The problem with pacifiers

I've always thought that we humans are a pretty inventive people. I am always amazed when I pick up a Skymall magazine and see all the crazy gadgets they have in there. It makes me want to yell, "yes, YES... I NEED THAT!"

And not just in the magazine either. There are so many great inventions or innovations that people have come up with. For example:

Your bum gets cold while driving? Built in seat warmers!

Public bathrooms are a dirty, nasty place? Self-flushing toilets!

You want to travel to far off places and not spend hundreds of days on a boat developing both scurvy and rickets? Air travel!

Are you cold and lack the ability/intelligence to use a blanket? The Snuggie!

You see? All these wonderful inventions because someone saw a need and decided to do something about it. So why, for the love of sleeping babies, can't someone invent something to keep a pacifier in a baby's mouth?

Because it is so completely craptastic when that baby is waking up crying every 10 minutes due to the fact that the pacifier has fallen out of his mouth. And short of lying on the edge of my bed, with one hand draped over the bassinet forcibly keeping the pacifier in his mouth, I have run out of ideas. Well, there is duct tape... but I haven't resorted to that. Mostly because I don't have any in the house.

Seriously though, we can blast people into outer space, land them on the moon, and bring them back to earth again, but we can't find a way to fix the pacifier problem?

NASA, are you listening? Bill Gates, Steve Jobs... anybody?

How about you, Snuggie guy?

Why Texas can suck it this time

Dear Texas,

You had to go and do it, didn't you? Give me yet another reason in the looooong list of reasons why I don't like you very much. I mean, there's already so much to choose from; the insufferably hellish summers, the insanity of the drivers, and the traffic that makes you want to saw off your arm and club yourself to death with it are just a few of the highlights. The fact that there's nothing really fun to do here and the closest thing worth driving to (Colorado) is about 15 hours away doesn't help any.

And of course, there's the absolutely stunning (insert sarcasm here) vistas. Come on Texas, when the only two other places you have lived in your life have been Vancouver, B.C., and San Fransisco, you've got to know that water towers painted with stupid hometown slogans just aren't going to do it for me.

Oh dear, I'm coming off sounding like a bit of a snob, aren't I?

No matter. This spring, you have managed to outdo yourself Texas, by simultaneously sprouting every noxious weed you have to offer, thereby making me seek refuge indoors during one of the two seasons that it is fit to venture outside. I don't get it... it's not like anything pretty is blooming these days. As I stare out my pollen-stained windows, everything still looks like death and dying outside. So where is all this allergy-causing crap coming from?

I will admit, that the Bradford Pears are quite beautiful when in bloom, but any beauty is immediately cancelled out by the smell those things give off. Seriously, it is enough to drive anyone to their knees, let alone a morning-sickness suffering pregnant woman. Who knew a tree could make someone vomit?

In closing Texas, your plants really aren't all that pretty, so you can stop trying now. Bring on the plant-killing heat of the summer!

(I am going to be sooooooo sorry I ever said that)

Forms, glorious forms.

Like about 99% of the population, I hate filling out forms. HATE. IT. Seriously, it makes me break out in hives just holding them. If you belong to that 1% who actually enjoys it, you're weird. No, really. You need to go look at some ink blots or something.

Then, come over to my house, because I have a job for you.

My Canadian passport is expiring in less than a month, and although I've had the renewal forms for about 6 months now, I have yet to fill them out. Because we all know that forms of ANY type are terrible things, but government forms are the worst. You know that when your forms come with instructions on how to fill out the forms, you're in trouble.

I think I've mostly procrastinated because filling these forms out takes the sort of concentration that a chemist making a very volatile concoction needs. One mistake and it's all over. Trying to do this type of stuff while you have a toddler running around intent on destroying your house, is no easy task. And I just knew at some point I would do this:

GIVEN NAME: J ¦ O ¦ A ¦ N ¦ E ¦ L ¦ I ¦ S ¦ E ¦ S ¦ T ¦ O¦ P ¦ I¦ T¦ N¦ O ¦ W¦

But when my Mom was here a few weeks ago, I though it would be a perfect time to give myself an ulcer finally complete the forms while my Mom entertained Elise.

The shrieking began about about three or four questions in; "what the crap do they mean former surname? I've given them my maiden name and my married name... I have nothing more to give. What do these people want from me? How can I have three last names? I need a drink!"

So for sanity's sake, I decided to skip that section (you know, the one where I need to know my own name) for the time being, and went onto some questions I could definitely get right.

Birthday: too easy!

Sex: yes please! (does that one ever get old?)

Then I got to the part where they outlined what ID I would need to send in along with my application. And when I discovered that I owned none of them, the shrieking commenced again at full volume. I swear I saw birds flock to they sky. This time I will not quote my exact words.

Right before I started hyperventilating, my Mom suggested I call the passport office and see what they suggest. Because phoning a government office would make me less irate, wouldn't it?

But since it was my only option, I called. I almost had a heart attack when all I had to do was press 0, and the automated system immediately directed my call to an operator. Even more surprising was the fact that I only waited on hold for about two minutes.

But what really made my jaw drop to the floor is that the person I talked to was nice, knowledgeable and helpful. Sweet-mother-of-all-things-holy, was this really the government I was talking to? I had to look out my window to see if it was snowing in Dallas, or if there were swine elegantly gliding through the air.

The answers were no and no, respectively. And the kind, could-not-be-a-government-employee lady made me swoon further when she told me that I didn't need to fill out the long, cumbersome form that I was presently trying to muddle through. There was a shorter, easier form available on-line. And because I met a bunch of certain requirements, I didn't need to send any of my ID.

Joy!

So, I'm presently procrastinating on filling out yet another form, and writing this post instead. Because although this form is indeed shorter and better, it still has that worrisome "former surname" question.

And let the shrieking begin...

I Love...

Warning, this post may be a wee bit sarcastic. Oh, who am I kidding. It's going to be alllllll sarcasm, allllll the time. I have a few things I need to get off my chest. I may not be necessarily blessed in that area, but it's carrying a lot of junk right now. Ready? Here goes:

... people who speed up when I put my signal on to get into their lane. Ohhhh, so sorry that I'm impinging on your precious part of the highway. Oh wait, it doesn't belong to you? Then watch out, I'm coming over anyway. Get ready to rear-end me. (I only do this when Elise is NOT with me).

... people who believe that the rules don't apply to them and it's okay to leave their car running while filling up their gas tank. Or talking on the cell phone while pumping gas for that matter. Listen, just because you want to make a run for this year's Darwin Awards, don't take me with you because I have the bad luck of being at the pump next to you.

... people in stores who loudly tell stories of their drunken night out, followed by a drunken drive home, which culminated in them being pulled over and yelling profanities at the police officer. And hey, speaking of the police... they then go on to tell about that time last year when they were pulled over for all those warrants, and how that was soooooo funny. Shut up. My daughter is listening and in a few years will start asking me what "wasted" means. Save that crap for facebook.

... 100+ degree weather in June (I know it's July, I started this post mid-June). I guess hell has expanded it's borders to include Dallas now. It was only a matter of time. Shoot, I guess my property value is going to go to... well, Dallas. Oh, and can I hear a hip, hip, hooray for ozone action red days? Being stuck inside with a wound-up toddler who has only napped for 30 minutes is such great fun.

... people who write in "text speak". I don't have the time, or will-power to read your email asking, "how r u?", or "what's up w/ u 2nite?". And those are just the easy ones. If I wanted to be able to read hieroglyphics, I would have studied Egyptology. Sometimes, I weep for the future.

... the 45-minute Intruder. If you don't know what this is, then you either don't have small children who nap, or you're one of those people whose children take the fabled "three hour nap". In either case I hate you. But not as much as I hate the aforementioned Intruder. Please, please, PLEASE go away and allow my child more than a quarter-of-an-hour of rest. Oh, who am I kidding? It's me! I'm the one who needs the rest...

... commercials, either on TV or radio, in which the announcer has poor pronunciation. Things like saying, "yer" instead of your. Or "fer" instead of for. Unless it's a particular character yer goin' fer, learn to pronounce the words properly.

... people who try to go through the intersection when traffic is backed up and end up sitting in the middle of the intersection when their light has turned red because there is nowhere for them to go. We have one such intersection right near our house, and the other day I had to sit there through two green lights because of the jerkwads who do this. It usually takes all my strength not to get out of my car and get up on the hood of their car; jumping up and down while screaming at them. Yes, I am well aware I have an anger problem... and? At least I write about it instead of actually doing it.

Okay, time to end this lest all the sarcasm explodes my brain or something. Plus Elise has already slept her allotted 45 minutes. Sigh.

Bad Poo

Those of you who know me well, know that I have a penchant for poop talk. I think I've written many times on this blog that poo makes me laugh. So when is poop not so funny?

When it inhibits your daughter from taking her nap, that's when. Elise and I have discussed this many times. No bowel movements between the hours of 1:00 - 3:00 pm. I also have a no night-poop policy in place as well.

I knew I was in trouble today when about 20 minutes after I put her down for her nap, I could hear her chattering away to herself. Elise usually falls asleep about 5 minutes after I put her down, so I knew it had to be something.

And I smelled that something as soon as I opened her door. So I got her up, changed her (with the lights off, no less), and put her back down; all in the span of about 60 seconds. But of course, she decides that it must be time to get up and is not too happy about being put back in her crib.

Yes, I am sitting here blogging, while my child is wailing away.

I am soooooo mad at you, poo.

Edited to add: Yay, she finally fell asleep. I think she only cried for about 10 minutes, but it felt like forever. Sleeeeeeeeep, little bean!

He Shoots, he... Touchdown!

If you were in a Mcdonalds, would you go up to the counter and try to order a Whopper? I mean, you're in a restaurant. And they serve burgers. Why not give it a try? But you wouldn't, because as hard as you try, you are not going to find a Whopper at a Mcdonalds.

Then why-oh-why do people insist on going to sporting events wearing jerseys of teams that aren't even playing? If you are at a hockey game where the Stars are playing the Canucks, then you really have two choices... A Dallas Stars jersey, or a Vancouver Canucks jersey. That's it. An old Minnesota Northstars jersey would be okay, and I'll even give a thumbs-up to a Team Canada (if one of the teams playing is indeed from Canada), or a Team U.S.A. jersey. But if you show up wearing a Wings jersey, then either you mixed up the date on your ticket, or you need to head north for a few hours and hang a right somewhere in Nebraska.

And don't get me started on people that wear jerseys from other sports. I saw a guy wearing an Eagles jersey at a Stars/Canucks game and I wanted to go up to him and let him know that in hockey there's this really cold stuff called ice, and... never mind, if you're dumb enough to wear a football jersey to a hockey game I might as well just save my breath.

I get what you're trying to do. By wearing a Texas Longhorns jersey (and yes, I saw these at the game on Friday), you're saying, "hey, I'm from Texas, and I support any and all Texas teams." But it makes you look stupid. Spend the $10 and buy yourself a Stars shirt if you choose to root for sub-par teams.

And Mr. Oklahoma Sooners Jersey? I'm not sure what you were trying to say at all.

Random Gripe

I love mangos. I haven't tried every exotic fruit out there, but I'm quite sure that nothing beats a mango. So why does it have to be so hard to get to all that yummy goodness inside? And isn't it just a big old crap sandwich when you go through so much hard work to skin and cut up the mango, just to find out it's sour or mealy?

On a completely unrelated note, did you know that the plural of mango can be written mangos or mangoes?

I prefer the former.