Thrift Store Thursday

Q. Will I ever actually post this on a Thursday...?
A. Not bloody likely.


The thrift store, this week, had crap-a-plenty, and I have to tell you, I am more bold than I used to be taking pictures of the fecal matter they are selling. I used to try and be stealth about it (although the camera on my phone gives a resounding CA-LICK! when I snap a pic...) Now, I just don't care. I snap away. Ok, so I am not so bold. I still don't make eye contact with people. What am I going to say? "Hey, I am taking pictures of the ugly shiz-nit you are in here buying because I like to make fun of it on my blog...?" Nope. I think I have mentioned before that I am not looking for a beatdown in the name of a giggle.


Here is what I found this week...


Now, here in PA, I have seen Amish bread, Amish furniture, Amish buggies...but until this day, I had yet to see Amish blown-out egg people thingies.


And someone thought these were just so CLEVER! that they went to the trouble of putting them in little display boxes. Please, oh, please, let this be a Girl Scout project. I don't want to imagine a grown person actually making these things...and displaying them in his/her home.






OK, seriously? Did someone actually GO all the way to Hawaii and buy this? On purpose? The one testicle hanging there is just...sad. Droopy and sad. I have seen testicles like this in my past. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.



Lookit. Proof positive that drag queens celebrate the holidays....


Thanksgiving...




And Christmas.





I am not sure the last time I saw a hummingbird at the beach, but maybe I just have not been paying attention.



This crap was just scary. Check out the Amityville Horror eyes. Nothing says quaint country decor like a possessed goose.

No new ugly furniture to display. Well, there was a grotesque orange and brown plaid number, but there was someone sitting on it and I couldn't whip my balls out to ask him to get up. I feel quite sure it will be there next week. Stay tuned.

Things I have said so far today...

"I don't care if he is a human bridge. Do not hit your brother in the junk."

"I said no more cookies. This does not translate to smuggle them in your underpants."

"The cat is having a nervous breakdown. She does not want you to listen to her heart with Daddy's stethoscope."

"I am not sure where bugs' penises are."

"Yes, some birds have penises."

"Yes, poop comes from your anus."

"Yes, bugs have anuses as well."

"If you don't want him to toot on you, don't burp on him."

And it is not even 1 p.m. yet.

As you can see, a lot of coversation around here centers around things below the belt. The joy of boys.

It is Day Two of the PA Monsoon, and my kids are suffering from serious Cabin Fever. I am so bugged out by the thought of H1N1 germs that I am not even venturing out to Tumble Town or Chuck E Cheese. So, we are hunkering down here at Casa H.

I think forts of many sheets are in order. That ought to keep the natives from getting too restless.

At least for the next, oh 10 minutes or so.

New Kid In Town

As I was searching for the lullaby CD last night, Hunter came rushing out of the boys' room with a very urgent look on his face. The conversation went pretty much like this:

"Mom, mom, oh my gosh, mom... Chase said a BADWORD." (Note that "bad" and "word" are always smooshed together and said in a most serious, bass tone.)

"Really. Well, what did he say?"

"Mom, I can't say it. Then I would be saying a BADWORD."

"OK, just this once, you can say it, just so you tell me." (Oh, pleaseGodpleaseGodpleaseGod don't let it be the F-word...)

"OK, if you really want to know...but I am not happy about saying a BADWORD, you know."

"Yes, but take one for the team so that Mommy knows what Chase said. I promise, it's OK."

(Big breath...) "Chase said (pause for dramatic effect...and whisper...) shut up."

"Chase DYLAN! Did you just say the words shut up?"

(Chase) "My name is not Chase. I am Upside-Down Kid."

Good Lord, a naughty alter-ego. This kid is trying to drive me completely mad. Mad, I say. "Ok, Upside-Down Kid, did you say a BADWORD?"

"Yep. I sure did. But Chase didn't." Big smile.

Split personality, or just extremely, deviously, brilliantly crafty? Mmmmmm....I wonder.

Do they make a Preschool for the Criminally Insane?

Love, Kindergarten Style

Apparently, the middle kid is involved in some kind of 5 year old love triangle.

You see, he had a mission when he started Kindergarten this year. He was out to "find a girl to marry." The first day brought no luck, but the second day, he jumped into the van at Parent Pickup to tell me he found the girl of his dreams. I asked what her name was and he said, "I don't know."

The next day he jumps in the van at Parent Pickup to tell me he found out his True Love's name and it is Morgan. I asked if she was in his class, and he said, no, that he talks to her at PP. So that means that they get, what, 5 minutes a day to talk? (I have since found out that "sometimes" they are on the playground together at the same time, so I guess we can add another 15 minutes every so often to that time...)

I asked him what she looked like and he said, "I don't know."

I asked what color hair she has and he said, "I don't know."

I asked why he wanted to marry her and he said, "Because I asked her and she said yes."

The boy doesn't have very high standards. Apparently, all it takes to win his heart is to say "yes" when he proposes.

Today he came home to tell me that Jake used to be Morgan's best friend, but Morgan told Jake on the playground today that he is no longer the carrier of that title, because now she is Hunter's best friend.

So, Jake challenged Hunter to a fight.

*sigh...*

And Jake said he didn't care and didn't want to be Morgan's friend ANYWAY, SO THERE! and this made Morgan cry.

Which threw Hunter into Knight in Shining Armor mode. Can't resist a damsel in distress.

But I told him that he needed to tell Jake that they could all be friends, and that there would be no such duel, no matter how fair the maiden.

Hunter said he would just put up a force field and block Jake from fighting with him. Good luck with that, kid. Let me know how that worked once you pick your arse up out of the dirt where Jake knocks you.

I said that if Jake really wanted to fight, that he needed to tell the teacher. Let her handle it. He still was not happy with that solution, so I pulled out the big guns and told him that fighting would put him on the red light. Make no mistake, it is a big fat deal to be on the red light. Hunter stays on green and is very proud of that. He comes home to tell me in whispered tones of so-and-so, who got in trouble today and "...was on the....YELLOW light...!" Yikes.

So, hopefully, this scared him into just narc-ing out this Jake character to the teacher if there is any trouble a-brewin'.

Oh, this boy....the girls already are playing him like a fiddle...

Thrift Store Thursday

It's that time again...Thrift Store Thursday! (Yes, and I am doing it on a Friday once again. But Thrift Store Friday just doesn't have the same ring to it. So, let's play a little game called Every Time I Post One of These Threads, Let's Pretend It Is Freakin' Thursday. K? Thx.)

This was my WTF? moment.

These sofas were lime green and bright yellow. And they were selling them for ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY DOLLARS. That's right. And that is criminal. Criminal, I say.

I may go back and get this bobble-head teacher creature. Not for the teachers my boys have this year, for they are oh-so-very delightful. But we all had one of "those" teachers some time in our lives...one that was deserving of a gift as heinous as this...*cough*Mrs. Ortiz*cough*

Missed? With what, my car? Now, I had a piano growing up. And I skipped lessons because they were BORING as all get-out. But I wouldn't exactly say I "missed" them.

"Duuuuude...look at the liiiiiight... It's like, so bright and junk. Hehehehehe......"

From the similar look on his face, it appears that she passed the pipe to this right jolly old elf. And he is bogarting it. We all knew a guy like this in school. Come on, man, it's puff, puff, pass...


...and so, apparently, are crappy crafts.



This...

is one pissed-off looking lamb. I am guessing it is because he is so poorly painted. Either that, or it is because of the white afro.

I wish I had the stones to have taken a picture of a woman that I saw as I was leaving the store. She looked to be about 250-plus pounds, was sporting what looked suspiciously like prison tattoos, and was wearing a shirt that said "Keep Off". But I wasn't looking for a beatdown today. Trust me, it was some funny shiznit.

Another open letter...

...to a celebrity.

Not unlike my letter way back when to The Hotness, Joaquin Phoenix, this one goes out to...

Kanye West.

Dearest Kanye,

You are a complete tool.


I know, I know...you've heard it from everyone at this point, even the POTUS, who, I must say, has a tendency to make a little sense when he has his guard down. Of course, immediately following calling you a "jackass", he began to backpedal on the comment, but he said it. Yes, he did. Of course, one of my friends pointed out to me that he just jumped on the Kanye-bashing bandwagon, which should give us more reason to dislike him... something to consider.


But I still think you are a tool. No backpedaling here, baby. You stepped all over a moment by a noob singer who will never get that "first award" moment back. Way to go. And add to the classlessness, you don't even give her a personal apology until she calls you out on "The Cackling Hens", er, I mean "The View". Shhhh.....do you hear that? It is the sound of your career coming to a screeching halt. I think this, added to the spectacle you made of yourself during the Hurricane Katrina telethon has given people their fill of your nonsense. If I was your mother, I would jerk a knot in your tail. Drink less, rap and produce more, and Shut. The. Hell. Up. Nobody cares about your contrived conspiracy theories or your opinions. Do what you are famous for, and put a lid on it. Tightly.





And if that doesn't work out, I am sure Handy Manny is hiring. Looks like there is room to fit one more in the box.

Irrational fears

OK, so I have a couple.

One of which is bacon. Not eating it, mind you. Not even handling it raw (which I hate to do with raw chicken...I gag and come close to dry-heaving. Yes, seriously...) My fear with bacon is cooking the stuff. I rarely order it when I am out for breakfast, either, because I like my bacon *thisclose* to being totally burnt. Just the way I like my roasted marshmallows. Nobody ever gets it just right.

I am always afraid I am going to get spit and popped on, and I always, always freaking do. But once in a while I get a hankering for eggs and bacon, and I will break out the pre-cooked bacon so I can avoid the hot grease spitting at me. But I was out. And I had a craving. And I learned my lesson, once again.

See what happened tonight?

Shut UP. Yes there is a mark there. It got me. The evil bacon grease got me. And when it did, I screamed like a big sissy, causing the boys to come running in to the kitchen to see what horrible tragedy had befallen me. Even the cat came in. And I swear I saw her roll her eyes at me.

But I ended up with my nummy dinner.

Oh, and my second irrational fear? Clowns. Go ahead and laugh. Then read "It" and hop on my little bandwagon.