My Sleep Number is $$$

I greatly regret getting a Sleep Number bed seven years ago.  Really, it doesn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out that your mattress should not become susceptible to mechanical failure.  But we had good reasoning:

1. In the coming years I was going to be getting pregnant and women get uncomfortable sleeping during pregnancy.  I was never uncomfortable during pregnancy and slept just fine.  It isn't hard to adjust when you only gain 17 pounds.  I've gained more on during a trip to CiCi's Pizza.

2. We could each adjust the bed to what was comfortable for us without having to compromise.  Um, both our sleep numbers are 30.  No compromise there.

3. Brad had bad back discs.  Reduced pressure points would ease his pain.  Still lots of pain.  Actually, worse now.  And I have ruptured discs too now.  Money well spent, don't you think?

Add to these inconvenient truths the fact that the thing is noisy as hell and the tubes rub the paint off the wall and we aren't all that pleased.  Now the sides have started to bulge because the foam is wearing out and I've recently started rolling to a saggy part in the middle.  This makes my back hurt worse causing me to cradle a body pillow in front of me and put another pillow under my back like a wheel chock to keep from rolling into the pit.  Brad accuses me of building a "fortress" around myself so he can't touch me.

Enough was enough today when I woke up with a sore back from rolling into the hammock.  While Claire zoned out to Doc McStuffins, I ripped the covers off and unzipped the mattress to examine its grotesque inner-workings.  The foam was torn in the middle and on the sides, foam was coming apart, but I couldn't see any gap between the chambers.  I sweated and pushed and shoved and zipped everything back up.  With no improvement.  I still felt like a Plinko chip destined for the $10,000 spot.

A spent and hour chatting with the kind folks at Sleep Number who basically told me that if I sleep alone, I'll roll.  But, dear call center employee, I said it happens when I sleep with my partner.  OOoooh, well he must be heavier (nope).  You need a chamber lift $$ (don't think so).  I also need a new foam cover $$$ to replace the torn one.  And those pesky bulging sides need to be fixed to keep everything centered $$$.  With shipping and tax, we come to about $250.  Zoinks.

Well, hello Google & chat boards.  Nice to meet you.  Seems this saggy middle thing is REALLY common with Sleep Number beds as they age.  People kept saying they just needed a stronger piece of foam between the two chambers for support.  It was a manufacturing quality issue.  So where does one get a piece of high density foam?  After some good pondering.... Walmart...$2.

That is your garden variety pool noodle stuffed between the chambers.  I'm a genius I tell you.

So it isn't a 100% fix, but it will limp it along until we can save up the cash to buy a mattress that doesn't require pool noodles to work properly.  Plus, I'm assured of one more barrier between me and my husband.

Spring Break: A comparative analysis

The last three days, I’ve been home with Claire while she goes through a cycle of illnesses that only seem to make me tired while has the energy of 100 Jack Russell terriers. I started referring to it as my “pre-spring break” break and realized how similar they really were.

May I submit to you, a comparative analysis for your consideration:

Spring Break of Other People	Pre-Spring Break at My House
Holding down a giggling girl to pour vodka in her belly button for a body shot.	Holding down a screaming girl to poor antibiotic eye drops in for pink eye.
Trips to exotic locations like Panama City and Daytona Beach.	Trip to exotic locations like CVS and Walgreens.
Sleeping on the floor in the hall because everyone is passed out drunk.	Sleeping on the hall floor because someone is sleeping in peace with the door closed and the other has to stay close to listen for wheezing.
Wild night --- panties are lost – nowhere to be found.	Wild night --- The Beast’s arm is missing – nowhere to be found.
Trying to score some ecstasy in the parking lot of a club because it is the only drug she will do.	Trying to score some orange Triaminic because it is the only flavor she’ll take.
Thinking of creative ways to tell your parents why the car has “sexy lady” spray painted down the side of it.	Thinking of creative ways to tell my husband why he found corn dog parts in the couch.
Experiencing exotic cultures.	Experiencing negative strep cultures.
Often hearing, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” during a keg stand.	Often hearing, “Do it! Do it! Do it!” while she tries to get the dog to eat his own paw (pictured above).
Sitting on a sandy, sunny beach reading a trashy novel for hours on end.	Sitting in a lawn chair in a weed-filled lawn blowing bubbles for hours on end.
Lots of puke – from drinking.	Lots of puke – from mucus.

The Children's Illustrated Guide the 2012 Grammy Fashion

Here are just some quick thoughts and images from the Grammy Awards tonight.

LL Cool J-
I looked it up. He is 44 freggin' years old. Has this man found the fountain of youth? He looks the exact same age as when he did Encino Man with Pauly Shore in 1992.

Carrie Underwood vs Whitney Houston in "Who Wore It Better" -
Sorry Carrie. Even with your middle school eye make-up, a recently decease pop icon is always going to win this category.

Fergie-
I love orange. And I love Jean Paul Gaulier. But she is putting the "Grammy" into the Grammys with those horrid granny panties. Sure, things needed to be covered up, but fail.

Bruno Mars-
Loved the performance in the gold suit. It made both me and my hubby say, "I didn't know he was black..." Then we did a double take and realized he is actually Filipino, but the old Motown styling was so awesome it did a trick. Also, in this picture. No socks Bruno? Reminds me of the days we used to show up with no black socks for marching competition and have to barefoot the dinkles.

Anne V.-
This barely passes for a swimsuit cover up. This is not a slit. It is a one-legged dress.

I'm sure there will be more to ridicule, but I'm too old and tired to stay up for it. :-)

Thoughts from the Walmart Checkout

I never go to Walmart on Saturday afternoon. Sunday morning before 9am is my preferred time to show. But since we live in the backwoods state of Texas, and I can't get a bottle of sangria before noon on Sunday, and I didn't want to drag Claire with me, I went out this afternoon.

Big mistake.

I spent from 3:48 - 4:18pm in the checkout line. I kid you not. That's thirty minutes of my life I will never get back. But, since I was at ghetto Walmart I decided to jot a blog on the back of my grocery list in my newly free time.

Here are my observations and thoughts from an afternoon at Walmart:

1. It is the weekend before Valentine's Day so Walmart has rolled out the red (neck) carpet. Bouquets of sad, under-blossomed red carnations are abound. Granted, they regularly carry descent mixed bouquets of flowers, but that is not what I'm talking about. These are pathetic little red carnations. No girl deserves these. If "Every Kiss Begins with Kay" then every Feb 14 domestic violence incident begins with these flowers. There are also bins full of plush red and pink animals and I assume these are for little girls. Oh, but of course not. I see men, grown-ass men, digging through them talking about their wives and girlfriends to each other. The day my husband gets me a neon pink bear made in China is the day I know he no longer loves me. And he can send me pathetic red carnations with the divorce papers.

2. Why....why....why!...must you bring the whole family to the store? I think I was the only person there alone. I understand many parents have to take their children with them because of a lack of childcare. Said children should not be allowed to run free. Put them in the freakin' buggy---or a leash, I don't care. Allow your toddler to walk around and help you pick oatmeal on a Tuesday at 9:45am; not a Saturday at the supercenter. Best of all, leave them at home. And leave your husband (or baby daddy) at home with them. And Grandma. And Aunt Cleo and Uncle Andrew. Why does it take five adults and 6 kids to grocery shop for the week? It doesn't! But yet I see it all over the store as I have to wait for a conga line to pass before I can turn. Keep your ass at home and clear the aisle for sane people. I don't even understand couples who shop together. Honestly, only one of you is cooking -- or you know the meals the other one cooks -- so send one person to the store and get your crap and leave.

3. Hey Lady. Yeah, you. The 300+ pound woman in cheetah print leggings (stretched to the point they have lost opacity) and a short tank top. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Just 'cuz they sell it at Walmart doesn't mean you can wear it here (or anywhere). Just sayin'.

4. I abhor people who just stand in the middle of an aisle staring like they've never seen laundry detergent before, completely oblivious to the people around them trying to get by. Yes, I am a slow coupon shopper and I stop my buggy and dig for coupons only on off hours. That means early mornings or during the week. Never during rush hours. Why can't they just grab a freggin' package of Fig Newtons and keep going?

5. Who are these people who buy entire cart loads of Banquet frozen dinners. I'm not talking, "stock the deep freeze because they are on sale and we have them for the babysitter's nights." I'm talking 75-100 frozen meals. I imagine it is kind of like the Jetson's at their house every night. They pop their tray in the microwave and Rosie brings it over when it is done. Or maybe it rides a conveyor belt.

I'm glad I went on Saturday, because after that trip, I really needed that wine.

Pseudo-Asian Food

No snark today. Just some good cheap, easy, quick recipes I thought I'd share.

Since I'm home with Claire on my own in the evening, it is really hard to cook a good meal. I'm exhausted and she wants to insert small objects into the electrical sockets while I'm not looking. So I like recipes that 1) are two for ones 2) get cooked in the crockpot 3) make tons of leftovers and 4) don't require expensive or exotic ingredients.

Here is one that I love (and I did this weekend) that is Asian inspired. Because no one cooks Chinese like a Southern woman.

Two-fer Meal:
Asian Chicken Tacos ($7 for about 15 tacos)
Chicken & Veggie Egg Rolls ($5.50 for about 15 egg rolls)

Morning:
Crockpot for 8 Hours:
2 large chicken breasts (or 3-4 small ones) ($4ish--buy on sale and freeze)
1/2 bottle BBQ sauce ($.50)
cover with water

Evening --- Meal #1 Asian Chicken Tacos:
Crockpot chicken
1/4c. BBQ sauce ($.25)
handful cilantro ($.50)
1/2 bag pre-shredded cole slaw mix (no sauce) ($.75)
1/8 c. Asian salad dressing (Kraft makes a toasted sesame one that is good and widely available) ($.50)
corn tortillas ($1.50)

1. Fork shred chicken. It cooked so long it should fall apart.
2. Remove and store about 3/4 c. chicken for Egg Rolls.
3. Add about 1/4c BBQ sauce to shredded chicken. Set aside.
4. Chop a handful of cilantro. Add to half the cole slaw mix. Mix with 1/8 c. Asian Sesame Dressing.
5. Warm corn tortillas
6. Fill tortillas with chicken mix and top with slaw.

Meal #2- Chicken Veggie Egg Rolls
1/4 onion - chopped fine ($.25)
2 ribs celery - chopped fine ($.25)
1 carrot - grated ($.25) ---there is some in the mix, so skip if you don't have it on hand
2T butter
1/2 bag cole slaw ($.75)
soy sauce
sesame oil (if on hand)
egg roll wrappers ($2)
frying oil ($1)

1. Saute onion, celery, and carrot in 2 tablespoons butter until soft.
2. Add remaining half bag of cole slaw mix, add 1/4 c. water to steam. Cook until soft
3. Add about 4 tablespoons of soy sauce & a little sesame oil if you have it on hand
4. Finely chop reserved chicken and mix it in. Remove from heat
5. Roll into egg roll wrappers; sealing with a moistened finger.
6. Heat about 1 inch of oil in a pan on medium heat. Cook egg rolls in small batches until golden brown. Makes about 15 --- -and they are good reheated even if they aren't still crispy.

For dipping, I don't like any of the Sweet & Sour sauces available in the grocery store. Soooo...when Claire gets McNuggets I request Sweet & Sour for dipping. Then keep it in the fridge until egg roll time. There is a gray area between unethical and frugal don't you think?

Inked

The obsession began almost 4 years ago. Being five-months pregnant Brad dragged me to a dirty tattoo parlor on the East side of Fort Worth.

Okay, so actually Brad said he was going to get a tattoo while I was getting my hair cut and I BEGGED him to let me go so he couldn't do anything crazy. But that is close to being dragged, right? And might I add, while tattoo studios aren't known for their upscale clients and sparkling facilities, Randy Adam's studio has cleaner bathrooms than the Babies R Us.

Brad had a small ying-yang tattoo with fluidity arrows in yellow and gold on his shoulder when we met. Now, facing the end of his life being "cool" after having a baby he wanted to have his tattoo added on to. I was TERRIFIED! He didn't know what he wanted and I didn't want him all scarred up with a picture of Carmen Miranda on his bicep. However, the very skilled artist added some nice flames and re-did the bland monochromatic of the original work and I was mesmerized. I've wanted a tattoo ever since.

It came up at work this summer. One of the teens at Academy was saying she wanted ivy up her side from her hip to armpit. Very pretty, but I interjected, "If you ever plan on having babies, you might wait. Otherwise it will look like a plant that hasn't been watered in a month." She scoffs, rolling her eyes at the old woman I have become and counters that "you don't stretch on your side when you get pregnant." No. No, you don't. I was wrong. I'll help you pay for it even. Let's go after work.

So any place on my body that will stretch or sag is off limits. I also don't like other body parts because they don't work for me. I have a square build, so no shoulders. That is too manly. I'm not big of foot tats either. Unless I want a moon man jumpping into a crater, the thighs are strictly off-limits. And if I want anything on my bikini line it will need to meld with the Van Gogh-esque squiggle lines of stretchmarks. Maybe a nice Edvard Munch "The Scream". That might work nicely.

I wear my hair in a pony most of the time, so the neck isn't going to work. Not to mention I get cysts there, so I get sliced open by my doctor alot. I can't imagine having a Tweety bird on my neck only to have him decapitated by my dermatologist. I'd have to go in and getting another tattoo of Sylvester with a bloody knife added next to him.

In addition to where, I need a what. It has to have meaning -- either deep or ironic -- to fit me. I don't like cartoons or verses or even other language symbols. Do you think Asians have English tattoos on their chest? It makes me wonder if they just like the way the letters MEAT look and have them stamped on their bodies.

A friend asked what my favorite book was to find inspiration, but somehow "Team Edward" seems a little dated and fickle. I mean, what if I decide later I'm more of a werewolf girl?

So help a girl out. You know me better than I know myself. Give me a what and a where. I promise to consider it....even if I know good and well I will never follow through on any of it.

There She Is....Miss America

Like most little girls, I grew up watching the Miss America Pageant on TV and wondering what life would be like when I was their age. Now, at 31, I still watch and wonder what life will be like when I am their age --- because they look like they are pushing 40.

When Miss Tennessee's age pops up at the bottom of the screen as 19 years old, I am dead shocked. Her bleach blond, over-teased hair with an orange tan, sinewy muscles, decorated with enough eye liner to make an 8th grade girl jealous and a shade of red lipstick only my grandmother could love make her look like a tramped up trophy wife of a car wash magnate. I didn't see one in the competition last night that looked under the age of 25 --- and I was being generous. Most of them looked like they were in their late 30's and weren't dealing with their aging. Add to that the fact that their teeth are so over whitened they look inhuman, and they just look odd.

Don't get me wrong. Their bodies are pretty smoking. I don't have the guts to get up there in a swimsuit. (No, literally, I don't have the guts. My gut is all squishy and white. They have very nice guts you could probably bounce a quarter off.) But the Miss America organization has, for several years, put limitations on the swimsuits that make them look even more off. They have a "no side-boob" policy so the swimwear looks quite "industrial." If they are going to make these girls prance around in heals and a bikini, at least let them pick one that looks good!

But maybe letting them chose wouldn't be the best idea. The winner, Miss Wisconsin, chose a fabulous black evening gown with lace top and cap sleeves. The back was to die for. However, Miss Alabama showed a little less style. The kind of style that Clinton and Stacy normally intervene in.
I screamed, "Oh no! That is a Christmas tree topper, not a shoulder adornment!" Brad said, "She can scrub all that make-up off with that loofah when she's done." This picture doesn't quite do it justice.

After the first hour I start to lose interest, but the talent segment was surprisingly good. If I were in the pageant, I would have to enter my talent as snarky blogging. I was pleased there wasn't so much bad singing (yes, there was some). Most of the talents, I have derived, are things the girls did until 6th grade. Then a few years later, when they enter the pageant circuit, they have to have a talent, so they pick it back up. Hence, all the horrible interpretive dance and bad pointe ballet. Unfortunately, Miss Texas, picked a lovely talent that she looked horrible doing.
You really should think twice before picking a talent that has you looking like Montgomery Burns. She was all hunched over and her man-hands were all pointy. Although, I have to give her mad props for working the pedals in spikes and chiffon.

Later in the evening, Claire started throwing a cross between a screaming tantrum fit and a mosh pit dance. Daddy threw down the, "What in the world are you screaming about!" She replied she was doing a dance and singing. It was the "Tomato Pup." We laughed as she threw her arms around and moaned and screamed. Brad and i looked at each other like she might have completely lost it. After about 10 minutes, Brad put it together..."Are you singing Opera like that girl?" (Tomato Pup? Opera? You only notice the similarity when you have a preschooler) Yes! She was.
All the contestants talk about how they are role models. Well, congratulations. You have modeled to my daughter to wear way too much makeup and how to sing the Tomato Pup. Thanks for the fun of the 2012 pageant.

Saving Money....or How I Cheat My Family

I am a horrible cheapskate. My mom always said I could pinch a penny so tight you could see through it. I coupon and bargain shop, and I really enjoy it. Sometimes it goes a little too far.

You know it is bad when you take money advice from Roseanne Barr. I remember this episode from the show in the 90's where Roseanne gets caught by John pouring store brand "CoCo Charms" into the empty CoCo Puff's box. She tells him she's been using the same box for years and the kids don't know the difference.

Here is my interpretation:

The premium stuff in the carafe is $3 when you can find it on sale! The frozen concentrate is $1.87, plus, I don't have to wag home that heavy bottle. Sure, I could save another $.50 if I got store brand, but orange juice companies use personalized flavor-ants to ensure consistency. That is why Minute Made always takes like Minute Made. Name brand ensures my family doesn't catch on to my scam. (And I'm pretty sure they don't bother to read my blog, so we are good.)

After making my fake-out juice, I went to Dollar Tree to get flash cards and stuff for alphabet games. Here is the pack I got. Notice anything strange?

Thirty-six cards? How does THAT work? I thought maybe there were some activity cards so I tore into the pack like a wild wolverine (notice the taped up box as an afterthought?). There are all twenty-six upper case letters. Then ten random lower case letters. I figure his is why low-income kids often have trouble with early literacy. Their parents can only afford Dollar Tree learning products. Let me just say Dollar Tree, I couldn't spell the name of your store with the letters you provided, so let's work on that.

But Dollar Tree is how we came to know about Claire. I half-ass realized my period was late and wanted to take a pee test just to rule out the possibility of an embryo causing it. I had a Dollar Tree test and it was positive. Shocked the shit out of me. I ran up to Brad and rambled one long word that should have been divided into words to form a sentence or sentences. "Brad-I-just-took-a-pregnancy-test-and-it-came-back-positive-It-was-a-dollar-tree-test-so-maybe-it-is-wrong-but-if-not-we-are-having-a-baby."

Love my husband. He was so calm. He smiled, calmed me down, and said we would go out and get another test that cost more than a grab bag of Doritos and try again. But the Dollar Tree test was right.

Life can be fun on the cheap. But I'm pretty sure that pack was missing the h and f, so we'll be having "un on the ceap."

God Told Me to Eat a Cookie

Minus a recurring affair with homemade egg rolls, I'm being good. Healthy. Weight-conscious. Yesterday, I had a lovely mixed green salad with fruit for lunch. Then my brother invited me over for turkey tacos. Being a guest, I can't show up without dessert. So while at Albertson I pick up a bag of their bakery cookies which are, by far, the most awesome cookies ever.

I load the groceries into the back hatch, start the car, and organize my purse and phone for easy access. Then I'm over-run with my brain having a fight. It was like I could literally HEAR the angel and the devil on each shoulder duke-ing it out.

devil: I want a cookie!
angel: No, it is 4:45. You can have one after dinner.
devil: No, I neeeeeed a cookie.
angel: I've been good all day.
devil: Exactly, good all day. Won't hurt now.
angel: No, this is ridiculous I'm not getting out of my running car to get a cookie.

The devil won. I was compelled (I don't use this word lightly) to get out of my car and go get a cookie. When I get back there I see a man, cowboy mid-60's, whose spur strap has come undone. He is crouched behind my car trying to fix his boot.

Guys, I totally would have backed right over him. It wasn't the devil on my shoulder, but God. God told me to eat that cookie so I wouldn't run over the cowboy!

Eat a cookie. Save a life. Share the news.