You do realize you’re in public…


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Do you think people who are out in public, register the fact that they are out in public? I mean, is it possible that people have been raised as animals and they therefore have no concept of what in public means? Maybe they view being in public as a very large extension of their living room and feel comfortable letting it all hang out.

A few weeks ago I went to watch a movie at the local drive-in movie theater. It’s awesome, fully digital, an amazing throwback to the good old days of my childhood. I had Lola in the backseat, Jason was the driver, and I was in charge of the tray we would use to hold the food we ordered. Side note: We purchased the tray after an unfortunate popcorn dropping incident that resulted in me near tears as my corn dog followed suit.

We are sitting in the car, ridiculously early since it was opening night for Furious 7, when I spotted a van door open. Being the people watcher that I am, I focused on the scene unfolding in front of me. Jason was also watching but instead of the hysterical response I was displaying, he had a look of terror in his eyes. I’m pretty sure he prayed for blindness.

A rather voluptuous young lady steps out of the van and proceeds to walk towards the snack bar. The Hubster and I happened to be directly between her and said snack bar. So as the girl walks towards us she reaches her hand, into her bra(!), and pulls her boob up until it almost pops out of her tank top dress.

My mouth drops open. Hubster gasps and winces.

Then the girls reaches, into her bra(!) again, and pulls her other boob up until it almost pops out of her dress.

I start laughing hysterically while the Hubster desperately tries to pretend something, anything, is happening someplace else.

And then the pièce de résistance…she puts both hands under her breasts and just heaves them around until they are perfectly situated to her liking. And I have to hand it to her, she didn’t even slow her stride towards the food as she did all this.

Now, for those of you who need more information on how woefully in public this girl was, I’ve got that info for you. She was standing in a sea of cars, cars filled with people waiting for a movie. There were families everywhere getting a pre-show they didn’t know they needed. The guy in the car next to me looked like he was about to take up drugs because he was evidently suffering hallucinations without all the other good benefits of being high.

It’s cool though, weed is legal in this state.

At this point, the girl is long past me but I’m watching her in the side mirror, just waiting for her to make the trek back to her car as interesting as she made her first. I’m laughing so hard I have tears streaming down my face and I keep yelling at the Hubster, “I’m writing this down! This is why Alison bought me a purse notebook! She knew this lady was going to be walking by me in a few days!” 

And now I need to go ponder the implications of my friend being psychic without realizing it.


Twinkies are not an extra…


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I’m starting a new Little this week and I’m one part excited and one part scared. Scared shitless to be exact. I’m worried the newbie won’t take a bottle or sleep. I’ve got a great thing going with the two older Littles and this newbie might just throw us into chaos.

I’ve done a few things to ensure that the newbie will settle into a daycare routine. One, I’ve prepared the Lola nanny. Lola is ready to lie down next to the newbie and keep her warm while the big ones play. Lola is thrilled with the task, the big ones can move and she dislikes that feature in a Little.

There is nothing better than a Little who stays where you put them. Especially when you’re running to the potty. I can’t count the number of times I have to hold it because the Littles will completely break down into anarchy at my leaving.

I’ve also decided to establish a newbie napping room. It’s going to be great. It’s dark, the temperature is perfect, and best of all, it’s quiet. She’ll be able to nap in peace while the other Littles hurl their toys with glee and shriek endlessly.

I have no plan in place for a newbie who can’t get her boob juice straight from the source. There is never a plan for this contingency. I basically do a few leg stretches, prepare my ears by taking out the hearing aids, and if all else fails, implement a Hail Mary pass.

It never works, but the small hope that it will work one day, keeps me in this profession. That and my love for Twinkies that the Hubster won’t purchase for me unless I bring in my own income.

Apparently Twinkies are an “extra” we have to give up if I don’t work.

It’s the world cup of taste testing…


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Brits vs. American food

British, Japanese, Americans

Today I did a grand event featuring three countries and their Ritz crackers. It was two-part, the first features two countries duking it out in a mini Ritz cheese cracker competition.

American food vs. Japan food


Japanese on the left, Americans on the right

The second part was regular Ritz crackers from three countries; Britain, America, and Japan. We ate them plain and drank a lot of juice to cure our dry mouths.

Brit vs. American food

Brits on the left, Americans on the right, and Japanese hanging in the middle praying a war doesn’t break out.

I enlisted Jessica to help me taste test the crackers. Jessica is the mom of the prodigal daughter who returned to me this weekend. As the mother of a toddler, she’s eaten a shit ton of Ritz crackers and I found her highly qualified to judge. She was also the only person around when I wanted to eat crackers.

Brit vs. American food

Redcoats vs. Imperials vs. Colonials 

That’s British, Japanese, and Americans, for those of you who fail at Trivia Crack.

So let’s go ahead and give you the results for the cheese crackers. I only compared the US version to the Japanese version (obviously I didn’t order enough British snack items). The Japanese mini cheese crackers were much lighter in color; the cheese was a natural looking yellow. The American version was a darker, more brownish-yellow. I had never noticed that before and it was disconcerting to realize I’ve been eating cheese that is poop colored all my life.

As far as cheese distribution, American work ethic was apparent immediately. The cheese on the US cracker was all bunched up and unevenly applied. Kind of like some teenager was getting paid $15 an hour to hit a button that squirted the cheese at the correct time. But, instead of hitting the button on time, he was playing Clash of Clans and was hitting it just a second too late.

I’m firing that dork face, he doesn’t deserve his paycheck.

The Japanese cheese was so smoothly and so evenly applied, that you wondered if someone was hand painting the cheese into place. And then we decided to bite into the crackers. The Japanese version immediately filled our mouth with a pleasant cheese flavor. The cracker was crunchy and light and left an overall fresh feeling in the mouth. I’m not sure if this was Nabisco’s aim with the Japanese recipe for the Ritz, but it was nice.

The American version was salt. Just salt. You couldn’t taste any of the cheese and you had to guzzle half a can of juice to get it down your throat. It definitely had less crunch.

Come on America!! It’s bad enough that our own brands are being beaten out each week by the British. I really cannot stand the thought that the Japanese are also getting a better product, a product that was invented by the Americans for crying out loud.

Let’s move along to the plain cracker taste test. No cheese filling to mess with the results. Appearance wise, the British had the lightest color cracker while the Japanese had the darkest color. The Americans had the shiniest color. I bet you could have seen it shining from the Space Station.

I told Jessica it was just all the chemicals we Americans add to our food to make it taste better. We figured at this point in our lives, we’ve ingested a lot of chemicals and as long as the food tasted good, we’d keep on doing it.

So we bit into the British cracker and we instantly died. Not really, but we did choke a bit. The British cracker was dry. Very, very dry. I think they must dunk these in tea. No way were we getting these things down without tea. Maybe we shouldn’t have been so hasty in dumping our tea in the Boston Harbor in 1773. It also had no buttery flavor, in fact, we couldn’t detect a flavor other than dry mouth.

Then we ate the Japanese Ritz. It was salty, too salty. And we’re Americans; we thrive on salt! I think Japanese people use these crackers in the place of salt licks for their farm animals.

The shiny American cracker was finally up on deck. Please god don’t let me down now…

It was light, buttery and perfectly salted. HALLELUJAH! We finally did it! Sure, we may have miserably lost the cheese Ritz taste test. But we won the regular Ritz test. And frankly, I’m taking this win and running with it. Suck it, suckers!!!

Sorry, I really let this win go to my head. I would like to think I could win with dignity, but I think that’s asking a bit much of me. I’ve been getting pummeled for weeks in these taste tests. I thought I had a win that one time, with the mac & cheese, but I got outvoted by my fellow Americans. Traitors.

If you’d like to give the British version of Ritz crackers a whirl, check them out on their website. Just order yourself some tea, because I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it there.

Report back to me what you thought.

I may be biting off more than I can chew…




I am starting a massive overhaul of my blog. I’ve been plotting this out for months and I’m finally ready to tackle the beast. Categories, tags, custom colors, media file overhaul, layout; you name it, I’m fixing it.

The worst part is that I’m not sure the average reader will be able to see the tweaks. But the professional blog readers will notice and for them, I dedicate myself to this task.

I may need to take a week off from my day job…

The prodigal daughter returns…


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In just two short days, one of the Littles is returning to where she began. This Little holds an especially dear place in my heart. She was a clone of me, personality wise. I read through some of my old posts and picked out three that perfectly sum up life with the Zoë.

This was the time the zombie disease ravaged poor Zoë:

And the time I had to drive her to the Emergency Room:

This Little and I have seen things; bad things. But we also got all the laughter that comes when skinny jeans rise up and beat the humans.

Toe socks anyone?!?!

The time Zoë’s big toe kicked her sock’s ass.




Hang a sample on the shelf like they do for pens…


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I’d like to take this moment to get something off my chest. Every single woman in the world feels the same way about this, I know because I’ve polled them all.

Feminine hygiene products: STOP CHANGING YOUR PACKAGING!!!!

You are seriously starting to tick us off. I walked down the aisle the other day with two girlfriends and no kidding, it took me 15 minutes to find the same shit I’ve been using my whole life.

And this happens every damn month!!

Newsflash Tampax, Kotex, Playtex and every other company with a fucking X: we need this shit. You don’t have to make amazing packages that tell us we are pearls, or sporty, or gentle ladies, or radiant. We are buying your crap every month, we get it. You like us and think we’re awesome.

Now put some fucking samples in that aisle for us to see, since your packaging is too busy telling me my skin is glowing to show me what the item looks like. All I really need to know is if this product is the one that will do the job. God forbid you actually give me useful information!!

Balls, I am irritated. Or should I say pearls?!

All the way from Japan…


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Normally on Fridays I post a taste test pitting American foods against their versions from another country. Sadly, I’m on vacation visiting home and cannot post one of those today. But don’t be too sad for me, I’m from Hawai’i….

Did jealousy rear its ugly head as you bundle under an umbrella and jacket in the cold, wet weather you’re currently suffering in?!?!

Alright, alright, I’ll stop torturing you. Heck, I’m even going to give you some great news. Next week’s taste test will pit American Ritz Crackers against their British counterpart.

But wait, that’s not all! (Sorry, for the infomercial tag line, but it’s 0530 and that’s all there is on TV as I type.) I’m testing Japan’s Ritz Crackers also.

We can all thank the Shank List for this delightful twist. A few weeks ago, I added Corey to the list. It was his birthday and I had forgotten a gift, so I decided the gift of the Shank List was the only way to go. In order to get off the Shank List I gave him three options. He (or his wife) decided to go with the second option which was to send me Japanese treats that I could taste.

Japanese vs. American food

We have Ritz Crackers, three types of Kit Kats, Oreos, what appears to be a Nestle Crunch Bar, and some hard candies.

I’m not going to lie, I’m intrigued by the Kit Kat that requires you to finish baking it after you buy it.


Future submariner in training…


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I currently have two Littles in care. One is practically an adult, he walks and talks and sasses me with his cute little face; it’s irresistible. Luckily, instead of him aging out of my infant home at 24 months old, he’ll be moving to a new duty station.

It makes it easier for he and I to cope if we don’t run into each other at the park and cry because we miss the old days.

The Tiny Little is the Hulk. You remember her. I’ve written many blogs about her tiny Little temper. (The time she actually was the Hulk.) (How about the time she “lost” her pizza?!) (Who could forget about this Little gem about one of her first meltdowns in daycare?)

Today the Hulk has decided that she’s going to channel her rage into productivity. She’s going to be a submariner.

Rule number one of submarine life, be content in small spaces. The Little has passed this with no issues. Her favorite relaxation spot is in the toy shelf. She clears out the toys and lies down every single day.

Submariner Marilyn

 Can I get you a pillow or anything?!

Rule number two of submarine life, be content with canned food.

Spam Kitty

Judging by the speed with which she downed her Spam on Hawai’i Day, I’d say she’s ok with this rule. And FYI, Hawai’i Day is amazing. We eat Spam and listen to music from the islands. Pure bliss.

The third and final rule of submarine life is to thrive under pressure.

Mission achieved. Hulk Little thrives when completing any task that she knows will displease me. She just gets in there, gets the job done, and sits with a smile on her face while I lose my mind. Case in point, she climbed up a toy shelf, scaled the back of the couch, and was perched on top of it in victory.

And she had to do it all in the 2 minutes I was making her bottle while telling her to get down.

She’s going to do just fine on a submarine.





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