Letter to My Neighbor-Guys

Dear Neighbor-Guys,

Thank you so much for your support today whilst I was running. It meant so much to me that you gave me a wave and yelled "Yeah, titties!" from your VW as you drove by me. Without neighbors like you, I don't know how I could continue running. If you truly appreciated the show, I will be sitting on the stoop this evening while my daughter naps. You can drop by a sizable tip if you'd like. Or perhaps my "titties" and I will run into you at the neighborhood Halloween party tonight at the clubhouse. In either case, thank you again for your undying respect.

Peace,
Runs with Titties Bouncing
(my Native American name)

P.S. I do 3-6 miles per day. What do your pot-smoking asses do? YOU WANNA GO, SUCKAS?!

The Barrel Train

Inquiring minds were asking, "What the hell is your child daring to ride on at the pumpkin patch?" Well, all, it's a line of old barrels on wheels strung together and pulled by a small tractor. Here is a subsection of the "train":

Just because I'm a jackass, and in case you are completely concrete jungle raised and you've never ever been in the country, here is a tractor:

And I think since the barrels are more than likely old chemical barrels (from a certain company with whom I may or may not have been employed), those of you who don't like modern farming will probably give me this:

Spoil sports. Jeez. It's not like they aren't CLEAN! And before any anti-chem panties get in MAJOR wads - the farm chem once residing in these barrels is inert to humans. Although, the barrels can be purchased for farmers to mix their own chem, so it's entirely possible that these were purchased just to make the train and never held any chem at all. That will help me avoid any possible egging of my home or car, right?

Obligatory Fall Pictures

Today's post is sponsored by introspection, solemnity, and silence. In other words, I'm just not that freaking funny today. *long sigh*

I am so glad that fall is finally here. For those of you with the misfortune of not living in a section of this country that experiences the autumn color change, I offer the below images from our trip to the pumpkin patch this past weekend. Although the leaves are not quite in full color-changing swing yet, the signs are quite apparent that the show will be fabulous this fall.

And because everyone loves pictures of kids, here's one of Little Diva at said location enjoying her afternoon of being able to run around and be LOUD:

It was a really nice day out for all of us. Little Diva had her first horseback ride this weekend, and we had the good fortune to serendipitously meet up with a couple of friends at the farm. By, the way, here is Little Diva with her future husband:

Anyway, LD is at school, hubby is napping, and we have no groceries. I suppose I'll head out and forage for some food at the supermarket. *YAWN* Maybe I will have some ridiculous observation when I get back...

Hanukkah Shampoo and Melting Mom of the Year

There is a strange phenomenon that's been occurring in my shower for approximately the last two weeks. I heart Matrix Amplify shampoo so much that I might consider giving an appendage for it. My bottle should have run out weeks ago, but for some reason, every time I reach for it there is still enough to get me through that particular shower. And that's without adding any water to get it out. It simply will not run out! Therefore, I know the joy of that special thing I like to call Hanukkah Shampoo. I'm retarded.

On the heels of the Bedroom Confessions post, I would like to offer up a particular snippet of video sent to me by someone who shall remain nameless. This is basically a great representation of how CHOWDAH could be restored in my home; please note the dialogue. The HOT ACTOR might be a nice feature as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_gJ6huUHDU

OH MY GOD! GO AHEAD, BABY! SOMEONE PLEASE HOSE ME THE FUCK DOWN! I am such a sucker for an awesome kissing scene, and this one takes the cake, er, uh pie. SERIOUSLY! If Donnie Wahlberg were any hotter in this scene, I truly believe my entire body would melt into a fucking puddle on the ground. The end.

Bedroom Confessional

OK, for some unknown reason, I am privy to truckloads of dirty dirt on just about all of my girlfriends. I am honored to hold such secrets and revelations and will not divulge any of them here (really). Conversations of the CHOWDAH sort usually begin with a friend saying these words: "OK, this is kind of TMI." But I think they say that as a sanity-checker for themselves. I, quite honestly, believe we are all freaks of some sort or another, and perhaps that's why people tell me things. Anyway, since many of you have let me in on certain bits of your bedrooms, I will give you one of mine. Don't worry - it's not TMI, just really funny.

So we've all heard the shit about sometimes just needing to do the wifely duty for his sake, right? I know that all of us are not programmed to run on such a circuit 24/7, so here is my fix for you. I keep a mental fishbowl full of slips of paper containing the names of certain attractive males I will never in all the fire of hell have the opportunity to, um, bang the living daylights out of. Note: no one that I know or that is the property of someone I know is fair game. On one of those nights when just getting it done for his sake is the goal, a cool thing happens in my brain. Have you ever been to a theatrical production where a character is being played by an understudy? Stick with me here. Generally, there is an announcement made that the understudy will be playing the role of such-and-such character. THIS IS THE COOLEST EVER! A little man in a soft voice pops into my head before said act and announces, "This evening for your enjoyment, the part of hubby will be played by (insert fishbowl name)." And, voila, you have a more entertaining time. Odd? Maybe. Better fantasy? Definitely. He cares? HELL NO! He wins no matter what. Period. Feel free to use this one any time.

I'm sure you're dying to know who's in the fishbowl. All I can say is that the fishbowl may or may not include (in no particular order): Donnie Wahlberg, Johnny Depp, Edward Norton, Leonard DiCaprio, Vince Vaughn, and several others. Perhaps I need a larger fishbowl since the vacuum incident...

Now it's your turn. DISH UP THE CHOWDAH SOLUTIONS!

Target Panick Attack

DEAR GOD HELP ME! Little Diva and I ventured into the whimsy that is Target to pick up some stupid crap like paper towels and light bulbs. You know, the stuff you just can't wait to spend money on (right now I'd rather buy a couple of martinis than be able to see in my house at night). Anyway, while we were perusing the various visually delectable wares at Target, I decided that since it is getting a bit chilly here, I need to pick up some more running/laying around the house attire. I went to the sportswear section and started looking for my favorite fall/winter separates of all time. At first I didn't see anything, so I checked around more slowly than the first round. And again a little faster. And again. And by the fourth time around the department, I was so frantic that Little Diva actually said to me, "Mommy, do you not feel well? Please slow down." I was pacing around the racks like someone looking for a way out in a Friday the 13th film. And yet, I NEVER FOUND THE BLACK SLIGHTLY-CLINGY BUT MAKE MY BUTT LOOK MUCH SMALLER YOGA PANTS. If they have opted out of this particular merchandise selection, MY LIFE IS OVER! First the vacuum, then the pants. What next, the apocalypse???

Addendum: I ended up blowing a cool $189 on household BS, one CUTE outfit for LD, a couple of workout clothes items, dogfood, lightbulbs, paper towels, Halloween candy, and Halloween sparkle shoes for LD, who will be going as Cinderella. Because I know you really wanted to know this shit. Also, I got out my wallet and told the cashier, "I don't have any money, but these people will send you some." I put my card in the card reader and she stared at me like she didn't get it. Ok. I guess I'm lame. As you were, troops. Comment away.

Anti-CHOWDAH (props to Tessie)

OK, first I must give myself a large shout out for my fitness efforts today. I interval trained for approximately 4.5 miles (cue applause track; standing ovation optional but suggested, thankyouverymuch). Holy hellcats! I am finding myself to be much stronger than thought, so this is a total bonus.

HOWEVER, after returning from my excursion around the neighborhood, I found this subtle symbol of my husband's love for me: Meet our vacuum cleaner. Yes - out, plugged in, and ready to go. FOR ME! Are you fucking serious? This seems to be a regular occurrence in our home. He gets it out, plugs it in, and then leaves for work. Ummmmmm, yeah. I believe I think about CHOWDAH more than any other person in the world these days, but for reasons such as the aforementioned misogyny, THE FACTORY SHALL REMAIN CLOSED. More on possible solutions to my debauchery debacle later.