ISO: My Cat's Soul. Last seen shortly before the arrival of Mr. Nibbles, the (apparently delectable) Guinea Pig. This formerly harmless ball of fluff and love's heart has since turned to ice. His recently soulless situation has left him with the single-minded goal of attaining enough mass to crush the roof of the aforementioned Mr. Nibbles' cage. This he plans on doing by force-feeding his unholy body with as much bargain brand kibble as it can handle. He has even taken to marking his intended prey's territory as his own by violently vomiting into the once "cozy critter" habitat. That, or his newly-acquired demonic spittle is laced with some black magic properties that I am oblivious of. Either way, the guinea's days are numbered. That's where you, the noble people of Craigslist, come in. While I can't afford a reward (you wouldn't believe what cat therapy sessions go for these days), I can promise you life-long "hero status" by my three kids, and, more importantly, the Nibbles Man himself. Sidenote: ANY cat, or, fuck it, dog soul will do. We're not picky; just desperate.
Some things just naturally go together. Like, they BELONG together so much so that you absolutely cannot fathom one existing without the other. Think peanut butter and jelly, yin and yang, Joanie and Chachi, salt and pepper, milk and cookies,Circus Peanuts and PMS. WAIT, WHAT?
Today's blog post is a celebration of my secret (not anymore) gas station guilty pleasure, (cue trumpets) the wondrous circus peanut!
I can't remember the first time I experienced the delightfully spongy texture of the circus peanut, but I had to have been at least 11. I know this because, as I mentioned in today's intro, circus peanuts are ONLY acceptable during that 3-5 day (pre) period of pure hell each month known as PMS.
Every 28 days or so, I mysteriously find myself swerving into the nearest gas station, but not for gas. I'm not fully conscious of what is happening until I feel the rage building inside my soul as I contemplate injuring anyone in my way. Unnatural thoughts race through my mind "Where are the freaking circus peanuts? What kind of establishment has customers standing between me and my precious? Why are these yoga pants so tight? Why do I have to wait in this line? Is it acceptable to throw my dollar and change across the room before storming off to my automobile where I can devour my "peanuts" with the ruthless inhibition of an ornery hyena?" I'm happy to report that I have thus far restrained myself from injuring others (I plead the fifth on whether I have ever thrown money).
Why circus peanuts? Well, because they're nature's wonder food, of course. Just think on it for a moment...NOBODY likes them, so they are always in stock. You get TWO bags for ONE dollar (one for now, and another for...now). There's no messy shell to dispose of. And last, but not least, they temporarily quiet the PMS demon within. With each bite of styrofoamy orange, I regain a precious little strand of sanity until, at last, I am able to remove my hand from around my lovingly understanding husband's throat.
I have always known when I was expecting, because...no day-glo orange peanuts. I suppose I will also know when Lady Menopause rears her ugly grey head. Until then, if you see me entering a service station with hate in my eyes and a puffiness that defies my usual pudge, then, in the wise words of Sir Ludacris,"move b@t#h, get out the way, get out the way, get out the way!"
Ladies, what's your guilty gas station pleasure. Let me know so that I can get out of you way, too ;-)
*Dedicated to the original Eve. Thanks a lot, bit@#.
Everyone learns about the five senses sometime between the tender ages of four and six. Most of us live with, and take for granted, the ability to see, hear, taste, smell and touch each and every day of our lives. I am not writing this blog post today to talk about these five "mundane" senses. No, today I am divulging something that I have kept hidden from the world for quite some time. You see, my three small children have been blessed with an extraordinary gift, for each of them possess a sixth sense.
I realize that there will be many skeptics out there, but believe you me, I have seen this sixth sense in action so many times now, that I know it cannot simply be a trick of the eyes or a passing fancy. The "force" is strongest in my oldest two, but I have begun to see the flames of the "extra-sense" flickering in my youngest; even at the tender age of two.
You might be wondering why a loving mother would "out" her children and their special gift. The truth is that I sometimes struggle with properly raising such exceptional kiddos. At other times, I feel like I need to reveal this secret to the world in order to free myself. You see, I often get the feeling that they might just have inherited this gift from yours truly. Whether I ever exhibited the momentous strength of character to soar to the heights that my children do with this gift is a question that only my parents can answer. Either way, whatever ability I once possessed to harness this gift has certainly dimmed with age to the point where there is barely an ember of it left.
So, what is this incredible sixth sense? Can my children move objects with their minds? No. Can they communicate with the spirit world? I certainly fu#*ing hope not. Are they the prospective "dog or horse whisperers" of the future? No (they can barely help feed our pets). So then, WHAT. IS. IT!?
...each one of my children has the most incredible SIXTH SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT.
If you too are wondering if your child just might have this wonderful gift, I have put together a handy questionnaire to help.
1. Do your children greet you at the door with a warm welcome of "What did you bring us?"
2. Do they break out in hives when confronted with bread crusts and apple peels?
3. Do you often wake up on the floor because you have been pushed out of YOUR bed by their sweaty little feet?
4. Do you ever think that you must be going crazy because you could have sworn that you had a $20 bill in your wallet the day before?
5. Have you begun putting off eating your dinner until your children are safely tucked in bed?
6. Do each of your kids have a pet that YOU take care of? (Why yes, Mom, that is a preposition at the end of that there sentence!)
7. Do you often, inadvertently, find yourself standing in their way?
8. Do your children think that a stop sign consists of golden arches?
9. And last, but certainly not least, does everything they set their beautiful little eyes upon immediately become their property?
If you answered yes to at least two of the above questions, then congratulations! You sir, or madam, have a very special child with a very special gift. With proper care and encouragement they may grow up to be the first American-born heir to the British throne, or, as is the goal of my daughter, Queen of Disney World. At the very least, they are sure to enjoy a season-long reality show of their very own.
I must sign off now, as I am borrowing my four-year-old son's laptop, and he NEEDS to play a game on it because his Kindle is out of storage space.
*Dedicated to my wonderful children who, all kidding aside, mean the absolute world to me!!!
I know for a fact that I am not the only person alive for whom atriums (specifically of the "office building" variety) hold a special place. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, symbolizes the absolute magic of growing up in the 80's like indoor gardens that never die. The sight of an atrium during those awesomely awkward years often meant that some parent-approved truancy was afoot. Granted, this was generally because my sis or I was sick, but nonetheless, it was still a mini "sick-cation" to the greatest amusement park ever...AtriumWorld.
There were just so many atrium activities that a child could pursue if the doctor's office's solitary Pac Man arcade game was already occupied. And, let's be real here, there was ALWAYS some germy, office bully whose sole job in such situations was to be the Pac Man Machine Squatter. No matter, though, the Atrium was where the real fun was at. One of my favorite games was to dig through the everlasting wood chips to see what treasures I could unearth. Sometimes, If I was lucky, I would find such goodies as stickers with the backs still attached or almost mint-condition Highlights magazines. Unfortunately, the number one prize to be had in this wood chip wonders game was the soggy, papery stick from a previous "sickie's" lollipop.
A truly special occasion was underway if the atrium's habitat was enhanced with one of those "woodland animals background sounds" cassette tapes. In such a case, the game to be played was to see who could spot the boombox hidden in the shrubbery first!
Those atrium attributes were mere child's play compared to the Disney World of atriums. Children of the 80's, you probably already know where this is headed...that's right! the mystical, wishing well/penny fountain atrium! I can remember the chills that would flow up and down my spine upon entering an atrium adventure-land and hearing a fountain before ever seeing it. The only thing that comes close to this feeling is the anticipation on Christmas morning. You KNOW something fantastic is right around the corner, you just have to find it! And find it we would! You can keep your ipad minis and smartphones, nothing helps pass the time like tossing pennies into a shallow, rock-rimmed, pool!
Alas it is all too few and far between that I happen to stumble upon an atrium of old during these "sleek and modern" times. You can bet your bottom dollar though, that when I do come across one of these dusty relics of childhood, I take a moment to soak up the office building ambiance, and, if given the chance, I toss my bottom dollar (or penny) deep into the dried-up fountain and wish for a rebirth of the atrium. I shudder to think of a world in which the office building's natural habitat is no longer composed of wood chips and plastic plants. Blog save the atrium!
