Gone with the Whim

Experience is the best teacher.

Or so they say.

But do human beings ever truly learn from experience?

Judging by my decision-making skills, I’m gonna go with no.

Had I decided I’d been lacking a sufficient amount of insanity in my life?

Seems to me on any given day, I’m personally not lacking for ways of keeping myself sufficiently occupied.

And yet…

After writing a goofy rant about extravagant child-related expenses last week, my family and I went out and did the most logical thing possible a mere two days later.

Now, we aren’t particularly spontaneous people when it comes to making big decisions that require serious commitment.

But my younger son had recently written a compelling letter about a very specific concern related to the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey that set the madness into motion.

So, last Sunday afternoon…

We took a drive to a local pet shelter.

Just to look around, of course.

And then we somehow walked out of there with yet another mouth to feed.

We drove home with a delightful Border Collie rolling around in the backseat, wedged between my ecstatic son and me.

What did I know about dogs?

Not a whole hell of a lot, that’s for sure.

Yet once again, I found myself permitted to bring home a living thing…

With no clue as to what I was doing or getting into. 

Sensing a pattern here?

I’d only owned a small handful of pets in my life.

We had a few gerbils and hamsters when I was little.

I thought they were creepy and was terrified to ever go near them.

When I was 12, I desperately wanted a kitten.

And as luck would have it, we ended up getting one for free.

She was part Siamese, and far bigger part crazed alley cat.

When she wasn’t busy trying to stuff live birds and butterflies in her mouth, she’d move on to picking fights with the neighborhood cats.

She also tried to kill us on a daily basis as she hid at the bottom of the stairs with the hope of catching a leg or two on the way down.

And then there was our more recent failed venture in fish ownership.

The first-ever pets for my boys, the never-ending cycle of birth and death in that tank of inbreeding fish should’ve, at the very least, taught us a lesson in setting a solid case for avoiding future pets at all costs.

What were we thinking?

I’ve never been much of a dog person.

Large dogs freak me out.

Loud dogs don’t do much for me, either.

But this guy…

He’s no ordinary dog.

He’s sweet.

He’s quiet.

He stands on his hind legs and gives gentle hugs. 

He’s calm, happy, and entertaining.

He loves to be loved.

He’s our 5 year old puppy.

Most of the other dogs at the shelter were barking their heads off and bouncing off the sides of their cages like crack-fueled maniacs.

But not this guy.

He sat there quietly, gazing at us with a look of pure happiness and contentment.

As if he knew the key to being a winning prospect was simply to not look like a raving lunatic.

And so now here we are, going for walks and peeing in neighbors’ flower beds.

The dog, I mean.

Not me.

Definitely not me.

He’s also taken a liking to pooping in my herb garden.

Well, they do say pets enrich lives.

I guess the extra fertilizer must be the enriching factor.

Hopefully those herbs will really start flourishing now!

For someone who never cared much for dogs, this sweet boy managed to win me over in a heartbeat.

I’m still not sure how to feel about all the face licking and crotch sniffing, though.

But at least he doesn’t ask me when I’m going grocery shopping again since he probably won’t be the one eating us out of the house.

~Happy Friday, friends! If you’d like to read my son’s compelling case for getting a dog, click on the picture below for a larger view. I think he might have a future in persuasive essay writing. Either that, or he’ll make a disturbingly fine attorney… Have a fantastic weekend!~

The letter that led to it all...

The letter that led to it all…

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It All Adds Up

Sixty dollars?!?

Are you freaking kidding me?

I’m starting to think I should’ve encouraged my kids to drop out in kindergarten when I had the chance.

You see, when my oldest son was in kindergarten, he took a swing at a fellow classmate on the playground…

For not getting a turn on a swing.

Oh, the irony.

The ensuing suspension was clearly a sign that we should’ve quit while we were ahead.

At any rate…

I (half) jokingly offered to buy this now high school-aged child of mine two middle school yearbooks for the price of one $60 high school yearbook.

Good deal, right?

He respectfully declined.

Apparently, more is not necessarily more.

School is expensive.

And everything is exponentially more expensive once you reach high school.

It’s not enough to own a single pair of Nikes.

A child must cram a minimum of two extra pairs of shoes into his backpack every day.

Just in case Converse or Vans suddenly become more popular 2/3 of the way through the school day.

OMG!

Look at those shoes!

They’re sooooo 2nd period!

Uh, yeah.

Okay.

What do you mean your phone is soooo outdated?

Since when is last year considered The Dark Ages?

And everything has a fee.

Activity fees.

PTO fees.

Booster Club fees.

(What exactly is it that we’re boosting?)

Even volunteering comes with a price tag.

Along with the obligatory background check, they now insist on taking your full set of fingerprints.

In exchange for a cheerful mug that boasts the numerous virtues of volunteering.

I’m still not convinced that was a good trade-off.

Clothes are expensive.

Books are expensive.

You need money for what?

More school pictures?

More broken earbuds?

More pencils?!?

Again?

What the…

Did you eat that last batch?

Speaking of eating…

Food.

Oh my goodness.

The amount of food growing kids require is beyond belief, especially with those never-ending growth spurts.

What do you mean there wasn’t enough food in your lunch today?

What did you think- it was all just one big snack?

My mountainous cart is always one bag of cheese puffs away from overflowing and toppling over whenever I go grocery shopping.

There seems to be some unspoken challenge in our household for attempting to eat $200 worth of groceries right out of the bags.

Bonus points if they can pull it off in under 24 hours.

When are you going shopping again?

Sigh.

I’m seeing stars as money fails to conveniently drop out of the sky.

(On a positive note, I have been saving money recently while tripling my wardrobe in the process. My boys and I are currently close enough in size that some of their shirts fit me quite nicely.)

Money, money, money.

Down the toilet.

Along with my sanity.

Fluuuuush!

~Happy Saturday, my friends! Have a safe and happy weekend!~

Oh, if only money rained from the sky...

Oh, if only money rained from the sky…

Magnificent Mascot Marvels

A promise is a promise.

In honor of my son’s big debut as his high school mascot, I promised him I’d create a special post dedicated to…

Mascots.

Celebrating the vast variety of school mascots.

Highlighting some of the most delightfully far out there, what the hell were they thinking mascot creations.

Presenting the funniest, most unusual school mascots!

Fighting Artichokes

(Scottsdale Community College ~ Scottsdale, AZ)

Sure, Artie the Artichoke looks awfully personable for a so-called fighter. But make no mistake. Every bit as vicious and prickly as a cactus, artichokes are far more dangerous than they appear.

Fighting Okra

(Delta State University ~ Cleveland, MS)

Fear the okra! This fierce (and fiercely detested) vegetable is the school’s unofficial mascot. With as much as okra is reviled, it’s easy to see how this absurd representation could, in fact, be perceived as intimidating.

Fighting Pickles

(UNCSA ~ Winston-Salem, NC)

Sensing a theme here? Unlike some of the previous fighter vegetables, this tutu-wearing pickled cucumber looks far better equipped for a dance off than an all out brawl.

Meloneers

(Rocky Ford High School ~ Rocky Ford, CO)

Sticking with the theme of disgruntled green produce, this muscular melon is not one to be messed with in a town full of… you guessed it.

Cornjerkers

(Hoopeston Area High School ~ Hoopeston, IL)

Jerky the Cornjerker. It’s a suitably corny name for the ear-of-corn mascot who represents The Sweetcorn Capital of the World.

Sugarbeeters

(Chinook High School ~ Chinook, MT)

It’s the stuff of nightmares. Is it a vegetable or a menacing kitchen gadget? Or both? At any rate, it’s disturbing. What is up with all the angry produce? 

Fighting Farmers

(Farmersville High School ~ Farmersville, TX)

With the commendable use of alliteration, Farmersville Fighting Farmers aren’t content to just sit back and let the brawling produce have all the fun.

Pretzels

(New Berlin High School ~ New Berlin, IL)

Finally, a non-produce mascot! Mr. Salty clearly boasts pretzel pride. After all, who wouldn’t be proud to be a…giant pretzel. On second thought, this is neither fierce nor motivating. And now I’m craving carbs.

Dots

(Poca High School ~ Poca, WV)

The Poca Dots. Get it? It’s actually rather clever. This polka dot bears striking resemblance to a red M & M, albeit it a rather menacing, discontented M & M who wants nothing more than to beat you up with his stubby little arms.

 

Monsoons

(Valley Vista High School ~ Surprise, AZ)

This isn’t quite how I envision a mythological almighty Thunder God like Zeus. But this bug-eyed, purple toga-clad dude is certainly intriguing.

Winged Beavers 

(Avon Old Farms School ~ Avon, CT)

Speaking of mythological creatures, perhaps this mascot was meant to be a spin-off of Pegasus, the winged horse. On second thought, it looks more like a buck-toothed Gargoyle with a lacrosse stick…

Unicorns

(New Braunfels High School ~ New  Braunfels, TX)

Well, it never hurts to believe in magic. Enough said.

Galloping Ghosts

(Kaukauna High School ~ Kaukauna, WI)

Would a ghost really gallop like a horse? Probably not. But in all fairness, Levitating Ghosts doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as this alliterating appellation.

Keggy the Keg

(Dartmouth College ~ Hanover, NH)

The unofficial mascot of a prestigious academic institution, Keggy is a perfectly impressive Ivy League school representation, don’t you think?

The Stanford Tree

(Stanford University ~ Stanford, CA)

Yet another unofficial mascot, this animatedly charming tree gives the distinct impression he’s been hanging around with Keggy a wee bit much.

And there you have it.

Vicious fruits and vegetables.

Captivating mythological creatures.

 And an assortment of exceptionally nightmarish innovations.

With any luck, you now have some highly inspired costume ideas for Halloween!

~Happy September, friends! Hope you all enjoyed this wacky compilation. Have a fantastic weekend!~

The Madness of Momming

Oh, the memories.

The marvelous, glorious, wonderous memories.

With my oldest son’s recent birthday, it’s fair to say I’ve been reminiscing a tiny bit.

Especially after rummaging through both of my boys’ baby boxes yesterday afternoon.

Sure, it’s been 15 years since I first became a mom.

But one question still lingers:

How the hell was I ever allowed to leave the hospital with a small, helpless, living human being in the first place?

Did I look like I had any clue as to what I was doing?

If I did, it must’ve explicitly been the pain medication talking.

Would you believe I’d actually packed an Eeyore rattle toy in my hospital bag?

In case my newborn child wanted to play, I reasoned.

Oh, and I’d also brought along a book.

You know, for the downtime following that whole childbirth drama.

Clearly, I was delusional from the very start.

Sure, I’d skimmed through the suggested reading material on pregnancy and babies and all that fun stuff.

But really, how hard could it be?

Right?

Did I mention I had zero experience?

Seriously, not an ounce.

I had no younger siblings.

No younger cousins.

No babysitting experience.

I mean, I worked in a toy store for a brief stint when I was in high school.

But that only served to reinforce the fact that I surely wasn’t a fan of screeching, demanding, whining little monsters.

And so my baby was the first baby I’d ever held.

What was I doing?

How was I expected to be responsible for such a tiny little human being when my ability to take care of myself was likely questionable?

My husband and I were practically kids with a kid, really.

The baby is awake?

Why is he awake?

What am I supposed to do?

Didn’t he just eat?

How much is he supposed to eat?

Is he eating enough?

Is he ever going to stop eating?

Why won’t he sleep?

Why is he still asleep?

Why won’t he go back to sleep?

Is he teething?

Is he hungry?

Why won’t he stop crying?

Does he hate me?

Oh my God. 

My baby hates me.

I’m the worst mommy in the world!

Sniffle, sniffle…sniff.

Oh.

Ewwww!

Oh, I’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

And then I read What to Expect the First Year.

No other book series can make a person feel like such an epic failure so quickly.

Even if the baby was only a mere twelve days old.

If anything, those books made me a nervous wreck.

I was convinced I’d be going through my child’s life as a sleep deprived, anxiety-ridden zombie.

A zombie who’d inevitably make all the worst choices, and ultimately screw up her child’s entire life because of said sleep deprivation.

So I stopped reading.

So what if my baby preferred sleeping in his car seat over using the nice bassinet we’d bought him?

So what if I wasn’t dragging him out on stimulating play dates at three months old?

So what if he liked to shove Mega Blocks in his mouth when nobody was looking?

So what if I secretly hoped he wouldn’t eat all of his of delicious banana baby food so that I could finish it off?

I had relatively little idea of what I was doing.

But I had lots of love.

And patience.

And sheer determination.

We’ve managed to survive, so that’s gotta count for something.

In spite of all the sleepless nights.

I’ve never been one who could thrive on broken sleep.

It makes me scary.

But you know you’d reached a whole new level of exhaustion when you watch Plaza Sesamo halfway through at 2 o’clock in the morning before realizing that it isn’t actually Sesame Street.

And that it was entirely in Spanish.

Huh.

No wonder nothing made sense.

But the good news is a person can eventually adapt to existing in a zombie-like trance.

I do sometimes marvel at how we’ve managed to make it this far in life.

And all things considered, I think we’re all turning out A-OK.

From day one, these boys of mine have been teaching me more than I could ever possibly teach them.

And that’s saying a lot.

Motherhood is the biggest, scariest, most rewarding roller coaster ride of my life.

And I am happy and honored to be on this magically maddening adventure.

Even if it makes me crazier than I already was in the first place.

It’s totally worth it.

~Happy last Friday of the month! Hope you guys all have a terrific weekend!~

That Eeyore rattle in the middle? I honestly wasn't joking when I said I'd packed him in my hospital bag. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment.

That Eeyore rattle in the middle? I honestly wasn’t joking when I said I’d packed him in my hospital bag. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment.

Back to School Motivational Deficiency

Well, now.

Isn’t that fascinating?

I just read somewhere that there are hundreds of thousands of words in the English language.

Whoa.

That’s a lot of words.

And with so many word choice possibilities…

I can usually think of something halfway intelligent to say.

Something clever.

Something catchy.

Something smart-assy.

Especially when it comes to writing.

But school started this week.

And, like my boys, I wasn’t really feeling it.

I’d been sick as a dog all week from all the summertime stress.

I mean, fun.

Yeah, summertime fun.

But sending my favorite monsters off with one of my infamous motivational lunch notes for the first day of school was simply a must.

What can I say? I miss my favorite crazy people when they're at school.

What can I say? I miss my favorite crazy people when they’re at school.

Ummm…

Okay, so it wasn’t very subtle.

And it’s only a whopping two words in length.

But I’m not gonna lie.

I kinda like my kids.

(Shhhh! Don’t tell them!)

In the meantime, I’ll be drinking mimosas and sharpening boatloads of pencils while they’re at school.

Gotta get my money’s worth out of that automatic sharpener, right?

Oh, who am I kidding?

I managed to sharpen exactly 32 pencils before my hand cramped up to the point of being virtually nonfunctional.

And then I had to get back to attending to the never-ending mountain of laundry.

Ah, well.

So long, summer fun.

It’s back to business, as usual.

Sigh…

~Happy Friday, friends! And… Happy Birthday to a very special 15 year-old (you know who you are)! Have a terrific weekend, everyone!~

An Ode to an Oldie

I’m his favorite sister.

And he’s unquestionably my favorite brother.

This may be largely due to a technicality, but I’m pretty sure it still counts.

It’s sort of a process of elimination by default.

But I have to admit, it sure makes it easier when you only have one sibling to choose from.

It’s about to big a huge milestone birthday for this favorite brother of mine.

The big 4-0!

And with that said…

Happy Birthday, Dante!

My awesome, absolute favorite brother.

He is every bit as unique as his name.

But then, it’s not like anyone in my family is capable of doing normal very well.

He and I are obviously related.

Despite the fact he used to try to convince me I’d been adopted.

(News flash: We look far too much alike for that to have been true. So there!)

Sure, he’s more than a whole foot taller than me.

(He enjoys teasing me about how I’d clearly stunted my growth by becoming a vegetarian at too young an age.)

But we both like to write.

(Yup! He writes, too!)

And we’re both funny.

(His favorite word is haha.)

At least, I think I’m funny.

Hmmmm…

I must be pretty funny, because he’ll typically reply to my texts with one of three responses:

  1. haha
  2. lol
  3. funny

He’s got a delightfully dry sense of humor, but he truly is a man of few words.

For this reason, we tend to text far more frequently than we talk on the phone.

Whenever we do have an actual phone conversation, he’ll mutter an occasional word here and there.

Which helps reassure me he didn’t get eaten alive by his feisty dog mid-conversation.

And then he’ll proceed to breathe intermittently into the phone like Darth Vader.

Oh, well.

Some people just don’t know when to shut up.

Growing up, he was paradoxically my best pal…

And worst nightmare.

Thanks to my favorite brother, I learned how to swim.

Or perhaps more accurately…

I learned to swim because he’d otherwise have kept trying to drown me in our backyard pool.

For fun, of course.

Because this, apparently, is what bored children do to keep themselves entertained.

(Note to parents: Think carefully before you send your kids outside with painfully vague instructions, like “Go find something to do”. Nothing good ever comes out of this.)

We’d make the most of our excruciatingly short pool season in New York by excitedly jumping in as soon as the pool temperature warmed up to a bone-chilling 59 degrees.

Hey, it seemed like a totally bright at the time.

But this may well be one factor in why there are clearly some things wrong with us.

Bloodlines run deep, but crazy runs deeper.

He also got me permanently banned before I’d ever had the chance to play an instrument.

My parents made the fatal error of allowing him to play a trombone in the school band.

He wasn’t exactly what one might call a natural.

The odds of him winning a medal for his performance weren’t sounding very favorable.

And I suspect I wasn’t the only one who’d felt that way.

A year or so later, we ended up selling that trombone to the first person who showed up at our garage sale, just to make it go away.

But alas, so started my future path to choir.

At least I wasn’t making everyone’s eardrums bleed.

And then there’s what I affectionately call Dante’s Shop of Horrors.

He used to set up shop in his bedroom, with an assortment of toys, stuffed animals, and other goodies on display, in an attempt to make a few quick bucks.

Did I mention most of the items in his shop already belonged to me?

But I’d always feel sorry for him, and so I’d end up buying my own crap back out of pity.

After all, the boy had a real hunger for life.

He’d count his earnings and walk to the store to stock up on more crap.

Including an assortment of treats, like dozens of those cheap apple pies that contained no real apples.

Money well spent, I know.

But then he would always surprise me with cute little stuffed animals he’d won from the claw machine.

Which made up for a lot.

Like when he’d change the channel on the one tv in the house and kill my few remaining brain cells with never-ending marathons of Beavis and Butthead.

(Those brain cells have yet to return.)

Or when he’d blare Metallica’s Enter Sandman on repeat, shaking and rattling the house all odd hours of the night until the vibrating floor would eventually lull me to sleep.

(I’ve known every word of that song by heart since 7th grade.)

But I think of him affectionately whenever I hear She’s a Maniac.

(It’s one of his favorites.)

And whenever I hear Journey’s Any Way You Want It, I can’t help bursting out in laughter.

(I still can’t figure out why he hates that one with such passion.)

I can’t help myself.

I always crank that one up and sing along at the top of my lungs whenever it comes on the radio.

I wonder if, subconsciously, I like that one only because I know it annoys the hell out of him.

It’s entirely possible.

Aren’t siblings the best?

Anyway, I’ll leave you all with this wonderful picture of baby me playing nicely with my big brother.

(And just to be clear, I was sooo not adopted.)

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you all have a fantastic weekend!~

Don't feel too bad for him. He probably started it...

Don’t feel too bad for him. He probably started it…

Sadistic Shopping Frenzy

God, no.

Not this again.

How is it already that time again?

I’m just not ready yet.

And I’m pretty sure my kids aren’t, either.

Want to know the secret to blowing through loads of money in a matter of hours?

Have kids!

Have lots of kids!

And then cram those crazy kids into the car and go shopping for their gazillion back to school needs!

I don’t even want to think about how much we’ve already spent.

And I only have two kids, not a whole busload of them.

Yeesh.

With a week and a half until school starts, we hadn’t gotten around to shopping for most of the necessary school supplies.

Until yesterday.

Prior to yesterday, we’d only managed to shop for underwear, socks, and shoes.

And very little else.

Because last week was far too soon to even think about all this back to school nonsense.

And because I’m clearly a glutton for punishment, we went to Walmart.

Or, more specifically, we went to Walmart twice.

In one day.

So much for one-stop-shopping.

The only redeeming thing was that we’d gone to two different locations.

Walmart #1  had most of what we needed…

 But it didn’t have much of a selection of binders.

Who knew it was so difficult to find the perfect binder?

One that zippers shut and doesn’t pop open and create an explosive mess?

Is that too much to ask?

And we just had to have pens in a minimum of 5,000 different colors.

And that mini automatic pencil sharpener…

Because who in their right mind enjoys the tedious task of sharpening six dozen pencils in one sitting?

It was either that, or pay five times the price for the convenience of pre-sharpened pencils.

At least the pencil sharpener will pay for itself soon enough.

If it lasts long enough, that is.

But at least I knew better than to wait until tax-free weekend to start shopping. 

I can barely handle Walmart on a good day.

An hour of pushing and shoving my way through Walmart is almost enough to drop me to my knees in the center of the wine aisle while hyperventilating into a paper bag.

So there we were at Walmart, smack in the middle of the chaos.

Like that’s ever a good idea.

And then those boys of mine did what they do best:

They wandered off to the electronics department. 

So much for that.

Ten minutes later, they were busy trying on new heads.

Plush mascot heads, that is.

For whatever unfathomable reason, there was an enormous bin of assorted animal heads by the checkout area.

Such an interesting choice of so-called impulse items.

Was Walmart getting ready for Halloween?

In August?

As if back to school madness wasn’t already maddening enough.

But at least I managed to buy myself some cool new notebooks. 

Because why the hell not, right?

Besides, I needed a few more notebooks.

It sure beats scribbling my jumbled, random thoughts on toilet paper in the middle of the night.

Anyway…

A few days earlier, I had taken my younger son to Dick’s Sporting Goods to look for clothes.

Usually, he’s all about Nike.

Nike, Nike, Nike.

And nothing else will do.

But he didn’t like a single article of clothing at Dick’s.

He did, however, see exactly one backpack he liked.

An $80 Under Armor monstrosity.

More heavy-duty weapon than child-friendly carryall, it resembled The Hulk, condensed and smashed into a sturdy, yet incredibly unsightly, backpack.

Its water-resistant properties and ability to take out a large rodent obviously justified the exorbitant price tag.

I would have considered spending that much on a single backpack…

If- and only if- my child would’ve been willing to walk to and from school every time it rained.

You know, to get our money’s worth.

Oh, and it would’ve also needed to last until he’s 18.

At the very least.

Sounds reasonable enough, no?

Needless to say, we left without getting a backpack.

He didn’t like anything else there…

But he did buy a plush deer.

Priorities, priorities.

I suppose there’s no need for shirts or pants when he’s perfectly content wearing nothing but shorts and his favorite hoodie, anyway.

But alas, it’s almost time again.

Back to the madness.

Back to school.

As long as we make it through the year without telling everyone to Go to Michigan, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.

~Happy Friday! Can you believe it’s August already? Where is the time going? Geez! Anyway, hope you all have a fantastic weekend and enjoy the last few weeks of summer break!~

This, apparently, is what school supply shopping looks like...

This, apparently, is what school supply shopping looks like…

Going La-La-Loco

I don’t know if there’s such thing as a good kind of crazy…

Or if crazy is just crazy.

All I know is I’m kind of pissed and frustrated with myself.

Up until now, I’ve prided myself on writing a blog post every single week, come hell or high water.

And last week?

Well, I’m not entirely sure what happened.

I wasn’t on some fabulous island getaway or anything fun like that.

The thing is, I had a humorous topic and all these great ideas…

But it just wasn’t coming together.

And I simply refuse to hit publish on something that is total crap.

So here we are.

Quirky’s gone crazy.

Chalk it up to exhaustion, mental block, or a temporary lack of motivation.

It happens to the best of us, I suppose.

The sad reality is that there’s no luxury afforded for the nervous breakdown I am perfectly entitled to.

But rather than sit and dwell on this disappointment, let’s take a moment to find the humor in insanity, shall we?

(Truth be told, you’re probably better off not coming along for the ride. But at least you’d be going with someone with a warped sense of humor, so that’s gotta be pretty enticing…)

(It never hurts to have a friendly face on your journey to insanity!)

(Going cuckoo in the grandest manner possible? Now that’s impressive!)

(Hmmm. Is it really that obvious?)

(It’s like haunted Halloween maze meets acid trip glow party in here!)

(Losing your mind is one thing. But literally losing control is a far greater issue, as far as I’m concerned.)

(Always, always a silver lining.)

(Team work is dream work, or so they say…)

(Discussing your inner crazy with outer crazy is guaranteed to be a fascinating, if not exactly productive, conversation.) 

(Going ballistic is surprisingly exhausting.)

(I can’t decide whether to be envious or to feel pity for such individuals.)

Sure, I may be one step away from going off the deep end some days.

But at least I’m not in straitjacket territory.

Yet.

Disappointment, overwhelment, and moments of failure are inevitable parts of life.

You get through it and you keep going.

Because that’s just what you do.

Things aren’t always going to go exactly as planned.

Life happens.

Plots change.

So just take a deep breath…

And remember…

You are awesome!

And maybe just a tiny bit crazy, too.

But that’s probably not such a bad thing…

Is it?

~Happy last Friday of the month! Hope your weekend is crazy… in the very best way possible, of course!~

My Cup No Runneth Over

What could be better than a memorable evening of family fun?

Well, family fun minus most of the family, anyway.

There’s nothing like a bit of quality adult time, where you can sit back and enjoy a drink.

Or two.

Or, you know, none.

Ever been someplace where the service was so painfully slow that you almost forgot why you left home in the first place?

Welcome to Main Event, a  so-called family entertainment place where you can eat and play!

At least in theory, anyway.

If you ever want to ensure you don’t overindulge in alcohol (or anything else, for that matter), Main Event is the place for you!

At any rate, my husband DJ and I decided it would be nice to take my brother in-law Mike out for a fun night while he was in town.

Main Event seemed like a good idea, and I’d been there many times before with the kids.

But only to play games rather than to eat.

If the comical pairing of bull riding on a 110-inch tv with Lady Gaga blaring over the speakers was any indication, it was undoubtedly going to be a memorable night.

I started off with a Bahama Mama, and DJ ordered beer.

Mike made the mistake of asking our young waitress if they make White Russians.

A little food for thought-

When your waitress asks you what exactly goes into the drink you’re about to order, just remember two things:

  1. You are not the bartender, and it is not your job to be a walking encyclopedia of alcoholic concoctions unless you are getting paid to make that drink yourself.
  2. The bartender will probably be using you as their experimental lab rat, so do yourself a favor and order something else. From the menu.

I get that mixed drinks can take a few minutes to…

Well…

Mix.

But how long does it take to pour freaking draft beer?

Were these people growing fresh fruit for the cocktails out back?

Painstakingly harvesting wheat for the beer?

Our delightful waitress finally brought our drinks out half an hour later.

Mine might’ve been a Bahama Mama…

But it took so damn long to get there, I couldn’t be sure if that’s what it really was, or just Kool-Aid spiked with a touch of rum.

Mike’s White Russian had a disproportionate amount of vodka.

Could’ve been worse, I suppose.

Hopefully it was the good stuff, at least.

More bang for your buck, right?

We’d also ordered onion rings, which arrived shortly before the drinks.

Minus any plates, napkins, or utensils.

We stared and stared at the onion rings.

A few moments passed before we redirected our intensely disgusted gazes in the direction of the bartender before DJ got up and demanded plates and napkins.

Our ditzy waitress came over a few minutes later.

Oh, so that’s why you needed plates! 

Ya think?

Come on, did we look like complete savages?

Plates and napkins are somewhat of a necessity when it comes to eating.

Especially in a restaurant, for crying out loud.

Unless you’re a child.

But we didn’t bring the kids, so I was kind of planning to eat like a civilized human being that evening, thank you very much.

A different waitress arrived at our table with a large tray containing our entrées a while later.

We watched in disbelief as she dropped off my hummus and vegetable platter and DJ’s steak…

And then she looked at the remaining entrée, looked at Mike, looked back at the entrée…

And then took off like a possessed hamburger-snatcher.

We continued to watch in part curiosity, part horror as she strolled aimlessly from table to table with that hamburger before returning wordlessly to our table.

What the hell?

Perhaps that’s why our drinks had taken so ridiculously long.

Maybe this other waitress had gulped them down.

All of them.

Then Mike asked for ranch dressing.

We started taking bets on how long it would take for the dressing to materialize.

I contemplated ordering another drink, but then thought better of it.

We were ready to get out of there.

But our waitress was nowhere to be found.

DJ set the timer on his phone to five minutes.

Five minutes until we were going to bolt out of there like a trio of bandits?

I can’t be sure.

Finally, DJ about had it.

He stormed over to the front desk to see if they could be bothered with something so trivial as allowing us the honor of paying for that bizarre dining experience.

Perhaps we should’ve run out of there.

Well, okay.

Fine.

That isn’t something I’d ever done before, nor could I do anything like that in good conscientiousness.

We finally moved on to the games.

I over-enthusiastically whacked some moles.

DJ and Mike played a few intense rounds of Rambo.

Then Mike moved on to a game where he got to repeatedly kick the crap out of a soccer ball.

I think it’s safe to say we all had a tiny bit of pent up aggression from our dining experience. 

Oh well.

We all needed a break. 

And what we got was a good laugh. 

Along with a fairly good idea of where never again to go for dinner.

Ever.

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you’ve had a terrific week, with an even more fabulous weekend on the way!~

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you've been waiting so long to be served that you're crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you’ve been waiting so long to be served that you’re crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.

Gratitude with a Twist of Attitude

Happy 2nd Anniversary to me!

Yeah, I know.

Way to be subtle, right?

Well, here’s the thing.

This is milestone is dedicated to YOU, my dear friends.

Your unwavering support helps make Comically Quirky a fun and whimsical (and possibly slightly unhinged) retreat from reality.

So…

My fabulous, incredible, amazing readers…

This one’s for you!

(It’s unquestionably gratitude; that warm, fuzzy feeling of overwhelming gratitude. Either that, or I’m on fire…)

(You guys brighten my day a million times over when my twisted sense of humor brightens your day. It’s true!)

(It takes far too much effort to act not only normal, but in ways that are also socially acceptable. Pftt! Where’s the fun in that?) 

(This ties into the whole socially acceptable nonsense. Remember Uncle Jack and his horse?  Yeah. You’re welcome.)

(Ha! This world couldn’t possibly handle that much crazy, and so a “limited edition” I am. On the positive side, I suppose this just makes my writing style that much more, uh…entertaining.)

(This must be why I’m able to make people laugh. Insanity is inherently humorous. Speaking of which…)

(Might as well admit it- you’re probably almost as crazy as I am if you find me even remotely humorous. And that, my friends, makes you amazingly awesome.)

(You- my friends, family, and fellow bloggers- make writing even more enjoyable and rewarding.)

(Because I unwittingly seem to find myself incorporating cows into my writing, what better way to express my gratitude than by saying mooooo-chas gracias!)

(Yeah, you! You rock!)

Seriously, thank you.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of Comically Quirky.

I’m honored to be part of such a wonderful community.

~Happy Friday! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend! If you’d like to read my very first post that started all the insanity, please click here.)~