Funny Stuff My Husband Says, Vol. VIII: "Making fun of pictures of his wife" Edition

My husband is like the funniest guy on the planet.  So, every once and a while, I salute him.  Like today.  To see all volumes of Funny Stuff My Husband Says, click here.


I know *I* already made fun of this one, but I can make fun of MYSELF, dammit.  He is supposed to say kind and complimentary things about me at all times.  I put it in our vows.


Anyway, when he saw this beauty:

He said, "Oh.  Lord.  Oh Lord.  Give me that.  I need a closer look.  Wait, a closer look was too much.  It's just all TOO MUCH.  Take it back."


Love you too, a-hole.


Apparently, Jeremy is an expert in the area of hats.


When he saw this picture:

He said, "You can always tell when people who don't normally wear hats try to wear hats.  So sad."


And then when he saw this one:

He said, "Look, there it is again!  Why do you even try to wear hats?"


As this one caught his eye:

He said, "Oh, are you all tarted up in this one?  Let me see it."

Veronica:  TARTED up?  What the eff?

Jeremy:  Oh, I guess not.

Veronica:  Tarted up?

Jeremy:  Yeah, I thought maybe you were wearing a club shirt.

Veronica:  Nope, just a cotton halter and a grey cotton hoodie from the GAP.

Jeremy:  That actually sounds pretty slutty.  Can I see that picture again?

Veronica:  Absolutely not.

End-of-the-Week Randomness

Because this is what it has come to ... lots to say and not a lot to say about it.  Take it or leave it, folks.  It's Friday, after all.

1.  Did you hear that Will Smith wants to remake Annie with his daughter, Willow?  No.  Just no. I will not stand for this.  Two reasons: 1)  Annie is perfect and beautiful the way it is, and makes my heart sing, and 2) as a comedian on Chelsey Lately pointed out, how ridiculous would it be hearing Willow Smith singing "It's a Hard Knock Life"?  Because her dad is WILL SMITH and her life is SO not hard knock.  Case closed.


2.  I was trying to pretend like Josephine was not outgrowing her 6-month clothes.  I was trying so hard that I actually got to the point where she burst out of her clothes and did not have a SINGLE outfit that actually fit her, causing me to do an emergency Target run to get a few onesies, pairs of pants, and sleepers.  Let's hope I get over that "denial" thing before it comes time for her to switch to 12-month clothes.  (I probably won't.  Just being honest.)


3.  Speaking of Josephine, I have no idea how that little punk is growing so fast since we are currently entrenched in what might be the most epic of all nap-boycotts.  Not only is she skipping her morning nap altogether (even though she is clearly exhausted), but she waits and waits and waits until she is completely over-tired when it comes to her other naps.  She is fighting like crazy and crying and screaming and then all of a sudden BAM, like a narcoleptic.  It is not ideal.  To say the least.  I endured a three-hour screamfest yesterday an hour before leaving to teach.  Ahem.  Not a good night for my students.


4.  Last week I finally gave in and decided that if I wanted to feel better about myself, it was definitely worth getting a haircut and actually DOING my hair in the morning.  I have not done this since I was 3 months pregnant.  (WHAT?  I look FAB in a messy ponytail.  I DO.)  ANYwho, I decided I wanted a little trim on the length and then lots of layers to lighten it up (even with the FISTfuls of hair I lose every day, my hair is still unmanageably thick), but I guess my hairstylist heard the "want to get rid of all the weight" part and cut off EIGHT INCHES OF MY HAIR THAT I HAVE SPENT THREE YEARS GROWING OUT.  But I'm not angry.  No.  No no no. I definitely didn't cry either.  No worries.


5.  People Magazine told me (like, in a phone conversation -- we're close like that) that the next season of Jersey Shore is going to film in ITALY.  I have like 15 different comments to make about that, but instead, I think I'll just let it sink in.  They are sending them to Italy.  Dear god.  


6.  After a failed attempt at trying to score baby clothes on major-major clearance yesterday, I decided to go to Target to spend one of my gift cards from Christmas to make myself feel better and give myself a little "me" present.  What did I buy?  Cat food and concealer.  Class-tastic.


7.  Try and tell me this side ad that keeps popping up on my facebook doesn't look like a brain on a plate.  

AAAANNNDDD, now you know what it is like to be inside my scrambled-up brain.  I haven't even used any illegal drugs to addle my brain-parts.  Frightening, huh?

SMOOCHES!
Veronica

I Know it Was You, Taco Bell. *KISS* You Broke My Heart. *Bad-ass look*

Yesterday was a sad day for my stomach and stomachs all over this glorious nation.  Did you hear about the lawsuit against Taco Bell?  It's literally the saddest stomach-related news I've gotten in ... well, years, actually.


Okay, so here's the issue:  They tested the "beef" and it does not contain enough beef for them to legally call it beef.  Ugh.  To legally call it beef, it has to be 70% meat and 30% fat.  However, it doesn't even meet the standards for "taco meat filling," which only has to contain 40% meat. Double ugh.  It contains ... 35% meat.


I don't really eat at Taco Bell that often, but I love it so much I really wish I did.  Like, if I suddenly came down with a serious wasting disease and was ordered to consume thousands of calories at every meal?  Eh, it wouldn't be all that bad.  


Also, I don't actually eat the beef at Taco Bell, and usually don't eat any meat there at all (except when I was pregnant and chicken Nachos Bell Grande saved my life), but if they can serve beef like that, what the H-E-double-hockey sticks are they putting in the cheesy bean burritos??


The worst part, really, is that Taco Bell is denying it, even though there is evidence to the contrary. Taco Bell claims "We start with 100 percent USDA-inspected beef. Then we simmer it in our proprietary blend of seasonings and spices to give our seasoned beef its signature Taco Bell taste and texture.  We are proud of the quality of our beef and identify all the seasoning and spice ingredients on our website. Unfortunately, the lawyers in this case elected to sue first and ask questions later and got their facts absolutely wrong."


Why couldn't they just be like, "My bad.  We'll call it what we legally have to call it or change the recipe.  We love our customers and will do anything to keep them around."


It's a bad day for the Bell and a bad day for my taste buds. 

None of This is a Joke

Fun fact about me:  I tend to over-react.  Like, to a lot of things.  Sometimes people think it is funny. For example, my husband finds it hilarious when I gasp and make horrified faces at things that most people would laugh at.  Or have no reaction to at all.  (What?  You don't find it reprehensible that a mother would save her daughter's stained white mini skirt instead of CUTTING IT INTO A BILLION PIECES, like *I* would?)

ANYway, I just heard a story that reminded me of one of my classic childhood freakouts.  Last week, a 23-year-old woman who was stolen from a hospital at 12 days old was reunited with her birth parents!  Crazy, right?  Great for the woman and her family, but it definitely brings back scary memories for me.  

I read a lot as a child, and I read a lot of things that, in hindsight, I think were poor choices on my part.  Like that book where the girl's older sister gets a nose bleed one night and that was the clue they all missed and it turned out she had BRAIN CANCER and died shortly thereafter.  I wish I remembered the name of that book.  Not so I could re-read it.  (Okay, maybe so I could re-read it).  When Jeremy got a nose bleed out of the blue last year, I started sobbing.  And told him about the book. And made him think he could have brain cancer.  Whoops.

One of those "Poor Choice" books was The Face on the Milk Carton.  O. M. G.  This story is about a girl (who was the same age I was when I read it, natch) who sees a picture of a missing girl on a milk carton ... and it is HER!!!  Sleuthing ensues, and she learns SHE WAS KIDNAPPED AS A BABY and those people who she thought were her parents and she loved were KIDNAPPERS.

Readers beware!  Causes paranoia in mentally unbalanced people!
{source}

You have no idea how much this book freaked my shit.  I had never considered this idea.  I mean, your parents are your parents, right?  According to this book, there is no guarantee.  I realized that I could not just ignore this, and I MUST LEARN THE TRUTH.

I was so scared at this point that I remember HIDING the book from my parents.  Just in case they actually were kidnappers, I didn't want them to know that I had become aware of the possibility that I could also have been snatched as a baby.

What followed was a few weeks of being afraid to meet my parents' eyeline, furious investigation of my birth certificate (compared to my little brother's official seal, my seal looked slightly different -- evidence of forgery???), deep thoughts about my youngest baby pictures (couldn't these photos been TAMPERED with like those famous fake photos of that girl with fairies?  If they could pull that off in 1917, surely my kidnappers were clever enough to superimpose me into a few pictures.), and very detailed scenarios constantly running through my head.

I don't have quite as vivid memories of how I eventually settled into the realization that my parents were my actual parents, but I do have a vague memory of reading the sequel to the book and when the girl was reunited with her birth mom I think I remember it was a big disappointment and she wanted her kidnapper parents back.  I guess I figured getting new parents could always be worse, so I should stick with the ones I had, no matter how I came by them.

However, I still believed that I had a twin sister my parents were hiding from me.  No joke.  Her name was Crystal and I had dreams about her all the time.  My parents might not be kidnappers, but they and I both know they have been lying all these years about Crystal.  2011 is the year of honesty, MOM.  Just admit it.  I won't be mad.

Yesterday: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

The Good:  I actually had all of the essentials (lesson plans done, showered, dressed, make-uped) done BEFORE Josephine got up from her last nap so I could leave for work as soon as Jeremy got home!  


The Bad:  This is the second Tuesday in a row that I got a migraine ... this might be the start of a tradition.  Crap.


The Ugly:  I was SO hungry on the way to work that I actually spent some of my mad money (like, cash money that I could have spent on something fun like books, clothes, booze, or hookers) on Burger King.  I hang my head in shame.


Overall, not that bad of a day.


Oh wait!  And, The Gorgeous:

Too Bad I Wasn't Also Wearing a Scrunchie

Do you ever have one of those days where you're just going about your average hum-drum life, never suspecting your life is about to be altered in ways you could never suspect, and BAM!, your past comes dancing back into your life, painting everything around it with the awesomesauce that you once were?

That's exactly what happened to me on Saturday while doing a deep clean. During my diligent efforts to keep our official "dumping ground," the office, from reaching Hoarders-worthy levels of clutter, I unearthed a treasure trove of photo randomness.  In one envelope, there were about a hundred or so pictures that I had forgotten even existed.  Amongst them ... well, I'm not quite sure how to describe this tableau of my former self.  Except, that it is MORE AWESOME than one Polaroid can handle.

Brace yourselves for teenage Veronica:

KAPOW!  Jealous?  I knew you would be, yet I still feel I should honor myself by breaking down each moment of awesomeness, one-by-one. Because, honestly, look at all of the amazing contained within:

That's a lot, so let's start with the obvious:  the hair.

Spiral perm, scrunched to perfection, WITH bangs that had been curled under with my trusty curling iron.  Ugh, the layers of dried gel, mousse, and hairspray on that thing.  The SMELL when I turned it on and it began burning ... nothing like it.

The face framed by that hair?  Even better.  What is this face?  Honestly, I have a strong suspicion that this photo is staged.  

Beyond my pose on the bed ("Oh, I'm just lounging on the phone, as always!"), the tiny smirk in the corner of my mouth leads me to believe there was someone standing in the middle of my room saying, "Okay!  Pretend you're talking to someone on the phone!  One, two three!"  What possible reason would there be for me to need a picture of this?  What does it MEAN?

Next up: t-shirt.

Didn't EVERYONE wear their volleyball uniforms on a casual Saturday spent chatting on the phone?  No?  Just me?  Moving along ...


and stopping at my fancy jeans.

The wash.  The cut.  I even remember the brand -- Arizona jeans, available exclusively at JCPenney.  Hotness.

What?  You were distracted by that neon yellow phone cord?  Me too.  Let's follow it down to ...

An awesome see-through phone with neon-colored parts!!  I loved this phone so much I cannot even express it in words.

UPDATE: FINALLY found a picture of it online! Here it is in all its glory.

Perfection.

But what's that behind my head, you ask?  

Why, it's what all cool teenagers hang above their beds.  Yes, a map of the world.  With flags from every country making up the border.  


At the time, I secretly believed my mom's claim that if I slept with a textbook under my pillow, the material would seep into my brain through "osmosis." Perhaps I thought there would be a trickle-down affect.  The moral of the story?  My mom is a cruel woman.  She also told me that any sweets bought at a church bake sale were devoid of fat and calories.


Tangent over.  What else do cool teens keep close to their heads at night?

Rainbow Bright's horse, Starlite, of course.  To be fair, he is the "most magnificent horse in the universe."

That might be trumped by a GRADED ASSIGNMENT I HUNG ON MY WALL.  

I wish the quality were a little better so you could see that I had to describe a type of architecture and then make a 3-D example of it.  And then I hung it on my wall.  The shame.


And finally, what teenager's room would be complete without a copy of the junior high's logo, trimmed from a sporting event roster? ...

... and a picture of a white cat ...

... which used to be a page in a calendar ... from 1985.

If only I could have maintained such a dangerously high level of coolness over the years.  The burden must have been too much to carry.  

Chill. Chill. Double Chill.

For the LOVE OF BUDDHA, if I read one more tweet or facebook status about people having self-identity crises over the change in their zodiac sign ...


Okay, I actually love some of those people who have tweeted or face-placed about it, but CHILLAX.  Because guess what?  YOUR SIGN HAS NOT CHANGED.  


Why the Minneapolis Star Tribune felt the need to shake up the world over nothing is beyond me.  People have been trying to calm the masses ever since.


Astrologer Jeff Jawer explains, "the tropical zodiac – which is fixed to seasons, and which Western astrology adheres to – differs from the sidereal zodiac – which is fixed to constellations and is followed more in the East, and is the type of zodiac to which the Star Tribune article ultimately refers."


He also explains that this whole "two zodiac" thing is no news, and periodically someone will publish something about it and act like it is newsworthy, but it does nothing to change astrology as Westerns know it.


"When we look at the astrology used in the Western world, the seasonally based astrology has not changed, was never oriented to the constellations, and stands as … has been stated for two millenniums," Jawer said.


Plus, most scientists think you are lame for believing in the zodiac anyway. (Then explain why I am a stubborn creature of comfort if not for the fact that I was born under the sign of the Taurus!)


The Minneapolis Star Tribune also wrote an article today that basically said "Oh, sorry we wrote that." and, interestingly, the original article is no longer available online.  How queer.


Whatevs.  Once a Taurus, always a Taurus.  Rock on, fellow bulls!

At this point, I'm pretty sure if you google "Constant Vigilance," you get a picture of me looking crazy

In some ways, becoming a mom has calmed me down.  I realize that some things are just not as important as I thought they were.  Like, my floors do not need to be cleaned EVERY DAY.  (Pretend you didn't read that if you are someone who cleans your floors every day.)  And sometimes if you aren't leaving the house, make-up is a luxury, and what I've come to lovingly refer as "outdoor" pants aren't necessary for days at a time.  And that's okay, because I get to see this smile:

But in other ways, becoming a mother has actually made me even MORE neurotic than I was before procreating.  I really didn't think it was possible.


You want examples, you say?  Excellent.  Here are some:


1.  Now that the baby is in the car with me, driving is INSANELY HORRIFIC.  I used to be a confident driver.  Now if someone is in the lane next to me and they DARE get one inch closer to the center line (and by extension, putting their thousands of pounds of metal that much closer to my innocent baby), I lose it.  I talk to other drivers so much.  "Really?  REALLY?!?!? You're going to VEER over toward the center line?  Where do you think you're going?  NO, seriously! *HONK*  Get over!  Yeah, you, asshat!  I don't need your incompetence near my child!  *HONK HONK HOOOOOOOOOOONK*.  Yeah, that's right.  You change lanes and get away from me.  Well done."  


I feel like I'm doing a community service, really.  I mean, how will people learn if they aren't corrected, right?


2.  CONSTANT VIGILANCE has taken on a whole new meaning in my life. Remember how strange I was before the baby came?  I'm worse now.  If I hear a sound in the house and I am sure I didn't make it, here is what immediately goes through my mind: INTRUDER!!  MAIM KILL DESTROY! MUST PROTECT YOUNG ONE!!!!


Jeremy has made the mistake of approaching too quietly and I greet him with a fighting stance and a wild, guttural scream of someone who is bent on destruction.  He looks kind of scared when I do this.


3.  My imagination has become even more wild.  The other day I was sitting on the couch with Jeremy, pretending to watch a movie and actually watching Josephine on the baby monitor (sorry, husband) when I thought I saw something by her face.  What was the first thought to enter my mind? Something logical?  No, it was this:  OH MY GOD IT'S A SNAKE! THERE'S A SNAKE BY MY BABY'S FACE AND IT'S GOING TO OPEN ITS EVIL MOUTH AND CLAMP DOWN AND BITE HER AND OHMYGODASNAKEOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!

Then I leaned closer and realized it was just a piece of lint on the screen. Oops.  False alarm.  


Why I immediately assumed it was a snake and could actually visualize the snake biting my precious baby?  No idea.  Even more strange was the fact that I also immediately visualized grabbing the snake with my bare hands and killing it.  Number 1:  I don't kill animals.  Number 2:  I am so terrified of snakes that I seriously just peed my pants thinking about them (I'm not really serious though.)  (Or am I?)

What have we learned here?  Maybe nothing, except that if you don't know me in real life, you don't want to meet me, and if you DO already know me in real life ... maybe wait a few more months before visiting.  I need to get on some better meds.

I Also Managed to Spend Time on Facebook. Commendable.

I love New Year's Eve.  I really do.  And not just because it is my wedding anniversary (it was my husband's idea, and DANG if we didn't have a blast at our reception!).  I was recently reading the first installment of Russell Brand's memoir, and he says he hates holidays because he hates feeling like he is being forced to be happy.  I feel the exact opposite way.  Being forced to be happy is awesome.  Everyone is all cheery on the same day and at the same time, and there is champagne and singing and kissing and reminiscing and all kinds of fab.

But there's also that "fresh start" thing.  This is what I hate.  Oh, super, it's a new year!  Let's think about all the terrible things about ourselves and our lifestyles and make a list of ways we are going to fix those things and be a million times better and be perfect and amazing and ... oops.  It's January 2nd.  And I already messed up and my resolution is RUINED and I am NO GOOD and THE WHOLE YEAR IS WASTED BECAUSE I CAN'T IMPROVE MYSELF!!!

It's why I put off writing a "new year" post.  What the H was I supposed to say?  "Here are my resolutions and I am going to stick to them!"  No way, homies.  I quit making the type of resolutions that can be "broken," like working out a certain hours a week, because the first week I mess up, I am so disappointed with myself that I just freak out and give up.  

So this year I decided to be all clever and choose three "qualities" I wanted to embody in 2011, and that way, as long as I am working on them, I was sticking to my resolution.  Genius!  I decided 2011 was going to be about Patience, Planning, and Productivity.  BAM. Bring on 2011.

Except ... all of a sudden it was, like, January 5th.  And so far 2011 had been all about the fourth "P": Procrastination.

Shit.

It's not too late! I assured myself. Maybe I can think of things I DID do, and just pretend THOSE were my key words, and then I will still be on track! Genius!  AGAIN!

Okay, so there was ... napping.  Not unpacking.  Not grocery shopping. Refusing to put any Christmas stuff away.  Watching Reality TV.  Eating stocking candy.  Refusing to prepare for teaching Winter quarter classes. Holding the baby.  

HOLDING THE BABY!  That is not lazy or foolish!  You HAVE to hold a baby!  If you NEVER hold a baby you get sent to prison for neglect!!  It's official:  2011 is all about holding my baby!  Oh crap ... looks like 2011 is also going to be the year of Not Taking a Shower Unless My Husband Takes the Baby.  

I hope your New Year is less neurotic (and less stinky) than mine! 

Etsy Saturdays: XIII

In support of the handmade revolution, I bring you Etsy Saturdays!  I will highlight a fun new shop every week, and I hope you will stop over to see their merchandise or find something else you love while you're there.  To see all Etsy Saturdays, click here.
*I have not been compensated in any way for this post*

I found these pet beds on Love Nostalgic Whimsy a long time ago, and they are still some of my favorite things on the planet.  


Pet beds, made of vintage luggage, with part of the purchase price going to animal shelters.  How perfect is that?


If my cat actually slept on things I bought specifically designated to be cat beds, I would buy him one ASAP, but his track record is pretty bad in that category.  


On to the beds:

Lovable Luggage Pet Bed Reds and Browns, $65

Lovable Luggage Pet Bed Whites and Pinks, $65

Lovable Luggage Pet Bunk Bed with reclaimed softballs, $120

I mean, come on.  A bunk bed for cats?  Who doesn't think that is fantastic?  Probably just people with stone where their hearts belong.  Just kidding, dog lovers.  (not really)

As usual, head on over to this shop, or any shop at etsy, and enjoy!