Sometimes it's nice to get mail

My blogger friend is very talented. And funny as hell. Check her out. If you click on her vlog, you can check out her legs too. She has her husband to thank for that one, I think.

Death and taxes

This is not a post about death. It is, however, about taxes.

I've been doing my taxes for years. Which is good because it's a felony NOT to do taxes. But this year is my first year of doing taxes with my new business. What business, you say? The one that isn't off the ground yet, but apparently is legal enough that I can write my laptop off to it. I think. If it's not, I swear I thought it was.

It also seems that I have gotten my father's genes when it comes to doing taxes. I remember one year after my father did taxes that we ended up with a negative income. I guess that would be a loss. The man knew how to write off everything. And his record-keeping left a lot to be desired. A shoe box full of receipts. I think his accountant would have jumped off a mountain he hadn't had to drive 7 hours to find a hill tall enough.

So this morning I am doing taxes and saying things to myself like, "I think it was $325 to list the condo that never sold, or was it $375?" It is too sad that I am too damn cheap to share my return with H&R Block, because they could probably save me dollars.

And the possibility of tax penalties. Ah, screw it.

Imagine a world without Direct TV and Tivo--it's called Hell

Yesterday the kid got a hold of the new remote control for the tv. He did something crazy and I thought I might get stuck watching Sesame Street on loop for 72 hours. It took me 20 minutes to figure out how to get the tv to speak English again. Not that I wasn't enjoying the German. It's just that I don't speak German. It was like the time I was in Munich and watched "The Hitcher" on German tv. The true meaning of lost in translation. It just isn't as scary.

We don't actually know how to use the new remote which is why the boy is allowed to wander aimlessly around the house with it. We gave up and are back to using the old one. Occasionally I'll hide the new remote behind a cushion in case I lose out in the remote-control-acquisition and I'm caught watching a really riveting Nova episode on the creation of evolution. Just hit "List--The Girls Next Door--enter." Pisses him off every time.

So tonight the kid starts pushing buttons and the screen goes blank. Blank, I say. But with the nasty static sound.

K: What did he do?
D: I don't know.
E: This.
K: Get it back. I want to watch Law and Order.
E: That.
D: I can't.
E: This.

20 minutes later and we have come to the conclusion that the gloriously loud lightning/thunder storm we had may have blown out our TiVo.

K: You gotta fix it.
D: I can't.
K: What do you mean, you can't?
E: THIS!
D: I think one of those strikes blew out the TiVo.
K: What are we going to do? What if we have to just talk to each other? OMG! We have to have TiVo. Is Costco still open?
E: THAT!
D: No.
K: What will we talk about? This is a crisis. I can't live without TiVo.
D: I'm going to give the boy his bath. I guess we'll just read in bed.
E: THIS!

I feel like I need one of those board games you play at mixer parties to get to know other people. You know the ones that have those cards to generate conversation. If I don't figure out something to talk about, my husband will think this is a perfect opportunity to talk about babies.

"So can you believe the crappy hiring practices at Homeland Security..."

It's good to be at the top

I'm talking to B today, whining about how I am going to have to get a job, and quick, and she offers me an opportunity to get in on the top of a pyramid scheme.

It seems that this girl she knows, who hates her, called her yesterday to tell her at she was looking for a strong member to be part of a strong team.

K: Amway?
B: No, some beauty products.
K: No kidding. Isn't she the adjective queen. She didn't actually say "strong member" of a "strong team" did she?
B: Yep.
K: So what do you sell?
B: Nothing.
K: What do you mean, you don't sell anything?
B: I just have to find more "strong members" for our "strong team."
K: She is not this stupid. And she hates you. Which may explain why she is offering you an opportunity to commit a FELONY. Does she know this is a pyramid scheme?
B: How can she not? She's not actually selling anything. At least I don't think so. I didn't read any of the stuff she gave me. So how am I supposed to tell her no?
K: How about "I hate the Bureau and being under investigation does not sound fun to me." Or "you know, Madonna, I have issues with embezzling and it would only be a matter of time before I was ripping you off and I wouldn't want to jeopardize our totally fake friendship." And if you like you could add "and I mean 'friendship' as it refers to someone who goes to someone's grandmother's wake and never actually acknowledges her presence and yes it is seven months later but I can hold a grudge and I never really liked you anyway, you self-centered money-grubbing conniving bitch."
B: You know, people in the Midwest are making a LOT of money in this pyramid scheme.
K: You didn't actually refer to it as a pyramid scheme when you were talking to her about it, but if you did, you are so cool.
B: There is even a weekly conference call to discuss it.
K: Wow. Now I know it's legit. I was wondering before, but if there is a conference call it must be for real. You should totally do it.
B: You know, she said that lots of lawyers are involved in this.
K: Yes, they are. I have no doubt that LOTS of lawyers are involved in this. On retainer, I'm sure. So how are the beauty products?
B: I haven't really noticed a difference.
K: I will so give you $10 I don't have if you call her up and tell her that you don't know what is in this lotion but you have had 3 guys propose marriage already today, and that one was at a red light.
B: You think?
K: Totally.

And to think that people are still falling for this. I love it.

Mute! There's a mute button, right?

My son has developed righteous indignation. Righteous indignation equal to that of a Southern Baptist minister who has just found out that instead of going to the mall, the youth group went to see Dirty Dancing, and now the youth minister's daughter is pregnant, and we told you that dancing would lead to this, and I don't care what you say, Marelle, that baby's sunken eyes, just because she had sunken eyes, didn't look anything like my boyfriend's sunken eyes.

The latest outlet for the boy's indignation? How his evil mother who has blatantly ignored him for twenty minutes as she attempted to make chocolate chip cookies would then DENY HIM the right to the 14 ounce package of chocolate-covered expresso beans that he so faithfully and laboreously freed from their captivity and was speedily piling on the floor between his legs while occasionally snacking on a couple. You would have thought I pulled all 10 of his teeth right out of his head with a pair of plyers. I couldn't even hear myself think.

E: WWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
K: (frantically scooping the beans off the floor with one hand and yanking the beans already in his mouth with the other hand) NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
E: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (trying to hide the beans under his legs while frantically chew, chew, chewing when he actually stopped to breathe).
K: These are for MOM and they are only for emergency purposes. Do you know that one time Mom ate 4 of these and managed to stay up for 20 hours straight.
E: WWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
K: In baby world, 4 beans is like 40 and that would make it ........................ (realizing that math was never my forte) staying up a long time!
E: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Lord have mercy. I'm buying this kid a "Drama Queen" t-shirt.

I need some help here

Why is it that my child, when handed a cup, can miraculously grip it tightly (yet in a bizarre twist, almost gently) with both of his grimy little hands, slowly put it up to his mouth and drink without spilling even a drop sometimes, but when there is a full can of Dr. Pepper (minus one baby sip because God forbid anyone give me a chance to drink a drink or actually do anything in this house EVER) resting on the back of the couch against the wall, my son has to grip it with both hands at the very bottom of the can and up-end it so the entire thing pours all over the couch faster than shotgunning a beer like you did back in the old days before domesticity and parental obligations forced you to this life of involuntary servitude?

Why? On a stack of Bibles, the kid wouldn't do it if it was a bottle of water. Just remember, it's not a consipiracy theory if it is really happening. And perception is reality.

If you thought I was a hard ass before...

I think I have found the solution to getting this kid out of my bed.

Because he has to get out of my bed. If he doesn't get out of my bed, I can already see the argument when I catch him in bed with his girlfriend--the argument about whose bed it really is.

So last Friday I put him in his crib for his nap. You know, the torture chamber. He started to scream maniacally. I called D.

K: I put him in his crib.
D: I can hear him.
K: From work?

Crickets.

Of all the things I miss since I have gotten pregnant and had a child, I miss my brain the most.

K: He is not happy. (able to actually smell my husband disapproval at my actions)
D: (clearly trying to decide of catching a cab home to save his mirror image from the EVIL MOTHER would be faster than, say, calling Child Protective Services directly) I thought we were going to get him his own bed this weekend.
K: I won't let him cry long. He has only been crying for 5 minutes. That's about how long he has cried (cumulatively) since birth.
D: Well I guess crying for a little while won't hurt. Maybe 10 minutes.

This spoken like a man who has not had to give up ONE INCH of his side of the pillow top mattress to the child I am now affectionately referring to as T-bone, because that's how he likes to sleep these days.

I then went out to Costco and bought an Elmo blow-up toddler bed. Which looks frightfully like a dog bed. Which my husband HAD to bring to my attention.

However, I have not had to share my bed with anyone (excect the person who pays the mortgage) for three whole days. So the kid sleeps in an Elmo dog bed. At least he's sleeping and it isn't with me.