You People from New Jersey

You know those annoying phone surveys and those annoying Christians on the boardwalk who want to ask you questions and those annoying Please rate your support experience questions that every sane person in the world hates?

I love them.

Seriously. I’ve tried to get paid to take surveys numerous times but I can never figure it out. (Or I make like 5 cents.)

When I was a teenager and all of my “cool” (read: freak, loser, outcast, druggie, awesome) friends would throw drinks at the teenager crusaders and run lightning fast away from them, I would seek them out. I adored answering their questions and making them think. Plus, getting their side of the story was kind of fun, too.

When the phone rings and it’s a survey person, I get incredibly angry when my dad or Jack hang up the phone. It’s like Of course I want to spend three hours on the phone answering the same question only slightly different over and over, why the hell don’t you?!

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Friends Don’t Let Friends . . .

Last Wednesday I was cleaning up the GIANT mess of cereal, milk, and pudding in my son’s (plush carpeted) room when the doorbell rang. But it wasn’t just like ‘bing-bong,‘ oh no. It was much worse than that.

I seriously thought the fucking world was ending. I thought the Zombie Apocalypse was happening and someone was coming to my house for safety. (In hindsight, I have no idea why anyone would come here.) It was like ‘BING-BONG/BING-BING-BING-BING-BING-BING/BING-BONG-BING-BONG/BING-BING/BING-BONG‘.

You would have thought the world was ending, too.

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Nipple Challenge


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Why, Google, WHY?

I’m exhausted. I’ve been trying to will myself to write, but all I can manage is to scroll through Facebook, see something that peaks my interest, and then Google random stuff that pops into my head due to the peak of interest about something quite possibly completely unrelated.

So I’ve decided to bring you into my mind for a moment.

I saw an article about a celebrity. And it made me wonder . . . (can you guess?)

Why — (which ‘why‘ question do you think I’m going to ask?)

You haven't guessed my question yet, Google! But you might be a little psychic, because why am I so tired?! Moving on --

You haven’t guessed my question yet, Google!
But you might be a little psychic, because why am I so tired?! Moving on.

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My Anti-Parenting Guide

I recently read The Anti Parenting Guide to Raising an Inappropriate Child over on A Buick in the Land of Lexus. I think it’s my new favorite blog at the moment — it’s like there’s another lady parent out there who just gets me.

Before I get too mushy I’ll get to the point: the post was hilarious and I loved it and needed to respond, so I started typing up a comment, point by point.

Around number 3 I realized I would be CRAZY to leave such an obnoxiously long comment, so I decided to make my own post! You really need to read The Anti Parenting Guide to understand where this nonsense is coming from, so please go over and show The Mighty Buick some love. (And yeah, I’m pretty sure her name is Samara, because of her blog’s web address and all, but we’re not really on a first name basis [yet] so I’m sticking to calling her The Mighty Buick.)

(I even linked to it twice for you, so you should have no trouble finding it. Go on now, I’ll wait.)

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