Don’t drop the cheese

I recently went on a girls’ weekend in Galveston, Texas.  Here are lessons learned from the weekend adventure.

* Don’t drink too much your first night because you will feel really crappy the next morning when everyone else heads out to breakfast and you’re left to fend for yourself and you have to walk to the kitchen to get your own water (for rehydration purposes), and no one is around to hand you magazines/books, and that is so sad because you just don’t have the energy to lift them on your own.

[note: we had to be out of the condo by noon and had a whole day/night to burn, and we were seeing a musical later that night at The Grand]

* If you act like you are a registered guest at a fancy hotel, you can hang out by the pool, partake in freebie meats and cheeses, and water, tea, and lemonade.  Ya just gotta act inconspicuous.  I don’t think I pulled off the right look, but I’m guessing the hotel staff didn’t really care.

* Don’t overeat at lunch, especially when you are living out of your vehicle for the day, because we couldn’t hang out at the fancy pants hotel forever, and thus you have no place to umm… unbloat (?) comfortably.  Public restroom facilities and street porta-potties leave a lot to be desired.  <forgive me, I have two boys so there’s always lots of bathroom talk and humor around our house so this is nothing for me (and no need to include as an addition to my embarrassing moments list)>

* BEFORE changing into evening attire at the back of your vehicle and reapplying your deodorant, it’s a good idea to check that no vehicles around you are harboring people, particularly of the male kind.  I figure it’s nothing more than if I were in a bikini, but still, I’m betting I turned 50 shades (!) of red when the guy’s truck window rolled down and I realized I had been busted.

* Be careful not to drop purse stowed cheese at a nice performance event.  Staff at The Grand doesn’t take too kindly to guests who attempt to sneak in food and drink.  Hey, I figure they should be happy we dropped, as opposed to cut, the cheese.  I mentioned the lunch bloat, right?

* The FM in “FM boots” stands for Father Mulcahy.  You know, the priest from MASH?  Good to know.  I’m guessing it’s Father Mulcahy for those FM spiky stripper heels too.

* A husband should never have to ask if he should wait up (yes, even if it’s after 1 o’clock in the morning) for you to get back home from your trip.  Hello?  Of course the answer is “yes.”  And even if the wife says “No, you don’t have to wait up,” yes, you (husband) are still required to stay up and wait.  Go back and read all about the double standard to clear up any confusion.  It’s like when we were dating and Gerald believed me when I said I didn’t really like receiving flowers!  ??

All and all, it was a great weekend.  I really needed the break from my perfect angel children, and so the invitation couldn’t have come at a better time.  Thanks for the invite, TC!


Coins only, no puppies

coins only
Not an actual toll road sign but it ought to be

Apparently, all kinds of items besides (valid) coins are found in toll road coin hoppers (the basket thingees where you throw your change to pay your toll).

I have compiled a list–on very good authority I might add–for the morons out there who don’t seem to grasp the true meaning of “Coins only.”

“Coins only” means — Coins ONLY, and NO —

  • condoms (packaged or used)
  • fuses
  • bullets/casings
  • safety pins
  • nails
  • lockets
  • earrings
  • rings
  • fake/foreign coins (paper or Chuck E. Cheese’s like)
  • paper money (real or fake)
  • firecrackers
  • gummy bears
  • nuts/bolts/screws (obviously the morons don’t want to lose anymore of these)
  • washers
  • bottle caps
  • turn signals
  • reflectors
  • ears (real or costume)
  • eye drops
  • “tobacco” rolling papers
  • clown (?) noses
  • mints
  • jolly ranchers
  • tongue depressors / popsicle sticks
  • whistles
  • keys
  • pantyhose
  • necklaces
  • pipes/tubes
  • money clips
  • watches
  • fishing hooks/lures
  • guitar picks
  • golf tees
  • dog tags
  • buttons
  • dice
  • fingernails (real or fake)
  • condiment packets
  • medals
  • drug capsules (OTC, prescription, illegal, whatever)
  • lighters
  • locks
  • drug vials
  • puppies


First step


Gerald often times goes around the house singing bits of his favorite songs or songs that have gotten stuck in his head.  For some reason, Eddie Rabbitt’s “Step by Step” was on the rotation for the day and I heard Gerald sing some of it wrong, and I’m talking specifically about the lyrics, we won’t go into actual singing capabilities/talent/ability.  Huh hum… So anyway, I pointed out Gerald’s faux pas to him, like I like to do, and he said I was the one who was wrong!  Excusee?  Oh, it’s on!  To the internet we go!

The particular line is “…take that first step, ask her out and treat her like a lady…”  Gerald was insistent it goes, “…take that first step, take her out and treat her like a lady…” (he was replacing “ask” with “take”).  Gerald was so insistent, in fact, he had his bare behind out and ready for me to kiss, just knowing I was wrong.  Oh, such joy to be right yet again!  And he sure was quick to move his backside out of the line of fire.

Gerald says the lyrics don’t make sense, it makes more sense that the guy takes her out and then treats her like a lady.  I say the whole “take her out” is implied, because he has to ask her out first before he can actually take her out.  Gerald says if she says “No,” then the guy wouldn’t have to bother treating her like a lady so you can’t miss that step of taking her out first.

Well, whether or not either of our arguments hold, I was right about the actual lyrics and that’s all that matters.  This isn’t our first go-round with disagreements over lyrics and I can guarantee it won’t be our last.

Now, here are some other song lyrics that have been butchered by either Gerald or me.  See if y’all can guess the song and who got it wrong.  I can admit I’ve been wrong on like one or two occasions.  And I nitpick!  I figure if you’re gonna sing the song out loud, you should at least do so within any copyright boundaries or whatever that’s called.

  • Come down from your fences, oh but then again…
  • Tin roof!  Rusty!
  • I got a calico cat and a tin roof flat…
  • This coat and tie is choking me, In your high society, you play all day
  • No I don’t know the name of the band but they’re good, pardon me, would you like to dance…
  • I can feel it calling in the air tonight, hold on…
  • I try to say goodbye but I choke, I try to walk away but I stumble


What I’m going to wear for apple picking

apple tree





So LOFT just sent me this invaluable “What to wear apple picking” email.  Damn, there goes my idea of jeans and a simple t-shirt or old sweatshirt on Gerald’s and my special apple picking date.  Who knew there was special attire for apple picking?!?  I am always so out of the fashion loop!  Apparently, a (stylish) cozy sweater is required. I’ll have to tell Gerald we can’t go on our yearly apple orchard excursion–because you know apple picking is foremost on his mind this time of year–until I get some proper new clothes for the occasion.

I’m thinking if there is a special wardrobe for apple picking, then other “occasions” should get their fair shake, right?  For instance, what’s the fashion du jour for pumpkin patches?  Now can I go with simple jeans / t-shirt??  Hayrides?  Camp taught me it’s good to avoid shorts.  Attire for blueberry picking?  Probably want to avoid wearing white.  Vineyards?  No clue.  Renaissance Festival?  I found out last year it’s NOT fashionable to wear a turkey hat after too much wine.  Oh, I got one — Hospital volunteer work – I hear total head-to-toe and covered face wear is all the rage!

I’m pretty sure I could be the poster child of what NOT to wear on specific outings/days, especially after my recent work dress up fiasco.  It looks like I have LOTS of shopping to do.  Hey, Gerald, where’s that new credit card??


P.S. Oh, deer sweet readers, it appears not all of you caught the whole meaning of last post’s “SOFA KING.”  I’ve been trying really hard not to totally let loose the explicits on my blog, and I’ll still try to uphold this classy standard while I attempt to provide more explanation of SOFA KING.  <sorry, Mom>

Repeat the following, out loud–in front of a friend or “mature” family member if necessary–until it clicks:


SOFA KING = So Fu–ing

I am sofa king

SOFA KING license plate

The other day, I was driving behind an SUV that had a license plate that started with BLT.  And I thought, well now, how cool is that?  A Bacon Lettuce Tomato sandwich!  And then I thought why can’t the DMV ever give me a cool license plate?  I’ve never had any cool/funny/known acronym/abbreviation letters on my DMV assigned plate.  I’ve never even had the letters spell anything at all.  I knew a lady who once had FAT on her plate.  I don’t think she was too thrilled about it, but at least it was something interesting, at least maybe a conversation starter at a party.  “Is that your FAT car in the driveway?  You need to move it, it’s blocking me from leaving.”  Or how about a simple TNT, DOG, PUS, or hell, I’ll even take ZIT!  And EAT, ATE, BRK, SHT, WTF, would all be fine with me!  Or it would be nice if I could discover something meaningful or personal with random letters.  Like if they gave me GFC, I could make Gluten Free Chick out of it or Gooey French Chocolate.  Or CAB could mean Crazy Ass Bitch, or Carb Awareness Buzz, oh, or “cab.”  COL could equate to Crank Out Loud, or maybe Cheap Old Lady.

Yes, I know I can spend a little extra money and get my very own personalized plate, thank you, but: a) I’m too cheap; b) they’re only good for one year (Did I mention I’m cheap?  I wouldn’t want to pay extra for it to be good for only one year!); and c) most of the good ones are either already taken or they are considered offensive by DMV.  Like, probably pretty much anything with the word OFF in it is off the table.  And then I’m pretty sure the DMV wouldn’t go for a personalized SOFA KNG plate.  Considering how you can pretty much take any combination of letters and numbers and make something objectionable out it, I’m not sure how DMV has anything left at all in their license plate inventory.

But anyway, I look forward to my next set of assigned license plates.  Maybe I’ll get lucky and have some ridiculous letter/number combo that will make my vehicle more interesting.  I mean, what’s another seven years?

–kd (aka Crank Out Loud or Cheap Old Lady)

A nerdy hooker?

hoochie mama shoes
Hoochie mama 80’s hooker shoes?

At work this past week, we were allowed to have a little fun.  Here is the story of my attempted participation.

Monday — Crazy Sock Day.  I forgot.

Tuesday — Wear Pink Day (for breast cancer awareness).  Tuesday morning I surveyed the closet and did find an acceptable pink top.  I paired that with some little worn pink earrings.  I was kind of surprised to discover that I don’t have much pink in my wardrobe.

Wednesday — Nerd Day.  Wednesday morning I surveyed the closet and didn’t find anything particularly “nerdy,” so I settled on a short-sleeved button down, and buttoned it all the way up to my neck.  No one at work could even tell.  Was this “nerdy” attire that close to my everyday wear?

Thursday — Retro Day (70’s/80’s).  Thursday morning I surveyed the closet and nothing really stood out except for this top that has always reminded me of “Flashdance” <oh, how I’ve always loved off-the-shoulder tops. really!>.  So I wore the Flashdance top paired with a plain black skirt, shiny clog like heals, pink dangly earrings, all-the-way blue eyeliner and blue eyeshadow, and sort of big, teased hair.  No one at work could even tell.  I was told by one friend coworker I looked like an 80’s hooker.  At one point during the day, I was asked if I wanted to be in a group picture.  No, that’s okay, I don’t want someone to be looking at the picture years later and ask who’s the hooker?  Is my everyday wear actually nerdy hooker??  Also, I’m wondering what my son’s daycare thought when I came strolling in there Thursday morning/afternoon for drop-off/pick-up.

Friday — Jersey Day (wear a favorite team hat/jersey/shirt).  This one was easy.  I couldn’t mess this one up.  I wore an NFL team t-shirt paired with jeans and cowboy boots.  Nothing says Texas football like cowboy boots.  Nerdy hooker, my ass.


I’m thinking I’ll skip next year’s dress up week unless I get to be the one in charge of the daily themes.

Monday — The 5 Years Ago Style Day
Tuesday — Sneaker and T-shirt Day
Wednesday — No Makeup Day
Thursday — Bedhead Day
Friday — Holy Jeans Day

I believe my plan is much more doable.


Have a bath and a smile

My routine in the evening hours is to get my workout in–currently, I’m doing Beachbody’s Body Beast program, heaven help me–and then I treat myself to a relaxing bath with special/fun/interesting soap, either goat’s milk or maybe shea butter or some other “indulgent” type of soap.  It’s like a little treat I give myself after working out.  I figure it’s better than lounging on the sofa with a beer and chips and/or chocolate like I want to do.  I guess I kind of substitute with really good yummy smelling soap.  I just can’t eat it.

So after tonight’s yelling match and fight with my oldest, I actually wanted (!) to do my workout.  After 50 grueling minutes of Back & Bis with my very own personal trainer, Sagi, I was getting my bath ready and pulled out a brand new Zum Lavender-Mint scented bar–a wonderful birthday gift from a dear friend who knows all about my soap obsession–and I just want to know how the Zum bar knew I needed a smile.  Maybe I’m pushing it, but this looks like a lavender and mint smile to me!

zum bar smile

It’s easy to forget after one really craptastic day, little things can still happen to make you smile.  It may not be an image of Jesus or his mom, but I’ll take the smiley face.


DDIY (except for unicorn poop cookies)

I already have “just because” stresses in my life.  Just because I’m closer to middle-age.  Just because I’m a wife.  Just because I’m a mother.  Just because I work full-time.  Just because. Just because. Just because.

Then you have the cutsie mommy blogs and articles adding to the pressure.  How about a 10 (only 10!) step article to make the latest designer crap of the moment with your kid?  Or maybe a 10 step, or wait, maybe it’s a mere 20 step, “how to be a better parent” article to really make you feel like a sucky inept parent?  Well now, why don’t you take your 10/20 step articles with all the other 10/20 steps from the other millions of magazine/blog articles, and shove them where the sun don’t shine!

I recently added a mommy-type blog feed to my Facebook, either out of curiosity or for pure torture, I’m not sure which, and, I kid you not, craft ideas, recipes, homework helpers, kid fashions, mom fashions, save the world recycling ideas, fun pictures, hobby ideas, etc, pop up multiple times a day.  I don’t get it.  Is this what these mommies are doing all day?  They have time to come up with the perfect edible playdough (in multiple colors dyed by organic vegetables, no doubt)?  And they have time to come up with the most awesomist dog costume for the most awesomist most perfect flaw-free non poop rolling dog?  They’re so busy giving other mommies unattainable ideas and guilt complexes, when do they actually have time to parent their perfect little children?

Don’t you think I’d love to have that perfect little life all wrapped up in the perfectly (recycled because ya gotta save the goddamn planet too!) DIY wrapped little box?

Okay, let’s take out the perfectly staged and organized home, the perfect husband and kids, and the beautifully weed-free manicured lawn.  Oh, and don’t forget the sparkling pool that somehow seems to take care of itself!  Now, what’s left?  How about a messy outdated house, because it takes time and money–oh, how I wish it only took a magic wand!–to do these things, to have these things. And not all families have such time and money.  I believe most families have to live in the “real” real world, and, like me, they probably are annoyed at all these perfect mom articles nudging the rest of us to do things their way, suggesting their way is the better way.

So… here are some blog/article/list ideas I believe would actually be welcome and helpful to most of us moms out here in the real world.  Take note, this is a (measly) five item list!

1. Guilt free DDIY (DON’T Do It Yourself)!  <hint: get someone else to do it or buy the thing already made for Pete’s sake.  Screw toilet paper rolls and material scraps.>

2. One <because any more steps is just too damn many> easy step to declutter your house of all the schoolwork paper crap your kids bring home  <hint: it’s called a trashcan>

3. Great cheap/fast eat ideas <forget healthy, it’s a miracle to just get food on the table or in the car>  <hint: it’s called McDonald’s>

4. Real super moms are super bitches  <And boy do I know (and respect and love!) some real super moms>

5. The five second hair stylist guide  <because sometimes five seconds is all the time you have>

Okay, I have to confess that on occasion there are some mommy blog ideas I actually like–I’m only human!–and one such idea is these unicorn poop cookies.  Now this recipe is awesome and funnier than, well, you know.

Unicorn poop cookies

But I’m still going to remove that mommy blog feed from my FB.


Where does the beer go?

Walking the beer aisle at the grocery store, I happened to notice quite a few six/four packs missing one bottle.  Now, maybe this is some sort of regular phenomenon, I wouldn’t know since beer shopping is usually Gerald’s job, but I thought this was kind of odd.  I started wondering where the missing bottles disappeared to.  I mean, could it be good-for-nothing law breaking kids?  Could it be a neighborhood homeless person or vagrant who needs their alcohol fix but they don’t have the funds?  And then, how does one steal these bottles?  Do they slide them in their purse or pocket <that has to be one big pocket!> when they think no one is looking?  I’m thinking there have to be cameras all over that aisle at the store.  Hasn’t Kroger ever heard of yahooing beer?

For those of you who have never heard of yahooing beer, I found a description on the internet. <where else?>  And to enhance your reading experience, I have paraphrased and thoughtfully added my own commentary.

Yahooing beer is the act of running into a store <a convenience store usually works best, note takers>, grabbing a six-pack <because it’s easier than grabbing and running with a 12-pack or case, silly>, and running out while yelling “Yahooooo!”  <I doubt anyone actually does this yelling part; pretty sure you just run like hell.>  The whole process should take you no longer than 20 seconds, any longer and the clerk may have time to act <and you want to be G-O-N-E, gone>.

Hmm… I suppose the missing single beers mystery at Kroger is not due to yahooing.  So I have to assume it’s different people taking these individual bottles one at a time, over a period of time.  I’m just unable to comprehend it at all.  I don’t have even a tiny bit of the criminal mentality.  In fact, I’m so far away from the criminal mind that I still feel guilt over a small theft in high school.  <oh, the shame!>

The school had just set up this whole salad bar lunch option for the students, and, like a lot of others (mainly female), I was excited to try out this new food choice.  I assumed the crackers were free, and since I only have two hands and all, I slid a packet of saltines in the pocket of my dress <it was a jumper dress, remember this was the 80’s> just as a place to carry it.  That’s when I heard others in front of me groaning about how the salad cost was by weight and the cracker packets were 10¢ a piece.  It’s not like I couldn’t afford the extra dime, but I chose to keep silent about the concealed crackers.  I’m sure a 10¢ offense really isn’t that bad, but funny how I still carry guilt about that incident to this day.  It was wrong, plain and simple.  Even though I was annoyed and didn’t agree with the school literally nickel and diming us salad eaters, it didn’t give me the right to steal the crackers.

Hmm… how to make amends …how to make amends?  Is there a way for me to finally ease this guilty conscious?

I believe this calls for my awesome letter writing skills <with helpful commentary> —

Dear My Former High School <where I’m pretty sure no administrator nor teacher remains from when I attended>:

Many moons ago I took a packet of saltine crackers without paying.  I am paying back this $.10 debt plus 25 years <holy shit, 25 years??> worth of interest <guestimated since I can’t find an amortization calculator that will take an input of less than $1>.  Please find $1.10 included with this confession letter to repay my debt and resolve these decades of guilt.

Anonymous Former Student <like I’m gonna actually reveal my true identity to these people!>

Well, I suppose that fixes THAT, but I am still left to wonder where the beer goes…