Tuesday, June 29, 2010

In which I direct you to a guest post

Wrote a guest post over at Ellyn's tonight. Go therefore and readeth and leaveth thy comments.


When Legs Attack
Originally posted on Ellyn's blog

Howdy! This is Mandy. I can say "howdy" because I'm from Texas. Where we ride horses to work, carry handguns, and say "howdy."

Actually, I don't do any of those things. And I certainly don't say "howdy." Even though I went to Texas A&M, where it's a tradition to say "howdy" to strangers when you walk across campus. But you know what? Nobody said it. Unless it was to a group of high school students touring the campus, or a cute member of the opposite sex. Although don't tell my husband I didn't say "howdy" in college. He's way into the cult traditions.

Man, I'm easily distracted. And yeah, that was a lot of Aggie references that most likely nobody will get. So let's move on, shall we?

Yes, let's.

I'm here guest-blogging for my buddy Ellyn because she's having a hard week. Either that, or she's making all of it up because she's too lazy too blog.

(Just kidding.)

(I know, I'm a terrible friend.)

(But really, pray for her.)

Let's move on.

So last night, Ellyn and I were video chatting (three cheers for technology!). It was late at night and she was the only adult in the house. All was quiet and peaceful - no children were screaming and no dogs were barking (though the one with the name that sounds like mine was jumping on the couch, which was bad for me because every time Ellyn would say "Mandy! Get off the couch!" I would think she was yelling at me to get off my couch. And then I was sad. Because I like sitting on my couch).


Everything was nice. El and I were talking about something deep, theological, and profound (read: arguing about the correct grammatical use of the word "prude"), when all of the sudden, I saw a dark figure behind Ellyn. As fast as it had appeared, it vanished.

"Did you see that?" I asked, startled.

"See what?" she asked.

"I thought I saw somebody behind you!" I replied, concerned.

Ellyn looked behind her, then back at the screen. Once again, the figure appeared behind her and vanished. This time, she saw it. She spun around again and then looked back at me, frightened.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I don't know!" she replied. "I'm really starting to get freaked out!"

As we were talking about it, we saw it once again, this time a little bit longer. Ellyn's face registered recognition and she burst out laughing.

"That was my leg," she explained. She had her foot up on the couch and her knee was staying back and forth in front of the camera every so often, just long enough to make it look like there was something behind her for a second.

Wasn't it lucky I got such an authentic photo of the exact moment that happened?

Lucky for her, the leg didn't attack.

This time.

Dun dun duuuuun.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Don't go

While we were in Little Rock, we were headed to dinner one night when we came up to an intersection. We had a really big truck in front of us, and right as the light went out of view behind the truck, I saw it turn from green to yellow. I knew Jack probably didn't see it, and the truck was going to make the light, so I warned Jack.

"Don't go," I said.

He didn't slow down.

"Don't go," I repeated.

Still didn't stop.

"Don't go!" I said again, louder this time.

He accelerated this time, right through the now-red light.

I looked at him, stunned at how blatantly he ignored me.

"Why did you go?" I asked.

"I didn't know it was red!" he replied.

"And the fact that I told you 'don't go' wasn't any indication that you shouldn't go?" I asked.

"I thought you were kidding!" he said.

"I was kidding? Really? Is that why I repeated it three times?" I asked.

And then, I think he gave me a funny look or something, and since I'm easily distracted, we moved on to something else.

Today, when we were on our way back from Little Rock, we watched a truck run a yellow-turned-red light much like Jack did a few days before.

"Oh, he ran that red light," Jack observed.

"Yeah, probably because his wife was telling him not to go," I teased.

"Probably. And he probably just heard 'yap yap yap' too." he teased back.

I acted all offended and Jack tried his best to sweet-talk me and tried to take my hand.

"Nope! You can't have it! I have to be mad at you for ten years now," I told him.

"Ten years!?" he responded, surprised. "That's ridiculous!"

"Sorry, them's the rules!" I said, mimicking something Jack says to me often.

"That's too long," he said. "You have to make it shorter."

I feigned thinking really hard for a moment, then nodded my head.

"Okay," I resigned, "I'll only be mad at you for six years."

"What? Six years? That's not okay either!" he said.

"Six years down from ten is a great deal! It's 40% off!" I explained.

"Yeah, but that's like saying we're going to sell our house for 6 trillion dollars and then cutting it down to 1.5 trillion! It's still not a good deal! The house isn't worth that! It's never going to sell," he reasoned.

"That's okay," I said. "I don't need to sell the house anyway. I can live in it for another ten years."

Sunday, June 27, 2010

If I was a gazillionare...

I would...
  • Work part time and focus more time on my non-profit organization
  • Take lots of culinary, web, and photography classes
  • Hire a cleaning lady and landscapers
  • Buy my husband a taekwondo school
  • Go to Australia, Africa, and Antartica (the continents I have left)
  • Hire somebody to scan all my childhood photos and digitize all my childhood videos
  • Donate a buttload of money to the MS Society
  • Remodel my kitchen, bathrooms, and craft room
  • Buy a house for somebody who needs one
What would you do if you were a gazillionaire?

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Parenting lessons from the childless

Do you know what one of my (many) pet peeves is? The phrase "you'll understand when you're a mother." As if being a mother magically makes you perfect. It doesn't. In fact, sometimes, it makes you more annoying. Because your brains are all jumbled from being responsible for somebody else's bodily fluids.

Case in point: yelling at your child for doing something rude to a stranger without apologizing to said stranger first.

I don't blame kids for being annoying. Kids are inherently annoying and don't know any better. I think God made them that way so that people wouldn't want to have a zillion kids. That's why the Duggars have so many. For some reason, Duggar children weren't born with as big of an annoying gene as normal kids and so their parents don't have the need to stop having them. This is just one of many theories I have about the Duggars.


So your kids runs in front of a stranger. Yes, it was rude, but the stranger, though childless, does not blame the child. Because it's what kids do. And now, it's the parent's job to correct the kid's behavior. Again, the childless stranger understands this.

However, if you yell at your kid and don't say anything to the stranger, it makes for an awkward moment for the stranger. The stranger is left standing there, watching you yell at your kid, knowing that they are the reason the kid is getting in trouble.

But! If you apologize on behalf of your kid before you start yelling at your kid, the whole awkward situation disappears! Because then the stranger can say "oh it's no problem!" all friendly-like and not have to stand there as if they're the ones who did something wrong while you chastise your kid.

This public service announcement brought to you by a Hornbuckle who will understand why it's okay to be rude in public when she's a mother, I guess.

Man up!

When it rains, it pours.

And when there's sunshine? There's so much sunshine that it burns your face off, I guess. If burning your face off was really, really fun.

Because watching your husband win over and over and over? Is really, really fun.

It's been a good weekend. Today was the beginning of the new tournament season, and because Jack tested for his 6th degree on Thursday, he competed with the 6th degree Masters today. Oh my cow, that ring is so far above the ring he came from. These guys are scary good. The scary being mostly during sparring.

This morning, Jack told me he was thinking about just doing forms and weapons and skipping the sparring.

"Why not? Are you feeling okay?" I asked.

"No, I'm fine, these guys are just really good," he responded. "I'm going to get my butt kicked."

Yes, he was. I summoned my inner-supportive wife and responded as any supportive, loving wife would.

"Whatever, Jack," I told him. "That's a dumb reason. Man up and spar. Stop being such a wuss."

Wife of the year ladies and gentlemen. Sorry boys, I'm taken. And of course, the cherry on top was when I told him that it didn't even matter if he got hurt now since he already won world champion.

Oh yeah, except for that I don't want you to get hurt. Did I not mention that? Oh. Sorry.

But my motivational talk worked, because he did spar. And yeah, okay, he got kicked in the head a lot.

And he flew across the ring more than once.

And he lost 5 to 1. But at least he got a point.

And at least he's not a wuss.

Although, I guess he's not really that much of a wuss anyway. Because in addition to winning world champion two days ago?

He won third in weapons today.

Yeah. In the Master's ring.

Which puts him in the top ten again in weapons. In the Master's ring.

Guess he's not such a wuss after all.

Worlds: Day 4,291

Today has been long. Very, very long. And tomorrow we have to be up at 6:30 because the 6th degree competition is sometime between 8 a.m. and 11 a.m. 

What the heck?

Thanks for the specific scheduling, taekwondo people. I really appreciate having to get up at the butt-crack of dawn - just in case.

Jack was like "you don't have to come watch me!" Sure, dear. I'm going to skip your first 6th degree competition because I want to sleep in. That's a wife fail if I ever heard one.

Okay, okay. I'm not going to lie. I considered it.

Today went as well as we expected. Jack did his top ten competition in forms and came in fourth this time. He did a good form but the guys in that ring are just crazy good. The guy who one first was miles above everybody else (much like Jack was yesterday in his weapons competition). Plus it was the guy's birthday so it was kind of fun to see him get a world champ title for his birthday.

We had dinner with Jack's students and then went out for a few "here's to the world champions!" toasts with some of his friends. It's always so fun to be with them, but at the same time, it's work.

The always being Mrs. Hornbuckle. The always being on. The always smiling and being pleasant and making small talk. The constant talk about taekwondo. And then some watching taekwondo. And then more thinking about taekwondo. I love these people and I'm so, so proud of my husband, but it this trip is exhausting every year (and it doesn't help anything to be stuck in Little Rock, Arkansas!) It is definitely not a vacation.

But it has been a good weekend. And tomorrow will be good too. And the next day? I will be going home. And that will be even better! I'm looking forward to going home on Sunday, and even going back to work on Monday, because it means I will not have to watch any more taekwondo or even have to talk about it most of the day.

And that sounds pretty good to me right now.

Friday, June 25, 2010

In which my husband wins World Champion

Here's the video of Jack's top ten weapons competition!

Jack was the last one in his ring to go since he was ranked number one going into it (they go in reverse order), so we knew that he had to beat a 20 to win. He ended up with a 25 (8, 9, 8). So it wasn't even close. Which is why you hear the crowd absolutely explode when the judges score him.


A real smile

Sometimes, when I tell Jack to smile, I get a fake smile. And usually, those pictures aren't very good.

I didn't have to ask him to smile today. There was no faking today.

Today, there were real smiles.

There was real joy.

Real laughter.

Real excitement.

Real joy.

(Real handsome).

Thursday, June 24, 2010

The BIG news that I can't tell you

I'm maintaining radio silence right now.

But I'd really rather not be. Because I have news.


See, I'm sleeping* with a World Champion tonight.


After 24 years of hard work, Jack finally won World Champion in weapons today. And it wasn't even CLOSE. He blew the competition out of the water with his scores. It's his first title and it means red letters on the back of his uniform. Which is pretty much awesome. I'm indescribably proud of him. And he's ecstatic. I love seeing him get everything he's ever wanted.

And I promised him that if he won, I wouldn't tweet, Facebook, or announce it in any way until he had the chance to announce it himself on Facebook. Because apparently I steal his thunder when good things happen by tweeting before he can.

And then he got a two hour judging assignment right after he won. So here I am. Writing a blog post that I'm not allowed to publish.

But for the record, his students have been blowing up Facebook with the news since then, so I'm pretty sure everybody knows now.

I have a lot of pictures and a super-cool video to post of him winning and giving me a big sweaty kiss, but I'll have to do that later.

I've got a World Champion to celebrate with for now.

It has been a great day.


*Actually. The funny thing about that is... I'm technically not sleeping with a World Champion tonight. We have two beds in our hotel room. Because they messed up our reservation. So we've been sleeping in separate beds because it's just not worth being uncomfortable in a full-sized bed. So, well, I'm sleeping near a World Champion tonight. And I'll take that.

Jack's 6th degree testing

(If you don't have time for the whole thing, Jack's blind-folded board breaks start at 4:25)

My husband is so cool.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The cheese stands alone

(Alternately titled: Blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah.)
(See also: Posts that are too boring to publish)

Yesterday I asked Twitter what my next blog topic should be. And man, did I get a lot of interesting answers. I think I got a few ideas for future blog posts. Thanks, Twitter!

Someone told me to write about cheese. And I think she knows me pretty well, because yes, I could in fact write a whole blog entry about cheese. Mmm, a sharp cheddar on a wheat thin? Divine. A tub of cottage cheese, a spoon, and a good TV show? That's the recipe for a perfect night. And Brie? Oh my cow, don't get me started on Brie. If you could cuddle with a cheese, that's the kind I would cuddle with.

Joel suggested I write about the World Cup. And you know what? It's growing on me.

At first, I was really opposed to this whole "soccer" thing. Because oh, the vuvuzelas! They were of the devil! The buzzing! The constant buzzing! Swarms and swarms of bees! In my living room! Please, make the buzzing stop!

I don't usually mind having sports on in the background if Jack is watching them, but soccer? And the buzzing? Made it almost unbearable.

Add to that the fact that nobody ever scores, and you have yourself a sport that's even more boring to watch than golf.


This morning, soccer and I were friends. Because the US was playing, and Jack thought it important enough of a game to delay our trip to Little Rock until it was over. So instead of getting up at 7 or 8 this morning, I got to get up at 9:30. And I even had time to leisurely finish packing, eat an apple, and check my e-mail. Without any death or divorce threats from about-to-travel Jack (who is, for the record, much less fun than regular Jack). It was almost like a vacation!

Well, except the part where I'm on my way to Little Rock, Arkansas right now.* That part of this story is a little less vacation-like.

But at least I'm not at work.


*We're here for Jack's taekwondo world championships, where he will test for his sixth degree tomorrow and compete for world champion tomorrow and Friday. We're excited (and Jack's a little nervous) about it!

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Set up direct deposit, already!

I keep having weird dreams.

Saying it like that sounds like I don't usually have weird dreams, but I pretty much always do. I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one. Someday you'll come and join me. And we'll all live as one.

No. I'm going to focus this time. Away from me, Peter Cotton Tail!

Anyway, the dreams. I keep telling my friend Jessica about these odd dreams I'm having with her in them. She probably thinks I'm a stalker at this point since she's been in like, 14 of them, but if it helps any, I'm freaking out all my friends by dreaming about them.

The other day I told my friend Joel at work that I had a dream that he grabbed me as I was about to roll off a cliff. When I woke up, Jack was actually holding me back from rolling off the bed.

So, I guess that one wasn't too far of a stretch.

I mean, if my bed were thousands of feet tall and I would plummet to my death if I fell off instead of just hitting my head on the nightstand and landing on the dog.

So last night, I had a dream that my first high school boyfriend proposed. I thought it was pretty odd that he was doing it, since I was married and all. And as he was down on his knee, I looked down at my left hand. Yep, there were my wedding rings. I'm married in this dream too. Hmmm. That's really bold of him, I guess.

And I've never been proposed to when I wanted to say no, but I've always thought that if you get proposed to in a public way, even if you want to say no, you should probably say yes anyway and then correct it later. Because really, who says no in front of all those people? That's just humiliating for the guy.

And wouldn't you know it, the high school boyfriend had chosen to propose in front of a bunch of people. Maybe he knew about my theory.

So I'm looking at him and looking at the crowd, and I'm like "well, yeah okay I guess." And he got all excited about it. And he didn't have a ring, which was good I guess, since there were already two on my finger and that may have made for an awkward moment.

And then we walked into the hall and I explained that I couldn't marry him after all because I was already married and that I was sorry to disappoint him. And he got all mad and said I should have said yes if I wouldn't marry him. And then he made me go to the bank.

So now I'm a little annoyed with him.

Because I really hate going to the bank.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Family meeting

Jack redid our budget this week. A couple times a year, he goes through and makes sure what we're putting into our joint account is enough to cover the bills and the amount we save.

We used to do that together.

We don't anymore.

It's for the best, really.

When we first got married, I thought I needed to be involved in all the decision-making. That I had to take part in every single thing that has to get done. As it turns out, sometimes, it works out pretty well if I don't.

At first, I tried to help him fold towels. Sometimes he would do the towel-laundry, sometimes I would.

Evidently, I wasn't doing it right. Because he was secretly refolding them after I folded them and put them away.

Refolded them. After they were already folded. And put away.

Yes, I'd like the big bowl of crazy with crazy sauce on the side, extra crazy fries and a crazy straw for my crazy-flavored drink, please!

When I first found out about the refolding madness, I was offended.

But... am woman! The laundry and the cooking and the cleaning! Tis where I feel at home! Whatever else will I do with my feeble, feeble mind? Quick! Knock me up so I'm productive at something!

Actually, it was more like, "Whaaa? My folding isn't good enough for him?"

Then I thought about it for a few seconds, and realized that if he wanted to do the laundry, like, actually wanted to do it, why was I fighting him on that?

So he does it now. Because I don't know if you've heard, but laundry and I don't exactly get along. I certainly don't appreciate its self-important attitude, with its "I want to be washed and dried and folded and oh, by the way, hang me up too!"

So if Jack and Laundry want to be best friends and skip through a field of daisies together? Alright. You can invite it to your birthday party then, because I wouldn't invite it to mine.

And guess what! That worked out well! Because I! Am not doing laundry! Unless it's something I wear myself! And that's plenty! Thank you very much!

All this to say: he wanted to be in charge of all the bills. And I thought that was weird at first (Hello, 1950! I cook, and my husband handles the money!), but then it seemed very much like folding towels. Why fight him on a chore when he wants to do it? I mean, obviously, I was involved in the original decision-making when it came to outlining our budget, and I'm still involved in the big purchase decisions. I'm just not doing the work.

And therein lies the magic.

The great thing is, Jack? Is freakishly good with money. I can trust him to make good decisions because they are either as good or better than the decisions I would make.


When I was little, my family would have what my parents called "family meetings" sometimes. (Hello, bunny trail! Let's see where you go! Hop hop hop!) They didn't happen often. But every time my dad said the words "family meeting," my brother and I groaned in agony.

Because the one and only thing family meetings always meant, were more chores.

That's it. That was the only reason they would call the family meeting.

"Okay, kids, we called this family meeting because we've decided that Mandy, you need to start shampooing the carpets twice a day, and Shane, please use your toothbrush to get all the dirt out of the tile grout in the shower every week, and oh, if it's not too much trouble in exchange for the free food and shelter and clothing and did I mention that I had to exit you from my body for you to live? You're both going to also need to begin designing and sewing your own clothes because really, that should be your responsibilities, kids, you're old enough to take care of it."

Just once, I would have liked a family meeting that started with "Okay, kids, we called this family meeting because you're both getting ponies! And candy! And a chimpanzee that has been trained to do all your chores and entertain you with its many, many dances!"

I never did get my slave monkey.

Where was I? Oh yes. Jack does the budget for us. And when he does the budget, he finds out whether the amount that we put into our joint account (where we pay our bills from) from our respective paychecks is enough to cover what we have actually been spending and saving.

Usually, it's very much like a family meeting.

"Mandy, we've been overspending on electricity again. (I told you to turn out the lights when you leave a room. Don't you remember how I always say you should turn out the lights? Woman! What will it take for you to turn out the lights? ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK MY HEART!?) Anyway sweetheart, we're going to need to increase the amount we put into the joint account by 82%! Hope you don't need any spending money from here on out!"

Now, to be fair, it affects him too. It's not like he does it on purpose.

And really, I'm the one who won't turn the damn lights off. And who has the audacity to turn the air conditioner when it's 800 degrees outside! And the electric blanket when I'm not allowed to turn on the heat in the winter! And the blow dryer! And the vacuum cleaner! And the oven! I AM SO SPOILED!

But still. The budget talks. Family meeting flashbacks!

So today when he called me at work and told me he had a new total, I whimpered a little and curled up into a little ball under my desk before he could tell me the damage.

"Actually," he said "it's good news! We're actually both putting $2 a paycheck too much into the joint account."

Did this really happen? Was there really good news during the budget talk? I'm getting four extra dollars a month? I can hardly contain myself.

I'm going to start saving now.

It sounds like I'm going to get that slave monkey after all.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Six minutes you'll never get back

Tonight I am watching basketball. On purpose and everything.

See, if the Celtics win this game, my brother and sister-in-law take home championship rings. Again. And okay, when there's jewelry involved, then sure, I'm interested in sports.

Ellyn told me I should blog more, and so I told her that my life is wildly uninteresting and that my blog posts would be boring, and she countered with "my blog posts are boring too," and I was like "yeah, okay, that's true" and here I am. (Teehee! Just kidding McCall. You know I love you.)

My job is about to get better, I think, for a couple reasons, and I think I'll save those details for a later date, but the news is simply that good things are happening in my group at work and I am excited about our future.

The work? It is fun. In the last year I've gone from primarily an audio girl (putting programs together for the radio broadcasts), to a video girl (putting promos, DVD products, and other web videos together). This is exactly where I want to be. I do enjoy the audio work, but the video, well, that keeps me at work super-late and makes me skip lunch without noticing. That's the kind of work I'd do even if they didn't pay more for it (Shhh! Don't tell them!), and the fact that not everybody feels that way about their job isn't lost on me. I realize how blessed I am to work where I work every day. (The walks to Starbucks every day at 3 p.m. don't hurt either).

On Friday, I got to direct a (teeny tiny) video shoot for a video devotional that we put out on our website monthly, and it was so much fun. Because directing is the grown-up version of bossing people around, and you know I can get down with that.

Except for the fact that it was in the woods, right in the middle of more poison ivy, and call me crazy, but I was a little paranoid about it considering my current state.

Speaking of my current state, the poison ivy is better. Not gone completely, and my arms and legs broke out quite a bit after the initial messed-up-face incident (and the face definitely got worse before it got better), but I don't want to die anymore, so I count that as a win.

On Tuesday morning I woke up with my throat feeling a little swollen, so naturally I avoided telling my husband that I could be dying and simply went to the Urgent Care place to get a steroid shot. When I tweeted that, my nurse friend Lori tweeted back "that's gonna hurt bad!" I so appreciate you sugar-coating it, Lori. Thanks.

And it did hurt. I mean, not as bad as the last one I had, but I don't like needles in general, especially not in my hip, so I was all "I'm just going to cover my face and wimper now, Nurse Lady, mmmk?"

Sidenote: I'm glad I don't work in a job where I have to tell people to pull down their pants. I mean, I'm glad there are people who do, but it just seems like an uncomfortable thing to say to a stranger. Or, you know, hear from one.

So we've been eating healthier lately. I think, oddly enough, that it started with The Pioneer Woman - cooking from scratch was actually doable for the first time with her recipes, and from there, I learned how to cook some healthier stuff from scratch. Now it's fresh vegetables, leaner meats, less starch, whole grains, and smaller portions. Nothing fancy and we're definitely not strict about it, but it's still a little pretentious to talk about. World! Look at us! We are important people who make such fabulous choices. Good for us!

But Jack's actually asking for and enjoying healthy food, I'm down ten pounds, and we both feel better in general. It's hard to complain when your clothes fit better (or you get an excuse to buy smaller clothes).

This week is "crazy hair week" at Jack's taekwondo school, so Jack has been coming home every day this week with a weird and different hairstyle. Either that, or Jack is just really experimenting with his hair lately. I assume there are other people at his work that do this.

Yesterday? It was this.

I couldn't even look at him when he was talking. I was like "how did anybody take you seriously today?"

The problem is, there's not a lot he can do with his hair that's all that crazy since it's all of about two inches long. I'm told he's going to try out a "reverse mohawk" today. I guess the sides stick out and the middle is down? I don't know. He seemed pretty excited about it.

Do you know what keeps me from blogging most of the time? A clever ending. I have deleted decent stories instead of publishing them because I couldn't think of a great way to end the post. And this is where I'm at now. Do I tell a joke? Take a bow? Distract you with something shiny?

I think I'll just rely on an old favorite that seems to work on Glee.

*Jazz hands!*

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


Sometimes I don't feel like being friendly.

I mean, I am anyway. Most of the time. My co-workers tease me about how overly friendly I am. "Why do you always say 'hi' to strangers?" they ask.

I think I learned that from my next door neighbor, Chris. She and I were walking into her building one day when I was in high school, and she smiled and said "good morning" to the maintenance guys we were passing as we walked in. And she didn't, like, mumble it or anything. She really meant it, even though she didn't know them at all. Because it's who she is. And I don't know, I always remembered it. And I thought "why don't I say good morning to people?" And so I greet everyone I come in contact with now. Because everyone deserves a smile or a hello.

But sometimes? I don't feel like it.

I don't feel like being friendly to the Craigslist guy who sells the cabinets that I made arrangements with him to pick up (to not only take Jack's truck to work but to have my Dad go with me so I didn't get murdered or something) to someone else just a few hours before I told him I was coming. Right out from under me. And the stupid thing is? I told him I could pick them up the night before, and he said it was too late (7:30 p.m.) because his kids had to go to bed. So, okay, I'll wait and come tomorrow because your precious kids need to go to bed right now. I'll see you at 6 p.m. tomorrow!

But tomorrow is today and he didn't even call. If I hadn't called him, I would have driven all the way out there (about an hour away) with the truck and the rope and everything else you need to pick up cabinets and he would have been like "oh, sorry, I'm a jerk who doesn't think about anybody but myself."

And this was the second day this happened. At least the cabinets from the day before were accidentally destroyed instead of the person being a jerk and selling them out from under me.

And yeah, I get it, it's Craigslist, so no guarantees on anything. But I've sold things on Craigslist and if somebody says they're going to come pick something up? I don't sell the flippin' thing before they get there. Call me crazy.

If I'm being unfriendly, I might as well add children to the list. When? WHEN? WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE CHILDREN, MANDY? Something big is happening, I announce. Oh! You must be pregnant, Mandy! Because you can't possibly accomplish anything else other than bearing children, Mandy!

I will procreate when I'm ready. And no sooner. Also? It's none of your business how much sex I'm having or why.

Want to know a secret? Kids bug the crap out of me. Without fail. And I know, it will be different when they're my own. And oooh, the joys of parenthood, with the vomit on the clothing! And the tantrums in public (in which I evidently lose all sense of common courtesy and let my kid do whatever it wants)! And the trying to juggle a very tight budget! And the crazy guilt coming at you no matter what you choose for your kids! Breastfeed or formula! Work or stay home! Homeschool or public school! (Public, by the way). Yes! Please! Sign me up for that!!

And now I sound like a feminist, and that makes me feel unfriendly as well, because I hate feminism too.

Have I offended all my readers yet?

Not quite?

Okay, one more.

Large people in regular sized seats in a public theater. When somebody is very large (and I do mean very large - like, not just a little overweight), shouldn't they take that into consideration when attending an event with regular-sized seating and maybe consider buying another ticket? And yes, I did feel bad for this person because really, she was large and that was sad, but at the same time, she was sitting almost on top of me for the entire show, her body spilling both under and over the arm-rest. Half of my seat was literally taken up by her bottom. I definitely paid full price for that seat, and she definitely used much of it the whole time.

And that made me feel pretty unfriendly too.


I was working in my office with the door closed this morning when I heard a male voice coming around the corner. Since I am efficient (read: lazy), sometimes I flag-down people I need help from when they pass by rather than getting up and walking the four to fourteen steps necessary to go get them myself.

And lucky me! I needed Joel to help me and here he came, right to my office. Take that, AMA daily exercise recommendations!

I began waving my arms wildly at the person who was passing by my window, and I was already way too far into my crazy eyes routine to stop before I realized that I was flagging down the wrong guy.

Way to go, efficiency.

I could have sworn there was a school teacher in there somewhere

Ellyn called me a prude tonight.

To which I indignantly replied "pruuuude!?" And then I thought about it for a few seconds. "Yeah," I responded, simply.

Which started a conversation about being prude or being married or something else that I can't even remember because ahh the voices there were so many of them talking at once!

(Sidenote: if you've never used Tokbox to talk to more than one of your friends via webcam at one time, you should. Like, seriously. Go now.)

And all I know is, somehow somebody brought up the phrase "a whore in the bedroom," and everybody recognized said phrase but nobody could remember the first part.

"I remember!" I announced, triumphantly. "It's a school teacher in the classroom and a whore in the bedroom!"

They laughed at me.

But it made sense to me.

But what do I know about sayings with the word "whore" in them? I'm just a prude.

Better a prude than a hussy, I say.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Wordless Wednesday

Monday, June 7, 2010


All day, I've been irritated by these mosquito bites I got on my face last night. I guess a mosquito got into our room while we were sleeping or something. It was less than pleasant, but whatever.

When Jack got home, he took a look at me and did a double-take.

"You have poison ivy on your face," he said. "It's like, a line of it across your forehead."

Poison... what? Oh wait. Now I remember. CRAP.

I had pulled weeds in our backyard this weekend, and after the fact, Jack and his dad pointed out that we had poison ivy back there, but since I didn't break out right away, I figured I was in the clear.

Not so.

That's where I wiped my forehead.

And my cheek.

And my EYE. OMG, my eye. Praying HARD that it doesn't spread INTO my eye.

So, I'm washing our sheets. And everything else I can think of. And I made this red velvet cake tonight from scratch:

...which really has nothing to do with poison ivy at all but it's a much happier image to leave you with than the other ones.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Wordless Wednesday

Can you guess what it is?