Please Don't Ask to See My I.D.

My driver's license is hideous.

I mean it's no Nick Nolte.
Give me some credit. 

My Hawaiian print is contained to a sarong and I look hot in it.

But, how fair is it to ask a nine month pregnant mother to pose for any photo?

I mean, I may have chubby-ish cheeks already, but baby bloat just happens to some people.

Don't mind the hair in a ponytail to make my face appear 10x wider.

And WHAT was I thinking when I wore a one piece catsuit with spaghetti straps at my size and weight.

You'd really think I was giving birth to Shamu, yet my son was only 6lbs 8 oz.

It looks like i'm wearing my bra OVER my shirt.

Sigh.

Of course now when I'm buying alcohol, cashiers give me that quizzical look.

I have glasses now.

My hair is mostly down.

I DON'T weigh 110 lbs anymore.  (I'm SO leaving that on there for like-ever!)

I'm not pregnant.

I have better taste in clothing than I did in 2001.

I think.

Okay. 

Are you ready.

I'm so dang embarassed.

Don't laugh.

Okay laugh.

I deserve it.

Even my brother in law saw it recently and said, "dude, what the hell?!" 

Scarring me, for pretty much...LIFE.

I'm so changing this photo.

Even if I have to camp at the DMV overnight to be first in line.

Double sigh.

The Cowboy Boots Saga.

I may never hear the end of it.

The cowboy boots saga.

It all started with a garage sale planned and executed by DQ and held at grandma's house last weekend.

My husband likes to call it Laundry Day because often we drive by homes having garage sales, but it clearly looks like they just didn't want wash clothes so they throw them aimlessly onto the driveway in hopes someone will give them money for them, clean or not.

I have to say, yes we did have clothes (gently worn by DQ and clean) but many other outdoor toys, books, DVDs, games, home decor,shoes, makeup and more.

Most often we take bags of stuff like this to GoodWill and call it good.  Someone will benefit in the long run.

This time DQ was desperate to purchase electronics and wanted cold hard cash for her goods.

To her delight grandma and grandpa donated their sales to the cause...minus $10 that I gave to grandpa.

See there were a pair of cowboy boots he brought out to sell.  He goes on to say he spent $125 on them and wore them only once due to be uncomfortable.

AND that he is not a cowboy, nor does he work where cowboy boots are needed or warranted.

We are not cow-people.

So anyway, grandpa heads to the store to bring us all donuts, and per usual comes back 3 hours later.

"Oh did my boots sell?"
Me: Yes!
"How much did you sell them for?"
Me:  Two bucks.
(near passing out) "WHAT?! Do you know I spent $125 for those?  ARE YOU KIDDING, I could have kept them for that....(grumble, curse, stomp)"
Me:  You never gave me a price and you were gone forever.
"You owe me at least $20 for them."
Me: Yeah right.

You see, people in our town and probably everywhere do not care how much a product was paid for new, they want bargains.  They will bargain you down until you crack.  It's all about power and saving money and I think I still have 25 pennies in my pocket because I didn't give up a book for free, serves me right I guess.

Often my motto is, if someone asks you a price about anything, make sure they leave with it, make a deal or it will end up being put right back into the house when it doesn't sell.

A few hundred dollars later my daughter is happy, we all survived and we settled up with grandpa for 10 bucks.

Seriously, cowboy boots dad?

Just be careful what you bring over when we have sale #2 in a few weeks.

No, that's not my Butt.

K still enjoys a bath.

Nothing more fun to a kid then a tub filled with water and a ton of random toys.

I'm not a bath fan...stewing in dirty water, not my thing.

Not really healthy for girls in general, but anyway.

So I was thrilled when K started wanting to take showers. 

Most have been alone, some with me.

Those with me are always a buzz kill.

"Mom, why is your tummy so floppy?" 

Hush and wash your hair!

"What are those? (pointing to my stretch marks)"

Your fault, wash your pits.

"I can see your boobs!"

HUBBY!!!  Come get YOUR DAUGHTER out of here now!!!!!!!

"(Giggling) I can see your butt!"

That's not a butt, and you can shower alone from now on!

Nothing like getting your parts laughed at to start the day.

And why is it that when you go to rinse shampoo off of said child's hair they open their mouth and eyes and put their head down so it all flows into their face and then begins the screaming.

"MY EYES! EW DIS SHAMPOO TASTES BAD!"

I told you to look up at the ceiling.

"I can't dare is soap in my eyes and my mouff!"

Tomorrow you are getting a bath!

Did I say I was thrilled?

I lied.

Wedgie.

Duh, why didn't I think of this before.

Instead of loafing about playing on my iPod during soccer practice, why not get off my ass and walk?

Not that speed-walking though.

I don't want to look crazy pumping my arms, and I always get like off-rhythm and look like Phoebe running in Friends.

Just walking at a brisk pace to get my heart rate up.

Burn a few Halloween Oreos.

(is my poop going to turn orange? that dye is dark!)

 So I tried it one day at K's practice and I got a bit huffy puffy.

You know because my body is all, "what are you doing, shouldn't you be in bed playing Words with Friends eating Oreos at noon?"

And I was all, yes, but my muffin top is out of control and my pants hurt when I wear them.

So alas, I walked, a few laps around the field.

Last night we walked after eating Chinese food so I could drink wine without guilt while watching 30 Rock.

Today, another practice and 5 laps.  Barefoot.

My shins are crying, but I felt good afterwards.

Minus the inner thigh chafing.

Note to self, wear longer shorts or you'll have to constantly dig them out of your wedge-ical area.


It's not very lady-like.


I know i'm late to the party when it comes to staying fit, but this is a huge baby step for me.

I've joined and quit the gym like 3 times.

And, I'm officially banned from buying Ab-rollers from informercials at 2am.

This is decent, I can do it, and I'm getting less huffy-puffy at it.

Stay at home moms don't get much in the way of pats on the back, so this is my own self-patting.


And after 12+ years at home, I need all the patting I can get.

So to recap:  When your kids are in activities, burn calories so you can eat empty ones with wine and watch TV afterwards without guilt.

See and you thought you had to pay $60/month for a gym membership. You're welcome I just saved you money.

The End.

My Calves Hate Me Today.

Hey, I have calf muscles.

And, right now they are all, "um what the hell was that?"

So for Memorial weekend, we packed our tents, sleeping bags, and clothes-you-wear-in-the-dirt and headed to Sunset Beach to camp.

Sleeping in the dirt.  It's joyous.  Well, on top of the dirt with a thin nylon material separating me and the elements.

By elements I mean millipedes, and buried barf.  We'll get to that later.

But if you're going to camp, do it steps from the beach, it's amazing and kinda the best of both worlds.

And, by steps to the beach, I mean 873 steps to the beach.  Walking down from the top of the hill, not so bad.

You are so in awe of the ocean and the waves crashing and the acres and acres of sand, you don't even realize in order to get back to your family, the BBQ'ed hot dogs and ready-to-roast marshmallows you have to walk back UP.

I checked my pockets, nope didn't bring my cell phone to call my hubby and ask him to send help.  Or a crane.  Or a rescue helicopter.

What goes down, must come back up.

My thighs woke.  My calves woke.  After months of bed to bathroom to kitchen to car to mailbox to couch back to bed, my legs were all, "have you heard of easing into it?"

Good thing my walking partner (Hey Mary!) felt the same.  We both needed to stop and breathe hard. A lot. And cuss a little.  Here we are 2 days later and we both facebooked to eachother on how bad we hurt.  I was actually limping today.

Note to self...and others. Walk more.  And, if you're looking for a walking partner this summer, call me, I need the exercise.

Remember the buried barf I alluded to earlier?  Some little 9 year old boy, not mentioning any names, ate about 14 marshmallows, a candy bar, about 2 tsp. of sand, 2 Orange Crushes, and a full dinner not only 5 hours prior and spent the 3am hour poking his head outside our tent and puking on his shoes.  Thank goodness for daddy he grabbed the shovel and covered it up so the skunks and raccoons wouldn't come sniffin' around.

See, again what goes down, comes up.

I love camping.

My Husband, the Stud.

After DQ's last dance competition, we headed to dinner.

Well, it was 8:30pm...so whatever meal you eat at that time.

Olive Garden was our first choice, but the wait was 75 minutes.

I love how they tell you, "it'll be 70-75 minutes." not "an hour, 15."

That's what classy restaurants do.

But it was 8:30pm! We thought any place would be fairly vacant for dinner at that hour, but apparently it was Saturday night and everyone was eating late and it isn't 1950.

I was really hoping to try Riunite wine too. I'm usually a white wine kinda girl, but someone suggested that in a red, so I was really looking forward to it.

We were all pretty hungry, we could not wait that long, so we ventured to the next restaurant.

As we're seated we're approached by the happiest waiter ever.

And by happiest, I mean totally strange and a bit scary.

Even DQ says, "he's strangely chipper isn't he?!"

He stares at my hubby and says, "what can I get for you STUD?"

Did he just call him stud?

I think he later brought my daughter the wrong drink and then proceded to say, "sorry baby!"

To my 11-year old.

Bringing my husband his Pepsi, a conversation about my hub's glasses came up and he asked to TRY THEM ON! The waiter then says, he's blind as a bat and is looking for a good pair.

Back and forth to our table he makes more remarks about my husband being a STUD and I tell him, "please, you're giving him a big head."

I think I remember a "papa bear" in there once too.

Holy crap. Could it be?

My husband is getting flirted with by this guy.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Definitely a first.

Hmm.

Or did he just want a hefty tip?

I Want to be a Man. Sorta.

What? It isn't normal to cover your grey hair with mascara?

I mean...err..

I don't do that.

Much.

Preschool Thursday and I went out and bought hair color. Garnier Nutrisse. I have no idea what that translates to. Probably, "go to a professional, dumbass."

Like women don't have enough to do to take care of themselves. Stupid tampons, pads, acne cream (yes at age 37...again not normal?!), scalp oil, brazillian waxes (LOL), leg and pit shaving, tweezing, threading, yanking, poking, invasive exams....AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Men have it easy I tell you.

So I'm mixing the potion, getting a little high from the smell, and I start applying it to my hair.

A few minutes into it, I look at the mixture and it's PURPLE. I have a panic attack and imagine going to K's class performance tonight in a hat.

PURPLE. Not like dark purple red, but bright lavender purple. I take off my good glasses and find my backups. Not ready for purple frames yet.

WHY did I not just call Dana and make a damn appointment for a cut and color?

Because I'm trying to save money, remember the old 20% pay cut.

Okay, I'm breathing through this. I do the roots and tell myself this is completely normal.

I beg for help on Twitter and get reassurance. It's normal for the mix to turn colors, even purple when you're going for a "reddish brown."

Just as I'm ready to rinse and shower, I do one last Twitter check and someone says, "STOP NOW, DON'T DO IT!" I'm ready to puke. Thanks, where were you 30 minutes ago?

I envision purple, grey, and black hair and I start to sweat.

Rinsing my hair in the tub I see the water turn a freakish red color and consider Googling "wigs" when I get to the computer.

Why do we do this to ourselves in the name of beauty.

Or in my case, not having grey skunk stripes and to stop having people ask if I just got some new funky highlights.

Drying my hair, I breathe a sigh of relief...looks normal-ish. Didn't have to panic after all.

Just don't look too close.
I do have that "just dyed my hair" stench about me though...going to have to go around TELLING everyone I colored before they catch a whiff of me downwind.

...all in the name of being female.

I wish I was a man.

My Self-Portrait, and a Side of Snow

If you know me well enough, you know I like to self-diagnose myself.

I went to medical school apparently.

In my dreams.

Well actually last night I dreamt I was in a Kindergarten classroom again, teaching kids to read. Except they weren't kids, they were 60 year old men.

Anyhoo...I'm a doctor.

A real doctor diagnosed my psoriasis 4 years ago.

PSORIASIS.

Just that word makes me cringe.

And itch.

It's such a weird word too...I mean, silent P?

So my scalp has more snow on it than the Alps and 4 years ago I got a prescription for some medicine for my scalp and for my skin.

It worked really well, but like everything else in my medical world...the insurance sucked and the Rx's were through the roof.

One large tube of Dovenex cream...THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS.

May as well be ONE MILLION DOLLARS a la Dr. Evil!

The stuff for my scalp, about $75 a month.

So 2 years later I haven't gotten back to the derm because it's an hour away, so I have no new meds, and alas, the snowy shoulders.

Plus, my hair is jet black so it's completely obvious.

BLECK.

So I buy Scalpacin to tame the annoying itch 3 times a month but it does little else for the flaking.

I'm painting such a hideous portrait of myself, no?! That's just my scalp too.

---

So yesterday I drove an hour to see my dermatologist.

Marking his words, "the sun is psoriasis' best friend." so I have doctor's permission ORDERS to move to Hawaii, for my health!

After some scalp oil, a Rx, and in between treatments-Neutrogena T-Gel shampoo, I smell like the La Brea Tar Pits.

I liked it better when I was the doctor, *sigh.*

Confession from the Couch

I have a confession.

I got a birthday gift from a friend and I haven’t used it yet.

It’s been over a month.

I’m nervous to take that next step.

Are you curious what it is?

Well it isn’t a gift card to Target. Those get used immediately. I actually will leave my birthday party/dinner/wine tasting event to go use it. No one minds. They curse at me when I get back, but I’m cool with that.

It isn’t my iPod Touch, that baby is my 4th child. (Words with Friends player name “themomjen”).

Not cash either, that is gone, probably spent on pizza or more Target stuff.

What is it?

A session with a psychic.

Yes, a psychic!

I’m scared shitless.

So my friend who got this for me has actually had a psychic-party before. Invited a bunch of people over to get a “reading” of their future.

SCARY!

I don’t know if I want to know that I’m going to die on a specific date! I mean, I guess I can make sure I’m wearing clean undergarments, and my hair’s half-way done, but yikes, I’m not ready for that!

I hear that you can specifically ask for only the pleasant stuff. No gore or negativity.

But what if the guy slips, and goes, “DUDE, you do NOT want to be in your car on July 25th, 2018 at 3:45pm!”

Or worse, be like that psychic on LOST who wouldn’t even read Claire’s future because he totally knew she’d end up crazy-ass whacked on the island with a coconut baby in a bassinet trying to kill Kate for stealing Aaron!

So, what am I going to do? I’m freaked out and don’t know if I can follow through with this.

Maybe I should do it drunk, then I won’t remember.

Maybe I’m better off knowing my fate. I can get my bucket list started, use the excuse, “sorry but I’m going to be dead then, can’t help out at my granddaughter’s bat mitzvah.”

See how nervous this is making me, I’ve already married K off to a nice Jewish man, and wished a teenager on her.

Oy.

No Mom, You Can't Come!

My oldest went to Science Camp today.

Away from home for 3 days, 2 nights.

I miss her already, it's been 5 hours.

She's in good hands, her teacher, the principal of the school (also a mom of an attendee), and all her friends are going.

To the beach.

To study sea life.

Kayak, hike, build sand castles, not too shabby.

I wanted to go.

Hubby wanted to kayak.

DQ said NO.

We're too embarassing apparently.

I sorta understand, I was 11 once.

I know she's channeling me at that age, I would have been scarred had my parents offered to chaperone as much as I do.

I'm jealous of the other 6 parents who went.

I want to be the cool parent that I think I am.

I wouldn't embarass her.

I would hold back the cutely talk that we still have as mom/daughter.

I wouldn't tease her, hubs and I both promised that.

Still no.

On the flip side, My Boy has secured me a spot on the trip when he goes.

In 3 years.

If he goes.

If the school budgets allow.

Which at this point looks grim.

But, it's the thought that counts.

And, I didn't have to make any promises.

Oh am I going to embarass him!

Just kidding.

Maybe.

Put a Ring on It

Single Ladies is running through my head non-stop.

Maybe because I heard it about 4,581 times today.

Dance competition season is upon us.

In between numbers they play music, the DJ must be in contract with Beyonce.

Anyway, she who shall not be named performed in two dances today.

Oh yeah, we can't even call her DQ anymore on my blog.

Too embarassing.

Don't talk about me on your blog.

Typing that is even worse.

She's sitting next to me right now laughing, so I know she secretly loves it.

Where was I?!

Oh yeah, two dances, rocked them both.

Jazz dance is super duper cute.

Tap dance is amazing.

Fabulous.

Tappers feet are just so cool to watch.

I wish I had an ounce of SWSNBN's talent.

She just told me she's not talented.

Bupkis.

That I could be as good if I took a lesson.

But, I won't.

I can't.

I'd make a mockery of the dance biz, yo.

I just like to dance in the privacy of my own living room.

To Beyonce.

Single Ladies.

Booty shake and all.

While popping kisses in my mouth.

I've digressed again.

So two Platinum awards later, my girl did so great at her first comp of the season.

We get to do it all over again next weekend.

Double Platinum girls, you can do it!

Kiss Me Again and Again.

It all started so innocently.

My fix was limited to a small foil wrapped kiss.

My self-control in check, 5-6 pieces of chocolately goodness.

Then Valentine's came and I found the cherry cordials.
I was tested.

I failed.

3 bags eaten by myself.

The cherry goo melting in my mouth.

The flavor insatiable.

The last few days of barely buttoning my pants is the result of my weakness.

I dreamed about them.

I dropped one in my coffee....TRY IT!

Just as my craving is subsiding, I see this at Target...

It's like an Ande's candy but by Hershey's.

I stared at the bag for a good 3 minutes.

Kids pulling on my sleeve..."MOM, let's go!"

Buy them, or not?!

Will they be available through March 17th only.

Will they be good.

Of course they'll be good.

Better break out my stretchy pants.

Mama's got a new bag.

A Thousand Words Thursday

Last weekend--So here's the story. We are at the reception and my hubby took K to the restroom the first go round, I was taking her on her second. Well, I had no idea where the restrooms were, AND I'd had a few glasses of wine, so I let K lead me there. I walked in and though, "huh, unisex" when I saw the urinals in the corner. The overwhelming stench of urine should have been another clue. Whatever. I walked over to the "curtained" toilet and K did her thing. We washed up and walked out and there was my hubby standing outside. He had a look of bewilderment on his face, "why did you go in there!?" Well this is where K led me...."she led you to the men's restroom! that's where I took her earlier!" OMG, I was so embarassed afterwards and apparently I can't read when drinking.

Merry Christmas Eve.


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New Moon and Speedos and Jacob OH MY!

I was just reading People's latest issue about the Sexiest Man Alive and came across a photo of Jerry O'Connell in a Speedo and gagged.

After I redigested, I thumbed through the mag, Johnny Depp...eh...

Brad Pitt and George Clooney...so over them.

Gerard Butler...so-so...

Ryan Reynolds and Bradley Cooper...oh ♥ yeah...

But someone who was jipped...Joshua Jackson from Fringe!

He SO totally deserved to be in there, but whatevs.

I thought about writing about the perils of Speedos and how unattractive they are.

I mean, please leave something to the imagination instead of looking like a slug.

But, then I thought about the mini-skirt type bathing suit bottom I'm forced to wear after 3 children doing a number on my midsection and felt I shouldn't judge.

So I'll find something else to write about.

Like the mom of a cousin's girlfriend who recognized my oldest in the grocery store tonight and turned to me.. "I love your blog!"

I blushed.

DQ was so confused how this lady knew her.

You're sorta famous sweetie.

In a "on my blog" sorta way.

Anyway.

I'm getting ready to take in the most anticipated movie of the season according to some of my Twilight cronies and most of the teen-female population across the world.

New Moon.

My least favorite book of the Twilight saga, but looks like a lot of skin will be shown.

Chests...get your mind out of the gutter.

RPatz and Taylor Lautner without shirts on.

Now that's a good look.

Abs, a little chest hair.

That spot above the belt that shows the hip bones.

Forget the skimpy swimsuit look, bring on jeans and no shirt.

No mind that Taylor isn't even old enough to vote.

Ahem.

I've turned into a 15 year old bag of hormones.

Excuse me while I get my Edward tee, skinny jeans, and Chuck Taylor Converse on and head to the movies.

And don't tell DQ I raided her closet.
-----------
Update: The movie was so GOOD!

Edward fans, so sorry, this was Jacob Black's movie.

The bod.

A few girls discussing on FB that Edward's shirtlessness was a non-matching nipple disaster...I HAVE to see it again to check that out, I did not notice.

But, compared to Twilight, this was by far the better movie.

Kudos all around to the actors, and Jessica...hilarious!

I will sleep well tonight.

Confessions of a Gambler

I'm coming clean.

I've been gambling since I was 8.

The nickel-ante at my grandparent's poker games was a early lesson in cards.

I can bluff like the bigs on Texas hold-em too.

Bingo...I hang with the blue-hairs like the best of them.

I just don't carry those creepy Trolls and line them up with my cards.

I love a good slot machine.

The before-ticket kind, that you actually put money in and the jackpot would spill out the bottom.

When we vacationed in Tahoe, we were [ this close ] to Stateline.

Stateline is the gambling line.

The line that extends beyond the CA lottery, Indian Casinos, and church bingo.

The boop-boop-be-boop of the casino reels turning and chiming when you hit a 50 cent jackpot on the penny machines.

Ahh. Fun times.

I love walking in to the casino, breathing in the toxic cigarrette stench, and saying to myself, "today is my lucky day!"

Of course, everyone says that when they walk in.

But, man, hitting that {Double Diamond} {Double Diamond} {Double Diamond} across the slot machine...winning that $250,000 progressive jackpot...wow.

I can totally picture myself taking the photo with that over-sized check, then trying to shove it into the car and making the kids hunch over for the whole 5 hour ride home.

Totally gets my blood pumping.

Cah-ching!

So, this week, I'm a gambling, tv addict.

What's your vice?!

Mommy Down, 6th Green

So after 9 days on vacation we're home.

We had a fabulous time!

But it is nice to be in my computer chair home again.

Especially after my fall yesterday.

Oy.

During our 3rd trip to the mini-golf course, I ran to the restroom.

Literally.

Ran.

Through the lumps, bumps, hills, valleys, obstacles, and treacherous-mommy-attacking course.

Guess what happened?

Yep, I tripped.

And fell.

Hard.

It was one of those slo-mo-I'm-really-going-to-fall-on-my-face in front of all these tweens, families, and my own kids, type of fall.

I constantly, CONTSTANTLY tell my kids to WALK, not run anywhere, everywhere.

But, I had to get back on the course and get my 7-stroke-on-a-par-3 score!

Well, I paid for it.

Major golf-course-faux-grass-carpet-burn on my knee.

My right ear plugged from the impact.

The headache I had was scary-awful.

The aches in my body the day-after are still throbbing.

And, nope, no award-winning photo to capture the pure ridiculousness of it all.

Thank goodness.

The only bonus was hubby winning a jackpot at the end of the course, winning a free game.

We went again today before we headed home.

I walked.

Slowly.

Around the course.

I think my blood is still on the "carpet" on the 6th green.

And some skin.

Almost Touched Kellan Lutz (not really)

Okay so last night I'm reading Us Weekly.

I come across a pic of Kellan Lutz from Twilight.

I read this, "[Kellan] was a shirtless greeter for Abercrombie & Fitch at a California mall 5 years ago....at the holidays, he'd pose for pictures."

OMG.

I know this isn't him...but it so could have been.

What's my point?

I'm really not sure, but I had to dig up the pic just to check.

Photo from an old A Thousand Words Thursday post, http://www.themomjen.com/2008/09/thousand-words-thursday_11.html.

Dressed to Impress

So you might paint a picture of me after reading this.

This combined by my recent post that I shower every 2 days.

You might think i'm lazy.

I drove to pick up my kids today....(that in itself is kinda sluggish of me)

...in


...my


...flannel pajamas.

Yep, 2pm in the afternoon and I still had NOT changed out of my jammies.

Yeah, I hear the boos, the hisses, the laughs.

Don't tell me you haven't done it.

What? You were sick, oh..well..I guess that makes sense.

I wasn't sick.

I was just cozy warm.

And, for the record, what's the point some days?

I didn't have a staff meeting.

Well, K and I did have a little talk about not dripping bubble liquid on the floor, so we kinda had a meeting.

But, she was wearing her jams too, so totally didn't count.

I wasn't having a photo shoot, lunching with the President, going to the store, or the prom or anything.

No. Reason. To. Dress. Up.

I'm calling it Casual Mondays.

So what if the cars parked beside me in the parking lot probably took one look at me and said, WHAT A LAZY COW!

And, so what if my oldest daughter's first words as she got in the car were, "nice outfit mom, did you just wake up?"

Just makes those times when I do get dressed for even more special.

Right?!

It's not like I'm wearing my bunny slippers too.

They're bear slippers, so there! PPLLLLBBBTT!

Oh Mah Hair!

I'm a HAIR freak.

I am.

All the time.

I NEVER like the way my hair looks.

Too frizzy.
Too flat.
Visor-hair.
Bed-head.
Not-blow-dried hair.
Funky wave hair.
Too short in the back.
Too uneven on the sides.
Too bumpy.
Way too thick.

I NEVER like my hair.

I don't know if the hairdressers can sense me coming, but immediately their combs and scissors FREAK OUT and say, let's get all crazy-ass on her hair.

Don't get me wrong, I can fake it.

People often say, "great cut." "Or I like that color!"

Maybe they're lying. Maybe they want to say...WHAT DID YOU DO!?

Who knows, but I always find a way to ruin it.

I like to take the scissors to my head and play beauty shop.

No formal training. Just wing it.

I think just because I know how to use scissors, then I how how to fix my own hair issues.

Really it's not the hairdresser...I think my head is lopsided.

Right now I'm anxiously awaiting a trim (and I have scissors in my hand).

I'm going to tell her exactly the problem, a way to remedy it and I will come home happy and newly coiffed.

Bahahawahahaha!

I'll come home, fret for 2 hours...take a shower, attempt to re-style, cry, threaten to buy extensions or a wig, and pout.

Hubby always tells me, "you know when you go to the hair shop, they CUT your hair. They don't ever ADD any. I don't know why you act so crazed and surprised when you get home!"

Mr Know-it-All.

I just want a cut. Like I see on others and admire.

A cut done right, and not crooked, and fool-proof...and Jen-proof.

I don't trust myself though.

I was the one who after each child, swore to all that was holy, that a PERM was exactly what I needed. Easy to take care of. Wash and go.

Fail.

Let's just make sure I don't get pregnant.

If I do, call me Poodle.

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Update: Success. For now. Just a trim with some thinning and shaping.

Sweet, sweet Ro, she puts up with me when she should really scissor-slap me.

You know what she said tonight, "The hair on the left of your part has more body than your right!"

See. Lop-sided. I have Triskadekaunibodiosis...wait that's the fear of the number thirteen...or having 13 bodies or something.

Never mind...I'm off to cut play with my hair.

Potty Talk

Holy moly.

We're buying 24 rolls of two-ply toilet paper each week!

What is going on in our bathrooms.

Charmin do you hear me!?

Okay, so we use the Target brand for economic reasons.

But, Charmin do you hear me?

Between 3 kids, 2 parents, we should have the cleanest tushes in town.

Unless the little people are using it to mummify.


Which is fun, and was a party game at DQ's last party!

BUTT, seriously.

Hubby always likes to have spare rolls.

You know, in case of a big earthquake.

He says it's his NUMBER ONE priority emergency item.

Well, that and a good shovel.

But, are we going to have to ration squares?

3 per visit.

Can you spare a square?