We didn’t even know your name.

You came into our lives, awkwardly dancing next to that long haired guy. You didn’t seem to sing. Or play an instrument. Or do anything but bounce a little.

Who were you? And where did you go?

Maybe Disney realized you looked pretty retarded just standing next to Ralph. Maybe the rest of the world was just as distracted as I was, not paying attention to Ralph’s songs and simply watching you randomly bounce on stage.

But it no longer matters. You are gone. Either taken out of every video digitally or simply removed from the entire filming process.

Are you sad? Are you sitting in some bar with Melanie from PBS Sprout, drinking scotch and damning the mothers of the world to hell?

Do you have some seedy past Disney just discovered? Or were you stricken with some strange disease, rendering you unable to jump and shake next to Ralph?

Should we send get well letters? Or petition Disney for your return?

Not that you did anything. I mean, you just stood next to Ralph. But whatever.

Come back. Ralph is far too boring and you were the comic relief I needed to get me through yet another viewing of “Lemonade.”

“I would tell them that none of that crap is bullshit. That it’s all real. And it’s all the shit I gotta deal with on a regular basis.”- the Kaiser

That’s what the Kaiser gave me, when I asked him to guest post. I could beg and beg and promise blow job after blow job…but he’s just not going to guest post. It pisses me off, because he’d be really good at it too. We could be all Sweet Juniper about it too, and trade posts. But noooooooooooo. He actually just told me to go to bed, because I’ve had a martini and he’s annoyed with my tipsy blabbering.

Blabber…I want everything….blabber…let’s save the world…blabber…I hate republicans…blabber…make me another martini…blabber….

Which leads me to the story of last night, and the hot monkey sex we were about to have when he said I was “…like the Chinese Government.” Apparently I oppressed him in some manner. I think I covered his mouth to shut up his silly jokes because we were laughing too hard to actually have sex.

Does this only happen in my house? It can’t. I know it doesn’t. I have to go to bed now.

This mom purchased Chutes and Ladders today. Chutes and Motherfucking Ladders.

I’m 0-5 against the 3-year-old. Which wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t spinning to give me a “pity chute” and send himself back several spaces. I’d accuse him of cheating, but every so often he mistakes six for nine and two for five, so I’m guessing pulling a fast one on me might be beyond him.

The game was brought home from the store today because we are once again blanketed by smoke and stuck inside. That big fire you see on CNN? Yeah, that’s near here. Not near here in “holy shit we need to get the hell out of here” but near here in the “the smoke has been coming and going for weeks this is getting really annoying, not to mention the buzzing planes and helicopters freaking out the kids” here.

We’ve made homemade playdoh, watched movies, cooked, read a million books, and now we’re forced to play Chutes and Motherfucking Ladders.

I can only count so much.

Someone save me.

***I also blogged this at the Huffington Post***

The Kaiser says I shouldn’t be a slave to false consumerism. Or a sucker.

But I have a big, fat “L” on my forehead today.

Despite my fancy, brilliant plan to pre-order TMX Elmo, I got this:

Hello from Amazon.com.

We are sorry to report that we will not be able to obtain the following
item from your order:
“TMX Elmo”

Though we had expected to be able to send this item to you, we’ve
since found that it is not available from any of our sources at this
time. We realize this is disappointing news to hear, and we apologize
for the inconvenience we have caused you.
Dear Amazon,

You suck. I hate you. Thanks for nothing, bastards. What the hell does pre-order mean, anyway? Nothing, apparently.

Fuck you,

QofS

I have no idea why I am so mad about a toy my daughter doesn’t even know exists. I’m just mad I got sucked into the whole thing, I think.

But I’m sure I’d be happy had I gotten one. I suck. I suck. I suck. Say it with me Mommybloggers:

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

“I will not buy a TMX Elmo.”

Keep repeating until you believe it.

Somewhere, sandwiched between a Floam and Moon Sand commercial this morning, I half glanced at the television.

Barbie.

Huh, she seems dressed somewhat normal. Still super big tits, but whatever. Clicking on yahoo, No, no cookies until after lunch. Stop kicking your brother. Click. Click.

And a dog.

Cute doggie. He has a bowl of food and everything. I should really take Peanut’s socks off, it’s getting hot. Sure, Count, you can have more milk, I’m coming. Is Barbie holding a metal detector? Wait. she’s picking up litter, nooooooo!

OH MY GOD, did that dog just SHIT? Turds just shot out of Barbie’s dog’s ass. This is a joke, right? Do I have on the right channel, what are we watching???

Did Barbie just pick up the shit with a pooper scooper? She did. What the hell am I watching? Is this real, hang on honey, I’m coming to get you milk. I just need to see if this commercial is real.

It is.

My mother camped out to get me a Cabbage Patch Kid. As the story goes, the zit-faced Toys R Us employee wheeled the boxes into the store from the back, and a frenzy ensued in the wee hours of a December morning in the suburbs of Detroit.

My uncle, allegedly, tore many out of the boxes out of many hands and threw them to my mother and aunt. They quickly inspected the cabbage babies (being racist idiots, my uncle didn’t want any “black” cabbage patch at his house) and they left the store with three of the prized dolls. One for my older cousin, one for my younger cousin, and one for me.

Her name was Corinne Antoniette and I loved her until about Valentine’s Day. She ended up with many other stuffed animals and dolls in the corner of my room. Dusty. Ragged. And I didn’t think of her again until my mother had the nerve to sell her at a garage sale many, many, many years later. In fact, I had a hissy fit. I may have been in my very late teens, but I was super pissed she sold my Cabbage Patch.

With all of this in mind, I am feeling an involuntary twitch. A tick, of sorts. I’ve seen the vague commercials. The mysterious ads.

I need the Elmo TMX for Princess Peanut.

It’s genetic. I have no control. When I casually mentioned the whole Tickle Me Elmo 10^th Anniversary thing to the Kaiser, he gave me that “don’t be one of those moms” look with a “just don’t get one” comment thrown in for good measure. He is, of course, right. And I could go on and on about how much love the Peanut has for Elmo-she humps him for chrstsake. But it still wouldn’t justify standing in the cold at 4am outside of a Toys R Us, wrestling with idiots.

…which is why I just preordered on Amazon. Click. Click. Click.

It’s genetic. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.