My favorite part about this video is the mouth breathing before the belch.
I think Fisher Price snuck into my dreams and made a toy based off of the disturbing recesses of my mind.
Either that or they are getting in tune with the off-color consumer market, yearning for something mom (and in some cases dad) can enjoy as well.
Okay, so hear me out.
Please.
I stand firm with traditions, especially the age old tradition of setting up Christmas decor NO SOONER than the weekend of the tryptophan coma and no later than the first day of December.
But…BIG BUT…
I thought of a brilliant idea for some spare frames that used to hang in Nugget’s room, flexing their coordination chops, that is until he, in what I’m assuming was a fit of joyful rage, ripped them from the wall, declaring he was so done with wall decor. These album frames have been sitting on the hallway counter for…a month? maybe two?
Now, with the help of some snazzy vintage-inspired 12x12 Christmas scrapbook paper, lots of some minimal dusting, and sturdy nail action, they are displayed festively on the wall of our landing that was formerly barren and cold and lame.
It’s a really, really easy way of putting your obsession with purchasing picture frames to use repurposing picture frames to decorate for the holidays.
What type of paper style would you go for with your wall art this winter season?
**Join the Wordless Wednesday fun and link up with Angry Julie Monday.
We knew a few participants in the 2010 Ironman race on Sunday in Tempe. Despite the fact that things kept getting in the way of ample training time for Husfriend to compete this year, venturing down to soak up the enthusiasm of spectators and racers was a must. Nugget humored us by having a cooperative day, even with a nasty head cold that would kick in full force just a few hours after we got home.
The Tempe Center for the Arts was close to where the running leg (haha. get it.) of the race would begin. We took a gander at the exquisite architecture of the giant waterfall along the north side of the building. Husfriend was even so kind as to snap a few photos of me on the opposite side of the lens with my darling Nugget.
Overcast, relaxing, and comforting. My kind of Sunday.
Dear Santa,
Please make the batteries die in this toy for Christmas.
Love,
Jess
With Thanksgiving this Thursday (holy sweet mother of rump! where the hell did the year go?!), I’ll be spending a majority of my time in the kitchen. I’m not all that upset about it, but have been struggling with what the best attire might be for all that cooking I have to do.
I opted to dig deep down into my youth for inspiration.
What presented itself, I’m sure, won’t fly now that I’m post child-bearing, an extra three feet vertical, and will now need to actually serve the olives to unsuspecting guests my loved ones.
Should I still go for it? Nighty and all? They’ll never know the difference.
Have you seen this thing?! The fact that I know where practically every Target is in any given city in the western hemisphere, I have an almost three year old boy Nugget, and we frequent the toy department, so strategically placed by the seasonal section (touché Target. touché.), we are well-versed in the awesome that spews from the sound box in Bigfoot the Monster.
The other hilarious aspect? They have a Bigfoot the Monster Facebook app. You heard me. You can share your mood with your followers with a simple click of the mouse. Who doesn’t want to let everyone know when you’re feeling especially obnoxious on any given day? Sold.
The other, other less-hilarious-more-groovy aspect? Fisher Price is offering a toy-a-week sweepstakes right now through December 15th by signing up on the Bigfoot the Monster Facebook app page.
Go on, run along and let your third cousin’s, brother-in-law’s uncle know that you’re feeling gleeful today.
I was approached and provided monetary compensation by Big Fuel Communications on behalf of Fisher Price to share information on this product with my audience. All adorations, silly things, and fart jokes have been expressed on my own accord. Pffffft. 'Scuse me.
Today was a slinky sort of Saturday, both literally and figuratively.
Nugget has developed an uncanny fascination for Slinky Jr. (thank you Target Dollar Spot), despite the now-wonky state of the former stair-climbing, simplistically charming toy. I can’t even begin to tell you what could have happened to the poor thing since I was away being slinky myself with a pretty little leaf of a photographer. Also? I was far less slinky and a bit more slanky…and crunchy…and slumpy…and limb-y. Where did these legs come from?! But that’s not me complaining about the patient company. ::reverse wink/stink eye::
Nothing quite beats a day filled with side-splitting laughter, abominated lattes, soup cups, traffic, back/foot rubs, grocery survival, cheese sticks, hilarious rumors, chin shaving, and a renewed sense of vocational motivation.
So, how did you spend the first day of your weekend?
Indulgently edible swag is my favorite kind of swag. Thanks again to Fresh&Easy for having us for their holiday kick-off event last night at the Orpheum Lofts in downtown Phoenix.
I’m now bummed that loft-style living isn’t quite suitable for my teenie family with a toddler. Barumph!
Also? I’d like to make out shake the hand of the designer in charge of this packaging. ::swoon::
**Join the Wordless Wednesday fun and link your post with Angry Julie Monday.
This hump day is the ultimate Binge-On-Oversized-Chocolate-Bars sort of hump day.
When you freelance, catching up from a screw in the gears works you…hard.
For reasons beyond explanation, where beyond explanation means because I have “personal problem areas” and my teeth are the most not-white they’ve ever been in my life, maybe, I’ve decided, as a pre-New Year’s Resolution, to wean myself off of soda, coffee, and sweets.
I was convinced yesterday, while I was sure the left side of my skull had cracked open and was spewing hatred and racism from the gaping, migraine-inducing hole that had formed from my inability to consume any form of caffeine ALL DAMN DAY. Well, I guess it was less of an inability and more along the lines of poor planning on my part. I hadn’t restocked the soda cupboard (this doesn’t exist in every other svelt person’s kitchen?!) on my weekly grocery shop. I had the means, what with those legs I posses and that moving, vehicle-type automobile that was sitting in the garage, to satiate my craving, but chose not to act on impulse. I figured I’d surely scare the living daylights out of any poor, unsuspecting children that may or may not have been at the store with mom, because of the Hatred Hole. Around the do-or-die time of the day, before the moment where I have to leave the house or the world might as well start preparing for the apocalypse, I was certain that all of the smear campaign signs from the side of the road had been relocated to that spot on the side of my noggin and MY GOODNESS how damned annoying are those things that it brings a disgruntled landscaper to his wit’s end and he starts going ape shit on them and everyone waiting for the left turn arrow starts to roll down their windows, set off party poppers, and holler praise at the man who ended the obnoxiousness. That totally happened. Minus the rolling down of the windows, party poppers, and praise-hollering. I may have just smiled and did my best golf clap from within the confines of my non-judgmental truck. I suppose those are close to the same.
Greatest. Run-on. Ever.
Eternal soda hiatus. Right.
Because I was along the lines of “constant binge” when it came to soda, polishing off a twelve-pack all on my own over the course of a few days, I was sure that I may need medical assistance to take on this feat I’d bestowed on myself. Then, right as I was going to buy street caffeine from a skeevy man in a dark alley to get my fix, I spotted the 100-calorie pack of the soda world.
Ninety. Calorie. Cans.
I get ONE a day for the first week. Husfriend is on check and balance duty to help me through this since I’m not able to take NSAIDS for headaches while I’m on some new cocktail of medication. We don’t want stomach bleeding or fetal-rocking in room corners. Or impatience. Yuck. Impatience.
The Xanax, however, is always nearby.
Do you have a pre-New Year’s Resolution or general resolve that you’re taking on before the gain-fifty-and-hate-yourself-in-the-morning-you-dirty-whore holiday season sneaks up on us?
Two nose bleeds, The Shed, a whirlwind morning, two fly kills, and six, ten-sets of stairs.
I so earned this.
I found out that the Bad Books album is available for all you Macs on iTunes. I'll forever be a PC, but I suppose I can look out for the greater good of the population of traitors.
This album is magnificent. Andy Hull (and most of the other members of Manchester Orchestra) and Kevin Devine combined their melodic and lyrical forces to release a “time-killer” project.
Get it here on Amazon…now. Or maybe not NOW, that seems a little demanding of me. Perhaps, tonight when you’re stalking old high school friends on Facebook or something. It would make a great soundtrack to your hunt, huffs, and guffaws. Not that I, would, know…
A bad hair day and one* thumb(s) up.
*Consider the hat as my second thumb.
I swear promise probably completely overdosed on Halloween(er) candy today.
Because we live in mini-Utah, USA, we were lucky enough to hear the age-old “Trick-or-Treat” from Friday through Sunday. Although, I’m happy to report that a majority of the pint-sized Lady GaGa’s and booty-begging pirates rang our doorbell ON Halloween. I know, I should have checked to see if you were seated before throwing that curve ball. My bad.
I made the day of All Hallow’s Eve a productive one…if I were a woman named Ethel, with thirty-seven cats, a crazy eye, and pushing eighty.
Thanks Val.
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