Outnumbered Two to One

• I broke my kids’ Guitar Hero controller. It was nothing personal, I just dropped it right on its magic sensor and poof the damn thing stopped working. Luckily when we purchased it we got an accompanying warranty for just such accidents. Yesterday when I called for service, after a lengthy 20 minutes of navigating their voice menu, the kind gentlemen on the telephone took down all my pertinent information, then asked me whether or not the strings had broken on my “guitar”. I was a little puzzled for a moment before I realized this guy was a little technologically clueless. I had to explain that the wireless guitar comes with buttons and stickers and complex internal mechanisms but alas no strings. Then it was his turn to be puzzled.
• My two year old likes to use my basket of clean folded laundry as a recliner, he plops his butt down on a stack of clean tee-shirts and sits back. I can almost envision him 20 years from now on his own Lazy Boy, sporting a beer gut and holding the TV remote in a death grip, the other hand tucked neatly in to his pants. It makes me proud, he’ll make some lucky girl a fabulous husband.
• My husband doesn’t understand why I dislike Rachel Ray but love her 30 minute recipes. It’s simple mathematics E-V-O-O + Yummo + Delish = Annoying. But a tasty recipe in 30 minutes or less is genius. It’s even better if you can trick someone else in to making it for you. Preferably not Rachel Ray since the overwhelming desire to flick her in the nose might have adverse effects on your appetite.
• People around me keep getting knocked up and having babies. Been there, done that. Still it makes me feel a little left out, like I embraced a trend a little too early then got over it after months of ridicule only to have it suddenly become all the rage. Like I gave all my over-sized shirts and stirrup pants to Goodwill, but now the 80s have suddenly made a come back. I vow to never wear shoulder pads again. EVER.
• Keep your sweet smelling newborns to yourselves. I mean it.
• My two year old, the laundry sitter, finally got his hair trimmed last week. The lady who gave him his haircut spent so much time remarking about his cuteness and making goo-goo eyes at him, that it affected her styling. Now my son alternately looks like Moe from The Three Stooges or like he’s sporting an old lady wig. I paid $12 for that? I could have done better myself with a pair of nail scissors. At least it will grow out.
• My five year old son was unharmed during the haircut fiasco.

For more Randomness go find Keely but whatever you do don’t mention zombies.

Also thanks for all the birthday wishes yesterday, it made getting older just a little less painful.

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