Saturday Giggle

HAfuckingHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

And So it Starts

While I was on the phone with my mother today, I happened to complain about the nasty, rainy weather we're experiencing in Boston this weekend. Incredibly nasty rainy weather of the nastiest, rainiest sort. She replied: "Well, if you lived further south, closer to here, than you wouldn't have to put up with such nasty, rainy weather. And then I'd be closer to you and could see my grandson more often!"

And so, let it be known that on this day, the genesis of Project Get Grandson Closer (PGGC) has commenced! Huzzah!

Perfecting My Own Special Brand of Crazy

When your perfectly nice if a bit nosy neighbor offers you cuttings from her forsythia bush, and you don't want to offend said neighbor but also LOATHE forsythia with loathing that churns sickeningly in your stomach, what do you say?

Scenario #1: Brutal Evasive Honesty: "Hi neighbor! No, I don't want forsythia cuttings, thanks! Yes, I'm sure it's no trouble. I just FUCKING HATE FUCKING FORSTYTHIA is all! Pleasure to see you!"

Result: Neighbor is offended and thinks you hate her forsythia, when in reality you just hate all forsythia.

Scenario #2: Gentle Evasive Honesty: "Hi neighbor! No, I don't want forsythia cuttings, thanks! Yes, I'm sure it's no trouble. I just have never been a big fan of forsythia. Nope, really! Yes, I know it's not that hard to grow. Yes, I'll agree that the yellow flowers are splendid. Yes, I'm sure it would grow nicely over there by the fence. BUT I FUCKING HATE FUCKING FORSYTHIA! Pleasure fo see you!"

Result: Neighbor is offended and thinks you hate her forsythia, when in reality you just hate all forsythia.

See? Both of these scenarios bring about the very same result: an offended neighbor. Now I ask in all seriousness, is the following scenario an improvement?

Scenario #3: Letting the Neighbor See a bit of The Crazy: "Hi neighbor! No, I don't want forsythia cuttings, thanks! Yes, I'm sure it's no trouble. It's just that FORSYTHIA IS THE FLOWER OF THE DEAD! THE DEAD! DEAD PEOPLE! I SEE DEAD PEOPLE IN THE FORSYTHIA!"

Result: Neighbor runs away screaming, but does not feel that her forsythia is in any way lacking. Which it isn't, it's the most lovely forsythia I've ever seen, assuming of course that it's possible for forsythia to be lovely, which of course it isn't.

Finally, this brings us to the next scenario, the one in which I show the neighbor a bit of my tormented, (crazy!), endearing soul.

Scenario #4: Waaaay Too Much Information: "Hi neighbor! No, I don't want forsythia cuttings, thanks! Yes, I'm sure it's no trouble. It's just that for me, forsythia will always be the flowers I saw, stained amber from the windows of the cold black limousine, when we were on the way to the cemetary to bury (insert names of various dead people here). So it tends to make me feel a bit queasy. That's all! Yours are lovely, though! Pleasure to see you!"

Result: Neighbor knows her forsythia is lovely, but pities me because I am Crazy. And maybe is concerned for my son, having to grow up in a godless, forsythia-free home.

Stupid neighbor and her stupid green thumb.

Money is the New Goldfish

For that gal who has everything, Tip Jar platform heels!

Innovatively designed with a slot opening on the clear platform's side-wall, the collection allows tips to be conveniently inserted through the slots and retrieved from the accessible insole. Usually accompanied with attractive appliqués such as lips, butterfly or dollar signs in colorful neon and glitter materials, these playful slot openings offer novel and naughty ways for admirers to express their appreciation and gratification.

Wow. Seriously, wow. If I wore those, I'd be 6'7". Then I'd topple over and break something, probably something humiliating like my coccyx.

But, feel free to ask me about my accessible insole.

Sleazy Home Improvement

Now that spring and warm weather are well underway (FINALLY!), it's officially time to pay men in tool belts exhorbitant sums of money to do the things you said you'd do as soon as you bought your house, you know, a few years back. If you're us, that means a (partial) new roof, gutters, and some yard work. And maybe we'll finally finish up the painting we started last year, and hang some art on our sad, sad walls.

But hey, I don't want to go overboard just yet. Baby steps, people! I mean, we really only painted in the first place because there was a sale at Home Depot on paint; and because we had to paint the baby's room something other than bright purple (unlike the previous homeowners, we do NOT believe that bright purple is an ideal choice for a little boy's room, unless you're going for a Purple Unicorns Rule theme or something...)

I digress. If you're wide-eyed innocents like Sean and I, you could easily fall prey to Unethical Home Improvement Guys. These men prowl your neighborhood in their enormous Ford F-7659's, twirling their Simon Legree mustaches and giggling evilly at the many schemes they have to seperate you and your hard-earned cash. Check out some of Bankrate.com's suggestions as to what you should look out for!

I was especially interested in the claim that duct cleaning is an unnecessary scam, since we were thinking of having our ducts cleaned this spring. (Whether or not that's a euphemism I'll leave up to you, dear reader. I'm too busy CLEANING MY OWN DUCTS to explore this further.)

Two Birds, One Stone

When you're simultaneously overcome with the desire to occupy your 4 3/4-month old (I never know whether I'm supposed to discuss babies' ages in weeks or months--did I miss that memo while I was busy being all knocked up or struggling with sleep deprivation after the fact?) AND your incessantly energetic Jack Russell Terrier, don't despair. There IS a solution.

Bacon-scented dog bubbles!

Yes, it's true. This exists. Bacon bubble stuff. And the best part is that the 4 3/4-month old will be fascinated by the energetic Jack Russell Terrier as she leaps and twists and bounds and snaps at the bubbles.

It's a happy ending for everyone, really.

True Story

So, I'm getting dressed this morning, and decide to put on makeup. It's like a light went off in my head--makeup! that is TOTALLY the answer! So I begin applying the makeup, all the while having a conversation with my husband in my head about it, something along the lines of "I've decided to start wearing makeup EVERY DAY now. I've decided to make time in the New Mom Crazy Confusion of Unattractiveness to be more attractive! So you can just keep the baby entertained for a little longer in the morning on weekends, ya hump!"

Then, distracted by my imaginary future conversation with my husband, I dropped my incredibly overpriced blush, sending little bits of incredibly overpriced blush rolling across our Dirty New Parent Floor. So, (obviously), I picked the cat hair off them, put them back in the incredibly overpriced container, and applied the incredibly overpriced blush remnants to the apples of my cheeks.

When I made it downstairs, my husband said I looked "Great!" with a degree of enthusiasm generally reserved for bacon.

I will consider this a happy ending.