Is it Asshole Friday yet?


Ever since one of my co-workers declared a Friday to be Asshole Friday, the term has been stuck in my head, and then I started thinking what I could do with the other days of the week.

Let’s see… Sunday and Monday are easy. Like The Bangles say it, it’s Funday Sunday and Manic Monday. Although I don’t know if Sunday is really my funday (grocery shopping and having to be in the kitchen all afternoon and evening preparing said groceries are not what I consider fun). Saturday is probably more my funday (sleeping in and pretty much doing everything else at a snail’s pace). But then that wouldn’t go with the song’s lyrics so we’ll stick with Funday Sunday.

Pretty sure nobody can argue with the whole Manic Monday thing. It just goes without saying that Monday could be completely erased from the week, and it would not be missed. Sayonara, Monday!

I got a little stuck on Tuesday, but then it came to me when I thought about the whole feel of Tuesday. And that’s why I am declaring Tuesday, Oh Shit Tuesday. We already know Monday is manic, so Tuesday is when you wake up in the morning and go, “Oh shit, it’s only Tuesday!”

Wednesday… well, duh, it’s Hump Day! I’ve seen those camel commercials. What are those commercials for anyway? Does anybody know? But anyway, yeah, if it’s Wednesday, you know you’re at that halfway point, you just might make it to the weekend, and maybe you can even make out a faint light at the end of the workweek tunnel.

I got a little stuck on Thursday too, but I think I came up with a good one. Wait for it… Son-Of-A-Bitch Thursday! See, I’m thinking when you wake up on Thursday morning, just for a split second you wonder, “Is this Friday?” Son of a bitch, it’s only Thursday!

I already sorta kinda covered Friday, that’s how this whole (pointless) exercise got started in the first place, remember? I don’t recall exactly how it ended up being Asshole Friday, but I’m pretty sure if the same conversation, meeting, discussion, whatever, along with the same funny as hell group of people, had taken place on a Monday, it would have just as easily been declared Asshole Monday, and if on Tuesday, it would have been Asshole Tuesday, and so on and so forth. But it’s best it stick with Friday. How else could I come up with the excuse to use a modified “TGIF” closing on all my Friday correspondence?? —

TGIAF! Have a great weekend!

And then there’s Saturday. I suppose since I’m the one coming up with all these “day” descriptions, all on my own (I know, so impressive), I’ll just use a name that describes my Saturdays. And that would have to be “lazy,” Lazy Saturday. As mentioned above when discussing Sunday, Saturday is meant for all things easy and slow-moving, at least in my household it is.

A quick recap (for those of you who may be taking notes) —

The Days of the Week by Crankoutloud:
Funday Sunday
Manic Monday
Oh Shit Tuesday
Hump Day Wednesday
Son-Of-A-Bitch Thursday
Asshole Friday


Going tagless

Really, Hollister?

I am an avid label reader. Food and cosmetic ingredients, and clothing material and care. I am constantly verifying if a food or product is “safe” to eat, toxic to my body or skin, or particular guidelines for washing/drying a piece of clothing.

I’m okay with including helpful information on labels. I believe labels do help a consumer stay informed. It’s the kids’ clothes’ labels I take issue with. While many clothing companies have removed the label at the back of the neck, and then like to call it “tagless,” they simply have replaced the neck tag with a tag further down on the inside torso part of the chest. Certain apparel companies (I won’t name names <cough> Abercrombie and Hollister) now include a whole three separate labels with every possible language, and then the different languages are not all kept in the same section, it’s sectioned off by “purpose” (i.e., care instructions, country of origin, etc.). And if it’s an item that has gone totally tagless, look out! The tag(s) has been replaced with what looks like an entire novel written on the inside. And sometimes this writing disappears over time due to wear and washing.

I know, I know, why would I be so anal about labels on the kids’ clothes? It’s not the end of the world if the boys scissor off a label or if the care instructions are washed away, but I have my reasons. I like to keep labels on clothes. Mainly referring to my kids’ clothing items, I like to be able to see the size at a glance. Do you know how fast my boys grow? Since I have two sons, I will sometimes keep the older one’s outgrown clothing for his younger sibling (aka hand-me-downs). And I pass down items that both my boys have outgrown to our little nephews. Now don’t you think my sister-in-law appreciates a quick indicator of size when she has to go through bags of clothing we’ve passed on? I know I always liked having a visible label to be able to see the size on anything handed down to my kids from their older cousins. And nothing I had to dig for within the shirt, and nothing that had been so washed away that I could no longer tell if it was ‘S’ or ‘M’. Hey, it can make a difference.

So I’m not sure who came up with this whole tagless concept. If it was a mom who cared about her child’s skin getting jabbed by a pesky tag, I get that, but I wonder if anyone thought about the consequences I just described. Maybe they simply didn’t foresee the cons of going “neck” tagless, or perhaps they really didn’t care.

The whole “tagless” argument is not a big issue, obviously, I mean, there are sooo many other things in this world that are big issues. But I figure since the whole theme of my blog is “cranky,” every now and then I should include a cranky pants post about the little annoyances in life.



Just ask

pregnant woman

I was reading a Ms. Manners column regarding pregnant women, and men giving up their seats to accommodate said pregnant women, and it triggered a memory of when I was carrying my second child.

I believe the year was 2003. Gerald and I worked for the same company. In the same building. On the same floor. In the same department. In the same group. Yeah, I know, Gerald loved it! We rode to work together, ate lunch together, rode home together. Ah, such wonderful memories.

Our manager would have a big group meeting now and again. The conference room was decent sized and all but there simply were not enough chairs to accommodate all of us. It was pretty much first come, first served if you didn’t want to end up standing or sitting on the floor for the entire length of the meeting. I walk in, not early, but not late, and there was my Gerald, kicking back at the table with some of the other guys. I wasted no time. I didn’t say a word. My pregnant self simply walked over to my chair possessing husband and looked at him. The other guys did their typical “Ooooo!” in response, just knowing that Gerald was in big trouble with his super sensitive, hormonal wife. Gerald chuckled and then let me have the chair. Damn straight.

After I read the advice column, I got to thinking the advice I’d give to a mother-to-be faced with a no available seating dilemma. For the most part, I’ve always been a “just come out and ask” kind of person. I’m sure Gerald will argue with my statement because on occasion, I am guilty of expecting him to read my mind. But anyway, we’ll just ignore that for the moment, for this blog post.

I say if a man, or it could be any well-bodied individual, doesn’t automatically pop up to give a pregnant woman his/her seat, the woman should just ask. As I mentioned, Gerald likes to remind me he isn’t a mind reader. And no one wants to make the mistake of thinking a female is pregnant when she’s not. In fact it’s probably best to not say a word about a pending birth unless there is an actual announcement or statement from the parents-to-be themselves. If nothing is ever said, the safest bet is to wait until after the kid has actually arrived.


Sleep with one eye open, watching Forensic Files


Okay, I already sleep with the covers clean up to my neck every night, due to watching the movie Salem’s Lot when I was about 11. My friend and I were left to our own devices one afternoon and we thought we’d watch a forbidden Restricted movie. To this day, I wish I had never watched that movie. There’s this one part, and the only part of the movie I can even remember, where one of the vampires was scratching at a bedroom window. I can’t recall anything before or after that scene, but ever since then I sleep with the covers up to my neck. Why, you ask? To protect my neck from biting vampires, of course. Gerald finds my neck coverage funny and claims I am a glutton for punishment. Go look up the Urban Dictionary definition of “dutch oven” if you’re curious what I mean.

But anyway, you throw my family’s latest obsession of watching back-to-back episodes of Forensic Files into the mix, and well, it’s just all kinds of wrong.

First, if you’ve ever watched Forensic Files, you know the voice-over guy totally sucks you in at the beginning of the show AND before each commercial break. You’ve gotta come back if you want to find out who killed Jane (and with what blunt object or poison or gun or knife or whatever)! Don’t miss a second! So NOT watching the show once started is simply not an option.

Stories of serial killers and rapists abound. Many of the stories reveal the perpetrator was a complete stranger. And after watching episode after episode of this show, you REALLY start losing faith in humanity. I started getting (even more) paranoid about the house being locked up tight and the house alarm always being set at night. Listening for strange noises outside the window (I don’t want there to be some peeping Tom out there! Forensic Files has included a story on a peeping Tom turned killer, wouldn’t cha know.).

So between Gerald’s dutch ovens, protecting my neck from vampires, and now having to sleep with one eye open, it’s no wonder I get any sleep at all these days.


Apparently, he was feeling stabby

Die, banana, die!

Gerald installed a camera in our living area to keep tabs on things when we’re not home (i.e., so we can spy on the kids). The other day, I got a text message from my oldest saying he was bringing friends over to the house before heading back to the school to watch a basketball game. First let me say my son wasn’t asking if friends could come over, I suppose this message was his way of telling me this little impromptu get together was already a done deal. So I did what any parent with an installed home camera would do in this situation – I clicked on the camera app on my phone to take a gander at what these children were up to in my house.

It looked like an episode of Junior High Kids Gone Wild, and I was not a happy camper. We’ve told my son before there are to be no other kids in the house while there is zero adult presence. He’s such a good listener. But anyway, I could see a couple kids going in and out of the front door, in and out of the fridge, in and out of the pantry (or food closet as Gerald and his Scottish self sometimes calls it), and in and out of my bedroom (!). They were also standing on chairs, going in and out of my sons’ rooms, going down the hall, and who knows what else. They cleared out to head to the game, and we knew we would have quite the nice conversation with our son later that evening.

When we got a chance to ask our son, WTF? he did his typical teenage stammering. It was obvious our oldest child didn’t realize how fast things can get out of hand when you tell a bunch of your friends, “Hey, yeah, everybody come over to my house to hang out!” It’s like they were wild animals (hmm… junior high kids) recently released from captivity (hmm… school) and he obviously had no idea how to keep things in check. The boys even finished off the ice cream sandwiches (oh you sooo know Gerald was probably all thinking, “Oh no they ditten!” in his head) and had gotten into some old Halloween candy (I don’t really care about the candy, but it’s the principle, damnit).

My son acted like he didn’t want to tell us about something “funny” that had happened, but why else would he bring it up unless he wanted to tell us? Oooo, I know, I know! He secretly wanted to let us know (I should sooo be a detective). Apparently, one of the boys had taken a screwdriver out of the kitchen drawer (one of the bazillions of kitchen junk drawers), and stabbed some frozen bananas in the freezer. ? Oh those crazy junior high kids.

But anyway, Gerald told our son to share with his friends that we watched the whole banana stabbing on camera and now no one can come over to the house when we’re not home. This turned out to be a win-win for everyone. Gerald could look like the bad guy, the guy who put the kabosh on the kids’ fun, and our son didn’t have to look like a wet blanket to his friends. My son told us it ended up being the talk of the school, all the kids thought it was so funny. No one is allowed at his house because so and so was stabbing bananas with a screwdriver.

My son told me the big question before the stabbing incident was why I had all those frozen bananas in the freezer. Oh, like I’m the weird one here.


Smell that smell, the smell of home

You know how your home has certain unique smells that only exist in your home? Even when you go to other people’s houses, they, the houses that is, have a smell (And the people do too, I’m sure, I’m just trying to stay on topic). Usually it’s pleasant and if it happens to stink like cat piss, you just bite your tongue and pretend you have lost all sense of smell due to a sinus infection or something.

When I walked in the house the other day, I was hit with essence of dog and feet, not sure how else to describe it. Constant reminders of our often smelly dog and constant reminders of how I am the only female in my house, besides the stinky bitch I just mentioned.

And oh what joy when more scents are thrown into the mix. I do like the heavily scented candles so I’ll burn those every now and then, but then it’s more like dog, feet, and pumpkin spice. And when the cleaning ladies come, they’ve been using some sort of carpet freshener. I suppose they’re just trying their darndest to help get the dog odor funk out of the carpets. Good luck with that. The good smells last a little while, but it doesn’t take long before dog and feet, then joined by sweaty junior high boy and stale pizza take over once again.

And oh isn’t is quite the experience when you come home, sniff, and… What is that? When we first got our beloved rescue dog, Bama, of course an adjustment period was necessary. When she went outside, and how she alerted us that she needed to go outside to take care of her doggy business. Well, we didn’t know all these schedules and signs at the start. I came home with the boys one day and we walked in the door as usual, turned off the house alarm as usual. Stop. Nobody move. Something’s weird. I couldn’t see any evidence right away, but I knew Bama had dumped a load somewhere in the house. I told the boys to walk very carefully. We flipped on lights and sniffed and walked, and sniffed and walked. And then there it was. The vast majority on the front doormat, and a lone remnant that had sort of rolled under the dining room table. I didn’t see the under-the-table rogue dog turd at the start of the cleanup effort, so after I had rolled up and then pitched the whole doormat with the dog crap inside, I thought I was done. No wait. Sniff. Sniff. Something is still not right. There is still some missing something. Oh, found it!

Thankfully, that lovely gift from our newly adopted dog didn’t leave a lingering scent once it was all cleared out. But all the other aforementioned smells, and then some, tend to stick around. I suppose that’s because the odors’ sources never completely vacate the premises. Ahhh… and that’s what I call home!


Man vs. dog

For simplicity’s sake, I’ve made this a “day” timeline, but I believe a six month to a year timeline would be more accurate. Damn dog.

Day 1 — Man notices dog has been getting on the (forbidden) furniture when no one is home. Dog: 1  Man: 0

Day 2 — Man covers furniture with whatever can be found (e.g., little chairs, stepping stool, books). Dog stays off furniture. Dog: 1 Man: 1

Day 3 — Man notices dog moved little chairs, stepping stool, books out of the way and was back on furniture when no one was home. Dog: 2  Man: 1

Day 4 — Man puts protective blanket over part of furniture and covers the rest with chairs, stepping stool, books.  Dog stays confined to spot on furniture. Dog: 2  Man: 2

Day 5 — Man notices dog has pulled protective blanket off and was back on the furniture when no one was home. Dog: 3  Man: 2

Day 6 — Man attempts to secure blanket with industrial strength Velcro. Dog pulls the secured protective blanket off and was back on the furniture when no one was home. Dog: 4  Man: 2

Day 7 — Man buys “keep off” spray at the pet store and sprays a towel (because there ain’t no way I’m letting him spray that stuff directly on the sofa!) and lays the towel on dog’s spot on the sofa. That will do it. That will keep her away. Dog moves sprayed towel and was back on the furniture when no one was home. Dog: 5  Man: 2

Day 8 — Man secures protective blanket with equipment from the weight room. That should do it, there’s no way she’s moving that thing now, but hopefully she won’t impale herself on the pointy part of the weight equipment that is now on the sofa. Dog does NOT move any of that, but there is evidence of dog on another once-covered-with-a-little-chair spot on the sofa when no one was home. Dog: 6  Man: 2

Day 9 — Man keeps secured protective blanket in place but the rest of the family piles high the other areas of the sofa. Cannot tell for sure if dog had been on any part of the furniture when no one was home. Dog: 6  Man: 2

Day 10 — Man brings home a kennel/crate (nice words for cage). Dog: 0  Man: 1

The end.

Find Bama
Can you spot the dog in this picture? Smile for the camera, Bama, you’re on candid camera!



Oh no you ditten!

Right vs Wrong

I’m betting I’m not the only one who has done something that could be considered umm… questionable? If choice of Right or Wrong, my actions in the following scenarios would all be considered wrong. But who will cast the first stone?  I dare you.

I was doing the usual mountains of laundry my family continuously churns out, and, after I finished one of the loads, I realized I had forgotten to add the detergent. Did I do the right thing and rewash the whole load WITH detergent? Um, no.

When my youngest was still a “youngster” youngster, maybe around five or six?, he was in the hot tub. (And Gerald and I were standing right there so he wasn’t alone and not in a dangerous situation or anything) Before we could get him out, he hit the button for the jets and was having a grand time. We didn’t have the heart to tell him there was a dead mouse skeleton in there with him as well. <I know, ew!> We had known about the dead mouse in the pool for a while but we were just too damn lazy to bother getting it out. We had no idea our kiddo would decide to hop on in there with what was left of the poor rodent. We at least sped up our son’s whirlpool departure.

Back in my latter days of high school, I gave a guy a wrong number, only to have the friend who was with me say my (correct) number out loud while the guy and I were both standing there. Busted.  <And even more awkward when he actually called the right number>

I took my youngest shopping, and even though I did not need a new purse, I convinced myself that I deserved the cute red purse hanging right there, just taunting me, I tell you. It made me feel better that Gerald actually agreed with my reasoning, that taking my youngest shopping for clothes was ROUGH, and I did deserve a reward. Haven’t used the purse yet though…

Okay, let’s hear what y’all got. Where have you sort of crossed the line due to laziness, a sense of entitlement, or whatever?



This will be my year, right?

Happy New Year

I actually meant to post this before 2015 hit, but my thoughts/opinion remain the same, so what the hey. Friends and family sometimes tell me I’m a bit of a pessimist (who, me??), but I like to think myself a realist. But in spite of any pessimistic realistic attitude, have the best new year life will allow a Happy New Year!

So often around New Year’s, I hear someone say the new year will be their year. Since they consider the current year so awful, I suppose they’re looking for some relief. The ol’ “this too shall pass” thing, right?

I don’t like to look at an upcoming year like this. To me, each day usually holds its ups and downs, and I can’t fit it into a predetermined peg hole. It really has no set shape or form. I can’t say my entire 2014 was crap and look forward to 2015 thinking it’s got to be better. Why would I want to have that attitude? Do you really think everything will go your way in 2015? Don’t we all wish, but life ain’t like the movies. Unfortunately, we will still experience illness and, heaven forbid, death. Accidents could still occur and fights and conflicts between family and friends. The list of the bad goes on and on. It’s every day life, not every year life.

But you gotta look at the good too. There are babies being born and new love, weddings, anniversaries, a child’s growth and achievements, a raise, an anticipated trip, and the list goes on. I say don’t wait for the new year to start looking for the positives. They’re all around you. And then once you hit that new year, I’m not saying to start looking for the negatives, but just KNOW they’re going to happen. Don’t go into the new year thinking you have this super shield around you, that you’ve been struck by so much bad in the last year that anymore is just not possible.

And why wait for the new year to start that resolution? If you want to better yourself in whatever way, do it now. Start living your better you, your better life, now. It’s like if you wait until the new year to start a better habit or to end an old habit, you’re expecting this perfect platform, this perfect time. I think we’ve all been around the block enough times to know that life doesn’t line up perfectly for you to start (or end) anything. Take starting a family for example. Gerald and I waited a few years after getting married before we seriously considered starting a family, but we discovered that no matter how much we planned and prepared, it just wasn’t a 100% ideal environment. Same can be said for deciding to search for a new job. No matter how much you want to switch jobs and how much you prepare, it’s still a pretty big shock to the system. You can’t be totally prepared. So there really is no point in waiting until the new year to switch some gears in your life. If you have any prep work to do, by all means do it, but again, no need to wait until a new year.

I get that after a hellacious year, the pursuit for better days is on, but I’m saying start looking for those better days today, this week, this month. No need to wait until the start of the new year to anticipate good times. They’ll come, and, thankfully, they are not dependent on the days of the calendar.