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Mobile blogging from Disneyland. This is a great sticker!

The Joys of Customer Service

Now that I've semi-recovered from the Christmas holiday and moved on to my birthday (which is in two days,) I have found .2 seconds to actually write a blog post. It won't be long so don't blink or you might miss it.

I will preface this post by saying that customer service sure ain't what it used to be. And by used to be, I don't mean very long ago, since I'm only turning 25, ya know. And no, I didn't walk to school in the snow uphill both ways or anything like that.

We had a sorta almost Santa fiasco this Christmas (that's another post) so I was forced out the day before Christmas traversing God's green earth in search of a Transformer toy. After about the third store, a light bulb went on and I just sat in the parking lot, calling every Target in a 50 mile radius to see if they had this toy. Well, at Target, each item has what they call a DCPI number. I had this number so I knew exactly what to have them look up. I realize that I was probably one out of one million people who had called this woman that day but still...

*Ring, ring*

Target Granny Customer Service Lady (TGCS): Target, blah, blah, blah, how may I help you?

Me: I need to check if you have a toy - *totally cut off*

TGCS (yelling): What toy is it?

Me: It's the Transformer Constructicon Devastator. I have a DCPI number for it.

TGCS (rudely): Hold On.

Me: Okay

*5 minutes later*

TGCS: A construction what?

Me: No, a CON-STRUCT-I-CON DEVASTATOR. I have a DCPI number - *totally cut off AGAIN*

TGCS: Wait.

*Another 5 minutes*

TGCS: I've never heard of that. I need a DCPI number.

Me: I figured you would. Yeah, so like I was saying about 5 times before you rudely interrupted me, I HAVE the DCPI number - it's 5839q4t72349-58134957149=34830294t761-435.

TGCS: Wait.

*Another 5 minutes*

TGCS: No, we don't have those.

So an almost 20 minute conversation could have ended in less than five. So if any of you called that particular Target store and were on hold for 20 minutes or kept getting a busy signal, it was me. Sorry.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas, internets!

Giving the Finger to the Nut Ban Family

So two years ago, my son's preschool banned peanut butter. Then ALL nuts. This was all due to one child at the center and naturally that child was in my son's class. (Note: Hubby and I refer to this child as 'Peanut Butter' regularly. Between us, not in public, we're not that rude.) The school even went so far as to send a letter asking us not to feed our children peanut butter for breakfast before school, IN OUR OWN HOME. Apparently, this child's allergy was so severe he could die if you even looked at him after having thought about having a peanut butter sammich.

Okay, so the no PB&J thing for lunch was hard since it was one of three decently healthy things my kid even wanted to eat for lunch. But we made due. Cream cheese and jelly. Sunflower nut butter and jelly. Jelly and jelly. Confession? He ate peanut butter for breakfast in the privacy of my own home and was sent to class regularly. I'm thinking maybe if the kid's allergy was severe enough for me to have to monitor what I do with my child in the privacy of my own home, he should stay in the privacy of his own home? Or maybe they could start paying my mortgage too. Just a thought.

So we're two years deep into this nut ban thing which I understand is commonplace in a lot of schools now. Fine, whatever.

We recently had a preschool party for Christmas, hosted by a class parent in her home. Apparently, there were some peanut M&M's out in a candy dish. (Kudos to her for living on the edge like that.) Well, 'Peanut Butter' totally sniffed these bad boys out and ate one:

Peanut Butter Mom: He just ate some peanut M&M's. I wonder what is going to happen.

*Peanut Butter Kid is running circles around the house with all the other kids, completely fine with no reaction*

Peanut Butter Dad: I don't think he's really THAT allergic to nuts.

*Obviously, because Peanut Butter Kid isn't swelling up or imploding and it's been 100 hours since he swallowed the friggin' M&M's*

Soooooooooooooo, lemme get this straight: I have to live my life (even in my own home) PEANUT FREE because your kid might die if he so much as breathes it, but you can't be bothered to watch him at a party to make sure that his greedy little, crumb-snatching ass doesn't eat some peanut M&M's? What. the. hell?

I honor of this, I've made peanut butter cookies for the class party tomorrow and stuffed a bunch of Reese's into the goody bags.

(Note to those with nut allergies or those that have kids with nut allergies: this post was in no way meant to get your panties in a bunch.)

PSA For Christmas Season

Perfume wearing should be completely banned at all shopping malls, strip malls and department stores during this time of year. That is all, thank you.

Stimulating the Economy

As if I don't stimulate it enough, what with keeping Target and Starbucks in business and all.

I've been thinking that I really need to do more to stimulate the economy. And since I've already planned a New Year's resolution of being super-organized-mom-with-rock-hard-abs (don't laugh) in 2010, I thought that hiring a maid would be a great idea to do my part and help everyone.

This idea came to me in a dream sequence yesterday as I was on all fours scrubbing places in my kitchen (that nobody will ever see.) Domestic goddess, I AM NOT, 100% guaranteed. As I pulled my crotchety old ass up off the floor and could barely move, I decided it was time to do my part. Surely, there is more to life than scrubbing floors? Then I thought, maybe I'll just hire someone to scrub the floors. But really, since they would be here anyway, I might as well make it worth their while, right? On my list of housework duties that I don't enjoy: pretty much everything. And for a nominal fee, I can have someone come do all of these things on a regular basis. I'm am putting off scrubbing the toilet while I wait for Merry Maids to arrive as I type this.

Now, to convince my dear, dear Hubby that this is a necessity for the greater good of our country. I mean, we already have a pool guy and he's interested in getting a gardener so is this THAT far fetched? I think it's gonna be a hard sell though since we're a one-income unit now. Crap.

Ends dream sequence and gets big ass, industrial strength rubber gloves on to scrub toilet.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

They say that your child is a reflection of you. Well, after last week, I beg to differ.

Back in the day, my Dad would totally take credit for only the good shit that I did. Great report card? I was HIS daughter. Scholarship? HIS daughter. (Note: this was only to brag to other people, he never really patted me on the back for any of that because that would be asking WAY TOO MUCH.) Pretty much anything else and I was immediately my mother's daughter. This always drove me crazy. Until last week. I totally get it now.

Man, that full moon had my son all discombobulated and when I tell you that my LAST nerve is still trying to grow back, I am not lying. It is amazing that either one of us lived to see this week. I loved it so much, I'm going to re-live it right here on this blog with you.

Monday. EPIC fit at play group. In one fell swoop he hit someone in the face and kicked another. I had to put him in the bathroom for a bit so as not to break the sound barrier from the horrid, bloody murder screams as he got busted and put in the longest timeout of his entire four year life. I generally do not hit or kick people at random and I certainly do not scream like that.

Tuesday. We went out to dinner with friends. The child is obviously feral. I could not keep up, what with the extremely loud outdoor voice, the feet on the table, the eating directly from the plate with no utensils and the getting out of his seat every 1.3 seconds. This was naturally made worse by the woman at the next table whose son was perfectly well behaved and an obvious graduate of the Miss Manners etiquette academy. Her glare made me feel like a hooker in church. I am generally well behaved in restaurants and eat with utensils. On occasion, I use a napkin.

Wednesday. Soccer. Complete refusal to play or follow directions of any kind. It was like a bench warming and water break lesson. I generally play well with others. That could be a lie.

Thursday. Swim lessons. This is usually where my son shines. Notsomuch this past week. I think he was in time-out more than he was part of the lesson. The best part? He was trying his darnedest to get the other kids to follow...and it worked! Like little minions, they hung on his every word. The looks you get when your kid refuses to grab the wall and flutters his arms all around while yelling, "I can't swim, I can't swim!" The looks are even worse when he emerges, laughing his ass off. I am pretty sure it was the longest half hour of his swim teacher's life. There were at least three visits from three different deck monitors to attend to his chaos. I generally do not fake my own drowning in the middle of a crowded pool.

Friday. Capped off the week by being 3 for 3 in getting in trouble at school. He was very up front about this and offered it up immediately, almost as if he was proud. He makes no apologies for hating school and thinking it's boring. Definitely not a teacher pleaser, that's for sure. I never got in trouble at school. Well, I never got caught.

What I didn't post about was all the in-between time of last week. The yelling just to yell. The talking back being at an all time high. The shit talking under his breath. The constant smart ass comments. Somebody has obviously run off with his hearing because he's got a severe listening impairment.

Most weeks I would tell you that my child is just like me, but not last week. I will not accept last week as a reflection of me, in general or as a parent. I blame the full moon. I'll pretty much blame anything at this point, 'cause I am not taking credit for his behavior last week. I'm not, I'm not, I'm NOT!

I Finally Get to OPEN My Whore Mouth

Such a nice change from shutting it all the damn time. Aunt Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka is doing some interview thingy and because I'm in the habit of entering all of her contests, well, you know. So, this one is for you, Aunt Becky. Thanks in advance 'cause I'm really supposed to be doing something else right now and this is allowing me to procrastinate even longer!

Is this thing on? Testing, testing 1, 2, 3, whore...

1. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? Nope. Sprinkles are for young children and I'm way beyond that, obviously. And since you didn't ask, I'm gonna tell you anyway: I like marshmallow topping on my ice cream. Well, on pretty much anything.

2. If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why? Irregardless. I just hate when people use this. I cringe when I hear people say it.

3. If you were a flavor, what would it be? Honey. Obviously. Sweet as can be.

4. What's the most pointless, annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis? Any kind of yard work cause shit just grows back and leaves fall off the trees every damn second. That's why I don't do it. I'm currently interviewing gardeners. Only young, hot, dark haired men with svelte physiques need apply.

5. Of all the nicknames I've ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What's your favorite nickname? (for yourself) I absolutely love it when you call me WHORE, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Really brings the dirty girl out in me too. I'm pretty sure my Hubby wants to meet you and thank you in person.

6. You're on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they? Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Babs, Liberace and Michael Bolton. In that order too. With Celine Dion as a runner up. That was such a no-brainer, I thought you knew me better.

7. Everything is better with bacon. True or False? TRUE AS HELL. And not that Canadian shit either - that's just ham, let's be real. Fucking Canadians.

8. If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order will emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self? To drink just enough to still enjoy it instead of getting so shit-faced that you end up face down in the toilet puking up your last 10 meals. And that the scarf-n-barf method of dieting, totally bites you in the ass later.

This concludes my interview with Aunt Becky. Thank you, thankyouverymuch!