The best Dance Dance video ever!

April 5, 2006

Because Kidd Kraddick showed me the love reading my blog on his show, I really wanted to reciprocate by sharing his recent accomplishment with you, dear Internet.  Why?  Because Kidd rocks my face off!  That, and I just cannot resist the opportunity to share this with you.

Last week, Kevin Federline/K-Fed/Britney Spear’s sperm donor dropped by the studio to promote….well, I have no idea.  I think he was there to promote his new CD.  (Quit laughing.  Really.  He has one.) A little bit of background so that you can understand that there was a deep-seated need to have bragging rights here.  It has been an ongoing battle for Kidd to try to beat K-Fed in the number of MySpace friends that he has. Why? Well, because he contends that a popular DJ certainly should have more “friends” than someone who hasn’t done much other than marry Britney Spears.  I agree.  It is a complete injustice.  Totally wrong.  Having not met his goal of surpassing K-Fed in the world of myspace.com, he decided to challenge him to a different sort of contest.

Kidd decided to challenge him to a Dance Off on a Dance Dance Revolution game.  DJ vs. Professional Dancer.  You would think it would be a no-brainer.

I would be completely remiss in my responsibility to you, Internet, if I did not share this video with you.  Enjoy.  But put your drinks down first or you might end up snorting a bit of soda through your nose.

If you just don’t feel like watching it –And, really, why wouldn’t you watch it?  It is great!– I will tell you the results.  Kidd won.  Yes, Kidd the DJ beat K-Fed the professional dancer.  AND Kidd didn’t even realize that there was a space behind him that he was supposed to be using and not just the ones to his left, right and front. 

You gotta love it. 

[UPDATE:  Here is Kidd’s take on the whole thing.  Pretty amusing if you ask me.  But liking the K-Fed?  I am a bit dismayed.]



[UPDATE 2:  The older link was not working, so I have relinked it to a site that has it.  NOW you can enjoy Kidd and K-Fed and their “dance” off.]

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What’s caffeine addicted, crazy as a loon and has short red hair?

March 22, 2006

[Editor’s note: We’ve had a lot of the heavy stuff. I need a break and am betting you do, too, from the heavy. No heavy lifting in this post. I do feel I need to share about the breakdown, but that will be soon. Thanks for hanging with me, people. You are better for me than that first cup of coffee…no wait….okay, yeah, you are!]

Last Friday my sister came to town. Yes, if you do the math that is exactly one day after I left her in Houston. Trust me, it was necessary for her to come, but that is a different story all together. As she unloaded all of her ginormous trappings one brings when going out of town, I just sat and watched from my front porch.

“Hey, looks a bit heavy. Need help?” But I was really just that out of it to think to actually get my ass up off of the chair to actually do it. To that she just replied, “No, dude, I am pretty sure this PURSE is the last thing, but the offer was cool.” Then we saw the absurdity of it all and began to giggle.

I would love to tell you the tales of taking the children to the zoo and the museums and the arboretum. I would love to tell you of the movies they saw, the games they played and the amazing meals they ate. I would love to, but I can’t. Because for one entire week, my sister and I sat on the couch and read every trash gossip rag known to man. (Oh, and a few unknown and some that could possibly be called reputable.) The kids played. The dogs played. In fact, while the kids were outside playing at the same time the dogs were outside playing, they all learned a new phrase. If they were all here I would have them recite it in an adorable chorus of cherubic voices, “NO HUMPING! NO NO NO HUMPING!”

From the oldest to the baby, they all had to yell it at the dogs at one time or another. (Yes, my sister and I are so proud!) As we sat on the couch with trash tv (Can someone please just tell Shawn he is the the friggin father or Belle’s baby already??!) and read magazines that made us lose IQ points (Want to know who is expecting, how far along they are and who the Baby Daddy is?), my sister looked up at me and said in a tone that could only be described as mock intimidation, “Oh my god, Supernanny would totally jump our shit for the way we are acting this week!”

Not as funny in the retelling, but the way the conversation went and the mimicked proclamations of poor parenting and reprimands from JoJo about what lazy mothers we were, we were laughing ourselves silly. We both needed it.

At one point, I was totally interrupted from my OK! magazine with the immediate need to check the mail. (No, I have no idea why. But when you have the immediate need to check the mail, you do it. Trust me. Don’t question crazy.) So mindlessly I opened my front door.

There stood a man who to the best of my ability to guess these things, had not shaved since Nixon was in office and wore clothes that had seen better days. Let me just say he shocked the shit out of me! I screamed the scream of a woman about to be murdered on her front door step, danced the “Oh-my-god-who-are-you-and-why-are-you-standing-at-my-door-don’t-kill-me” dance while trying so hard not to pee my pants then slammed the door in his face.

My sister casually looked up from her magazine and said, “Mail not here yet or is someone about to bludgeon you because that was one scary ass scream!”

I peeked out the peephole to see the man still standing there. I slowly opened the door when I realized all he was doing was putting flyer on my door. Making an honest living and this crazy woman SCREAMS right into his face and slams the door. I am lucky I did not give him a heart attack. He just put on hand over his heart and the other hand up towards me as if to ward off my insanity and keep ME from hurting HIM. I took his flyer. I think I may now have to have my entire yard landscaped in order to appease my guilt of nearly killing an innocent man with my SCREAM OF DOOM AND DEATH.

Another afternoon I told my sister to just go get pampered. The sentence was not quite out of my mouth before she was sprinting toward the van shouting out lunchtimes and nap-times. The day went well. I think. The kids all took care of themselves and I caught up on magazine gossip and still sat screaming that “Dammit someone better tell Shawn that is the father of Belle’s baby for the love of dragging a story line on too long to do anything but make people yell at their television set.” But when my sister got home, she had a gorgeous hair cut.

I was green with envy. “I want one!” I whined.

So (the real reason for this entire long winded babble-assing post), I got my hair cut off. Short. It was below the middle of my back and a sable-ish color. A hint of possible red, but not really.

I am guessing at this point you want to see it? Are you sure? Okay, here is one sneak peek:

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Strangers in the network….exchanging pingings

December 10, 2005

Apparently my laptop has a crush on my husband’s laptop.  Late last night in our bedroom, we were doing what all married geek couples do alone in bed at night–surfing and blogging–when suddenly my computer made a noise I had never heard before.  I liken it to the infamous “schwinnnnng!” of Wayne’s World.  Then a little icon that closely resembled a bulls-eye pops up. 

“What was that?” I panicked.  I mean, if my computer mocks me or makes threatening advances towards me when I am alone, that is one thing, but when the master geek is directly beside me, I begin to wonder what I did to cause such a bizarre response from my computer.

He glances over as it does it again.  “schwinnnnnnnnggg!” As we both stare at my computer in confusion, suddenly a response is heard from his computer, “schhhhhuuuuuwinnnnnnnnng”.  Then back to mine.  Then back to his!  We must’ve have looked like the RCA dog watching a tennis match.

Then my computer declares it’s reason for schwinginess (totally a word, by the way!) with a message:  “Another computer is located nearby” pops up as a warning.  I hurridly sneak a glance at Clint’s computer as his has the same reaction.

“Look!  They love each other!  My computer it totally crushing on your computer!  And your’s is in l-o-v-e too!  Just look at his hard drive!”

It was at this point I dissolved into a fit of giggles as Clint rolled his eyes so far back into his head he could watch his brain seize with the effort of dealing with my late night adventures.  (Remember the Shadow of Doooooom?)

An exasperated Clint replies with, “They are computers.  It is the network. It is the network doing it’s job.”

“No, baby, they are in love!  They felt each other’s presence accross the vast expance of the distance between them and reached out with a “schwinnnnnnnnng” of love.”

“Jenn! You are less than a foot away from me.”

“Oh would it kill you to just go with it for the love of all things sentimental! “*huffy sigh*

“You do know that if you blog this, Jenn, they just may have to take away your geek card, right?”

“Hmmm, and you do know that if I get my geek card taken away, Clint, you will automatically get your Ever-Having-Sex-With-My-Wife-Again card taken away as well.  Did you read the fine print there, my friend?  I am guessing not.  Feel free to think about it sweetie, I can wait.”

“Awwwwwwwwwww, how sweet that our computers are in love and found each other!  There.  Now does that count?  You won’t blog it?”

“Totally counts…

…But still blogging it.”

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Shadow of Doooooooom

December 5, 2005

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from insomnia.  (Unlike the insanity in which not only do I not suffer from it, but I enjoy every moment of.) So, for me to say I’m going to bed that usually means I will hit the pillow about 45 minutes or so from then.  Even then, I will most likely still be awake for at least an hour.  Most nights I will read or write.  Generally something non-disturbing to my slumber-loving husband.  When he says he is going to bed, he is usually catching some serious Zs within moments.  All things being equal.  Unless of course you introduce the A-B theory.

The A-B theory pretty much involves A (me) annoying the every loving crap out of B (him).

Case in point:  An hour after announcing I was going to bed, I actually made it to bed.  He had just crawled under the covers and closed his eyes ready to sleep.  (Silly, silly man!) In my defense, I had every initial intention of just reading.  With my book light.  But then the giggles hit.

“Clint.  Hey, Clint look!”

I begin to do that thing where you hold a flashlight up to the ceiling and then take your hand and slowly cover it as if the Shadow of Doom is descending upon your room.  Sound effects extra.

“Yeah, cool.”

“Hey!  You didn’t even look!  LOOK!”

“I’m tired.  I don’t want to”, but he still pops one eye half open. 

Eagerly, I begin again with the Shadow of Doom (complete with the spooky ghost-like sounds effects.)

Both eyes pop open as he raises up on an elbow and stares at me.

And stares.

“What?!  Come on now, Clint.  No one can resist the thrill of The Shadow of Dooooooooom!”

*stare*

“Tomorrow, I am totally going to show you how when I shine a flashlight on my hand you can see the blood vessels and bones of my hand.”

“Shut up.”

“Pfffft! You used to be fun.”

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Mommy Needs Coffee and a few t-shirts

November 20, 2005

Look what I got for my birthday!  I have wanted to have something like this for a while, but just never did it .  Now, I am official.  I must be.  There is an official t-shirt.  That makes someone official, doesn’t it?  I’ll have to look that up.

It even has this on the back. There is a story behind it, but let’s just keep it as self-explanatory.  I am having a lot of fun with it.  And surprisingly enough, there are a lot more people out there who get it than I thought.  The strangest was when I wore it to a bookstore and someway noticed it and said, “I read her!  Do you know her.” I didn’t even deny knowing her.  Not at all.  But I did tell him she was a lot more stable then she appeared on her blog and then maniacially giggled.  It was not the best time for my son to come pipe up with “It’s her blog you know.  She is the mommy who needs coffee.”

Apparently the gentleman realized he immediately had an appointment as he suddenly raced off towards to checkout.  I am sure he must’ve remembered an important meeting.  Surely, my crazy wasn’t that scary! 

The way I see it, they’ve been warned! 

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Talk about stating the obvious!

October 22, 2005

I went to an alumni site today to update my information.  No, not one of those that charge you to actually get any information on anyone.  This is a free site for Houston area alumni. (Did you hear that, Shanda?  Go register!) So anyway, I finish filling out the form information and get the following error:

Well, DUH!  I have been out of town.

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Ahhh, Sunday bliss

October 2, 2005

Everyone needs a Sunday like I had today.

I slept in.  Surrounded by fluffy pillows and my cozy comforter.

Homemade pancakes were whipped up just for me by my very own personal chef. 

The Sunday paper was hand delivered to me by my very own handsome cabana boy.

And as a bonus, I will include a snippet of conversation overheard at my house today:

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Pen-tacular!

August 9, 2005

Everyone has there little”addictions.” I don’t mean the kind of addiction that I usually write about here.  I mean, those little things in life that you love to have or collect.  The things that make you happy for no particular reason.  I am not talking about anything big and expensive.  Nothing extravagant.  I for one have my coffee cup collection and my shot glass collection. (Donations gladly accepted, by the way!) But again, that is not what I am talking about here, either.

I am talking about pens.  I LOVE pens.  I know!  I know!  It is strange.  But finding a new pen that “clicks” with me (pun intended) makes me happy.  I go through cycles where my favorite pen changes.  One time it was this one and then it was this one (which, by the way I have in black, blue and purple). 

The down side to all of this is that I keep losing the little fuckers.  Well, that and my spawn keep stealing them.  I have had to sneak into their bedrooms late at night while they are sleeping to rummage through their backpacks to recover my stolen PEN!  Being the good mom that I am, I always left a note saying, “HA!  Caught you stealing my pen, ya little thief!” You just don’t steal my pens.  I don’t care who you are!  I am thinking of rubbing permanent invisible ink all over my pens to catch the little thieves.  Of course, that would most likely end with me walking around with permanent ink all over my hands, face, hair and cleavage (because we all know how I use my cleavage to store things.) Try explaining that one!

And when I go to the doctor’s office?  You know that pen holder that has all of those delicious pens that were given to them as free sample advertising?  It takes every bit of will power I have to not go from Normal (ahem) Suburban Woman to Raging Pen Lusting Kleptomaniac.  I’ll even make awkward little jokes when I use them saying things like, “Oops I almost put your pen in my purse.  *awkward giggle*” Which is when I pause hoping they say something like, “Sure!  You can have it.” They never do.  Bitches.

Oh, and recently I got this brand new green Google (Woman!) pen.  I loved my Google (Woman!) pen.  Apparently so did my spawn children.  The “borrowed” it when I wasn’t paying attention.  Know what they did?  The freakin’ BROKE IT.  They broke my brand new pen-a-licious Google (Woman!) pen.  And they KNEW they broke it.  They hid it from me and watched as I searched the whole damn house for it.  I was seriously tearing my house apart mumbling to myself about finding that pen or die trying.  When I finally gave up and sat at my desk to weep, I looked down on the floor and saw it.  Right there.  At my feet.  Oh hell no, I did NOT overlook it.  They planted it.  Right at my feet.  BROKEN.

I plan on seeking revenge on them.  Ice cold water to wake them up, perhaps.  Shaving cream all over their faces as they sleep.  Something.  I have enough issues without my children gaslighting me. 

Don’t jack with my pens.  Just.  Don’t.

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Secrets revealed

December 8, 2004

If you have been around here for very long (as in since last Christmas), it should not come as a surprise that I love me some HeatMiser.  There is just something about that hot little fellow.

So, it looks like the Star may have gotten wind of a deep dark secret that I thought would never come back to haunt me.  I was sure I paid off the right people.  However, I suppose I should be the one to tell you, my dear readers.

Years ago, in a moment of heated passion, I gave into my longing for Heat Miser.  Oh, it was a short-lived little fling.  He was just too hot for me to handle.  (You know.  That whole “whatever he touches starts to melt in his clutch” thing got old fast. ) Though I tried so hard to keep it a secret, the truth has been revealed.

There was as love child.  Yes, my friends, I am the mother to Heat Miser’s bastard son.

See for yourself.

Heat Miser:

Me

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Tax free does not mean totally FREE, people

August 8, 2004

This weekend in Texas was the Texas Sales Tax Holiday which basically means that there are no taxes on certain items that the state feels are helpful for going back to school.  There is a complete list of things that will be tax-free (under $100 per item) to use as a guide.  But wait, I am not here to advertise it.  (That would be totally pointless considering it is after 11:00pm on the last day of the “holiday” weekend.)

You would think that it is a massive 75% off sale or a free-for-all at the Krispy Kreme next to a Weight Watchers meeting.  (Hey, I can joke.  I went to WW.) People lose their ever-lovin’ minds to be sure to get to the stores and snap up those great bargains.

Great bargains.

Correct me if I am wrong, but no taxes would pretty much save you what?  About $8 for every $100 you spend?  Now, I am all about frugal.  I have been living the life of the unemployed for 2 years.  I love me a bargain, people.  But I have my limits. 

For instance, I will not go to a clearance sale on a Saturday if the same sale will be available on the following Sunday or the Friday prior. Insane people go out for sales on Saturdays.  I will, however, go to an after Thanksgiving sale, but only if I can get there early, have coffee and no children.  (I mean, that is the Super Bowl of Sales.  It is not for amateurs or the weak of heart.  It is also not for children or men who are not willing to engage in a little hand to hand combat over the last item on a shelf.)

But, we are not talking about Super Sales.  We are talking about $8 for every $100 you spend and it isn’t even the good stuff. Most of the stuff isn’t even on sale.  Suffice it so say, I don’t see the need to battle the masses for this meager savings.  Each year, I find out what weekend the sale will be and I head to a mall early that Friday while most people are at work or not remembering that the “holiday” has started.  I see if there is anything worth my money and I shop accordingly.  Basically, I do not put on combat gear and head to the local Wal-Mart.

So, today, Gabriella and I are helping out a friend and I realized I needed to pick up a few things on the way home.  Where do I go?  Where do I find myself?  What god-forsaken, straight from the pits of hell store did I unknowingly find myself walking into before remembering what weekend this was?  Say it with me.  Wal-mart.

For the love of all that is bargain shopping, I think I may have witnessed the chaos that just may erupt if the world ever ends in my lifetime.  People everywhere. Every language known to man (and a few not yet documented) were represented.  People of every age where crowded into the clostophobic aisles that are characteristic of WalMart and are all trying to purchase the same things.  Never have I witnessed the carnage that was the result of the assault on the clothing departments of this WalMart.  Perhaps I am mistaken and a bomb actually did go off, thus showering the store with clothing, but somehow I doubt it.

I still have no idea why the idea of tax-free makes people see dollar signs like that.  It isn’t like it is a massive savings. I think I am going to just occasionally put $1 into a jar over the next year.  Then,when next year’s tax-free weekend occurs, I am going to go on a guilt-free, chaos free, crowd free (rather than tax-free), shopping spree the following weekend when the crazies have gone back home!

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