the facial expressions?  The blogging duo communicated a well thought out, systematic (ahem, manipulative) approach to blogging.  They even mentioned articles that they read on how to pimp your blog.  I’m only listing 10 of the cold hard facts that they discussed.  Here we go:

  1. Troll other blogs and leave comments whether you feel it (as in the blog and blogger) or not in the hopes of baiting them into visiting your blog.
  2. Obtain a religious following by inferior (their exact word) bloggers  who took the bait and now are drinking your blog’s Kool-Aid. But remember, Pimps don’t drink the Kool-Aid.
  3. Routinely leave comments on the blogs of individuals who have the potential to scratch your back.
  4. Be willing to sing blog praises to the scratching back bloggers whether you mean them or not.
  5. Seldom leave comments or acknowledge a blogger (who may write decently but doesn’t have much to offer you) – Yes they said this – remember they are going for inferior Kool-Aid drinkers or high power back scratchers.
  6. Be a butt kisser.  Whatever it takes cuz after all, they’re pimping (their words).
  7. Laugh at other blogs and not in a “haha, hahah that cracked me up YouAreSoooFUNNY” way.  But in an “omigosh you are so pitiful that it is laughable” way.
  8. Don’t read the entire blog entry but just skim out enough to make it seem like you did.  How?  They just happened to discuss this. Comment on certain points and even copy and past from the original entry (that you only skimmed) to appear as if you read the entire entry.
  9. Establish an inner blog sanctum or clique and keep outsiders out unless of course, they are Kool-Aid drinkers, butt kissers or have something to offer.
  10. Crush the competition…appearently there is blogger competition.

Ok.  I am still at a loss for words and have a bad taste in my blogging mouth.  Do bloggers really do this?  Was I that naive to think they didn’t?  Mmmhmm, I was.

I am guilty of some of their above 10 pimping points.  You see, I visit sites (that I enjoy).  I leave comments (that I mean).  I copy and paste (from entries that I actually read).  That’s where it stops.  I never look at visits to other blogs as a way to boost my own blog’s stats.  I write what I write and if other bloggers stop by well then I am happy to meet them!  I truly love people stopping by but I do not use them for my own gain.  There are no hidden motives or agendas here.

I don’t kiss butt.  I never cared much for the emotional aftertaste.  Insincerity causes me to hurl – chunks.  If I leave a comment or make repeat visits it’s because I really feel a connection with the blog/writer.  I’d even subscribe to my favorites if I knew how (yep, imma loser with a Capital L). And while we’re on it….what is RSS feed??!? Many days around here my nostrils are barely above the rising waters of life.  My time is limited and pimp is not one of the hats I wear.

I thought about asking them their suggestions of how a social blogger like myself (with all of my 50ish twitter followers) could sincerely promote other bloggers. But then I realized that I would most definitely fall into their pitiful, back scratcher challenged, laughable category and they would laugh.  Right there. In my face. And offer me a glass of Kool-Aid while they scratched each others back.

Competition?  What’s that?

Blog clique?  Really?  I already graduated from highschool.  All characters are welcome here.

Kool-Aid? Grape is my favorite so if you’re serving I just may have a sip, but only one.

Inferior?  Puhleeze!  We are all inferior.

Scratch my back?  Well, that’s not why I stopped by but, if you insist.  A little to the left, up, down, over, right…..ahhhh, thanks.

Laugh at other bloggers?  Yes I do – when they write something super funny.  I have been known to spew tea (I’m a tea addict) across my computer and urinary dribble (not on the computer) on multiple ocasions.  Laugh because they are pitiful? Who defines pitiful?  What is pitiful? We are all pitiful…I was molesting nail polish while exercising cranial nerve VII (pulling off some great auditory stalking) in an aviators and scarf disguise.  Pitiful.  Go ahead, laugh. It’s ok.

Seriously.  I am beyond disappointed with this newly discovered information.  So tell me, how do you guys feel?  I think it safe to assume that those of you who stop by do so because you kinda like it here.  I mean, I’m not serving Kool-Aid (not even grape) and I don’t own a back scratcher.

Please tell me these pimps were high on their own scratch-and-sniff and that this behavior is NOT the blogging norm. It isn’t…right?!?

My daughter returned and said “Cool scarf and aviators.  And I like the black polish. Can we get them all?”

Without blinking, pausing or brain cell stalling I replied to her (in earth shattering decibles), “FRIENDLESS LOSER! ”  

I’d rather be a sincere friendless loser any day and it hasn’t hurt my daily blog stats that much either….all 12 of them.

It’s ok.  You can laugh.

Eye candy, alien guts and radioactive wallpaper: I want my kid’s life

My kids have it made.  I want their life.

When I grew up shopping consisted of a ONCE a year experience for the solo purpose of obtaining back to school clothes.  During this process, I had to painfully choose from several “I just can’t live without” outfits and quickly discovered that life continued with or without the cool color stripe on the side of the designer jeans.  I left the store with enough clothes to cover the important parts but not enough to prevent the dread of wearing the same outfit twice in the same week.

Fast forward to 2011 and let me introduce you to my daughter, who is able to shop like a politician is able to lie….easily!  Whenever the shopping mood strikes (and usually after she’s saved up her allowance) we are off to the local mall.  She leaves the stores looking something like this:

Sephora, an American Eagle bag so full the bottom is about to break.....

and on the back….

....a little eye candy and Abercrombie

When I grew up entertainment consisted of….well, this:

A game of cards and poker chips!

And hours and hours of outdoor play.  We were quite skilled in the art of mud-pie making and creating jewerly masterpieces with the butts of lightening bugs.  Lightening bug jewelery was especially a hit with the boys who got to gut the bugs without us girls stopping them.  It was all about the bling – even back then because bling is timeless.  We never uttered the words “I’m BOORRED!” nor expected our parents or things to entertain us.  We were the creative captains of our own entertainment and yes,  a few lightening bugs died in the process.

My oldest son would never think of gutting a lightning bug and smearing the bling around the wrist of a female friend.  Instead he guts aliens sans the gut smearing.  He has his own creative captain area good for hours of brain numbing entertainment.  Because we love him and desire to salvage some brain cells, Mr. Pavlov and I have conveniently placed a pre-set timer with a LOUD alarm to signal an end to the cerebral damage.  It’s the least we could do.

His creative mess: Captain chair, Xbox 360, Xbox, Wii and a small, little timer to limit the brain damage

And he is never short on options…..

ONE of the many drawers of choices

He just informed us that he has saved enough money for a 36″ flat screen TV to complete the entertainment paradise.

And speaking of saving money….if you have followed my Facebook and twitter updates then you are already aware that my “baby” saved for several years to dump it on this beauty:

ipad2 with beautiful (ahem, me) wallpaper

I know he finds great joy in transforming me into a radioactive beast with weird eyes however,  the next time he has a buldging bank account and the spending itch, I think I’ll work my mad mothering skills to convince him that a trip to the Spa would produce better results!  After seeing me in an avocado mask with cucumber slices for my eyes, I’m sure he’ll agree.

Yes, my kids have it made.  If, in their adulthood, they should blog about the difficulties and deprivation of their childhood then I will shove this post under their noses to effectively correct any misconceptions.

Did I mention that computers and blogs were non-existent when I was growing up?

A whole lot’a ugly!

I walked into my local grocery store today and guess what? The price of food has gone up…AGAIN.  All food.  Even the cheap, processed, fake junk is on the rise.  Speaking of fake, processed…I never understood why grocery store meat contained the little caption “caramel coloring added.”  Caramel coloring?  Meat has color to begin with so why the need for added coloring?  WELL, I recently discovered that meat will naturally turn grey as it sits on the shelf.  Yes, I don’t eat much meat and I have limited exposure to the stuff. I was BFs with meat until my younger brother went on a vegetarian kick that turned into a life style when he was a teen.  He took it upon himself to rescue his carnivorous family from our evil ways.  This salvation consisted of him shouting unpleasant stuff  like “That’s gonna rot in your gut for months!” with each meat laden fork-full we tried to enjoy.  If the above approach failed then he was thoughtful enough to provide us with a never-ending supply of putrid meat articles (conveniently placed at our meat fest place settings).  Before I knew it, I began to think animal flesh was rather gross and fiber became my new BFF. Sigh, he had me at gut rotting.  

….Grey meat.  Grey is a good thing.  Grey is our body’s friend.  We shoppers don’t like to see grey meat because it looks old and gross so enter our little friends caramel coloring and sodium nitrate.  Caramel keeps the meat looking pretty while we cook it and sodium nitrate allows it to remain the cancer causing neon red color for months of shelf-life. 

Disturbing. 

You can buy nitrate free lunch meat for a body part OR just tell your family the stuff is evil and move on. If they fight you just show them this:

Today, during a moment sale price enticement, I bought 4#s of evil for the kid’s lunches.  I also bought a grand daddy size of Benefiber.  I’m thinking if I dose enough in their food they will blow a load before the wickedness is actually absorbed.  I like my delusions and I like Benefiber.

To make me feel like a better mom and smooth my 4# guilt, I raided the fruit and leafy greens isle. The clementines that my family loves to devour are now priced $1 more per box.  Fresh fruit and veggies are nearing organ and body fluid donation prices. I’m partial to having two kidneys even though science informs me I can survive on one.  Maybe Mr. Pavlov can take one for the team and donate some of his boys.  He loves to boast of their swimming ability and should get a respectable price = lots of fruit for the donation.  Hmmmm…..that gives a whole new concept to “…fruit of thy loins…”

We want to eat healthy and we are making better choices but these prices aren’t making it easy for us.  And two of my three bambinos are professional eating machines.  Puberty, hormones, and growth spurts are causing raging appetites and with them, food bills.

How do you guys manage? 

From bogus meat to price gouging…it’s all ugly to me.

“I’m not perfect but pretty darn close”

I was coming out of the store cult of all store cults [Wal-Mart] a few days ago and got to witness an explosive argument between a man and woman.  This particular day I was in a “I have time to stop and get high on the flowers” frame of mind.  Most of my days are the mission impossible types where you could be spontaneously combusting beside me and I wouldn’t stop.

I slowed my rapid pace to a crawl and tuned into parking lot brawl fest 101.1  From what I could gather from the lung rage, the woman was at fault.  Apparently she made an irresponsible budget error that was going to cost the couple dearly.  She attempted to “sneak” objects into the cart without her partner finding out.  

Hello, woman?  Unless you are planning a ‘Thomas Crown Affair’ you’re supposed to do this when he isn’t around or NOT at all! 

Once busted she became very belligerent and defensive.  At one point she bellowed “I’m not perfect but pretty darn close!!!”  I believe it was this comment that sent the slippers sailing to Kansas.

I thought about suggesting a rapid return of merchandise but then decided against it once I saw the emotional escalation and astral projection of goods.  The words “wrong place, wrong time” rang in my head as I visualized both spaziods transferring their anger upon me….and it didn’t seem like a party I wanted to attend.  So, I did the self-preservation thing and continued with the auditory stalking.

Conveniently I parked close to the kill zone and they were screaming so I didn’t have to listen too intently.  I got to witness pretty much the entire event play out and not only managed to maintain a heart beat, but also gathered an important piece of data. 

Two words and only two words should have been spoken by the woman when her husband caught her in an intentional act of irresponsibility.  These words are difficult to speak and often involve a huge digestion of pride.  However, like an entire bomb squad these two little words have the ability to diffuse a verbal nuclear Holocaust. 

They are…….

I’M SORRY. 

Note:  I also find “yes, I was wrong” moves mountains as well and when combined  with behavior modification produces miraculous effects.  

I guess they could be considered three words without the contraction form.  These little words are powerful and produce dramatic results.  When spoken in sincerity, they make us own our actions.  They cause us to accept responsibility.  And rather than hours of heated warfare, a disagreement is often reduced to minutes if one party is willing to utter “I’m sorry.”  Yes, the other party may continue to rant and may attempt to get on a little rage but they can only fuel the fire solo for a limited time before the sincere  “I’m sorry” kills the action.

What a novel idea huh?  I’m sorry, I’m not perfect but pretty darn close!

It’s a blur but I’m sane

Everyone was in bed.  The house was quiet.  I was semi-alone and I loved it.  But rather than exercise my brain or do something productive like laundry, I plopped myself down on the couch.  The couch is in front of the TV.  The remote lives on the couch and before I knew it, the remote was in my hand and I was existing in the time sucking world of TV where seconds magically morph into hours.   This is a dangerous place late at night especially with the DVR full of unwatched shows.

I am not a big TV viewer like my male counterpart but I do like my brain candy.  I was all prepared to have my eyes glaze over, my mouth relax in the open position and veg on some brain candy when I stumbled upon something. 

TLC….TLC Extreme Couponing episode.  I had never watched this show before but I was suddenly curious.  Coupons seem like a waste of precious time and chasing deals  that are over priced, filled with restrictions and basically non-existent.  And then there is always the cashier lady to deal with.  Usually old and irritable, she inspects each coupon thoroughly looking for any defect so she can rasp “this is NO good!” But by watching these individuals get incredible savings I became inspired. 

Inspired by the deals not the psychosis that some of the individuals displayed!  Have you watched that episode?  Toilet paper was described by one of the coupon clippers as “My pride and joy!”  [someone requires intervention time

Let’s face it, some of those people need HELP…the institutional kind with pharmaceutical therapy, group time and professionals in long white coats writing frantically on clipboards.

So while I have no intention of going off the psychological deep end, I will devote some time to clipping coupons.  I have already started and it is surprisingly challenging.  My head is spinning and I have a gazillion flyers and coupons scattered all over the place.   I even key-napped my husband’s car keys to load him up with the recent reward cards obtained from the various stores.  So when you see the bulge in his pocket, don’t comment.  Resist the “Are you happy to see me or is that....” remark please.  Look away!

The stuff deals are made of

 

So send me some love and let me know the inside tips.  What has worked for you?  How do you survive the world of coupons.  Holla to Carrie who has already helped me a lot!!