Going All The Way Clean With Swiffer

I never dreamed I would one day marry a man who would give me a mop for our 2nd anniversary.

"It has cotton, I think. That's traditional."

I continued to stare at him in horrified silence.

He continued, oblivious. "It looks cottony. I don't know. Could be something else." He finally started to squirm under my scrutiny. "Are you...speechless with delight?"

My lips were thinning out. "No."

He looked hopeful. "Lust?"

My lips disappeared. "No."

"Shock?"

"In a way, yes," I snapped. "You bought me a mop for our 2nd anniversary, Chris! Hey! Where's the bonus toilet brush? Do I get a minivan and some polyester pants? How's about I head right over to the PTA and take that beeyotch over!" In hindsight, I was having a post partum baby blues meltdown, but, at the time, I was completely convinced that my husband wanted me to spontaneously combust.

"It's not a mop, babe. It's a Swiffer."

After he fished it out of the middle of the street where I had thrown it, it sat forlornly in the corner, untouched, unloved. Every couple of days he would try to convince me to include it in the family only to be met with my crazy eyes. He soon gave up.

I refused to acknowledge it's existence until the day our beagle, Dusty, got a case of the itchy hiney-hole and sat down to drag his butt across our tile floor. I watched in dismay as chunks of dog hair fled the scene and took refuge in my corners. If you know anything about dog hair, you know that it cannot be swept up. It runs. I grudgingly took the Swiffer and ran it around the kitchen. When I turned it over to see the results, I was shocked to see all of the dog hair on the Swiffer pad and none left on the floor. "Whoot!" I screamed before I gleefully Swiffered my whole house. I went through seven pads during my first laps and I was in the pit and changing to a fresh one when Chris walked in. "What's up, babe?"

"I love this thing. Love it!"

He looked confused. "The Swiffer?"

"Yep. Awesome." I began my rounds again while he and the dog stood and watched, wary.

"So, it's okay that I got you that for our anniversary?" he finally asked.

"Yes," I said as I attacked Dusty directly with my fresh, hair devouring pad, "but if you buy me a shoe shine kit for number 3, go ahead and hire an attorney to go with it."

My Swiffer lasted through two dogs with incredibly itchy butts and a house with floating wood floors. When we moved to our new house in November, it mysteriously disappeared. I asked Chris to buy me a new one, but he was understandably wary after the reaction he received the first time. "Umm, yeah, I'll get right on that."

Like an answer from Proctor & Gamble heaven, I received an email from Jenny at BlogHer.

"Would you be interested in reviewing the Swiffer? We'll send you one on us..."

"I would love to! But can you send a small dog along with it? Preferably something that sheds? You know, so it will be an accurate review."

"No. And don't email me again. You're very weird."

"Sweet!"


(Visit http://www.swiffer.com/ for more information and to save $2 on any one Swiffer® Sweeper Starter Kit!)

One More Thing For Me To Be Addicted To

**This is my first paid review, courtesy of Games.com and BlogHer. But, really. I got to play games and get paid. And I get to be honest. What's not to love??

It's 7 p.m. in the McKnob house and a night like any other. My toddler, Harmony, is running through the kitchen, naked, with a slice of bologna on her head and my other daughter is dancing from foot to foot impatiently. "Mom! Mom...Mom! Mom! Mom. Mom. MOM."

"What? What? What? What? What? What, Virginia?"

"Look what I can do with Mario!" And with that, she shoves her handheld game in my face and wiggles her eyebrows at me as if I should be equally impressed by this tiny, Italian plumber (who, incidentally, never plumbs) and his battles with turtles and flame-ball-throwing flowers and one enormous moustache. "Wanna try?"

"No. I shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm old."

I need a break. Even if it's just fifteen minutes, I need to mentally recharge and step away. As I'm contemplating this, my toddler flings the bologna against a freshly painted wall where it sticks and then slowly creeps toward the floor. This is the funniest thing in the history of ever and she squeals with delight as her sister erupts into giggles.

I make a mad dash for my bedroom and find my teenager bogarting my laptop. "Go away. Shoo," I command.

"I'm talking to Jamie!"

"So, call her."

"We don't talk on the phone."

The horror.

"Then text message her or send smoke signals or morse code or carrier pigeons, but go before I box you up and ship you to Nicaragua."

"Why Nicaragua?"

"They live on less than a dollar a day. I like the math."

Sequestered and alone, I decide to give Games.com a shot. The first one I play is Classic Solitaire. The game is very straightforward and I very much like the automatic placement of cards once they've been clicked. I don't have to do any dragging and, quite frankly, I've exercised that hand enough today doing reports at work. It deserves a break, too. I enjoy the way the hint system is set up (cards are highlighted with a red band if they can be manipulated in any way instead of a one option hint) and although the banner ads across the bottom can be a little distracting, overall a good experience.

Next, I move on to Bingo. This really brings memories back. As a kid, I would sometimes go with my grandma to her Bingo games. She took these very seriously, so I had to be quiet and never distract her. After breathing in a carton of cigarettes and being shushed by the other blue-haired ladies at the table, I would wander back into the corner and play with the ink stamp she had given me for distraction. The online game is a lot like those memories except less nicotine and no rubber ink stamps to dot myself with. My only suggestion is an audible groan when Bingo is called (keep it real, yo) and it would be great if you could see the winning card as opposed to seeking out the rules and trying to figure out what you're supposed to do when you first enter. Oh, and there's a typo in the game description. What reads, 'Online Bingo cards are printed automatically MY the Bingo online card generator" should read "BY". Maybe that's taking it a tad far, but I aim to help.

After losing at Bingo a record number of times and using words that are highly inappropriate, I decided to try to Slots. I live within minutes of Tunica, Mississippi, and have often seen the slot zombies, sitting motionless for hours on end, only the tips of their fingers moving as they tap the "MAX BET" button. I have always been curious about the appeal of such a game. I was given a complimentary $100 to spend by the computer which afforded me 400 credits on the quarter machine. I played the "MAX BET" button and managed to lose all hundred dollars in less than 10 minutes. I think that might be a record. However, the noises are realistic, the slots themselves are incredibly realistic and even thought I thought it would probably lose it's realism in payoffs (thinking that I would win BIG! I mean, it's not real money), it did no such thing, which impressed me and that seems wrong, somehow. I did find myself wishing that there were more machines to choose from. In the casinos, you see slots with fruit, cartoon characters and shiny things. Everyone loves shiny things.

Overall it was a very pleasant and amusing way to spend a half an hour and I came back to my family feeling refreshed and ready to tackle whatever awaited me. As it happens, that was a toddler covered in mustard, an older daughter hopping around the room and maniacally chortling, "I'ma Mario!", and a sullen teenager, staring at the home phone like it was going to chew his face off. At least I won some Solitaire.

You can check out all the reviews over here!

Man Labor

GE is giving away these free samples of caulk. Since I like free and I'm nefarious, I said, "Yes!", when Jenny asked me if I'd like to try them. The box came in, I ripped it open and gleefully waved them in Chris's face. "Caulk! Look, babe! Caullllkkkk! Man stuff!"

"Mmm."

"What? It's caulk. It's messy and sticky and probably flammable. What more could you want?"

"Single use caulk? No gun?" He raised one eyebrow at me as if he were the Queen and I was offering him a biscuit liberally sprinkled with poo. "Take these away from my sight, wench!" (Ok, he didn't really say that. I get carried away)

I nagged at him to try them and tell me, honestly, what he thought. "Crystal, you just want me to randomly caulk something?"

"Well, we have a perfectly destroyed bathroom that you promised you would finish sometime in 2007. Let's start there!"

"You say that as if we'll both be working on it."

"We will. You'll caulk and I'll take pictures and notes."

Phase One: He painted over the lime green I had chosen at Home Depot the spring before. (Never, ever let me choose paint colors. Mexican restaurants have better taste in decor than I do)

Phase Two: He laboriously scrapes away ... whatever he needed to scrape away before he could caulk.

"So, you're scraping."

He sighed. "Yes, babe. Are you gonna stand there and bug me the whole time?"

"What exactly do you do with caulk?"

"You fill in cracks."

I took note of his shorts and the remarkable lack of coverage in the coin slot area. I snorted and guffawed.

"You're staring at my butt crack, aren't you?"

Phase Three: Disgruntled Baby

"Does caulking mean you can't hold me? Can you hold me? Hold? Me? How about you hold me? Is now a good time to hold me?"

And they're pretty, too. Preeeetttty.

Phase Four: Dubious husband picks up the first sample. He wrinkles his nose. "I need scissors."

"No, you don't. They just tear right ope-"

"Scissors! STAT!"

Phase Five: Really, really crabby baby




"Stop with the caulking! THERE WILL BE NO MORE CAULKING! EEEEEEEE!!!"


Phase Six: Husband is pleasantly surprised

"You know, I really like this stuff," Chris says.

"Really? Because you need to be honest."

"No, really. With the gun, I can't ever get a consistent bead. This stuff is like toothpaste. I'm doing a good job."

He sounded surprised.






And then I saw this:






"What's all that droopy crap in the corner?"

He mumbled something.

"What?"

"It's the first time I had ever caulked, when I moved into this house. I know. It looks terrible."

"It looks...like it needs some botox."

"Shaddup."



Completion:





GE, you DO bring good things to life. In this case, it just happened to be my husband.

(But my daughter wants you to butt out of her "hold me" time. Not a big fan, the daughter)

Coooooookieeeees

Man. So, Ree is giving away a trillion dollar camera and a half a trillion dollar scanner and a housebroken monkey and all you get are cookies. *sigh*

Anyway, the winner is #44, Tracey!

Can you email me at boobscontact@gmail.com with your address and I'll mail them to you asap. (After you're finished signing up to win the goodies over there at Pioneer Woman. It's okay. Go ahead. I'll be here when you get back.)

I'm Back! WITH COOKIES.

A couple of days ago, Virginia and Devon were having one of their hourly arguments. I sometimes wonder if my Mom coaches them to do this because she said so many times, "Your punishment is that you will have kids who are JUST LIKE YOU," but that's probably just my overactive imagination.

(I have an extra set of keys to her car. I've been going by every morning and moving it to a different spot. She's convinced she's going crazy. WE'LL JUST SEE WHO BREAKS FIRST, WON'T WE, MOM?)

Anyway, back to the argument.

"Girls are better than boys."

When Virginia made this statement, I was convinced that Devon would rise above the obvious baiting and ignore her. Then I remembered that he has a twig and berries.

"What crap. Boys are so much better than girls."

It continued like this for a few minutes while Harmony and I made popcorn and found the good seats. Then we just sat and watched them volley, back and forth, back and forth.

"Girls have to sit down to pee. Boys can stand up."

Harmony and I nodded at one another, impressed. Point to Devon.

"Girls...well, girls..." She struggled and we leaned forward, eager to hear what gem would fall out of her head this time. Triumphantly, "Girls have boobies!"

"Egads, Devon, I think she has you there, old chap!" I said.

He looked at me in disgust. "Mom, you are not Arthur Conan Doyle."

"Fine." I threw up what I imagined must be a gang sign. (In reality, I probably signed what some pygmy that lives in the jungle would interpret as "Please, polish my banana") "You got owned, beeyotch. Is that better?"

"Yotch!" Harmony squeaked.

He ignored me and continued his argument with Virginia. "Boys don't have to buy tampons."

Virginia looked to me, her eyes full of panic. What the hell is a tampon?

"Ok, I have to call foul on that one. She's eight," I said.

"Besides," Chris piped up from nowhere. "Wait till you get married. You'll be a regular in the feminine hygiene aisle."

"Ugh, okay," Devon conceded. "Boys are just better, Virginia. You may as well accept it and move on."

She violently shook her head. "My pillow says, "Girls Rule" on it. I'll agree with my pillow."

"Your pillow was made by some woman who obviously made a mistake, because that's what women do."

"My pillow was not made by a woman," she bellowed, "it was made in China!"

So, what does all of this have to do with cookies? Absolutely nothing, except that she deserved one for that comeback.

And, really, everyone deserves a cookie, especially on a Wednesday. So, I have, courtesy of the fabulous Melanie Seasons, a pouch of the Cinna-Spin recipe by Lynette Spence of St. Paul, Minnesota. Lynette won Betty Crocker's "Bake Life Sweeter" contest with this recipe when she married cookies and cinnamon rolls together. COOKIES AND CINNAMON ROLLS. IN ONE BITE. Kill me now because it doesn't get any better than that.

So, leave a comment if you're interested and I'll pick the winner, via random number generator, on Friday. Next week, I have another $25 gift card with a completely unrelated story.

80's! 90's! It's All Bad Fashion, ALL THE TIME!

Ok. I spent 3 hours trying to figure out how to set up an online poll and then I started swearing out loud and when Harmony walked over to me, grinned and chirped, "Shit, shit, shit, Mama!" I decided that it's just not in the cards for me.

So, here they are in all their glory. Thank you to everyone who participated. Vote in comments and I'll announce the winner on Friday!

1.

2.

3.












4.
















5.



















6.














And this one is just a bonus picture, courtesy of Tanya at Warcrygirl. How much do we love her? And how much did the dentist love the guy (guy? right?) with the shit-eating grin?

Contest

Ok, this one is going to be a little different.

The person who emails me the best 80's (or 70's. Or even 90's if you were into that punk shit. Please, please show me the purple mohawks and black lipstick, oh please?) picture to mckee6780@bellsouth.net will win one year FREE of Flickr Pro.

Flickr Pro includes:
Unlimited photo uploads
Unlimited storage
Unlimited bandwidth
Archiving of high-resolution original images
Ad-free browsing

Entries will be accepted until Saturday at midnight and then I'll post them and let the readers choose the winner. THIS WILL BE SO MUCH FUN.