Happy Halloween

Today is Halloween. I love Halloween. And yes, I know it has it's origins in Druid ceremonies where human and animal sacrifices were made, but I don't care. I just love it. I'm not a devil-worshipper and I don't invoke the spirit of the Dark Lord (not Voldemort), I just love being scared.

Horror movies are my favorite kind of movies. Stephen King is my favorite author. I actually read Stephen King before Judy Blume - in 3rd grade, I read The Eyes of the Dragon. And no, I was not a normal kid. I pay good money to get the crap scared out of me at Haunted Houses.

One year, I dated a guy who shared my love for Halloween. On a side note, I don't want to give myself away as a shallow gal, but I may have married that boy had it not been for his name. It was Phuc. He was a hot man who had Vietnamese parents who didn't want to let go of his Vietnamese heritage, so there was no way he was changing his name. So there was no way I was going to marry a guy named Phuc.

Anyway, Phuc and I went to every haunted house in the Atlanta area. I have never been more excited to go on a date in my life because I knew that we were headed to a cool haunted house whenever we went out.

I don't care if a haunted house sucks ball, I'm still going to scream my head off and act like a fool when someone jumps out in front of me. And I'm one of those people that the actors are drawn to, so half the time I'm walking around with a creepy dude following so close to me I can feel his breath on the side of my face. God help the person directly in front of me in line, because I will grab onto you. And God help everybody when the douche dressed up like Jason Vorhees or Michael Myers cranks up the chainsaw (even though Mr. Myers didn't have a chainsaw in Halloween), because I will outrun everybody.  EVERYBODY.

One year I warned Bama Hubs that I turn into a 12 year old in Haunted Houses and that I run really really fast when I hear a chainsaw. He didn't believe me. Needless to say, when he finally caught up to me at the car after I raced everybody else out (who were also running, I might add), he said he never would've thought I could run like that. He would never come out and say, 'I never would have thought a fat girl could run that fast' because he wouldn't want to hurt my feelings, but I know that's what he thought. I'm sure that's what everybody thought when I came out of the tunnel like my ass was on fire. It was probably like Baywatch slow motion, but instead of Pam Anderson's firm bosoms, flexing muscles and flowing blond hair, you get giant floppy boobies, double bellies jiggling and spit coming out of the sides of my mouth. That shit is sexay.

Of course, I know haunted houses aren't real. If you go into a haunted house analyzing everything and figuring out how things work and what type of makeup the actors used, you're not going to have any fun. But if you go in expecting to be scared and just have fun with it, you are going to have a blast.

We haven't been able to afford a trip to a cool haunted house plus a babysitter this year, so I haven't gone to any haunted houses. But I've been to the Netherworld several times over the years and I highly recommend it if you are in Atlanta during the Halloween season. Maybe next year we'll be able to afford to go there again. So if you happen to be there on the same night I am, when they crank up the chainsaw and you hear a high pitch scream and then really quick stomping footsteps, move the hell out of the way, because this big girl may run you over.

I Want to be a Man

I really do not want to be a man. Boobs bother me a lot. I cannot imagine having 3 things hanging off my body that I had to restrain. And boobies are sensitive, but I don't believe they are as sensitive as testicles.

But during certain time periods, I wish I at least could Chaz Bono myself into a man.

Chaz Bono Before & After
If I could occasionally do this without all the surgery and be able to easily turn back into a lady, I would so do it.

Some of those times include:

• When I'm on my God awful, insides-trying-to-escape-through-my-bellybutton period
• Labor & C-section
• At any mechanic's shop
• While car shopping
• When the kids act bad

Most of these are obvious. I mean, men don't have periods. Well, Bama Hubs does, but he doesn't bleed out of any orifice in his body, he just needs massive amounts of Midol for his mood swings. So if I were a man, I wouldn't have a period. Same with labor/c-section - men can't conceive and give birth, so they never get to experience that sort of lovely pain.

Mechanic's shop and car shopping are kind of obvious, too. Most of those places are run by men who think that us little ladies don't need to be in places like that and they try to take advantage. Not of me, of course, because I'm a bitch who knows about cars, but I know they do it to other women because they TRY to do it to me. I just know they're full of shit. Plus one of my brothers is a former car salesman, so I know how a lot of them operate. Mechanics see boobs and they think 'car-ignorant'. Many car salesmen see boobs and think, 'jack up the price'. So if I could magically transform into a man, I wouldn't have to go all 'giant bitch' on anyone and I could just be a nice dude who knows about cars and won't get taken advantage of.

Now, the last one may be puzzling you. But if you think about it, you'd wish to be a man when the kids are acting up, too. In my house, I have to deal with the kids when they act bad. I deal out the discipline. I make sure they get back in line. I handle the teeth brushing, bathing, making sure they eat, all that crap. Bama Hubs doesn't get to deal with that. When they start acting bad, if I could be a man, I'd lose the appeal of being the only adult in the house with a vagina and they'd leave me alone. I could go out in the garage and talk on the phone and mess with my man toys. I could claim that the yard needs to be mowed. I could ESCAPE when the children act like morons.

While I enjoy being a woman, it would just be nice to be able to snap my fingers and turn into a man every now and then. My only request would be that the man I turned into did not wear thong underwear. Those aren't comfortable on my post-childbirth body. I cannot imagine how uncomfortable they would be when balls are involved. 

How to Scare the Crap out of Your Child

If you wish to scare the beJesus out of your small child, simply use this product:

Bath & Body Works True Blue Spa Blackberry Purifying Peel Off Face Mask
Can they fit more words on such a tiny package?

Then turn towards your young child while widening your eyes and saying the child's name in a croaking voice (think Danny saying Redrum in The Shining). Your child is guaranteed to not talk to you for a while and will be up your spouse's butt for the rest of the night, thereby giving you a much-needed break. I tested this out the other night and it really does work. Little Stinker wouldn't even ask me for a drink - he went to Bama Hubs for everything.

Other than scaring your children, it's a pretty awesome product and I kind of love it. But I also love to eat sweetened condensed milk straight out of the can, so...well, I'm not so certain I'm one to be giving advice on cool stuff. Fruity's the one who actually told me about it, so if you hate it or it gives you a killer chemical burn (or your kid craps himself), it's all her fault.

Nursing Home Love Triangle

Yesterday I had a little discussion with the nursing home where Maw Maw resides. The topic of the discussion actually made me blush.

Maw Maw has an admirer. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. However, Maw Maw's wanna-be lovah is married. And his wife lives there. But she's in the late stages of Alzheimer's, so she really doesn't know what's going on around her.

So two of the nurses made me aware that they are going to have a little discussion with the man crushing on my mama to let him know that he doesn't need to be showing my moms attention in front of his wife. No, she doesn't  understand what's going on, but it's very disrespectful to be showing another woman the kind of attention he's showing my mom. Especially right in front of her.

'Get your old ass hands off my old ass man, you hussy!'
That was in bad taste, I'm aware. And I apologize.
Okay, I don't really apologize.

I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I'm glad that my mom is getting this kind of attention. After all she's been through, it's kind of neat that someone is finding her attractive and wants to spend more time with her. I can only hope I'm getting some attention if I'm ever in a place like she is. But on the other hand, I'm kind of appalled that she would even entertain the idea of getting it on with a married guy, and I keep thinking about how I'd feel about it if it were me and Bama Hubs in 60 years. And then another part of me is laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the whole situation. That's the part of me that is super excited that Beavis and Butthead are coming back to MTV. That part of me is giggling about this right now. It's also the part that blushed during the conversation.

Honestly, I don't know how to feel about this and I'm interested to see how it'll play out. The nurses were worried that when they had the conversation with Mr. Love the first thing he'll do is tell my mama. And then she'll be pissed off and start acting out. They're really hoping, though, that the guy will be too embarrassed to say anything and will only spend time with my mama outside the presence of his wife in the future.

Any way this pans out, it's guaranteed to be as dramatic as any daytime soap opera has ever been, as anything involving my mom usually is. And it's also going to be the premise of a new sitcom I'm planning on writing. Because let's face it, this shit is funny.

Lowered Inhibitions

I read this article yesterday that said women who drink two glasses of wine have better sex than non-drinkers.

My first thought when I read it was, 'Well, DUH!'. They really had to do a study to come up with this?

To me, this is just common sense. First, alcohol lowers our inhibitions. When we're uninhibited, we're more likely to do things we wouldn't normally do, we're more comfortable with ourselves, not as self-conscious. So of course, this would lead to better sex. It can also lead to drunken trysts after a night clubbing and unplanned pregnancies....oh, wait, that's just me. Dangit.

Second, let's face it, wine relaxes us. I think that most of us have had an 'OH MY GOD' thought during sex that wasn't related to the relations. For instance, 'OH MY GOD, I forgot to bake cupcakes for the bake sale!' or 'OH MY GOD, I didn't reschedule the dentist appointment!'. Don't pretend like you haven't had these thoughts. You can be right in the middle of thoroughly enjoying yourself when suddenly you're accosted with a thought about laundry or what you're going to cook for supper the following night. Total mood killer.

With a little wine, you're more relaxed, less anxious. You're not worried about taking the trash out or remembering that you forgot to put the leftovers in the fridge. Then you can focus on having a real OH MY GOD moment.

Lastly, many women who are tee-totalers and never drink are also giant prudes. I'm not saying that all of them are, and I'm making a sweeping generalization here. But really, women who drink wine or other alcohol on a regular basis are going to be more uninhibited to begin with. So with already lowered inhibitions, they drink wine to lower them further, then they hear 'Let's Get It On' playing in their head and it's all over. But the woman who doesn't drink alcohol on a regular basis is probably wondering if her dead grandpa can see what she's doing to her husband and may not want to do such things because she's kind of a prude in general.

I don't drink wine every day. Hell, I don't drink it every week. But I'm also one of the few folks who can dance like a moron, approach random men for drinks for my friends and just act like I'm totally wasted when I haven't had a drink. So you can imagine what kind of hobag I turn into when I do drink. All they had to do was just give me the money they spent to come up with this study, as I could have told them all this with about a 5 minute conversation.

Other studies have shown that more sex makes you healthier because it reduces anxiety and relieves stress. Remember when people said in school that you'll never use algebra in real life? Well, I'm here to prove them wrong, because I have a great equation for you:

              Good Sex = Healthy Happy Person
              Wine = Good Sex
              Wine = Healthy Happy Person

Drink up and get you some nookie, bitches!

Occupy My House

I want someone to protest the messiness of my house. I want them to be on my front lawn picketing when I wake up in the morning. I will let them into my house and they can stand there, appalled at the mess. Then, in outrage, I will helplessly watch as they pick up spray cleaners, toilet brushes, the vacuum cleaner and the carpet shampooer and take action!

They will scrub away the mess. They will put everything up where it goes, as they look at me in anger, because I am the 1%, they are the 99%. The 99% who can keep their houses clean. They will be filled with indignation at the state of my laundry room and will take action! They will do all of my laundry.

When they're done cleaning, they'll set up a massive buffet in my dining room to feed everyone. And by everyone, I mean my family. Then they'll clean that up, too.

Then I'll tell them your house is messy too, so that they can come and protest the horrible way you have treated your house. Once they're done cleaning yours, send them on to another frazzled, overwhelmed mom. Just make sure you tell your friends that they need to come back to my house in about 42 hours when my house will be a disaster area again.

And I actually support the Occupy Wall Street movement, as I qualify as one of the 99% that is having financial difficulties. But because I make fun of everything, I had to share with you something I saw on Facebook that demeans the whole movement. But it's totally hilarious so it's okay.

I wish I could give credit to whoever created this piece of awesomeness.

Weekend Poem - October 22-23

I love to change song lyrics to stupid stuff. My kids and I spend tons of time in the van making up silly songs. The kid's recent favorite is my version of Justin Bieber's 'Never Say Never'. I turned it into an ode to constipation.

So I know you're wondering where I got the inspiration for this song, right? Please note that this is not a song about me currently - I am not constipated. The only time I've ever been constipated is when I was pregnant with Little Stinker and took Zofran for nausea. It made the nausea stop, but it also made me wish I were dead. I drew on those memories for this song. And I used other people's experiences with constipation, too. Because some people really like to talk about constipation. Not me, though. It embarrasses me, obviously.

'I Haven't Pooped in Forever'

I never thought my body could be on fire
I never thought my intestines could take this burn
My colon is impacted and I may die
And pooping is the one thing for which I yearn

There's a bad pain in my back
I may have a heart attack
Now I think I'm gonna yak
God, just get it out

Chorus:

I haven't pooped in forever
My butt hurts
My butthole hurts like the devil
Oh yeah it hurts

I need to get this poop out
Or I will just lay here on the ground
Get it out, get it out, get it out, get it out out out
I haven't pooped in forever

Impacted colon with 40 pounds of poo - from the Mutter Museum in Philadelphia.
This dude probably sang my song a lot.

No More Harry Potter *sniffle*

So yesterday I posted about how my hair looks a lot like Professor Snape's from Harry Potter. And that got me thinking about Harry Potter. And my depression.

Let me explain...

When school started back, I started working out twice a day like a fitness fiend. I was determined to lose 20 pounds by Christmas. I was a mad woman. Walking in the morning, Zumba at some point in the day, and free weights. If I couldn't make it to the Y, I did an exercise video at home. If I couldn't walk, I made up for it on the treadmill or bike at the Y. I had motivation.

Then I got the flu in September. It knocked me on my ass. Hard. I was down with the actual symptoms for a week. Then it took me another week and a half to have energy to do anything. By the time I felt like getting back to my routine, Little Stinker got the croup and was running a fever and trying to cough up a lung, so I couldn't take him to the child watch and I didn't want him around other kids so I couldn't walk with C-Note and her little boy. I had lost my motivation. I was depressed.

I have been kind of in a funk since I got the flu last month. I thought maybe I was afflicted with the lovely Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I don't really think so. I'm upset about putting Maw Maw in a nursing home, but I'm always upset about that. I'm also upset about Paw Paw moving out, but that's just anxiety more than anything. We're broke, but that's nothing new. I'm not really depressed, just not motivated. Well, unless you count motivation to stuff my face. I'm SERIOUSLY motivated to do that. A lot.

But then I realized that when I got the flu, I started re-reading the Harry Potter books. I finished them up last week. So I did some serious reading in a few weeks. Since I've completed reading the books, my mood has lightened. I'm a little more motivated to get back to my routine. I'm not snapping at everybody as bad. And I think I may even feel like writing some silliness down for everyone's enjoyment tomorrow for my weekend poem.

I had a little epiphany - Harry Potter depresses me. I think it has more to do with the fact that I really enjoy the books and movies and there will never be a new one than the books themselves. I know that I'm a giant dork, but I've never gotten depressed about fictional characters before. Jesus.

So now, whenever someone asks me what's wrong when I'm in a funk, my answer will be Harry Potter. Because let's face it, if we can't blame our issues on fictional characters, who can we blame them on? Our parents? That's SO yesterday.

All of my problems are J.K. Rowling's fault. Bitch.
Just kidding. I really heart her. A lot. I didn't mean it.

Snape Hair

If you're a Harry Potter fan, then you're familiar with Severus Snape. He's the bad guy who turns out to really be a good guy. In the books, he's described as having greasy black hair. Alan Rickman perfectly portrays him and does indeed have black greasy hair in the movies.

And now, I have his hair.

The other day I got an itch, which I often do when it comes to my hair, and decided to color my hair. I get bored really easily and get the urge to cut or color my hair often. If I had the ability of Tonks (another Harry Potter character who can change her appearance), my hair would be a different color and style every day.

So I pulled the box out. It's supposed to be a rich natural brown color. It looked great on the model on the box. Most of the time, when I color my hair, it comes out looking close to the color it's supposed to. The only time I've had an issue was when I originally colored it red. I didn't use enough color for me then-long, very thick hair, and it turned out looking like red and brown and blonde leopard spots. It was horrible. But I had an extra bottle and was able to fix it.

However, this time it didn't turn out so good.

Instead of the warm natural brown it was supposed to be, it turned black.

I've never had black hair. I've had just about every other hair color that occurs in nature, but never black. It's super-black, too. But hey, it matches my eyebrows, which are quite darker than my natural ashy brown color. And the gray is covered, so my goal was accomplished. So I decided to leave it.

The first day out after coloring my hair, though, I quickly realized that maybe I should've gone black a long time ago (seriously, once you go black, you never go back - because that shit is hard to strip out. And I'm talking about hair color, folks, get your minds outta the gutter). People I'd never met before stopped me and told me how pretty my eyes are. Every time I checked out somewhere, the cashier commented on my eyes (male and female). My eyes are green. My ex sister-in-law used to say they looked like ponds because they have these little brown, blue and gray specs in them so it looks like a pond with stones all in it. Aside from one girl in school who saw my eyes flash bright green once in the sun, my ex sister-in-law is the only person to ever comment on my eyes.

I'm getting all these comments on my eyes, with nothing but a swipe of mascara on and no other makeup, which is totally new for me. The compliments are new, not the mascara. And I totally suck at taking compliments. I feel like I have explain them away. I KNOW I should just gracefully smile and say thank you. I KNOW it. But I also know that wolfing down a pound of chocolate in about 5 seconds and then repeating it an hour later is not good for you. But I do that anyway as well. KNOWING something is not always the same as DOING something.

So each time someone commented on my eyes, I would tell them how I just colored my hair really dark and the dark must bring out the green of my eyes because my skin is so pale and blah blah blah.....everyone's eyes glaze over.

WHY? WHY? WHY can I not just take a compliment? One part of my brain is screaming 'JUST SMILE AND SAY THANK YOU, YOU IDIOT!!' when another part is saying 'YOUR EYES CANNOT BE PRETTY - IT HAS TO BE THE HAIR COLOR!'. I'm a moron. And this post is not about my split personality of self-confidence, so I won't dwell on this aspect of my idiocy.

Now that it's been a few days, I've noticed something that one of my Facebook fans commented about her own dark hair - the darker hair looks REALLY greasy REALLY quick. If I don't wash it at least every other day, I seriously look like Snape. (Please note that I shower daily, I just don't always wash my hair.)

The black hair color may be attractive on me, but the greasy hair? Not so much. At least it's shiny, though.

Through the Roof

I'm clumsy. Every time I drop something or stumble, my dad says 'That's why we didn't name you Grace'. Hardee-har-har. I trip going UP stairs. I seriously injured my left ankle once stepping off of a curb. I seriously injured my left foot once walking through my CLEAN dining room with nothing on the floor. I seriously injured my left ankle again by chasing the kids through the living room and getting my toe caught in the hem of my pajama bottoms.

Again, I'm clumsy.

I lived with my aunt for a time in college, and I damn near destroyed her house and her belongings due to my clumsiness. I knocked a picture off the wall in the bathroom and jacked the wall up. She got some brand new dishes and the first night we used them, I broke a plate.

But I did something amazingly more awesome that those things. It's so awesome it's awethome.

After I moved out and moved back to Oxford, I had some of my stuff stored in her attic and I needed to get it out. So me and the guy I was dating at the time drove from Oxford to Olive Branch (both MS) so that I could get my stuff out of the attic. Her attic entry is in the laundry room, so I went up and the boyfriend stayed down so that I could hand crap down to him.

Her attic is basically a naked attic - it's totally unfinished and there are some pieces of plywood laid down on some beams so that you can store stuff in the attic. But the pieces of plywood aren't all together due to ductwork, and you had to step over some beams to get to some of my boxes.

So I had stepped across some beams and grabbed a box, which was kind of heavy. On the way back, I stepped on a beam. Unfortunately, my ankles suck and with the extra weight of the box, they were even more unstable. So I stepped on the beam, and the box made me off balance, so my ankle went over.

Problem was that I was standing on a beam. On either side of the beam is insulation. Under the insulation is the ceiling for the laundry room below.

As my ankle betrayed me, my foot slipped off the beam. As my foot slipped off the beam, it goes through the insulation and eventually through the ceiling. My other leg is in front of me where I had just touched it onto the piece of plywood. Since I had the box in both my arms, I couldn't grab anything on the way down to stop my leg from going through the ceiling.

So I'm sitting there with one leg stretched out in front of me, a giant box in both my arms. And my leg sticking through the ceiling of my aunt's laundry room.

My boyfriend, who was standing in the laundry room, nearly peed himself laughing. After he calmed himself down, he came up into the attic to help me.

My aunt and uncle nearly had dual heart attacks due to the Cindy's-leg-sized hole in the ceiling of their laundry room. Luckily, it was just the laundry room and not the living room. And thankfully, I wasn't seriously hurt. My ankle swelled up really bad and I had some scratches on my leg, but nothing terribly bad. My pride was seriously hurt, though - busting my ass like that in front of my boyfriend and ruining my aunt's house again and all.

Although this is not the hole that I left, it was very similar. Except there was pink insulation poking through. Good times.

The hole has since been patched, and unless you know what to look for, you would never be able to tell that my leg once stuck out of the ceiling. But if you ever visit my Aunt Whitey's house, go to her laundry room and look up - the ceiling still holds the scar of my embarrassment.

Strange Things to Tell a 2-Year Old

I want this hat so that I can put it on when I tell Little Stinker not to do something stupid to reinforce my message.

In the last couple of weeks, I've said some strange things to Little Stinker in response to him doing something completely ridiculous. Taken out of context, they are pretty dang funny. Hell, even in context they're funny. Here's a sampling of some of them:

Do NOT pinch mommy's nipples.


Honey, mommy's boobie is not a punching bag.
(a few seconds later) Honey, that doesn't mean that you should hit both of them at the same time.


Please, for the love of God, do NOT stick your finger in your butt.


Please don't pick mommy's nose.


No baby, I don't want to smell your diaper.


NO!! Do NOT let the dog lick the inside of your mouth!


Take mommy's bra off.


We don't play with dog turds, sweetie.


Why do you have a hanger clamped to your nipples??

And my favorite:

Dear God, stop trying to wipe mommy's butt!!

I'm thinking of publishing my own version of Mad Libs called Baby Libs. Because anyone who has a toddler who is into everything has probably said some of the same things (please don't let me be the only one). That crap is funny, and even while I'm saying some of the stuff, I'm trying to stifle the giggles.

Zombie Biology

I love zombie movies. I love the AMC show The Walking Dead (which is based on a comic book about zombies). Incidentally, I dropped my DirecTV package down to a cheaper package a few months ago to save money, but yesterday realized that I didn't get AMC. And The Walking Dead premiered last night. So I upgraded my package for one channel. I'm seriously shaking my head at myself, but I really love The Walking Dead.

If you watch The Walking Dead, you'll recognize this zombie from season one. 

So back on topic, I love zombie movies and shows. I love zombie video games, the ones like Resident Evil and the silly ones like Plants VS Zombies. I kind of have a zombie obsession. And with the popularity of all things zombie, looks like most other people do, too.

Zombies are scary because death is scary. The unknown about what happens when we die makes bodies rising from the dead frightening. Bonus scare is that they have a thirst for living human flesh and brains.

But I have a few questions about the biology of zombies. I cannot be the first person to have thought these things while watching a zombie movie, although it wouldn't surprise me since I typically see things from a different perspective than most (aka, a weirdo's perspective). So here are my questions:

• Do zombies need water or do brains and/or flesh suffice all the time? 
• Do zombies ever need to sleep? I mean, I know they aren't living beings, but even vampires (Dracula-like vampires, NOT Twilight vampires) sleep.
• What would happen if you got a zombie drunk? Would a zombie even drink alcohol?
• If a person smoked, did drugs or was a big alcoholic before becoming a zombie, would that zombie now crave only flesh that smoked, did drugs or drinks a lot? Would he crave flesh that was full of the substance he craved before? 
• Zombies eat all sorts of brains and flesh, so what happens to that flesh? I mean, when we eat, it goes to our stomachs, then our small intestines and large intestines. All the liquid is absorbed out of it and is filtered through our kidneys. So eventually we pee and poop the waste out. But I've never seen a zombie taking a dump or peeing on a tree. How am I supposed to believe that a zombie exists if I've never seen them drop a load while doing the zombie shuffle down the street? They don't walk around with distended bellies, so obviously the food goes through their system - so it has to go completely through their system, right? 

Am I the only one who's ever thought of this? Zombies eat. They have to digest what they eat. So they have to shit, right?

I'm taking it upon myself to write a realistic zombie movie where zombies are chowing down on some brains when suddenly one of them looks up with an 'Uh OH!' look and rushes off holding his butt because he's been accosted with a case of the zombie diarrhea. And at least one of them will venture off to write 'I Heart Brains' in his own urine on the side of a building. Or in the snow in a cold setting.

Little Sluts

On each of my kid's birthdays, the first thing they do is wake up and open a present. This present is an outfit which they will wear in pictures that day. The girls always get a pretty dress to wear for their birthday pictures.

The next birthday is Pumpkin Pie's - she'll be 6. Her big day's not until December, but I have already started buying Christmas and birthday stuff for all the kids, so I've been looking for a dress for her. 

I usually buy clothing at Ross - for myself and the kids. So, I decided to look there for dresses.

When I started looking through the rack of dresses in Pumpkin Pie's size, the first thing I noticed was that the dresses were really short. Then I noticed that they were really low-cut. Holy crap, they have hoochie dresses for 6 year olds. I looked around some more. ALL the clothes for little girls looked like they were designed for hitting the club. Jeans - all skinny jeans, low-rise with lots of glitter. Shirts - lots of belly-baring and low-cut stuff. Then I looked at the shoes. They had lots of heels and wedges....for little girls. 

I went to Marshall's and found the same. Old Navy wasn't much better. Even Wal-Mart has a lot of hoochified clothes for little girls. I finally found a cute, actual little girl dress at Kohl's. Even though they had the most wholesome collection of clothing, they still had their fair share of hoochiness. Even Children's Place has decided to hooch it up. Target wasn't so bad, though.

To me, this is a big problem. Everywhere our kids look, they're bombarded with sexiness. They are supposed to be sexy. People on the radio sing of being sexy. Commercials that come on during kid's shows sometimes mention the word sexy. Movie previews are sexy. Everything tells them that sexy is awesome.

THEY ARE CHILDREN. THEY ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SEXY.

I want my girls to remain LITTLE GIRLS for as long as possible. I don't mind them wearing two piece bathing suits, or even halter dresses, but they are age-appropriate and they are cute. CUTE. Not sexy. 

When I see little girls walking around looking like their hoochie-ass mommies, I want to throat punch the parents, because the parents are the ones buying the slutty clothes and dressing their little girls up like little slutty mini-me's. They act like they enjoy it that grown men are checking out their pre-teens. Ugh. If I so much as THOUGHT a grown man was having impure thoughts about my kids, he would probably lose a testicle. Why people WANT their little kids to be leered at is completely beyond me.

And then you have stores like J.C. Penney's, which are supposed to be family-friendly places to purchase clothing. Not so much. Just check out the shirt they recently sold that caused so much controversy:

Really, Penney's? REALLY? Way to undermine all the efforts that have been made to make little girls feel good about themselves and not grow up with eating disorders and cutting themselves because they aren't pretty enough. Well done, asshats. Well done.

Anybody else as fed up with this crap as I am? Now that I have a sewing machine, I'm tempted to start making clothes for the girls myself. And I'm tempted to try to get some friends to go in with me to buy a screen printer so that I can make t-shirts that say stuff like, 'Smart is the new Little Black Dress' and 'My IQ is much prettier than you'.

I Wanna Be an Eye Rolla

I often get my panties in a bunch about small things that I take personally. I try not to, but I cannot help it. I believe in common courtesy and treating everyone well, but I don't like to get taken advantage of. I expect others to treat me with the same common courtesy I extend to them. If you're having a bad day, fine, just don't take it out on me.

Apparently my middle daughter has decided that she wants to be just like her mommy.

The other day Pumpkin Pie came home from school and was telling me about how she and a couple of her friends were sitting together when another little friend decided she wanted to sit with them. I have no idea where they were, but the principal was there. So Pumpkin Pie says, '(the other little girl) got up and ran over to where I was sitting, and MOMMY. Mrs. (the principal) told her that she shouldn't run and rolled her eyes at her (the little girl)!! Did you hear me mommy? She rolled her eyes at a kid!'

I stifled a smile, and tried to act as indignant as Pumpkin Pie. She was so upset that an adult rolled her eyes at a kid, when kids get in trouble for rolling their eyes at adults all the time. She went on to inform me that if the little girl had rolled her eyes at the principal, her clip would've been moved down on the color chart, so why didn't the principal get her clip moved down?

Trying my best to explain that sometimes adults do things that they shouldn't to a five year old was a hard task. I explained to her how mommy sometimes curses but she's not allowed to use swear words, how sometimes mommy and daddy got to watch movies that the kids weren't allowed to watch because they had too much adult content (NO, not those kinds of movies, pervs, stuff with violence and foul language and normal strong sexual content, not porno sexual content). I think she finally understood.

But overall I kind of agree with her. After thinking about it, it kind of pissed me off too. I mean, this lady is a principal. She's supposed to be able to behave in a certain way, and rolling her eyes at a child who is simply acting like a child isn't really acceptable. Eye rolling is best reserved for teenagers with bad attitudes who are rebelling against their parent's rules, not for adults in a position of authority who are supposed to be above such behavior. Pumpkin Pie and I have had many conversations about it since that day because we've both been dwelling on it.

You'd expect eye rolling from a kid. Not a school principal.

I should really start teaching her how to let stuff go, but I haven't quite mastered that skill myself.

Much Ado Aboot Nothing

So this post really has nothing to do with Shakespeare. If you've ever heard our neighbors to the north talk, then you probably figured it out already...it's about Canada.

From seansabourin.com.

Unlike those Southpark dudes (who wrote the song Blame Canada and constantly parody Canada on the show), I have no personal problems with Canada. In fact, I kind of heart it.

No, I'm not unpatriotic. I still love the good ol' U. S. of A. I just like Canada.

I've only been once, and yes, it was to Toronto, which is just above the US. And I was there for work so didn't get to do a whole heck of a lot of visiting. But I had a good time, and saw some really amazing things.

First, I discovered that the Border Security guys at the airport LOVE southern accents. Well, not all southern accents. Mostly southern accents from girls with big hooters. Yes, that would be me. As the rest of my work peeps were going through the line, this young, male customs agent was being very stoic and a little rude to everyone. Until I walked up. All I had to do is smile and ask him how he was doing, and he was the friendliest person alive.

Now, I am not gorgeous. I am not super charismatic. There is nothing special about me. But apparently the mixture of big boobies, a southern accent and big teeth was like some sort of euphoria potion for this dude. I seriously got teased for weeks about the guys attitude change. The rest of the people said that as soon as I walked off, he went right back to the same way he was being before - kind of an arse.

So if you are a woman traveling to Canada, make sure that you go through a male custom agent's line, and show some cleavage. If you have none, wear a push-up bra. If you're a guy, sorry, you're just shit outta luck.

The second major thing I noticed about Canada was that it was super clean. Even Asheville, North Carolina is not as clean as Toronto. And Asheville is a really clean city. The only time I've ever seen a city THAT CLEAN is when I went to an Olympic soccer game in Birmingham in 1996. Everywhere there was major traffic leading to the stadium was clean and bright. But when you ventured off the beaten path (which I did heading home, as I got lost), the rest of the city was just as dirty as it always was.

Even when you venture down a dark alley in Toronto, it's clean. There's no litter. And if there is litter, somebody picks it up. There's no obvious stench of vomit or urine that you get in so many big cities due to a large homeless population. I'm sure there are homeless people, but I didn't see any trace of them. Toronto was just super clean. From what I've heard others say, the rest of Canada is pretty much like that as well. I want to visit other places someday just to check out how clean they are.

The third major observation was their patriotism. There were Canadian flags all over the place. Didn't matter where you looked, there was a Canadian flag billowing high on a flagpole. We actually asked someone if it was a holiday. Nope. We wondered if there'd been some sort of 9/11-type tragedy there that hadn't been publicized in the US. Nope.

They just really love their country and proudly display their flags. It was kind of refreshing, as here, the only time we get patriotic is when there's a holiday to remember soldiers, veterans, etc. or when there's a national tragedy that makes us remember, 'Oh, yeah, we are AMERICANS! We have a flag to fly!'. They just do that all the time up there.

Something else that caught my attention happened when I was flirting with the customs dude - he asked all sorts of questions about why I was there. What was I doing there? Where was I from? Was I going to be taking jobs away from Canadians? I'm sure the where I was from question was just curiosity over the accent, but I'm pretty sure everyone else got asked the other questions as well. They protect their country and want to make sure that us sleazy Americans aren't coming up there to steal jobs away from their citizens.

Now, I don't want to get into a heated debate about immigration, but Canada kind of does this right. I haven't fact-checked this, but according to those we spoke to, you cannot move to Canada if you have a criminal record. They are apparently very strict about illegal immigration and deportation. Again, I'm not trying to stir up anymore controversy, and I haven't really made up my mind how I feel about illegal immigration, so please don't blast me for posting this, as it's just an observation that I've made.

So, anyway, aside from the immigration issue, which again, I'm still undecided on (I know that wasn't proper grammar, either), Canada does a lot of things right. The first point was just something funny that happened, but if we kept our cities cleaner and were as patriotic all the time as we are on remembrance holidays, maybe things would be a little different here. Maybe not, but it would be cool to see, right?

My GIANT Celebrity Crush

I have several celebrity crushes. But I just had one that shot to the top of the list.

Hugh Jackman.

At the Real Steel premiere.

I've loved him for a long time.

He can play sensitive.

In Kate & Leopold.

He does Broadway.

In The Boy From Oz.

He can play tough.

Yowza.

He loves his wife. And bonus, she's not a shallow supermodel, she appears to be an average looking woman and he's totally devoted to her.

He loves his kids.

And he's funny. Now, the funny part we don't really got to see a lot in his movies, but yesterday I watched the SNL episode from this weekend on the DVR and I woke Little Stinker up while he was napping because I was laughing so hard. Because Mr. Hugh Jackman made a surprise appearance and made fun of himself.

Andy Samberg does a skit where he plays Hugh Jackman and the premise is that he's the best of both worlds. He's the world's most masculine AND most feminine man. Hugh Jackman makes a surprise appearance and showed up as Daniel Radcliffe and is such a good sport.

So not only is he down-to-earth, amazingly hot and seems to be a really decent guy, he's funny, too. And that accent! WHOO!

To quote Rebel Grill, is it hot in here?

The Most Awesome Named Neighborhood Evah

There's this subdivision outside of Memphis with a funny name. I can't decide if the person had a really dirty mind and an awesome sense of humor or they were completely clueless when they named this subdivision. Since I have a dirty mind, when I drove past it on the way to Fruity's house from Memphis a few years ago, I spit my Icee all over myself. Not only did I stain my shirt red and blue (because I like my Icees mixed), I also nearly peed my pants driving down the road.

If you are good and innocent, you will not get it. So you should probably do a google search for 'morning wood'. Just don't do it at work or around children. Trust me on this. And you should probably stay away from anything with images.

If you are like me and have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy, you will totally get it and laugh as loudly as I did.

From city-data.com

Imagine the awesomeness of living here.

When giving directions, you'd tell people to turn into Morning Wood. If you ordered a pizza for delivery, you'd tell the person on the phone to watch for the Morning Wood. You could make phone calls early in the day on the weekend and tell people, truthfully, that you're always up early at Morning Wood!

Suppose your neighbor had the last name of Wood. And you both lived in Morning Wood. When going outside to get your paper in the morning, you'd run into him and yell, 'Mornin', Wood! It's a lovely day in Morning Wood, isn't it?'

I would never ever in a million years stop making jokes about Morning Wood. And it would never get old. At least to me. I'm sure everyone else would tire of it. But not me. I would continue with the Morning Wood jokes until I died. They'd have to put something about Morning Wood on my headstone. Seriously.

Little Bully

Last night the school my girls attend had skate night at the local skating rink. I love to skate, the girls love to skate, so we went.

I need me some of these to go with my awesome skating skillz.

Bama Hubs kept Little Stinker at home so that I could skate, because when he is there, not only can I not skate, I can't do anything except fight him to keep him in the stroller. 

I met C-Note there, who brought her kids as well. It was a lot of fun, and there were no problems. Well, there were no problems until it was close to closing time.

C-Note and I were sitting there while I finished up my dinner (greasy skating rink pizza) and she told me about this little kid who'd been skating around. C-Note's daughter has a speech impediment - she doesn't pronounce her r's correctly. Her name and her teacher's name both have an r in them, so she says them a little funny. 

Now, before I continue with the story, I must give you some background about myself. I had a HORRIBLE lisp growing up. Horrible. When I'm drunk or really tired, it still comes out. I've blogged about it before. Since my name was full of S-noises, I had a really fun time in school. Speech therapy cured me until I got braces, then I had to go through speech therapy all over again. Even now, when I don't pay attention to where I place my tongue in my mouth, I will lisp. I have to consciously think about it. Which is why it comes out when I'm drunk or exhausted - my brain is occupied on things like walking without tipping over, so I cannot concentrate on where I place my tongue behind my front teeth. My brother J also had a similar problem to C-Note's daughter with mispronouncing his r's. So I have a soft spot for speech impediments.

Back to the story now.

So C-Note was telling me about this kid that kept skating by and saying C-Note's daughter's name and her teacher's name just like she says it. With the mispronounced r. Little Note would just giggle and giggle when he did it - she didn't realize he was making fun of her. Of course, as a parent, it was breaking C-Note's heart to see someone doing that to her daughter, even if she didn't realize someone was making fun of her. When she told me, I had to fight back tears it touched me so much. 

Then it pissed me off. 

Little Note is a wonderfully sweet little girl. She's just precious. And for another kid....an OLDER kid....to tease her about the way she talks when he should know better, just ticked me off. The school all those kids attend has a zero tolerance policy on bullying. Teasing is a form of bullying. Even though we weren't at school, we were at a school event. This kid was at least in 4th or 5th grade, and Eldest Daughter said that he'd been there since she started school, so he didn't recently switch schools and didn't know about bullying and teasing. He really did know better.

When the lights came on to announce that we should take our skates off and get the heck out of there, here comes that little boy, skating by, making fun of Little Note. 

Here's some more background on me before I finish the story. I'm the type of mom who will get onto another person's kid on the playground if I see said kid doing something that will hurt themselves or someone else. I have pissed lots of parents off telling their kids to not go up the slide while other kids are playing. I'm cool if their parents don't care if they get hurt, but if it looks like it's going to hurt my kids or somebody else's kids, I'm sure going to say something. Give me dirty looks. Talk about me behind my back. I don't give a crap. If your kid is acting like a fool, I will say something to your kid. And to you if he keeps doing it. 

So now you know I'm kind of a bitch. You can imagine what happened next.

This kid is still making fun of the way Little Note talks, so I yelled at him - 'Hey! Stop that!'. He cockily yelled back, 'What?' So I told him that he was teasing Little Note by making fun of the way she talks. He rolled his eyes and skated over to his mom (who was surrounded by two other women, so I wasn't quite sure which one was actually his mom). As he's taking off his skates, I can hear him saying, really loudly, the same thing he'd been yelling at Little Note. He was going to show me that he can do whatever he wants.

Oh. HELL. No. Little fucking brat. Yes, I just typed fuck. Because that's exactly what I heard in my head. I. Was. Pissed. I was enraged not just because the little pissant just disrespected an adult, but because of how hurt C-Note was and that Little Note couldn't stick up for herself because she didn't realize what was going on.

Luckily, on the way to swap skates for shoes, I got the chance to say something to the mom. The little boy was huddled up with a bunch of other kids and the three women. 

I calmly walked up to them and asked the one that he was talking to, 'Is this your son?' 

'Yes.'

'Well, I don't mean to cause him to get in trouble, but I would want to know if one of my kids were doing something like this. He has been making fun of the way this little girl (gesturing to Little Note) talks all night. She has a speech impediment and cannot properly pronounce her r's and he's been skating by saying her name and her teacher's name...' here the little boy interrupted me.

'But I just like the way she talks. I didn't know she couldn't say her r's right. If you'da told me I woulda stopped'. I didn't say this, but it's what I thought: 'Yeah, right kid. You know what an r sounds like. You just said it the right way. You were purposely saying it the way she says it. It wasn't an accident. You were making fun of her. And I DID tell you. Instead of stopping, you rolled your eyes at me and amped up the volume on your little theatrics'

Instead, I said, 'Look, he may not have been purposely doing it, but regardless, it's not right to tease someone about the way they talk, especially when they cannot help it. The school has a no tolerance policy for bullying and that includes teasing, and I'm sure that he knows that.' I said this all very calmly. I did not go 'Ghetto Bama' on them. I was polite and friendly. I am, after all, a former manager and I've given a live presentation in front of nearly 10,000 folks - I am able to control myself. And I am southern, so I can deliver any type of news in a friendly manner.

If that mom had the ability, lasers would have been shooting out of her face like the Laser Cats on the SNL skit. 

I lurve me some Laser Cats. From goodietwosleeves.com.

As I walked off, C-Note said that the lady and the other women were talking about me and how he was just the sweetest little boy and wouldn't do something like that. My ass. Of course he could do something like that. He did something like that. You have another parent telling you in a polite manner that your child was making fun of another child for something they cannot help, and instead of using it as a learning experience for your child and the other children around, you are using it as an opportunity to talk about somebody and further delude yourself that your child is perfect. No wonder you have such a fucking brat.

But maybe there is hope. When he was away from his mother and the other people, he apologized to C-Note, Little Note and me. I tried to explain to him that I really wasn't trying to get him in trouble, but what he was doing was not nice. Away from everyone else, he wasn't as cocky and didn't appear to be trying to show off so much. Maybe it got through to him. But judging from the way his mother reacted, it probably didn't do any good. Oh, well, can't blame me for trying.

And if you're wondering why C-Note didn't say anything in defense of her daughter, it's because she admittedly doesn't do well with confrontation. And she's not a bitch like I am.

Where's the Xanax? Errr.....Beef. I Meant Where's the Beef?

Tuesday night was school night at Wendy's for my girl's school. A portion of the proceeds of the food sold between 5 and 8 went to their school. So we decided to eat out for a good cause. And by we I mean me. Me and the kids.

I almost always cook supper. Sometimes we order pizza. But we very rarely eat out. Other than the cost of feeding 5 people in a a restaurant (fast food or otherwise), the toddler currently in our care is the main reason why we don't eat out.

He's horrible in a restaurant. Beyond horrible.

Oh, he's fine while he's eating. People walk by and comment on how well behaved he is. While he's eating. Of course he's well behaved. He knows that if he wants to stuff that crap into his mouth, he has to sit still to do so. It's the waiting on the food part that's not wonderful with him. And the part after he's done but everyone else is still eating that's even worse than the waiting on the food part.

When Bama Hubs and I are together, he's easier to handle because one of us can deal with him and the other can deal with everything else, including the girls. But I almost always do everything alone due to the hubby's hours at work and just basic disinterest in doing anything with me or the children, so I have to deal with the horrible toddler AND everything else. And it almost always ends in disaster. With me crying.

So on this wonderful school night at Wendy's, it was filled with children from Pumpkin Pie and Eldest Daughter's school. Kids running everywhere. It was chaos. While I was trying to order the food, Little Stinker was squirming and trying to get down to run amok with all of the other children. Which distracted me so badly I had to keep stopping to collect my thoughts each time he popped me in the side of the head with a flailing limb. Then I tried to sit him in a booster seat at the table, which did not work out because he kept slithering out of it and escaping under the table. I finally had to strap him in a high chair, which caused a Little Stinker nuclear meltdown. Add on top of that popping balloons because of something sharp on the ceiling - both Pumpkin Pie and C-Note's daughter's balloons met their end this way. And Little Stinker screaming at the top of his lungs - I'm talking eardrum rupturing screams - simply because he could.

Then E-Note, C-Note's hubby (who is a Wendy's manager at another store) let us in on a secret - if you go up to the register and ask 'Where's the beef?' you get a free frosty (this promotion is only for a limited time). After much prodding, all of the kids went up to the register, giggling, and asked where the beef was. They all got a free frosty. Eldest Daughter, who is very fond of spilling frozen beverages, wound up spilling hers all over the place.

I even went up to the counter and said, "I cannot believe I'm about to say this, but 'Where's the Beef?'" So I got myself a free frosty (which I took to Paw Paw). And as E-Note said, I better be glad that it wasn't him up there, because since he knows me, I probably would have gotten a pervy answer. And on that note (pun intended) I'm glad I don't work at Wendy's because I do not think I would be able to hear that several times a day during this promotion and NOT say something about finding the beef in your pants. Or 'that's what she said'. I just wouldn't be able to help myself.

After some really not-so-friendly looks from the management, every employee (especially the poor kid who had to clean up Eldest Daughter's frosty mess....with a broom and dustpan) and almost all of the other parents in the joint, I decided that SOMEONE was about to either offer us money or beat the crap out of me to get us the hell outta Dodge. So we left. But not before I asked everyone in there if they had an extra Xanax. Because after that, I really needed one. Everyone said no. I'm pretty sure, though, that some of them had a Xanax, but after having to listen to my hooligans for 45 minutes or so, they were about to pop some themselves and didn't feel like sharing. I don't blame them.

Ummmm.....I really didn't ask for a Xanax. But I thought about it.

I'm too SEXAY for Zumba!

I love Zumba. It's a wonderful fun way to get into or stay in shape. It's an hour of cardio that you don't realize takes an hour because you're just dancing. And depending on your instructor, you can also get some great ab or leg target work in. If Zumba were a man, I'd do him. Totally.

While in class, I hate looking at myself in the mirror. Of course, I'm a fattie, so looking at my double bellies jiggle in the mirror kind of sucks. I know what I look like. I don't need to see that shit flapping around. But I also get the moves without looking at myself in the mirror - when I had to learn routines for guard or dance routines when I was little, I learned without looking in a mirror. So the mirror actually messes me up in Zumba class.

I also don't like to keep my eyes totally on the instructor, because they usually have their asses facing the class, so I wind up staring at their asses. I catch myself doing it and realize I must look like a pervy lesbian, so I try to stop. But my eyes always wander back to an ass as a focal point.

So I try to consciously look around the room. I look at the ceiling above the mirror. The windows. I look around at other people. And by looking around at other people, I have noticed that there are some conceited women who take Zumba and think that they are the shit. THA. SHIT.

Please note that I love confidence. We all need confidence. High self esteem is very important. But one of my biggest pet peeves is conceitedness. There is a fine line between confidence and conceit. And in some cases that line is a Sharpie-drawn line in place of an actual eyebrow.

For these women, the mirror is a reminder of how friggin hot they are. They watch themselves in the mirror while making orgasmic faces. When they crunch, it looks like they're trying to hump themselves in the mirror. I imagine a voice in their heads that sounds similar to Macho Man Randy Savage's saying 'OH YEEEAAAAHHHHH'.

Sometimes I'm reminded of the Right Said Fred song 'I'm too Sexy'.

Or 2 Live Crew's 'Me so Horny' (which is too explicit even for my blog). Or my favorite, Divinyls's 'I Touch Myself'.

I take Zumba at the YMCA. They don't allow songs about bitches or hoes, or loads of alcohol. No drugs can be mentioned. No sex. It's pretty PG up in that joint. But those ladies are determined to act like they're at a class to learn how to strip. I would actually take one of those classes, they look pretty awesome and like a lot of fun. But NOT at the YMCA. No one wants to see that crap at the Y. I mean, the religion is right there in the title of the facility. They promote families. I don't want my kids walking to the bathroom, looking through the window and seeing some nasty lady who thinks she's amazingly hot dry humping the mirror in the Zumba class. Getting into the music, pushing yourself hard and enjoying yourself are completely different than publicly getting turned on by the image of you poppin' that coochie in a Zumba class.

One thing I have noticed is that the women who look like they're trying to pick themselves up and have a one night stand with themselves can't really do the moves that well. They do crap backwards. They can't seem to get the steps right. They don't have a lot of rythm. But they have that hump move that Salt N Pepa used to do in the 'Push it' video down to an art. They push their pelvis forward while raising an eyebrow and licking their lips at themselves in the mirror. Salsa, not so much. Simulated sex, down pat.

So when I happen to be watching them while they're watching themselves seductively and I see them mess up, it gives me my own little orgasmic pleasure in class. Then I hump a little more enthusiastically.

Why am I Married?

This title is similar to the Tyler Perry movie:

But it's really not about the movie. I really enjoyed the movie, though. 

Fruity was having lunch with her youngest daughter, who is four. Fruity-Booty (Fruity's daughter) was asking about marriage, so Fruity was trying to explain to her that Fruity and Walnut were married.

So Fruity-Booty thought that all adults were married.

Fruity had to explain that all adults were not married, just some.

So Fruity-Booty started asking about all of her mommy and daddy's friends and relatives. She asked if G-String was married (she isn't). She asked if Tabby Cat was married (she isn't). She asked if another friend of Fruity's was married (she is). She asked if I was married (I am). She continued asking questions about other people, and Fruity answered her.

A few minutes later, she looked up with a puzzled expression on her face and asked, 'Mommy, WHY is Cindy married?' She didn't ask this question of anyone else. Only me.

So Fruity-Boot either thinks that I'm so horrible, it's amazing I found someone to marry me or she thinks I'm so wonderful that she can't figure out why I'm married to Bama Hubs. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended. And since she's four, we can't clarify. Damn.

Paw Paw & Robert Pattinson

I went to Wal Mart with Paw Paw the other day so he could accompany the kids through the toy aisle and get some ideas of stuff they wanted for Christmas.

As we were walking by the electronics department, we passed by the end-caps, which had DVDs on them. Paw Paw saw the movie Remember Me with Robert Pattinson (you know, the sparkly vampire from Twilight) and said, in a really loud voice, 'I HATE that guy! Come on, asshole, brush your damn hair! It just takes a minute! It's not that hard! Grab a comb! Run it through your hair! Brush it! BRUSH IT!!'

He made some teenage girls, who are obviously GIANT Edward fans, give him some really dirty looks. I honestly thought they'd follow us out into the parking lot and try to jump him.

This is a scene from Vampires Suck (the Twilight Spoof) where Team Edward & Team Jacob THROW DOWN.
This is what I figured would happen to us in the parking lot.

I tried to explain to him that the wind was blowing in the picture, but he wouldn't listen. He insisted that he NEVER brushes his hair. NEVER. And that I just thought he was cute, which was why I was defending him. He's nice looking and all, but his face is kinda flat from the side, which kinda weirds me out.

So now I know that my father a) hates guys who don't brush their hair and b) will never be a big Twilight fan. And it's really obvious where I get my little quirks about obsessing about stuff I don't like from.