I’m very anxious today.  I think I’ll go and see the firemen this afternoon at Trader Joes, where they live.  Sometimes they live at Safeway, but mostly Trader Joes.  I know they live there, because they are there pretty much all the time and also, when I see them they never have a cart.  Once in a while they have a basket.  But mostly they just strut around looking like, well, firemen.  I’m pretty sure they are there to check out all the hot moms, like me.  Actually not like me.  As you know recently I was transformed into a Bridge Troll by a CVS camera.  Fuckers.  When I used to be stupid and take all the kids with me grocery shopping, the firemen would come up to the kids with fire chief badge stickers.  The kids would all swoon.  I might have a little too, depending on the fireman.  This was before I met The Best Zombie Ever, now I only have eyes for zombies.  Recently, I relayed this firemen grocery shopping stuff to my sister – how they just kind of walk around, not buying anything. “Maybe it’s like a public service,” she said. “Like, ‘here we are in the community, shopping like regular peeps.  If you’re on fire you should totally call us, we have big hoses!’”

When Hazel was just learning to crawl, I locked myself out of the house when I went to take the trash out.  Hazel was still inside.  I was in my nightgown and somehow, probably because I was being a bad mom and yacking on the phone, I had the phone with me.  I could see her through the patio doors crawling towards me, like what are you doing out there.  I am in here and we should never be apart, which she and I disagreed about, but anyway.  So I tried all the windows in the house, all the doors, while Hazel is getting more and more agitated, and confused and then starts wailing, her face against the glass.  The fire department! I thought.  That’s who you call when you’re in your nightgown.  The fire department! Except it seemed excessive to call the fire department.  And also my nightgown was not cute at all and had Cheetos dust on the chest from when I ate breakfast in bed.  So I called my parents who had extra keys.  That’s the end of that story.  Where did you think it was going?  Fireman sex?  You’re disgusting.  Oh, you weren’t thinking that at all?  Sorry.

A couple years ago, I relayed this story to another mom at Hazel’s school. I didn’t even get to the part about trying all the windows, I think I started to say: “And then I realized I was locked out…” Right away she jumps in, all excited: “Oh did you call the Fair Oaks Fire Department?  You’re in Fair Oaks right?  They’re so hot, right?  Oh my God, they’re so hot, I call them all the time.” When I told her about calling my parents and them bringing extra keys, she made a face like I had ruined her whole day.

I think I’m thinking about who to call in an emergency because I’m anxious today.  Today I hear about child support.  My ex-husband stopped paying child support when I got remarried.  It’s a long story and I always worry what my children will one day read so I’ll stop there.  Except to say he owes me money but because I don’t completely understand the laws, I have no idea if I’ll actually get it.

Evidence my anxiety is on the rise:

Exhibit A:  I got a faux fur coat that I don’t need.  Like, at all.

Huggie Bear hosts a playdate.

Exhibit B:  I currently have $211 of stuff in my online cart at Forever 21 even though I vowed not to shop there anymore – not for all the usual reasons (it’s trashy, it’s cheap and 21 was a long ass time ago). But because of their Jesus message on their bags.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal tube tops."

I have nothing against Jesus per se, but I don’t want to think about thorn crowns and nails and bleeding when I’m buying the Birds in Flight Tank.  I like to keep these things separate.

What they want me to think about…

Brain bleach! Where can I find brain bleach on Forever 21?! Accessories?

What I want to think about…

Geese on my boobs! WAY less stressful than thorn crowns.

Exhibit C:  I keep seeing this pastel hair trend and I want in.  Because if I’m going to look like a Bridge Troll, I might as well go all out.  I already predict disaster, as it’s how all my DIY hair projects end.  So stay tuned for that.

Just a few strands. I promise.

My fan base: Pregnant ladies and people about to go to jail, which is basically the same thing. Also, people who like sexy times with anorexics.

I took a look at my Google Analytics today and discovered the “keyword” feature, evidently a tracking of what people type into a search in order to  arrive at my site.  First it’s clear I should be writing about actual bed bugs.  Number one sounds like an S&M site, and I’m afraid to google it.  Number five is anyone’s guess.  Number seven is just sad. Number nine sounds kinky.  But I think number ten is my favorite, as it appears to have been typed by a child concerned about a stuffed animal.  Maybe a lot of people are searching for bed bug related advice, in which case I can’t help them, though there are entire, terrifying forums devoted to them.  I guess that was a bad idea, adding that link.  Though you may note the header of the first post says:  “Oh Please God, No,” which actually sounds a lot like a post I could have written.  So maybe people are coming to the right place after all.

I get a significant amount of spam comments to my blog.  They far outweigh the real comments, which hover somewhere around zero.  They are often poetic in a sort of lunatic fringe kind of way.  It’s like Engrish.  Or like poetry from space put through a translator.  So this is what I got today, as a response to my most recent post:

“Yes if the truth be known, in some moments I can bruit about that I jibe consent to with you, but you may be in the light of other options.  To the article there is still a suspect as you did in the go over like a lead balloon a fall in love with issue of this solicitation.  I noticed the axiom you have not used. Or you profit by the dreary methods of development of the resource.”  -  PrepeNapPetre

I’ve basically been sobbing ever since.  Here’s why:

1. My articles go over like a lead balloon.  Thanks for the punch in the feelings.
2. He noticed the axiom I have not used.  An axiom is a self evident truth, a truth that requires no proof.  So an axiom would be me not wanting shit for Valentine’s day.  So what’s the axiom I haven’t used? It hardly matters, the point is, my posts are lacking.  Insult number 2.
3. I profit by dreary methods.  I don’t profit in case you were wondering.  But thanks for the reminder, asshole.  If I did profit, it would be by dreary methods.  Again with the insults.
4. Bruit.  I had to look it up.  Its origins trace from the 1400s and it means something like reporting a rumor.   So yeah, you’re smarter than me PrepeNapPetry.

So I went to the Shakespearean Insulter, since regular insults aren’t going to cut it with this guy.  And I got:

“A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are toss’d with.” Which is evidently from Henry the IV, part I.

So there, Prepe.

I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!

Does this ever happen to you?  You’re looking for say, a heart shaped fried egg mold, and you fall down a rabbit hole and end up nowhere you want to be?  This happened to me yesterday, in the Interwebs.  One second I was looking at guinea pig huts for our guinea pig, and the next I was face to face with a rabbit from the apocalypse.  It’s hard not to linger over a page like this, a page that at first glance seems vaguely legitimate.  It has words like nature and conservancy.  And global warming.  Most people know that’s legit.

So as I’m staring at this page, at this rabbit in size XXXL, I realize that this isn’t a site about the goodness of preserving nature.  No, this a cleverly disguised site for ladies who like rabbits.  As in, like like rabbits.  In a romantical way.  For your consideration…

Exhibit A: The crazed look in Mrs. Edwards’ eye.  The look that says, AT LAST, I have found the ONE!  Look at the way she’s holding him, the tendons are sticking out from her hand she’s got such a death grip on him.  You’re never getting away bunny.  So don’t even try. And yes I’ve noticed the rabbit is called Amy, but that’s simply to throw us off.

Exhibit B: “Mrs. Edwards insists he is healthy and not overweight.”  For reals?  Are we looking at the same bunny?  He’s a moose.  This is called denial Mrs. Edwards and it’s what happens when you fall in love.

Exhibit C: The Zales sponsored link with what is very clearly an engagement ring.  Target market for readers of this site? Ladies who love bunnies and want to drop a hint to their bunnies about a *cough*ring*cough*.

Exhibit D: Ads by Google.  At first I thought this was just another case of a Google ad gone hopelessly awry.  Look at that ad, no not the VW Tdi ad, the OTHER ad.  Yeah, don’t click on it.  You can’t actually, it’s a picture.  But trust me it’s not a site where you can go buy a rabbit.  At least not that kind of rabbit.  Clearly a targeted ad for the ladies who don’t need Mr. Rabbit they just need Mr. Rabbit Right Now.

Exhibit E: The offer of advice to President Obama at the top of the page.  Advice about what exactly?  Policies on rabbits large enough to drive my car without moving the seat forward?  This is what crazy ladies in love do, they act all serious like – oh, I’ve got goals and political opinions!  But really all they want to do is settle down and breed like, well, rabbits.

It’s possible I just haven’t been paying attention to Halloween costumes in the last couple of years.  My kids were younger.  The twins especially had no opinion on what costume they might wear and only last year did the light bulb go off about the miracle of trick or treating.  But in this year’s search for my older daughter’s costume I noticed something a little weird.  The sexy costumes that were pervasive for women (as Arun once pointed out: “slut” is not a costume) seemed to have filtered down to the younger set.  A large number of costumes I’m seeing are coquettish versions of story book characters, witches, fairies and animals.  Knee high socks that might have looked innocent with a longer skirt suddenly look Lolita-esque.  The skirts – short, ruffled, doll like in appearance – are just the tip of the iceberg.  Many of the costumes for young girls, especially the “tween” costumes (a term coined because presumably children are anxious to leave childhood) incorporate a corset, heels and knee highs or, worse, thigh highs.  They come in sizes for 7 and 8 year olds.  Seriously.

To make matters worse, putting a child in a costume like these ones not only make them look strangely sexual, but aren’t actual costumes.  This has been a trend for years in womens costumes.  Sexy Robin Hood, sexy Queen of Hearts, sexy Eskimo and so on.  Even animals were not immune.  Now even ladybugs wear thigh highs.  My personal favorite is a costume I saw recently called Ella Mental.  Poor Ella Mental is in Bellevue, but take a look at that costume!  Nothing says sexy like mental illness.

The girls costumes are similarly confusing.  This one for example.   Apparently it is a graveyard fairy child costume. I’m not sure what a graveyard fairy is, and I’d hazard a guess that your kid doesn’t either.  Plus, where am I going to get those stripper boots in her size?  Scratch that, I doubt it’ll be a problem.

Or, take a look at this Heidi costume.  Again, a corset and tiny skirt.  Also available in a size 4-6X.   All you need is a beer stein and your little one can look like she’s working the night shift during Octoberfest at your local tavern.  What gives?  When did Princess Leah trade her long white shift for a miniskirt?  Where did Pocahontas get that corset from?  And can someone please please explain to me what a princess vampire is?

Do these pants make me look fat? No, but they make you look ugly.

What the what? Just when I thought Urban Outfitters had the monopoly on hideous, enter American Apparel. There are a few things amusing about their offerings, I won’t bore you with the spandexy details, but I think this outfit to the left (coming soon! reads their catalog) might rival the confusing khaki shorts Urban Outfitters advertised a few weeks back.

Plaid and gingham are in, this much I know from reading scholarly publications like US weekly. Evidently it doesn’t matter what you wear this pattern with, in fact spandex pants with a zip go perfectly. Just look at the model. Actually don’t. She’d probably prefer this photo never made the light of day. Her expression is a mixture of doubt and false hope. “Do these pants make me look strange?” she seems to be saying. Yes. And also they make you look insane.

Add to this the amusing tidbit that Woody Allen is suing American Apparel for using his face (from an Annie Hall film still) on a billboard advertising their brand. American Apparel didn’t get his permission, didn’t pay to have him endorse the brand, didn’t really check with anybody. They just slapped his face up there. See below:

My image is ruined! Sorta.

Woody Allen, bastion of purity that he is (Google Soon Yi Previn if you’re not familiar with how Allen came to find his current wife – hint: his former wife ADOPTED her) sued American Apparel for using his image, saying among other things, the brand is sleazy. I’d agree with him that American Apparel does have some clothing that is a little street walker-esque, but Allen claiming his pure reputation was tainted by being associated with the brand is a bit much. American Apparel agrees and has countered, saying something to the effect of: “You were sleazy before yo! Why’d you think we put your face up there in the first place?” While Woody Allen needs a head check, American Apparel clearly thought his image was worth something or they wouldn’t have made a billboard out of his mug. Pay up American Apparel. Maybe Woody Allen will give the money to charity, perhaps a support group for catalog models humiliated and tricked into wearing these outfits. I can think of two members already.