Jami's Guide to Courtroom Fashion

After watching several recent episodes of Judge Judy and the People's Court, just let me suggest a few fashion tips for if you need to go to court. For the ladies: 1. Leggings and thigh-high boots might seem okay since you get to stand behind the podium most of the time, but they're not. 2. Micro mini-skirts don't make you look like a respectable person. Also if you are older than 20 or heavier than a size 20, you shouldn't wear them outside your own house; wear them in court and it basically is lying by clothing. 3. If you're trying to explain how poor you are, wear earrings smaller than your head and try to keep the jewelry, fake or not, to less than Little Richard would find garish. For the gentlemen: 1. Just because it's clean doesn't mean a T shirt is okay for court. It should also not have tears, holes, old stains, naked ladies, cuss words or frayed strings on it. A button-down shirt may be hard to locate, but give it a shot for court. 2. Ties are optional, but wear them with a collared shirt if you are going to wear them. 3. Don't wear shorts. Come on. This should be a gimme. 4. Sandals on guys are never for indoors. And rarely look good outdoors, either. For everyone: 1. Unless the case involves injuries to these parts, the following body parts should not be on display in court: Shoulders, belly buttons, small of the back (even if you have a really rad tramp stamp), anything a bathing suit should cover, arm pits and the middle of your chest. 2. Don't wear anything you cut the sleeves or legs off of yourself. 3. You think wearing sunglasses in court makes you look cool, but you are mistaken. 4. If you are wearing something with feathers, it's probably wrong. Special shout-out to the guy who was workin' the pinstriped tux on the People's Court. Totally fly, but dude, even though it's televised, it's still small claims court, not the prom.

Jami and the Undesirable Travel Destinations

Many people have a so-called "bucket list" and/or a list of places they want to be sure to visit during their lifetime. I could write about the exotic locales I dream of exploring, but I thought I'd go the other way today and give you, my beloved reader(s), the Places I Can Die Without Seeing: 10. Idaho - I'm sure it's got many fine and interesting sites. Probably some nice scenery or attractions and good diners. Maybe a few good places to fish and some nice campgrounds. I understand they make the best potatoes. I don't have anything in particular against Idaho, I just don't have a burning desire to spend time there. 9. The Sulabh International Museum of Toilets - Sure, I'd like to visit India. But, I think if I'm in New Delhi, I am going to give this particular attraction a miss. Besides the fact that there is an online tour (coming soon!), I think that I would spend most of my visit wondering what would inspire someone to begin such a museum and who has to clean all the toilets. So I'll skip this one. 8. Euro Disney - enough said. 7. Untamed Jungle Wilderness (anywhere)- I'm not a big nature girl and I definitely don't want to go anywhere that doesn't have roads and hotels. I don't ever need to machete my way through anywhere or discover a new and exciting species of bug. 6. Bosnia - When I think of visiting Europe, I think of countries with rich and interesting history, beautiful buildings, delicious food. I am not sure what Bosnian cuisine entails, but I think I can give it a miss. Maybe the war is settled down, but I don't feel like I need to be there to verify. Didn't really have much desire to visit it when it was Yugoslavia, and have less desire now. 5. Nigeria - I am sure there are many lovely and interesting parts of Africa, but this is one I think I can miss. It seems to be mostly people with unfortunate souls who have had rich and powerful relatives pass away leaving large sums of money that have to be secreted out of the country. How would I know if the Wallet Inspector asking to see my purse was the real Wallet Inspector? Pass. 4. Death Valley - Honestly, I'd have to say that anywhere that has "Death" in the name is probably a good place to avoid. And while I hate being cold, I think I could miss out on a giant overheated sandbox. Speaking of which..... 3. Tehran - right in the middle of another giant overheated sandbox, but this one is filled with unrest and heavy armed people. They don't care much for Americans, especially not American Christian women who don't wear veils and speak their minds. 2. Mt. Everest - people die on this mountain for no good reason, because there is no good reason to be on this mountain. Those weirdos who all but kill themselves "because it's there" need to reevaluate their priorities. Yes, I know there are Sherpas who run up it for fun before breakfast, but I'm not one, and neither are you. And when you get stuck halfway down and your eyeballs are freezing in the sockets (I read an account of someone who actually lived that) someone else has to risk their life to save yours. Idiot. 1. Antarctica - there is absolutely no draw here for me at all. Even if man had not yet set foot on this continent, I wouldn't be interested in being first. I don't care about whatever scientific whatnots are going on down there or how adorable penguins are. It's a giant block of ice, and the warmest it gets is still ridiculously cold. Pretty much the only thing that could ever make me change my mind about a visit would be extreme global warming that melts the whole thing and reveals a fantastic beach, which seems less than likely. So, sorry, Antarctica, but we shall never meet.

Jami and the Not Great Ideas

I don't know if this happens to you, but now and then I have an idea in a dream that (in the dream) is this brilliant, life-changing, bazillion dollar idea. I wake up and in those first few just-awake moments, I'm excited about the idea. Then, as my brain shakes off the last of the sleep dust, I realize how unbelievably ridiculous the idea is. My most favorite example of this took place a few years ago when I dreamt that I tried drinking from Eddie's baby bottle, and it was soooooo fun. I couldn't believe that no one had marketed this to adults: fun to use, totally non-spill, you could do them in all colors and styles and you know - favorite teams, blah, blah. I was going to make and market these Adult Bottles (had to come up with a better name) and if you tried it once, you'd buy half a dozen at least. I'd be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. When I woke up, I was still fairly psyched. Sure, it sounded crazy, but I vividly remembered how much fun I'd had drinking my Diet Coke. I went so far as to go down to the kitchen and try some juice from the baby's bub. Not nearly as fun. Major disappointment. Last night, I was up for hours with Finn, who decided to party all night instead of sleep. Then I drifted off just in time for him to wake me up again. Because of this, I was in that not-awake-but-not-asleep haze. You know, if you've been there. Anyway, I had to use the bathroom. (Don't worry, this isn't going anywhere gross, promise). It took awhile to quiet Finn and I'd been sort of in-and-out while rocking him. Finally, I take him back to his crib and make a mad dash: I had to go; you know, like the "I am in pain and can't stand up straight" kind of feeling and while I'm using the facility, it hits me: The People need to know that if you have to go really bad, then you should go, because when you do you'll feel so much better. Basically, I felt like I needed to remember, when I woke up, to get the word out: If you have to pee, then you should do so, and you'll feel great relief. It kept ringing in my head "I must tell The People." This morning, when I got up for real, I could still remember the urgency (pun intended) with which I was thinking "I have to get the message out. The People must know this." And I laughed out loud. My great subconscious revelation: going to the bathroom is better than, I guess, uh, holding it until you explode? So there ya go. I've let the world know. If you have to pee - go pee. You're welcome.

Jami and Advancing Appliances

My friend was telling me about her washer/dryer combo which communicates. I guess basically, the washer tells the dryer what type of laundry (delicates, darks, etc.) and I don't know, how wet they are? and the dryer knows how to dry them the most efficiently. I don't like it. I don't want my appliances talking behind my back. It's like the smart fridge - you know it's just a matter of time before it starts getting all snide ("Hey, might want to lay off the Velveeta, there, Tubbo") and I can't deal with that. I like my appliances to be helpful but dumb, like a dog, not smart but possibly mean, like a cat. A fridge that knows what I'm eating, the Japanese toilets that know waaaayy to much about your "leavings", shower heads that know what each person in the family prefers temperature and pressure-wise depending on time of day (yep, they have that), these are the things that are starting us down the path to destruction. First, we become so dependent on the machines that when the power goes out we can't even wash ourselves and then two, the machines know so much about us that they can kill or control us without much effort: "You want your Velveeta, Fatty? Upgrade my hard drive or you're getting nothing but asparagus." How long would I be able to hold out? Measure it in hours, baby, not even days. And when they communicate? The microwave tells the fridge that I didn't take its advice and nuked up some burritos instead? The phone tells all the kitchen appliances that we ordered pizza (again!); before you know it, we've got a riot on our hands. Then the washing machine tells them about the things we put in there? Nope, this isn't going to go well. So, as we purchase items to "make our lives easier", let's just remember that a nice carving knife is good, an electric knife that detects type of meat and done-ness is just one mobile knife-stand away from dismembering you in your sleep when the robots take over.

Jami's Open Letter To Elsbeth (not her real name)

My friend, let's call her Elsbeth, has a bad back. Reeeeallly bad. Surgery followed by 6 weeks in bed bad. So I'm trying to think of ways to avoid the surgery, because that's the kind of friend I am. Dear Elsbeth (not your real name), I know you did not care for my idea of whacking your back with a hockey stick and then splinting you on all sides with more hockey sticks and duct tape. Okay, that was a little inconvenient. But last night, as I lay in bed, the answer popped into my head. Dr. Octopus's extra arm thing from Spider-Man 2! It goes right into the spine, holds it in any position that you want and it will enable you to do all the things you love but haven't been able to enjoy because of your back, like stepping over cars, stopping subway trains and throwing little old ladies off of buildings. What mother wouldn't benefit from having extra arms? Not one, I tell you. Now, you might be concerned, if you've seen the movie, about how the arms made Dr. Ock a bit evil. Well, first of, let's just admit that you're well down that path all on your own. Second, the arms only wanted to commit crime to help Dr. Ock complete that big fake sun thing. I know that you have no desire to work on that sort of science-y thing, so how could it go wrong? Would it want you to make an evil casserole? So, Elsbeth, just days before your surgery, I pull out the perfect solution. You're welcome and I know you feel lucky to have me as a friend. Regards, Jami

Jami and the 'Ade

As I mentioned yesterday, when I'm sick, I am all about the Gatorade. Or Powerade, I'm not a stickler for the brand name. I do care about flavors; citrusy are best, but I'm not opposed to blue and purple. The rest of my life, I couldn't care less if I never had another taste of it, but as soon as my belly starts churning, I'm headed to the grocery store (or sending out The Husband) for some 'Ade.

I don't know if it's psychosamatic, or if there is something in there that just works with my stomach or if there's a voodoo curse that says I can only keep Gatorade down, but if you know I've got a bug and you want to help, bring me the Gatorade, not the soup. Soup is great, don't get me wrong, but I'll be through 3 quarts of my Ade before I even try the soup. And, if you bring me Gatorade, I promise I will remember it forever. You could end up on the news, carving a swastika into a puppy while you burn down an orphange, but I'll be thinking "Yeah, but he brought me Gatorade once, so he's not all bad."

If you see me drinking Gatorade, it means one of three things:

1. I feel like I'm getting sick and I'm heading it off.

2. I've been sick and it's the only thing I can stand to look at.

3.I felt like I was getting sick and I bought a ridiculous amount of it because when I get sick I get convinced that I will never be better. Seriously, one day last week, I upchucked once... and bought 10 1-qt bottles of Powerade. Overkill? Sure. But I was prepared.

Once I start getting better, I want McDonalds chicken nuggets. Don't know why, but they are the ultimate "I think I'm better" food.

Jami Doesn't Dig the Pain

The Husband and I are watching Man vs. Food, a show we watch on occasion when a food he's attempting looks particularly gigantic or bizarre. The one we have on here involves hot wings so hot that only 3 people in the world have managed to eat 12. The Scoville rating of these wings is estimated around 1,000,000, though I have to believe that is a gimmick, but it does have a habanero extract sauce, plus is dredged in hot sauce before being breaded. It's hot, is what I'm saying. SPOILER ALERT: he makes it. Then there is a commercial for the next episode where he plans to eat a chili 9x hotter than a habanero pepper. And here's the thing: I don't get it. I like spicy foods. I craved spicy when I was pregnant. Spicy - yes. But burning my tongue until I cry? Um, no. I don't get eating food that causes you pain. I like food. I eat food for fun, not to hurt. It's the same reason I hate weepy-drama chick flicks - I want to be amused, not depressed. Real life is depressing, show me something funny. Plenty of things in life hurt, my food shouldn't be one of them. I don't get tattoos or piercings, I don't run marathons, and I don't slam dance in mosh pits; hurts = no fun. I want my food to be yummers and fun to eat, not melt my face off and in a few hours come shooting out my butt leaving a flaming vapor trail. That's all.

Jami is Almost Out of Bread

Tomorrow I will be stopping by the grocery store at some point in my errands. I do this because we are almost out of bread. It's not just a fluke, we are somehow, perpetually almost out of bread. We have two states of being here at our house Almost Out of Bread and Out of Bread. That's it. I buy bread. I bring it home and put it in the bread cabinet. Then I walk out of the kitchen and the Bread Gnomes tiptoe in and eat all our bread. There can be no other explanation. Okay, sure, Eddie eats an estimated 14 sandwiches a day (either grilled cheese or PBJ and occasionally steak-um) but still. I am convinced that if the Wonder Bread truck backed itself up to the kitchen door and dumped the entire load into my kitchen to the point where you couldn't get past the fridge because of all the bread, the next morning when I came downstairs for breakfast, we would be Almost Out of Bread. There would be a one folded-over plastic bag, twist tie lost, with the 2 end crusts and a single, lonely non-crust piece left. So, I'll see you tomorrow, at Giant Eagle. I'll be in the bread aisle.

Jami Has No Great Depth.

If you didn't read yesterday's post, it's about some underwear which I don't really like, but never throw away. I reread it this morning and felt like I was stretching for something I couldn't quite grasp. Was I trying to say that there are certain things in life one puts up with because.... of something...? That I settle for less than the best? Was the whole panties problem a metaphor for something greater? No. It really wasn't. I wrote it in a few minutes because it amused me that I have a pair of undies that I really and truly think of as "the least favorite underwear" and that's it. No more. But part of me is even more amused at the idea that I almost tricked myself. Looking for a hidden meaning in my underwear drawer, as it were. And of course, this leads me to imagine ("Scrubs"-style for fans of that show) a classroom of college kids debating with a ponytailed professor the finer points of that post. "But don't you see, class, how the cut of the leg holes is not bad, but also not right? Because what Jami is trying to say here is that just because something doesn't suit our tastes, it may not be wrong. The author is still embracing the wrong panties, because they have intrinsic value, even if they are not the most beautiful ones . . . " So, in case you were wondering, there is no symbolism. No secret message, no deeper meaning and in fact, I wrote this entire post so I could publish this one sentence: Sorry, there's nothing hidden in my drawers.

Jami's Offer of the Day!! Don't Miss Out!!

Hi folks, are you bored, flabby and in need of entertainment? I am offering for rent, at a very reasonable price, 1 ten-month-old boy who apparently does not require sleep and is magnetically attracted to dangerous objects. You get: - exercise as you chase him around. - a chance to practice your primal screaming. - to find all those sharp and/or poisonous items you've dropped and not found. You may even find some new dangers you weren't aware of! - fun for the whole family as he shrieks and tears around your house. - to experience the fun hallucinations from sleep deprivation. BUT WAIT - order now and I'll throw in, for NO extra charge.... 1 almost-5-year-old who is attempting to prove that everything any adult says is wrong. With this addition, you can also: - practice your debating skills! - learn to multi-task! - appreciate how clean your house was! - reinforce to your teens why they should practice abstinence! That's right - order now and get BOTH these life enhancing products in your home for 1 low, low price. Delivery available to the Western PA area, in other parts of the country shipping charges may apply.

Jami Will Warn You, Just This Once

Warning: Parts of this post are not in good taste. So, not too long ago, Patrick posted this about a celebrity who had foolishly allowed a lover to take embarrassing pictures of herself. If you're a celebrity, or hoping to become a celebrity, you're an idiot to allow anyone to take naked or let's just say "private" photos or videos of you because even though you're totally in L-U-V at that moment, there's always the chance they'll get mad enough at you or poor enough to sell those pics to the press and that's (sadly) always news. However, I'm going to just make a brief statement that in general, this is not a good idea for anyone. First off, we are judged often enough in our lives, do we really have to see what we look like in those very special moments? Do you want to know for a fact that you make a weird face or do you need photographic evidence that your belly is jelly? I say no. Let's stick with our self-indulgent delusions that we can look hot in the right lighting with the right lingerie. Second, sooner or later, we are all gonna die. Not to be Captain Bring-down here, but the grim reaper is coming for us all (yes, I'm on the same topic, stay with me here). Let's say that you and your significant other are both wiped out in the same tragic accident. I hope it's not going to happen, but hey, you never know, right? So after the meteor squashes your Chevy with you in it, who is going to be going through your stuff to decide what goes to Goodwill? Depending on your age, most likely your kids or your parents. Do you want their memory of you to be the stash of pics you keep in the fire safe? Imagine if your mom finds a video that says "Bob and Mary, anniversary" and she pops it in only to see you celebrating your anniversary in your birthday suits! Or the family gathers to watch the last thing you videoed before leaving this mortal plain and the video starts off with Grandma Ethel's 90th birthday and cuts to Naked Batman wrestling Crotchless Catwoman. Not good. Now, I have a few friends who have a dignity-in-death pact - if one friend bites the big one, the other friend goes to the house and cleans out a specific drawer before the family can get there. This could work, but only if :1. you have a friend you can trust to do that, and 2. you can also trust this friend not to go rooting around the drawer when you're on vacation. So, to sum up: If you're famous, don't do sex tapes and nude pics. If you're not, it's probably not a great idea, either. Just saying.

Jami Wonders About McNugget Shapes

So, McNuggets come in two shapes, oval and that sort of rectangular with the little extra bump. Why? And what is that second shape? Waaay back when they had white and dark meat McNuggets (remember?), that shape was more likely to be dark meat. I got super-extra good at telling which were the dark meat, which I preferred. I could dump a whole basket of McNuggets and flawlessly pick out a 20-piece of dark. Speaking of which, I miss the dark. there's no reason to have just white meat. Seriously folks, it's hyper-processed,breaded and deep fried, do you really believe that it's better that it's just white meat? Come on. Besides dark meat has more iron and B vitamins. So there. Pbbbbt. Anyway, why these two shapes and only these two? Who picked them and who designed this odd shape? Is it supposed to mimic a certain part of the chicken (and if so, what?) is it supposed to look random? Did someone's kid draw it? The world may never know. And I'm too lazy to Google it and shift through the answers.

Jami Shouldn't Get a Fancy Phone

Our phone plan is over soon meaning it's time to spend way too much time online and in stores trying to figure out what plan/carrier/phone to chose. I hate that. But I am sure that as much as I want a cool new phone with internet access and apps and whatnot, it's probably not a great idea. First off, I don't need another way to waste time that I have too little of anyway. Second, my FaceBook would probably end up looking like this: Jami is buying diapers at Walmart, as usual. Jami is behind a checkout cheater who has 23 items in the 12 item or fewer aisle. Jami doesn't care if the checkout cheater sees me rolling my eyes and visibly counting her items, the sign clearly says 12 or fewer. Jami is trying very hard not to tell her that ten 2-liter bottles of Diet Mr. Pibb is NOT one item, even if it's all Diet Mr. Pibb and who the heck drinks Mr. Pibb, anyway? Three containers of ice cream isn't one item, either - they're not even the same brand or flavor!! Cheater!! Jami knows that you are looking over my shoulder reading my posts about you, but that still doesn't change the fact that you are a checkout cheater. You are what is wrong with America. Jami is being escorted from WalMart by a very rude security guy. The checkout cheater is being allowed to checkout her 23 items in the express lane. INJUSTICE! UNFAIR! Someone call the police! Or Superman! Jami is being forced to turn over her phone to the police, please call the Husband.... I realize that on FaceBook this would actually go up instead of down, but it's solely for the purpose of example. But I still want a cool phone with internet. Of course, then I could blog more. So everyone wins.

Jami Vs the Hideous Mutant Ninja Spiders

We have a relatively new playroom in the basement, courtesy of my dad. It's great, and in the recent heat, a haven of coolness. The one downside I've noticed is that it's apparently the place for all the cool spiders to hang out. I get frantic calls from Eddie at least twice a day to come and relocate these uninvited guests. Generally, I don't care about spiders; I ignore them and they ignore me while eating the bugs I hate. It's a sort of win-win. But we have tons of these increasingly large and scary looking guys. Last night, I go down to the basement to get something out of the little root cellar behind the playroom (side note: I have also heard that called "fruit cellar" which I think much be wrong because it seems the least favorable place to store fruit. But I digress.) and as I walk through the door I feel a web that goes from my right ear, all the way down and across my body to my left knee. No lie. I manage to turn the light on, not totally freak out, grab the stuff I needed and leave. As luck would have it, that was the last thing I had planned to do before my shower, anyway, so I ran up and got ready. As I took down the bun I had in my hair, I felt what I thought was my braid brush my back and glanced in the mirror to see the spider that built that web run across my back. This was barely even a spider. It was a really a chihuahua with extra legs. The only reason you didn't hear my screams wherever you are is that I am pretty sure my scream transcended all earthly sound. Some sort of primal caveman instinct took over and I did the dance of spider removal, because I have never before been able to reach that part of my back with both hands and at super-speed. The mutant dropped to the floor leaving me with a bit of a problem. I'm barefoot and there is no way I am trusting my naked foot to that spiny bastard. I smacked him with a magazine a few times (stunning him, I think) and then located a sandal I could reach in the hall without taking my eyes off the bugger. I slammed him into a giant pile of spider guts and cleaned it up with a roll of paper towels. Here's why this is concerning - the web he'd made was big enough for me. This is no longer a nuisance; they're coming for me. Now I can't even let the boys play in the basement unsupervised anymore for fear they'll be trussed up and dragged off while I put the laundry in.

Jami's Car is Smart Enough

I have an adorable little Cavalier named Calvin. He's a nice car, bings if I forget to take the keys along, runs great, hasn't come to life and killed me and my family, you know, all the standards. Calvin doesn't have automatic doors, windows, locks, alarms or pretty much anything except the transmission. He has a CD player and radio, no XM radio. But you know what he has? An actual metal body in the shape of a car. I've ragged on the Smart Cars before, suggesting on FB that they look like a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe on steroids (but, you know, not a lot of steroids.) or a pregnant rollerskate. I have suggested that they are more suited to circus rings (you know, for juggling) than roads. I will admit that they probably get fantastic gas mileage and let's face it, you can park that thing pretty much anywhere, including sideways in the driveway. But then this past week I saw one on the highway for the first time. I mean, it was the first time I'd personally seen one on the highway, not the first time for that particular Smart Car, as far as I know. I stared in fascination at the driver as we passed this moving bump, and was shocked that he seemed totally calm and appeared to be singing along to the radio. I could only think that had that been me, hurtling down the highway at 70mph in an overgrown toy, I'd been going "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (deep breath) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! (repeat until arriving at destination or blown off road by draft from 18 wheeler). Because my car might be less earth-friendly, but if I am in an accident, I have some crumple-zone going for me. If you're in that thing and get hit at those speeds, you're going to be perma-wrapped in your new metal suit. It's practically the equivalent of being hit by a car wearing while you're wearing only aluminum foil. So maybe Calvin isn't a genius. Maybe he's the dumb-but-sweet jock from high school. He's not going to do my math homework, but if someone's picking on me, I want him on my side, not the co-captain of the chess team (which at one point, I was.)

Jami Will Eat as She Pleases.

Maybe this doesn't happen to anyone else, but I swear I get these odd times when something happens to me several times in a relatively short period, as though the universe or PTB or whatever is trying to draw my attention to it. And so it has happened again... This is a society of people with widely varied eating habits, beliefs, needs and diets. And this is fine. Really. It's okay. You can eat all meat or no meat or nothing but mangoes picked by albino monkeys on Tuesdays for all I care. I mean, if you're eating something particularly gross, I'd prefer you not do it in front of me while I am also eating, but in general, knock yourself out. And please, let me do the same. If you have some good facts, I don't mind if you share - in a polite way, please. Like, "If you're a vegan, you should probably know that Jello contains animal products." Helpful. "That cheeseburger you're eating is the result of an innocent animal being tortured and murdered, and it's full of transglumerides, which is why you are fat." Not helpful. Here's the thing: in general, if it tastes good and isn't squirming with bacteria, I probably don't care. If you want to abstain from the Murder Burger, enjoy your organic, lactose-free, taste-free, energy-efficiently roasted soybean seeds and let me get my burger on. I have dined with vegans, vegetarians, people on Atkins, Weight Watchers, people with allergies of all kids, folks with religious restrictions, and the finickiest of all finicky eaters, my own self included and I just think we should all get along. The only time someone's food choice made me ill is when it's served with a side of Food Nazi Arrogance. It might work for you, but here's a news flash: I'm not you. I am a totally independent and intelligent woman and I want the heated brownie with ice cream, I'm going to get it. I know I'm fat, I'm sorry the cow feels disrespected because we take her milk and I am aware that cold and hot foods taken together is hard on the qi, but I have made my decision and you're not going to change it. Thanks so much.

Jami Admits to Being Everyone

Oh my, almost two whole months gone since I posted. Well, for those in the know, March was jammed packed for me, I barely got to breathe the whole month, it felt like, and now that I'm two days into April, all I can say is - whew. Thank goodness. Anyway, besides barely having a moment to write, I've had some other writing projects going on, which meant the blog suffered, but here's the post I've been thinking about. Years ago, someone told me that there are things that everyone does, and everyone suspects that everyone else does, too, but no one will admit to doing them. The person in question was a guy and the instance he used to demonstrate his point was that everyone pees in the shower. Not every time, or even on a regular basis,but everyone pees. My 4th grade health teacher, a man I can remember only as Mr. B, informed our class that everyone picks their noses. He strongly advised against eating the boogers, and said that NOT everyone does that, but everyone, he insisted, picks their noses. I'm going to admit that I have peed in the shower. It's a bold statement, which will come back to haunt me in the tabloids when I'm famous, but hey, when I was pregnant and peeing an estimated every 31 seconds, getting out of the shower, toweling down and getting to the toilet was waaay too much work, so even though I'd go before the shower, there were a few occasions where the water hit me and it was all over. The nose picking, I'm going to have to agree with the teacher on that one, too. Generally with a tissue in hand (or on-finger), we've all felt the annoyance of that one boogie you gotta get out of there. Heck, I'm a mom, I've picked my kids noses, using the handy-dandy booger sucker. So, people of the world, unite! Stand up and admit to your shower peeing and nose picking ways! And, what else does everyone do that you're willing to cop to?

Jami Says, "Stop Finishing My . . ."

Sandwiches! (anyone get the pop culture reference?) While Ugly Betty may not want to use her blog to vent about petty frustrations, I use it for that among other things. Today's topic, Sentence Enders. In annoying conversation participants, they edge out (but just barely) the people that mouth the words you are saying. Sentence Enders are those people who insist in joining you for the last few words of each sentence, as though it's the chorus to a song. I find this so obnoxious that I often fantasize about adding "Gorilla, peanut butter, head lice!!" to the end of my thoughts. Look, I know that there are times when the end of the sentence is obvious. That doesn't constitute an invitation for a group sing-a-long. You wait for your turn and say whatever you want. We're not bonding; you're causing me to consider faking a sudden laryngitis onset so I can end our conversation, even if I like you. Thank you.

Jami May Smell

One of the concerns I've had since becoming a stay-at-home mom is the fear that I stink. See, pre-kids, I showered in the mornings and showered or took a long, hot, luxurious bubble bath every evening. Some days (especially when I lived in the place I didn't pay the utilities) I showered mid-day as well. Just because I could. When Eddie first came home and I still worked, the Husband would be taking care of the boy in the mornings, so I still showered every day, even if I didn't get my second one. BUT - and other SAHMs can back me up on this if they're being honest - when you are the primary care giver to one or more little ones, there are days when you just can't get to the shower. Even if I do, I sometimes get out realizing I didn't wash an entire section of my body or that I still have conditioner in my hair because I'm trying to get in and out of there before the next mommy-requiring calamity. Now, if I'm going somewhere, I almost always finagle a shower on those days, but sometimes I just can't, especially if where I'm going is to the grocery store and post office and I have 10 minutes until I have to pick up the big one at preschool, but the little one is screaming to eat RIGHT NOW and I haven't even showered or eaten and I can't find my left tennis shoe. Also, mommying involves a variety of stinky objects one must deal with. Diapers, garbage, juice cups which were left behind the chair long enough to qualify as science fair projects. Plus the effort involved does often lead to sweating, regardless of the extremely misleading stereotype of women sitting around eating chocolates and watching daytime TV. You chase my toddler for 1 hour, carry laundry up and down 2 flights of stairs wearing a baby and then we'll see how you smell. This leads me to worry, frequently, that I might be malodorous. I use tons of deodorant. When I do get to take a "real" shower, I scrub off the first several layers of skin. I try to ensure that I'm always wearing clothes that have been worn no more than 2 non-consecutive days. So there you go. I love being a mom, but sometimes, it really stinks.

Jami and the Very Cute Kids

There's no doubt, my boys are adorable. Totally different looking, but both absolutely too cute. I know that most little ones have a cuteness about them that cannot be denied and let's face it, when we love someone, they are more attractive to us. But, there are a few babies and toddlers that I've seen that frankly, are just not that good looking. I'm not talking about birth defects or anything like that. Just kids that aren't that cute. It's not their fault and there's nothing really wrong with the kids, just, you know - not great. And yes, I know there was a Seinfeld episode about that. It's actually one of the two I have seen all of and I only watched it because people kept telling me about it. Anyway, my question is (and this is a hypothetical, so don't take offense): If you are the parent of a baby who isn't that cute, do you know it? Not that you don't think they are cute, but objectively, can you tell? My guess is no. I actually had an acquaintance (no, not you) who had a child who was very sweet and bright and pleasant and kinda weird looking. The mother actually said to me at one point that they were considering doing some of those beautiful baby contests because "they aren't that expense to enter and she'd obviously win". Hmmm. Now, growing up we had an odd-looking dog. Hair hanging down off of her ears, stripes across her back, just kinda overall different. I thought she was very cute, but I also knew that by society's standards, she wouldn't be winning any dog shows, even if she had a pedigree. But a dog, for most folk, is not the same as a child. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe all children are beautiful simply by virtue of being children. I may be the only person who didn't find the Olsen twins cute as toddlers. But I'm just going to put it out there - do people with weird babies know it? Discuss.