These Should Go in the Vault (But not like The Disney Vault which we know isn't really a vault but more like a temporary holding cell.)

STOP!

Wait! Wait!!

Oh crap, looks like we've missed that Netflix bandwagon again. My husband and I are quick like that. Instead, we choose to spend our clams renting the movies of our childhood from an actual v-i-d-e-o store. We've both realized that our movie tastes were somewhat, uh, "special" when we were a wee lad and lass.


The Over-Thinker's Questionable Questionable (mine's so bad, questionable needed to be repeated--perhaps, even squared) Favorite Movie from Her Childhood:

Oh. God. Has anyone else on earth seen this? If Tim Curry were dead, I'm fairly certain he'd role over in his grave, just remembering that he STARRED in this flick. The nail in the coffin is his Video within the movie called, Halloween---ohhhhhh my. Please click on this if you're in a place where you can say "HOLY CRAP" outloud.

Yes, I own this on DVD. Why? Well, someone had to buy it. And yes, I can totally sing that song by heart--"Anything can happen on Hal-lo-ween, your dog could turn into a cat....your sister could become a sardine, your brother could turn into a bat!" Genius. I totally smell an MP3...(or maybe that's Tim Curry's career)


The Over-Thinker's Husband's Questionable Favorite Movie from His Childhood:
My husband is usually a man of many (hilarious) words; however, he was able to contain his opinion within a lovely little nutshell:

"It's exactly how I remembered it....and it's terrible."

Of course, we now own it on DVD.

So readers, it's time to spill---what is your Favorite, but Questionable, Movie from Your Childhood. As always, I'll keep it a secret.

In Search of the Holy Grail....aka: A Good Bra

As usual, I need help...(please don't click on this one and enlarge it unless you want to see my face hair--that will be another post)

Since I can remember, I have always had issues with undergarments. Although I may have touched on the fact that as a youngster I used to tuck everything in my underwear for purposes of personal security, I don't think I've ever touched on the topic of bras.

Since I've "owned" a chest, I've made my fair share of questionable undergarment purchases. I think this started in 7th grade when I employed an undershirt as pancake-coverer of choice until high school. In high school, there weren't a lot of hot choices for girls to make when selecting a cute bra. Most likely, this wasn't due to the selection on the racks but moreover because I was shopping with my mom who demanded, "What does it matter if it's tan? Who's going to see it?" As a 14-year-old, how the hell was I supposed to answer that?? So beige it was!!

Fast forward a few years when I was a freshman in college...who moved onto the block? But Victoria herself, lugging along all those fancy secrets! Well, hello Vicky! You have a store credit card? Don't mind if I do!! I ended up with a bra and underwear collection that would rival Heidi Klum's personal stash. But, Over-Thinker! Who's going to see it??...hush.

My body is no longer in fabulous college-coed form and nearly all of my fancy pants have been replaced with ones that are pretty but sensible...oh, who am I kidding...they're pretty sensible. And since my chest has decided to have a growth spurt, I am officially out of the realm of making bra purchases at V.S. So....where to?

I am small "around" with uh, lets just say, very large "fronts"-- This makes bra shopping the opposite of fun. I am forever seeking a bra that comes in a color other than white, off-white, beige, kinda-beige and ecru. Not to mention the fact that I'd like to see a narrow strap, people!! Why must large-cup bras have straps that look like they belong on a North Face backpack!?

I thought I had found a good one. A friend recommended I try looking at "Lane Bryant" because they carry bras in larger sizes. To my Canadian readers, in case they don't have Lane Bryant where you are, this is a clothing store that sells apparel in larger sizes. Well, I'll be! I found a bra that almost fit! (And "almost" was as close as I had come in a long time, so this was good.) Unfortunately, the smallest size "around" I could find was a 34, so I had to put it on the tightest hooks so it wouldn't ride up. No problem. At first. But by the end of the day, the bra was obviously still too big and the under-wires were cutting into my armpits! Cutting. In. Seriously. Not. Cool. In order to wear this bra, I have to put cotton pads between the under-wire and my skin so I don't get cut! Sweet fancy moses, why is this so hard?

So, for the love of God (and my armpits), please help! Do you have any recommendations? I've already been "professionally fitted" so I definitely know my size, but where can I find a pretty, good-fitting, bra??

If any of my male readers comment, I will be sure to take your recommendation seriously after I stop laughing at you. Pinky-swear.

Over-Thinker, will you marry me? (and my boyfriend)?

The Over-Thinker, a former Sunday School Teacher (for real!) poses with her cool spectacles and huge nose and somewhat dusty bible that is now cleaned off and sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Hi Mom!


This post title, minus the moniker of Over-Thinker, is the text message I received from my friend, Nicole. And although I know she is totally in love with me and worships the quicksand that I walk upon, she wasn't actually wanting to enter into married life with yours truly. What she was asking was for me to literally "marry" her and her boyfriend, who I shall refer to as The Bod (nickname given to him by one of Nicole's sisters).

Nic and I have known each other for about 7 years (7 years--cripes, time flies when you're busy aging). We met at college in a class that's known to make grown men and women weep at the stress it brings to their lives. We were practically the only 2 laid-back individuals that didn't look like coronaries waiting to happen, so we partnered up for the course's trip out east, catering the Senior PGA Golf Open. Trust me, that sounds a lot cooler than it was. Actually, I was in a pretty kick-ass kitchen and Nicole got the s.h.a.f.t. The catering/cooking took up nearly 12 hours/day and really weeded out the fake-cooks from the real ones. Thankfully, Nicole and I are "real ones" and we made it through okay. Yes, one of us did get extreme heat stroke and the other lost 15 pounds due to stress and lack of sleep, but oh what a grand time. Basically, if you still want to work in the food industry after taking this class, you'll be ready for anything. Practically.

As usual, I digress...

We have been discussing "The Over-Thinker Gets Ordained" option for some time because she has known for awhile that she wanted to marry The Bod but was also well-aware that she and The Bod weren't ready for any ceremony including a bunch of religiousness. She didn't want to go the route of getting married at City Hall because she said that didn't feel "right" either. So I am honored that she and The Bod would like me to perform the ceremony. Being a good little Lutheran, I have a bible....being a good little Lutheran, I consulted the bible for guidance on all things "So You Want to Be Ordained-Stuff"* and go figure! I came up empty!


So, where to turn when the Bible doesn't have the answers? Well the Internet, of course!! And sweet, fancy Moses if there isn't a craptastic overture of sites offering ordainment. Honestly, these are some of the creepiest sites I've seen. Complete with lovely, background organ music and flashing crosses scattered across the page headers. If these sites were actual churches, I'm picturing Astroturf-lined pulpits, velvet vestry garments and a smarmy-looking man rockin' out to "How Great Thou Art" on a key-tar. Alas, through a lovely Yahoo! safe-search, I found a few legitimate sites.

The main reason for posting on this topic is to get feedback/help from you. Please let me know if you have any experience with someone (or you!) getting ordained. Any helpful hints, warnings, etc. are appreciated. I think I have a good start with figuring it out, but I thought I'd get your thoughts...



*Mom, don't pass out, I didn't really think I could find that info in the bible...heh heh, what do I look like? Some joker? Surely not. I was just brushing up on my Leviticus...

A Brief Break in Humiliation-Style Posts So I Can Whine

Health, Health, Health Dahling...

I'm in the throws of experiencing three days full of nausea, eyeballs that feel fiery, rooms that can't be warm enough, ice cold feet and wheezing. So of course, what I want more than anything is peace and quiet. Just some peace and quiet. Peace. Quiet.

Instead, what I have is looping thump thump boom sounds constantly coming from our downstairs neighbors' apartment. Pair this with a headache and general grumpiness from being sick and you have a simple equation that equals Meltdown.

No amount of ear covering & patience (Benedryl Cold & Flu--a.k.a. Mommy's little helper even if Mommy doesn't have kids) can block out the noise. And the most bestest part of all? They aren't even listening to "music"---what's looping is a Menu song from a video game. My husband is laying bets that it's WII. I swear they're holding a tournament. A really stupid tournament that requires a lot of breaks. Breaks which (that?) require the game to keep itself "running in place" on the menu page. Oh for the love of God---turn it OFF!!!! I'm pretty much ready to lose it. I've nearly reached the top of the town square's* bell tower, people.

So please, commiserate with me. Share your "Awful Neighbor" stories. I know it can be much much worse than a looping video game soundtrack (But video game music, really?). Please give me a laugh and make me feel better. Thanks muchly, in advance.


*Wouldn't it be cool to live in a town that has an actual square? And not just some piece of lawn in the front of a Gas Station?

Bed-Wetting II....Electric Boogaloo (No Joke)

You know? I think I pretty much covered it all with that title. I don't think I need to post.

So, take care; thanks for stopping by!

If it weren't for my ability to NOT be long-winded, I would've stopped writing. Alas...no.



Since I covered the problem in my last post, I'm here today to share a "solution"...

I'd like to share a Bed-Wet-No-More contraption with you. And then you can laugh about it until you pee yourself.


When Gold Stars and Atta-Girls No Longer Cut the Mustard

Bed-Wetting Solution*:

A Pee-Alarm to Wear on My Wrist
This should be marketed as a torture device. Seriously. Make sure you're sitting down for this. I am about to describe the most horrific, hilarious contraption. The "unit" is made up of 3 parts--all connected by WIRES. Did you catch that? WIRES. Hmm....Pee+Wires=Good? Okay, stay with me. The first part is a 3' by 2' piece of clear, amber-tinted HARD plastic. Within the plastic, you can see wire coiled about--it kind of looks like the coils in a toaster-oven. Connected to the toaster-oven sheet are two long wires with snaps on their ends. That's right. Snaps. To snap into the crotch of my Wonder Woman Underoos. Cold, metal, snaps....hooked up to a toaster oven. Sounds good to me! Sign me up!

It gets better...

Also connected to the toaster-oven sheet is yet another wire! This one is coated in white plastic (safety first!) and is attached to this HUGE dorky bracelet that has a HUGE strap of Velcro attached to it. I so wish that I had a photo of this little number. To put it in perspective, the "bracelet" was about the size of a mug of coffee and it weighed about 6 pounds. Did I mention that it's a speaker? Yes. It's a speaker. That emits a sound similar to a Severe Weather Siren if a single drop of moisture (read: urine, drool, sweat, etc.) comes within a mile of the toaster oven sheet.

You can probably see where this is going, but allow me to set the scene....

You're 8 years old and it's time to go to bed. You put on your PJs and scream, "I'm ready!" to your mom. She comes into your room and grabs the 3 wires hanging out the side of your bed's fitted sheet. She helps "electrify your Underoos" with the snaps and Velcro's the heaviest bracelet ever invented to your bone-y little wrist--you can barely lift your arm. By this point, you're tired and ready for a drink of water because you've been cut-off from liquids for the past 6 hours. You gingerly slide into bed, careful not to disrupt the toaster oven sheet because it will sound like someone dropping marbles into a metal spitoon. It's about as comfortable as sleeping on the hood of a car. Around 3 in the morning, you awake to the loudest foghorn blaring in your ear! I'm pretty sure the people in the neighboring city started heading toward their basements thinking a tornado was approaching. The loud siren scares you and you end up peeing your pants. Gee, what an effective tool to curb bed-wetting. Thanks sadomasochistic inventor!



*This, of course, didn't actually work; I just grew out of it (oh, and I didn't drink anything after 1 in the afternoon. Haha, I jest....I'd get an eye-dropper full of milk with dinner. Refreshing!)

Nothing a little bed wetting won't cure...

When I think about my self-esteem as an adult, I know that it's at a healthy level. For the most part. This is shocking to no end when I think of the many many instances of humiliation in my childhood. Here, let me share a sampling with you. I am nothing if not self-deprecating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~The Sleepover from Hell~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each time a friend asked me to sleepover, I would fill with a sense of dread. I was a major bed-wetter. Normally, I would beg off by feigning some mysterious illness; on this occasion, I decided to take my chances. The God of Luck wasn't on my side, my friends. Oh no. The sleepover started with me and my four friends consuming copious amounts of 7-Up and had one helluva burping contest. We were such little ladies. Then, we watched a scary movie--the only thing that could soothe our nerves was more 7-Up. I'm pretty sure you can see where this is going. I sprung a leak around 2:00 a.m. (I'm surprised I lasted that long). One of my "friends"--(I will totally refer to this bunch of girls as quote-finger-friends b/c they turned out to be not-so-friendly.) got her mom. The sheets were soaked; I was soaked and mortified. The mom was SUPER SMART and said, (hand to God) "Let's flip the sheets over." Okay. So I'm in third-grade but I was pretty sure that, logistically speaking, this wouldn't help. And, hot damn if I wasn't spot-on. So the 4 of us gingerly piled back on the bed--their side was totally dry, my side was uh, not dry. Thank GOD I didn't go to the same school as the other girls. Thank GOD I was in 3rd grade and not middle school because middle school girls are assholes. Thank GOD they invented pull-ups in time for the next sleepover.

Wow...that was a lot of information. In the coming days, you can look forward to these cautionary tales and precious moments of Childhood Fun:

Bed-Wetting Solutions (and I'm not talking soap and water)

This is How You Run


And one from the last decade...

The Full Monty Because of my Mom
(This will eventually make sense)

Betty Crocker would be Proud

At one of my mostest favoritest blogs, Loralee's Looneytunes, there is a give-a-way for a super-cute apron. And because I love getting free things (CUTE free things!!), I'm following Loralee's instructions and doing up a little post, including a link back to the Apron Post. These aprons are all kinds of cool. As someone who frequently wears (depending on where I'm working) either a lab coat or a chef coat every. single. day---it's really refreshing to see that there's something else out there.

Wheeeee! Aprons!!! Wheeeeeee!!!!!

(I think I may have crossed over to the dark side of kitchen work---but at least I'll look cute.)