Obviously my husband has found out about my minor little prank of listing his favorite golf driver on ebay.? And he’s actually taking it very well.? Which makes me suspicious that he has already purchased another club of Brobdingnagian proportions and price elsewhere.? Or is planning to.? So if any of you are listing golf clubs on ebay please don’t accept any bids from sdriza.?

And see that?? I didn’t totally neglect my word challenge.? Okay, maybe I have neglected it just a wee bit.? But do you have any idea how hard it is to use a word about well-shaped buttocks in polite mixed company?? Or to even pronounce one half of a monster like Brobdingnagian?? More on that later, though.? I have other loose ends to tie up here.

And we have a winner for my first ever Great Purge give-away! Instead of using the random number generator to pick the winner, I have the genius idea of telling my son to choose a number between one and ten.?

How smart am I?? Not only am I blogging and giving away random crap invaluable gift items? from around my home, I’m also teaching my son about numbers.? ? So he? ponders for a moment.? Then? goes? with? sixty-three five hundred twenty-eight.? ? Hmmm.? ? So I have him pick? again.? And? he? chooses forty-two.? Well, at least this? is a number? I? am? familiar with, but given the small number of entries, it doesn’t get me any closer to finding a winner.? Finally, in desperation I say, “Great job, Connor!”, close my eyes and punch a number on my phone.

And so semidesperatehousewifehas the good people at VTech to thank for her new Billabong dress!? May her legs remain young and de-varicosed for many moons to come.

And now on to the new item up for grabs.

I had this junk foisted upon me won these things at a Tastefully Simple-Cookie Lee party I attended about two years ago and as you can see they haven’t been worn yet.? It’s not that I don’t think they’re perfectly lovely.? But somehow crosses always remind me of my Madonna phase in high school and I’m just so not willing to revisit my fashion sense from back then.? Lest I start donning white boots and? jean mini skirts to go along with it.? And perhaps even a scrunchie or two.? ?

So here are some photos:

Sorry the second one is so blurry.? I was just trying to give you an idea of the greeness of green that? are the crystals.

So if you’re interested, leave me a comment telling me about your favorite cheesy outfit from any time period.? Mine?? Probably this hideous white ultra-mini with a black band around the waist, ultra-short black biker shorts underneath, and a black lycra midriff baring top.? Because it just wasn’t trampy enough without baring a little extra stomach.? Hopefully the 17-year-olds of this generation are making much smarter fashion selections.

The contest will be going until Friday night, at which time I will pick a winner and post a new item up for grabs!

Do’s and Don’ts of? listing your hubby’s? favorite golf driver? on ebay without telling him:

1)? Do not? mistakenly use his ebay account instead of your own to list club as strangely, ebay updates are sent to account holder’s email address.? Unless husband is too dense to decipher emails? saying such things as, “Notice–your wife’s listing of your favorite Callaway Golf Driver, which is supposed to be a secret but we really wanted to tell you anyway because we think only? a truly horrible person would do such a thing,? has a new bid!”?

2) Do notify hubby about? horrifying new virus? causing instant? computer implosion? contained in emails titled “Notice–your wife’s listing of your favorite Callaway Golf Driver, which is supposed to be a secret but we really wanted to tell you anyway because we think only? a truly horrible person would do such a thing,? has a new bid!”?

3)? Do not make up silly account name like “AllGolfersSuckTheBigOne” as bidders will be frightened.

4) Do make up silly account name like “AllGolfersUsingThisClubCanExpectPenisToGrowThreeInchesInTwoDays” as most men will be too frightenend not to bid.

5)? Do not post ebay info on blog if hubby’s co-workers read it.? This is virtual guarantee that hubby will be recipient of mocking in workplace and subsequently, will find out about missing club.?

6)? Do send link to all your friends in hopes their hubbies will take outlandish golfing beast off your hands.?

7) Do not fail to book yourself and children a hotel room for the night hubby finds out.?

8)? Do book five-star resort and plan to pay with proceeds of golf club sale.

9)? Do not fail to hide all prized possessions, including hound dogs and favored Coach purse, so hubby can’t retaliate with similar ebay listing.?

10)? Do conspicuously leave decrepit demented Rottwiler and hubby’s 80′s style Movado watch out in plain sight.

?

?

Has your husband ever made you SO angry and scream SO loudly that your vocal cords burst? from? your throat and smacked him straight upside the head?? No?? Okay so maybe that didn’t happen here either.? ? But you know it’s bad when I’m seriously digging the visual.

Usually after going postal in my brain for a few hours, I just get over? such things? and move on.? But not this time.? This time,? hubby crossed the line.? So I did what any sane wife would do.?

Which is to say, I LISTED HIS BRAND NEW? GOLF? CLUB? ON EBAY.? WITHOUT TELLING HIM FIRST.

OH YES I DID.

Here are the specifics.? You see, hubby is a complete gadget and sporting goods whore.? And he kills me with the amount of stuff he buys.? Stuff he purports to “need”.? For instance, he actually bought a motorcycle about three years ago from somebody he knows in Chicago without telling me first.? Because he needed it.? Of course, since hubby made no arrangements for transportation, the freakin’ thing is still rusting away in Chicago, probably getting eaten by rats in somebody else’s garage.? But I’m glad we have one, you know.? Just in case.? And the ice axe.? For which I’m sure there are an infinite number of uses.? Providing you live in Alaska and not SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA which, last time I checked, is where we currently reside.

The main point here is hubby AGREED to a buying ban.? And this time I actually BELIEVED him.? So imagine my surprise when I go to fill the trunk of his car with groceries and instead, find this skulking there:

Yeah, I didn’t really know what “this” was either, until I took the cover off:

Why hello there, absolutely ginormous golf club that looks to cost as much as Heidi Klum’s wardrobe on Project Runway.? And note the most crucial detail—it’s BRAND–SPANKIN–NEW!

? I know,? selling someone’s stuff without permission? sounds bad.? Terrible even.? But seriously folks, we’re supposed to be at least pretending to save money.? You know, for the trivial stuff.? Like the new baby.? Our kids’ college funds.? ? The monstrously large mortgage.? Oh yeah, and sometimes we even like to eat.? I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking a surreptitious $500+ golf club purchase pretty much blows? hubby’s spending ban straight to hell.? And hello, he already has a driver.? A Big Bertha in fact, so it’s not like it’s some Toys R Us special.? But for the man with fifty tents and almost as many (non-working) cars, the word “enough” is meaningless.

And I tried to like it.? Really I did.? In fact, I seriously considered ebaying my husband and keeping the club.? For one thing, it didn’t hog the covers.? Or steal my pillow.

? ? And we never fought over what to watch on TV.

? My? kids kind of liked it.

? Heck, even the hounds seemed to accept it as just one of the girls.? Plus,? having a club instead of a husband? freed up crucial couch space.

? Of course Peanut didn’t think much of it.? Then again, he tries to eat his own reflection.

In the end, though,? I decided there’s something to be said for a little intelligent conversation.? ? Plus, the club’s idea of a good time was driving by a golf course, honking the horn and screaming “SLICE!” just as some poor schmuck was getting ready to tee off.? ? Although on second thought,? the club most certainly learned that trick from hubby.

Besides, I’m pretty sure the club is worth more on the open market.

? At any rate, if you want to read more, go to? http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=120290738165&ru=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.ebay.com%3A80%2Fsearch%2Fsearch.dll%3Ffrom%3DR40%26_trksid%3Dm37%26satitle%3D120290738165%26category0%3D%26fvi%3D1

Or if that doesn’t work (notice my killer skills with tiny url)? try http://www.ebay.com and plug in item # 120290738165

?

Moms complain incessantly? about the sneaky, manipulative and, well, hormonal ways of their teenagers (to put it quaintly).? And I’m sure teens come with a bevy of tricks up their sleeves.? I get that.

What? I don’t get, however,? is why those same mamas? don’t tell you this behavior can start much, much earlier—say, at age two?? Okay, so maybe not so much the hormonal behavior? (thank goodness!), but the sneakiness?? Most definitely.

I mean, I’m not one of those moms with her head? buried? in the sand? about her kids.? (Although, my son buries his own head in the sand—frequently.? So if you see him, no, that’s not dandruff).? I? own the peculiarities and challenges that? comprise my little mop-headed, opinionated, over-thinking? four year-old.? Hey, that was me standing in line at Barnes and Noble several years ago, clutching a towering stack of parenting books before my son even deigned to toddle.? Books with titles like “Parenting a Spirited Child”, and “How to Set Limits for Your Strong-Willed Child”.? ? And “How? to Keep Your Royal Pain? in the? Butt Kid? from? Driving? You? to Imbibe Massive Quantities of Alcohol and Smash Your Head and His onto a Very Hard Stone Surface on an Hourly? Basis.”? Okay, so maybe that last one? only existed in my brain.? ? But had? that title? been available for purchase, you can be 100% certain it would be keeping the other? manuals company on our bookshelf right now.

Still, there is no book on earth that prepares you for all the intricate nuances of parenting.? ? Or the minutiae of kids’ brains.? I mean, some children are just born thinkers.? And reasoners.? And lest you start thinking this is a wonderful thing, let me share a little story with you.

We call it “Connor and the Peanut Butter Cup”

Just before his third birthday, Connor is heading back home with hubby from some kind of male bonding experience, which, given my son’s utter enthrallment with trains at that time, undoubtedly consisted of the manly pursuit of visiting the hobby store and? fondling all the Thomas the tank engines.? For hours.? On the way home, hubby stops at the corner gas station for a drink, and of course, Connor asks for a mini Reese’s peanut butter cup (trust me–this is the lesser of many, many sugary evils that hubby exposed Connor to periodically at that same store).? ? Demonstrating? uncharacteristic restraint, hubby says, “You can only have one, and then we’ll bring another one home to mommy.”

So, moments after climbing into his car seat, Connor’s peanut butter cup vanishes, destined for a quick but fatal trip to Tummy Town.? And about a millisecond elapses before he’s demanding mine.? Hubby tells him, no, that one’s for mommy—you ate yours already.

Connor thinks for a moment, then says innocently, “Can I just hold it for mommy?”

Now, my hubby knows our son by now as well, so he’s immediately suspicious.? “You can’t eat it–it’s for mommy,” he reiterates.

Connor smiles again–”I know.? I just want to hold it for mommy, so I can give it to her when we get home.”

Melting under the radiant innocence of my son’s beatific grin, hubby caves and hands over? the peanut butter cup.? A few seconds later he hears, “Daddy, maybe I can just unwrap it and look at it for mommy.”

Hubby, who clearly did not read the “Setting Limits for Your Strong-Willed Child” book referenced above, says something to the effect of “Oh, that’s not a good idea.”? ? Basically, this kind of wishy-washy talk is like an open invitation to sin for spirited children.? Which means the wrapper? flies off said chocolate treat faster than the pants off a whore.? Then—”Daddy, this peanut butter cup’s broken.? ? Maybe I’ll? just eat this edge off, so it still looks pretty.”

By the time “No!” flies from my? sucker’s, I mean hubby’s,? mouth, it’s? too late.? The edge is gone.

? A? few moments later, “Daddy, it’s too small for mommy now.? I’m just gonna eat it all, and we can get her a new one later.”

Needless to say, I did not enjoy a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup that day.

?

I don’t know how you spent your last few minutes of awake time last night, but I’m reasonably certain they weren’t squandered discussing the merits of Gordon Lightfoot.? Me?? Not so lucky.?

Here’s how it happened: Hubby and I are getting ready? for bed, and at a decent hour for a change. Not that we’ve been up partying and closing down the bars lately.? But in our baby-driven lives, even eleven o’clock is pushing it.

Just as I’m fluffing my pillow and channeling Doris Day by pulling on my pink satin mask (it was cheaper than black-out shades), disaster strikes.? Because instead of the hum of our white-noise maker (okay, so it’s really just a humidifier sans filter and water–call me MacGyver)? I hear hubby’s voice.?

The talking is? brief enough at first—a few questions about facebook and linkedin, and who he’s reconnected with so far.? Then, mysteriously,? the topic? jumps from old college friends to Phish concerts to, of all things, Gordon Lightfoot.? No, I really have no idea how that’s possible, either.? But those kind of? random neuron firings? happen all too frequently around here.? Maybe it’s the 60′s coming back to haunt me.? Which is mildly perplexing, since I wasn’t born until the 70′s.

Of course, then? hubby? has to look good old Gordon up on the computer.? I mean, how could? one possibly? be expected to ever sleep again until they were reminded of which songs he sang,? songs that most likely held the talent and longevity of a Milli Vanilli number?? So hubby grabs his handy-dandy laptop, only it’s not so handy-dandy because the battery is shot so it always requires a plug, as does mine, come to think of it, and then we’re in business.?

I was pleasantly surprised to? discover that Mr. Lightfoot actually sang some pretty good stuff, including Sundown and If You Could Read My Mind.? So, after wasting even more precious snoozing time listening to samples of his music, then looking up the lyrics to Sundown (what did he say in that line about “sneaking” again?), we finally settle in for bed.

And it’s still only 10: 20 pm, so we’re in good shape. Until hubby starts in with some Connor-isms from earlier that evening.? How this relates to Gordon Lightfoot, I have no idea—hence the emphasis on random neuron firings.? Apparently, my son was having a little chat about swear words.? Connor told hubby that he could start? using some? bad words? when he turned? five.? When my hubby inquired which words those might be, Connor says, “Stupid.”?

Upon hearing that, hubby heaved a sigh of relief, which was short-lived.? “…And f*ck,”? Connor continues, disingenuously.

? I wasn’t there, so I can only imagine the sound of my husband’s jaw slamming onto the concrete and his eyes popping out of his sockets and flying across the garage.? I mean, hubby and I have been known to utter the occasional “butt-munch” or “fart-knocker” at home (and yes, maybe I’ve? spewed forth with? “jackass” a few times while driving), but our profanity pretty much stops there.? But Connor has bionic ears, so who knows.

Hubby said it took him a moment, but he finally came up with, “No, that one’s not okay until you’re at least eighteen.”

Connor apparently thought about it for a moment, then smiled and said, “Or ten.”

After that, of course, all bets for sleep are off, as I’m left pondering how I’m going to convince my son that the “f” word is only legal for use once you’ve reaching voting age.

And I still don’t get what any of this has to do with Gordon Lightfoot.

?

Is it just me, or are ants? some of the most disgusting creatures known to man?? Second, of course, to cockroaches.? I mean, I don’t mind seeing an ant here or there when I’m out and about.? And yes, I get that ants are amazing—they’re strong, organized, and cooperative.? In fact, they’d probably? fare better in the corporate world than most humans.? ? But there are rules.? And I draw the line when the little? bastards sneak? into my home for a morning snack.? Then, amazing or not, they must die.

So, I? stumble downstairs this morning, into the kitchen, and there they are.? Dozens and dozens of ants, crawling all over our counters, in our sink, on the floor, and on the sliding glass door, where they’ve apparently snuck in.? (By the way, my computer is telling me that “snuck” isn’t actually a word.? Are you kidding me?? Who the heck uses “sneaked”, anyway?)

Hubby was down here earlier this morning.? He keeps his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter.? Did he notice any ants?? Of course not.? Most hubbies, as you may have realized by now, have a great knack for tunnel-vision.? If it’s not a snack, a golf club,? or a completely unnecessary and useless electronic gadget, then it might as well be invisible.? Our phone conversation goes something like this:

Me:? “Um, honey, did you go into the kitchen this morning?”

Him:? “I think so.”? (See that?? He’s already hedging his bets—his “danger-meter” must be going off like crazy).

Me:? “Did you notice anything….strange?”

Him:? “Is this a trick question?”

Me:? “How about…did you notice the ANTS ALL OVER OUR KITCHEN COUNTER??”? (voice rising about a? hundred decibels)

Him:? “Ants??

Me:? “Yes. Ants.? You know,those little six-legged black insect things that like it when you leave PEANUT SHELLS ALL OVER THE FLOOR??” (Voice rising again, most likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.? The ones that live three blocks away.)

Him:? “Peanut Shells?”

Sigh.? The next step, of course, is to kill the little suckers with my non-toxic dishwashing liquid and water spray.? That part, at least, goes as planned.

Then the clean up.? After wiping up as many dead bugs as I can possibly find (yum), I head to the garage(always a scary undertaking, at our house) for the vacuum.? I get super excited at first, because I could see the vacuum right off the bat.? For once, I thought, I’d escape from the garage unscathed.? No searching under totaled cars that should’ve been enjoying a view at the dumpster for the last year, no getting bombed by precariously balanced pieces of junk.? No getting blown up by fireworks.? Or eaten by a rat.?

I should have known better.? ? Because as? I get closer to the vacuum, I do a double take.? Something appears to be missing.? And in fact, something is missing—the hose.?

Now, I don’t claim to be a vacuum expert, nor do I play one on TV, but even my housecleaning-impaired brain is pretty sure that since we do not own a Dyson (nor any other vacuum from the twenty-first century, for that matter) the hose is a crucial element to getting that particular appliance to work.?

So, I call hubby again—I seem to remember he and my son playing with something which, in retrospect, may have resembled a vacuum hose while in the kiddie pool on Saturday.

Me:? “So, I found the vacuum, but there’s no hose.”

Him:? “Hose?”

Me:? “Yes, hose.? You know, the thing that actually makes the whole thing work?”

Him:? “Um.? I think maybe Connor was playing with it.”

Me:? “O-k-k-k-a-a-y.? So do you know where it is?”

Him:? “Um.? No.”

Me:? “Just for curiosity’s sake, do you think it’s a good idea to let our 4 yr old play with the parts to our major appliances?”

Him:? “Um.? No.? ? But he likes it.”

Me:? “He also likes to eat ice cream and candy and Oreos right before bed.? And smash things with a hammer.? Shall we let him do that?”

Him:? “Um.? No.? But maybe ask him where it is.? I haven’t seen it.”

Me:? “You mean, you haven’t seen it since he played with it?? Because obviously you saw it then.”

Him:? “Oh, yeah. ZZZShhhshZZZ (obviously man-made static noises).? Do you hear that static?? You’re cutting out.”

Double sigh.? So I ask my son where the vacuum hose is.? In fact, he does remember where he put it–on the floor of the garage.? Now, if this were your garage, maybe this is the point where you start jumping for joy, or singing “Whoomp, there it is!”, or whatever? ritual it is normal folks perform when they’ve located something in their garage,? knowing the hose would be in your vacuum-grasping hands at any moment.? But we’re talking our garage, where the word “normal” doesn’t even exist, home to a million pieces of junk, and that junk’s offspring.? And, of course, the occasional rat.

At any rate, I finally locate the vacuum hose.? It is, indeed, on the floor of the garage.? And I guess I can understand why hubby? couldn’t recall? seeing it.?

? Now, I think my son is amazing and gifted.? ? Really, I do.? But even I’m pretty sure that he didn’t heft up the pedal car, which I can barely lift, and? toss it right on top of the hose.? Nor, to the best of my knowledge,? did he suddenly grow about two feet and trade his training wheels in for an adult-sized ten-speed.? So, it begs the question—how did that hose get there?

I’d ask my hubby, but? I already know what his response would be.

? “Hose?”

In case anyone was wondering, no, I am not on vacation. Unless your idea of a great holiday is flying to Utah with a 7-month old on your lap, landing and driving 40 minutes to the hotel, at which time you meet up with your 4 yr old, who just rode 12+ hours in the car with grandpa and 3 Ridgebacks, and is as wired as somebody who just mainlined five pounds of sugar mixed with crack. And this is just the first few hours.

But it gets better. Then, you are lucky enough to share a hotel room with your parents, your two kids, and three hound dogs, one of which is about as quiet as a building-full of screaming toddlers. And for the next three days, you get to rise and shine at the blink of dawn, all to take said hound dogs, not to mention the other three dogs in your aunt’s room across the hall, to a dog event known as lure coursing. Sound fancy? Well, basically, it’s three dogs chasing a piece of white plastic bag all over a few acres of dirt. All the while, you’re trying to balance both kids naps, keep dry from the random rainstorms that blow through, and not absorb all of the dirt in the state of Utah into your pores. And of course, you happen to have the only naughty hounds that don’t come when the race is over, so you have to chase them all over creation just to get them off the field.

And that was just the first three days.

I’m thinking they’re not going to booking this as a 5-star get-away anytime soon.

All the while, hubby is lounging away at home, blissfully soaking up the silence (well, except for his night-growling Rottweiler), hitting golf balls, and drinking beer. And befouling my blog.

Does this seem fair to you?

More to come, inlcuding photos from this so-called “vacation”………

I’ve basically missed the last week. I think it is day 10. In any event it has been a long time. A lot has happened in the last week:

• ? Promised wife to stop hijacking her blog.
• ? Played golf.
• ? Fasted. (Ate nothing but beer and pretzels for almost four hours one afternoon.)
• ? Quit Fasting – ate a nice cut of prime rib.
• ? Driving Range.
• ? Watched Lakers Win West.
• ? Putting Green.
• ? Watched Celtics Win East.
• ? Played More Golf.

I also connected with an old friend who made me realize how lucky I am to have such a wonderful wife and healthy children. Our conversation reminded me what a great relationship my wife and I have. Strangely, it also made me think of . . . . golf? Then my mind wandered and I forgot why I called and realized I wasn’t listening to my old friend anymore and made me feign static (“CZSHHHHH – do you hear that?”) and I got off the call.

So anyway, one of my guilty pleasures while my wife is away is to watch really bad horror movies. I fired up our Pay-Per-View box and found “One Missed Call” with Edward Burns. The SPOOKY subtitle asks the question, “WHAT WILL IT SOUND LIKE WHEN YOU DIE?”

I contemplated this for a minute but again found myself thinking about golf. I wondered if Edward Burns plays golf?

Anyway, it seems that all the best horror movies always have unknown people (at least to me). I had heard of “Edward Burns” before, so I paused a bit – then realized I couldn’t name a single movie he was in. (I bet I can hit a golf ball a lot farther than Edward Burns.)

I felt better. I rented it. Here is my official movie review:

Another remake of a smash hit Japanese horror movie. I can only imagine that these do not translate well… This movie was not good. Or maybe the Japanese Edward Burns is better…

The premise of the movie is that a person dies in a horribly tragic manner – leaving a cell phone message AFTER their death. Then the recipient of the message does the same (that is, dies and leaves post mortem message for another friend and friend subsequently dies and so on).

The first two people died relatively quickly: one fell in front of a train - the other was speared by a long metal pole (not a golf club, but about the same length).

Then the story begins to focus on the two main protaganists: (1) cop [Ed B] working on case tied to the cell phone deaths, and (2) next friend to receive call. They then have an exorcism for a cell phone (no I’m not kidding).

At this point I lost consciousness for several minutes.

When I returned, I was horribly confused. This movie? had nothing to do with golf.

Edward Burns must owe some big gambling debts.

I wonder if he wants a dog?

I’m not sure what to do. There appears to be? no food left? in the house.

I just finished the last container of? Cool Whip and attempted to wash it down with some diluted Clover Honey. Yuck. Cooking Wine = Even Worse!

The only other food has white fuzz on it which I’m pretty sure is a bad sign. Even the dog won’t eat it. He’s hungry too. ?

Why doesn’t? Survivorman? cover these kinds of situations?

What would the Man versus Wild Guy Do?

Maybe I need to cut the dog open, eat him and use his carcass as a shelter to stay warm?

He’s not very big though….

….it’s either that or go to the grocery store….

HERE BOY!