No, YOUR Mom Is A Winner
Posted: January 23, 2012 Filed under: Crazy Lady, Skool is for nurds, The world is full of crazies, Widdle Debil 2 Comments »So the kids were in the bath yesterday afternoon with their bathing suits on (as one does), playing with their Barbies and erupting in hysterics whenever one of them tooted (bonus points for bubbles!). I was on my laptop because a) it totally counts as proper bath time supervision as long as you’re in the same room (I know because I asked Twitter) and b) of course I was, so I was only 3/4 paying attention (ok, fine, 5/8). I was busying myself with whatever it is I do with my time (probably really important grownup stuff), when I heard the Barbies talking.
“Your mom is the winner,” said one particularly naked brunette.
“No, YOUR mom is the winner,” retorted an equally naked, save for a painted on swim suit, Belle.
Now wait just a minute, here. YOUR mom? YOUR mom? Spoken with the exact inflection and amount of forceful sarcasm as one would use while delivering a Yo Mama joke. No, yo mama’s the winner. Granted, being a winner isn’t necessarily the greatest yo mama punchline, but the intent was clearly there. And seeing as I am the mama to both parties, I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or do a victory lap. Should I be insulted? Was being a winner in this situation a bad thing, seeing as they were arguing over who had to be said winner?
I was about to ask for clarification when the tub exploded in giggles again when the oldest blew air bubbles into the water and made a farty noise while doing so. Given my extensive experience with these two, I’m pretty sure I should have been insulted, but I was kind of proud. I can take a joke.
“Hey, Eirinn, that water your just put your mouth into is the same water that touched Avery’s bum and I’m pretty sure her toots weren’t pretend.”
I’m not sure where all of the class went, but I am positive there is none left at my house.
My Bi-Annual Post-Dentist Rant
Posted: August 5, 2011 Filed under: Petting the peeves, Skool is for nurds, Too late to apologize | Tags: dental hygienist, dentist, teeth 3 Comments »Dear Hygienist I’ve Never Met,
a) Speak up, I can’t hear you.
b) This is not your first rodeo – I CAN NOT RESPOND TO YOUR NEVER ENDING STRING OF UN-RHETORICAL QUESTIONS. You have both of your fists, plus two instruments of torture*, all lodged inside my face. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO SPEAK? Tell your friends.
c) *Ouch.
d) Yes, you are stepping on my hair. Please stop.
e) OUCH.
f) SPEAK INTO MY GOOD EAR.
g) These are crowns. They are made from METAL. You don’t need to be so scared of cleaning them. In fact, please clean them like you did the rest of my teeth. That’s what I’m paying you for. They won’t crumble at your touch and fall from my head. Trust me. I’ve spent four years eating with them.
h) Thank you for saying how clean and lovely my teeth are. I paid $4,000 for them and I plan on keeping them looking as pretty as possible for a very long time.
i) Yes, I do floss. Thank you for being the first hygienist EVER to acknowledge this instead of spouting off a script where you scold me for not flossing. Because I do. Maybe just not as much as I should, BUT I DO.
j) Your constant compliments regarding my watch will not get me to give it to you. Even if you give me a sad story about you losing yours.
k) BLOODY* OUCH.
l) *How is it that I can floss my teeth without it turning into a bloodbath, but you can’t? Because I can see those blood-soaked paper towels on your tray and I can taste iron. And no, it isn’t because of gingivitis or anything because YOU’RE SLICING MY DELICATE GUM TISSUE WITH YOUR STRING-SAW.
m) Yes, I WOULD like my next appointment to be with my regular hygienist. No offense.
Dear Dentist That I Keep Getting Stuck With But Totally Isn’t My Dentist,
a) I’ve told you this once before, please don’t make me tell you again – DENTISTS SHOULD NOT EAT GARLIC. Please stop. You stink. Seriously, how did you think that was a good idea?
b) You’re way too close to my face. Back that truck up. I’m fogging up your glasses.
c) With the lip. Why must you pull my bottom lip like it’s detachable if you yank on it hard enough? I can assure you, it is not. If you’re so desperate to see my bottom teeth, tell me and I’ll show you them.
d) You can’t have my watch, either. You’re a dentist. Go buy your own.
Dear Regular Hygienist And Dentist,
Please come back.
Love, Jen O.
Attack Of The Flesh Eating Bees*
Posted: July 7, 2011 Filed under: How do you categorize "crazy"?, Skool is for nurds | Tags: ants, bees, bugs, insects, picnics 10 Comments »* Blogger lesson #648 – sensationalize your posts by adding ridiculous titles in order to bait readers into thinking what you have to say is more interesting than it actually is.
***
At lunch I went to my mom’s, as per usual. Normally I’ll go to my house, eat, then head over there to visit the kids for a few minutes before I have to go back to work. It’s a tough life, I know. But today the weather was so nice, warm but not too hot, and so there would be a picnic lunch at her house and I was invited. In fact, not only was it a picnic lunch, complete with blanket spread out on the lawn, but we roasted wieners over the fire pit on sticks, ate potato salad, popsicles and cheese strings, and the kids ran around with no shoes on. Not a bad way to spend a lunch hour, is what I’m saying.
While I was sitting, eating the first of two popsicles, I lazily and absent-mindedly stared at a piece of hotdog on a plate. It was just a lonely piece, rejected when dessert appeared, sitting by itself, minding its own business.
And then along came a bee.
Bees, I’ve always understood, are attracted to sweet things. Flowers, melted candy on a sidewalk, a bowl of discarded ice cream, sticky fingers. That is what is in their nature to collect and bring back to the hive. That’s what they eat. Pollen and nectar, right? And yet this bee, who seemed to me to be like any other bee I’ve seen, flew right up to that chunk of hotdog, land less than gracefully on its broken end and began a very thorough investigation.
I decided not to shoo it away. It’s a bee, right, so he’ll realize this wiener isn’t a flower soon enough and fly away. No harm, no foul, no need to scare the wee thing. But then it started gnawing away at it. Using his little pinchy things on his mouth and his two front legs, he sawed off a piece about the size of his own head, tucked it under his middle two legs, and flew off. Again, very ungracefully. The hotdog chunk seemed to weigh only slightly more than this little bee was used to carrying.
Well, I thought, that was odd. A meat-eating bee. Huh.
And then he came back. Did the whole thing again. I had my mom watch as my witness. A meat-eating bee.
I even Googled it. “What do bees eat?” is what I asked. And every page I clicked on confirmed my suspicions – pollen and nectar, pollen and nectar, pollen and nectar. Not once did I see that bees eat meat or meat-like substances or really food at all. No hotdogs, no beef or pork byproducts, no tofu dogs. Pollen and nectar.
So either the end is nigh and otherwise vegan insects have begun feasting on the flesh of mammals or this bee has made a deal with some ants or something. Maybe the ants have some kind of mob thing going on where they’ll protect the bee hive from whatever predators steal honey in exchange for human food. Or they’ve adopted an orphan ant as one of their own but the ant requires more than just pollen and nectar to survive and so, being a good adoptive daddy, the bee seeks out alternate food sources, including and not limited to, all beef wieners.
All’s I know is if the bees are eating meat now, you can count me out of stepping outside ever again.
I need all of these answers TODAY
Posted: June 27, 2011 Filed under: Boring stuff you don't care about, Skool is for nurds, Stress 17 Comments »What do you get a teacher for an end-of-year gift?
How much do you spend? I’m not cheap, but I’ve got three of these bad boys (wonderful ladies) to buy for.
I’ve heard that gifts with apples on them are cheesy, but can the same be said about gift cards to the liquor store?
DO CATHOLIC TEACHERS DRINK? Probably some of them.
What’s a better idea?
What about a potted flower with a card that says “Thank you for helping me grow”? Too saccharine? If no, COULD YOU RUN TO THE STORE FOR ME AND BUY ALL OF THOSE THINGS?
Teacher’s gifts are sort of unspokenly mandatory, right? I mean, not that I don’t WANT to get them, but will my child be the only one giving them anything? Or does everyone still do that?
Seriously, teachers drink, right? Probably A LOT. I drink and I only have two kids max to take care of at any one time.
Couldn’t I just stick some money in a card like I do for people’s birthdays?
If I spend too much, will my kid be shunned for being a kiss-ass? If I spend too little, will the teachers fail her for having a cheap mom?
What will be said behind my daughter’s back if the gifts I send her with are terrible?
This is yet another thing they don’t tell you you’re going to have to figure out when you have kids.
***
UPDATE: I went with Tim Horton’s gift cards in $15 denominations. Everyone loves coffee. Or tea. Or hot chocolate. Or donuts. You HAVE to love donuts. And if not, they can re-gift. It’s like the gift that keeps on giving.
Pedestrian rage
Posted: February 3, 2011 Filed under: Grown Up Talk, Lessons, Petting the peeves, Skool is for nurds, Too late to apologize 15 Comments »I’ve been over this so many times. Not sure if just in my head, or if I’ve actually written about it, but it FEELS like I’ve said this A MEEEELLION TIMES. And here I go again:
A little driving lesson for those who use the four-way stop outside my work – if I am crossing, you wait AAAAAALL the way over on your side of the stop until I have completed my cross and am safely on the sidewalk. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I cross, you wait. While I am doing the crossing, you are doing the waiting.
You are not creeeeeping across the street, slooooowly. You are not timing out your cross with mine, hoping that you make it to my side at the exact moment that I get out of your way. You are not ZOOMing in front of me, trying to get past before I get half way. No. You are waiting while I am crossing.
POP QUIZ – What are you doing while I am crossing? You are waiting. Right! See? This is SUPER easy.
Next time I’m crossing and a car even THINKS about inching forward before I am comfortably on the other side, I will stand in the crosswalk until they are close enough and I will SPARTA KICK! their front bumper. And as I saunter on, a ROUNDHOUSE to the passenger side door.
I have never gotten into an accident. I’ve never been pulled over for speeding. I’ve never even so much as gotten a parking ticket. I am not bragging, merely stating my credentials. I’m not the best driver, but I know the basics. I know enough to not get killed or kill anyone else or to get in trouble with the law, by- or otherwise. And one of the things I know is that pedestrians have the right of way, no matter WHAT, because they are pedestrians. Vulnerable and unprotected from their own stupidity and from our vehicles, especially if we don’t operate them properly. And while it may be annoying to you to have to wait while a pedestrian crosses, it may even hinder you from getting to your destination at the required time, it is the rule, nay THE LAW, that you wait over there for the pedestrian to complete their cross.
I’M CROSSING, WHAT SHOULD YOU BE DOING?
If you didn’t say “waiting”, I’m going to hunt you down and hurt your delicate bits.
The end.










