My Little, um... Model?

So yesterday, I was cleaning the house like it’s never been cleaned before. Steve spent the entire day down in the garage, grinding the rust off of a coal stoker we’re going to install before the winter (oil is too expensive anymore).

So at one point, the girls decided they wanted to go hang out "down back" with Daddy. Awesome. We told them that if they had any plans to go into the stream, that they needed to wear their fishing boots. I also told Hannah she had to change her clothing, since she was wearing good stuff.

So off she goes upstairs and came down about 15 minutes later (clothing decisions are always hard for her... LOL!). She looked, um, interesting? {shaking head} The kid kills me. Here's her attire for a day in the yard...

After I took this first photo, she told me she wanted to "pose." No shock there. The kid LOVES the camera and works it like it's her job.

Um, I need to work with her on what constitutes a "cool" pose I think, no? LOL!

Is it wrong for a grown woman to cry?

Because I would like to right now. I woke up this morning, looked around my house, and decided I either had to do something about its condition or burn it to the ground while laughing maniacally. I opted for the former choice and so began my day of hell, of which I'm in the midst of right now.

You see, I haven't thrown away a single toy since Grace was born 7 years ago. Not one, unless it was broken or damaged or something. I've got exersaucers, rattles, pull toys, walking toys, every stupid piece of plastic crap they got at fast food restaurants or in birthday party goody bags. Every last effing one of 'em.

Well, since I started this morning, I've filled two entire garbage bags with the crap mentioned above. And I'm not even half done yet. And now, my entire downstairs AND the playroom in the basement are totally trashed, so I couldn't stop now even if I wanted to. I'm screwed.

It DOES feel good to start seeing some floor space. And it's my own fault for letting it get to this point. But that doesn't make it any more fun. I'm sweating, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I'm in a bad mood. LOL!

I finally (now) had to sit down to take a break. I cracked a beer and decided to catch up on some blogs. Don't worry, I won't have another beer until later tonight. But I kind of needed it right now as that last little boost of fuel to help me finish before my kids are graduating from high school. I really only have one more big pile in a corner of the downstairs playroom to do... And go through all Hannah's dolls clothing that's currently in about 8 different over-stuffed bags and baskets... And go through the 8 million crayons, pencils and notebooks the girls have... And dig through the two thousand purses the girls have, filled to the top with little crap and play makeup... And mop the floors I haven't seen for years... And vacuum the rugs... And...

Crap. Maybe I will have that second beer. LOL! If you don't hear from me tonight, it's because I got to the point where I decided my earlier idea of burning down the house was easier. If that's the case, I'll make sure to remove my computer before setting the blaze, so I can check in here and there from the Red Cross shelter...

Beer Pong and a Homeless Dude

I’m back again! I can tell you’re all excited. Yup. The love is just pouring through my cable connection and blasting me in the face.

Sooo… my friend, September (yes, that’s her real name, and no, her birthday isn’t in September) sent me a link to this article.

Now this upsets (and amuses) me for many reasons. First of all, although apparently parents around the world had a shit fit when Wii decided to release a beer pong video game (HELLO!?!? I’m going to go get in line for a Wii like NOW), I, on the other hand, was all sorts of giddy. I mean, I’m the reigning champion at our pig roasts, but imagine what I could do if I could play on a daily basis! Sweet Jesus, I just may make it to the Nationals! LOL!

But what really made me laugh was this paragraph….

“Still, there's no guarantee that simply taking the beer out of beer pong will have the sobering effect that college deans intend. Last year, Dartmouth College banned water pong, the real-world version of Pong Toss, because of the risk of water intoxication — it's no joke, as an H2O overdose can be fatal. "I know that [water pong] seems like a good balance between the Dartmouth drinking culture and just trying to have fun," Kristin Deal, a Dartmouth community director, wrote in an e-mail to students announcing the prohibition. "However, it can be just as dangerous, if not more so."”

Dudes. Do you realize what this means?! It means that every time, for the rest of my life, that some holier-than-thou person makes some crack about me drinking beer, or not drinking water, or not being healthy, etc., I can point them in the direction of this article, thumb my nose at them, tell them to fuck off, and inform them that I will, indeed, live longer than they will. Who the hell knew that water could be so damn dangerous? They should seriously ban that crap. Down with water, people! DOWN WITH WATER!!! I’m totally going to forbid water in this house and make the kids drink beer instead. Hell, it’s safer! ;)

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But enough about that. Let’s talk about the street dude at the zoo two weeks ago.

When we were leaving the zoo, and walking to our cars in the parking lot a few blocks over, we had to pass this guy…

He was playing his bongo drum and having a high ol’ time. I vaguely remember Steve handing Grace a dollar bill and telling her to go put it in whatever container he had sitting at his feet. Well, apparently, when you do this, it opens up the door for this guy to explode. All of a sudden, we were his best friends on the planet and we were sent to him to be his buddy for a few minutes. Following, are some conversations that took place.

Bongo Dude: Hey Mama! Come here and play the drum!

Me (pointing at myself): Who? Me?

Bongo Dude: No! What the hell? Her! (pointing at Grace)

Bongo dude proceeded to half drag Grace over to his bongo, sit her down, and force her to play. Not that she minded. (See post below this one for documented proof.)

Next up was Hannah. He did the same thing with her. And when she wasn’t smiling for the camera, he physically grabbed her cheeks and forced her sweet little mouth into a grin as all of the adults laughed. (Because apparently, we find it amusing that a strange man is accosting our children.)

After Hannah it was time for my nephew, Garrett (son to my camo-clad, visor-wearing sister-in-law), to take his turn. He played the drum and laughed the whole time.

Then the guy gave me a hug. Dear god, I seriously think I got drunk just from his breath. Not that I’m knocking him for that. Drink up, dude. But if I ever reek that strongly of alcohol, dear god, someone needs to put me out of my misery.

Last, but not least, was my other nephew, Gunnar (AKA: Devil's Spawn). Bongo Dude was particularly funny with him.

Bongo Dude: Son of a bitch, he’s insane! Look at him go! Damn! You’re fucked with this one (looking at SIL).

Now keep in mind he’s saying all of this LOUDLY, in front of the kids. I couldn’t stop laughing and snapping pictures long enough to be offended.

Finally, we say our goodbyes and get ready to continue our walk to the car. I notice that about 10 feet past the guy is a large graffiti mural of a hippo in amazing colors. Perfect spot for a photo op with the kids since they’ve just had the amazing experience of feeding the hippos at the zoo we’re leaving.

Well, Bongo Dude decided he wasn’t done with us yet, so he jumped into the picture. That wasn’t nearly as funny as the actual conversation that followed. He jumps in the picture and I realize I can’t fit all of the kids in my frame, so I tell my nephew, Garrett, to move in closer.

Bongo Dude: He just doesn’t like black people. That’s cool, dude. I’m a fucking racist too.

(He’s saying all of this while laughing hysterically.)

Seriously, let’s look at the photo again and speculate on what each person was thinking…

Grace: Thank GOD this guy isn’t touching me! Can we leave now so I can get to the car and check out the new shit you just bought me in the souvenir shop?

Gunnar: I can’t even look at the camera right now. How did this guy know I’m a racist? Damn. He must be a psychic.

Bongo Dude: Look at me with all these kids! I fucking RULE!

Hannah: Perhaps, if I keep staring straight ahead at the camera, I can forget that this odd man is touching me and making me pass out with his bad breath that smells just like Mommy’s.

Garrett: Son of a bitch! Stop choking me, ASSHOLE!!!

Seriously guys, I was laughing so hard, I could barely take the picture. The guy was awesome. Happy as hell, I tell ya. Before we (finally) walked away, he walked up and gave Steve and my brother-in-law HUGE hugs. Not me and my sister-in-law, mind you. Just the guys. I developed a little bit of a complex right in that moment, but I’ve since decided it shouldn’t bother me. But it was friggin’ hilarious.

I love Bongo Dude. Everyone should have a Bongo Dude in their lives. [happy sigh]

So that’s your assignment for the week – go out and find a Bongo-like dude to take pictures of. Bongo Dudes RULE! :P

And here we go again…

Random, useless thoughts by Allison. Don’t lie… you know you love it.

* I have a “thing” with names with a capital letter in the middle of them. I have nothing against the person. Just their names.  For example, MaryAnn. Why the capital "A"? Why not just Maryann? Or Mary Ann? Capital letters weren't meant to be in the middle of a word. Just at the beginning. So from now on, please refer to me as AlliSon. Or AliEn. The choice is yours. But if you don't acknowledge me in that way, I won't respond. Starting... NOW!

* They should make Garanimals for adults. You know... that line of children's clothing where there are different animals on the tags. Kids can just pick any articles of clothing with the same animals and they match. I'm a fashion idiot. I wear jeans, shorts, and tees, and often don't know if those match. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just wake up and grab 2 giraffes and know I was good to go? And hell, they could even make it more adult by using pictures of booze instead of animals... "Well, I guess I'll wear the strawberry daiquiri today." Or "I'm feeling like wearing the six packs of beer to work this morning." I need to take this idea to some investors.

* You know your life is in the shitter when you watch "Celebrity Circus". Seriously. I need to get one. (A life I mean. I already have a shitter.)

* Just when I thought our weekends this summer were finally calming down and going unplanned, I find out all sorts of other events we're supposed to be at, visitors that are flying in, etc. WTH? For the love of god, can I have ONE weekend where I've got nothing to do except sit on my fat ass on the back porch and watch the kids play in the yard?

* I have a slight personal dilemma going on at work. It's totally self-induced, but something's bugging me and I have no idea how to approach the guy that my issue is with, since he scares the living shit out of me. Sigh. It's not a big deal to anyone else at all. And even HE doesn't realize what he's doing, I'm sure. But it's bothering me.

* I just re-read that last one and realized it makes it sound like I'm being sexually harassed or something. LOL! It's nothing even remotely like that. It just involves me creating a brochure for my company that this guy wants based on another brochure he likes (from another company). I have no problem gathering inspiration, ideas, etc. from someone else's work and making them my own in my own sort of way. But this guy pretty much wants me to copy this brochure so that it's practically identical. I don't think the guy has any CLUE that it's not only illegal (I assume), but that it's a complete slap in the face to the person that took the time to design the other company's brochure. I have a real problem with that. So now I have to figure out how to approach it. Dammit.

* Ok. You REALLY know you need a life when the winner of celebrity circus was just announced and you jumped out of your chair with your fist in the air, yelling, "WOOHOO!" [shaking head] I need help. Serious, serious help.

* Since Kelly commented on my post from yesterday, I have a serious paranoia that all of my readers wear visors and I just offended every one of them. To make up for it, I'll go buy one tomorrow and wear it every where I go. Work... the grocery store... the gas station... parties... the zoo on Saturday... even to bed. Please forgive me readers. Please?

* It feels weird when I post something here and don't have a photo to add. But tonight, I really don't have one to add. I'm uncomfortable with that, but I'm too lazy to do anything about it.

* I'm hungry. But it's 11:15, and pigging out right now doesn't seem like the smartest move. But I'm hungry dammit.

* Why is it that no matter how many things I get done, my "To Do" list just keeps getting bigger? I'm kind of sick of being a grown-up.

* I totally forgot that I NEED to make the pig roast invitations this week and get them in the mail and in email inboxes. It sneaks up on us every damn year. Crap.

* Why is it so hard for a grown woman to find non-geriatric shorts in the right length? I love that Bermuda shorts are in style right now and that's great. But why are the only other options the ones with a 1" inseam. How about a nice, happy medium? Because when my pubic hair is longer than my shorts, there's a problem.

* On a related note, I found a skirt online that I really, REALLY liked. The description said it's a whopping 12" long from the top of the waist to the hem. I held a ruler up at my waist and realized that if you factor in my widened hips and upper thighs (since pushing 2 human beings out of my crotch), and the fact that the skirt would have to stretch around that, I could basically wear the damn skirt as a belt. Sigh.

* Thirty-five year old women shouldn't like the Jonas Brothers. Not that I know any 35-year-old women that like them. Nuh uh. I'm just sayin'...

* I'm totally buying this shirt to wear at the pig roast, and none of you can stop me.

* Or this one.

* Never mind. I'm all over this one.

* Oh WAIT! Maybe one of these?

 

* I think that's it. It's time for bed. More tomorrow, gang.

Complex anyone?

Hi. My name’s Allison, and I’m starting to develop some serious complexes.

Everyone else says, in a sing-song voice ----> “Welcome, Allison!”

Seriously though. I don’t have a low self-esteem. Sure, there are things I’m a bit self-conscious about. Like my hideous teeth. (Seriously… they’re bad.) And sure, I have a slight belly “pooch” after giving birth to two kids. But nothing that bothers me every second of the day. Or that makes me want not to leave my home for fear of scaring someone. Generally speaking, I’m pretty comfortable with myself. I am who I am, and I just figure people can take it or leave it, ya know? Hell, the other day, I posted this self-portrait of myself on my Project 365 blog. I decided I wanted a picture of me sans makeup and sans Photoshopping. Kind of like those Before pictures you see of cover models.

Now I DID boost the contrast of the photo, lighten it up a bit because it was underexposed, etc. But I didn’t do my usual checklist of fading the eye bags and circles, evening out my skin tone, etc.

If I can post that and not think twice, then chances are, I’m ok with being me, right? I really am cool with who I am. Curly hair… straight hair… unshaped eyebrows… non-existent lower lashes… etc. It’s me. If you don’t like it, don’t look. [shrug]

But EVERY few days, damn Facebook sends me an email. And every damn time I open that damn email, it says the same thing. It says that my other friends on Facebook have compared me with their other friends and then lists how I stack up against the group. And EVERY time, it tells me my so-called “friends” have the same thoughts as far as my strengths and weaknesses go:

STRENGTHS:
most creative
best public speaker
happiest

WEAKNESSES:
most generous
best mannered

Now, as honored as I am with the Most Creative, Best Public Speaker, and Happiest titles I’ve had bestowed on me, the Weaknesses are kind of bugging me. I’ll even give them portions of the “Best Mannered” weakness. I can belch like a man, fart better than a man (and often do), and tend to say inappropriate things at inappropriate times. I’ve been known (in the past week), to announce that I really, really need to pass gas (I have some serious digestive issues and I’m not being funny here), and I apologize ahead of time that one might “slip out.” So there’s definitely some “redneck manners” going on there.

BUT, if you’re a waitress, cashier, bartender, drive-thru worker, or any other crappy job holder, I’m the customer you’re begging for. I am so overly nice and polite to people that it’s almost sickening. And that’s because I KNOW how much those jobs tend to suck. I’m understanding, I make you laugh, I make you smile, and I compensate you in whatever way I can. People love me.

And most generous? That’s my weakness? OK. So I do tend to promise things to people and then not follow through. But it’s not because I’m not generous. It’s because I’m damn lazy and don’t feel like finding the promised item, packaging it up, driving to the post office, and mailing the damn thing.

And sure, I promise a lot of people Photoshop stuff. But then I start working on it and either get bored or hit a creative brick wall, and I close it, never to be remembered again (because I’m an idiot) unless you specifically ask me for it again. Or I actually finish it, but I’m so afraid you’ll hate it that I don’t ever send it. Because if you ask me to rework or change something, chances are you’ll never get the damn thing. Not because I’m bitter. But because to ask me to do something twice is just ridiculous if you really know me that well. I can’t be that focused. Ever.

So I’ve decided to start sending those damn Facebook emails straight into my Spam folder. Who needs that kind of negative energy, right?

And because I didn’t feel completely beat down today…

I did some Photoshop work for a good friend of mine. And I actually finished it AND I even sent it to her. And as a thank you, she sent me a gift card to Hollister (which was not agreed upon because I said I didn’t want compensation, and which I was kind of embarrassed (yet thrilled) about). Hollister and Aeropostale are my two favorite stores, so the fact that she even knew me well enough to know that tells me something about her.

But I digress…

So she sends me the gift card and I start browsing the site. I was finding a ton of things I liked and started adding them to my shopping cart. And then I remembered…

I look ridiculous in the kind of shirt that every damn girl I know seems to be wearing these days -- those “babydoll” shirts that are a bit fitted right under your boobs and then flare out a bit.

Like this…

Or this…

Or even this…

(Note: I like blue stuff. Sue me.)

But when I happen to slide one of these latest fashion trends on, I look either:

1) Pregnant…

2) Way larger than I actually am…

or

3) Like Hannah decided to bring one of her dolls to life and dress her up for the day.

Seriously. It’s laughable. Really. I look hideous. I wouldn’t lie to you. And I’m NOT overweight. Not even remotely. I’m between a size 6 and 8 these days, which is actually below average for women my age. And I’m thrilled with that! I weigh now what I weighed when I first met Steve over 10 years ago. So that’s NOT why these types of shirts look stupid on me. I swear, it must be my body shape or something, because these shirts ain’t digging my body no matter how much I want them to. Sigh.

So anyway, as I browsed the Hollister site tonight (and I did find a ton of stuff I was more than happy to buy and not look stupid), looking at all of the shirts I wanted to buy, I thought about the fact that not only am I (apparently) the rudest person on the planet that won’t share a damn thing (according to those Facebook “friends”), but that I can’t even dress in the latest fashions because people will laugh at me for that too. I’ll start getting voted on at Facebook as being “Chick most likely to look like she’s wearing a sack.” Or “Most likely to be knocked up and not telling us.” Yeah. That would be great. Not. [sigh]

So I’m just going to keep taking ridiculously close up photos of my various body parts. And then I’ll Photoshop them and call them “art.” Because that’s what those “Most Creative” people such as myself do, right? We do “artsy” things. And then we spit in people’s faces, give our family members used gifts at Christmas, and we do it all while looking like a beached, middle-aged woman trying desperately to look like a teenager in the latest fashions. Yup. That’s me in a nutshell. Nice.

But hell, at least everyone seems to love my hot wing dip, right? That’s something I suppose. Yup. Put that shit right on my tombstone. Sigh. <---- Recipe will be posted tomorrow morning. Don’t miss it. People will love you. For real.

Quote of the Day:
A thing is not necessarily true because badly uttered, nor false because spoken magnificently.
--Saint Augustine of Hippo

The Alien Night Life

So I know that many (if not all) of you sit around on a regular basis, wondering what me and my little Alienettes are doing. Well, last night, I decided to document, in photos, what a typical evening is like around here. So grab a drink (it’s a long one, folks), sit back, and prepare to be thankful you don’t live here with us.

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It all started when both girls decided to play dress up. This, in and of itself, is weird. Hannah plays dress up ALL the time. But Grace? HELL no. It’s not her thing. Why? Well, because, generally speaking, it’s a girly thing. But for some reason, last night, she decided she wanted to dress up like a rock star, just like Hannah.

So they busted out Hannah’s Cheetah Girls dress up kit and had at it. Great. They both looked cute… it kept them occupied… etc. Then they grabbed Grace’s drum and Hannah’s (working) microphone and put on a little concert for me. Here, my friends, is where it quickly went downhill…

First up was Grace. Now keep in mind that the shirt she’s wearing is supposed to cover her stomach (LOL!), but when you’re the size of a 9-year-old, you’re kind of shit out of luck when it comes to these things. I also like the creative genius who strung the bracelets on the fake necklaces. BRILLIANT!

Next up was Hannah. As can be seen by the look on her face, she was dead serious about the whole thing. It was like she was channeling Hannah Montana’s spirit.

Sing it like you wrote it, girlfriend! WOOHOO!!!

Then it was Grace’s turn again. By this point (about 5 minutes later), she had lost the serious side of her rockstar debut and morphed back into the Grace I love. How, you ask? Why, by singing a song about farting, of course. Because nothing says rock star like flatulence does. I will give her credit though. She acted it all out too by making farting noises and holding the microphone at her ass.

And then she tried to hang herself because the fake farts smelled so bad.

Not to be outdone by her big sister, Hannah sang HER farting song next. They made me so proud, I actually got a little teary. [happy sigh]

Hannah decided that pointing at the culprit would further get her point across. Because otherwise, how would the audience know where that awful smell was coming from.

Hers were so bad, that she skipped the hanging and went right to the pass-out. Nice.

We administered CPR and she was fine. Then it was time to jump. Because what’s more fun than random jumping?

OMG! What IS that? Hannah or a freaky-ass bird?

Grace threw in some of her gymnastics skills and really impressed the spectators.

Now Hannah’s bored and pissed because she can’t perform the same jumping skills as her sister. However, she CAN “belly dance” and suck her stomach in enough to see every damn bone and muscle in her naval. Frankly, it’s disgusting and a sure sign that this child’s mother isn’t feeding her properly and she’s malnourished. It’s a tragedy really…

But that wasn’t getting enough attention, so she moved on to the couch performance.

RUN!

ROLL!

CRASH!

Pass out again. (Hey, it’s tiring being this entertaining.)

While Hannah was performing her sofa gymnastics, Grace had left the room. I assumed she was taking her intermission break, but shortly after Hannah’s second collapse, Grace wandered back into the room. Apparently, Hannah’s belly dancing had inspired her and she pulled out a few belly tricks of her own. That’s right folks. She had drawn a face on her stomach. I, personally, was just relieved to find out that she hadn’t used the permanent black Sharpie that I thought she had.

Cute little bugger, isn’t he?

You know where this is leading, right? There was no way Hannah was letting her sister steal the spotlight again. Enter Belly Friend #2.

Look mom! It’s TWINS!

Hey sis, I love ya, but can you stop squashing my face, please?

After that, it got out of hand (Ya think?) and I had to put the camera down, bring things back down to a dull roar, and, um, give the girls a bath.

So there you have it. A fairly typical night in the House of the Aliens. The activities vary, but they almost all, at some point, involve farting, burping, inappropriate behavior on the furniture, and things that end up making a bath or shower mandatory.

Sooo… who wants to come visit and bring your kids? There’s plenty of markers here for everyone…

Just Ramblin’….