Winnie the Poo (No, I didn't misspell it)

I took Luke to see Winnie the Pooh yesterday with some friends. Thankfully, it was short because I hate Winnie the Pooh with everything that I have. I could give you a descriptive breakdown of each character and their tragic flaws, but suffice it to say I could punch every one of them in the face and not feel bad about it. There’s nothing worse than a whiner. Take a Prozac already, Eeyore because I don’t want to hear it. As for the most pointless character award, that goes to Piglet. I won’t ruin the ending for you, not because I’m a nice person, but because you should have to sit through the same shit I did.

You get my drift. I dislike the whole idea of Winnie the Pooh, but I sacrificed for my kid because he loves that bear (and because I knew it was only one hour and nine minutes long). Despite my role as martyr, I found a way to amuse myself.

We couldn’t see a movie without popcorn, so I approached the counter and was greeted by a neatly dressed metrosexual gentleman. I ordered our snacks, and whipped out my wallet to pay. “Sorry about all these ones,” I said. “I’m an exotic dancer.” His eyes shifted from the cash register to me, then to Luke, and back to the register. His uninterested silence had called my bluff. “Not really,” I said feeling dejected. “I just had a yard sale.” I suddenly felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing after announcing to Patrick Swayze that she had “carried a watermelon”. He finally opened his mouth to say, “Mmmkay, thanks.”

So I get it. My joke wasn’t appropriate for the orientation of the audience, and maybe my joke wasn’t funny at all, but it had taken my mind off of what was to come for the next hour and nine minutes of my life. I took solace in that. The extra buttered popcorn didn't hurt either.  

No Habla Español

Yesterday I had a very successful yard sale-palooza, but since I don’t speak Spanish, I was challenged by the Hispanic patrons. How exactly do you say, “No I won’t take $1 for this Jones New York cashmere sweater. You have insulted me and my family. Now get off my land?” Despite my ignorance for the young woman’s language, I improvised by shaking my head vigorously and saying, “Not less than two dolareemos.” I’m pretty sure my raised voice and exaggerated mouth gestures helped penetrate the English-speaking portion of her brain. I’m not stupid. I know they all have one.  She then stole a headband.

Later, a Hispanic gentleman took a fancy for a comforter I had for sale. It was marked $10, but he used what little English he knew to ask if I would take $5. “Seven,” I said firmly. He put it down and got back in his van. Not wanting to lug the king size comforter to Goodwill with everything else that didn’t sell, I shouted, “I’ll take cinco!” He got out of his van and paid me cinco.

Despite the occasional language barrier, I managed to score a couple hundred dollars and unload a lot of stuff I no longer needed. More importantly, I earned another grown-up badge for planning and carrying out a successful yard sale. That makes two badges this year when combined with my grown-up badge for finally getting window treatments for my house. At this rate, I’ll have enough badges to be a mature adult by the time I’m forty. 

Adios, amigos.

Luke-isms: Too Stank

I walked in the back door and Luke was seated at the kitchen table having a snack. I had been watering the plants outside, although you’d never know it by looking at my yard. He looked up from his Oreo cakesters and said, “Mom are you too stank?”

I thought this might be a trap. “I beg your pardon?” I asked.

He repeated it nice and slow, as if I were old and stupid. “Are. You. Too. Stank?”

“Do you know what stank means, Luke?”

“Yes, it means really hungry.”

“Then, yes. I’m very stank.”

He laughed and I wondered where he would have learned such a word. I’m sure his teacher at preschool doesn’t say, “Alright, boys and girls! Get your lunchboxes. I hope you’re all stank.”  And, he’s never heard his father and I say, “I’m so stank I could eat a horse.” I chalked it up to one of life’s great mysteries, but I wasn’t ready for it to become a habit.  “If it means hungry, then just say hungry, alright?”

“But Mom, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too stinky,” he chuckled.

He knew what it meant all along, and he was right. With a heat index of 110 degrees outside it’s hard for me to be anything but stank. 

Deep Thoughts

If someone with a lazy eye gives a "come hither" look, is that a mixed signal?

To: (Almost) All the Fish in the Sea

Field reporter, Andrea, sent this advertisement to me last week. It's a personal ad she came across on a bulletin board in Montevallo, AL. Single ladies, take note. 

"Grady" seemed to have left out some important details like how many hogs he has, and whether or not he has an above ground pool. Those two things would seal the deal if I were a single white woman. Six acres ain't easy to come by these days. It's awful temptin'. Yessirree, awful temptin'.

PSA- Bullying

Fight to stop bullying today, or else. I'm serious. I'll cut you. 

Isn't it Ironic?

Dear Alanis Morisette,

This is the definition of irony.

Bareheaded motorcyclist dies in helmet protest 
(Click to read CNN article.)

 I'm happy to have cleared that up for you.

Brantley-isms, There's No Safety in Silence

My husband was blessed with a lot of things. He has a wonderful personality. He’s good looking. He’s a good provider and a hard worker. Those are all great qualities, but there is one quality that he was not blessed with, and that is tact. The absence of tact has come up from time to time in our marriage. However, there are usually long breaks between each tactless episode so that I almost forget to be afraid.

Segue into date night with our friends a couple of weeks ago. Brantley was working until six o’clock that evening so I rode with our friends. As we waited on the interstate off ramp for the red light to change we saw Brantley up ahead. He was on the highway waiting for the same light. The top was down on his convertible and he was looking cool in his shades. We honked and waved to him, and when he saw us, a big smile came across his face. Ice ran through my veins. I had seen that evil smile before. He knew all of our eyes were on him and I could feel that something bad was about to happen.

Before I could even speak, Brantley sat up as straight and tall as he could. I cringed as he raised to giant middle fingers into the air, and slowly began to drive (hands free). I could see drivers in front and behind him looking at each other in a “What’s this guys problem?” sort of fashion. A few moments later, he lowered his giant hands and drove away. “Wow,” I said to my friends. “We’re meeting that guy for dinner.”

He’s been on his best behavior since that incident, but I know better than to get comfortable. Just when I begin to think that I have the most perfect husband, I turn around and see him mowing the lawn as he shuffles his feet with his pants around his ankles to make the neighbors laugh. That ladies and gentlemen, is my little piece of heaven.