Of Thee I Zing... A GIVEAWAY!!!!

Suddenly I have a busy week ahead!

I'll be in the garden and the kitchen - beaucoup

and I won't be able to get my recipe posts up as quickly as I would like so...

How about a giveaway?

I just read Laura Ingraham's new book, it's laugh out loud funny and I think you girls would love it!

It's a total "zing" on our culture from Prostitots and Lady Gaga to E.D. commercials and In-Flight Etiquette!

This has nothing to do with liberals or conservatives - this has to do with our insane situation... Tweeting, Pants on the Ground, Time Outs and Ten dollar coffee drinks...

So, I've got a first edition, (AUTOGRAPHED by the woman herself, Laura Ingraham)

 copy on the giveaway block this week!

To enter simply,

Become a Follower...

Leave a comment...

Post about this Giveaway or put it on your sidebar!

Here's some art for you...

Leave a comment and let me know your form of entry.

The WINNER will be drawn on

our 16th Wedding Anniversary!

August 12th, 2011

(If you live overseas -I'd be happy to send it to you if you'd like to cover the shipping.)

Here's an excerpt to get you giggling...

Bon Chance!

"Staycation" The Word I Hate.

This is not the post about how grateful I am for Hubbies job.  I've written those and I will again.

There are words I love...

"Vernacular"

"Abhor"

"Prefer"

And words I hate, mostly introduced into pop culture by some idiot ...

All texting acronyms...

&

"Bling"

"Cougar" 

&

"Staycation"

The very word makes me want to gag.

Can you tell by my last few posts (or lack of) that I am hot, crabby and pregnant.

And this week I get to be all those things with Hubby around.  (Poor Guy) He is taking his vacation time.

"Staycation" is some totally sh- - ty word that was made up by some jerk to make people feel good about not being able to afford to leave home for vacation.

Well, I don't feel good about it.

As a matter of fact, I think it SUCKS.

My husband works so dang hard...

SO physically HARD

and it's NEVER enough.

Ever.

I have put $100 worth of gas in my Suburban in the last seven days and you know where I have gone?

The grocery store,

My Moms,

The Midwife,

and garage saleing.... in my own town... twice.

Now it's easy to go on autopilot reading that but let me say that again...

ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS SPENT ON GAS!  We are being so desensitized!  That is a TON of money to get from point A to point B a handful of times!

Staycation... bah.

A friend recently asked me if I had the "honey-do" list ready to go and trust me... I've got one... and it's a mile long, especially with a baby on the horizon... but I can hardly bring myself to bring it up.

"Hey babe, I know you have the week off...

BUT could you...

Install the tile, toilet and sink in the downstairs bathroom, (cause if I have to walk upstairs to pee one more time I might have a hissy... oh wait, I've already had like three of those today... sorry),

Vacuum and tidy the basement,

While you're down there, move the washer and dryer over to the north wall and get rid of the "shower" hanging over the washing machine,

Paint Juliette's room,

Paint the new baby's room after we move all the crap in there down to the basement,

Paint the kitchen cause I don't think I can take one more day of "Provence Yellow"... 7 years is enough,

Help me pull some weeds,

Fix the two broken kitchen drawers,

Install a lock on the garden gate...

Oh and while you're at it,

my alcohol/blood level is dangerously low for such gorgeous summer weather.

Could you mix me up a pitcher of your fabulous margarita's for me to sip on into the evening??"

... oh wait, I'm super pregnant.  There will be know Frozen Rita's for me this summer.

Now, we haven't taken a real vacation in over seven years and I know, for a lot of people, it's been a lot longer than that.  This is not the time to lecture me about being a Princess - this Momma is already ticked enough.  I am well aware people are suffering around the world.

I'm no princess.  I grow a garden, have three kids, homeschool, drive 1997 vehicles and make my own laundry detergent for crying out loud.  ALL BY CHOICE mind you, I am not waving the "Poor Me" flag.  But I miss the days of a REAL vacation (IE: Paris, Florida, St. Martin and the Thorp House Bed and Breakfast - not the kind where you

rent a cottage and cook all your own meals and feel guilty about the ones that you don't.

This economy "sucks".

As icky as it is I LOVE THAT WORD too but never get to employ it on account of My Chickens.

I feel as though we are all being programmed to be happy  doing with less.  As if it's some crime to want a better life than the one you had as a child, that it's a crime to want to go on vacation, like you should feel bad about it cause some idiot in Washington can't figure out what a BUDGET is!!!  Doing with less is fine... if it's my choice.  We are not big consumers anyways and proud of it!  I may love fashion, makeup and designing my home and I love coming up with ways to do all that for less...  WHEN IT'S MY CHOICE... not because it cost's $5 to buy healthy milk for my kids and $15 for my husband to drive to and home from work every day.

My SIL was just griping in my comment box about the fact that there is really no "saving" of money with all this frugal-do-yourself cooking and shopping we do.  She is so right.  I may make my own detergent but it's not so I can pocket the money to SAVE (what's that??) for a rainy day... or a real vacation for that matter.  It's because buying Tide would probably brake us!

Oh, I suppose I should feel bad for wanting a bigger family too... after all, us procreators don't exactly fit into "green" cars... and we make a lot of dirty laundry.

Which all comes back to my longing for a REAL vacation... me and hubby in a lawn chair, munchkins frolicking in the surf... maybe even a decadent cousin brought along to babysit while we go out at night...

Staycation... BAH!

You know what "Staycation" means for Momma???

It means 

"Stay doing what you were doing*."

Which reminds me, the laundry needs to be moved along and I guess I'll go make dinner now.

*Thanks Mom for the hilarious definition while we were on the phone the other night!

P.O.ed at the P.O.

Here's my heads up:  This post reveals the more "crass" side of me.

Here's my confession:

I hate going to the Post Office.  

I would rather pump gas, run out for diapers... even vacuum.

It's one of those errands that just seems monumental
to me even though I know it shouldn't be a big deal.

Our Post Office is maybe three miles away but the traffic to get there is hellashious.  

Is that how you spell that?
H-E-L-L-A-S-H-I-O-U-S.
None of the good words show up in spell check.

I swear it takes 15 minutes to get there.

I could probably ride my bike there faster.
That is, if I could bring my knees up that close to my chest.

I am now at that stage where it takes me five minutes to put on and tie my shoes.
I'm left panting for lack of lung space.

So I finally carved out a moment to ship some Parisienne Farmhouse goods out and was on my way to my "favorite" government run business.
The line was small, surprisingly.
The ensuing hassle was not.  Un-surprisingly.

I grabbed a stack of flat rate boxes (that I normally try to keep around the house) and began to address and pack them at the "looser" counter.  It's the looser counter because it's set up RIGHT where people stand in line and you feel like such a looser standing there addressing, folding, packing and taping, right in everyones way... the line getting longer by the moment.  Thankfully this time I remembered my own packing tape because
GOD FORBID
 the Post Office tape the top of your package shut should you forget it.  If you forget your tape they treat you like a leper... as if YOU'RE the reason the United States Post Office is broke -

You irresponsible tape hog you!

As I was going about my looser business I could not help but overhear the transaction going on between the one of two agents available (Two counters out of eight open!).  Even though my back was turned, it was obvious what was going on...

Agent:  "You need to write the address on this package."

Silence.

Agent: "This is just a taped on customs form.  What if it comes off?  You need to write the address on the package."

Silence.

Agent:  "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME DO YOU?
YOU NEED TO WRITE THE ADDRESS ON THE PACKAGE!
WHAT IF THIS FORM GETS RIPPED OFF?!
WHAT LANGUAGE DO YOU SPEAK?"


Customer:  "Russian."

Agent (Doing her best to now completely humiliate this young man):
"WHAT HAPPENS IF THIS FORM FALLS OFF!  THE ADDRESS NEEDS TO BE WRITTEN ON THE PACKAGE!"


Customer hopelessly shrugs his shoulders.

By now I've turned around and taken my place in line watching this disgusting display of humanity going on.  I wanted to slap the bitch.  She could have just done it for him, it would have taken her thirty seconds.  But no, this was her shining moment.
 To shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame him.

What is it that happens to people when they think that
SCREAMING AT SOMEONE 
is going to cause some sort of linguistic, epiphanal moment???
I mean good night, when was the last time you flipped on Telemundo, wondered what the scantily clad telenovela star was saying, grabbed your remote and turned it up full blast only to miraculously completely understand the story line?


NO HABLA ESPANOL!


I'm sure we have all done it, raised our voice so someone would hopefully understand us.  Let's just agree, here and now to NEVER do it again.  (If I have never mentioned it before, I HATE it when people speak loudly.  I aggravates the crap out of me, I am mortified when I do it and thoroughly irritated when anyone speaks louder than needed.  We, especially women, only need to speak loud enough so that the person we are talking to can here us, there is NO NEED to project into the next room or twenty feet away for that matter.  How about a little self awareness???)

I digress.
 As I often do.

Look, I am not saying the kid shouldn't need to be able to speak English.  It aggravates the CRAP out of me when people don't know the basics of our language.  I mean, do we really have to print the word for "tampon" in Spanish on the Tampax box?  I think if you live in this country and can't walk into Target and figure out how to attend to your basic feminine needs in ENGLISH than you've got bigger problems than white jeans.  But there is NO REASON to belittle another human being in public with your loud, big, condescending yapper if they don't happen to understand you.  I was a good twenty five feet away from her or else I don't know if I could have controlled my own yapper I wanted to tell her to shut up so badly.

I stood there praying she would not be the one ringing me up.
God always answers prayers...
He says, "Not right now",  "No" and "Yes".
I got my answer as she barked,

"Next!"

Ok Lord, what are you trying to teach me now?

I held my tongue over her previous behavior and I handed her my three self-taped boxes,  and the first two where no problem, "Where is this one going" she asks.  Um, not only are you loud but you're apparently geographically challenged too - it said,
"United Kingdom"  
You work at the post office - shouldn't you know where that is?
I proceed to explain and she cut me off, "Did you fill out customs paperwork?"
Well, no I didn't, I don't ship overseas, it's not a figgen' sofa, it's a dish, so no, customs paperwork didn't cross my mind - I was too busy being appalled at your behavior to the poor Russian kid.

So you guessed it.  I had to get out of line and go back to the looser counter.  She said it was TONS of paperwork.
It was TWO addresses and the value of the contents.

Apparently I don't do well in public.
I'm crabby, I'm hot, I'm pregnant.
I'd rather be vacuuming.
My blood was beginning to boil.

I stood in line...
AND GOT HER AGAIN!


Now what I didn't mention was that I wasn't going to originally ship "the dish" to the mysterious, other-side-of-the-world United Kingdom.  I was simply going to get a price for the shipping but while originally standing in line I saw the sign over the flat rate boxes...

"Convenient Flat Rate Shipping Worldwide"


...Now this happened a few days ago, so I may be a little off on the exact wording of the sign but it had the word "convenient" and the last four words where "Flat Rate Shipping Worldwide".
I read it a couple times and thought,
"No way! That is so incredible!  Worldwide?  Really?"
So I read it again, and again and then grabbed a box big enough to hold this dish... fast forward back to me in line with my customs form.

She rings up the first two packages, then rings up my dish to the land of William and Katherine... my ten dollar flat rate box rings up FORTY FIVE DOLLARS.  So, I say,
"Whoa, it says "Flat Rate Shipping Worldwide" and she says,
"That's domestic, this is overseas."

Miss can't speak Russian.

Stupid me, as if I am going to win this fight,
"But WORLDWIDE means overseas."

Agent: "No, the flat rate is for the domestic price."

Me:  "Then WHY does it say FLAT-RATE...WORLDWIDE???"

She just stares back at me.
Like, get out of here you idiot.
 Don't question the Post Office.

I snatched the box off the scale and snarled,
"Forget it!"
I wanted to rip her smug face off.
I wanted to "Go Postal."
I had to get out of there fast.
So I ripped my debit card thru the machine, I am surprised there was a magnetic strip left. Pounded in my pin and hightailed it out of there drawing on every iota of self control in my body lest I make a complete
HARPY
of myself.

I don't speak Russian.
I don't speak Spanish.
Apparently, I can't read and comprehend English.

Did I mention I hate the Post Office?
Grrrrrrrrr.....