blah blah blah

Is there something about me that screams "Please call me repeatedly and tell me the same stories"?

Seriously.

And, it's either genetic, or a virus. My brother now has it too.

My mother called and tells me a story from my brother's life--one that was relayed TO her BY him. Okay. It was funny. Not gut-busting funny, but funny.

Then, an hour after she told me, he calls and says, "Did mom tell you" and tells me THE EXACT SAME STORY, as if somehow, hearing it directly from HIM would make it funnier.

It didn't.

I do have to admit that he did have a new ending for it, an updated one, but it STILL wasn't THAT funny. And it certainly wasn't funny enough that it should be repeated, in toto.

One of these days, my eyes really are going to get stuck up in my head when they roll.

The Stupidest Arguement EVER

And this is no mean feat. We are the Mumples, after all.

Tonight, at some point after Kevin came home, I told him that I gave my mother (the landlord) the rent check. He asked, "Oh, when did you see her?" "When she stopped in to drop off those tax forms for Theo."

Apparently, later in the evening, he asked me if my mother stopped in and picked up the rent check. I told him, "Yes" but never said anything about the tax forms.

So, we have 2 different conversations, each of us remembers one of them, but he doesn't remember me telling him that she brought the forms, and I don't remember him asking about the rent check.

So, he gets on the computer (booting me from my surfing) and so I go to root through the "pile on" that is the counter. He asks me, "Did we get any forms in the mail?"

Taking the question literally, I answer it. "I don't think so, but if we did, they'd be filed."

He asks me two more times. I snap at him.

He comes out to the kitchen, looking at the form he printed. He gets up to file it. He find the forms my mother brought (that were sitting on the table before we ate supper) that I had filed while he was online.

He printed out one of the forms that she brought.

He got upset. I was already upset.

We end up, having the discussion about "I said..." and "You said..." to the point where we realize that in the middle of all of this, he was printing out the forms I was walking behind him and filing next to where he sat.

He tells me this is the single most stupid arguement he's ever heard of, let alone taken part in.

Laughing, I told him, "I married an idiot, but that's okay. We're even. You married one too."

Against a Growing Trend

I have to say that I think there are some pretty insipid toys out there--especially for girls. My Little Pony is not the least of the things I hate in the toy aisles, but have been found in my home and life recently.

I've even bought the damned things. But I don't have to like them. I have a daughter who loves horses of any kind, and if a MLP with braidable hair is what she wants, well, that is what preschool girls like--dress up, ponies, and princesses.

But, I digress.

Specifically, I have to say that the whoring-up of our daughters is very much out of hand. The younger the girl, the worse, it seems, it is. Size 6-6X dresses that bear more midriff than I did while in full-on labor (and believe me, THAT was no small midriff); glittery makeup marketed to 5 year olds; ultra low rise jeans with pre-manufactured rips; skin-tight tops that read one size but are actually the same size as toddler clothing; high heels and seam-up-the-back hose... it's the Whorification of Females in America.

"Mary Kate and Ashley design a new line of clothing for your WalMart shopping CrackHo preteen--ON SALE NOW!"

Geez.

Along with the whole children's clothing What Not To Wear train wreck, the toys marketed to little girls are trashy too.

Let's take a look at the Bratz phenomenon. They wear enough makeup to be seen from outerspace. They shop. They go on dates with boys. They are visions of fashion--if you see fashion as underpants and tank tops--ONLY panties and tanks. The problems do not end there. There are Bratz Babies. They are the diaper wearing bling set--literally. The dolls come with a diaper, earrings, painted faces, and pouting bee-stung Molly Ringwald kissable lips. These are a pedophile's dream. A *come hither baby*--LITERALLY. The ones that are "Kids" and "Teens" aren't any better.

This is action figure porn for our daughters.

There is no way, NO WAY, I can look at these things and NOT see my daughter and yours, dressed and painted, walking the streets looking to score. I don't care what anyone else believes, there is no way these dolls do anything except give our daughters the message that only her looks are important; she's only good for one thing and that one thing is sex; that she only has worth if she has a boyfriend.

If you say that "I don't let my daughter dress that way" or "We don't have those values" but "I buy them for my daughter"--WHY? If you don't like the *fashion* they project; you don't like the values they offer, WHY would you allow them in your house?

WHY wouldn't you strap on a backbone and have a conversation with your daughter detailing WHY you don't like them? Any age girl is able to understand "I don't think [little] girls should dress that way." or "I don't think girls your age should wear make up like that. Actually, I don't think ANY girl or woman looks good dressed or made up that way." or if she's older, use it as a conversation starter--"What do you think a girl who dressed that way would be like? Why?" or "Would you want to dress that way? Why?"

At my house, I want my daughter's self-image and self-esteem to be about HER, not what or who she has with her.

My example to my daughter may not be a "lady" in any classic sense, but at least I will be doing everything in my power to keep my daughter from equating "lady" with "lady of the evening".

Barbie never looked so good, did she Gloria? Unrealistic measurements aside, give me Barbie--decades old Barbie. Barbie who has clothes that actually fit her and cover her body; Barbie who actually wears underpants as underpants; Barbie who rides horses, has her license to practice two kinds of medicine, flies airplanes and is lucky enough to NOT work retail. She even recently dumped Ken--the beach bum eye candy who never held a real job, trashed the Town House with weekend parties, never helped with the kids, laundry, housework, grocery shopping, and who never refilled the gas tank on that spiffy pink caddy on his little jaunts 'round town.

Barbie, my Women's Lib friends, is becoming more and more the kind of role model we want our daughters to have.

My soon-to-be 5 year old can and does understand that we do not allow the Bratz in my house. She's not to ask for them, the answer will be "No." I'm sure there are those who think that my "hard line" about this is uncalled for--possibly even damaging to my daughter when it comes to her relationships with her peers.

If all the other moms jumped off a bridge, should I jump off too?

I think the answer to that is pretty clear.

Nothing Costs $100

So, the Toad did something to the Beast.

We're not sure what, exactly, as he's not speaking up. He was driving it for at least several days with it "dog tracking" down the road. How he managed to stay in his lane is beyond us. He claims he hit "nothing" and that it must be something with the power steering.

Apparently, he thought that, much like a Borg ship, it would self-repair and self-correct.

The Idiot. Anyone who has driven anything would be able to tell there was something seriously messed up on this car. Anyone who had previously driven this car could tell there was something messed up on this car.

The rear passenger side wheel was, to use the technical term, WONKY. Absolutely at an angle that is not normal for a tire on a safely functioning car. There was a chunk of the aluminum wheel gone.

When Kevin got underneath it, he could see scrapes and dings--with no dirt or rust. No way this happened weeks ago.

The boy is still saying, "It must've been when I spun out." and "I thought it was the power steering." As if, between self-proclaimed Car Guy Stepdad Kevin and myself, we're total morons. Does he think we're Amish and have never driven a car?

Anyway, a new, matching aluminum wheel cost $50 and the alignment cost $47.95. AND we may have to take it to a body shop to get the body straightened out. It depends on how it drives--like we trust the Toad's assessment at this point.

The Toad is rather surprised at how much we DO actually know about what he did, and he's more surprised about the cost. Self-repair isn't as cheap as he thought, I expect.

My frustration level is at it's limit. Perhaps, if he were a true idiot-savant, and not just playing one on TV, I'd be less angry and frustrated. He doesn't have the common sense God gave a goat, and he seems to think that this is somehow my fault.

During the first conversation I had with him about the damage to the Beast, he implied that, because he's 18 and has only had his license a month, somehow I was missing the point. He got pissy because, apparently, I've been through all this before, and he hasn't. He is under the impression that he has older brothers and sisters that I have parented and raised, but have never met.

I can honestly say that as much as I believe it totally sucks sideways to be a teenager, I can say that it sucks worse to be the parent of one.

Full Moon Fever

Apparently, the Howler, much like the Toad before her, has found some sort of soul soothing mellow-out tones in Tom Petty. Sometimes, it's creepy how alike their tastes are.

Toadwort liked the EXACT same album, way back when, and now, the Howler, daily, turns on the stereo and knows exactly which of the 3 CDs in it is the attractiveness-challenged Mr. Petty. She then adjusts the volume to the "Blast Mom Out of the House" setting.

I think that setting is 11.

She then leaves the vibrating downstairs for her bedroom. She shuts the door. Since the stereo is positioned immediately under her room, she gets the full effects--feeling the beat in her feet, changing the words as only a four year old can--without the ear drum damage she's inflicting on me.

The bonus in this is that I cannot hear the phone ring, and if I do, I can't answer it because I cannot hear what's being said to me...not that it matters, as it's almost always my mother calling. Not that I'd answer it anyway. I'm too busy dancing at the zombie zoo.

Is It Wrong

To make gagging noises while the Howler is watching a Care Bears video?

I think not.

First, it's crappy animation. Second, the voices they are using are mostly whiney--and she gets whiney when she watches the dammed thing. Third, it's nauseating "CARE BEAR STARE" They pull that little number out pretty quick sometimes and, at other times, seem to have no clue as to the power they just used 10 minutes ago in that last episode.

I have to say, too, that the sucky Irish brogue they have Good Luck Bear using is pretty bad. Think of the movie "Leprechaun" and how horrid the entire thing is....boil that down to one really bad imitation brogue and slap it into this video.

Yeah, it's that bad. I can do a better Irish brogue, and I sound like I'm deranged when I do it.

So, for those who don't know me, I have little tolerance for stupidity, and less tolerance for emotional blackmail. I hate manipulators and I think anyone who uses feelings as a means to an end should be flogged--regularly and often.

And here we are at my house, knee deep in the crapola Forest of Feelings with Professor Cold Heart pulling ice cubes out his ears; a soundtrack that sounds warped and voiceovers that are all breathy--almost like they hired whiney porn stars to read these crappy scripts. And we get to watch it over and over, as many times as the VCR rewind will allow on any given day.

Thank God and the Star Friends that Kevin didn't buy it on DVD.

The good news is, the Howler also likes to blast--and I do mean BLAST--Tom Petty Full Moon Fever over the Care Bears video sound. It's like she knows how soon the gagging will start, and rather than argue with me (you know what a simpleton I am), she'll just turn up the stereo and drown out all that nicey-nice feelings crap to appease me.