An Interesting Postscript.

Remember when I got mail robbed?

Well, today I found an unexpected surprise waiting for me in my mailbox.

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E.P.T. sent me another keepsake gift. Wrapped in plastic.

I opened the package and found this note inside:

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Which only leads me to one conclusion.

I was not the only victim. Other people were mail robbed too.

More disturbingly, it probably means that there is not just one mail thief out there.

There may actually be an entire ring of pee-stick pouch bandits.

Seriously, who are these freaks?

That wasn’t the only thing that bothered me.

ept error copy

The makers of the Error Proof Test have made an error.

They clearly don’t understand the difference between the words patience and patients.

I am not a doctor, so I have no patients for them to appreciate.

It’s a little silly, but because of my journalism background, I have no patience for the misuse of words.

I also get upset by bad grammar, spelling and punctuation.

Everyone has their pet peeves.

Apology letter aside, there is a happy ending here.

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I did get my purple pee-stick pouch after all.

Merry Christmas to me.

Just another bitchy post.

The past week and a half has been nothing but a total disaster.

Excuse me while I take a moment to bitch about it.

Last Monday, about an hour after I had dropped Kamryn off at preschool (the nice one, not the gangsta one) I got a phone call from his teacher asking if I could please come pick him up.

The poor kid had pink eye.

And that’s when the shitstorm began.

That same morning, as I was leaving the doctor’s office with a script for eye drops,  I discovered a small, but nonetheless still annoying dent on the back bumper of our barely year-old van.

A dent that, while small, had actually cracked the paint.

Which means that some asshole decided to damage my vehicle and not bother to leave a note. Jerkwad.

A few days later, Kamryn’s pink eye started to get better, just in time for his other eye to become infected.

The day after that, Bronx caught it in both eyes.

Then the weekend came, and both the boys and myself ended up sick.

Bronx and I have gotten the worst of it.

And I got pink eye. In both eyes.

The past four days have been awful. I can’t keep anything down, I am so congested my head feels like it’s going to explode and I can’t sleep. Even with sleep aids.

I am such a mess.

To make matters worse, Sunday night I ran to the bathroom to throw up and didn’t realize I was still holding my fairly new, still under warranty iPod touch.

When I got to the toilet, I started coughing. The iPod flew out of my hand and directly into the crapper.

By some small stroke of luck, the water was clean when it went in.

I pulled it back out within seconds (even though just sticking my hand in clean toilet water freaks the germaphobe within me out) and I dried it off.

It was still on, but the screen was fuzzy and the colors were starting to do some crazy things, so I shut it off and stuck it in a bag of rice.

I’ve heard of people doing this before, even though I have never heard any solid proof that it actually works.

But here we are, 48 hours later, and I have turned it back on.

And even though there is still some water trapped under the screen, the thing still works. Even the backlight, the touch screen, and the audio.

I think it must be a Christmas miracle.

Although, I don’t want to jinx it, so I’ve shut it back down and stuck it back in the rice.

I’m not booting it up again until the weekend. I figure all the water under the screen should be gone by then.

Oh, and I almost forgot. My best friend found out what she’s having today (she’s due three months after me).

Yep, you guessed it. A girl.

Seriously. Everyone.

It’s starting to get a little bit annoying.

So, now I have to try to go back to bed to get rid of this beast of a sickness that has befallen me.

Because the kid has preschool tomorrow and I have another PIO injection waiting for me at the doctor’s office.

And, damn it, I can’t even take my beloved Nyquil.

I’m pretty sure the universe hates me right now.

Gangsta Preschool.

Yesterday was Kamryn’s last day of afternoon preschool through the local high school’s child development program.

It couldn’t have come soon enough.

This was, after all, the same preschool where the infamous biting incident occurred.

The same biting incident that I wasn’t notified of. The one where my three year-old son had to tell me what happened and then I had to confront the teacher.

I swear, if my brother-in-law hadn’t been one of the students involved in teaching the preschoolers in the program, I would have pulled Kamryn out. That day.

And just to clarify, said brother-in-law was not there the day of the biting incident, unfortunately.

The “biter” was kicked out of the program immediately following the incident. Apparently, the child had some sort of behavioral problems that the school had not been made aware of prior to the start of the program.

Little did I know, the “biter” was not the only problem with that place.

Right before the preschool ended, I was informed by my brother-in-law that earlier in the week, a four-year old had come to class with a pocket knife.

Let me remind you that this is at a high school, where I   should be worried about what the teenagers are bringing to class.

Not the four-year olds.

One of the high school girls who is in charge of “teaching” the little kids caught the boy taking the knife out of his pocket and she asked her teacher what she should do.

This is that same flaky lady that didn’t have the common sense to tell me my son had been bitten by another kid. So, I wasn’t surprised to hear that she told the girl to tell the little boy to put the knife back in his pocket and not take it out again.

How this woman got a job as an educator is beyond me. Clearly, she’s a moron.

So, I went to the next class with Kamryn and sat in the observation room the entire time. About halfway through, I asked the instructor about the knife incident.

She stared at me in shock for a moment, so I am under the impression that she didn’t notify any of the parents of this incident for a reason. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am the only parent in the entire class that knows anything about what happened in that classroom for the last nine weeks because I had a spy of sorts hanging out in there for me.

I can only guess that she kept the parents out of the loop because she was afraid that the information might somehow get her into trouble.

I was the only one who got word of the knife incident.

After she got over the initial shock, she started to laugh.

And then she proceeded to tell me her version of what happened, chuckling throughout, like it was a really funny story.

Oddly enough, I don’t find children who are barely out of diapers toting around dangerous weapons to be even remotely humorous.

Especially when they are doing so in the same room as my son.

She explained that the knife was discovered before the class officially started and that she confiscated the contraband, telling the child that pocket knives are not allowed at school.

Call me crazy, but I had a hard time believing her.

Mostly because she hasn’t been very forthcoming in the past.

She even threw in some snide remark about how the next class lesson plan would be about handguns.

Hilarious.

Even worse, apparently when the boy was picked up and his mother was informed about the incident, she scolded him and said, “I told you to keep that in your pocket.”

Which means his mother sent him to preschool knowing fully well that he was packing.

I shudder to think what kind of home life that kid has.

Even though Kamryn is done with the program, I am still thinking about writing a letter to the school’s administration because I’m pretty sure that preschool needs a new teacher.

Maybe I should recommend someone who has experience in classrooms turned war-zones.

Maybe Michelle Pfeiffer.

Twi-Hard . . . On.

I came across a blog awhile back that was hosting a very interesting Twilight-inspired giveaway.

Forget for a minute the fact that even though I read through all of the books and have seen all the movies, I hate everything that is Twilight.

Glittery vampires with good intentions just don’t do it for me.

But, they must excite someone out there an awful lot, because otherwise this would not exist:twilightAh, yep. It’s a Twilight Vamp Dildo.

I know. I couldn’t believe it either. That’s why I had to blog about it.

Not only is the thing as white as Casper (a bonus if you’re into fooling around with not just vampires, but ghosts too) it also has the capability to sparkle in the sunlight.

If that isn’t authentic enough, it also can be refrigerated to mimic the temperature of a romantic douchebag without a pulse.

Seriously, how desperate do you have to be? I can’t really wrap my head around the idea that there are people out there (and just for starters, there were over 450 entries in that blog giveaway) who actually love the idea of Edward Cullen so much that they are willing to buy a silicone replica of his undead manhood.

Just so they can get down and dirty with it.

I think that may be taking your dedication as a fan just a bit too far.

The only ones more delusional are the people who are biting, being bitten and drinking blood because they really, really want to be a vampire.

Those freaks exist too. My dad actually met one in a bar once and she showed him the bite marks on her thigh from her boyfriend. Who had “sired” her.

No joke.

And to think, this whole vampire craze was ignited by a Mormon.

Which is why those angelic vamps don’t dare have sex before marriage.

Screw Team Edward or Team Jacob.

I found a better team to join.

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I couldn’t agree more.

The Lost Blog Archives : Daddy’s Gonna Kill Ralphie! (2006)

*FYI: Back when Blogger was only used by my college instructors to post the class syllabus, I used a completely different platform to host my original blog.

Oh yes, much to my dismay, I have to admit that I am a former myspace blogger.

Thankfully, over the years, things have changed. As fate would have it, myspace pretty much died at the hands of Facebook, so I dropped blogging for awhile and then somehow last year, I ended up here.

The only sad thing about the transition was that I had to leave my old posts behind.

Until I started resurrecting one or two of them on here.

But there are still many posts lingering in blogger purgatory on my old myspace account. Since things with Bronx are still up in the air while we wait to hear back on some more testing and Kamryn is battling the eye drops needed to cure him of pink eye and I am still on edge with preterm labor issues, I figured another old school post was in order.

And wouldn’t you know it, I have one just for the yuletide season.

Enjoy!

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Here we are...Christmas is back, and it's time for my favorite holiday tradition, MOVIES!  What better way to celebrate the season than with some timeless classics that you can sit back and relax with after all the presents have been opened and all the leftovers have been eaten.

Hey it beats freaking sledding...


That stuff sucks because snow always finds a way to creep down into your snow pants and then you end up with hypothermia or some other crappy illness.  Merry Elfin' Christmas to that, I'd rather be stuck on the couch with one of Columbia Tri-Star's "home entertainment" products.

So here's getting to the movies.  The traditional favorite of mine, of course, is A Christmas Story.

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It basically covers the highs and lows of being a kid at Christmas.  Ralphie, the kid, wants a Red Rider BB gun from Santa but everyone keeps telling him that he's going to shoot his eye out. Poor Ralphie.

It’s a funny movie.

But there are things about the film’s most classic scenes that I find a tad bit disturbing.

1) Flick's Triple Dog Dare : After a stupid dare, Flick sticks his tongue to a pole in the winter and gets stuck.

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This seems to be a reoccurring cinematic theme. Here's another festive classic where someone doing pole-licking eventually gets "stuck":

 

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How on earth did we go from Saved by the Bell to that?

And speaking of naughty things…

2) The Leg Lamp : Who could forget the soft, warm glow of electric sex in the window?

I sure couldn't.

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Hmm...kinda reminds me of how scary fake body parts can be, especially when they are assembled altogether to form a sex slave:

Yes, totally strange but true...it's a doll, a "love" doll. Retail Price: $4,050. And that's for one that's never been “used”. Oh yeah, you read that right. You can actually buy these things secondhand if you can’t afford a brand new one. Either way…ugh, gross.

I still can’t believe that there is a market for that sort of thing.

And I think I just killed my Christmas spirit a little.

Try Not to Breathe.

He loves to toddle around the house in nothing but a diaper and push all the buttons on the remote control.

And if you ask him what sound a dinosaur makes, he puts his hands in the air and says “RAWR!”

He’s so very small, but he looks like a completely healthy, little baby boy.

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Only…he might not be.

We found out that some of the tests that he has undergone since his birthday have come back with abnormalities.

The results have been vague, but paired with his slow growth rate, there could be a real cause for concern at this point.

Actually, there may have been a cause for concern since the day he was born because he was actually measuring behind then too, even for being premature.

It really just may be that we are only finding out about it now.

And nobody can tell us what “it” could even possibly be.

Except that “it” probably isn’t good.

His pediatrician has referred us to several different specialists, but some of them are so booked up and high in demand that they can’t see him for another six months.

I think it’s asking a bit much to make us wait that long for any sort of answers.

I have some other avenues that I need to investigate, but now I am trying my hardest not to become overwhelmed with anxiety.

Because all this time, I knew that he was small. But now I look at him, and I wonder if his little body is more than just a leftover from being premature.

Maybe it’s a symptom of something much, much worse.

I really hope not.

Until then, I’m holding my breath.

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