Hollow Tree Ventures parenting humor
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8 Major Signs It's Time To Clean

As a mom and wife and blogger (not in that order), I don't have a lot of time to clean my house.

Well, to be honest I have plenty of time to clean it, but instead I use all my spare time to chat about inappropriate things on Twitter.

True story.

"Oh no you din't!"

As you probably know, if you willfully neglect your home (like I do), it doesn't take long for things to start piling up around the house.
Laundry, I'm looking at you.
So in hopes of keeping the housework from getting completely out of hand, I thought I'd make a list of 8 Major Signs It's Time To Clean. Whenever one of the following situations applies (or all of them, if it's been a busy week) I know I absolutely can't put off cleaning any longer.

1. The Kitchen Sink
If the idea of eating a grape that touched the stainless steel surface of my sink makes me physically gag, it immediately bypasses the 5 Second Rule and gets sacrificed to the garbage disposal. This should be quickly followed by a dousing of Soft Scrub - but not until after I've bolstered my strength by eating the rest of the grapes. And maybe some ice cream.

2. The Floor
Sometimes when the baby crawls around on the carpet, enough cat hair sticks to the nubby fabric of her footie jammies that I could (if I were so inclined) use it to knit myself another cat. That's a definite indication that it might be time to vacuum, and/or shave the cat.

3. The Bathtub
Is there a ring circumnavigating the inside of the tub that's become a semi-permanent marker for the average water level of the kids' baths? Then it's probably time to bust out the Scrubbin' Bubbles. Or encourage them to take showers instead.

4. The Dust
Hahahaha, this one is a trick. I never dust, unless the piles of dust have completely obscured the location of the couch and I have nowhere to sit while I'm drinking and yelling at the idiots on House Hunters. (By the way, make sure you're changing your HVAC, furnace, and humidifier filters regularly as it can help reduce the overall accumulation of dust and allergens. Then the house cleans itself FOR YOU!)

5. The Laundry
Doing a load of laundry becomes essential only when we're out of clean socks. Or else I just go buy more socks.

6. Yard Work
When I walk past our flower beds, the freakishly well-developed weeds occasionally call out a hearty, "Good morning!" or try to rob me at knifepoint. When that happens, it's usually best to wait until they're sleeping, sneak past them, and move to a house with no yard.

7. The Piles of Papers
Like many families (I hope we aren't the only ones) certain surfaces collect a lot of I'll-Deal-With-This-Later paper junk like ignored PTA notices, unpaid bills, expired Bed Bath and Beyond coupons, and magazines I haven't had time to read. Once in a while the cat or one of the kids will go missing for a few days, which is the signal that it's time to sort through the crapalanche, put things where they belong, and see if I can unearth any cherished loved ones beneath the pile - unless the papers aren't mine, in which case they can all be quickly filed in the recycling bin.

8. The Dishes
If I'm drinking wine out of a mug... No wait, that could be any time. A better indicator that the dishes need to be done might be that the kids are having ramen noodle soup for lunch, but I cooked it in the crock pot because all the pans were dirty, and they're eating it off a paper plate. Which they have to share. That's just a sad state of affairs, so I'll try to at least rinse out a bowl they can share.

Because I'm awesome like that.

Please click the banner below to vote while I rush downstairs and spritz Lemon Pledge on a few things so when Gerry gets home he'll think I've been busting my humps all day (when really you and I know I've spent eight hours blogging and knitting myself a new cat).
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Siblings Were Invented To Ruin Christmas

I don't know if you were aware of this, but I have a brother.

For the most part, we got along splendidly growing up. We must've, otherwise all those times he stole my precious teddy bears and threatened to shred my blankie and told me the Noble Romans pizza monster was going to kill me wouldn't stand out so vividly.


We grew up in the Dark Ages (1984), the good old days when parents did things like trample each other in the aisles of Walgreens (or whatever passed for Target back then) to get their hands on a Cabbage Patch Kid.

If you were a girl in 1984, you might recall that you were nothing until you owned a Cabbage Patch Kid. As a result, a lot of parents were in full body casts that year at Christmastime.

But we were a family that didn't typically buy into these trends (that's code for "poor"). Plus, I noted (with some disappointment) that my mom hadn't been hobbled or elbowed in the eye while gift shopping, so I assumed she hadn't engaged in the hand-to-hand combat required to snag that year's hottest toy.

That's why I wasn't really expecting to receive a yarn-haired little vegetable orphan under the tree. No miniature adoption papers. No one-sided dimple, no odd powder-fresh scent, no bulbous foot stumps to cram into rock-hard plastic shoes.

But I was a kid, which meant that even insurmountable odds couldn't completely silence the hope in my heart. Like Ralphie and his Red Ryder BB Gun, no matter how bleak the Cabbage Patch Kid Outlook became, there was part of me that could never be touched by doubt.

And as it is with all children, that spark of hope gradually grew. By Christmas morning, anticipation virtually crackled in the air, like the snap of electricity escaping the loose end of a downed power line. I timidly approached the tree, pushed up the sleeves of my pajamas, opened my first gift and... it was... wait for it... my very own CPK doll!

I was beside myself with joy!

But, as you readers with siblings could've probably guessed, my happiness didn't last long. It was about thirty seconds before my brother made the infamous announcement.

"It isn't a real one, you know. Mom made it."
I think I can safely say, without any fear of hyperbole, that those words still send residual shockwaves of horror, disbelief, and crushing disappointment through my soul, which continue to shake the foundations of who I am and affect my ability to function as a contributing member of society to this very day.
Not wanting to believe it was true, yet fearing the worst, I swiftly pantsed my new adopted angel to check for her birthmark, the sign of an authentic CPK and the key to my happiness - the Xavier Roberts signature on her tush.

Alas, her plush little buns were unmarred by needlework of any kind.
I'll pause here for you to dab your eyes with a tissue.
Obviously I'm kidding about the devastating effect of that moment (no I'm not). I recognize and appreciate that my mom put way more time, effort, and love into handmaking a CPK look-alike than would've been required for her to shiv a couple other moms at Toys R Us to get a real one.

Nevertheless, it was kind of a downer for a minute there.

I like to think I never would have noticed and I'd still believe she was a real Cabbage Patch Kid - that is, if my brother hadn't ruined Christmas and scarred me psychologically, of course. Maybe it would have changed the course of my life. Maybe I'd be rich and famous by now. Maybe it's his fault that I've perpetuated the cycle, insisting on hand crafting marvelous gifts for my own children when all they really want is some store-bought piece of garbage.

Maybe not.

But I'll blame him anyway. That's what brothers are for.

I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!

10 Reasons To Never Trust Your Child With A Camera

Call me old-fashioned, call me over-protective, but I believe there are certain things a child shouldn't be allowed to go near. Like a hot stove. Or a package of permanent markers. Or a van with no windows.

Or my iPhone.

I know, most parents are more willing to share. They'll let their children play games on their smartphone that teach quantum theory, or let them use it as a Frisbee at the park. I'm told they're pretty indestructible, with screens made out of the same glass as the windows that prevent polar bears from eating us at the zoo. There are apps designed for babies to use for teething, and probably apps to absorb the resulting drool.

Still, I don't trust my kids with my iPhone. Why?

Because it has a camera on it.

They will take pictures of themselves. Not good pictures. Pictures intended to scare the crap out of you the next time you open your picture folder.

They will do this often.

They will take terrible pictures of you. Sometimes there will be a monkey on your head in these photos.

They will take even more terrible pictures of you when you make faces because you're tired of having your picture taken.

They will take out-of-focus pictures crammed with obstructions and people you don't recognize, even though those people are you.

They will take pictures of things you don't need pictures of.

They will take pictures of gross things you don't need pictures of.

What is THAT?

They take incriminating photos.

And worst of all, they will take pictures of whatever happens to be at eye-level.

I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!

As The Dollhouse Turns - Black Friday

Episode 12: Black Friday Descends

And now, through the magic of fake television, it's suddenly Black Friday even though I'm pretty sure in Dollhouse Time it was still Halloween. Other than that small detail, we pick up where we left off in the last episode...

"Hey, wait... did you say your name is Bob... or that someone told you your name is Bob?"

"Me don't know. Me woke up... dirty, under the ground... a lady... she help Bob, she say she know Bob's name... can't remember..."

Suddenly, Jimmy/Bob begins sobbing and falls into Sunny's arms, drenching her with tears and breaking several of her ribs.

Hmm, looks like more than one thing has snapped.

"There, there," Sunny coughs, patting the boy on the arm because she can't reach around to his back. "It sounds like you've been through some kind of trauma - we need to get you to a doctor!"

Jimmy/Bob just nods and allows himself to be led to Sunny's car.

"I'll take you to my doctor. She'll fix you right up," Sunny reassures him after buckling the girls in. Then she climbs into the driver's seat. "Hmm, the minivan's suspension seems... uneven."

You try say something to Bob's face, lady?

Sunny puts the van in gear, eases it to the end of the driveway... and stops.

Cars are lined up as far as she can see in both directions.

"What the hell?" she exclaims.

"Mom, it's Black Friday, remember?" Charmeuse chimes in helpfully from the back seat. "When I asked if we could go to the mall today, you said you didn't have enough booze in the house to deal with all those fu..."

"Woah there, okay honey - you don't have to repeat word for word everything Mommy says." She chuckles sheepishly in Jimmy/Bob's direction. "But speaking of, um, Mommy Juice, there are a few things I need to pick up at our local Time-sucking All-consuming Retail Gigantic Everything Together store."

"Do you mean T.A.R.G.E.T., Mommy?" asks Chenille.

"Sure," says Sunny. "How bad could the crowds be?"

A cheer goes up in the car. "Yay, we're going to T.A.R.G.E.T.!"
Four traffic-filled, horn honking, fist-shaking hours later...
"Okay kids, wake up - we're here! I just have to find a parking spot."
 Three hours and several bent fenders later...
The children burst from the minivan and begin weaving through cars and darting into traffic. Within seconds they're out of view, but Sunny follows their cries of, "I'm going to the toy department," and, "I'm going to the Dollar Spot!" She catches up with them in front of the store.

"Why didn't think of parking on the sidewalk?"

"Now girls," Sunny says sternly, "we're just running in for a few minutes. Just a quick stop. No toy department. No Dollar Spot. We're going straight to the Mommy Aisle and coming straight back out."

"Yes, Mom," the girls say, snickering - this isn't their first trip to T.A.R.G.E.T., so they know there's no such thing as a "quick stop." Besides, they know exactly how to work the system.

Once they reach the Mommy Aisle, they put their usual plan into action. Charmeuse darts off immediately, while Chenille assumes Tantrum Position #184: Humiliating Public Display of Whining.

Holiday booze crowds are out in full force.

Sunny employs Mommy Defense #7: Ignore Child Completely. However, after several minutes of tuning out Chenille's incessant bleating and enduring the glares of irritated shoppers, she relents.

"Fine. You can go to the Dollar Spot. But nowhere else. You stay right there until I come to get you."

Chenille doesn't hear her - she disappeared at the word "fine."

Eventually, Sunny is jostled to the front of the crowd and makes her wine juice selection. To no one's surprise, none of her children are where she told them to be. She meanders through packs of shoppers with their faces glued to sales fliers, looking for the girls. She doesn't see them right away, but she does spot an excellent deal on bath towels and then gets completely sidetracked in housewares.

"I have an idea," she says out loud, because that's the kind of thing you can do in a crowded place where no one is paying attention to anyone else besides the person they're screaming at on the phone about whether or not another store has lower prices on burnable DVDs. "I'll pick up some holiday gifts for the girls while we're out."

She makes her way to the toy department, where the shelves are empty. On the bright side, she finds the kids bouncing a gigantic beach ball up and down the aisle, bumping into bleary-eyed parents who look completely lost after missing the 3 AM doorbuster deals.
$250 for what was only supposed to be a bottle of wine later...

"That wasn't so bad," Sunny declares. "As soon as we find the minivan and go back for the other three cartloads of stuff, we'll get you straight to the doctor, Jimmy... er, Bob. Now, what do we say, girls?"

"Thanks, Mom" the girls sing, holding their Dollar Spot treasures.

"No, darlings, the other thing."

In unison, the girls recite the familiar phrase. "We're never, ever going back to that store as long as we live."

"That's right."
More traffic and a few flipped birds later, they reach their original destination...

"You'll love my doctor," Sunny promises Jimmy/Bob as they wait.

He's staring intently at the medical information hanging up around the room. "Why your doctor have so many pictures of girl parts? And why is 'Hang In There' kitty poster on ceiling? And why they have foot rests on exam table?" Jimmy/Bob is getting visibly nervous.

"Shh, the doctor's coming."

Sunny introduces Dr. Lady to Jimmy/Bob, and explains the situation.

"Greeeaaaat," says Dr. Lady. "Hop up on the table," she instructs Jimmy/Bob, "and drape this paper sheet over your lap."

"The stirrups might feel a little cold on your feet.
Okay, that's good. Now scootch down. More. More. A little more.
A liiiiiittle more..."

After a short but adequately invasive exam, Dr. Lady snaps off her rubber gloves.

"I can see exactly what the problem is," she announces to Sunny, peering over the edge of the paper sheet.

"My goodness, what could it be?"

"Your friend here has..."

For all the medical research regarding amnesia diagnosis, I'd like to thank absolutely no one!

For all the social research regarding the reality of Black Friday shopping, I'd like to shake my fist angrily at personal experience.

The drama continues next time - until then, please feel free to catch up on previous episodes of As The Dollhouse Turns. Then click the Top Mommy Blogs banner below while Jimmy/Bob tries to locate his pants... and his dignity.
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Thanks for Nothin' - A Thanksgiving Rant

This is the time of year when I like to reflect, and really "drink in" the Season.

Of course, what I mean is that I reflect on all the crap I have to do in the next few weeks, and as a result I drink in the Season's many fine assorted alcoholic beverages.

Oh, I'm grateful and everything, and I'm full of Holiday Spirit - I'll punch somebody right in the face if they suggest otherwise - but sometimes, just like when you're making homemade gravy, you have to scrape a lot of fatty, gelatinous complaints off the top of the pan before getting to the savory, delicious gratitude underneath.
Oh wait, I forgot - I hate gravy.
Oh well, for the benefit of my loved ones who have to sit with me at the Thanksgiving table and probably don't want to hear me rant about my first world problems, please allow me to get the following whiny crybaby complaints off my chest. I'll try to phrase them as nicely as possible, since we all know Santa's watching, and I really don't want to ruin my chances of getting a new iPhone case (HINT, HINT).

1. Thank you, Toy Industry.
Speaking of thinly-veiled hints for Christmas gifts, I can't tell you how helpful it is that you've created eleventy hundred thousand toys, all of which are roughly identical, and each of which my children can't live without.
I try to give them Speech #528 about how, when I was growing up, all we had were Matchbox cars and Barbies. And how all you could do with a Matchbox car was push it around in the dirt until you went hoarse from making engine noises, and poor Barbie inevitably had no hair due to multiple "trims," was missing a limb, and many of us didn't even have a Ken so we could just forget about any storyline with a boyfriend in it.
Where was I? Oh yeah - I try to instill in my children the idea that we were deprived. But they just stare at me until I pause for breath long enough for them to name a few more toys they want, and I'm left wondering what possible difference there could be between the Squinkies Ice Cream Shop and the Squinkies Cupcake Surprise Bakeshop. Really? We need both?
2. Thank you, Pinterest.
I think it's awesome that you've raised the bar of hostessing excellence to a level only attainable by an insomniac Martha Stewart on crack cocaine.

"I said, 'Can you pass the salt?'"
Oh, and happy Thanksgiving, Grandma."

3. Thanks, Internet.
I'm grateful that you're there for me during the holiday season any time I need to look up a recipe for baked glazed pheasant with almond sauce, or order all the things on Amazon.com, or research how to remove charred pheasant from Corningware, or compose an apology email to my mortgage holder when I spend all our money on replacement fire extinguishers for the kitchen.
But just once I'd like to log on without taking a two-hour detour into Social Media Land. I frequently click onto the interweb to look up the price of a Squinkies Cupcake Surprise Bakeshop ($13.89), decide to check what's hapening on Facebook real quick, and by the time I return to reality the kids are each a foot taller and my prescription for Xanax is expired.
And speaking of time slipping by...

4. Thanks, unstoppable march of time.
I'm excited about all the milestones and achievements my children seem to be reaching at breakneck speed. I love watching them learn, and outgrow annoying phases, and every day get closer to starting highly-paid careers that will help them support me in my old age. However, I can't say I approve of the baby no longer needing a long afternoon nap. It's really interfering with my ability to finish a blog post.

So many more rants to rant, but... deeeeep breath... I feel so much better already.
What's on your Thanks For Nothin' list right now?
My Top Mommy Blogs banner sure doesn't want to add you to ITS list...
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Valley Girls, Video, and a HUGE Giveaway!

The other night, I was reading to Gerry from a book written by a friend of mine (she mentions casually, trying to sound cool),  Jen of People I Want To Punch In The Throat (she mentions, casually name-dropping),  reliving some serious valley girl jargon from my younger days (she says, losing all the cool points she'd gained in the first part of this sentence).

No, the whole book isn't written in valley-girl-ese (Gag me with a spoon! That would be bogus.) just the chapter where she gets a public school cool-kid makeover by some popular girls and ends up with a zillion scrunchies for Christmas.

You probably wouldn't know it from my horrible summary, but that story made me laugh out loud, as did the rest of her book, Spending The Holidays With People I Want To Punch In The Throat. It's SO funny, I begged until some hilarious bloggers let me tag along with them on this giveaway to make sure some of you get to read the book FOR FREE. Plus, somebody's going to get a Kindle Fire, and since it can't be me (I checked), it might as well be you!

As an added bonus, because I couldn't even come close to doing any of Jen's stories justice here, we also teamed up to embarrass ourselves by wearing ridiculous, unsightly holiday apparel while reading a passage from the book to you on video.

P.S. I'd better not be the only one in ridiculous holiday apparel.

Gerry was in charge of filming this little endeavor, a task I put off until the last minute because I hate to have video evidence of my existence. So, the night before the deadline, as we silently cradled the baby between us praying she would JUST FALL ASLEEP ALREADY, we were communicating via text in our typical way. You can tell we were already amused with ourselves before we even got started.

SO, several hours, one gigantic goblet of wine, and 4,528 takes later, my part of the video was finished. I hope you enjoy it, assuming they don't edit me out of the final cut, which I wouldn't blame them for one bit.

By the way, Gerry thinks the hat says "ice skating in a winter wonderland," but I think it says, "elderly DJ Lance from Yo Gabba Gabba." You be the judge.
Holy crud, guess what. The video thingie didn't work. Something about downloads and our collective awesomeness crashing the innerweb. So instead, since I already wrote the part where I promised you a video, here are my outtakes so you can see how hard you'll be laughing when you read the book. Fair warning, I get progressively more tipsy as my goblet mysteriously empties. And I say "crap." A lot.

Wait, weren't we going to give you some stuff? Sorry, I got sidetracked.

Here's the scoop:

Nineteen of your favorite mom humor bloggers had a meeting and we all agreed. There's a brand new book that we think you NEED to read this holiday season. The title says it all.

If the holidays have you stressing about gift giving, cookie decorating, or where in the world to put your Elf on the Shelf, then you need to take a mommy time out and read a chapter or two. 

And now you can have a chance to peruse the pages for free - consider it our holiday gift to you. Jen generously donated an autographed copy of her book to every blogger participating in this giveaway so that we could increase your chances to win. All you have to do is enter the giveaway using the Rafflecopter form below for your chance to win an AUTOGRAPHED copy! Sorry, this giveaway is open to US residents only.

"But wait, that's not all!" we say in our best Price is Right announcer voice. We couldn't get a bunch of tech-savvy moms together for a book giveaway and not bring you an eReader, right? So we are also giving away a Kindle Fire!

NINETEEN winners will receive a copy of Spending The Holidays With People I Want To Punch In The Throat and ONE lucky Grand Prize winner will receive a Kindle Fire! What are you waiting for? Get clicking!

I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!

As The Dollhouse Turns - Is That You?

Episode 11 - Is that you?

 Second question: Is this delivery, or DiGiorno?"

Upon seeing the missing boy suddenly appear on her doorstep delivering pizza, Sunny's voice squeaks out like helium escaping a balloon.

"Me no know no Jimmy, ma'am. Me told me name Bob. Me eat your pizza in car on way here. That be $22.45, plus tip."

"What?" Sunny can't decide if she's more confused by this kid claiming not to be Jimmy, or by the exorbitant price he's charging for two pizzas he already consumed.

Her party guests, starving and fed up with her lack of booze, file out the door as Sunny searches her purse for exact change (Tip, my ass! she thinks). As she rifles through her giant bag, searching for cash among the wadded tissues, emergency fruit snacks, and receipts that she's keeping until "someday" when she actually balances her checkbook, Sunny continues to question the boy.

Why aren't there ever caps on my ChapSticks?
And which one of the girls put an open bottle of bubbles in here?!?

"So, you aren't Jimmy?" Sunny queries, still unconvinced. "You look just like him. Jimmy lived around here - he went missing a few weeks ago. Are you sure you didn't go out with my daughter a while back? Her name's Charmeuse..."

The hulk of a boy has been shaking his head in response, but his face looks blank, as if he's thinking of something else.


"Oh well," says Sunny. "I guess I'm mistaken." Then, to herself, she mutters irritably, "I never have any cash on me. I guess that was one nice thing about having Buzz around - he always had change in his pockets."

At the mention of Buzz's name, the young man's face shows a brief flicker of recognition - and anger.


As quickly as the moment came, it passes - but not without catching Sunny's attention.

"Hey, wait... did you say your name is Bob... or that someone told you your name is Bob?"

"Mmmmphh," says Buzz, shaking his groggy head.

"You're wondering where you are, huh?" The voice comes from behind Buzz, and sounds surprisingly drunk to have been able to decipher Buzz's mumbling.

Buzz has seen a lot of action movies. With his hands tied behind him, he decides to use his body weight to hop, scoot, and wrestle his chair around to bravely face his captor.
Thirty minutes later...
Buzz is quite winded by the time he makes a full turn, realizing too late that the good guy in movies is usually tied to a flimsy wooden chair, not a fully upholstered wingback.

Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to kidnap me?

Luckily the sweat from his exertion works the duct tape off Buzz's mouth, so when he catches his breath he's able to greet the man sitting across from him. "Nice place you have here."

The man, almost identical to Buzz aside from their shirt colors, smiles humorlessly and simply replies, "I know that you think that nobody knows, but you should know that I know that you know something about Jimmy's disappearance."

Buzz plays it cool.


Not getting the reaction he was hoping for, the man gets agitated. "You think Jimmy's gone for good, but they ruled it ain't a homicide no more! He's been seen delivering pizzas! It's only a matter of time before I find him - or else I'll find a way to make you talk."

With that, the man picks up his gun and waves it around.

"Um," Buzz says, "your gun is leaking."

"What?" The man sees water streaming from the barrel of his semi-automatic weapon and throws it down. "Dangit! That dude in the toy department at WalMart swore this would look just like the real thing!"

Buzz stifles a giggle.

"It don't matter!" the man yells. "I'll find out what happened to my boy one way or another!"


"Your boy?" asks Buzz.

"Yes, my boy. Dangit, Buzz, don't you even know who I am?"

You mean besides the guy who isn't sharing his booze?

"Sure I do," replies Buzz. "You're Buster. My brother."

Buster is Buzz's brother?
But I thought Buster was Maggie's ex-husband!
And didn't Buzz and Maggie used to get freaky together in high school?
That's messed up!
Do you see where I'm going with this?
Neither do I!

The drama continues next time - until then, please feel free to catch up on previous episodes of As The Dollhouse Turns. Then click the Top Mommy Blogs banner below while I drink this miniature bottle of wine and call a miniature therapist.

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I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!

The Olive Debacle

Halloween is over, which is sort of a bummer because that lands us squarely in Thanksgiving territory.

Thanksgiving rarely registers as a blip on anyone's Favorite Holiday Radar, but I can't imagine why not. Just off the top of my head I can think of several reasons to love it, such as:
  • getting up at 3AM
  • spending all day in the hot kitchen
  • putting your arm elbow-deep up a turkey's butt
  • reconnecting with distant relatives to remind yourself why you don't make an effort to see them more often
  • getting out the "special dishes," which you washed the last time you had them out, but that was a year ago so you have to wash them again, unless no one's watching and then you can just dust them off
  • feeling guilty about being ungrateful on all the other 364 days of the year
  • feeling guilty about overeating
  • feeling guilty that you haven't started Christmas shopping yet
  • completing a meal in 12 minutes that took 12 hours to make
  • cornucopias
  • strictly enforced family traditions
What's not to like? Plus, I sort of specialize in making an idiot of myself and/or turning normal events into disasters, so when Hillary of Because My Life Is Fascinating asked me to guest post with a Thanksgiving horror story, I thought, "Woohoo, that's awesome!" and also, "This is gonna be sooo easy."

Then I sat down to type. And I sat, and I sat, and I ate a Skittle that at some point had fallen into my sports bra (true story), and I sat some more.

I couldn't think of a single Thanksgiving horror story. Or at least not one I could publish without getting sued (another true story).

But then my mom reminded me about the black olive thing, which is one of the reasons I keep her around. To help me remember stuff, that is. Not for olives. But I digress. Click here to visit me at Because My Life Is Fascinating and hear the Epic Thanksgiving Olive Story of 2004, a cautionary tale of power struggles and olive-based traditions that almost tore my family apart.

Wait! Before you go, don't be a turkey - click below! (You see what I did there?)
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10 Mostly True Lies About Me

I've been called a liar before, and I've also been called a terrible liar.

I think the latter is meant as a compliment, the implication being that you're normally so honest and uncomfortable with lying that people can tell right away when you're doing it. But it seems worse, because what it sounds like is, "You lie a lot, but you suck at it."

I actually try to tell the truth all the time, except when I'm talking to my kids, or to other people. That's partly because I'm a high moraled individual with strict standards of propriety, but also because I'm lazy. It's way too much maintenace to remember what you said to whom, and to concentrate on looking like you're not lying, which is impossible because once you start thinking too much about how you talk you immediately start sounding like a robotic moron on meth who's lying.

See? Too hard.

And if there's one thing I hate, it's effort.

But here on the internet nobody can pull that CSI lie detector stuff on me, so it doesn't matter if my eyes dart all over and my voice cracks and I laugh nervously between every syllable, because you can't tell!

Or can you?

Here's a little test to figure out if you can tell when I'm fibbing - some of these "facts" about me are true, and some not so much. You should be able to click each one to make the answer pop up and see if you were right.

Which means this is also a test to see how well I can Google computer programming codes and follow instructions for inserting them into a blog.

Not very well, is my guess.

10 Maybe True But Mostly Lies About Me

One time at a hotel, I was reading in bed when I glanced over and saw a mouse on the pillow next to my head. I shrieked, knocked the mouse across the room with my book, and went back to reading.

When I was working as a substitute teacher in a ninth grade chemistry class, one of the students sprayed me with water from the emergency eye wash station.

I used to want to be an archeologist when I grew up.

I was on the swim team in high school.

I spent 6th grade getting bullied by girls who had been two of my best friends when we were little.

My parents nicknamed me Willie Illy Dilly Bagilly when I was a baby, which was super fun for me as a kid (Where's that sarcasm font when you need it?).

I have a reputation for my great memory.

I was almost murdered by a squirrel.

Sure, I joke around about being a pig and a slob, but actually I'm kind of a stickler for a tidy house, a neat appearance, and balanced nutrition.

Right now I'm letting the baby sit on my lap and play with the stapler so I can finish this post in peace.

So, how did you do? Or maybe I should ask how did I do? Did I fool you? Or did my lack of computer skills keep you from seeing the drop-down answers, and possibly even break the internets?

I'm pretty sure this Top Mommy Blog button works -
and it's always true that I'd love for you to click it!
Top Mommy Blogs - Mom Blog Directory

Hey, go check out Stasha's Monday Listicles today on The Good Life, where you'll find more mostly liars plus some James Bond themed lists - oohlala!

I hope you enjoyed yourself while you were here - and I hope you come back! Please share inappropriate giggles with me on Pinterest, Twitter, and Facebook, or subscribe via email so you don't miss a thing!