More Real Life Conversations

Me: Alison, what do you think of the Big 3 Auto Bailout?

Alison: (shakes head back and forth)

Me: You don't like it?

Ali: NO!

Me: If we don't bail them out, what should we do about it then?

Ali: A bertday house! (giggles)

Me: Should the taxpayers have to pay for the mistakes of the Big 3?

Ali: Let's have a bertday with ten candles, okay? Woo-hooo!

Me: How is a birthday going to solve the current economic crisis?

Ali: Yeah, it's my bess bertday I ever seen!

Me: What advice would you give the President and Congress?

Ali: (long pause) Whatchu say-nen?

Me: Do you think the lawmakers on Capitol Hill should be giving away all that money?

Ali: Nuh-huh. No.

Me: Are you a smart girl?

Ali: Uh-huh. Good sunny day!

And somehow, what my three year old said makes just as much sense as Bernanke and Paulson.

Like Totally OMG!

In case some of you have been living under a rock and not realize what today is, let me inform you...it's the release of the movie Twilight. To say that I don't give a flying rat's keister about it would be an understatement. I may be the only thirtysomething female reader in the US who hasn't read all fortysevenfrillion pages of the Twilight saga, nor do I ever plan to. I don't like vampires. I don't like to read about vampires. I especially don't like to read about teenaged angst related love stories between humans and vampires.

I am sure the stories are probably riveting and well-written. The author is no doubt talented, and kudos to her for picking a genre that has not been oversaturated and adding her own creative twist. But still...vampires do nothing for me. (If you really want to get me to read your books, create a hero who does dishes, not sucks blood.)

And yet, even though I care not about this movie and never plan to read the books or rent the DVDs, I know all about it. Why, you ask? Because the print, web, and television media has TwilightOverloadSyndrome and cannot seem to report on anything else for several weeks running. I cannot escape this thing. There is nowhere for me to hide, nowhere for me to get my news, nowhere for me to watch some mindnumbing television for a few hours where I am not exposed to commercials for this movie. And it's getting old...

One of my friends is a complete Twilight freak. I love her, but she has gone completely overboard on this thing. She started reading the first book, and by the end of five days, had read all of them...staying awake into the wee hours of the morning, and rising early just to get through the books as fast as she could, then going into withdrawals when she couldn't find the next book in the series for a day or two. I have been subjected to hours long discussions of what happened in this book, and then this is how this one ended, and then Edward did this but he doesn't like being a vampire and then Bella told her dad this, and then the other vampire relatives did this and blahbittyblahblahblah someone kill me now. (wait, I added that last bit myself.) When she found out the release date of the movie, the first thing she did was confirm with her inlaws that they would be able to take the kids that night so she and her husband could attend the premier. Again, I love her, but she's a freak.

So being the complete smartkeister that I am, I left the following message on her voicemail just a bit ago:

(highpitched teen fangirl voice screaming hysterically voice) "OHMYGOSH THE TWILIGHT PREMIER IS TONIGHT AND I TOTALLY CANT WAIT BECAUSE EDWARD! WE GET TO SEE EDWARD AND HE'S SO COOL AND HOT AT THE SAME TIME AND ALL KINDSA VAMPIREY EVEN THOUGH HE LOOKS LIKE HE COMBED HIS HAIR WITH A PORKCHOP AND HE LOVES BELLA AND SHE'S SO CONFUSED AND IT'S ALL SO COOL AND AWEWSOME AND EDDDDDWAAAAAAAAARDDDDDDD!!!!!...actually, it's just me calling to wish you a happy movie night. And try to remember that Edward is a character and not a real live person and that it would be very unseemly for you as a thirty seven year old mother of two to rush the big screen and attempt to kiss him, mkay?"

Just doing my little part to make the world a happier place, people.

Again with the packing...

Tomorrow I leave on a business trip to San Antonio. While I am looking forward to the nice weather, shopping on the Riverwalk, and hanging out with my mom, I am not looking forward to the TEN HOURS it will take me to get there.

Ten.Hours.

Normally, I love the travel part of traveling. I like planes, like airports (except LAX), like catching up on my reading and having some alone time. What I don't like is having to take a flight from Boise to LA, wait two hours, take a flight from LA to Dallas, wait two hours, then arrive in San Antonio. No. I do not like that at all.

But I can't really complain (well, yes I can, but I shouldn't). I have a job where I get to work from home and raise my babies, travel occasionally, and get paid really well. That really wins over a ten hour travel day.

At least when I come back home, I only have to travel eight.

Mr. Wrong

You know what the problem with a blog is? People get all involved up in your business, because, you know, you put your business up on your blog, and then some people (initials TB and BK come to mind) are all, "What's up with your blog? When are you going to update your blog? It's been two weeks since you've written anything new on your blog! How can you expect me to come back and read your blog if you never post anything new?" If I wanted more people demanding things of me, I would have had more children.

I kid, I kid! Seriously, because so many of you out there depend on me to brighten up your horribly dull and miserable lives, I will procede to give you an update of the incredibly astounding happenings in mine...

As soon as there are any.

I have been MIA because of 1) a four day business trip to San Diego (which I will write about later--later being later in the vaguest sense of the word--but suffice it to say that Dude! Never have I seen so many homeless people in one square mile as I did in SD. While I felt really bad for whatever situation brought the homeless people to that point in their lives, they still kinda creeped me out and seriously curtailed my normal walking-around-whatever-new-city-I-find-myself-in scenario. But if I were homeless, I have to say that San Diego is probably where I would want to be homeless because again, Dude. It was October and dang close to eighty degrees. So there is that) and 2) a family vacation to the Oregon Coast which was lots and lots of fun except for the driving clear across the whole entire freaking state of Oregon twice in a small car with two kids. Other than that, it was super peaceful and stuff.

Because my mind is still on vacation, and frankly, I do not want to talk about the election or anything else of a serious nature, I decided to do what any self-respecting blogger would do in my situation. And that is copy an idea for a post from another blogger. (Why are you looking at me that way? You got a problem, buddy?) Heather from Riding on the Short Bus posted about her worst online dates--if you need a good laugh, head on over there. Too funny. (did you seriously think I would be posting a link? If so, you must be new here. I am linkally-challenged. Google her.)

If I took the time to post all my dating horror stories, we could be here awhile. Not that I was some Dating Dynamo, because I have probably only went out with about seven different men in my whole life. That includes first-and-only dates, and boyfriends, so it's not like I am Queen Hoochymama or something.

Totally unrelated but yet cute story: Last night, Alison dressed up as Snow White for Halloween. When she tried on the SW dress, the front sagged down a bit--well, more than a bit--actually halfway down her stomach. My husband and I started laughing and I said, "Well, she could always go as a Hoochymama!" and then we laughed some more because we are dorks. Ali looked at us strangely and said, "I a hoochymommy?" We assured her that no, she was a pretty princess Snow White, fixed her costume to cover all it was supposed to, and that was that. Or so I thought. I was talking to my mom today while driving and I related to her that story from last night. Alison hollers from the backseat, "Mom! I needa talk ta Gran Gran!" After getting the cell from me, she proceeds to tell my mom, "Guess what, Gran Gran? Ina hoochymommy!" My mom is cracking up, which just spurs Ali to keep up the refrain of "Ina hoochymommy! Ina hoochymommy!" For.Five.Minutes. Eventually she gave herself the hiccups laughing so much. When I finally got the phone back at a stoplight, my mom was in tears from all the laughter. Moral of the story is maybe I should be more careful about what words I use in front of our little curly-headed tape recorder.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled post about dating..I went out on a date with a very nice guy whom I will call Fred. He does not remotely resemble a Fred but I will call him that because I don't actually know anyone named Fred except for Freddie Mercury whom I think we can all agree that I never went out with and Fred Flintstone whom I never went out with either because a) he is a cartoon and that would be just creepy and 2) he is married and that is just not how I roll.

So anyway...I knew Fred from church where he was very involved in helping teach our youth group. He was polite, gainfully employed in an actual career that required education, could form complete sentences, was not hygenically-challenged, and nice-looking in a rather bland, kinda white bread way. He was well-liked by everyone, and not the type to make moves on every single girl in the right age range. Most of all, he was a Christian, an honest to goodness, real practicing Christian, that like actually read the Bible and tried to live by what it said and stuff! So, you know, cool.

I had liked Fred in the kind of "I would go out with him if he asked me but will not die if he doesn't" way, so when he finally did ask, I accepted. I was very nervous and spent muchly-huge amounts of time pondering the bigger issues surrounding our date, like what was I to wear? How would I do my makeup? How far up should I tease my bangs? that kind of thing. When he picked me up and asked if I liked Chinese food, me and my seen-from-space big hair replied in the affirmative. We went to a very nice restaurant...the kind with NO buffet, NO paper placemats, and fresh flowers on each table. The atmosphere was subdued, quiet and romantic. Certainly the kind of place a young man would take a big-haired nineteen year old girl he was trying to impress. (Why are you focusing on my hair? It was 1990 and I lived in the South. Shut up.) Everything was going swimmingly until our entrees arrived.

I cannot for the life of me remember what I ordered that night, probably sweet and sour something because I can be a creature of habit. But I will never ever forget what Fred ordered. Why, you ask? Why would such an insignificant detail about a man I dated eighteen years ago stick out in my mind like an annoying song that once you hear it in the grocery store, you can't get it out of your head for days? Because Fred ordered Kung Pao Chicken. And apparently, Fred sweats when he eats hot food. Not a slight beading of perspiration on the forehead. Full On Sweat. To quote Larry the Cable Guy, "A bunch of fat women on the way to see the Ricky Martin" kind of sweat.

Strike One.

But sweating was not the only thing that hot food made Fred do. No, no, my friends. It also made his head turn red. Not just his face. His.Entire.Head.

Including.Scalp.Which.I.Had.Not.Previously.Noticed.All.That.Much.

But.Sure.Did.Now.That.It.Was.Signalling.Aircraft.

Stee-rike Two!

As I am sitting there debating whether my date is just having an allergic reaction or is in fact, going to turn into The Kindler, Gentler Version of The Hulk, his eyes begin to water. Then the tears start pouring. Yes, folks, you read that right. Tears. TEEE-HEEEE-HERES. Running down his face, onto his chin, as he is fanning his face with one hand and wiping madly with the other. He looked at me sheepishly and said, "Geez, I forgot what spicy food does to me."

You forgot? You forgot? You forgot that spicy food makes your head resemble a Hot Tamale and reduces you to weeping like a little girl? Huh.

Steee-rike Three! You are Outta There!

It was in that moment I decided that while I am very compassionate and deep and stuff, there are just some things I was not willing to deal with for the rest of my life. Aaaaaand this was one of them.

Fred ended up okay in the end, though. He somehow survived not being chosen as Mr. Missie and went on to date and marry a very nice girl who also attended our church. God bless him and his cute little wife. (Although I bet she never cooks him Kung Pao).

What are some of your dating horror stories?

So totally not a hoochy-mommy.