tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9770696123394707552024-02-20T05:47:00.496-08:00Amy's Misc. RamblingsAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-54576556297965114302010-11-17T17:09:00.000-08:002010-11-17T17:12:56.086-08:00What I Think About When I PeeHave you ever noticed how often people have to dodge murderers in public restrooms? I mean it happens all the time in the movies – that suspense riddled scene in which the shotgun toting psycho killer kicks open stall by stall searching for his prey only to find that they’ve somehow eluded him by some trickery of stall swapping.<br /><br />This is why I can’t enter a public restroom stall without part of my brain formulating my hide/escape plan in case of psycho killer. Should I go under or over? Is the gap around the door small enough that I could pull my feet up and perch on the toilet to avoid a lazy gun toting psycho who just checks for feet?<br /><br />I was in the public restroom at an upscale department store the other day and I almost couldn’t do the deed. There were actual walls between the toilets – floor to ceiling! My only escape route would be under the door. Hello shotgun splatter to the face –come on people, that’s just poor planning right there. I was tempted to talk to store management about it.<br /><br />And what do men do? Sure in the movies their bathrooms are lined with stalls, but according to the men in my life there’s usually only about one or two stalls in a normal public men’s room and the rest are urinals. You can’t hide behind a urinal! This is why I’m able to take the long lines for the women’s restroom at stadiums in stride. I’ll trade a bathroom stall door as a shotgun shield over a defensive urinal cake toss any day.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-33570709328402528292010-08-12T19:45:00.000-07:002010-08-12T19:50:58.647-07:00Onion Hands - Look for the Las Vegas show soon!You know how some people have special gifts like being double jointed or having a pouch that they can carry their young around in – no, sorry, wait – those are marsupials. But anyway, my point is that some people are special. They have gifts that others do not and they use those gifts to further their fortunes or help others.<br /><br />I’ve recently discovered my own gift. I’ve actually known that I’ve had it for several years but it’s taken me this long to embrace it as a gift. You see my hands absorb and retain the odor of onions for incredibly long periods of time. Now, now, you’re probably saying to yourself: “This woman is an idiot. Everybody’s hands smell like onions after they cut them – who the hell does she think she is?”<br /><br />Well, do your hands still smell like onions 5 days later? After repeated hand washings and showers? Do they? Well mine do.<br /><br />Now for years I considered this as somewhat of a curse. However, recently I’ve been watching America’s Got Talent and I’ve determined that based on the level of skill and talent that most of the people on that show possess – I could really be in the running next year.<br /><br />Just picture it – me on stage with my hands outstretched. I could show a video clip of me cutting onions several days earlier (I’ll hold up a newspaper or some other proof of the date) and then I could show me washing my hands repeatedly. Then when the video is over I stick my hand under Howie Mandell’s face and ask him to “Smell my finger!”<br /><br />I think it’s brilliant. People will be wowed. They’ll be blown away! I’m not sure how it would translate into a Vegas show(the prize for winning America’s Got Talent) but if Criss Angel can make a whole show out of Gothwear, excessive eyeliner and melodramatic arm movements then I can transform this into something too. Maybe I could do garlic too just to spice things up.<br /><br />As a side note I’ve recently discovered that I can <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_2281244_remove-smell-onion-hands-completely.html">eliminate the onion odor on my hands by jerking off my kitchen faucet</a>. While that sounds like fun I think I’ll see if this talent show thing works out first.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-32004688477662978012010-07-17T16:49:00.000-07:002010-07-17T16:55:08.081-07:00ProbablyLet me set the scene:<br /><br />I’m at Wal-Mart standing in the checkout lane waiting for a Mexican midget* to pay for his fishing lures (seriously – I can’t make this stuff up!). I’m nonchalantly leaning on the cart, clad in knit Capri pants and an oversized t-shirt. Now I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t look my best. It was hot and I had hastily pulled my hair back in a messy ponytail. I’m not exactly what you’d call “skinny” or “of a healthy weight” either but I’m no cow, and if I died tomorrow it would not require the use of a crane to lift me out of my house, nor would I have to be buried in a grand piano crate.<br /><br />Anyway, at one point I happened to turn my head to the side and witnessed a kid about 15 or 16 two aisles over who was aiming his cell phone camera in my direction – actually , right at me. Upon my turning towards him he embarrassedly flipped his phone shut and put it in his pocket.<br /><br />I checked behind me in the line of his aim and determined that I had to have been his intended target. My internal sense of self loathing caused my heart to race and my palms to sweat. Would I be the next entry on <a href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/?page_id=9798">People of Wal Mart</a>? It seemed unlikely. After all, none of my excessive folds of flesh were hanging out, my butt crack was not exposed, I was not wearing leopard, zebra, or giraffe print, no cleavage was visible and I was not accompanied by a pimp.<br /><br />I turned to my husband who at that time just walked up to me, told him the particulars of this kid’s behavior and said, “Do you think he was taking a picture of me?”<br /><br />And do you know what he said? Well, just for fun, let’s first go over what SHOULD have happened. He should have scoffed, put his arm around me and said, “Of course not. Why would he? Unless of course he wanted a picture of the pertiest girl in the store!” (for some reason he should have turned into a redneck - a redneck with a heart of gold, but still – maybe because we WERE in a Wal-Mart).<br /><br />At the very least he could have said, “Nah, he was probably aiming for the Mexican midget in front of us.”<br /><br />But that’s not what he said. Instead he shrugged and said,”Probably” and then engrossed himself in the checkout lane magazine rack. The ONLY good thing I can say in his defense is that he did send the kid a couple menacing glares. But still “Probably?, PROBABLY! Probably?”<br /><br />Sure he couldn’t have been aware of “the crazy” going through my head at that point, but what other reason does anyone take a picture of a stranger with their cell phone than to ridicule it? How could my husband think this wouldn’t damage me irreparably on a mental and emotional level? “Probably!?”<br /><br />Will he be catching hell for this for the rest of his life? PROBABLY<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>(* In no way or form do I intend any disrespect to “little people” in this post. I use the term “midget” which I believe is no longer politically correct, but I’m too big of a fan of alliteration, and “Mexcican little person” (or would it be “little Mexican person”?) just isn’t as much fun as “Mexican Midget”. Oh and I mean no disrespect to Mexicans either, or to people who like to fish, with lures, or with midgets, or just with Mexicans in general . . . I don’t know that I’m making this any better, perhaps I should stop now.)</em></span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-91961650146600003312010-07-14T04:16:00.000-07:002010-07-14T04:37:35.000-07:00Strong Enough for a Man, or a Woman Who Runs Out of Her OwnI ran out of deodorant a couple days ago and I'm either too lazy or too busy (this distinction depends on whether I'm feeling self-loathing or self-justified) to go to the store and get some.<br /><br />I've been using my husband's in the mean time. The problem though is that it's <a href="http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/7571/">AXE</a> deodorant and therefore I've had to strap my arms to my sides so as not to cause a stampede of highly attractive women every time they get a whiff of my pits.<br /><br />I slipped up yesterday at work and raised my arms to pull my hair up in a ponytail and before I knew it, half the Human Resources department was in my cubicle. I had to beat them off with a stick, which was actually quite cathartic.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-88203898833319443252010-07-08T21:00:00.000-07:002010-07-08T21:32:50.344-07:00I'm Baaaack, and unable to dispatch the undeadOkay, so I know nobody is reading this blog anymore, and why would you? I haven't posted on here for a year for God's sake. If you're still checking this thing for content then you really ought to get some form of a life. Join a gym, start collecting taxidermied animal parts or stalk a celebrity or something because that's just sad.<br /><br />The reasons I stopped posting were many and justified, but who cares right? The point is I missed this blog. I thought I would be fine with my other creative outlets but I'm not. I can't cuss on them first of all, nor can I relate things such as this:<br /><br /><em>I tried to kill a vampire in my dream last night. I kept stabbing him over and over again with an orange colored pencil (it was all I could find that was stake-like) but I couldn't seem to locate his heart and I just kept thinking, "Jesus Christ, I've got to be close to it right, maybe nicked an artery or something!" and then he walked away and came at me from another angle and I got behind him and started stabbing his back thinking I could pierce his heart from the back but nothing was happening. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>So I start thinking maybe I'm stabbing the wrong side of him and then I'm looking down at my own chest and re-enacting placing my hand over my heart for the national anthem - you know to refresh my memory and make sure the heart is on the left and then I'm doing the whole, okay, so do I stab his left or my left and then I realize "Stupid bitch you're both facing the same direction, keep stabbing him on the left!". Thankfully he stood patiently and waited for me to figure it out.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Then as I'm stabbing in vain, another vampire comes into the room but I don't have to stab him because he's my roomate's boyfriend (don't ask me where the roomate came from she just appeared when vampire 2 showed up but in my dream this seemed normal). So the guy I'm stabbing sees that this vamp is co-existing with us humans and he realizes that he can shake off the societal shackles of his species predatory nature and doesn't have to suck me dry and then he's all like, "I know you've just attempted to kill me at least 50 times, but let's put all that behind us and make out."</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Now first of all I'm just really frustrated because I've always thought that stabbing would be my thing right. I've always felt that if I had to kill someone I'd be pretty adept with a dagger you know. Don't ask me why it's just a thing I have okay. I don't actually plan on stabbing anyone so chill. So there I was unable to even stake a vampire who's just standing still and letting me stab him repeatedly. It was demoralizing really but I rationalized that the fault lay in my implement rather than my skill alone. A colored pencil really shouldn't have been my weapon of choice. After all shouldn't vampires be staked with wood? And while there is obviously wood in a colored pencil is there really enough? Did the fault lie in the fact that I was impaling him with colored graphite (or whatever colored pencils are made of) instead of a nice sturdy sharpened stick? I concluded that it was so and then felt perfectly at ease taking him up on his offer of making out. Which by the way is really awkward when fangs are involved. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>And it was at that point that I woke up and realized that I've been watching way too much True Blood. </em><br /><br />See. Where else am I going to be able to express something like that? Maybe a psychiatrist's office but I don't have the time nor the adequate health coverage for that - and hence the Rambling Amy blog is officialy back up and running.<br /><br />Now I can't guarantee I'll be posting incredibly often but I shall try my best and if anyone is still reading or starts reading, I'd like to apologize in advance for the crap you're going to have to scroll through.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-32635226578888400382009-06-29T21:44:00.000-07:002009-06-29T22:20:46.134-07:00In Memoriam<div>It's been a tragic couple of weeks. We've seen the loss of two cultural icons: Farah Fawcett, the golden haired beauty, and Michael Jackson, the undisputed King of Pop. </div><div></div><br /><div>The airwaves have been filled with countless video montage memorials. The nightly news shows have dedicated hours of coverage to these worthy individuals. Sales of Jackson's music have soared, radio stations are playing hour long blocks of his greatest hits. News sites like CNN posted memorial banners at the tops of their home pages. Everyone has been talking about these tragic deaths. </div><div></div><br /><div>However, another recent tragedy has occurred. Another iconic figure has disappeared off the landscape of our culture. The great Billy Mays died on Sunday and I've been extremely disappointed in the lack of coverage on this tragedy. </div><br /><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqjd1AbAodoXPyGRUAH199y7S18Mr3sImb_bMsJ6q9Agkg0NVqmdFdKb59BoqWUU6rJIc60p0kv8ap1V17hx6ht8j4k-rXa1qYRrxZZn7bIXgTNxpzybnyYRvZOnfDYwx1NCtWrkKI-k/s1600-h/billy-mays.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352985003956485602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 312px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqjd1AbAodoXPyGRUAH199y7S18Mr3sImb_bMsJ6q9Agkg0NVqmdFdKb59BoqWUU6rJIc60p0kv8ap1V17hx6ht8j4k-rXa1qYRrxZZn7bIXgTNxpzybnyYRvZOnfDYwx1NCtWrkKI-k/s400/billy-mays.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>Sure there has been some internet coverage. Some TV coverage as well but I feel the poor man has been slighted. Sure he didn't revolutionize the pop music industry, and I'm sure he never looked good in a bikini or feathered hair, but Billy had his own magic and he will be missed. Doesn't he deserve an infomercial montage from Katie Couric? Shouldn't the sales of Oxi Clean be through the roof by now?</div><br /><div></div><div>So in honor of Billy raise your glasses and then pour them down the front of your shirts! The power of Oxi Clean will take out the stain! </div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpdMmL3cImBP0QNEWhFsZwEXNutTKBWnGAUOH-_X0WgVVvsVyavUaavp-BAje-ogSLxvYtp7fX0x-eI8AUR3RDrF-ZZ_mnLw0koI0KsqQZyVf0VMAQ-ojrdtBLAYZPlVki6uZWEj8FvA/s1600-h/Busines_Apprent_2379537.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352985005986999346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpdMmL3cImBP0QNEWhFsZwEXNutTKBWnGAUOH-_X0WgVVvsVyavUaavp-BAje-ogSLxvYtp7fX0x-eI8AUR3RDrF-ZZ_mnLw0koI0KsqQZyVf0VMAQ-ojrdtBLAYZPlVki6uZWEj8FvA/s400/Busines_Apprent_2379537.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>After I clean my bathroom with Kaboom I'm breaking out the orbital sander and using it on my hardwood floors to simulate years of wear and tear. But I know that Orange Glo will renew it to it's former shine in no time. </div><div></div><br /><div>Farewell Billy.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-34373730411261644012009-02-12T18:51:00.001-08:002009-02-12T20:30:00.875-08:00Okay, now I've go to lose 5 more poundsIn my last post I talked about how my upcoming 15 year high school reunion was going to be the catalyst for my new healthy lifestyle.<br /><br />Well, it hasn't been going all that great so far. I give you exhibit A. The Monte Cristo:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIju6r8euDolZimRSTXRILx60QYw0oGWuOQgcwdBim5qM7MQtigR32sq4LUbXkWrAu471yVoTObYjb2S1GrcJoL_-e-C4cqlNhtcbwTe6qUPPY4lvQFEXJDj8_NtgcdSTf1_YxKQTItk/s1600-h/DSC_0015.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302109860248857426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIju6r8euDolZimRSTXRILx60QYw0oGWuOQgcwdBim5qM7MQtigR32sq4LUbXkWrAu471yVoTObYjb2S1GrcJoL_-e-C4cqlNhtcbwTe6qUPPY4lvQFEXJDj8_NtgcdSTf1_YxKQTItk/s400/DSC_0015.JPG" border="0" /></a> Now if you've never had a Monte Cristo before, well you should. It's like a ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in a funnel cake - and if that's not enough to turn you on then I think you should probably consult some sort of professional.<br /><br /><br />My friends and I have been in love with the Bennigan's Monte Cristo for quite a few years, and things were looking pretty black when they announced a few months ago that they were closing half their restaurants. Thankfully though the one in our city remains open for the time being but my friend Carrie and I still harbor some fears that the current economy will rob us forever of the joys of the Monte Cristo and so we made it our mission last night to discover the recipe for the monte cristo and to learn how to prepare it to perfection at home so that we would never have to go without its greasy goodness.<br /><br /><br />We found a <a href="http://www.cdkitchen.com/recipes/recs/18/BennigansMonteCristo62755.shtml">recipe</a> online, purchased our supplies and set to work. We prepared the sandwiches:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yKvl4UiJz6HY1RhSvKrogNaV20Llsl1oMqotdGQbn9eD_zyfSVddcFQQakD7CyxGmkkKLHqzAk4pnSPLmcQJs9vLWiYRT9q_wK9SzYZHuN2e_7stMzJtbn7s1Pk8mfA0oUQy6nqxbqs/s1600-h/DSC_0002_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302109851569878546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yKvl4UiJz6HY1RhSvKrogNaV20Llsl1oMqotdGQbn9eD_zyfSVddcFQQakD7CyxGmkkKLHqzAk4pnSPLmcQJs9vLWiYRT9q_wK9SzYZHuN2e_7stMzJtbn7s1Pk8mfA0oUQy6nqxbqs/s400/DSC_0002_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a> We dipped them in the batter and placed them in my ancient fry daddy.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOrnsuiQMQh4hIBHb8bGqlLbIcbgUrSqsxRdhH2EE0o-gVkN02aw9300K1Ydkg0eficmfvb_PpBBsJyPGEU_KDK5EV6P9cze7U9gCUmnJaYC6cHpB8ovb0sCLkebuvzmOBW2paGitoso/s1600-h/DSC_0011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302109854188662290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOrnsuiQMQh4hIBHb8bGqlLbIcbgUrSqsxRdhH2EE0o-gVkN02aw9300K1Ydkg0eficmfvb_PpBBsJyPGEU_KDK5EV6P9cze7U9gCUmnJaYC6cHpB8ovb0sCLkebuvzmOBW2paGitoso/s400/DSC_0011.JPG" border="0" /></a> We dowsed with powdered sugar - we were a little more generous than the usual dusting you get at the restaurant. Less is not always more my friends!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIr0JSR9nsFoqpesdZ-Laa3Toarp0dHs6KA-zZJiDE3ySaoh1AHKmPjrVTsYHwmt4Nl0oIPpuFqgmPY2VOPVCN5IG6KfVMuHGXkhd1e36iBTnQyuIeuIC-tMWYq4760TCzwwZMe9WntpA/s1600-h/DSC_0013.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302133364677004370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIr0JSR9nsFoqpesdZ-Laa3Toarp0dHs6KA-zZJiDE3ySaoh1AHKmPjrVTsYHwmt4Nl0oIPpuFqgmPY2VOPVCN5IG6KfVMuHGXkhd1e36iBTnQyuIeuIC-tMWYq4760TCzwwZMe9WntpA/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And then the moans of satisfaction commenced!<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2L9_Ydw_Ah4EiJ5he_LwLtfJqo0Q8Qso0HTTJ7CJA82vG4_kYVu-GE-QT81V8VLSlHQFxd9C6q5wS1nI4OmU3njuoAFZADKJ-sX0c42dIAD39zMpdJ2bSla-e8DznUUzpqko2FYqdpY/s1600-h/DSC_0017_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302109866553421010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 347px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2L9_Ydw_Ah4EiJ5he_LwLtfJqo0Q8Qso0HTTJ7CJA82vG4_kYVu-GE-QT81V8VLSlHQFxd9C6q5wS1nI4OmU3njuoAFZADKJ-sX0c42dIAD39zMpdJ2bSla-e8DznUUzpqko2FYqdpY/s400/DSC_0017_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Notice the contented faces, the powdered sugar on the lips and the shirt. Ah, it was a beautiful thing.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKjts_A0IvAACATtui4qNBn9bOOu7EkiAzBaEZ0CmTclpEurklpNNvGFuLhmjFwNrJCV7vTdBsRCXCVlzVZxWIYzaV05hy7zt0degGqB74T7Gp6aZ_tCQ26A7Rah1FLYw0qFHvaigCMc/s1600-h/DSC_0019_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302109865618610530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKjts_A0IvAACATtui4qNBn9bOOu7EkiAzBaEZ0CmTclpEurklpNNvGFuLhmjFwNrJCV7vTdBsRCXCVlzVZxWIYzaV05hy7zt0degGqB74T7Gp6aZ_tCQ26A7Rah1FLYw0qFHvaigCMc/s400/DSC_0019_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a> And we ate it all!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLSxO6d03iukroNYWaYfIDx1CPEx_gj_IS0f6ZcUikvT2UZ1sv1Rz6DxJvO6yRyEnk20zRWI3J2Tj3bJlRwoR3T4JdoG1RoDrLY-J5eY-S7ZpAuAWX-x7ZZrWgAJqNoUVUVlj1eqguoU/s1600-h/DSC_0020_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302110205702354690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLSxO6d03iukroNYWaYfIDx1CPEx_gj_IS0f6ZcUikvT2UZ1sv1Rz6DxJvO6yRyEnk20zRWI3J2Tj3bJlRwoR3T4JdoG1RoDrLY-J5eY-S7ZpAuAWX-x7ZZrWgAJqNoUVUVlj1eqguoU/s400/DSC_0020_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a></div></div><br /><br /><p>Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check and make sure my little gazelle workout machine will still hold my weight.</p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-21147734326775737932009-02-04T21:16:00.000-08:002009-02-04T21:54:28.558-08:00Is 15 Years long enough for them to forget how much of a loser I was?I got a call today from an old high school classmate. She was calling to verify my address so that she could send me an invitation to the upcoming 15 year class reunion. <br /><br />What I found most amusing about this is the fact that this will be the first class reunion invitation I've received. It's not as if I've vanished. I simply got married and moved to the city. My parents and even my brother still reside in my hometown and have their phone numbers and addresses listed in the local phone book. However, the coordinator for this year's reunion is the only one that has taken the initiative to actually call my mother and get my information. And that's a perfect illustration of my ranking on my high school's social ladder - an afterthought. Okay, maybe I'm a little bitter. Aren't we all when it comes to high school?<br /><br />Something unexpected happened though when I recieved this call today. I actually wrote the date down on my calendar. I had known the dates of previous reunions because I keep in touch with an old classmate and she had recieved invitations but I never for a moment entertained the notion of attending, and now here I was marking it on my calendar. <br /><br />Why? Nostalgia? A sick and twisted yearning to rediscover my awkward social ineptitude?<br /><br />I can't really say. Maybe because I saw this event as a motivational opportunity. What better way to convince myself to start improving my health and self than the thought of being on display to the homecoming court of '94?<br /><br />Sure, I'm hoping that the prom queen has gained 200 pounds and lives in a trailer court. Of course I want the guy I had a crush on throughout junior high to wind up drunk and make a complete ass of himself by re-enacting the music video of "Hanging Tough" in only his boxer shorts. But even if she's still gorgeous and he's still Mr. Wonderful it will be fine. I've got nothing to prove. I'm happily married to a wonderful man, I have a good paying job, two wonderful children and a good life. <br /><br />Yeah, whatever. Now I just have to figure out how to lose 50 pounds and get my tits lifted before June.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-16595442801296219772009-01-14T21:16:00.000-08:002009-01-14T21:26:14.763-08:00Ladies, put on your camo undies and dab some "Doe in Heat" on your wrists!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dJTE_TR6h0_uKbEHbySRl8qmEFgaVG3QEjNIBoHayM-1B92IpUO8eFMhcNdj527ncNfWqIcuzv5QBrWoilHpm4n8Y9Xa2pTpKterAJl3t6T1lZ88G7NG2pF_pmWLlw_cKmHb2_jWXf4/s1600-h/closeup.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291386626428569890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dJTE_TR6h0_uKbEHbySRl8qmEFgaVG3QEjNIBoHayM-1B92IpUO8eFMhcNdj527ncNfWqIcuzv5QBrWoilHpm4n8Y9Xa2pTpKterAJl3t6T1lZ88G7NG2pF_pmWLlw_cKmHb2_jWXf4/s400/closeup.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zq9NyiuP5kyh9iZZceAYwM7smsCrSqnttpMWbuxlUJw2Ecu559WgVmZHtx5WEA8Uu4SSd-mKcvCY0nwAGKGMqqnIgyqM0VaUa_f6xKnoLwfdRDhJaZmceLfPakV2xzP6DhcKZm0mFRA/s1600-h/PICT0002_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291386617642920930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 206px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zq9NyiuP5kyh9iZZceAYwM7smsCrSqnttpMWbuxlUJw2Ecu559WgVmZHtx5WEA8Uu4SSd-mKcvCY0nwAGKGMqqnIgyqM0VaUa_f6xKnoLwfdRDhJaZmceLfPakV2xzP6DhcKZm0mFRA/s400/PICT0002_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I don't think any further comment is needed on this one. <br /><div></div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-47079777931158697502008-12-30T21:48:00.000-08:002008-12-30T21:55:20.712-08:00So much for the spirit of the seasonI’ve been so busy preparing for Christmas that posting has been pretty slow. And the holiday fun is not over yet. I’m headed out of state over New Year’s to celebrate a late Christmas with more family. But I didn’t want to leave you empty handed while I was gone so here is an email that I sent to my very best friend Shawna around the 15th of December after my husband called to inform me that some asshole had stolen my vintage bicycle directly from our front yard. <br /><br />It was completely non-functional (tires were shredded, chain was rusted) but it was charming and I had put a basket on the front which I decorated throughout the year with seasonal items, and I’d place potted plants or pumpkins on the vintage metal child’s seat on the back of it. I loved that thing and I was planning on writing a blog post about its theft. But looking back, I think the raw unabashed hatred and sense of helplessness that I felt after that theft could not be conveyed any better than in this excerpt from an email that was composed directly after I found out it was stolen:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000066;">Some Mother Fucking, Son of a Bitch is going to die! Die a horrific death. If only the fury of my hatred could be fired out of me like a bullet out of a gun, and magically seek out the asshole who has done this, it would be a thing of beauty!<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#000066;">Some jerkoff has stolen the bicycle from the front yard. The vintage bicycle that I saved from the curb and gave a new home to. The one I lovingly added a basket to the front and filled with seasonal flowers and decorations. The one that added charm and whimsy to an otherwise shitty front yard.<br /><br />Gone. Stolen. I haven’t been this pissed for months, years maybe.<br /><br />You know how sometimes for fun or an ice breaker people will ask you what kind of super power you would have if you could have any super power, and people say , flight, or invisibility, or super strength etc. Well my super power would be the ability to recognize the people who steal stuff from people’s lawns. Yes, I’d want the ability to look into their souls and recognize what they are and then I’d want the power to punish them for the rest of their lives by making their things disappear. Maybe not even their lawn ornaments but just anything – one day they’d wake up and I’d have removed every pair of underwear they own, including the pair they had on. The next day I’d remove every mirror from the entire house, the next day I’d take the steering wheel out of their car, the spoons, their toothbrush, every pair of shoes . . . on and on until the last day of their life.<br /><br />They’d wake up every morning and find something gone – just like my bike was gone – and my payback would be complete. . .</span><br /></span><br />And while my reaction might seem a little dramatic for the theft of a bike I got for free, I think it speaks to that feeling of helplessness and violation that you get when something is stolen. You can’t do a damn thing about it and it’s frustrating. Not to mention that if you sit and think about it long enough to realize that some stranger was inches from your front door at night with evil intentions (okay maybe evil is a little overboard but they certainly weren’t friendly) and that you were at home alone with your kids, then it compounds that feeling of helplessness and even mixes in a good dose of fear as well about what “could” happen.<br /><br />So now that I’ve given you a good dose of reality after the fantasy and charm of the holiday season. I’m heading out for more holiday cheer. Have a Happy New Year everyone.<br /><br />oh and don’t ever think about stealing anything from my front yard. I’m installing motion sensors and stockpiling weapons by the front door so they’re within easy reach when the next person tries to steal my Malibu lights.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-50129048922682294652008-12-22T21:30:00.001-08:002008-12-22T21:34:33.441-08:00Tacky Treasure time - cast your vote!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YdNv-WbNnGuBEOAEy_9I_WU-uicmBlzLjLJew3PCMi2lWhRhiUEIl2uzQcina_TthmiueH1RdqGz7yUGgMOKoAd8zkhEQj2prcvsQbG9VuaNzV25zGucm1JphfAq6um2VekpBVa0GN4/s1600-h/DSC_0186.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282854116387825282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YdNv-WbNnGuBEOAEy_9I_WU-uicmBlzLjLJew3PCMi2lWhRhiUEIl2uzQcina_TthmiueH1RdqGz7yUGgMOKoAd8zkhEQj2prcvsQbG9VuaNzV25zGucm1JphfAq6um2VekpBVa0GN4/s400/DSC_0186.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />The tacky treasures are awaiting your vote! Go to <a href="http://www.freewebs.com/tackytreasures">www.freewebs.com/tackytreasures</a> to cast your vote!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-82421034097862064712008-12-10T16:47:00.000-08:002008-12-10T16:52:17.024-08:00Santa SnobWe recently made our requisite December journey to the Mall. Not for shopping, not for an orange Julius, though that would have been nice, except the Julius has raw eggs in it doesn’t it – isn’t that what makes it frothy or is that an urban legend? Maybe just a smoothie would have been better or some ice cream from the creamery – sorry – off topic.<br /><br />It was time to see Santa – that jolly old soul. The most ironic thing about seeing Santa is that it’s never jolly. We knew the line would be horrendous, and it was. We knew it would be packed with snot nosed impatient children – and it was; ours fitting in perfectly with the rabble.<br /><br />We’ve gone to the same mall every year since Aaron was born to see this particular Santa. I’m a bit of a Santa snob – I’ll admit it. I’m not going to sit my kid on just anyone’s red velvet robed knee. Oh no, if I’m going to perpetuate the myth that is Santa then by God I’m going to do it right by choosing a Santa that could actually BE Santa.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZl2phnyTXcPG7XstIvyb-7Nx0YOnyWgF08nnjpBI3zvvW2nCNTKcPqjnzZMCiiJPJlEtYAJdm6x6tEqVXZ5Edo_6mmIBe2dFBbjaMabrS-iB5TUWNL2gaURZ3I_vj2nNOfZ6J1BGdyug/s1600-h/DSC_0033_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278328538826678146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZl2phnyTXcPG7XstIvyb-7Nx0YOnyWgF08nnjpBI3zvvW2nCNTKcPqjnzZMCiiJPJlEtYAJdm6x6tEqVXZ5Edo_6mmIBe2dFBbjaMabrS-iB5TUWNL2gaURZ3I_vj2nNOfZ6J1BGdyug/s320/DSC_0033_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a>He’s round, he’s jolly, he has a REAL beard of snowy white, a gentle voice and a genuine way with children. This way when the kids get old enough to realize that we’ve been lying to them for the entirety of their childhoods, they might at least appreciate the fact that we were damn good liars and picked a heck of a good actor to aide and abet us in those lies!<br /><br />How about you? Are you picky about which Santa you take your kids to see?Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-83271474311480849922008-12-04T20:44:00.000-08:002008-12-06T16:33:42.329-08:00Nothing tops the black fuzzy posterThe Christmas season is here and I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get everything done. There are cookies to be baked, cards to be sent, photos with Santa to be taken, shopping to be done, gifts to be wrapped, family feuds to begin, or end . . . and the list goes on and on.<br /><br />Due to economic issues, and the fact that I am kind of crafty, I’m making a lot of gifts for people this year and while I think they are fantastic, I sometimes wonder if the recipient might think they are completely lame. To combat these fears I try to focus on some of the worst gifts I and people I know have received over the years and in comparison to some of these gifts, my hand knit scarves seem like the most thoughtful and beautiful gifts ever!<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Potpourri.</strong></span><br /><br />Now in general there’s nothing wrong with Potpourri. It’s not my cup of tea but I suppose it serves some sort of purpose, doesn’t it?? Like an alternative to cat litter when you’re in a pinch? Anyway, it wouldn’t have been such a bad gift had it been paired maybe with a candle or a lovely bowl or something to put it in except there was nothing else. Just a plastic baggie full of potpourri from the dollar store, with the price tag still on it. If you couldn’t afford to give me anything that’s fine, just get a card or a scrap of paper and write a lovely note wishing me a happy holiday. A 99 cent bag of potpourri is like leaving your waitress a 2 cent tip, it just shouldn’t be done unless you want her to spit in your salad the next time you eat there.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Ch-Ch-Ch Chia!</span></strong><br /><br />While there is something intrinsically fascinating about watching something sprout from the back/head of a terra cotta (insert your shape – sheep, tweety bird, Homer Simpson, Garfield) figure, I don’t think the Chia Pet has ever been or will ever be elevated to “good gift” status. My husband got one of these as a gift one year and quite frankly he’s still insulted by it. Though he’ll deny it, I think the true insult came from the fact that it wasn’t even the terra cotta one – it was one of the cheaper heads made out of nylon with a face painted on it - you know like the ones you made in kindergarten from your mom’s pantyhose. Perhaps if it had been the actual terra cotta variety, he might have gotten over it by now.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000066;"><strong>KOOL t-shirt<br /></strong></span><br />I think this might have been a birthday gift actually, but a bad gift is a bad gift so it makes my list. When my husband was in grade school his grandparents were pretty heavy smokers and they used that habit not only to supply themselves with lung disease but also with countless gifts for their grandchildren, and I’m not even counting the second hand smoke as one of the gifts! They’d save up their cartons and packs and send them into the company for free merchandise. So Matt was often gifted with a KOOL or Salem T-shirt as a gift. What could a 13 yr. old want more?? Hey at least they didn’t pair it with a carton of ciggies.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Black fuzzy poster<br /></span></strong><br />Now in general I try not to make fun of hand made gifts. Because even if they are absolutely hideous, if somebody put the effort into making something for me, I try to look past the fug and appreciate the time and the thought. However, I don’t think coloring in one of those black flocked posters really counts as hand-made so I have no qualms about poking fun at this gift.<br />It would have been a different story if it had been a gift from say a 9 yr. old, or even a 15 – 16 yr. old. But, no. This was a gift from a grown woman. A black fuzzy poster that she was incredibly proud to announce that she had colored in all by herself! I can’t even remember what the image was – perhaps a unicorn or a kitten or something, shockingly I did not keep it.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Panties<br /></span></strong><br />Everyone had that grandmother who bought them socks or panties every year. Well my friend’s grandmother took it a step further – actually 2 steps further because not only was she gifted with panties every single year up to the age of 15 (yikes) but she also was forced to put them on and model them for her as if it was a festive holiday sweater instead of a lacy pair of undies with the days of the week printed on them. No wonder the poor thing is in therapy now.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000066;">Mini bottles of shampoo/conditioner from a hotel</span></strong><br /><br />While it’s a great idea to share mementos and photos from recent trips with friends and family, it’s not usually looked upon fondly when you share your trip by gifting them the bottles of shampoo from the hotel you stayed at in Hoboken. A friend was once given mini bottles of Super 8 shampoo by her husband’s grandmother. So either her grandmother is very cheap or perhaps she’s not well liked by the in-laws – or maybe both.<br /><br />What’s the worst gift you’ve ever received??Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-58482324075000737312008-12-01T18:35:00.000-08:002008-12-01T18:39:35.368-08:00Excuses, ExcusesSo I know things have been a little slow around here. Posting has dropped off dramatically and I’m sorry for that but I do have a legitimate excuse. I’ve launched a craft business and I’ve been busily creating products, setting up my online shop and creating content for my craft blog.<br /><br />Now I know what you’re thinking; “Woman, it’s about time you did something! I mean with a full time job, plus being the sole caretaker of your 2 small children in the evenings while your husband works, it’s about time you took advantage of all that abundant free time you have!”<br /><br />And you’re right. Because I was seriously wasting my time on things like personal hygiene and sleep. It was laziness, pure and simple and now I’ve found something worthwhile to fill up the hours of my day.<br /><br />Now I’m still in that optimistic stage of the game. I’ve sold two things (hurray!) and hope to sell more. Right now my stuff is just online but I hope to do some local craft shows and stuff next year when I have more inventory built up. I’m really trying to find my niche and that’s hard. I don’t expect to earn enough for champagne wishes or caviar dreams, but I love creating stuff so I figured I might as well try to hock some of it while I’m at it.<br /><br />If you’ve got nothing better to do – check out my shop on Etsy: <a href="http://www.pinandpaper.etsy.com/">http://www.pinandpaper.etsy.com/</a><br /><br />and visit my crafty blog as well:<br /><a href="http://www.pinandpaper.blogspot.com/">http://www.pinandpaper.blogspot.com/</a>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-76426872083624177542008-11-24T17:27:00.000-08:002008-11-24T17:30:48.103-08:00Why she’s on the short list of people I’d give a kidney toA recent email conversation between me and my friend Shawna:<br /><br /><a name="OLE_LINK3">From:</a> amy<br />Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 12:49 PM<br />To: Shawna<br />Subject: Had enough<br /><br /><span style="color:#000066;">Have you ever used a nasal spray? I don’t generally like squirting stuff up my nasal passages but at this point I’d just really like to breathe. Was wondering if you had any recommendations.<br />I’ve been trying to look online and I’m finding all this stuff about how I could possibly become addicted to them. So if you catch me selling myself on the street to score another bottle of Afrin – be prepared for an intervention.<br />At this point, it’s worth the risk.</span><br /><br />From: Shawna<br />Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 1:40 PM<br />To: amy<br />Subject: RE: Had enough<br /><br /><span style="color:#000066;">I can’t do that stuff either not sure why. I hear it works.<br /><br />Don’t worry about the addict thing it runs in the family and I am an old pro with interventions. I’ll tell you what I will wait till you get addicted to crack and become your ideal size and then will kick you off the drugs. I mean there might as well be a pay out to addiction if you ask me. Then you will hate your self for being weak and becoming an addict but you will look great naked. </span><br /><span style="color:#000066;"><br /></span>Now this is a gal with my best interests at heart!Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-4579912973325350792008-11-19T18:43:00.000-08:002008-11-19T18:59:05.547-08:00Down with DYFEA? Join the Campaign!You’ve just reached the checkout at the store and the gal behind the conveyor belt has already mindlessly slid 10 items past the scanner and then she turns to you and says, “Did you find everything alright?”<br /><br />I hate that question.<br /><br />I’M AT THE CHECKOUT! Which means that if I hadn’t found what I was looking for then I would have left – without buying anything! Or if I had more than one thing to purchase then I would have already enquired about the item I couldn’t locate to some stock boy or other employee or resigned myself to the fact that they don’t carry that product.<br /><br />Maybe if they asked BEFORE they started ringing me up, then I’d believe it was more of a genuine question/concern. What are they going to do if I say; “No, I couldn’t find the right brand of heavy flow tampons.” Are they going to stop ringing me up and guide me back to the aisle and help me search, despite the lineup of 8 customers behind me? Are they going to send out a stock boy to find them? Do they write it down and have a meeting after closing to discuss how they can better organize the tampon section?<br /><br />I don’t think so!<br /><br />Now I realize that it’s one of those questions that’s not really a question. It’s really just a social nicety – a greeting – like when someone at the office says, “Hi. How are you?” They don’t really care. They don’t want you to launch into an itemized listing of what’s going wrong or right in your life. They just want you to say “good” so they can move along and get their coffee. I get that. But it still irritates me to no end. And I’m writing about it in the hopes that the shoddy logic of it will irritate you as well and perhaps together, we can bring about some change in this world and make that idiotic phrase obsolete in the retail environment.<br /><br />Who’s with me??<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzBYsEcGu4jREcD5aGuCfrkVa2NpUiQ-PvSzZAuQKJc-h3VZJ2PRO-C_hAgN9nOpreJlWPGFuQdEzYcJF5y2j-od3HyAAmPUYbiqe8rzKIn594EQDB3SdEORupeX9brcY__HTE8JxgRc/s1600-h/Picture1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270565744541046546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 199px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMzBYsEcGu4jREcD5aGuCfrkVa2NpUiQ-PvSzZAuQKJc-h3VZJ2PRO-C_hAgN9nOpreJlWPGFuQdEzYcJF5y2j-od3HyAAmPUYbiqe8rzKIn594EQDB3SdEORupeX9brcY__HTE8JxgRc/s200/Picture1.jpg" border="0" /></a>I’m thinking of having some buttons made up.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-23881384579992032382008-10-28T18:23:00.000-07:002008-10-28T18:26:31.733-07:00Yearning for something in poor taste?It's that time of year folks - Tacky Treasure Competition time! <br /><br />The 2008 category has been chosen and shopping commences on Nov. 1.<br /><br />Check out our newly redesigned website to learn more about it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.freewebs.com/tackytreasures/">http://www.freewebs.com/tackytreasures/</a>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-64982643891345912632008-10-15T20:49:00.001-07:002008-10-15T21:00:32.701-07:00Birth ControlWhenever I start getting fuzzy feelings about having a third child I try to remind myself of how much joy the 2 children I have right now give me, and how if I had any more joyous moments like the one below, that my head just might spontaneously combust.<br /><br /><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HjHbxW_6CTs"><br /> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HjHbxW_6CTs" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"></embed> </object><br /><br />And all this because I put food on her plate. Yes, food - ON HER PLATE - and it was unbearable. Lucky you only have to endure about 56 seconds whereas I got the pleasure of a full 7 minutes!<br /><br />On a side note, I'm not cruel and enjoy watching her scream. I've learned that there is nothing I can do to soothe her. If I hold her she pushes me away, if I try to talk to her she screams louder. However, if I just sit back and wait for it to pass, she jumps up like nothing has happened and the only clues that there was a meltdown at all are the tear stained cheeks and snotty nose.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-55844028631520139542008-09-19T11:57:00.000-07:002008-09-19T12:01:29.513-07:00And her baby brother is going as a soy sauce packet<div>I realize that when you publish a magazine with home made Halloween costume ideas in it, that after a few years you’re going to be searching for something new and exciting to feature rather than the cliché pig costume made from pink sweatpants.<br /><br />However, I think this costume featured in the recent edition of Family Fun Magazine is a little odd:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphZ3iRiiHQNsoi2ADwoW5vtzeB1CVaBrLGBRFJKicVHSP9T7TTkOL5bgnrw4Ruf_tUNp31eWM-50wP0tpv1w6Aj1Iu_cGli7OhnHh8HHrf1ls6U5yaUVvILX-_iuG1r5z2iu2Srer7zA/s1600-h/sushi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247808796559367154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphZ3iRiiHQNsoi2ADwoW5vtzeB1CVaBrLGBRFJKicVHSP9T7TTkOL5bgnrw4Ruf_tUNp31eWM-50wP0tpv1w6Aj1Iu_cGli7OhnHh8HHrf1ls6U5yaUVvILX-_iuG1r5z2iu2Srer7zA/s400/sushi.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Has your 7 year old ever expressed a desire to dress as raw fish and rice rolled in seaweed? Are all the other kids in the neighborhood saying, “Mom, my princess costume is SOOOO LAME! Chrissie is going as Sushi! You could have at least gotten me a Wonton outfit or even a dumpling costume! I’m going to be the laughing stock of the neighborhood!”<br /><br />Maybe it’s because I live in the Midwest and sushi isn’t really all that big around here. Maybe I’m just out of touch. Does anyone else think this is weird??<br /><br />But if you’re dying to make one of your own check out the instructions at the <a href="http://jas.familyfun.go.com/arts-and-crafts?page=CraftDisplay&craftid=12046">Family Fun website</a>, which truly does have some pretty cool kids crafts and stuff on there and I would also recommend the magazine as well. </div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-33992118265167863252008-09-10T16:26:00.000-07:002008-09-10T17:02:51.060-07:00Best and Worst ListI love lists – doesn’t everyone? And today in an effort to somehow make a cohesive post out of three completely unrelated musings that have been rattling around in my brain - I bring you my Best and Worst list.<br /><br /><strong>Best place to wear a black nylon leotard, rainbow dress and a care bear backpack:</strong><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244541440632944162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitpqy_SRAGI4KFktlfMD44Ex45eMa0ND_MxzbEAGUNLMJT5IvTNp6wu4PfH7jXMqXg2DJazmlK068KsqpPM-_aRiCBmq0NTxWMqBkBA3UdCj-35nkP7lNSY8U__otpS3yYpNyMk-2qXO8/s320/100_6774_edited1.jpg" border="0" /><br />A comic book convention<br /><br />Worst place: any other public location<br /><br /><br /><strong>Best business name:<br /></strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYpHwzRHaVXHUsOC9bMFNDQUX_9N-Tr1npo1ZqrPNDDKD1gjegJYUQQNzDjSJp9ay0VSJFdFXXv9WNt5YQWSeYE7xY7TALSgS7b1maTH7wq6LbVfYjbDnhgPHd4JuNR9lWkSSOzcWRws/s1600-h/100_7167.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244541435937095138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYpHwzRHaVXHUsOC9bMFNDQUX_9N-Tr1npo1ZqrPNDDKD1gjegJYUQQNzDjSJp9ay0VSJFdFXXv9WNt5YQWSeYE7xY7TALSgS7b1maTH7wq6LbVfYjbDnhgPHd4JuNR9lWkSSOzcWRws/s320/100_7167.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Stinkie fingers bait shop. It’s memorable, it’s appropriate to the business and it’s spelled with an “ie” which makes it that much more charming. Are you going to go to some bait vending machine for quality catfish lure or are you going to head to this place? I know where I’m going!<br /><br />Worst Business name:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcXtYDzSuQkW6NaOZMgU0LXdPm-lDJrOT54z3u3fLHserKFpy8Wpgaog-fWD8brz0c5jmwLSfljaPBl4LZ_ppIyrkmSQH4UEECxhsnIyhkUfp0yxW2p2pwOF_4BYggGa6O_Q0Tn6pBYA/s1600-h/100_7610_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244540350518829778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcXtYDzSuQkW6NaOZMgU0LXdPm-lDJrOT54z3u3fLHserKFpy8Wpgaog-fWD8brz0c5jmwLSfljaPBl4LZ_ppIyrkmSQH4UEECxhsnIyhkUfp0yxW2p2pwOF_4BYggGa6O_Q0Tn6pBYA/s320/100_7610_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HeMX__b5-I0Idx3iTk0JKCgi0uyCEHQZi2FhT9bPPZvDHmf1YqX2QdBNXgcKabhgqHMJ0Iv7xEe40sUMrO2jYTK2Y3eOEH3iG1RS_wBDbJZEkgCgvunnWUxjCfgI7UutOLVZugpkwno/s1600-h/100_7612.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244540354344606002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7HeMX__b5-I0Idx3iTk0JKCgi0uyCEHQZi2FhT9bPPZvDHmf1YqX2QdBNXgcKabhgqHMJ0Iv7xEe40sUMrO2jYTK2Y3eOEH3iG1RS_wBDbJZEkgCgvunnWUxjCfgI7UutOLVZugpkwno/s320/100_7612.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The Royal Flush. I realize this is a Poker themed name which perhaps they thought would go well with a “Lounge” however, it’s seldom a good idea to invoke bathroom related lexicon into the name of your restaurant. Was “the Urinal Cake café" taken?<br /><br />If they were dead set on a card themed name couldn’t they have gone with "Full House", or "Four of a Kind" or even "UNO!" would have been better. Add to the fact that the steak on the sign somewhat resembles a bowel movement floating in a blue toilet bowl when you drive by at 45 mph and that the building itself is a steel warehouse in the industrial area of town and you’ve got yourself a restaurant that everyone thinks is a plumbing supply store.<br /><br /><strong>Best male fake hair in a movie:<br /></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4PihLs2iIUu1EQ0h_jLKpPQ6tYy33tiR8Yx1QJsKBzNCbUoBOLLBgrDb85FiMw22jLBQj49PUxa0YhrU9MkfWGf6qnYU8vJzhHKD9wLWdo9iEbC5_QY1BzMhe25KpMtpbI4LIhCOGl4/s1600-h/Benbarnes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244538862551738978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4PihLs2iIUu1EQ0h_jLKpPQ6tYy33tiR8Yx1QJsKBzNCbUoBOLLBgrDb85FiMw22jLBQj49PUxa0YhrU9MkfWGf6qnYU8vJzhHKD9wLWdo9iEbC5_QY1BzMhe25KpMtpbI4LIhCOGl4/s320/Benbarnes.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Ben Barnes in Prince Caspian (his hair was too short before filming – these are extensions) - Grrr Baby Grrr.<br /><br />Worst:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmt1xsnOs5bICsxLh0UTYBOH4-rw2YXYJgQWo-03bF5_oZ9wfZC5JbnzTrOuFo-ulPbaJgPafndAVbcXiQOMQ5CG1a0pm8ZqSKg9h0EfNLfIaIxvsHcKTuqdcXXLN8wnECEeSuqUqnPDk/s1600-h/nic1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244539024283483538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmt1xsnOs5bICsxLh0UTYBOH4-rw2YXYJgQWo-03bF5_oZ9wfZC5JbnzTrOuFo-ulPbaJgPafndAVbcXiQOMQ5CG1a0pm8ZqSKg9h0EfNLfIaIxvsHcKTuqdcXXLN8wnECEeSuqUqnPDk/s320/nic1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Nicolas Cage in any movie within the last decade. I mean seriously. Let’s take Ghost Rider as an example – they can turn this mans head into a flaming skull and yet all they can muster with his fake hair is this botched Bosley hair restoration look?? Couldn't the hair have been computer generated as well?<br /><br /><br /><br />However, in the Hollywood Hairdressers defense - this is what his real hair looked like when he was younger so I guess you can only do so much:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfjnM6OdDhZp0HOKXHSjPnu6GW7rPGIbLsQ5y96fluwSSKRBGEqhiMtBLM1gNGQVJwXRsRF9w9joOlxRRhOe80LiNhO7hsCPAULZz3rvTqM-3arXeabGWksJMQ0__R-DfTuKdfSLcUPE/s1600-h/062408-niccagefilms.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244544772872195634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfjnM6OdDhZp0HOKXHSjPnu6GW7rPGIbLsQ5y96fluwSSKRBGEqhiMtBLM1gNGQVJwXRsRF9w9joOlxRRhOe80LiNhO7hsCPAULZz3rvTqM-3arXeabGWksJMQ0__R-DfTuKdfSLcUPE/s320/062408-niccagefilms.jpg" border="0" /></a>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-46758071107001719692008-09-02T20:46:00.000-07:002008-09-02T21:00:58.126-07:00Oh the humanity!I'd like to start out this post by saying that I love my mother.<br /><br />But . . .<br /><br />when she showed up with a bag full clothes for the kids that she'd gotten while garage saleing and within its contents was a size 2T shell suit, I started to question her sanity.<br /><br />You remember shell suits don't you? The fugly fashion of the late 80's and early 90's? If not, then let me refresh your memory.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-yKud4V4kOTqP7KdmIpO40MihAcfXVAFFh34muID4MOQIuBuY6iuKkoSVIuilzTMOOb-p7BqGHwP1McMQcX-NViGNY19kxVmrV-v-I7E7l5gEJeh4mn5u2nCodOnptcguVaR4_5G__U/s1600-h/shellsuit.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241638008649847250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-yKud4V4kOTqP7KdmIpO40MihAcfXVAFFh34muID4MOQIuBuY6iuKkoSVIuilzTMOOb-p7BqGHwP1McMQcX-NViGNY19kxVmrV-v-I7E7l5gEJeh4mn5u2nCodOnptcguVaR4_5G__U/s400/shellsuit.jpg" border="0" /></a> That's not even the worst part. Before I had a chance to burn it, Gwen had grabbed it and was pushing it in my face, desperate to put it on! What was she so attracted to? The hideous color combination? The odd placement of the printed panel? The sweat inducing properties of the synthetic non-breathable fabric?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1YNBdtu8yyTGSRhBOY1-PZp0LT3xqbSpFiGFXyvQoC0npKVa8H-gBSWoRK6BaxYjaG4usmK4FIqLVvvHD4dALHAlKKSznEGJvBuKiTyEJG6c_NxNl1MNFRrknXO3CgSU_mmSNI8VJ8M/s1600-h/100_7523_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241638012502991970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1YNBdtu8yyTGSRhBOY1-PZp0LT3xqbSpFiGFXyvQoC0npKVa8H-gBSWoRK6BaxYjaG4usmK4FIqLVvvHD4dALHAlKKSznEGJvBuKiTyEJG6c_NxNl1MNFRrknXO3CgSU_mmSNI8VJ8M/s400/100_7523_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjv9vd62QR6gatHblF3a8N_NhJhgyUeQo8kY0WBKBl7KapmLKnZqgwrG-3YuK1CgiAxxzk6H1GMFakoqkpwil1m6rCMrqTph9mW8QtT6-XsoK1iNtDUCOqs-kvqYEbq7MzJOrxy8NuA0/s1600-h/100_7525_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241638012814908882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjv9vd62QR6gatHblF3a8N_NhJhgyUeQo8kY0WBKBl7KapmLKnZqgwrG-3YuK1CgiAxxzk6H1GMFakoqkpwil1m6rCMrqTph9mW8QtT6-XsoK1iNtDUCOqs-kvqYEbq7MzJOrxy8NuA0/s400/100_7525_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a> I don't know, but she loved it. I'm only going to indulge her this one time though. I cannot let her wear it again, and definitely not in public. I'd better get it burned before she finds it again and requests a coordinating fanny pack to go with it.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-60870979940881197502008-08-22T20:08:00.001-07:002008-08-22T20:31:47.113-07:00Confession - the Kit Kat incidentForgive me Super WalMart, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.<br /><br />I knew it was wrong, I don't know what came over me but when I saw her there with her face covered in chocolate, I just lost it. I mean she'd been trying my patience ever since we entered the automatic doors. The greeters recoiled in fear when they saw she was untethered. Fellow shoppers did their best to avoid her in the hopes that she wouldn't target their shopping cart, commandeer it and push it directly into the 6 foot display of pantiliners on aisle 6. <br /><br />She was a force to be reckoned with. She scoffed at the confines of the cart. She spat out the pacifier with her shrieks of anguish. She mopped the floors with a face full of tantrum tears. Other mothers embraced their children lovingly and vowed to be forever grateful that they had such an easy child. <br /><br />Finally I reached the end of my epic journey - the checkout. I was almost free and clear and while placing the contents of my overflowing cart onto the conveyor belt I glanced down to see her with the Kit Kat - half eaten. I knew what I should have done. I should have laughed in one of my patented "oh how entertaining these little angels can be" laughs, handed the candy to the cashier and asked that they ring it up since my sweetpea had already ingested the majority of the shiny wrapper. But I didn't. I glanced around to make sure no one had seen it and then threw the open candy back on the shelf behind a box of king sized peanut M&M's. <br /><br />Was it embarrasment, frustration? I don't know. I stand before you in shame and with sincere regret. I'll throw an extra 58 cents at you the next time I'm there. Oh and you might want to rethink that endcap full of light bulbs over in the hardware aisle. Thankfully she was distracted by the air freshener display in automotive.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-76783728970222427972008-08-19T16:33:00.000-07:002008-08-19T17:08:31.891-07:00He draws the line at indecent exposure<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY9L4SZ95tzxVQEIVJdu1InfTDK6Mi312dt03jPZVQ0GATitp9qpH0Ev26FU3TjgyDQPmp0Clhn5jqeOoQndJsTgDgIy4Mgh6WSRgH-TAPZSeEKmsUDvMC_BlKGMoXPUm-p0y0e3T2OY/s1600-h/100_7443.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236376664595463426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY9L4SZ95tzxVQEIVJdu1InfTDK6Mi312dt03jPZVQ0GATitp9qpH0Ev26FU3TjgyDQPmp0Clhn5jqeOoQndJsTgDgIy4Mgh6WSRgH-TAPZSeEKmsUDvMC_BlKGMoXPUm-p0y0e3T2OY/s400/100_7443.jpg" border="0" /></a> Over the years Matt has grown accustomed to my sense of humor and no longer argues with me when I ask him to make a stupid pose with an inanimate object. See the example above. All I had to do was ask him if he loved me and when he replied in the affirmative I told him that I needed him to pretend that inflated T-Rex was about to eat him. I even once convinced him to fondle the breast of a female statue at a mini golf course (I seem to have lost that picture, perhaps he found it and destroyed it). <br /><br />There are times though where he still refuses me. For example - as he stood in front of this replica moon in the Kansas cosmosphere he repeatedly declined to grace me with the image of 2 moons. I mean come on - it would have been hilarious and the surveilance camera wasn't even pointed anywhere near it. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIP_shyKwvLmXsn9K3SxONjnIi_JXAxN66PTYy-KrcWfRyOnb2U3wv6QrKVjev1Igw2mhFs-Ef7Px_1cgW78V_dU8DhQyZ4uj5MmQWWJK-ZG831q4P3dmDLYKOREDK_Ku0GIAzT8G0-YI/s1600-h/100_7103.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236376672724890290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIP_shyKwvLmXsn9K3SxONjnIi_JXAxN66PTYy-KrcWfRyOnb2U3wv6QrKVjev1Igw2mhFs-Ef7Px_1cgW78V_dU8DhQyZ4uj5MmQWWJK-ZG831q4P3dmDLYKOREDK_Ku0GIAzT8G0-YI/s400/100_7103.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-36271257909955692182008-08-06T13:44:00.001-07:002008-08-06T13:44:34.355-07:00Just call me the Lunch LadyWe’re currently hosting our 2 nieces and our nephew at our house and while it’s been fun so far, and Aaron is in absolute heaven with his live-in playmates, there have been challenges as well.<br /><br />One of the biggest challenges for me is meal preparation. Cooking is not one of my favorite tasks (which is somewhat odd since eating is) and I often struggle to cook something for myself and my own 2 kids and now I’ve got 3 more to worry about. Last night I opted for chicken nuggets, mac and cheese and peas – a healthy meal balanced with items from each of the three processed food groups (processed powdered cheese, processed chicken parts formed into nugget shapes and heavily salted canned vegetables). <br /><br />While the preparation was no different than usual, the quantity was and I spent what seemed like 15 minutes just trying to calculate how many nuggets to bake and whether or not I should do one box of Mac and Cheese or two. Once preparation was complete – putting it all on plates was an elaborate assembly line production which conjured up images of school days in the cafeteria. At one point I wondered if I should be wearing a hair net.<br /><br />Tomorrow I think I’ll serve up some mashed potatoes with an ice cream scoop.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-977069612339470755.post-67398032578233292832008-07-29T21:42:00.000-07:002008-07-29T21:53:36.584-07:00The fruits of my very minimal labor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bD7sbsVx7HWCLibeitVS70yQC98_dDkmZ-KdmvyDFeHam1OKy0K3PEoamBTm54Ux_I_iknSL38k4q7VcvxpZXDn0U0xKBEwDq3iH_RHELxtP7hrNLxrRtffgQErGi2s7qyBhi31bD2g/s1600-h/100_7186_edited-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228663150770890834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bD7sbsVx7HWCLibeitVS70yQC98_dDkmZ-KdmvyDFeHam1OKy0K3PEoamBTm54Ux_I_iknSL38k4q7VcvxpZXDn0U0xKBEwDq3iH_RHELxtP7hrNLxrRtffgQErGi2s7qyBhi31bD2g/s400/100_7186_edited-1.jpg" border="0" /></a> <br />I planted a cherry tomato and a grape tomato plant in a huge pot on my patio this year. It was my way of connecting to mother earth, and enjoying tiny tomatoes on my salad without having to pay $2.99 every 2 weeks. <br /><br />They're so delicious and were so easy to grow that I've started wondering why I don't garden on a much larger scale, and then I remember that I'm still officially on strike. My parents promised me 10cents for every quart of strawberries I broke my back to pick from our huge family garden back in 1988 and I've yet to see a penny of that money. <br /><br />Unfortunately I was only 12 so according to my lawyer, the contract was not legally binding since I was a minor. However, I'm still pushing for a settlement. If you factor in lost wages and pain and suffering, I think we're talking close to $2,000.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08159496783720430544noreply@blogger.com0