Five Fake Holidays Better Than Valentine's Day

Before you pronounce me a bitter singleton; I will have you know I have always frowned upon St. Valentine’s Day. I have a sneaking suspicion that Valentine’s Day is a bunch of nonsense invented to boost sales by Hallmark, the floral industry and pharmaceutical companies {anti-depressant pushers…call me}. All the heart jewelry makes me want to choke too, but to each his own diamond incrusted heart pendant {blech}. I am not spewing hate, but rather believe showing love and appreciation 365 instead of one grandiose day. Yes, I am the Mom that puts “I love you” notes in school lunches and pack backs everyday.



So because I am resistant to Cupid’s ridiculous drug laden arrows of money flushery, I have compiled a list of Five Fake Holidays better than Valentine’s Day.



Put A Real Person On the Phone Day:

Can I get an Amen? Please automated lady that barely pronounces my name correctly, I would perhaps just like my account balance without going through number pressing Simon Says, or hearing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that”.

Also, most of the time I’m calling Blue Cross Almighty {my nemesis} because they gave me a “WTF code and we don’t cover this statement”. Blue Cross Almighty wants you to give up before they get to option 49, which is speak to a representative. I know I’m going to wait 23.894 minutes to speak to someone real, only to be transferred 7 more times before ultimately being disconnected and never having my question answered; but I don’t need to go through 49 options to know I need to speak to someone who exists.

Gosh darn it; I accidentally pressed #2, Spanish.



Get Out Yo’ Jammies Day:

Just like we shouldn’t celebrate a holiday remembering to tell people we love them, we should also encourage our fellow man to put on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Just yesterday a lady was in the store wearing her Rise & Shine rhinestoned jammies and house shoes…oh, it was also 8 degrees. Just because it’s bedazzled does not mean it’s appropriate for public viewing. This just isn’t necessary. I love me a comfy pair of yoga pants, but let’s get real and not let ourselves go here.



My Dog Ate It Day:

Let’s face it, some days you just can’t get it together, or you forgot, OR you wrote it down like me, but then lost your list. We all just need a day when we can say, “You know what…my dog ate it”. {Also a stipulation to the holiday is that you are not required to have a dog}.

That project for work you didn’t quite finish, tattered shreds by Doberman. Missing field trip form? Slobbery puddle via Poodle. Taxes not quite finished? Page 93 and W-2s ingested by Chihuahua.



National Change Your Sheets Day:

Many an adolescent and bachelor fall into the not changing of the sheets slump, or never have, never will area. Dudes, that’s just not right. Perhaps it’s just a crazy quirk of mine, but I love fresh sheets on a bed; preferably with a high thread count. Oh yeah, that’s right, once you “go there” everything else is sandpaper. Worth every cent. Don’t knock it until you try it. Oh, and change your sheets.



Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Day:

Only because it is one of the most ridiculous, hilarious and highly entertaining musicals ever! Not politically correct in any way, and all you Disney haters will loathe it. But if you don’t take your movie watching too seriously and take notes about how it is destroying your daughter’s self-esteem, it’s a classic. My kid’s love it. Is it possible that my son might turn into an Appalachian redneck and kidnap himself a wife? Possibly but unlikely because there aren’t barn raisings, covered wagons and people don’t dance over wells because kids fall into them now-a-days. For your viewing pleasure, the trailer from 1954:



Happy Valentine’s Day!

Why Moving Is Like Giving Birth

Moving sucks.  Sure, sure, great benefits after it's all said and done.  That, my friends, is why moving is like giving birth.  You 'forget' about the labor pains when you hold your baby for the first time...and yeah, that's kinda true.  I like to think of that memory loss as a little gift from Jesus because I sure as heck remember how bad kidney stones hurt; and would rather cut off my pinkie toe than go through that again!  But push a watermelon out my vajayjay?  Sure! Sign me up.  {Darn it, Jesus}

So because I'm being harassed to blog, here you go, you'll be wishing I was still unpacking after this non-sense.

You Always Lose Something:

You know it's going to happen, whether it be your favorite shirt, photos, your husband's shot glass collection; if I had a husband anyway, wait...your husband!  I lost him 2 moves ago.  Someday, somewhere down the line you will utter the words, "I must have lost it in the move".  I can only hope the tribe of Zhu Zhu pets did not make it to our new location.

After a baby, you have a lot to lose.  Your sanity, piece of mind, quiet, nice butt, pre-pregnancy figure, spur of the moment anything, oh and of course your soul.  No worries, I'm not a baby hater they are very cute after all.

The Unknown:

Hella stressful birthing babies, moving and preparing for either.  No mater how prepared you think you are, your water will break in the grocery store and it will snow 7 inches on moving day.  Guaranteed.

Shut Up And Rub My Back:

I can't speak to everyone's experience here, but when I'm giving birth for eleventy hundred hours {or four}, I just want everyone to shut up and rub my back.  Don't talk to me, don't cheer me on, and actually don't even breathe in my general direction.

Likewise, I could give a flying fig about what is going on during the moving process.  I don't care what your Nana said to you, about your shiny new engagement ring or your promotion...pick-up a box and don't talk to me until the truck is empty.  Yes, I am that charming.

Are You Excited?

No, not in the least.  Huh, of course I am!  The kid is using my bladder as a trampoline, I haven't slept in 3 months, and I feel a certain connection with the good year blimp.  Am I ready?  Goodness, I'll just keep her in there until she's fifteen.

Same song and dance and obligatory conversation piece when it comes to moving.  "Do you love it" or "are you excited"?  Sure.  As soon as the boxes are unpacked and I can find my hairbrush and spatula; all will be right with the world.  I'm pretty excited about the sleeping arrangements too, as I can't find the tools to assemble my bed.  Party time.

I'm Never Doing That Again:

Yeah, you've said it.  Kids.  Moving.  Yep.

The end.

I haven't forsaken you, dear readers.  Sorry I haven't visited your blogs, answered your phone calls or emails, ignored your texts and have only briefly scanned Facebook twice in five days.  I assure you I am not dead, but may have just narrowly escaped.

{Missed all you dear people, glad to be back}

I Am Worried For The Future

This is a true story about a phone call a Mom and a phone call. Not much surprises me anymore, but I'll be honest, my faith in fellow man is starting to waiver a smidge!

To preface, I was making a phone call for the boy's transportation to THERAPY with the Nanny. When I have to work and he has therapy, I call the insurance transportation so the Nanny doesn't have to drive the 90 mile round trip. Let me also preface this is never a fun call to make, we've only used this service oh, 100 times and we are never in the system (yet they always "add" it). So it always takes at least 20 minutes and I have to have every address, number, blood type, mother's maiden name, and place of my great-great uncle's birth readily available.

So the phone call goes a little something like this (after they can't find Therapy Heaven* in the system...Shocking...)....

Operator: "What is the number again ma'am?"

Me: "555-555-5555" (Third times a charm?)

Operator: "What is the address again?"

Me: "Blah, blah blah, B.F.E, blah, blah, they said they added this in the system last time."

Operator: "And what is the name of the place?"

Me: "Therapy Heaven." (Please note, I am not going for speech therapy, my son is, so I am crystal)

Operator: "Therapy Heaven?"

Me: "Yes sir, Therapy Heaven in insert town name here.

Operator: "T-H-E-R-A-P-H-Y?"

Me: "Ah, no, T-H-E-R-A-P-Y."

Operator: "T-H-E-R-A-P-H-Y?"

Me: "No, T-H-E-R-A-P-Y."

Operator: "Okay ma'am, please hold I will add you into the system, can I have the phone number and address again please?"

Really? Really? This perhaps may explain why they can never find us in the system! This is an insurance company I am calling, and all this operator does is transportation appointments AND is required to ask what kind of Therapy is needed, which he has to type into the computer! I'm worried for the future, just sayin'.

Now I don't claim to be Spelling Bee Champion or anything...but come on.

Anyone have a bad spelling moment, or a story of one?

*Therapy Heaven doesn't exist, but this is what I call our therapy office when they are listening.

{This is a re-purposed post because I am in the process of moving, not blogs, slight issue with the blog move, but I am actually moving geographic locations, I'll be back soon, until then you get this crap.}