I had to shield my children from paparazzi when we left the gym today.

I’m not kidding.

Turns out a certain Miss Blonde Just Divorced from a guy who’s name rhymes with Dick frequents my gym and just happened to be working out with a new trainer who everyone assumes she’s screwing.

Trust me. They are not screwing. The assistant working out with/next to her wouldn’t allow it. And the guy is clearly just a trainer thrilled to have been given the opportunity to sculpt Daisy Duke’s ass. You can tell they are not screwing. Trust me.

Maybe everyone really wants to see a photo of Miss Blonde wearing black stretch pants and a black tank top and a black hat pulled so far down you can’t see her eyes as she dashes from the gym entrance to a waiting SUV (driven by Daddy?). I can’t imagine why, but maybe they do. Maybe they want to see it so much that when I leave my gym, it’s necessary for several cameramen to be smoking, swearing, and leaning against their car hoods as they nearly block traffic on the small, suburban side street.

Sure I joked with them and told them to make sure to catch me in a good light…but they can go away now. My Hollywood Suburb gets it’s share of C D and B list actors as residents and shoppers. A certain Mrs. Nearly Killed Her Kids in a Drunken Car Wreck Everyone Knows Her As Kirk Cameron’s Annoying TV Sister nearly plowed my family and I down in Target not too long ago. She’s a maniac with a cart, let me tell you. And she apparently is always in a hurry. But that’s it. That’s the kind of celebs I like in my town. The ones you recognize, but not enough to really bother. Like the time Mr. Isuzu and I got our prescriptions together at Longs.

The ones that DO NOT attract the sleazy photographers that linger on my town center drive.

So, Miss Blonde, I’m not sure what you are doing here or why you’ve decided to frequent our quiet little city, but whenever you finish filming whatever it is you are filming here, feel free to take trainer boy and get the hell out.

If you’ve actually moved here, may I suggest the 24 hour fitness on the other side of town?

Crossposted at The People Under the Stairmasters.

I may not have succumbed to the hellish marketing ploy that is FLOAM, but I did give in to the omnipresent Chia Pet.
I am weak. My son wanted a Chia Pet and I made sure Santa delivered. A fucking Chia pet.

How bad could it be, I thought? Afterall, it wasn’t Moonsand (did you know it won’t dry out?) and it wasn’t a Bedazzler (although that Tanny or Tawney or whatever the crapass her name is will not be happy with me) and it grows an actual plant. At least, I think it’s an actual plant. Or moss. Or some sort of “Mexican” something that seems to look like the weed they pull out of the cracks in my sidewalk. Anyway, growing stuff is science-ish and that’s a good enough reason for me.

Like I said, I’m weak.

So now that we’re a few days past the main event and all the major toys have been played with over and over again, we’ve busted our Chia pet (the pig version) out of the box for a day of weed growing fun.

Or not.

Turns out you have to soak your Chia for 24 hours in water. Ok, fine. Out comes the tupperware and in goes little piggy and some H2O. I’ve got a disappointed kid, but he got to hold it for a bit and then drop it ever so (not) gently into the bowl.

Day 2 of Chia mania and we’re ready to rock. I dump out the bowl of water (which is now an odd shade of green) and put our Chia pig on a plate. I quickly scan the seed packet and see i need to mix the little balls with water. And then let them soak for another 24 hours.

Shit.

Ok. Ok. So I soak the seeds and explain, yet again, that Mommy wasn’t really paying attention to the days long process that is a Chia planting and we will have to wait to spread the seed-like gel substance tomorrow.

Day 2.5 of Chia mania and I decide the seeds have soaked enough and we’re going get this hog good and coated before I lose any more counter space to this weed monstrosity.

Kid knives and my cheese spreader are taken out of the drawer and we’re off. Count Waffles put all of two globs on the Chia and he was bored. Princess Peanut, on the other hand, is covered in Chia gel and is having the time of her life globbing what can only be described as gray poppy seed jelly on our teracotta piggy. Some go in her mouth. Many are in her hair. And I’m wondering if I call poison control for “mexican moss” ingestion.

While the Count plays with cars on the kitchen floor I clean the table, the child, and the Chia. This crap is stuck to everything. It’s in my wood floor grooves. It’s in the tiny cracks on my table. It’s stuck to the Princess, my leg, the cat.

…but…the asstacular fun that is Chia is now coated and sitting on my counter. And if either child asks me, yet again, when the “flowers will start to grow” it might very well have a Chia-uicide tonight after small people get put to bed.

We’ve already offed the Chia Alarm that came as a “bonus” in the box. It sang the Chi Chi Chi Chheeeeeeeeeeeeaaa song a little too often. It’s battery met an untimely (get it?) and totally “accidental” death late Christmas Day.

I’m not above offing the pig. But if I can smoke the Chia Moss, I might let it stick around.

You need:

Oatmeal

Glitter

ziplock bags

Printed tags that read: On Christmas Eve sprinkle this magic reindeer food on your lawn. The magic glitter sparkling in the moonlight, and the smell of oats, will guide Rudolph to your house.

Whenever I do anything even slightly crafty, I get so excited that I am hopelessly lame. Behold, the recent IM conversation with my husband:

[17:20] JackandHalasMom: and I would just like to say, that I am so FUCKING proud of the bow I made, with my own ribbon, that I bought, all by myself, that I could just pee
[17:20] JackandHalasMom: and if someone doesn’t tell me how beautiful my plate is I will cry
[17:21] AaronatD2: wait…so my choices are you cry or pee yourself? I think peeing yourself would be funnier in the long run.
[17:22] JackandHalasMom: yeah, but since I’ve had kids I pee myself all the time. so that’s really not all that exciting anymore
[17:22] AaronatD2: ew.

…and it doesn’t end there. Oh NO BITCHES! Not only can she make chocolate covered pretzels and put her own bow around it…she can make 13 bags of REINDEER FOOD for her son’s classmates.

Suck on that you giftcard bringing, cell phone yapping, store bought, heartless preschool Moms! How does the mug you picked up at Target for the teacher look now, biznitch! Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. That’s right. HOMEMADE by the KID and Mom!!!! Top that you WHORE!