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Monthly Archives: February 2011

Lysol Please

Every year I take a company required trip…

To Las Vegas.

 

And every year, I am reminded that I HATE this city.

Now…

I know that the entire city is not like the “strip”

But that is all I see.

Ergo.

 

 

Departing the plane, the first thing I hear:

Ping…. Ping….. ding…. Ping….

Ding ding ding

We have a winner.

You just won 100.00

Now you are down only 300.00

 

So these people are gambling right there at the gate.

Which means…

That you either cannot make it to baggage claim without your fix…

OR

You did not get enough during you stay.

And just have to throw away a bit more money…

Before your plane takes off in 25 minutes.

 

Whatever…

Gambling is just not my “thang”…

At all.

I work too hard for my money…

And am cheap.

So if you think you are getting even 10.00 from me…

To play blackjack…

You will have to pry it out of my cold dead hand.

 

I have forgotten the buzz of Vegas.

And how much I cannot stand it.

I just need to get to the hotel.

All will be good then.

Breathe Kelly!

 

“TAXI”

I am in.

Just wondering what icky soul was here before me.

As we are pulling out…

I ask:
“Do you take American Express”

Which?

Resulted in the driver nearly standing on the brake

And propelling me in to the germ infested seat in front of me

Leaving the stained residue of my Nars Orgasm Lip Gloss

As a reminder to the next passenger

Never to repeat such a heinous question.

 

My God!  You would have thought I asked the guy to exchange internal organs or something.

“Ma’am…No! Only Cash.  I stop quick so you can get out now if you don’t have cash”

What in the hell!

 

I have arrived at the hotel…

It is a very nice one, for that I am thankful.

But even at the front desk, I am shocked and wondering…

Why does everyone here look like a hooker?

Oh yea…

They ARE hookers.

 

My colleague, whom I see upon check-in, says the term is now escort.

Escort?

For real?

I don’t know…maybe they are a bit more classy in their faux white fur and bronze sequin tube tops

But Escort?

Splitting hairs my friend.

 

Perhaps I am spoiled because I live in Denver but…

The smoke is stifling.

I mean knock you down…

I need a mask right now…

STIFLING!

My contacts are shriveling up from the smoke…

And my hair is falling.

OMG …how much further?

 

And to get to our meeting room, I have to pass through the entire casino…

A 20 minute walk.

It is 11 a.m.

All the casino girls…

Have short skirts and very high heels…

I’m pretty sure at least three of them are dating Charlie Sheen    (EWWWWWW!)

 

 

 

I pass three bachelorette parties en route.

 

Each girl toting a yard of her favorite cocktail

 

And sporting a mock bridal veil.

 

Oh… and little else.

 

 

I can tell you with certainty…

if the planets ever do all align…

and I get married.

I would rather celebrate by camping in the bitter cold…

for a month…

without my hairdryer…

or mascara…

and with Ann Coulter..

than have a bachelorette party in Vegas.

 

Just about there…

To our conference room

Wondering how many of our guys we lost in transmit.

“Kelly… I couldn’t help it….

Simone said this table was a sure thing”

 

I have found our room.

The team is here.

Clad in khakis and button downs.

Who says techies aren’t trend setters?

 

I cannot help but chuckle.

About this little pod of normal…

Amid hooker heaven just outside the door.

And I think that this is day 1 of 4.

And I want to cry…

and go to my room to “de-skank” myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Travel

 

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Bobbi’s Crayon

“Mommy?”

 

“Yes Honey?”

 

“You wan a see my picture?”

 

“Oh yes!”

 

“See?  I did my letters…

my name

See dat is an L

You know like in my name”

 

APPALLED! I am surprised to see near perfect lettering…

In a raised and creamy autumnal hue.

My heart stopping for a moment.

“Yes honey…

I do see”

 

I am locked on to her masterpiece before me…

Wanting to look away…

But unable to…

Like a Vulcan trance.

 

“I see…

I see…

I do see”

“And HONEY it would appear that you have run out of crayons”

“BECAUSE YOU WROTE YOUR NAME IN MY LIPSTICK!!!!

YOU WROTE YOUR NAME IN MY BOBBI BROWN LIPSTICK

MY GO TO LIPSTICK”

 

Ladies…

you know this anger…

the betrayal…

the panic over what in God’s name will adorn your lips tomorrow.

And ladies…

you also know…

Just how long it takes to craft the perfect lipstick shape…

So that it goes on flawlessly…

EVERY TIME.

 

And you know the shape of your lipstick says a lot about you…

It does.

Like I am a flat top.

Leave it people… Way too easy!

My lipstick shape

 

And flat top lipstick girls are:

  • To the point
  • High morals
  • Very dependable
  • Quick minded
  • Love challenges
  • Careful about appearances

 

I am totally serious about this.  It is like handwriting analysis but with lipstick.

They use it all the time on CSI Little Rock or whatever city they are spinning off this week.

 

If you do not believe me…check out this scientific evidence.

http://www.martinarmand.com/Lipstick_Shapes.html

 

And now my favorite pucker polish is but a concave nub.

 

On and on I go

“…and Landon! You know this very lipstick was one of In Style magazine’s top picks…

Did you KNOW that honey?”

Blah di blah di blah

 

OMG!!!  OMG!!!   OMG!!!

I have NO time in the next 10 days to even get to Nordstrom’s to get another one.

Arms flailing…

stuttering over words…

looking for the corkscrew…

And?

she is gone.

Landon has left…

In the middle of my important monologue.

 

Pad Pad Pad…

Here she comes.

“here you go Mommy…

You can have mine”

 

It is her watermelon smoothie Hello Kitty lip gloss.

There you have it.

That girl is so smart…

She foiled my rant.

 

So we both put on a little Hello Kitty…

(the sugar and unnatural products eroding my teeth by the second I am certain)

We told each other we looked pretty.

And went about our business.

 

But I?

am still out my favorite lipstick.

WAAAAA!

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Woman Found Crying In Basement

As a single parent…

As a parent…

As a human being…

I know we all have those days…

Where our head spins and we wonder how we survived.

Just happy to be at the end of the day

Wondering where it actually went…

But oh so happy to see it expire.

 

Kids are sleeping FINALLY.

 

I am downstairs washing what appears to have been generated by the Osmond  family.

We are separated by color/fabric, pre-treated and ready to go.

I am amazed at myself.

The kitchen is clean

dishwasher ready to go

Wine at my side

and this week’s Glee DVR’d and ready for viewing.

I am on FIRE tonight.

 

Fully expect a call from Martha congratulating me on Being Mom of The Day or something.

 

I be so sexy when I do laundry.

The whites are ready.

Soap in,  then fabric softener (likes em soft I do)

And bleach… little extra for the school uniform stains.

Shut…

Press press  press the buttons and START!

Swish! Swish!

Out Out you damn dirt.

Yea me!

 

I scan the rest of the laundry on the floor… just to see what is left.

Ah… whites next.

Hang on.    I am washing whites… I just put in the bleach…

 

S   H   I   T

S   H   I   T

ACKKKKKKKKKKK      WAAAAAA!

 

I just put bleach in a load of the darkest clothes I have.

OMG    OMG     OMG

ACCCCKKKK!

 

Trying to open the door…

But the HE3 system locks the door after 8 seconds.

(why is this locking thing necessary?  It is not as if my clothes are under nuclear attack.)

 

S   H   I  T

S   H   I  T

 

Pressing all the buttons.

Finally it is open..

 

That was about 48 seconds

I am sure they are okay.

 

As I open the door, water drips  on to the floor.

 

I take out the clothes, one at a time to survey the damage.

Brand new 4T brown leggings, now looking a bit like a small Palomino

4 black socks—one white now, one grey and two now like speckled pups.

Black INC wrap top that I wear every day over my yoga top.  RUINED!

Black Nike pants… now with a white stripe down the crotch… looking like Jay Leno’s hair.

Favorite black tank…now an ashen shade on one side.

This goes on for a few minutes.  I lose a total of 9 items.  God was nice to me on the remaining 6.

 

I cannot believe my stupidity… my Mommy exhaustion and Tasmanian devil like speed have caught up to me.   I collapse to the ground to steady myself.

And now leg is wet… in my brown Nike pants…

Because…

The water that dripped out of the washer?

I am now sitting in…

And?

It was not water…

But bleach.

And my remaining pair of NIKE pants…

I have  just destroyed.

 

ACKKKKK!     MOMMY!    HELP ME!!!!!!

WAAAA!        WAAAAAA!    WAAAAA!   Click to hear me.

 
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Posted by on February 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Word Up To Your Mama

I fully expect…

One day when I ask my daughter if she is wearing her listening ears..

She will just say Hell No.

Because it is just such a ludicrous question.

As if there were a separate set around …

Just for listening to me.

 

And the truth is.

She is so listening.

She is just not minding.

 

So she heard me today when:

I told her to stop putting stickers on the cat…

And when I asked her to stop jumping across the couch…

In MY 2 inch chocolate boots.

 

Therefore….

when I told her to stop running down the hall as she might get hurt…

And when she fell…

head first in to the doll stroller flipping it over and ending up with her feet straight up in the air.

I laughed.

Snorted

Squeeked

Mini-convulsed

Such that I strayed my her sister’s curls…

With water once in my mouth.

 

It WAS funny!No!  It was HYSTERICAL!

To see my insubordinate prima donna inverted.

 

But then she cried and said:

“Mommy dat not nice…

It not funny”

 

The hell it isn’t.

Finishing with her masterful pivot turn …

And forceful stomping out of the room…

Reminiscent of Jack on Will and Grace.

 

I?

Am sitting in a chair during this final performance…

Just trying to compose myself…

As I am doing now as I write this.

Trying my best to contain the snort…

Which keeps escaping even louder and more frequent.

And the tears are now streaming down my face.

I fear the laughter my cut off my breathing soon.

I have to lay my head on the table for laughter support.

Now I am slapping the table.

Because it was just that funny.

And Landon hears all this

This? She hears…nothing else I have told her you see.

And screams

“Mommy you da meanest Mommy ever”

“I  I  I  I  know honey….”

hahahahaha…..

“I  I   I…. know”

hahahahahaahah

snort

hahahahah

snort

spit

whiz

hahaha

 

It was like this.

 

After all this… you would think…

She would “listen” to me at bedtime,

With the humiliation of her involuntary headstand and all.

 

So last night after about 8 rounds of fighting bedtime,

I basically hold her down…

Issue my same commands of staying in bed.

Or else you lose

Belle & The Beast

And Rapunzel’s castle
(really anything Disney)

 

I was so angry I was really spitting my words out…

Spraying my freshly bathed daughter…

Which made her request a “big towel because you so spitty.”

 

So angry for all this fuss.

And?

Knowing the tasks ahead of me…

IF…

She ever goes to bed.

 

So I finish.

And look at her…

So very sternly.

And she?

Laughs at me

Oh?

But she did.

 

I cannot believe this disobedience.

As I am leaving and explaining all of her losses,

Because she has gotten up so many times…

And laughed at my face…

She says:

“Mommy! Mommy… you need listen a me…

When the pee comes down…

I just has to get up and go”

 

Damn this toddler logic!

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2011 in Bedtime

 

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Shovel This!

When you are sick

And it snows 6 inches

Temps in single digits

Below freezing even one night

The snow becomes a thick sheet of ice

If you don’t shovel.

 

But when you are sick

And having dreams of hairy bugs

in your bed

having a picnic…

(weird I know)

You don’t care

And I didn’t

I said screw it

Everything about me hurt.

 

So today when my friend Sheila came to visit…

In her stiletto taupe above the knee boots…

She damn near killed herself trying to reach the front door.

 

Nice visit.

Hug Hug

And she has to go to the next stop.

 

She nears the front door and her pace slows…

Such that I near ’bout rear end her.

 

She says…

“Is there a way out to my car other than this….

Maybe your garage”

 

Ummmm

“well the garage is back there and …

you would have to walk in your stilettos down one of the busiest roads in Denver”

 

or…

I have been working on my nose-twitching…

Maybe I can just Bewitch you right on out to it.

 

So we compromise and she uses my snow boots to walk to her car…

Then meets me in the driveway for the switch.

 

I decide I should probably attempt some shoveling…

6 days post storm…

Before someone not so nice shows up.

 

Here we go.

Steps first…

People they are sheets of ice.

 

So trying with the show shovel.

Scoot scoot – come on buddy!   %*&$@@#

Not moving.

 

Okay well I will stand on the snow shovel

 

like you do with a regular shovel…

 

For force and depth.

 

 

 

 

 

ACCKKKK!   FALLING!

 

It’s like the pogo stick ejected me.

 

And now…

My snow shovel is a C…

Curled and useless.

 

DAMNIT

 

I figure I can break the ice with a hammer…

Yes that is it.

 

Tap Tap Tap

OMG

This is working.

 

The ice is breaking off in little pieces…

And isn’t that efficient!

But if you do get a big slab to break off…

Well good on you.

But it is heavy and you have to hurl each piece to the side.

 

Sigh!  Honest to God I tried.

 

Looking around I am reminded…

I have a corner lot.

And I am on the second step.

I?

Will be here until St.Patty’s Day.

 

Forget that #%$&*

 

 

 

Honestly?

 

 

This…

 

 

Is what it felt like.

 

 

 

 

So I take my C shovel to the trash…

Reckon that I did my best…

Make a cup of tea.

Over which I pray for sun…

And forgiving people…

With sensible footwear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 11, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The Trailer

Robin Williams

whom I love

except he cheated on his wife with the babysitter

and he is a bit hairy for my taste

says:

“There’s no difference between a tornado an’ a divorce, in deh South.

Either way, someone’s losing a trailer

 

Which made me think of Mama.

Because Mama is in Alabama.

So I called her.

 

Mama has been sick…

And Mama has been home too long by herself.

 

So we compared “sick” notes.

I told her my symptoms.

 

“Kelly Lynn!

 

pause…

 

“Kelly

… that nasty mess is your head…that is ‘fection”

Okay Ms. Judy …Dr. of Mucus’ology.

 

“And that fever…that is not good.”

“Really Mom?”

 

“Did you ask your doctor?”

“I did…she said it was viral?”

 

“Viral?

what do you mean Viral?

That mean you didn’t get no med’cine?”

 

“Nope”

 

“Kelly!  You need to find yourself a doctor who will give you drugs.

Dr.Pentium gave me 3 prescriptions… WITH refills”

 

“Oh”

 

“I am serious…

this bug that is going around…

It is lethal…

They should use it over in Iraq

I swainee they should”

Okay…

I’m calling Obama…

First thing…

Tell him we have a plan to end all this.

 

Isn’t it grand to have a mother who is a drug pusher?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The Foot Thingy

Can we talk about the shoe thang?

That knee high wanna be thing they give you to try on shoes

And there are like…

500 in a little tiny box.

That are likely made in China …

And cost 29 cents…

For the entire box.

 

My Nemesis

 

 

 

 

In all seriousness…

 

What the hell?

 

 

 

 

I mean you put it on.

And IF…

Your wintry dry hands don’t run it

You callused feet are sure to.

Not to mention the fact that the overall design is flawed.

It barely covers your toes.

Has a thin and unattractive seam right down the center.

And if you tug just a smidge to pull it up over the heel…

It slides off the front of your foot.

So you try again and tug it back over the front of the foot.

So it falls off the back.

And you are screwed AGAIN.

 

And have you tried on boots with them?

Brillant.

You try on the boot which goes up to your knee.

And the footie is barely on your foot…

And you are scared it may fall off…

And you will get the bubonic plague.

IN!   You are in!  Yeah!

Ummmm ummm that seam is uber comfortable.

 

So 90% of your leg is exposed to other peoples’ germs.

But that 10%, your foot is protected…

For now.

 

And as soon as you take off the boot.

Your footie comes off…

IN the boot.

And then you lose your balance

And step on the fungusy carpet.

ACCKK!

 

OMG

 

How much more would it have cost to make a foot try on thingy that?

Oh I don’t know…

Actually covered your foot?

Like maybe …

Perhaps…

Came up to?

Dare I say it…

YOUR ANKLE BONE.

Nobel Peace Prize guaranteed.

 

Honestly if I could get that shoe thingy to stay on…

I can guarantee you I would buy more shoes.

 

And oh by the way?

I AM PAYING A BABYSITTER FOR THIS EXPERIENCE!!

 

So screw you DSW

I’m sticking with my flip flops.

 

She is only happy BECAUSE she has on stockings... and does not need the footie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2011 in Shopping

 
 
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