Oh, the horror....

I am the great Satan of the fishbowl.

I may have finally killed Floaty.

Today we went to the Japanese Obon Festival.

My favorite quotes from Little O?

"Mama, why are there so many Japanese people here?"

As the traditional dancers were up on stage, she leans over and says,

"Mama, this is NOTHING like "I survived a Japanese Game show."

Little O actually got the coolest gimmicky prize ever--a fortune telling fish. It's a little red cellophane fish that dances on your hand. I wish they offered those at Chuck E Cheese instead of one more plastic ring I'm going to step on in the middle of the night. This thing is cool!

If only we had stopped there.

The horror came when Little O actually GOT the frigging ping pong ball into the bowl.

Fish in a bag, anyone?

shit...

So I looked it up on line, and it says that goldfish and bettas can peacefully co-exist. Great! I dropped our non-descript silver-white-see thru goldie into the bowl and it seemed fine. For a while. But the goldie started freaking out trying to swim through the glass and THAT excited Floaty, and it became apparent that Goldie was not going to live long and prosper.

We decided to put Floaty into the wee small bowl we use for cleaning until a different bowl could be purchased for Goldie, but the damned fish net had disappeared. I'm sure it will show up at some point as the catapult in some Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors scenario, but Little O swears she has no knowledge of its whereabouts.

Friends, using a slotted spoon to catch a fish is a bad idea even in expert hands.

In the hands of a klutz, it is, apparently, a deadly weapon. My pretty pretty betta flopped right out of the slotted spoon, onto the entertainment center, then onto the floor. In my hysteria, I dropped him/her again on the way up to the temporary housing.

I have stated repeatedly that I'm not much of a pet lover, but sweet lord tiny baby jeebus, I hope this fish lives. The goldfish? meh. But my pretty Pink and Purple Rainbow Floaty, please forgive me for trying to spike you into the berber. Twice.

**************************

To cap off our evening of horror, Little O just ran smack into the back of our breakfast nook, splitting her bottom lip right open and giving her upper lip that nice swollen/bee sting look.

School starts Tuesday.

Sweet.

Let's get Real, shall we?

Reality TV is the deep fried Twinkie of junk food TV.

The Bachelor is such an appalling show. People are up in arms because the latest guy declined to choose in the last episode, taking a pass on both of the "heartbroken" women.

Right.On.

What is wrong with these women? How can one human being be such a vapid ball of quivering need? They are crying in the limo on the first episode, because they went home in the first round. They don't even have the ovaries to say they are embarrassed to be rejected in the first round, they were hoping to buy themselves a new pair of tatas from their fame, and now no one will know who they are. No, they sob that there had been a real sense of connection when they chatted at the cocktail party.

Even if you DID make it to the final round, what in the fucking hell is wrong with you that you think six weeks or SIX MONTHS in front of TV crews is going to establish a long and lasting relationship? How many of these have there been? I think there has been one successful couple? These women are so screwed up in their priorities. Where is some pride? Some...dare I say it... common sense? Where is the grandma who, on the home visit, says her granddaughter is acting like a damned fool over a guy she just met?

(See what happens when I accidentally log on through AOL?)
All of the trailer park commentors talk about how eeevil this guy is.

He's a tail chasing dog--who ever thought anything else about a man going on reality TV to find a mate? If anything people should give him props for saying upfront that he's not interested, instead of faking it for the six weeks after the show finishes so ABC gets to pretend it was a love match.

The girls are always horrified to learn that he was kissing another woman the same way he kissed them. The junior high lesson in social diseases should tell you that you have probably (in effect) kissed every girl in the house--since this isn't one of "those" blogs, we won't talk about what else your little microbial community may have shared.

The fact that they televise this shit so some little girl whose parents aren't paying attention will soak it all up like a sponge and think that life is like this....ack. Probably the same little girl who's wearing the Bratz line of pre-teen thong underwear. sigh.

I want to get the Honey cable for Christmas. I do. But then Little O will be soaking up whatever that sweet sixteen crap is on MTV. Say what you will about telling your kids "no" and controlling their TV viewing, but if it's on, they will FIND a way to watch. Don't kid yourselves.

PLEASE lord tiny baby jeebus, give me the ability to teach my daughter to THINK. I see the Honey's nieces dumbing themselves down the older they get, and it KILLS me. At least three of them would sell a kidney to go on one of those shows. Maybe not their own, but hey--that's what parents are for, no?

My Waking Nightmare--oh, and four more things

So I was just surfing my favorite blogs, and both Luckybuzz and
XO mentioned real life meetings with their blogging buddies.

CRSE tagged me for five heretofore unblogged things about myself.

How about this one:** I am socially retarded.

Oh, Jen, you have written that before.

Yes, but I don't think you grasp the depths of my social ineptitude. I would be, literally, stiff as a board, back against the wall, smiling and declining offers to dance or one more drink. Okay, maybe not the one more drink, but sweet lord tiny baby Jesus, I would be tense and unhappy in a fiesta type situation. I am severely, pathologically shy. Once you get enough lube alcohol in me I can loosen up enough to actually speak, but it would literally take weeks of conditioning to get me to be myself. I seriously don't think the Honey knew that I existed for the first few (12) months that we were hanging out in the same place. Because I was a ghost, baby. I think I baffle the Honey's friends. Possibly his family, too.

Shite, now that I have started this, I have to think of four more, don't I?

**I suck ass at all games involving physical aptitude--Pool, Darts, Anything involving a bat or racket. I always think I can kick the Honey's ass at trivia games and he always surprises me--freaking sports categories suck. This fact may have been inferred by my Dork status, but I am sure there are sports dorks out there, somewhere.

**Rather than the oh-so-common 1970's Jennifer, my parents had 2 other names in the running.
1. Rhonda, after the uncle in Vietnam (who was, in fact, seriously wounded, and my Mom did have a dream to that effect the same time he was wounded, but I arrived before she was notified, thank goodness).

2. My father campaigned hard for Escherichia. I come from a long proud line of Okie Dorks. Okie Dokey? Started out as Okie Dorky. Little known fact. For my non-medical friends, my dad wanted me named after the E in E. coli. Again, thank you Mom for stepping in.

**I was once solicited for prostitution at a magazine stand in Downtown Oakland. The guy kept mumbling and I kept smiling and asking him to repeat himself because I could not make out what he was saying. He was saying "Do you want to make some money?" I was twelve. My mom had us out of there in three seconds flat.

one more, one more...

**I once had a sheep named after me. Quite possibly the freakiest conversation I've ever had.

Um, tag? I'd like to tag Kim, just to get her to fucking post again.

Thursday 13 #28--the weak one.

I know I've had some lame TT's lately. Life has been so busy with actual life-type things! Here are Thirteen life type things from my life.

1. Little O had her first school photo taken today. Let me explain that I am in AWE of the women in my Mother-in-law's neighborhood. Their little girls have these laser guided parts, and silky smooth ponytails. They look like they belong in catalogs. My daughter, on the other hand (and the REAL proof that she IS my daughter in spite of her loathing for mashed potatoes) looks like she just fell out of the the tilt-a-whirl. Or maybe that I tried to put her hair into ponytails while ON the tilt-a-whirl. I may have been overly stressed this morning.

2. The honey started laughing as I pulled the third set of horribly askew ponytails out of her head this morning. Then he told me about his sister's school picture where her ponytails were totally screwy. He said that's why everyone loves school pictures, and if I get her hair perfect, it almost guarantees that she'll do the funky/cheesy/picture smile. Aw, that was just what I needed to hear. Then we agreed that I had somehow given her Nemo-like proportions (one big and healthy, one decidedly scrawny and non-functional) and we needed a fifth and final go at ponytails.

3. Because one childhood milestone wasn't enough, last night we went to the official meeting for future seventh graders and their parents. Ack. My firstborn is going into Junior High. I REMEMBER junior high. How did this happen? When did he stop wearing Pokemon T-shirts? What am I going to do with my encyclopedic knowledge of Pokemon types?

4. I saw my son sucessfully interacting with GIRLS. I tried to stay out of range so I didn't embarrass him, because again, I REMEMBER junior high. I'm not saying he was putting the moves on them (Thank you lord tiny baby Jesus), but, well, refer to the end of number three.

5. Kimmy wasn't at work and I was so horribly depressed, and it took me two days to realize WHY I was so absolutely wretched. Not that life is always peachy, but I am not really a depressed type person on a day-to-day basis. I looked and acted like death warmed over, to the point that people thought that I was sick, but once I recognized what my problem was, I could get OVER it, you know? Not that I'm over Kimmy abandoning us, but I can set it aside to be a functioning adult.

6. CRSE finally got my present, which seemed to take FOREVER. I began this theory about her thieving postal workers, but then it arrived and I had to resume my normal anna nicole and marketing blog conspiracies.

7. Thursday Thirteen was saved! Wait, I said Life-type things, huh? Screw it, blogging is a life-type thing at this point. I get a lot of free therapy via this little blog.

8. OOOh! Speaking of therapy, my work will pay for three marital-type counseling sessions for me, and then the Honey can have three as someone who is in my life, and so we get SIX session for free! I was dreading the costs, so this is a big ole plus.

9. Okay, back to blogging for a minute... Have you visited Dorkbloggers yet? It's so much fun to play, and have a place to revel in the dorkstacy. The Dorkabilities?

10. My best Jen is having a luau party for her daughter's birthday this weekend, and I am headed South to help. She just sent me an awesome photo of a snowy tree outside of her house, and I have to say, she'd better be right about the high sixties all weekend. Her husband bought us both grass skirts and coconut bras, and I have to laugh. Jen could pull it off. I, unfortunately, would look like I had some regrettable pasties on, and would terrify the children. Maybe with a few gallons of spray-tan I could look like a radioactive (cause you know I'd be orange) samoan matriarch.... Nah, I think I'll be better off using them as ear-muffs if the snow photo is any hint...

11. My parents are officially gypsies. I think they prefer that term to "homeless." They are out of thier little idyllic river retreat, and their new rental won't be available to them until May. They leave Friday for a three week adventure in Brazil, being hosted by their little exchange student's family. Several of their friends have offered them space until the new house is ready, but I can't imagine how uncomfortable it will be for them. Then again, I am the one who has issues using other people's showers, so maybe it won't be so bad for them. They are nothing if not practical.

12. Taxes. Must.File.Taxes.

13. Played Laser tag at a nephew's birthday party on Sunday. Well, they played laser tag, I played walking human target. I was beaten by seven year olds. Good fun, but hot sweaty work, when wearing a warm cozy sweater. Then one of the moms tried to scam me out of the better coupon (it expired later). In the words of Chuck aka IAI: Die mom-bots! I'll bet the mom-bot's daughter always has perfectly parted hair.

Leave me some linky love!