14 Years Equals A Trip Around the World TWICE

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 The kid is an irish dancer.  For anyone who has a child who partakes in the irish dance world (or any major sport for that matter) you understand that it will cost DH and me enough to send her to Harvard 3 times over by the time she is done (ok, I’m exaggerating just a little, but still…).

I was day dreaming today and thinking of all the things I could do if she decided to just join the debate club at school instead.  I felt the need to share to put it all into perspective:

  • 1 year of tuition x 14 years = one in-ground pool
  • 3 solo dresses = a 2-bedroom apartment in NYC’s Upper West Side for a month
  • 3 team dresses = LASIK surgery for my left eye
  • Wigs & Crowns = Tiffany necklace
  • Soft shoes, hard shoes and poodle socks = 27 inch iMac
  • Private lessons (really stupid since we pay an arm and a leg for tuition) = a full body massage
  • 7 years going to Regionals = A 2.5 week trip for two to Hawaii
  • Going to Worlds once (secretly hoping it stays that way) = LASIK surgery for my right eye
  • 14 years of local competitions = One master bathroom renovation
  • Dress alterations = full body massage PLUS facial & manicure
  • 1 happy kid = Priceless or I have to have my head examined, whichever way you want to look at it

When I signed her up, I had no idea what was coming.  Not one person warned me that it would turn into a 4 class a week, competition led sport.  Not ONE!

To add insult to injury the kid loves it.  She dances around the house all day, all night.  Down the hallway, in the shower, during dinner.  If you ever run into us at the mall, you probably will catch a performance.  Rally one, Rally two.  AAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

So, instead of a trip around the world TWICE, I get to sit at competitions all day long.  Who can relate in one form or another? Let’s see, 3 years, 4 months and 21 days until our money is ours again.  Oh wait.  I forgot about college.  Never mind.

You Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks

In my previous life (exactly 14.7 years ago), I was “PowerPoint Extraordinaire.”  I could pump out slides with charts, transitions and animations in no time flat.  So when my employment agent called to say there was a fabulous position open for me with tons of PPT presentation work, I jumped at the chance.

But there was a catch.  I had to be proficient in PowerPoint 10.  I would have to know it backwards, forwards, inside and out.  I would have to eat and drink it.  And I would have exactly 62 hours in which to do so, if I didn’t include sleeping.

“No problem,” I said to him, “I got this.”  So, I proceed to my computer where I download a free version and get to working.  Luckily for me, I was able to score a cheat sheet for the test that I have to take.  A timed test.

So the first round?  Well, it only took me two hours to do slide number 1.  Slide number 2 & 3…I skipped.  I kinda was able to do number 4.  And 5, 6, 7?  Forget it.  So I took a break and poured myself a glass of wine.

The second round?  Yeah, that was spent watching 2 episodes of House Hunters with DH and another glass of wine.  Because drinking wine is much easier than trying to make a pie chart.  And the test?  It turns out you only get a half an hour.  They are looking for Flash Gordon.  I think they called the wrong number.

 

Soft Skin is for Woosies

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What is the aversion toward lotion for men?  I mean, in what book does it say, “All men shall go without moisturizer?”  Is there a law in some guy book?  If I’m missing something,  please clue me in.

My DH, God love him, is so particular about his appearance.  Every crease in his pants have to be pressed just so.  His tucked in shirt cannot show a wrinkle, a crease or a fold.  I can’t share a bathroom with him because he takes too damn long.  But hand him a bottle of lotion and he looks at it like it’s going to give him Herpes Simplex 2.

And my dad…he is a different story altogether.  The guy has enough flakes coming off his legs and feet to rival that of the Swiss Alps.  My mom has to wipe down his bedside table every morning because of the dust that has collected during the night.

We women must make a stand.  What can we do to get these guys to understand that using body lotion will NOT turn them into a girl?  I say to them, “embrace your feminine side”…and we promise not to call you Sue.

For the Love of a Log

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Everyone knows how much I love the grocery store.  Well, I didn’t go just once this week, I went TWICE.  Why, you ask?  Because I’m the dumb ass who forgot something, or some things.  Forgetting stuff during Can-Can week is a mortal sin in my book.

I was expecting some friends over Monday night and in addition to some essentials I had, um…forgotten, I wanted to get one of those Dura-Logs so we could have a nice cozy fire.

Anyway, I can’t find the damn log.  I have been up and down every dang isle TWICE looking for it.  I wish Shop Rite would stop moving crap around.  To top it off, I can’t find a single staff member.

I’m ready to sock the idea when I finally see not one, but two store employees talking amongst themselves at the end cap of isle number 14.  I squeeze in as closely as I can to avoid being stampeded and stare at them for a good half minute hoping to catch their attention.  They look at me and continue on.  Great.

So, just to recap real quick…I’m pissed because I’ve walked all over the f’ing store not once, but twice.  I can’t find a single employee who can help me and when I do find an employee, I’m completely ignored.  Oh, and I’m dodging can-loving freaks like bullets.  Do I sound like I’m in a good mood???

Suddenly, I hear this — “look lady, pick a direction and move in it.”  When I look up, I realize he is speaking to me.  He reminded me of Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz with his fingers pointed in both directions, but not so cute.  “You’re holding up traffic.”  Geez, if he only had a brain.

The look I shot Scarecrow could have frozen the Amazon.  I think I actually saw fear in his eyes.  And the log?  I passed the whole blasted stack of ’em coming in the front door.

Round Peg in a Square Hole

Today, after school, the kid and I went to the store to return a gift she had received.  I saw the perfect parking spot.  Here’s the only problem:

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Sure, when I was 19 and weighed all but 98 pounds.  Not so much for a middle-aged woman who’s middle has gone south with the geese and who’s as flexible as a 90 year old gymnast.

I thought for a minute.  I guess I can always just park somewhere else.  Nah, the kid is already outside waiting for me.  It would be way too much trouble.

I proceed to haul my fat ass across the middle console and over the passenger seat so I can exit the vehicle.  Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  Well, it didn’t go as smoothly as all that.  Here’s proof because my sweet daughter took it upon herself to snap some photos.  Stupid iPhone.

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After losing a shoe and a little pee, I made it.  But I can promise you, that will never be attempted again.  You have my word.

Man-equin

While at my local mall the other day, I saw this in the men’s department of Macy’s:

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Good God, what do these dummies do after store hours?  I tried to figure out his story.
First of all, what’s with the guy behind him?  Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.
So, maybe he got this way by trying to change his pants?  After all, look at that color.  Poor guy.  It’s bad enough he doesn’t have a head.
Then I looked again.  Really looked…and thought, “What the hell is the matter with me?  How did I miss it?”  Right there in the open too.  I guess it just goes to show they are all the same, human or plastic.  Even if it means losing a limb…or two.