Death By Thin Mints

Oh no.

♥
Olivia

Weekend Rewind

Friday night I spruced up the house while hubby had an impromptu happy hour with a guy from work who decided that day, he had wasted enough of his life in a cube. Empowering! I’m also jealous! Best part was Greg’s text later in the night, “OMG. I’m knee-deep in douche.” They were at a bar off the beaten path in Old Town Scottsdale. Greg said for the majority of the night, it was low-key, but then the magic hour of 10 p.m. happened and all the douche bags came out of hiding. This prompted Greg’s Facebook status for Saturday morning: “Spent the evening in Old Town. Spring Break/Training in the air brings out the ladies, which in turn brings out the pressed designer shirts, jeans, and Italian leather boots. Ed Hardy hunting parties in search of broken heels and slurred words. Ah, the circle of life.” Greg cracks me up.

Saturday, we took the kids to the Arizona Science Center. It was a great time. Lots of fun stuff to see and explore. Think Greg and I may have had more fun exploring. It cost $35 for all of us to get in. Not bad. To see the really cool exhibits costs extra, so it could easily turn into a Disneyland experience with regards to forking money over. There is enough to do without the extra exhibits on your first time going.  There were even a few places we could let the Fat Boy down and run around.  He was digging all the blocks and open space.

Bad lighting + camera phone = crappy blurred picture.

Penelope tried rock climbing on a rock wall. She did pretty good, but got panicked a bit once she was well above our heads. But, she got down like a champ and we were just proud that she was brave enough to try it.

Getting instructions...

Climbing...

Getting a little scared...Daddy talking her through it.

Sunday was just tinkering around the house and a neighborhood princess party to attend to. Ended our weekend by grocery shopping where the next little tidbit happened. Although it does sound funny, it kinda through Greg and I for a loop we hadn’t anticipated dodging for some time.

In the line at the store:

Greg: (Mouths to me) “Look at your daughter.”

Of course she’s my daughter when she does something bad. It’s okay, I do the same thing to Greg!

I look over and Penelope is face-to-face kissing the US/People/Star whatever smut magazine. Literally mouth puckered on the mag, moving her head back and forth.

I gasp, look at Greg who looks like he might vomit or die of hysterics, or maybe both at the same time.

Me: “Penelope! What are you doing??”

Penelope: “Nothing.” As she shyly twists and turns and turns red from embarrassment.

What the fuck people? Seriously. She is 4 ½.

Me: “You need to stop that. It’s inappropriate for a little girl like you.”
Penelope: “Ok Mama.”

Greg is rubbing his head, shaking it in a “No” fashion, and I can tell his blood pressure is rising. Penelope is his baby girl…no boys allowed ever! Especially not at 4 years old.

We get settled in the truck, and we ask her why she was kissing the magazine. Sheepishly she replies that she doesn’t know. But with gentle prodding we ask her again and her reply is, “Because Mama! I wanted to kiss a handsome boy.”

Oh Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Oh it gets better. The “Handsome Boy” she wanted to kiss, was Cory Fucking Haim!! Rest In Peace, but please!

We both told her it was not appropriate for her to kiss boys at this age. Yadda Yadda Yadda. I know this is part of growing up, but shit…I don’t really want to have to explain the depths of the birds and the bees already. She picks up so much crap at school and it’s disheartening. My only saving grace at this point, is her moral compass is pretty strong and she comes home and tells me things that she doesn’t think are right. She trusts us as her parents…trusts that she can tell us things and she won’t get in trouble. I feel old-fashioned, but I’m just not ready for this. I don’t think it’s right and I don’t think it’s cute, and I think as parents we shouldn’t egg this type of behavior on. I’ll get off my soap box now.

Anybody have a great cocktail recipe?

OH. HELL. NO.

On my lunch today, I decided to visit Threader Extraordinaire, Natasha. Natasha threads my face. Yep, eyebrows, upper lip, chin, cheeks, everywhere. Now, I’ve been waxing for years, and usually when you tell the waxer you want your face done, they do eyebrows, lip and chin. Not dear, sweet, face ripper Natasha. She does my WHOLE face. Until I felt the tiny peach fuzz hairs being ripped from my face, I didn’t even know I had tiny peach fuzz hairs there to begin with…like my earlobes. I love threading so much more because it doesn’t irritate my face like wax does. I do think it’s more annoying though. At least with wax, your hair is ripped off in one fluid motion, not threading. It’s more like making a pass two or three times. Yowza! But, a woman has to do what a woman has to do for beauty’s sake. Don’t try and deny it, you know you got a few stray hairs, and if you aren’t already doing something about them, you really need to. Oh, but please, don’t bleach any facial hair. Good God. I worked with a woman once who had a nasty moustache and she died it with facial bleach! What’s worse than a dark moustache? One that is bleached! She looked like she had blond whiskers like a walrus. Poor thing.

Oh, but this is not the “Oh. Hell. No.” of the story.

I walk into India Bazaar where I get threaded…and it’s actually just that, a bazaar: threading area, Indian grocery store, Indian clothing store, Indian Restaurant, and who do I see?

You will never guess it. I about died. A shot adrenaline coursed its way through my body as I “Jason Bourne’d” the situation and tried to plan my escape route before HE looked up.

I was face to face with Dickhead-Gym Rat-Chris from earlier in the week????

Cue scary psycho music: EEK! EEK! EEK!

“FUCK!!!! Oh for the love of Jesus, please do not look up. Shit, this aisle is blocked! Oh my God…he’s almost done, I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!”

Just as he is finishing his transaction at the register, the aisle roadblock moves his ass and I’m just about to skate by when Chris looks up!!!!!!! I can feel him staring at me as I’m walking by him. It’s all slow motion of course, at least it feels that way, and again I am begging God, the Universe, Mother Nature to please open up a hole and swallow me.
Now I can tell out of my peripheral vision that he is staring at me, and I know he doesn’t know me per se, but I know he knows that I look familiar. In comes Natasha and saves the day by swooping me into her room and closes the door.

Seriously though, what the hell are the chances I’d see the douche bag again, and of all places, in the Indian Bazaar?

Maybe God is telling me I need to get my fat ass back to the gym.