Nights In RoDEATH...

...is totally what they should have called that movie.

Hubs and I love to snuggle in our bed at night and watch movies. So, he thought he was doing me a solid and got me a chick flick...

I was looking forward to it, because in the previews, the scenery looked gaw-jess, and I love Diane Lane. And Richard Gere is ol' man hot.

BUT.

I should have paid better attention. I should have done my homework. The opening credits began, and it appeared on the screen...

Based on the best-selling novel by Nicholas Sparks.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!

I realize I am probably the only woman in the Free World that does not like Nicholas Sparks. If it weren't a bad word in this house, I would venture to say I hate Nicholas Sparks. Not the man, mind you. I am sure he is a lovely fellow. But Damn. It. I cannot stand his books. I swore him off after I read "Message In a Bottle". He got me all emotionally invested in the main character, I rooted for him in his struggles, cheered for him when he overcame and found love again, and then he freaking killed him off. What in the ever-loving hell is that about? GAH. I cried...like really *cried* when I read that book. No thanks. I am so done with his books.

So, when I saw that this was a movie based on one of his books, I just could not let myself get emotionally attached. I told the hubs, "Oh boy, one of those two are going to die. They will struggle with some inner demons, fall in love, and then BAM. Someone is going to buy it." He says I ruined the movie for him because I kept harping on the inevitable outcome throughout the entire 97 stinkin' minutes. I knew some sort of meaningful memories were going to be stored in that damn box she was building. I knew he was going to be the one to croak. I knew it would be in Mexico, and that great embrace they shared when he left would be their last.

Ugh.

Who knew I would prefer the other movie he got? Hey, "Don't Mess With the Zohan". Ok?

Oh, and P.S. I did not see "The Notebook" and never plan to. Those people are old in that movie, and I can guess how it ends. I am a genius that way.

Fee, Fi, Faux...

Faux chocolate. Who eats this crap?

Chocolate lollipops should be illegal. That includes Tootsie Pops, when the "pop" part is chocolate. The cherry and orange ones are fab-u-loso. But there are few things that taste nastier than a chocolate lolly. Exccept maybe this...

Seriously? Chocolate soda? Gag.

And while this is not technically something you eat, it is something you can taste. And wow doesn't it look just scrumptious? Ewww...

And if you are lucky enough to live in the Philippines, you can get your hands on this...

Yes, my friends, that is chocolate toothpaste. Bet it tastes as gnarly as you think. And what does one's breath smell like in the morning after brushing with this? Musty chocolate?

I like chocolate. I do. But if I am eating chocolate, it had better be the real thing. Don't give me chocolate-flavored. If I am spending my allotted caloric intake, make it worth my while, damnit.

Yeah, baby. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.

"That" kid...

...was at Chuck E Cheese today.

You know that kid. The brat who is out of control. The one whose mother sits on her butt, eating pizza and chugging Coke while her little darling is making everyone else mental. Well, to give her credit (uh, yeah, right), every once in a while, she would half-heartedly say, "Elijah, don't you want to come eat?". I might note that she would just randomly say this, not even looking to see if the boy was even in range to hear her. One time she said it, I looked, and Elijah was all the way across the room, next to the ticket chomping machine. Really, though, he would not have even been on my radar, but he made the littlest kid get teary. And littlest kid is way cute and pitiful-looking when his eyes are full. So, I was peee-yussed. I saw it go down, the way adorable little Elijah growled at Chase and said, "YOU GO. GET OUT OF HERE. THIS IS MINE." Man, that broke little guy's heart, and usually he is a tough nut to crack. Big Momma was still eating her pizza, on planet SomeoneElseCanWatchMyKidIAmBusy, so I stepped in and said, "Hey, that is not very nice. Let's share, ok, you little turd?" Ok, so that last part was in my head, but I did ask him to share, seeing as how Chase had the damn steering wheel first anyway... But the kid, and he could not have been more than 3 or so, stopped, turned, and actually glared at me. Nice, huh? Guess we can see the training going on in his house.

Another check on Big Momma, still eating.

Then, my friend's daughter, Mini Miss Thang, entered the picture. Elijah pushed her away, and she gave him a chilling "look". You know the one I mean? The one most of us girls only perfect around high school age. Mini Miss has it DOWN at age 3. That girl rocks my socks. Elijah exited, stage right.

Big Momma didn't skip a beat.

I hope she remembered to take him home.

It's okay...just don't look at it

This is never good to hear.

Especially coming from the smallest kid.

Have I mentioned that the boy is destruction defined? Seriously, go back a few posts and check it out. Destructo Baby is becoming Destructo Boy.

He comes running out of the playroom like his pooper is on fire, so I ask what is wrong. He says, "My legs are wet" to which I ask, "Uh, okay, and why?" He stops in his tracks, climbs up in my lap, touches my face oh-so-gently and says, "It's okay, Mommy. Just don't look at it."

*Sigh*

As much as I would love to take his three-year old wisdom to heart, I have to look.

But it is not bad. This time. Just some water spilled on the carpet. This time. Yes, again I emphasize this time. Because I know that next time it will probably be something I really don't want to see. Something broken, ripped, painted on, colored over... Something not so minor. Hopefully it will be when Daddy is home, so that he can deal. It's okay. I just won't look at it.

Nothing says "I love you" like...

...this Valentine's Day present...

Now lest you think my hubs is a chauvenist pig who bought the little woman a stove for V-Day, let me say that my man loves to cook. So, we went out yesterday and bought this, really, for each other. Our range is on the old side, and this was the last appliance we needed to replace, so there it is. Now he can prepare me lovely meals whilst I recline on my chaise lounge and fine muscled men in loincloths feed me grapes and fan me with palm fronds... Yeah, more like he can cook while I manage the rugrats/laundry/taxi service/clean/t-ball/playgroup/etc, etc, et-freaking-cetera...

I did get some roses...

And the early present of my Blackberry...which I still haven't fully figured out.

We also had a lovely night of sushi and many beepers.

Followed by a dose of allergy meds, a really sucky movie (pass on "Flashbacks of a Fool", although a high point would be seeing Daniel Craig's oh-so-fine nakey boo-daddy...it is quite a nice pooper...) Makes me reconsider watching 007 movies. Maybe they wouldn't be so bad...

Then we both zonked out. Not quite the romantic whirlwind...but there's always February 15th.

I came...I saw...

I kicked its ASS!

May I present...Mt. EverLaundry.

This is what you get, friends, when you keep up with doing laundry, but do not actually fold it. And clearly, I need to conduct an inservice for all males in this household. I plan to title it, "Laundry 101- It's Not Going to Fold Itself."

So, I have been busy for the past few days doing HOA crap, er, uh, important junk. So, I have thrown laundry in the washer and dryer in the evenings, and let it get to this ungodly pile. Today's task at hand was to get it all folded and put away. Again, I am apparently the only one who has the ability to complete this task. I do have my doctorate in Folding Clothes, so my family likes to leave it to the expert. It took me a while, but I conquered that bad mamma jamma. And when I did, I planted my flag atop it. Ok, it is my phone with a dryer sheet attached, but you get the idea.

Now to just get it put away. If I promise to be your best friend forever, will you come do it for me?

Back-handed compliments, preschooler-style

So, I am getting ready to go out the other day, and I must say, I was feeling pretty good. Hair was cooperating, makeup was just right, and I was wearing one of my favorite outfits. You know the one...tight in the right places, loose where you need it to be. The one that accentuates your positives, and camouflages the negatives... And along came the middle kid. He was walking past the bathroom where I was just putting on the finishing touches. He stopped in his tracks and said, "Wow, mommy...you look so beautiful!"

So sweet.

So, I said, "Well, thank you, Hunter. That is so nice of you!"

To which he replied, "Yeah, mommy. You look so beautiful that nobody will recognize you!"

Uh, yeah. Thanks kid. I think...

40 Eff Bombs

Oh, how I love me some Christian Bale. He is truly Supreme Hotness...

Howev-freakin-er...

Dude has some serious anger management issues. Did you hear the recording of him going OFF on the set of the new Terminator movie? He ripped a DP (Director of Photography, or some such random title) a completely new pooper for walking in his line of sight whilst he was filming a scene. In case you missed it, you can always count on You Tube to get you caught up. Click below if you dare:

Whacked out Christian

That is forty, yes, forty f-bombs he drops on that poor guy. What I find hilarious is that in the midst of this vicious dress-down, he stops for a moment to tell the guy, "You are a nice guy" and then proceeds to continue with the verbal attack. It even sounds, at one point, like he has to be held back as he threatens the guy with "I will kick your ass!"


Ho-ly crap.

Makes you really think about that incident that happened a few months ago...was it with his mom and sister, I think? They called 911 on him because he was verbally abusive and they were afraid of what he might do to them? Out of control, man. American Psycho, indeed. (Well, British psycho, if you want to get technical...)


I am bummed like the day I heard that Rick Springfield's wife accused him of spousal abuse. These boys need to get their junk together. Be men, would ya? Not just guys. And, hey, quit boogering up my fantasies by being total tools. K? Thanx.

Buy me stuff.

Remember that ring I had my eye on? I meant to post a picture of it before now, but better late than never.

I love, love, love my ring! You can check out her cool collection here, if you are interested. The ring also came in the most quaint little box, tied up all tidy-like with twine. In my haste to get it out of the box and on my waiting finger, I did not think to save or photograph the box. Trust me, though, it is way cute.

I also told the hubs the other day of my latest want...and it should be arriving any day now. Although this nowhere near as cute and uncomplicated, I am totally psyched (duuuuude.) about it.

Yeah, baby. Getting my Blackberry. Hmmm....I hope it is not too hard to figure out. I am not mechanically gifted. I am sure Austin can help me on that if I need him to.

So, high fives to Dave, for continuing to spoil me. Wonder if I mention that I want this, if he will get it for me, too?

Super Bowl, party of two...

We tossed around the idea of having some folks over to watch the Super Bowl last night. This is Steeler country around here, and even I got wrapped up in the hype. We also considered attending a Super Bowl party hosted by Hot Friend of Hubby's... However, we opted for hanging out together, enjoying some beepers and horse dee overs, whilst lounging in our PJs. Much better plan, methinks!

Gotta love this face. Isn't that the classic drunk-faced-eybrows-raised look?

And why do I feel compelled to lick this man after I have been drinking? Seriously, you can set your clock by it.

Captain Underpants was a wonderful little cocktail waiter, fetching beepers, and we paid him in snack foods.

The Keetons busied herself with sneaking sips and checking her emails.

The best thing of all...? Football season is OVER, friends. And THAT is something to celebrate!