Oh well, I tried.

I'm back from vacation. I'll tell you all about it had how, um, disappointing it was in a minute. First, before I forget, remember that girl at work that wore men's cologne that I blogged about a while back? Yeah, well, saw her the other day before I left for vacation and, well, she's pregnant. I guess she isn't the captain of the women's softball team like I had suspected. My bad.

Next is Pampers. We had to get a pack while out on vacation because little d decided shitting the bed was next on his list of milestones. Twice we had to put in directly in the tub, pajamas and all, from his crib. Apparently, Huggies aren't man enough for little dude. Pampers, however, sealed that shit shut tight AND smelled good while doing it. I'm convinced they spray crack on them. They have to. How else could they smell like sweet, clean little baby even when soiled? All powdery and freshly scrubbed. With clean jammies on, ready for a bubbah. You men probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but you ladies, you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you? There is a reason why Pampers are the number one selling diaper. Crack, I tell you!

Okay. So now for the vacation. Should I start with the visit with relatives that took place in the Twilight Zone or should I start with the hour long scream fest in the car on the way to the hotel? Oh, you want to start with the tourist attraction we planned on going to that turned out to be an overpriced tourist trap that amounted to one half block of shops next to a highway? I had been talking about this place for a good two weeks. Everyone nodding their head saying, "oh yeah, I've been there", but not one of them clueing me in to the fact that it really wasn't a place to plan an ENTIRE DAY AROUND? Guess not.

At least little d got to go swimming for the first time. And thank God he didn't shit in the pool. With the way our trip had gone up until then I was positive he was going to set one afloat. He didn't, though, and he had a ball splashing around. And I got to see Mr. D in a pair of swim trunks, which were really just shorts, but it didn't matter because he was in shorts! He never wears shorts. Ever. In fact, in the 8+ years that I've known him, I've never see him in a pair of shorts. But, so his son could go swimming (and because there was no way mommy was getting into a bathing suit), he took one for the team and put on a pair of camo print shorts. Shorts, people! I told him our little shit machine would grow on him. I guess he knows what I'm talking about now.

Question of the day.

If you already know someone doesn't like doing something, and every single fucking time you ask them to do it, you get into a fight, plus you know they don't feel well because they JUST TOLD YOU they didn't feel well, why do you still insist on asking them to do it?

What the hell is going on?

Last night, ten o’clock. Mr. D and I are watching TV, getting ready to go to bed when we hear the doorbell. We weren’t expecting anyone that late on a Sunday night, so we just kind of looked at each other like “What the hell?” I muted the TV and followed Mr. D to the door. He tried looking through the leaded glass of the front door, but it’s just as effective at blocking the view out as it is blocking the view in. He opens the door cautiously and I catch a glimpse of our neighbor. He’s a neighbor I don’t care for (I’ll explain in a sec) so I immediately turn around and go back into the TV room. Whatever it is he’s got to say, I don’t care to hear it. Especially that late at night. In fact, I’m pissed because what the fuck is he thinking? We barely know him. We’ve talked to him only a handful of times and each time he's given us unsolicited advice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t paint those cabinets… I like real wood.” Bitch, I don’t care what you like. Needless to say, we painted the cabinets.

Mr. D once commented to him that he thought the exterior color we chose for our house didn’t turn out quite like he had envisioned. The next day we found paint chips stuck in our door. AND, he actually wrote color suggestions on the back.

And then this one time, which was the time that did it for me, he invited us into his house to check out the home improvements he’d made. In other words, he wanted to show off. The whole time we were there he was fishing for compliments and then when we would compliment him (some of it really did look nice), he’d start downplaying it.

“Oh, yeah, well, I guess it’s okay.” Whatever, dude.

What put me over the edge was he had installed two huge-ass skylights in the roof and when I said, “Wow, that’s some serious know-how right there.” He was all like, “Naw, it’s easy. I just, you know, did some measuring and cutting…”

I seriously wanted to punch him right in the face. I’m sorry, but installing two gigantic skylights in your roof is not just a matter of a few cuts here and there. And for him to act like it was no big deal irritated me to no end. Apparently he’s just a fricking genius. A carpentry wizard. A master at life. God, imagine how hard it must be for him to live among us mentally challenged idiots who don’t even know how install a skylight in our roofs!

So anyway. Guess why this douche knocks on our door late last night? To announce to us that he just got engaged. Yep. He made it a point to come over, reeking of booze and cigarettes so bad I could smell it all the way in the back of the house while he stood OUTSIDE, to let us know that he’s engaged. What did I expect, though? This is the same guy who blasts his awful light rock so the whole damn neighborhood hears it. Same guy who dropped off a congratulatory bottle of wine six months after the baby was born. A little late, there buddy. Yeah, I guess he thought ten o’clock p.m. was an appropriate time to introduce his fiancé to us. Which, by the way, I've NEVER seen a girl over there once. So how this is possible, I have no idea.

Mr. D congratulated them, but there was a point where it got a little awkward because, even after being duly congratulated, they just stood there. Like they were expecting to be asked in for tea and crumpets. Mr. D explained we were a little surprised to hear the knock on our door and we were just headed to bed and…

And then this guy actually asked when was a good time to come back to talk then? Because we “seem like homebodies” and like “we don’t get out much.” Oh, and, “is that your new car?” because he didn’t know if it was “your mom or dad’s or something.”

No, you dickhead, it’s our car. We’re ten years older than you and way fucking past the bar scene. We’re married, have a kid and just generally don’t like smartasses.

After Mr. D shut the door and came back into the TV room, we just kind of sat there staring at each other like: WTF was that all about? Who does that? Is it just us or does this guy seem like a total and complete douche bag?

Note to self: You're a sucker.

I've just been duped. By two twelve year old boys. Not more than three minutes ago. I actually still can't believe it. And, now that I think about it, the whole chain of events was kind of scary.

I'm totally pissed at myself for not putting two and two together sooner. The first clue that something was off was that they jiggled the door handle before knocking. Checking to see if the door was unlocked I presume. My obsessive compulsion to make sure all windows and doors are locked at all times finally paid off. Had they checked fifteen minutes earlier, they would have found the door unlocked.

I actually thought it was Mr. D home from a photo gig. I thought maybe his hands were full and he couldn't unlock the door so he just wiggled the handle, signaling for me to open it for him. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and it is not Mr. D, but two kids who have opened the storm door and are standing directly before me. This is clue number two. And once again, I fail to pick up on it. If you're a stranger approaching a strange house, you don't normally open the storm door, do you? I sure as hell don't. You simply knock or ring the bell, right?

Anyway, I'm immediately thrown off because it's not who I expect it to be. To top it off there are two of them. They still look boyish, possibly just on the verge of puberty, but they're tall and they both have shit eating grins on their faces.

"Yeah?"

"Um, my name is Adam Bagley and we're collecting donations for a new gym for the Keller Middle School, would you like to donate?"

Okay, before I go any farther, you need to know that when I go to Toronto, Mr. D yells at me because I want to stop and give change to every homeless person I see. Do you know how many homeless people there are in Toronto? Yeah, a lot. I'm okay if they don't actually ASK me for money, but if hear the words, "Do you have any..." I'm immediately digging in my pocket. I feel so bad and responsible that I have a really, really, really hard time saying no to people asking for money.

So here I am, alone, with no Mr. D to police me, and two kids asking me for money for a good cause. Keller is just down the road, so that's legit. He told me his name--that seemed legit. So I reach down into my pocket to fish out a five. I look back up, five in hand, stretched out in front of me, and catch the slightest glimpse of the one kid smacking the other kid in the arm as if to say, "She's falling for it!"

Before I could pull the five back, the kid who did all the talking snatches it out of my hand and darts off the porch. I look at the other kid, who's backing off the porch as well, but not before chuckling, "Thanks for your donation."

All I could do was stand there like a dumb ass. I fell for it big time. Like Stephen King's Carrie.

You. Little. Cocks.

I didn't go all crazy and start killing peeps with my mind, but if I could, those two little fuckers would have been toast. I just calmly shut the door and relocked it. Then went straight into my dark kitchen to look out the windows to see which way those little assholes were headed.

Turns out, they're my neighbors. And tomorrow I just might go knocking on their parents' door to ask for my receipt.

How can I have been so stupid? There were so many red flags. Like the fact that they were fundraising for school on a SATURDAY. AFTER DARK. And them opening the storm door to a stranger's house. That just isn't the norm around here.

You know, it's really not that big of a deal. Probably just some kids daring each other to do stupid things. Some kid trying to impress his friend who's sleeping over. I've certainly done shit like that when I was younger. What makes it a big deal is them checking to see if my door was unlocked. That ups a harmless prank to a very unsettling moment in my book.

It’s a PMS kind of day.

A co-worker is back in the office after five days off. His wife just had a baby. He’s currently showing everyone pictures. Is it wrong that I’m not joining in on the oohs and ahhs? I have zero desire to walk over there and fawn over pictures of another women’s progeny. I think the feel-good hormones that make you want to kidnap every baby you see have definitely worn off.

If you haven’t already figured it out, I am seriously grumpy this morning. Each day I wake up more tired than the last day I woke up tired. Being a mom is great, but some of its more undesirable traits are catching up to me. Normally I dig routines, but the monotony of it all is wearing me thin lately.

The fact that I am growing increasingly tired of work doesn’t help either. I’m so over writing brochures about stupid products no one cares about. Our department got a new business manager and I’m really not into her at all. She’s condescending and fake. Two things I despise in a person most. She likes to whisper stuff under her breath in meetings, too. It’s annoying and any time she does it, I start talking louder on purpose. One of these days I’m just going to ask her to repeat herself loud enough so the rest of the group can hear what she has to say.

Yeah, so there’s that potential for disaster.

I am so looking forward to our vacation coming up. We’re not going anywhere extravagant—just visiting family and friends on the other side of the state—but at least I won’t be at work (for ten glorious days!). Or at home for that matter. I feel like we need to be away for a bit. We rented a hotel in a touristy little town on the coast of Lake Michigan next to lots of touristy type places and shopping. I can’t fucking wait.

All right. I’m going over to dooce.com now for my daily dose of sarcastic wit. Some people are bitching about how she’s fucking up her kid’s life by sharing the good, the bad and the ugly of raising her. Screw you guys. If it wasn’t for dooce, I’d still be crying in a corner rocking back and forth thinking this kind of shit was only happening to me.

Family portrait.

Dear God.

Between migraines, teething tantrums and planning a vacation, I haven't had the time or the inclination to post on this here blog. Saving the hardwood floors from sippy cup gouges is hard work, people. Even harder work, though? Making sure every God forsaken electrical cord does not go into my son's mouth. Dude LOVES cords, and will not hesitate to let you know his displeasure with you when you take one away from him.

In fact, he's not afraid to voice his opinion all day long. Let me tell you, folks, he is neither subtle or quite about it. Does wonders for migraines. Of which I've been having quiet a few lately. I actually have one right now. Know what else is happening right now? My son is screaming like a girl because I took a cord away from him.

If you'll please excuse me.