Bieber Break-Down

Oh man. I've got it. I've caught the sickness. The Bieber Fever. I hate even having to use that term, but there is just no other way to describe it. I don't know what they do with that marketing, but man...it is mesmerizing.

I blame it on my upbringing. I was raised in the age of New Kids On The Block, so it must be imprinted in my brain somewhere to stop and dance around while bands are doing synchronized dancing and snapping their fingers, while dancing in the rain. I think my house must have had some kind of asbestos problem and it leaked into my brain when I filled the walls with push pins to hold up my boy band posters. I even had friends who planned weddings based around them, and wore whole ensembles that were more like temples, when a New Kid had a birthday. Memories.

It's bad enough that there is a movie out, and I want to see it, but my daughter is not quite into that yet. She's four. Right now, she thinks that Mr. Schuster from Glee is her boyfriend. I have to say, she has some good taste. So alas, I have yet to see this movie. I'm not sure if it's okay for me to go and see it by myself, because I fear the theatre may think I'm a creeper. So I'll probably have to wait for it to be on video and buy the matching hoodie and purple moon shoes and dance around in the living room by myself. It will be a good time.

I was trying to get in the mood for this blog and play some Bieber music. But my Zune account is past due (I'm a poor sister), so I had to result to watching music videos of him on Yahoo Music. That was a really bad idea.

What I thought would be a blog that would take about thirty minutes, has turned into a full cardio work out. I had to stop writing and go to the emergency room because I thought I broke my hip trying to break dance during the 'Somebody to Love' video. They asked me what had happened, but I had forgot my hoodie, so it was hard to explain. But they had just waxed their floors, so my backspin was Awwweesooome!!!

It turned out it I was fine, it was just a Lego that had stabbed me. They didn't charge me for the visit, but they did let me keep the tips. That was nice of them.

I was also trying to research this coif of his. I learned this cut cost $700 to maintain. Are you crazy! I would rather look like a hobo than drop that kind of cash. I hate this cut. It never fails to remind me of Dorothy Hamill. Come on kids! I know that hair is all in your face! But I do especially like how they pretend it's not in their face and they do this weird head move to get it out of their face. It half looks like their about to hoola-hoop and half dizzy at the same time.

"What's that Lassie? Grandpa fell in the well?" Get a hair clip! I've seen this cut everywhere...but especially at Target for some reason. Most likely because that's the only place I go to. Sad life I have.

When I was looking at these images I realized how much he looks like the chick that was in that movie Matchstick Men. Have you seen this movie? Great movie. But the resemblance is uncanny.

They have to be related some kind of way. It freaks me out the more I look at it. If she would just sweep it in her eyes, or he would part it down the middle...instant twins!

Well apparently the Bieb does not have that many hits, because his video library is so short, which means this blog done! See ya at the movies!!

Annie Are You Okay.

I've always been an animal lover. Ever since I was I kid I have been. I can't remember a time growing up that we didn't have a pet. I wished we could have had cats, and chickens and goats. But we just had dogs, and one hamster, and the occasional fish that usually got it's fish bowl changed to a toilet bowl in a matter of about a week.

My dad was an animal lover too. He was usually the one that would persuade my mom to let us have the next little tail wagger that our hearts were desiring. But again, always dogs. My mother hated cats. She hated how they would walk closely around you and rub on your legs when you were sitting watching television. And since she hated that, I'm sure that's why the goats and chickens never followed. Although I have never seen a chicken rub on anyone, so I really should have pushed harder for that one.

Now there's one dog in particular that really left a paw print on my heart (If you need to vomit from all the cheesiness, now is a good time to go). It was a teeny Pekingese mix named "Scooter". They are actually called Peek-a-poos, because it's a mix of a Pekingese and a Toy Poodle. These are the cutest damn pups you have ever laid your eyes on!! So cute.






We got him maybe for Christmas. I can't remember, his adorableness makes me lose all memory of how we got him.

Anyways.

Things had been going quite well. Jumping, playing, running, pooping. All the fun dog things were in order. Including escaping. He escaped and was gone for a few days. We were sure he was a goner.

But he came back!! And whoa, was he a fright. Twigs and grass all in his hair. His little black book was overflowing with numbers all these little b...., well, you know. Oh yeah, and his eyeball was hanging out.

WHAT??!!

What the heck happened to your eye? Oh my God. I was probably in the second grade at this time, and couldn't even comprehend the idea that someone's eye could pop out. But it did. I think my mom thought it was just swollen, and said we should give it some time. I was pretty sure that sucker wasn't going back in. Poor Scooter.

So, he had to make a trip to the vet, had surgery, and came home our one eyed dog. It was traumatic for him in the beginning. Getting used to getting around with one eye and all.

They made him wear one of those crazy lampshade things, an Elizabethan- Collar to be exact. They really shouldn't call it that. They should call it a "Get-The-Hell-Out-of-My-Way-Collar-Because-I'm-Gonna-Ram This-Thing-Right-on-Your-Bare-Shin-When-You-Least-Expect-It-Collar". Man, those things can smart. It's like getting hit with a shopping cart.

But I guess I shouldn't really be complaining. I do have two eyes and all.

I haven't thought about that dog in quite some time. I was in the third or fourth grade when he passed away. It was really traumatic for me. It was the first pet death that I can actually remember.

I couldn't go outside with my dad when he buried him. I cried for days, and then went out to the back yard and made a cross on the ground made of left over bricks that were lying around. And then I did something that should have clued my parents into what a loony I would grow up to be.

I dedicated a song to this dog. Do you remember that Dionne Warwick song "That's What Friends Are For". I wrote out the lyrics to this song on a piece of red construction paper and put "For Scooter" at the top. At the end I wrote..."If you are reading this, please put your paw right here." I even put a circle on the bottom, so he would know where to place his paw.

Really Eliza, really? 'If you are reading this...', like my dog can read.

I had this posted on my wall by my bedroom door for months. I'm sure it took all that my mother had to not burst into laughter every time she had to go in there. I wish I had kept that paper.

The other day I was walking to the bank of mailboxes, where there are usually babysitting flyers and lost dog signs. I read them and ignore them, and vow to never pick a babysitter from a mailbox flyer. But on this day in particular the lost dog sign stopped me in my tracks.

Can you see that? "Only one eye". ONLY ONE EYE!! He's back!! Wait, he's a she now. I stood in front of that mailbox for a good three minutes. Just looking at it. Wondering if I should contact them, and tell them I know how they feel. Tell them that if they sing Dionne Warwick they will feel so much better. And it you put a brick cross on the grave, she will go to heaven faster.

I've even looked around for her hoping to find her and return her to her family and have a big party where we're all dressed as pirates...you know so the dog doesn't feel out of place. But I haven't seen her. I'm afraid the inevitable has probably happened because it's been a while since the sign has been up. I might have to tell them they can't use my song. I think a little Michael Jackson will be more fitting...Annie Are You Okay?

Dear Breakfast Taco Cheese

Dear Breakfast Taco Cheese,

I don't even know where to start, I don't know where we went wrong. But sometime, somewhere along the way our relationship got a bit out of hand. I'm so sorry to write this to you in a letter, but I just couldn't think of any other way to do it.

I'm trying to make a lot of changes in my life, and right now, you are holding me back. There are so many jeans I want to wear, and bikinis I dream of wearing. But when you are around, it just never seems to happen. Maybe you just don't want me to be happy.

So I think we need to take a break. It's not you, it's me. Well okay, really it's you. You just carry so much baggage with you. All these calories, it's all I ever think about. I know I shouldn't judge. You didn't ask for the calories, it just happens. And they hang around constantly. Oh, I'm so sorry. I know how much this must hurt you. Please, wait, please, don't start melting on me...you know what that does to me.

Maybe in another time, we can try our relationship again. You know, start slow. Maybe I'll see you in an omelet. But only a little bit. And I do have to confess. There is someone else right now. I have to be honest. I just couldn't get through it alone. So please try not to start any drama when you see Salsa hanging around. He's a good guy. He has calories too, but only 10. You have 110!!

I'm so sorry, there I go again. Judging you because of your calories.

Please understand,
Eliza

P.S. I love you, I've always loved you.

Key Lime's Great Revenge

Just realized that I'm the only one that has been eating the yummy Key Lime Pie in the fridge. Obviously I did not poll the whole family when I made such a pie selection.

However, last week I ordered some new size medium scrub pants for work, the larges I currently wear have been randomly falling down and I have been having to explain myself far too many times at the hospital. I thought these mediums were going to be a sure fire fit.

They weren't.

The pants laughed at me as I put them on. They actually laughed. It was hard to tell though because they were too tight, so it really sounded like someone being gagged with a bandanna like you see in the movies. But I know they were laughing.

Damn those pants.

I really don't understand. The ones I have now are too big, I ordered a smaller size. That should have solved my problem right? I did everything right.

Log onto website.
Select color.
Select size.
Select "You are too short to ride this ride" length.
Check the big booty button.

Dagnabbit!! That was it, I forgot to check the big booty button.

I'm not returning the pants, it's too damn complicated for me! I'm sure I've already lost the return slip anyways. And they make you pay for shipping it back!

I decided the only solution was to say a sad goodbye to Mr. KeyLime and put him in the trash. It was so sad. I had to console him the whole time. We shared a big hug, and a small smooch (Okay, okay, I ate a slice! Sue me!).

He's gone now. I've yet to try the pants on again. I'm waiting for them to stop laughing.

Stuck In The Middle With You

** If you are from Kelley's Breakroom, this will be a re-run for you. Sorry no commercials, so you better go to the bathroom now. And thanks for reading it again. Posting for some friends who may have missed.

Okay so the mother of all my fears came to life today at work. Had to go into work early for a meeting, and we were relocating to another part of the building to continue the meeting. We stepped into the elevators that I hate, because they are older than the ones in the new wing. They go sooo slow, you can hardly tell if you are moving or not. I always make fun of them and say they are powered by fat hamsters. So, yup you guessed it. We got stuck.

This is absolutely awful for me, because beside the fact that I have a history of fainting, I am clostrophobic. So this is a lose-lose situation for me.

My fear is so great that I even have a plan should I ever get stuck in an elevator.

If I am by myself, I will push every damn button in there hoping something might happen. And if that fails then I will push that "Call Button" thing, and make the person on the other end stay on the line with me, like a 911 call, and have him or her pen out my will, should I plummet to my unforseen death. I am always sure to have some sort of candy or gum in my purse...I have to have something to eat. I'm pretty sure I should start permanently carrying ham or maybe jerky around with me.

If I am with another person, I will calmly pull out my elevator survial contract, hand it to the other person and be sure they read and sign it. I can't have someone stealing all my jerky or trying to pee in my designated pee corner, should we get trapped for a prolonged amount of time. They also need to know that the call button is mine, and I carry gel pen with me at all times as well, and those things are SHARP!!! I will cut you!

Panic instantly set in when I realized we were not moving. The lights stayed on...Thank God...but we were surely not moving, and I had just drank an ass load of coffee. Sadly, my plan did not include being in there with co-workers, nor did it include being in there with more than one person. There were five of us. Five of us and only four corners!! I am not sharing a pee corner! I instantly pushed the call button, I think I might have pulled someone's hair to get to it, I'm not sure. It's really all a blur. It rang and then I felt myself getting all cold and clammy.

Crap.

I'm going down.

My initial instinct was to strip. I figured my nudity would distract my other prisoners from the fact that I was fainting. Just kidding. I only took off my extra sweater and jacket. Thank goodness I had shaved my armpits the night before or I would have been really hot.

Sweet Jesus.

How long have we been in here.

Where is my gel pen?

I started to feel like a Chilean miner. When were they going to start sending in provisions. That is why people die. They wait too long to send them supplies. I'm pretty sure we had already been in there a good two minutes. Someone else had gum, and I gladly took it. I am not letting my supply go to waste.

Someone said they had to pee, which instantly made me have to poop. I'm going to die.

People started to change the subject. I think I talked about Zumba, and how much I hate it, and then I had a conversation in my head with myself about whether or not I would be willing to eat my leather jacket, should it come down to it.

We're still in here...it's been about 5 minutes now, and I'm positive my family doesn't remember what I look like. We could hear people on the other side, but I'm sure they were just laughing at us.

At about 8-10 minutes we were free. I instantly hugged the maintenance man who let us out. I smiled when I did it, because I was sure that CNN was going to be covering this.

They weren't.

So now I'm sure he thinks I like him. I wonder if he would clean my house?

Any ways, I'm free now. I survived. I vow to not make in fun of the hamsters anymore. But really I should vow to take the stairs. Thanks for listening.

I need to go work on my new elevator plan.

Bump It Hottie!

Ow,ow,ow,ow ow...Why do our own children bite us? Why? Really? Do I smell so irresistibly motherly of vanilla and cookies that my toddler can't resist but to take a bite? Oh, man that smarted! I even had to go in search of the Neosporin, because I was pretty sure that the skin was going to be broken and I would have to get out the Fisher Price first aid kit and get myself some serious plastic surgery.

That's her, the little one on the left right up there, looking all innocent and nice. And look at the other one up there with her mouth open all big, trying to scare me with her teeth. They are vicious I tell you!

But I couldn't find the Neosporin. Not because we don't have any, I know we do. I just couldn't find it under the pile of odd stuff I have in my bathroom. I don't know how I end up with this stuff really. I just can't resist. I didn't realize what a victim of TV infomercials I was until I started looking for this ointment.

I found my "Bump-its", that I have used once.
It was Bump-a-riffic I tell you. I am a sucker for pin-up hair and I couldn't resist but for my hair to stand a good six inches above my forehead, and I also wanted my driver's license to show another height other than Five-two. I'm also pretty sure it will come in handy after I finish buying my collection of evening gowns for my three year old and use them to give her "perfect pageant hair". And on that note...don't ever google toddler pageants, unless you are prepared to have your face twisted to a state of awfulness for all the mess they make these little girls go through. I say give them give them a Dora shirt and a crooked pony-tail and you are good to go!! Aqua-net never made anyone a better person in life!

Then I found my "Strap-Perfect", the nifty little plastic holder that helps conceal your bra straps when wearing halter tops and conveniently lifts your boobs right up to your eyeballs, should you have any insecurity about where they have fallen once you hit middle age. That thing is actually pretty good, except for the fact that I have to take a few more yoga classes so that I can one handedly put the thing on by myself with bra on, just like the commercial. That's okay, I'm having to work on my yoga anyways because I'm planning on stowing away in my kids lunchbox when she starts kindergarten, so I've got a few years to perfect my bra-strap adjusting and hiding in lunch box moves.

I had to step over my Shark Mop on the way to the closet where the medicine sometimes is. That sucker is pretty good. I know I begged for this one alone, just because I was up till two in the morning and saw all the fabulousness that it could behold. I stayed up dropping jelly and cereal on the floor until early morning and convinced my husband we must go out and buy it instantly. Although I'm not really sure if it was the Shark Mop that got the jelly off, because by the time we got home, I realized I forgot to kennel the two chihuahuas and one of them had taken a nap on the kitchen floor and got stuck. The other one was all in a panic and had gotten out the 300X power washer from the garage to try to get him unstuck (He was up watching TV with me that night). In the end we both got in trouble for staying up way too late and wasting the cereal and jelly, and making my husband buy appliances that we only use once in a blue moon. Oh well.

I did find the Neosporin. It was right next to my Slap-Chop...go figure.

I was put on lock down!

I know this is completely cheating, but I have not been on here in so damn long that I forgot my stinking password, and got locked out of my account...hang on...I got's to write this sucker down!

Okay...done.

So speaking of locked out. I wrote this entry back in good ole' (that's short for old, not ole!, as in the expression of my culture's excitement) 2006, when I was pregnant with my first daughter Mirah. Being locked out of my blog reminded me of being locked "in" my house. So this one's for Jennifer D., by popular demand.

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I know it's been a while.

This is what happens when you're pregnant. You have these insane lapses of forgetfulness. Sometimes they seem to go on for a couple of minutes, sometimes hours, possibly days. But for me, they come in spurts. Don't ask Kris that same question about my forgetfulness, because he likes to lie on Tuesdays.

I'm now in day two of my three days off. Makes me very happy. Usually the first day I loaf around and do nothing. Veg out, watch TV, think about exercising that I should be doing, but that makes me tired so I stop. The second day, I usually have a plan of attack. And for the most part, I even write it down on paper of the things I want to do. It makes me feel accomplished, and also I'm a bit concieted about my own handwritting so I just like to look at it.

By the third day things are done, I'm well rested and bored, and ready to go back to work.
But today...today was list day!!! Do things. Do the dishes, clean the bathroom, do the laundry (ok wash and fold will do them), touch ups on the baby room, go do some comfy clothes shopping. I even planned to shop in my jammies that look like sweat pants, and see if anyone noticed, b/c these days it's all about comfort.

But something horrible happened. I got trapped. I'm a prisoner in my own house. I left my keys in Kris' car last night. I usually always take my keys, even when I'm not driving. It's like I don't want them to feel left out, and because I was the last one out the door. And I think K and I have this secret unspoken thing, that if you are the last out the door, you have to lock it. So of course I was last, hence, my keys were in his glove box.

You would think I should leave them out, so I would see them and remember that "Oh, look, there are my keys...I should take them." But that would mean criminals would see the keys, think they are to K's car, and steal it and we would be stuck in the rain, with our overpriced clementines and currants crying in the parking lot. So that's why my keys are trapped in his glovebox, with his car, with him, in Sugarland.

A rational person would think, "Hey, it's not that bad. You're in your own house. You have food, you have a bathroom, you're pretty set." But I'm not rational, and it's making me crazy.

I realized this horrible event was happening when I asked the dogs if they wanted to go outside, which automatically sends them into a tizzy. I saw the door was locked, so went to get my key from it's usual spot... the food pantry (don't ask), and saw it wasn't there. My name badge was there, a leash was there, the muffin mix was all there and accounted for, but not my keys. Damn.

I looked in the other "key spot" and found my extra set of car keys, but no house key. Damn.

At this point I was mad because I couldn't get out, but then I felt really bad, because the whole time I was looking the dogs are doing their crazy "Yay, we're going outside to bark at nothing dance." Then the guilt set in. I called Kris and told him, and he said my full name. Middle name and all. I knew that meant he was smiling on the other end laughing at my predicament. But I bet secretly he thought, "Hey, I could get out of work for this...Preggo is home, stuck, I must rescue her." I know he thought this, because I thought it too, and we're usually on the same wave length. He finished laughing and told me to have a talk with the dogs, which I did, and they seemed to understand, or they didn't care, because I gave them a treat at the same time.

Then Kris said the unthinkable..."You can still clean the house."

The horror. I know, the thought was in my head. It was on the list. But uggghhh, I hate cleaning. You can ask Trang. I think I'm allergic. But it's my only option right now. I have nothing else to do. Which is why I'm writting right now, and this is unbelievably long.

I thought about ordering a pizza and having the money all ready, and then when they came to the door, I would walk around like I was looking for a key, and then they would see I coulnd't find it. Then I would proceed to cry while pressing the money against the window. I wonder what they would do. Can they ban people from ordering pizza?

Addendum:
I even thought about dropping the dogs out the screen window, in case they had to emergency potty, but then I wouldn't be able to get them back in. I even thought I should drop them and a chair out the window so they could do their thing then jump back on the chair, and I would bring them back in. But I have this horrible feeling that it might not go as planned. And I don't even know if the chair would fit through that screen window, and I might go into labor after having a fit of laughter watching the chair stuck in the window.