My new neighborhood here in Indiana is the POLAR opposite.  Everyone talks to each other (except one family and they don’t talk to anyone), we have neighborhood parties, and we all are always just, well…NEIGHBORLY.   It’s exactly what I wanted in a neighborhood, down to the ability to walk next door to grab a cup of flour or have the neighbor across the street offer to take my kids when I have to go to the doctor.

Though wonderful, it can be a little overwhelming at times, to say the least.

Partly because we live on a virtual postage stamp and partly because there are lots of kids in the neighborhood, there is NO privacy.  There have been times I just want to go outside, watch the kids play, and not talk to anyone.  Instead of peace and quiet, I’ve had a two hour conversation with one of the neighbors while the kids run around screaming.  Other times, I’ve had to be the bad guy and carry two screaming children home from an impromptu neighborhood get-together with all the kids because it was well past dinner time.  Try explaining to a two-year-old and a fifteen-month-old why everyone except them gets to stay outside and play.  (Hint:  It’s not fun.  Lots of screaming is involved.)

I truly love the community where we live.  However, it would be nice to be able to control how much community I have to ingest sometimes.

Not being one to just bitch without having a solution, I think I have found the answer.  Not only will my idea bring joy and happiness to weary neighbors across the universe yearning for peace and quiet, but it will make me RICH.

It’s called the Go! Neighbor Alert/Deflection System, or GoNADS.  It’s very simple, all you need is three colors of fabric, red, green, and yellow.  You may recognize the red, green, and yellow colors from when you learned about traffic laws.  In case you’re not familiar with this or you’re just plain dumb, let me give you a brief refresher course…

Red means “stop.”

Green means “go.”

Yellow means “be careful, slow down.”

Place your selected flag to alert neighbors of your outside plans on your mailbox or flagpole.  As an added bonus, you can also use “flag holding” as a means of punishment for unruly children, making them sit in the driveway holding the flag, for all the neighbors to see.

Now your intentions will be known.  When people see a red flag, they’ll know that they need to stay the hell away.  A green flag tells your neighbors, “hey!  We’re ready to play!  Bring some beer when you come!”  A yellow flag means, “be careful.  I have PMS/my husband is going to be late AGAIN/I’ve been drinking.  You may not want to come over right now unless you want me to talk your ear off.”

I’m going to sell these pieces of fabric in a kit, complete with rubber bands!  Right now, I’m thinking that $39.99 is a good price for my GoNADS, so I’ll start taking orders now.

Cha-ching.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

A fun-filled weekend
On Saturday, an auction
Sunday, Prophetstown

Thanks to that good-for-nothing Mother Nature, the weather in Indiana is FINALLY supposed to be warm(er) and sunny this weekend. This is a good thing because if the weather was cold, dreary, windy, and miserable like it was last weekend, I was going to be forced to pack up the family and head back to Alabama.

(I’m TOTALLY kidding about that. Going back to Alabama! That is cuh-razy talk.)

(ha.) (HAAA, HAA, HAAAA.) (CRAZY talk.) (HA!)

So anyhoo, what plans are on your docket for the weekend? What does your family do for fun? I’d really like to know so that in the event that Mother Nature screws my eyeballs out and wrecks the weekend, I could possibly have some ideas for alternatives so that we don’t end up back in Alabama.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:
1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). We will delete your link if it doesn’t go to a haiku. If you need help with this, contact Christina or myself. REMEMBER…ONLY sign Mr. Linky if you have a HAIKU POST.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button above.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Them, “Wow, I bet it’s been hard to get used to this weather, moving here from Alabama!”

Me, “Oh no.  I’m originally from the Midwest!  I’m NOT from Alabama.  I just lived there.”

As soon as I say it, I feel guilty.  It’s like I’m talking about a dear friend behind her back.  I’m really saying, “don’t associate me with Alabama!”  But I say it because I have a lot of anger, albeit misdirected anger, towards Alabama.

Before moving to the Deep South, I had an idealized vision of what life there would be like.  I was lured by the romanticism of southern hospitality.  Having read countless books by southern authors, watched Steel Magnolias at least 1,000 times, and being a loyal subscriber to Southern Living, I was certain of the charm that awaited me in the small, southern town of Saraland, Alabama.  Certainly I’d have quirky neighbors who wore funny hats and gardened.  They’d smile and wave saying, “why don’t ya’ll come over for some supper!”  After supper we’d sit on the the front porch, chatting with neighbors while swatting away the mosquitoes and drinking our sweet tea.  We’d be accepted there, as all newcomers were in the southern novels I’d read.  Sweet old women would take me under their wing, fussing over me and offering me their years worth of motherly advice.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

The day we moved in, we were robbed.  Later that week, the Saraland police department refused to help me when I’d set off my own house alarm.  Although my neighbors heard my alarm sounding, not one of them offered to help either.  A month after moving to Alabama, Hurricane Katrina hit.    Even after two and a half years of living there, I never felt as if we fit.  We were always outsiders.

I often wonder if things would have started out differently in Alabama, if my experience there would have been different.  Maybe I would have interacted with people differently, less suspiciously, without judgment.  The robbery, although minor, was something that rattled me to the core.  I still feel violated even after all this time, but it seems unfair to blame an entire state on the stupid act of one person.  Hurricane Katrina did very little damage to my home, we only lost a few trees, but the sounds from that day will forever haunt me, as will the images from the media that we saw day after day after day.

I so badly wanted it to be different, I wanted us to be accepted.  I wanted my idealized vision of southern hospitality to actually exist.    Living there, I felt cheated.

It’s odd, though.  Now when I think about Alabama, I feel a sense of nostalgia.  Partly for what I idealized, but also partly for the all the good things.  I miss the warmth in March, everyone’s accents, the beach, and the food.   I miss that I didn’t take full advantage of all that Alabama had to offer while living there, but instead focused on my own anger.   Being so eager to move and get far, far away, I feel like there is so much still left undone and unsaid.

Goodbye, Alabama.   I think that I’ve made my peace with you.  Although you weren’t what I expected you to be, you weren’t as bad as I’ve made you out to be, either.   Starting today, whenever someone asks me about Alabama, I’ll claim you as my own.  Proudly.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

My fantasy includes a mommy-utopia complete with neighbors who actually say hello, access to babysitters, and best of all I’m suddenly very toned.

Poor New Town, IN has a lot to live up to.

There are only nine days left in which I’ll be a resident of the state of Alabama.  It hasn’t been all bad living here, it also hasn’t been all good. 

I won’t miss our neighbors…

Or the black bears…

(Why yes that IS a black bear in my backyard at 2:54 PM, the middle of the day!)

I definitely won’t miss boarding up for hurricanes either. This is when we boarded up for that little bitch known as Katrina…

picture removed

But even with all the hiccups here in Shitty Town, AL, there have been some good things, too…

I became a mommy.

(Early evidence of my quest to become Le Binky Bitch with Carson, age 2 weeks)

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(Ella at 2 weeks old.)

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I also met some great friends.

With these last few days ticking away, the air feels thick and I can hardly breathe.  I’m teetering on the edge of panic.  I feel sad, euphoric, and overwhelmed all at the same time.  We’re leaving the house where we brought our babies home, the only home they’ve ever known.  I worry how will Carson handle the move.  I fear having to start all over in making friends.   All of the little tasks are starting to eat away at me.  I just want this move to get over with so that we can get back to “real life.”

I’m dreading that when we get there and finally get settled in, life will still be, well, life.  It won’t be any easier, or better, friendlier, or more prosperous.   The only difference will be that it’s not Alabama.

New Town, IN can’t be all it’s cracked up to be.

Also, I’ve heard that there are lots of Cubs fans there.  And THAT scares me more than anything.

(post # 6 about moving)

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psst…check out whose photo made Photo of the Day at Photrade…..

http://blog.photrade.com/?p=95

And speaking of Photrade, I have 3 invites if anyone is interested…email me.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

I jokingly thought to myself that it would be just my luck that they’d be out of rice cereal, the lone item that I needed.  It wouldn’t be the first time the grocery store had been out of something I really needed.  In fact, they are always out of something I need.   I used to make my grocery lists from the sale ads but had to stop because I was starting to lose clumps of hair every time they would be out of EVERY SINGLE sale item I’d planned my meals around for the week.

Here’s a very brief synopsis of the repeat offenders:

Whenever I want to make Italian Beef, they are always out of pepperocinis.  It’s the MAIN ingredient!   Why is there suddenly a rush on pepperocinis the week I decide to make Italian Beef???

Purina Dog Chow.  They either have zillions of bags when I’m all stocked up on dog food or they are all flat sold out whenever my dogs must have food.  Is all of Shitty Town, AL on the same dog feeding schedule as me???

Great Value Brand black beans as opposed to the high falutin’ name brand black beans.  Why oh why must I always have to fork over the extra 30 cents a can?  It’s WAL-FART for crying out loud and GREAT VALUE is their SIGNATURE brand!

Ovaltine.  (Just kidding!  NOBODY except me and Carson even drink it!) 

Oh lawd, I could go on and on (Suave shampoo, sleek formula; Pepsi One, Clorox Anywhere Spray…) but I should stop seeing as I’m getting a little worked up here.

So back to my quest for rice cereal.  Those of you Sherlock Holmes types reading this have probably figured out that the grocery store was out of RICE CEREAL.  How is that even possible???  Did a pack of ravenously hungry six months olds come in and rob them blind?  Typically there are hundreds, if not thousands of boxes of rice cereal, but this time there was not even ONE stinkin’ box.  All that was left was the messy crumb remnants on the shelf.

I thought the vein in the side of my head was going to explode.  The one damn thing I needed and they were out of it!  AND!  It’s RICE FLIPPIN’ CEREAL!   As it would happen, one of the very young store employees passed by and could tell I was a smidgen perturbed.  This teenager asked if he could help me find anything.

“Rice.  Cereal.  You are seriously not out of it?”

“No, Ma’am.  I think it’s over here, I’ll take you to it.”

I thought to myself that this young man was awfully sweet to be taking me the the elusive rice cereal.  “Maybe they’re rearranging the store and moving baby items somewhere else,”  I silently wondered.

He led me to the cereal aisle and stopped in front of the Rice Krispies. 

“Here you go, Ma’am.  Rice cereal.”

*Sigh.*

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Wait!  Don’t go!  Please stay, let me tell you about a contest!  I’m also going to ask you out on a date! *wink, wink*

In less than three weeks, I’ll have made the big move far, far north of Alabama to the land of fried pepsi and corn.  That means I have only about 18 days left to have some fun with mah peeps here in Mobile.    Only EIGHT.  TEEN.  DAYS.

This is the part where I need your help.  And for your trouble, you could win some supa-dupa prizes!

Heather, her highness, The Queen of Shake-Shake and I plan to live it up these next 18 days.  We want ideas and suggestions of things you would like to see us do together before we must say goodbye.  What kind of trouble or fun can you get us into?  Give us some ideas!

We will be awarding a true Southern gift set (pronounced “Suthun”), complete with Mardi Gras beads and moon pies, canned boiled peanuts (pronounced “boled”), plus several other “Suthun” surprises!, to the winner(s) whose fun idea(s) we pick.**

Here are some guidelines to assist you in making your suggestions:

1.  It must be affordable.  (While we’d love to rent a jet to fly our pasty selves the Caymen Islands, sadly our trust funds have gone dry.)

2.  We are not opposed to making idiots of ourselves, complete with photographic evidence, however, we are not willing to do anything that would get us arrested.  (Nakedness, robbery, and pr0stitution are all off limits.)

3.  We want to have FUN (spoken with lots! of! emotion!, “FUN!”)!  Classy fun, immature fun, redneck fun…we’ll take all kinds!

4.  Since our nannies up and quit on us, we may have to bring our children along.  (This goes back to the nakedness, robbery, and pr0stitution being off limits.)

5.  Nothing kinky.  Heather and I don’t like each other that way. 

We’ll post the pictures, possibly youtube videos depending on the ideas, and give a full report of our adventures. 

Ooooh, I’m almost forgot about our date!  Heather and I are going to a Mardi Gras parade Saturday night, January 19th.  If you’d like to join us in Lower Alabama, get some beads, and meet us, let us know.  We’d love to have you come along!  For reals, y’all.   There are many, many bloggers within an easy driving distance from Mobile, so we hope to see your pretty little faces, January 19th.  

Quick review!  We need fun, you give ideas, we use your suggestion, you get prizes, you come for a Mardi Gras parade, you have the greatest time EVAH with us, you go home and make everyone jealous when you tell them how much fun you had.

Sound good?

“When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap!”

-Cynthia Heimel

**I should probably say something all disclaimery here, so I’ll say this…All prizes are chosen by Heather and I.  Prizes are subject to change on our whims.  You may not like our prizes and they could possibly end up in a “dirty Santa” game next Christmas.  We are not responsible if it gets cold here on January 19th and the parade ends up sucking donkey balls.  Boobies are not flashed at Mardi Gras here in Mobile, so exhibitionists may want to take that into consideration or risk getting arrested.  We’ll choose winners based on how fun their ideas are or by how much money they are willing to pay us.  We prefer cash in small bills since they are easier to hide from the IRS.  We may only choose one winner, we may pick 10 winners.  

Co-author credits to The Queen.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Last night, Tate sent me out to buy him some beer at the gas station, saying, “buy me some beer woman!” (He didn’t really say that.)   As I parked in front of the door, I noticed that there was a couple sitting at one of the booths inside.  They were very apparently on a date and were being all ooey gooey with each other.  I laughed out loud to myself, thinking how I couldn’t wait to tell you all how pathetic these two were for having a date at a gas station.  Silly small town LOSERS.

As I was cackling my evil cackle, the “nice” part of me reminded myself that our old high school hang out was the Git-n-Go so I should just shut up and stop making fun of them.   Humbled, I started thinking about how Git-n-Go was THE place to be on a Friday night to find out where the parties were, to see cute boys, and to hopefully score some beer from a person kind stupid enough to buy for a sixteen-year-old.  Then I remembered that Git-n-Go was even the place to be when I was in college.  Everyone would go there after the bars closed for more beer and cigarettes.  You’d find out where the post-parties were, see cute boys, and hopefully score some beer from some horny guy hoping to get you even more drunk.

Then!  I remembered that Git-n-Go no longer exists and that it is now called Kum & Go.  That’s right, it’s called the Kum & Go.  I’m not sure if a stupider name exists for a combination gas station and convenience store.   Stupid or not, though, it makes me giggle every single time I think about it.

This led me to wonder if teenagers these days still hang at the Kum & Go?  Also, how weird would it be to go on a date to a place called the Kum & Go? 

Then I started thinking about this restaurant somewhere along I-44 called the Du Kum Inn.  I bet people do actually go on dates to this place since it is actually a restaurant.  I can’t fathom eating at a restaurant with the word “kum” in the title.   Could you imagine ordering the chicken breast covered in a light cream sauce?  Yuck.  But still pretty funny.

Then I realized that I’m actually a big, huge loser for spending my Friday night making a beer run for my husband and giggling like a 5th grader whenever I hear “Kum & Go” and “Du Kum Inn.”

When I got home I made a to-do list:
1.  Get a life

**I’m attempting to curb my use of swear words and make myself a better person in the process.  So far I’m failing miserably with the spoken word.  Luckily I can be as successful as the delete key will allow in written form.

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If you wouldn’t mind, I mean, if you have an extra minute, would you maybe go nominate my blog over at the Bloggies under the category, “Best Kept Secret Weblog?”    Since you have to vote for three in order to vote, and she gave me the idea, would it be alright if you voted for Mrs. Fussypants for “Best New Weblog?”  Everyone loves Fussy, right! 

Please? 

Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I’d much appreciate it.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Go read about St. Pimento Cheesus and throwing beer at Christmas trees HERE.  Don’t be lazy and not click over, it’s funny, I promise!

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

One of the things I’ve had to do to get ready to move, was to get our dismantled alarm system fixed.  To save you from having to click the link and get caught up, I’ll quickly recap my (mis)adventures with said alarm system.

• We were robbed while moving
• Tate had to go out of town right after the robbery, so I messed with the alarm system
• I f*cked up the alarm system, causing it to set
• We had no code to disarm the alarm
• I called the cops to help, they laughed
• I disassembled the alarm

Caught up?  Good.

So I called ADT, for the very good reason that they were the first alarm company I came to in the phone book.  I got the ole run-around at the local office so they sent me to their 1-800 number.  Not surprisingly, I got the ole run-around when I called the 1-800 number and was switched from operator to operator.

“No, I don’t have an account.  I just need someone to reset a code or something.”

“You’ll have to call your local office.”

“They said I had to call this number.”

“That’s strange.  Let’s see what I can do.”

“That would be great.”

“I called the local office and they said that it’s not worth their time.”

“No they dint.”

“Yes, they did.  If you’d like to sign a 36-month contract we can help you.”

“Kiss my ass, you anal-wart-heads you.”

(I didn’t actually tell them to kiss my ass or call them anal-wart-heads.)  I did tell them that I thought this was a poor business practice and that when I am in need of having an alarm system installed or monitored that I won’t be calling their sorry-ass excuse for an alarm company. (I didn’t actually say the sorry-ass part.)  ADT Home Security Systems blows donkey balls.

So next up in the phone book was Brinks.  Brinks Home Security Systems was very helpful.  They came the very next day to help.  Brinks Home Security Systems didn’t give me the ole run-around.  Me loves Brinks Home Security Systems lots.

Actually the first guy that came out to fix the alarm told me that since the alarm was set he wouldn’t be able to re-program the alarm.  He explained that it was set up this way so that potential thieves couldn’t break into your house and simply re-program your alarm system, then proceed to rob you blind.  A new motherboard would need to be ordered and I’d be charged for at least an hour of labor.

“Fine, fine, fine.  Whatever,” I said.  “We just need this alarm system fixed.”

He told me he’d return the next day.  But the next day, a different Brinks Home Security guy showed up.  He proceeded to start pushing lots of buttons on the control panel and within about five minutes, he’d re-programmed the system. 

“I just saved you a bunch of money.  I hacked into your system and reset the code.”

While I do love to save money, I’m a WHOLE LOT disturbed that my alarm system was so easily hacked.  Gee, that’s reassuring in the event of my house being robbed.  But the good news is, is that the alarm system is now fixed and I’m ready to be hacked by every potential thief in Lower Alabama.

Did I mention my disdain for ADT Home Security systems?  No?  Well, ADT BLOWS.

Brinks Home Security systems gets my Binky Bitch seal of approval.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

The highlight of our evening, though, was two trick-or-treaters, girls, women who came to our house begging for candy. Both Tate and I were dumbfounded after these women left and we kept replaying the exchange with each other and asking if that just really happened. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a girl who looked to be possibly 15, maybe 17 standing there holding a bucket full of candy. Standing next to her was a women who appeared to be in her late 30′s, maybe early 40′s, but certainly someone far too old for trick-or-treating. Both were wearing sweatshirts and jean shorts, and just stood there obviously expecting me to drop candy in their buckets. Tate asked them what they were supposed to be and the older woman pointed to the younger girl and said, “she’s havin’ a baby.”

Huh?

How does “she’s havin a baby” answer the question of what they were supposed to be dressed up as?

And why the hell were they out trick-or-treating?

Most importantly, what the f*ck?

I quickly proclaimed to Tate soon after they left, “I’m so blogging that.” I certainly appreciate the most excellent blog fodder since I was expecting to write, “Carson was so horrible and threw himself screaming on the doorsteps of all of my neighbors, making them hate us even more!” Instead he surprised us with his excellent behavior and manners, saying, “sank you” to all who bestowed candy upon him.

Here are a few pictures of my “baseball player,” “pumpkin,” “man,” and me as an “incredibly sex-ay farmer.”

[pictures removed]

Why yes, I am wearing my frumpy overalls and pigtails. So, so hawt.

*******
Thank you, Dawn for awarding me a Perfect Post Award for Time!!!!! Thank you!!!

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Join Heather, Nell, and I on BlogTalkRadio tonight at 8 PM central time when we discuss successes and failures of making friends as adult women!

Click HERE to listen

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.