playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren

I am a rule follower.

One time, in 5th grade, I got kicked out of Spencer’s in the mall for shoplifting.  It’s been a few years, so I feel safe in admitting that I DID NOT SHOPLIFT FROM SPENCER’S!  I was wrongly accused.

In college, on my 22nd birthday, I got accused of smoking pot in the bathroom of the Burgundy Room (anyone remember that place in Springfield?  Art Bentley?  *dreamily reminiscing*).  Again, since it’s been awhile, I could confess.  BUT I WAS NOT SMOKING POT IN THE BATHROOM OR ANYWHERE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER.

Since I’m all about honesty today, I will admit to stealing a very large, green thumbtack from the grocery store bulletin board when I was maybe eight years old.  That is the extent of my criminal past.

Every time I leave a store that has those anti-theft sensors at the front door, I get a case of nervous tummy.  This is not because I’ve stolen anything, but because I go through spurts where I set off alarms.  Those alarms are SO ANNOYING.  I never know exactly what to do in this situation.  There’s never a soul around, well except for the priest, rabbi, and Sunday school teacher who just by happenstance are standing at the exit staring at me when I’m seeminginly leaving the store with stolen merchandise.

Usually what I do is keep on walking, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, other than quickening my pace just a skosh.  I try to do my best impression of a person who’s completely unable to hear the alarm saying “Please return to the nearest cashier, we have failed to remove the merchandise control tag from your purchase.”  (Which on an aside, I like how their alarm likes to pretend that it’s all THEIR fault, not mine.  Well played.  But I’m not falling for it.)

The entire walk/sprint to my car I’m usually braced for the come-behind attack from store security guards.

“DOWN, LADY!  ON THE GROUND!  WE KNOW YOU STOLE MERCHANDISE!”  I wait and wait for the inevitable, that inevitably doesn’t come.

So what should I do when I set off store alarms, track down a store clerk to proclaim my innocence?

If you’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve party hosted by a breast implant salesman, you’re truly missing out on a well rounded, perky time.   These are a true party pleaser, you should have seen how Tate’s eyes lit up at the site of the breast implants.  All of the kids even loved playing with what they thought were jellyfish.

(I’m totally cracking myself up over the double entendre in the title of the post.  Get it!?  Ta-ta?  Get it!?  Oh man, I’m hilarious.  I’ll be here all weekend, folks!  Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and bartenders!)

Happy New Year!!

{snicker} Kum & Go. Seriously. Could there be a more ridiculous name for a gas station? The answer to that question is, “I think not.”

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We were watching an episode of the Duggar’s show, 17 or 18 Kids and Counting on TLC. (I really love this show, but I forget how many they have, can you blame me?!)

During commercial break, the first ad was for the Nuva Ring.

{hee, hee!}

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While visiting my family this weekend, my brother and his wife stayed at a hotel. Snickering, my brother told me that there was a sign where you put your key card in that said, “Pull out slowly.”

{HA!}

He’s obviously not a blogger or he’d have taken a picture. I blame him for ruining this blog post.

Phew.  Betcha thought I forgot all about posting on this lazy NaBloPoMo Sunday, huh?  No?  You didn’t even notice?  Well.

**Ella has this really red rash that started yesterday.  By last night she was practically covered with it.  I took her to a doc in the box this morning and the nurse practitioner thought that it she could be having an allergic reaction to her antibiotic that she’s been on for almost 10 days for an ear infection.  So that lazy Sunday I mentioned in the first paragraph was not, in fact, lazy.  It was filled with worry and tender kisses on itchy foreheads, calamine lotion, oatmeal baths,  and holding and rocking a sweet baby girl.  I fully embodied the spirit of Ma Ingalls.

**I came home from the doctor to my husband questioning me, which is completely different than asking me questions.  “Why didn’t they do a histamine test?”  “The doctor didn’t even know WHAT the rash was and was just giving a cop out answer that it’s a drug reaction, wasn’t she?”  “You ARE going to call the REAL doctor in the morning, AREN’T YOU?”

In case you were wondering my husband does not actually earn a paycheck as a hard-nosed detective.

**There is a direct correlation between the number of sunny days and the amount of housework that gets completed.  My house is a freaking disaster area.  Can you guess the weather?!

**I never, ever (EVER) write reviews, but an opportunity to try out a Shabby Apple Dress came my way and wouldn’t you know, I wrote a review.  You can check out my review here!

The fair is in town and to a foodie like me, that means it’s corn dog season.  I look forward to this rare occasion each year.

But really?  It’s not just the corn dogs.  There’s SO MUCH to love about the fair…

The smell of old grease and frying food, people walking around eating meat straight off a turkey leg bone, skeletal carnies with long, greasy hair and a Marlboro Red hanging out of one side of their mouth, roses airbrushed onto license plates, hastily put together rides that make you dizzy and blare songs by Queen, the smell of horse shit, aggressive goats, cows giving birth in front of you while you eat a caramel apple, mullets, extra large people wearing extra small clothes, children with dirty faces and snotty noses, people wearing clever T-shirts that say things like, “I know Jack Schitt,” body odor, cowboy boots, ropers, Wranglers, and large belt buckles, concerts by bands popular in the late 70’s, handmade quilts, homemade pies, blue ribbons, prize winning cucumbers, Gospel tents, unattainable large, stuffed animals, preteen love, angst, and braces, and Camaros with t-tops.

What’s not to love?!

I just love it when people mispronounce common words.  And by love I mean, it irritates the crap out of me, but yet it provides hours and hours of hearty chuckling when I’m making fun of them on my blog.

My most favorite mispronounced word was one I heard last week.  The lady who was speaking said, “we’ll talk about all the scenarinos.”  Scenarinos.  As in scenarios.  I looked at the other people sitting around me to see if anyone else was trying as hard as I was not to bust a gut laughing.  Nobody was visibly shaking, but there is no way I’m the only one who heard her say “scenarino.”  Scene-arino.  Seriously.  That’s comedy GOLD.

Tate and I have made it our goal to work this new word into our everyday vocabulary.  “So Tate, which scenarino works best for lunch?  Ham sandwiches or leftovers?”  “Hey Jennifer, after the kids go to bed later, I imagine a scenarino with us going to bed early {eyebrow wag, eyebrow wag}.”

Other words that make me laugh/want to punch someone includes:

Supposebly.  Supposebly you’re an idiot.

Irregardless.  Irregardless of what you say, irregardless is not a word.

Warsh.   I’m going to warsh your mouth out with soap if you say this stupid word ever again.  (I used to hear this all the time when I was a kid and lived in Oklahoma.  I don’t know if it’s an Oklahoma “thing,” but I’ve also heard a few people from St. Louis say warsh instead of wash.)

Ideals. I have lots of ideals about how I can torture people who use the word “ideals” when they really mean “ideas.”  (I hear this ALL the time in Tennessee and it makes me want to punch somebody.)

Any words that people totally botch that make you cringe or giggle with delight?

Edited to add:   Your comments are reminding me of words I didn’t even think about!  Kindygarten!  HATE that.  Also, I lose intelligence points every time someone adds a plural ending to words that don’t need plural endings.  Krogers, Meijers, Walmarts…THERE IS NO “S” ON THOSE NAMES, DAMMIT.

I just thought you all should know that the hole in the crotch of Spanx that I assume is for bathroom convenience, doesn’t work as intended.**  It’s not important how I know this, just that I know this.   Please don’t make me explain in detail, it’s just too humiliating.

What?  You don’t understand?  Fine.  Here’s one word to describe the calamity I experienced.  MOIST.  Happy now?

**Spanx hole intended use.  (I suppose there is another reason there could be a hole in the crotch of Spanx besides for tinkling, but no.  We are not discussing that here! My delicate eyes!  My delicate eyes!  Don’t you know this is a family blog?! ?) (Well, okay, we’ll talk about it quickly since we’re in the safety of parentheses.)  (Ooh, look!  Parentheses!  It’s almost like I’m talking to myself.  No one can really see what I’m writing!)  (Why on earth would you get it on while wearing Spanx?)  (I don’t really even want my husband to know that I own or have a reason to own Spanx.)  (As much as  I love that Spanx are completely unnoticeable when I’m clothed, they are QUITE OBVIOUS when I’m not clothed, therefore, NO.)  (I would not use the hole in Spanx for the loooove.)   (Carry on.  Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.)  (Ooh look!  Is that Johnny Depp over there?!)