Another Thirty-One Bag Giveaway!

In my rush to get through the upcoming and dreaded summer months, I tend to skip over Spring. To be fair, there's really not much to Spring in Texas. Maybe a few thunderstorms, a gorgeous (and not so humid) 75 degree day with a slight breeze. The smell of a husband who's mowed the lawn for the first time that year, which has left lovely green stains on the tips of his shoes, which he insists on wearing inside even after you tell him not to. And the faint smells of cleansers after you've scrubbed the house top to bottom with the windows wide open because you just can't stand it anymore!

Wait. Where was I going?

Oh yes. Spring.

The other thing I love about Spring? The way companies roll out their new product lines, filled with all kinds of cute and useful goodies that make you want to spend thousands of dollars on things like bags and pink t-strap heels with black polka dots and a little bow...

Today, I have a little sneak peek and a super cute goody to give away to one lucky BFG reader!

Behold! 

The new Thirty-One Cinch It Up Thermal Tote!

You guys, this thing is HUGE! I mean, like, fat girl lunch at the office huge. You can fit eight cupcakes in this thing (as long as you aren't worried about the frostings touching and possibly mixing like some people, ahem). Heck, you can even throw in a full on roasted ham into this baby!

The Cinch It Up Thermal (a $20 value) is just as super fab as the old thermal tote, but awesomer. It features long straps, allowing you to carry it over your shoulder (which, if you're anything like me, is totally useful because with four kids, you need free hands so you can keep your five year old from doing things, like hugging creepers at the grocery store). It's more roomy, it's great for snacks (or hams), lunch or even keeping that gallon of milk cold because you accidentally stopped at the store before getting your weekly pedicure.

My lovely friend, and Thirty-One consultant Kelly, is giving one of these bad boys away. And, just like last time, you get to pick your own print. What, what?!

The Cinch It Up Thermal comes in the following flavors...

Cute, right?

So, the rules.

Go to Kelly's personal site, check out the catalog and tell me what your favorite product is!

Then, hop on over to Facebook and join Kelly's group! If you're already a member, let me know!

Like the BFG Fan page (where I have been forced to switch to the stupid Timeline format)! And obviously, if you're already a member, let me know that too!

You have until midnight on Sunday to enter. I'll announce a winner at 12:00pm CST on Monday! Good luck peeps!  

*From Kelly... 
The Spring 2012 catalog is full of cute and vibrant patterns for all. Choose from trendy and affordable purses, totes and accessories, plus there are items for men! When you're ready, contact Kelly Heslip, Independent Thirty-One Consultant to help you find exactly what you are looking for! Visit her website to view the catalogwww.mythirtyone.com/kheslip or contact her to receive one in person kasaggie@wans.net. Place an order or host a party in March, and receive a FREE gift! You can also request to join her Facebook group to learn of specials each month and for fabulous contests and giveaways!https://www.facebook.com/groups/241342769210761/

*I was not compensated in any way, shape or form for this giveaway

Tuesday Ten!

I've begun to accept the fact that we just aren't going to have a winter this year.

Every year, I hold out hope until February. But now that March is upon us and a week of upper 70's lies ahead of us, I've decided to just throw in the towel and accept my fate. Summer is coming.

Boo.

My house is still in shambles from our weekend project, so I'm doing everything in my power to avoid having to deal with it. The boys are enjoying this tiny break from Scary OCD Mommy and have been taking pure advantage of my apathy by piling themselves and their precious belongings into a large FedEx box, pretending that it's their home. What they don't know is that if they continue to eat the way they do, we will have no other choice but to make that box our permanent residence. 

Anyway.

It's Tuesday! Yay. Hurray. Whoo-hoo.

1. I feel like we should all be put through a yearly test that grades us on our driving skills. Because, really, I don't think our ability to parallel park should be the deciding factor. Maybe we could focus on tasks like learning how a four-way stop works. Perhaps turn signal time trials or how to yield the right of way. Or, maybe repetitive lessons on how to merge onto the freeway. 

2. I'm annoyed by my inability to consistently make decent coffee. I tend to leave this task up to Mr. BFG, but when he slacks off I have two choices. Make it myself (boo) or drive fifteen minutes across town to the one Starbucks with a drive-thru. Which really irritates me, because we have like, twelve Starbucks throughout the greater "metropolitan" area and only one (ONE!) has a drive-thru.

3. I bought a bunch of Girl Scout cookies for my mom and little brother. I had to hide them in my closet last week so I wouldn't eat them. But after I passed them off to her this weekend, I found one box of Thin Mints lying sadly on the floor. Now that sales are over, I feel like I should hoard it. Or, sell it on eBay or something. 

4. I am having a horrible week, but my friend just gave birth to a gorgeous and healthy baby boy and that sure makes things a lot better. 

5. This cup of coffee still sucks. 

6. Oh. You're gay? Yeah. Don't care. I literally, seriously have no opinion on your sexual orientation or whether or not you choose to get off a plane after a long deployment and kiss your boyfriend. And people? If you are THAT bothered by it, you need a hobby. Can we please, for the love of God, move on and just stop talking about it all the effing time? 

7. Also. Ladies? Some things need to just be left up to the men and you trying to get all Gloria Allred over it is super annoying. Put on your big girl panties and get over it. 

8. This sucky coffee is making me cranky. Except now, I ate a piece of string cheese because I was starving and now I want to barf. Maybe I can go rinse my mouth out with Jack Daniel's.
9. I'm ready for baseball season. Kinda wish it would hurry the hell up, too. I have some Rangers gear to bust out. 

10. Tomorrow, I'll be doing another Thirty-One bag giveaway, so be sure to pop in and see what it is. It's really cute and super duper handy! 

Catching Up (and the Big Room Makeover Reveal)...

This last week has been insane. A total blur.

I feel like I spent so much of my time focused on this one weekend that everything else just fell by the wayside. Emails have sat, completely unanswered. Our home is a wreck. I haven't been actual grocery shopping in at least a week and I just remembered this morning that I have some bills that need to be paid. Now. Ish.

(right after I finish blogging)

For those who were wanting to know, the big bedroom makeover went off without a hitch.

Mostly.

We did have the issue of UPS shipping the Death Star to Michigan. Twice. And, the tiny hiccup that involved me purchasing a ceiling fan from Lowe's without lights (did you people know that if you want lights on a ceiling fan, the price jumps over thirty bucks?). And then the other small hiccup that involved the gum smacking cashier in the "customer service" department trying to tell me that they don't accept exchanges and that if I wanted my money credited back to our debit account, it would take fifteen days.

Oh, and then, after just giving up and telling her I'd take cash, she debated on whether or not to give me a stack of fives. Which honestly, just annoyed me more because those damn five dollar bills were just gonna go back into her drawer anyway when I purchased the fan that they wouldn't just let me exchange.

Home Depot, folks. That's all I'm gonna say.

On the upside, we met an incredibly nice woman at Bed, Bath & Beyond who steeply discounted the fabulous framed Beatles print that my sister-in-law and I found, due to "a spot of glue." See? Customer service IS still alive and well. Just not at Lowe's.

We rushed around all day and finished up just in time for Andrew to get home from school. I don't think shock can even begin to cover it. The kid was floored! And three days later, he is still unbelievably thankful for everything we've done for him. My awesome sister-in-law is a rock star. She totally deserves the bulk of the credit here, along with Mr. BFG who took on the not so awesome task of clearing out his bedroom, prepping it for paint and cleaning the carpets.

So, here are some before and after photos. Just remember that my OCD issues aren't allowed to extend into my children's rooms, but for the record, the Lego mess makes me cray-cray, y'all! 


Before (cringe)...

After (yay)...

The Death Star should arrive today (and FYI: Fathead.com also has amazing customer service, because my shipping costs were immediately returned to me without hesitation) and will go on the blue wall in the top photo. Cannot wait for that! 

Fridays with Bob -- The Post-Valentine's Day Edition

Apparently, Blogger.com doesn't like words that you type in word after a colon next to your name or FTD; thus, the blank spots in this post. You're not missing that much. Just some politeness and some explaining of issues.

Welcome back, all. As you may be aware, last week was the fake holiday that men love to disparage, Valentine’s Day. Naturally, like all other red-blooded American men, I did nothing.

Bazinga.

Please, if I had done nothing, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this blog post. Of COURSE I made plans and bought gifts. I got the Future Mrs. Bob diamond earrings and a box of salted caramel chocolates so good that it nearly caused us to have Valentine’s Day right there on the couch after she tried one, if you know what I mean.

I had also made plans for a restaurant, but couldn’t get reservations until 8:30 PM. We were also going to go to the special V-Day exhibition at the Museum of Crime and Punishment – they handcuff you together for a guided tour of the joint (naturally, I paid a dollar extra for the fuzzy handcuffs) – but we had to bag all of that and we ended up eating Memphis-style BBQ at Red Hot and Blue on a Groupon, which actually made me very happy (though even Mr. BFG knows that Memphis-style can’t touch Texas BBQ).

What did I get? I got a shaving gift certificate, as someone around here hates my beard. Haven’t used it yet, but I plan to…I’ve always wanted to get an old-fashioned hot shave, but I figured I’d have to go to NYC or Vegas to get that done. Who knew?

I’m sure that you have noticed by now the fact that flowers did not appear to be involved. That’s true; I did flowers for our first V-Day, but have since decided not to go down that path. Before the long knives come out and people start calling me a cheap bastard and worse, I point out that the anniversary of our first date is February 16, so I save the flowers for that day. Now re-sheath those knives, ladies.

This year, I started planning for that day at the end of January. The flower web site that I normally use, Proflowers, sends me e-mails all the time – which I appreciate. They sent me one at the end of January offering me a great deal on flowers for my anniversary – Feb. 16 – which the e-mail noted was coming up. Taking the bait, I went to their website, picked out the flowers, but when it came to arranging for delivery, there was a small issue: Feb. 16 wasn’t available.

Ok, that’s cool. It’s January 31 – surely there are some other dates available, right? Nope. EVERY SINGLE DAY from Feb. 1 – Feb. 20 was “unavailable” for delivery. Feb. 21 was the FIRST date available for delivery, except for – and I know you see this coming – Feb. 14, also known as the “Date On Which Flowers and Delivery Cost More Than A Trip To The International Space Station.”

Naturally, I felt put out, tricked, betrayed even, so I sent an e-mail to Proflowers saying that I thought their advertising was deceptive and that if they are going to send me an e-mail offering me a deal on flowers for my anniversary that they should be able to provide said product. I mean, the e-mail is generated because YOU KNOW THE DATE OF MY ANNIVERSARY – thus, logic would seem to follow that you wouldn’t invite me to buy something on a date that you can’t provide that good or service.

I waited a day or two for a response and upon not receiving even a courtesy “We received your question/concern and will respond shortly” e-mail in response, I wrote them off. It’s not like I don’t order flowers or wreaths or something five or more times a year; it’s not like I’ve been using your web site for at least a decade to send flowers to relatives and women lucky enough to be dating/engaged to me; I guess, however, that your business model is not based upon keeping loyal customers. Fair enough, as you’re the big company and I’m just some guy trying to buy flowers – a service that a reasonable person would suspect you provide.

I thus made a snap decision to find a new flower delivery web site. After spending nearly five minutes looking for options, I settled on FTD. I decided it was time to give them a test run.

Searching their site, I quickly found what I wanted. #winning

I picked a delivery date – Feb. 16 – which was available. #stillwinning

I place my order, and get an e-mail summarizing the details, with correct name, address, phone number and an order number. #whatcouldpossiblygowrong

Funny that you ask that question, dear reader. For on the date of delivery, I was super-busy at work, so I didn’t get to talk to the Future Mrs. Bob until I got home around 8 PM that night. I overlooked the fact that I hadn’t gotten an e-mail from her thanking me for the flowers, thinking that maybe she’d been busy as well.

I walk in and she’s in the bedroom, watching TV. I ask her about her day, and she responded that it sucked. Curious, I ask if there wasn’t even one good thing in her day…not one thing? No, she replied…why do you ask?

I paused for a moment, said, “No reason,” and then the look of recognition spread across her face.

“MOTHERFUCKER. IT’S OUR ANNIVERSARY. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK”

I grinned and let it go – hey, with my mouth, it’s likely that I’m going to need that chit someday. But I also decided to go over to the computer and see what I could find out about my flowers.

I took my order number from the confirmation e-mail, went to the FTD site and saw their “Check Order Status” feature. Great, exactly what I need – this will tell me where my order is and why it didn’t get delivered today.

Not exactly. You put in your order number, your e-mail and it then pops up a message that says that someone from their customer service department with get in contact with you shortly. Ok, well, not ideal, but I guess that by morning, I’ll have an e-mail from them giving me a rundown of what’s going on.

Again, not exactly. Next morning, nothing. Check the spam filter – nothing from FTD. In the interim, they have sent me another marketing e-mail inviting me to check out deals on flowers. Thanks for that, but seriously, let’s focus on delivering the flowers that I’ve already ordered. Later that day at work, I use the “Check Order Status” feature again, with the same answer – and again, the same lack of results. Ditto the next day as well.

I know what you’re thinking – but Bob, why didn’t you just call them? First, I’m not really a telephone person – that’s just my personality. Second, I didn’t want or have the time to sit endlessly on hold during the work day – not that I necessarily would have had to, but it seemed like a distinct possibility. Third, yes, I could have called in the evening, but really, after 10-12 hours at work, does it seem likely that I want to sit on a phone on this issue? The answer, in case you’re wondering, is no.

Finally, by Sunday (the 16, if you recall, was a Thursday), I break down and call them. I sit on hold for about 15-20 minutes, waiting for someone to answer, get pissed that I’m on hold for that long, then hang up. I decide to take President’s Day (Monday) off from thinking about this (also, you never can be sure if they recognize American holidays in whatever country their call center is located in) and take up the task on Tuesday. Meanwhile, still no response to my e-mail inquiries, still no calls or e-mails about my order – but I did get another advertising e-mail from them offering to sell me flowers. Cute.

Finally, Tuesday evening, prior to leaving work, I call. I sit on hold for maybe 10-15 minutes before a young lady answers. Here’s about how that goes:

FTD:

Bob:

FTD:

Here is where this starts to go off the rails. FTD comes back, and they tell me that they didn’t deliver the flowers because they were OUT OF FLOWERS. Ok, well, that could be understandable – yes, you’re in the business of selling flowers, but it is right after V-Day, so maybe that’s plausible. But you didn’t call, write, e-mail, smoke signal or carrier pigeon me that you didn’t have it and weren’t going to deliver it. Nor did you contact me to schedule a redelivery, etc., and you sat on it for FIVE DAYS as I tried to contact you, ignoring the fact that you 1) had my money but 2) hadn’t delivered, and seemed to have no PLANS to deliver, my flowers.

Again, apologies from FTD, and now an offer. They will deliver the flowers on Thursday (it is 6:30 PM on Tuesday, after all), and they will “upgrade” me to TWO dozen roses vs. the original one dozen. My response is that while that is a generous offer, I have a different request. Please go ahead and deliver the original dozen roses (a week late) but instead of the upgrade, remove the charge from my credit card – give them to me for free.

Unfortunately, FTD level 1 support doesn’t have that power – the power to write of $65, including delivery, for someone whose order they’ve FUBARed so completely. I again receive the Thursday and bonus dozen roses offer, to which I respond that I believe my request is fair and equitable and I would like to speak to someone who has the power to grant it.

FTD level 1 asks if I am requesting to speak to a supervisor, and again repeats the offer. I politely decline and again request to talk to someone with the power over amounts of money that exceed the vast sum of $65. She says she’s going to put me on hold while she finds her supervisor.

Now, I’m sure some of you are wondering – Bob, we’ve been reading your blog posts for a little bit now, and we don’t think there is any way that this went down as politely as you say. A fair point, based on observation up to now, but during this whole conversation, right up to the very end of the call, I kept it together. An Oscar-worthy performance, if I do say so myself.

FTD level 1 comes back and says she has a super. Great, let’s get this put to bed. So FTD super comes on, I explain the whole fail to her, she apologies, and she says, yes, I agree, we can deliver these flowers for you on Thursday with no change. Fantastic – great customer service, even if it took a little work to get to it – I’m thrilled.

FTD super is still talking, though. And now she’s saying something odd. It sounds like, if I’m hearing her correctly, that she is saying that they still do have expenses – the cost of the gas for delivery, driver salary, etc. – and that I’m going to have to pay $19.99 for these flowers (basically, the delivery charge + $4 from the original order). Pardon me for saying so, but lady – that ain’t the FREE you just agreed to. I decide to speak up.

I somewhat edgily tell her that her offer is NOT acceptable and that I want the flowers delivered on Thursday and that I don’t want to be charged. Again, she has a long-winded and polite answer that equates to “No.”

This is where I, to quote MTV’s Real World, stop trying to be polite and start being real. I ask her if the $20 is worth having my order cancelled and getting no future business. She starts to bob and weave and I, still at work, on this call for about 30 minutes just say, “Then cancel my order.”

FTD super is apologetic and nice about it, but says that she’s working the full refund for me. She then asks if there is anything else that she can do for me, I say no, we bid each other good day and hang up. Within five minutes I get two e-mails confirming my cancellation and refund. That comes to five e-mails – one confirmation, two “buy our flowers,” and two cancel/refund – that I’ve gotten SINCE MY ORDER WAS TO HAVE BEEN DELIVERED, yet I never got any contact about the non-delivery of my order despite numerous attempts to engage FTD’s asleep-at-the-wheel customer “service.”

What could I have done differently? Should I have gone for the FTD super’s super? I don’t think that would have gotten me anywhere. Should I have tried calling sooner? Probably, but I still would have asked for the same thing. Flowers after the day of delivery are late flowers in my book, and I don’t think I should have to pay for them.

If it was only a day or two, I might have accepted just paying delivery. If you had called me to tell me that they wouldn’t be delivered on that day, I would have accepted the extra flowers upgrade for the same cost. If you had called me prior to delivery to say that you were out of roses and offered me an equivalent value of lilies or some other flower, I might have even accepted that, just a straight dollar-for-dollar trade.

Instead, you know that you don’t have what I ordered, but make no effort to contact me beforehand, make no effort to respond to my inquiries after and then offer me half-a-loaf solutions when really, for of fueling up one of your delivery vans you could have made the customer (me) happy and ensured future business.

Instead, what you did was that you turned a blog post that could have been about how much Proflowers sucks and you rock into a blog post with a little bit about how Proflowers sucks and an extensive and detailed examination of how much your company sucks EVEN MORE.

Well done, FTD. Well done.

Tuesday Ten!

Three day weekends always throw me off. It probably didn't help that I was out of town for two days and have an extremely long list of things that I have to take care of between now and Thursday afternoon. But, I feel like my week is starting off more strangely than usual, so if you don't see me around this week...well, that's why.

So, the race...

It was fun! The weather on the drive up was cold and rainy, traffic was crazy, and I'm sure my friends were tired of my Big Fat Gini: Backseat Driver (with handy dandy map accessory). But, we had a really good time. I'm pretty proud of myself for not only making it through the race at a somewhat decent pace (again, walking), but for also only whining the first four times I was doused with color. The fifth time, I took it like a man and only cringed inwardly.

Here we are (me on the right, and my BFF, who is awesome because she actually ran), post-race. What you can't see is that I have various powdered colors in my hair, in my socks and for some odd reason, in my underwear (?).

No, that red right there isn't from my heart exploding (and anyway, it would be black if that were the case).

Anyway. It's Tuesday and my friend Becca (who made our awesome Christmas card last year) made this super adorable Tuesday Ten button that you are totally welcome to steal if you just feel like hopping onto the BFG Tuesday Ten bandwagon.

1. This morning, I heard one of my all-time favorite songs from the 90's. And I may be the only person on the face of the planet that not only loves, but knows all of the words to Flagpole Sitta, but I don't care. Just like I don't care that I love Kelly Clarkson's new album. 

2. I hate it when people are all like, "I'm cleaning out my friends list" and then you realize you're still on it when they're done. 

3. It's pretty much inevitable that you will see Hot Dad at your kid's school when you haven't showered and are still wearing pajamas. 

4. I fit into an XL t-shirt. I am probably the only person who truly cares about this feat. 

5. Attention Starbucks employees: If someone gives you their name, don't sit there and make snide comments about it and attempt to pronounce it incorrectly over and over again. Just make the coffee and shut your pie hole. Also, referring to me as "Miss" twelve times over dinner while invading my personal space? Not okay! 

6. It's really sad that a "quick" trip to the grocery store now costs me as much as my "big" trip used to and the "big" trip is now twice as much.

7. In four days, I will have a twelve year old. And he is completely clueless about his big surprise. 

8. In two days, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law will be here! I'm so freaking excited! I love, love, love both of them so much and I know the boys are going to be in heaven!

9. I'm about to go download some new workout tunes. This task will include adding Eye of the Tiger. 

10. I hate you Mrs. Meyer's and your expensive yummy smelling products! I can't afford you, yet I'm addicted to your lovely lavender and basil scents. 

A 5k...

I AM currently sitting in a hotel room with three of my favorite people. One of them is eating a piece of chocolate cake from Texas Land & Cattle. I even got to have dinner with my mama and little brother.

I am nervous as hell about this race tomorrow. It's not even a "race." People throw powdered color at me every kilometer. It's gonna be cold.

Pray for my soul. And for sleep...

A Little Less Conversation (Or, This Continuous and Tumultuous Journey, Part Eleventy Five)...

It's hard to learn things about yourself.

Especially if the lesson tends to occur more than once throughout the course of your life.

"Gini is an excellent student, she just talks too much."

Or.

"Mr. and Mrs. _____, Gini received two demerits today for talking out of turn. She's beginning to be a distraction in the classroom."

Or. There's that one time people threw quarters at my head because we were being too loud during a movie. And by "we," I actually mean this horrible blind date I got set up on when I was 17, with some guy who's rude laughter through the entire legendary, Oscar winning film known as Mr. Bean made people so desperate to get rid of us that they threw real money! Not pennies, people. Quarters.

True story.

I am a talker.

Ask me one question, and suddenly, you have my entire life story. Complete with nervous laughter, as my inner-self is cringing at the sound of my very own voice. Wishing they could just sink into the floor and melt away. Which I'm sure the person I'm yammering at is also wishing at that exact same moment.

And Lord knows Mr. BFG feels the same way. Even his kicks under the table and abrupt changes in subject won't deter me. No. I can talk to a brick wall. About anything. Or anyone. I know everything! Pay no attention to the small fact that I actually don't (especially when it comes to calculating numbers, because when I try, I tend to say really ridiculous things like, "oh yeah, I guess I'm doing twelve minute miles.")

I have no idea why people are friends with me.

Also a true story.

So yet again, I come back to this journey I'm on. Today, it seems like it will never end. That I will never be that little ball of perfect (I said perfect, I'm clearly already awesome) I keep hoping I'll morph into overnight.

Last night, while trudging joyously (ahem) through my week's worth of Bible study lessons (blush), I had another epiphany (Beth Moore will do that to you, she's like the Jillian Michaels of Christianity).

It's time for me to shut up.

Oh. Not here, of course. But, in general. It is time to choose my words more carefully. To sit back and reflect. Steep. Wait. Listen.

That last part is hard.

There have been too many times where I have spoken harshly. Sometimes completely on purpose. Other times it has come about completely by accident. Those words have come out of my mouth like little poisonous darts, hitting whoever happens to be nearby.

I see you nodding your head. Okay. I know. It's a learning process. You gotta give me a break here. 

So I'm adding this to my list of resolutions. Right between vowing to dance more (totally on that one) and working on being forgiving (uh...um). Less conversation, more maturity. I will choose my words carefully. I will not speak in anger (and I won't plot revenge either). I will learn to wait and say things that have value, that mean something. I will speak as Owl spoke to Winnie the Pooh.

With wisdom.

Hopefully. 

Tuesday Ten!

Beneath my iron clad exterior, I'm a ball of mushy, bunny fartsy, goo.

I cry during movie previews. A few weeks ago, when I saw The Artist, I bawled. Every time I hear My Heart Will Go On, I get misty. Pretty sure if I go see The Vow, I'll need an entire box of Kleenex. And don't even ask me about my reaction to videos of soldiers coming home to surprise their families.

All of this would make you think that Valentine's Day is right up my alley.

You would be wrong.

Instead of doing the smart thing, like signing up for paper plates, cups and napkins, I signed up for snacks. Because, I thought..."Hey, how difficult can it be to cut hearts out of watermelon and cantaloupe?"

Well.

Let me give you the short version. I made hearts. Which look like tiny little flesh colored asses. Yep.

I feel bad for poor Blake. I am not cut out to be anything but the mom who brings napkins.

Here's your Tuesday Ten!

1. As it turns out, planning a giant bedroom makeover for your 12 year old is easier than one might think. It helps if he's completely oblivious to anything that doesn't involve Legos, Star Wars or a combination of both.

2. I love Mr. BFG dearly. This morning, he brought me a non-fat Mocha from McDonald's, a card and a box of those Ferrer Roche truffles. If you don't see the irony here, I can't help you. And, as a random side note, I looked up "Ferrer Roche" on Google for a quick spell check and the very first suggestion is "how many calories in Ferrer Roche?" I rest my case.

3. I'm done trying to "fix" my hair. I leave the house with fabulously bouncy curls. I come home with one side limp and the other side frizzed out. No wonder some women choose to live their lives in pony tails.

4. I love Kate Spade. I am not crazy enough to spend $148 on a pillow.

5. If you're a man in your late 30's, maybe you should avoid knit hats that look like puppy dogs?

6. It cost $70 to fill up my car yesterday. I almost threw up. Who knew Hope and Change meant that all I'd be left with is the change in the bottom of my purse (oh wait, I did)...

7. I'm seriously considering calling Molly Maid to come clean my house before my mother-in-law gets here. Because, nothing would thrill me more than to sit on my behind while someone else cleaned my baseboards.

8. The closer this weekend gets, the more I think I lost my mind when I signed up to do this 5k. Yeah, sure. I'm only walking it. But, three miles is a loooooong way for a fat girl.

9. I've decided I need to wear makeup. The problem is, I have no idea how to actually use 90% of it without looking like a hooker.

10. I think I might scream if I hear anything else about Adele being overweight. Who would I rather win an award? Someone with an amazing talent, or someone who acts like a sideshow and goes by the name Lady Gaga? 

Fridays with Bob

What up, bitches?!?! That's right, two fucking weeks in a row!!! Holla!!!!

Ok, that was embarrassing. But not as embarrassing as me nearly melting down this week just because I can't get people in a department that I don't control and that isn't under my management to just NOT FUCK THINGS UP.

Really, it's simple. It's genuinely like the guy from Office Space. All you have to do is take the specifications from the customers (member offices) and give them to the engineers (me and my peeps). Honestly, it's not that hard. I'm going to explain it to all five of you who read this blog, at which point you will be qualified to replace the numbnuts we have doing it currently. Please apply for their jobs. Though if you do, their boss reminds me of nothing so much as Lumberg with a crew cut.

So offices schedule meetings in various rooms of the Capitol and the House Office Buildings (abbreviated as, say Cannon HOB. On the Senate side, they spell that shit out, because no matter how much of an asshole, say, Senator Russell was, no one wants to work in the Russell SOB). There is a group -- we'll call them Don'tCall -- whose job it is to put in the reservation for a room, any catering reservations that are necessary, put in a reservation for a projector and then -- last but not least -- put in a ticket in our tracking software that notifies my group that:

1) an office you support is sponsoring an event -- usually an outside group

2) they want to put on a PowerPoint or some other type of presentation

3) include pertinent information -- do they need internet, what's the name and contact info for the outside group, etc.

That's it. That's the big part of their job.

And yet...it gets fucked up all the time. So let's do a Friday Five that won't mean anything to you but that will mean a great deal to me as we count down the Top Five Ways that Don'tCall Fucks up these requests.

5) They don't get the name of the person in the office who is requesting the event. I know that seems sorta basic, like one of the first things that you would do, but apparently, it sometimes falls by the wayside. Me, I'm a friendly chap and I like to know who I am speaking with so that I can PUT THEIR NAME IN THE VERY FIRST FIELD OF THE TICKET THAT I AM SUPPOSED TO ENTER. If I was entering these tickets, that is.

4) They don't get the name/contact information of the outside group. Now, this isn't entirely their fault -- many offices use interns, who would have to be dropped on their heads repeatedly to achieve a functional level of mental retardation -- to call in these requests. But instead of trying to get someone in the office with more information, my colleagues in Don'tCall just bypass this required field. Why does this matter? Well, it matters a great deal, as you're about to see in the next points.

3) They don't get correct information on the type of presentation, equipment or other requirements. As a baseball player, being successful at the plate three out of ten times is the standard for good to great -- a batting average of .300 is a pretty good year; a batting average of .330 and you're probably in the race for a batting title; a batting average of four out of ten -- .400 -- and you're immortal.

However, in my field, getting the details right three out of ten times generally means that I'm going to get my ass chewed out -- either by an office or by the group that they are sponsoring. So when you don't get that contact information for the outside group, I can't "check in" with them and find out what else you missed -- you know, like:

• Why yes, we do want internet at our presentation!

• Well, we plan on showing a video during the meeting -- you have the audio equipment for that, correct?

• Oh, we're going to be live-streaming our event -- that's not a problem, is it?

• We have a panel of five speakers -- you'll have the mult box for our cameras so that we don't have to run five individual sound mikes, right?

Yes, these and other "small" requirements are constantly "overlooked" by the people on intake -- leaving my gang holding the bag as the chief lobbyist for the Society for the Promotion of Homo-Necro-Beastiality takes a hefty serving of my rear end because they can't show the clip from "Willard" that is the integral part of their presentation.

2) They put these requests in at the last minute. Only one thing is more infuriating than getting a request at the last minute -- more on that in our top spot on this week's countdown. But getting a request at 5:30 PM for 7:15 the next morning is pretty infuriating. You see, we don't make the person assigned to that office do an event prior to their report time -- so if you work 9 -6, you don't have to cover that event -- that's why we have folks who work 7 - 4.

You know what, though? It's helpful if we can TELL the 7 - 4 folks IN ADVANCE that they have something at 7:15 in the morning -- that way, they can try to show up early, make sure that they don't get caught in traffic, hit the Metro prior to all of the escalators breaking at the same time -- and make that event. Sending us the request AFTER that person has left for the day isn't really the ideal way for that to happen.

So you know where I said that late notice isn't the worst thing that can happen? Here's what is.

1) No notice whatsoever. You know why this is worse? Because you get an all-hands-on-deck e-mail sent to all of my staffing group from our call center that an office you support has an event starting RIGHT NOW and they want to know why the fuck you aren't there helping them. Not only does it make you look like an enormous jackass to your colleagues, it also doesn't help you maintain good relationships with your offices, who now think that you're incompetent, lazy, ignorant or don't give a fuck about their needs. That's going to help you as you try to support them in the future and make sure that they don't tell your bosses that you're a lousy fuck.

So yeah. I try not to talk too much about work on this here blog -- partially because I don't know how interesting my work/problems are, partially because I don't want to get fired -- but after those pusillanimous pussyfooters fucked up most of my week, it's caused me to be a little bit of a

nattering nabob of negativism about the whole situation (thanks to Spiro Agnew's speechwriters, Pat Buchanan and William Safire for the alliterative ending).

Now if you will excuse me, I have to work on cleaning the house for the Future Mrs. Bob's Mary Kay Coming Out party on Sunday. Toodles!

Hey Girl...

I don't like surprises.

I know surprises are supposed to make you feel all loved and mushy and appreciative and stuff. And, it's usually considered rude to yell, "you guys suck" in the middle of what's considered an upscale local restaurant. Especially when your friends have just put together a lovely birthday party for you, complete with homemade delicious cupcakes and polka dot balloons.

But I'm me and I don't like being surprised (or annoyed by the bombardment of status updates about politics and religion, specifically aimed at people with my general belief system, but that's a topic for another day I suppose).

And this is why I shouldn't be allowed on Pinterest. Because, among the recipes and craft ideas and array of home decor made from common household items like toilet paper rolls; there is always something that surprises me.

Behold!

(I stole this image from here, and they shouldn't care because I'm about to plug their own brand of crafty cray-cray bringing them website hits and possible business, but if you purchase one, keep it on the DL mmmkay?)

The Crochet Cooter.

Yeah. I said it. It's a crochet vajayjay.

I don't know what one might do with a "Crochet Cooter," but chances are, I don't want to. What you choose to put your peen in or, you know, whatever...none of my business. The only thing I care about is that they didn't take time out to provide courtesy eye bleach for the rest of us, along with a shot of vodka to soak my brain in, because now? I'm scarred.

Forever. 

This is the problem with Pinterest. It invites every brand of psycho. Not just the ones you know about. The women who plan their weddings before they even have a boyfriend. Or, the girls who build their dream house without thinking that maybe their liberal arts degree ain't gonna pay for the 3,000 square foot mansion nestled on a hill in the woods of South Carolina (you need a government job for that, ladies).

No, no. Also on Pinterest? The kind of crazy you are selectively ignorant about.

You like porn? That's fine. You don't need a board dedicated to it. You buy your "crochet cooter" and you wait five to seven days for it to be discreetly delivered in a plain brown box right to your doorstep. You keep that between you, your internet girlfriend and the fine folks at Amazon dot com.

You like cats? That's cool. I have a sweater just for you. You wander around in your bedroom wearing this. Maybe film a YouTube video of you singing an off-key version of I Will Survive. And that's it. I don't want to see you in Target.

(you can find these and more here)

I know that the internet is a hotbed of weirdos. But, before Pinterest, I was lucky enough to only see them here and there. You know, places like Yahoo! News or Huffington Post. If they were on Facebook, I could simply unfriend or hide.

But now? No. My life is ruined by pop up penises and children dressed up as midget pirates that scare the hell out of me. Every crazy stalker chick now has an outlet to vent about boys who broke their hearts in the most creepy way possible. Entire places dedicated to Robert Smith invade my happy world of cakes and pies.

And so... 

(another jacked image from here)

PS: Hey girl. Ryan Gossling? He's not into you. 

Tuesday Ten!

One of the nice things about getting up (shortly and not so shortly) after your kids is not noticing that your soon to be 12 year old has developed his own fashion sense. And it's not good.

Because I am a super control freak, it's better that I just don't see him before he walks out the door; opting instead for an "I love you too" as he bolts out the door after his father in the mornings. Because if I'm awake, I will inevitably cringe as he heads off to school in shorts and a t-shirt in February or make a last ditch attempt to keep him from combing his wavy hair forward. I imagine this is similar to the exasperation my poor parents felt as I participated in that trend of the 90's known as overalls. And yes, I left one strap undone and hanging down my back.

I may or may not have worn them backwards. Once. Okay twice. But the second time, I learned my lesson upon having to make a quick stop in the 6th grade bathroom. 


Anyway. It's Tuesday!

1. I hate having to say goodbye. It sucks.

2. There are two points in the year in which college students become intolerable. Football season and just before Spring. During both periods, it seems as if they become completely oblivious to the fact that A) pulling out in front of a vehicle that's coming at you at almost 60mph is asking for trouble and B) doing doughnuts in a neighborhood full of kids coming home from school usually enrages parents and leaves them with no other option but to let all the air out of their tires at 6:00 am while they're passed out from another night of binge drinking.


3. By the way. YOU pulled out in front of ME. The reason I'm so close to you is not because I'm tailgating you, but because I'm came inches from slamming into you. You go ahead and put your car into reverse. Because, I'm betting I don't like mine nearly as much as you like yours. Oh. And I have better insurance. 


4. There are two things I can say about this year's halftime show. First, it was a bajillionty times better than that weak attempt by The Black Eyed Peas (who I hate) to be entertaining. And second? Madonna. Your new song sucks. 


5. I don't know how single moms and military wives do it. I really don't. I am in awe of the women I know who can remain strong in the face of adversity and are able to smile and praise God in the midst of their sorrow. You ladies are amazing. 


6. The first time you meet a group of people? Maybe you could avoid over-sharing.


7. I love checking on three sweet, snoring boys. 


8. Few things cure a hurting heart than being around friends. 


9. One of the nice things about having poor vision and being (over) due for an eye exam is that you can really only partly see that person across the room from you who you desperately trying to avoid.

10. I can't believe I'm about to say this. I'm seriously considering buying a Chuck Norris Fathead decal for the oldest boys' bedroom. The things we do in order to let our kids feel cool (oh look, full circle!)...

A Sea of Change...

One of the downsides to doing a majority of your interwebbing from your smart phone is inadvertently clicking on things without really meaning to. Which is how I got here, to the new Blogger layout. If this is what "they" call "streamlined," then I am hopelessly behind the times.

I'm pretty sure this is nothing new. Though, one would think that among the "positive" changes Blogger would make, fixing their spacing issues would be one of them. Not so much. And I refuse to believe that this falls into the category of "user error."

It is Sunday night and I'm sitting here. I don't care about the Super Bowl. I'm not a bandwagon fan. I don't like the Patriots. I don't like the Giants. I think I might have cheered for the Pats once, post 9/11. Because, let's face it. The majority of us felt like it was fitting.

Instead, I sat in my chair reading, Everything I Needed to Know About Being a Girl, I Learned from Judy Blume. The best I can say about it is, "meh." This is in part due to the fact that I may have read three Judy Blume books in my entire life and most of them weren't even covered in this anthology of essays by authors I'd never heard of. There's no way my mom would have handed me a copy of Forever. And, had I even been aware of it in 1992 when I was probably old enough to even somewhat understand the concept, I think I would have been too terrified of my parents to attempt to bring such "contraband" into their home.

I (thankfully) wrapped up my reading just in time to see the Giants win, muster up a half-hearted, "whoo-hoo" and move on to something else.

I think maybe some of this had to do with the amount of anxiety coursing through me right now. It is more intense than it has been in a long time and I know that a large part of it is just from the sheer amount of things happening around here in the next few weeks.

This includes an extended visit from my sister-in-law and mother-in-law. At the same time. Which coincides with Andrew's 12th birthday (and a bedroom makeover as a birthday gift). And that comes after this ridiculous notion that I could participate in a 5K (feel free to laugh). I am already overwhelmed, and if I sit down and think about it, I realize that I totally do this to myself. No matter what the situation. It turns into an act of me trying to control and manage the chaos before it even happens.

I believe this is called insanity.

There are other thoughts and feelings that have crept in during all of this. The inner voice that tells me things I know aren't true. The other thoughts force me into the realization that things are changing and there's no way for me to have control over them. In some ways, that notion hurts. A lot. In other ways, I know that change is good for us when we're trying to grow. That it is evolution, in effect. That maybe these changes will force me to give up things I've just held on to for so long, because I have a feeling they're begging for me to let go.

I guess when you pray for change, you get it.

So I'm choosing to ride the wave here. I'm choosing to sail through it and let the sea take me wherever it's going to take me. And, you know, if that ends up being a small deserted island with a strangely large amount of decent literature, chocolate ice cream and enough electricity for me to use a hair dryer and flat iron, that's cool with me too.  

Welcome back for a long-delayed and ultimately disappointing edition of Fridays with Bob. I have a ton of stuff to talk about, but I can’t put all of it on the Internet or else I’ll probably lose my job and end up living in a van down by the river.

So let’s breeze through some topics quickly. I see from earlier today that BFG has posted a lament about the dearth of larger sizes available in your average store. As a FFTTLW (Fellow Fatass Trying To Lose Weight), I, too am concerned about my inability to find yoga pants with S-E-X-Y spelled across the back in an adequate size. What size, you ask? Well, you probably don’t know, but I follow the Gabriel Iglesias Size Chart (I strongly recommend his YouTube channel, Hot and Fluffy comedy). On that size chart, we have Big, Healthy, Husky, Fluffy, DAMN! (former top size), and now OH HELL NO!

Myself, I am Husky with a chance of Fluffy if I didn’t live on the third floor and take the stairs, so the image in your head of me in yoga pants should look something like this.

Or this.

Or possibly this.

Wait; sorry…that last one was for Amy...I was getting ready for special sexy time! Grrrr!

The point is, though, that the big and/or tall man, much like the generously proportioned woman, has few retail choices. You’re lucky if you get a 2X anywhere, and God forbid that it come as a 2XLT for those of us who are taller than Peter Dinklage. I’m a 3X, and by that I don’t mean an American Apparel 3X that’s just a cheap cotton XL that will shrink to a medium if you put it in the dryer. I don’t go to stores to buy clothes; that’s what the internets are for!

Yes, unlike women, men can purchase clothes sight unseen, without trying them on, receive them in the mail and just wear them right out of the package – no alterations! And yes, guys will do that – without washing them first. Hey, it’s not like someone else wore it before you, right? It’s totally clean!

But honestly, even if I wanted to go out and buy clothes, I’m forced into the meager selection in the B&T store ghetto. They’re usually about the size of a strip mall Chinese restaurant, carry a ton of XL and 2XL (which isn’t really their demographic, IMHO) and a sizeable collection of 5X-8X or 10X stuff (which stays in the store until they clean it out, because most people that size aren’t even going to fit through the door). So for a guy in the “medium fatass” sweet spot, the 3X and 4X stuff, there’s not much on the shelf (though the catalogs are well-stocked).

Compare that to normal store shopping – say a department store, like Macy’s, or maybe a Target or TJ Maxx. Excuse me; do you have a big and tall section? Yes, over there where it looks like someone has set up a Hawaiian luau – too bad they didn’t, because some roast suckling pig would really hit the spot right now.

Does this tie come in long? Nope. Do you have shoes or socks above size 13? Sorry, we don’t carry that. What about a belt that will go around more than my upper thigh? Not a chance.

At least the stores try a little bit with women – not much, but a little bit. Though I still, for the life of me, do NOT understand why plus-sized fashion always seems to involve colors a blind man could see, patterns that make you reach for the Dramamine, or prints that shouldn't be found outside of nature. I mean, aside from the fact that you have size 8, size 10 at most, models wearing this stuff, Lane Bryant, how is that going to look on a size 24 and up?

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks for that.

Ok, so where am I going with this? I have no idea. But I wanted to echo BFG’s message of acceptance of all, regardless of their size, and maybe, just maybe, make an argument for a little bit of dignity to break out in the clothing industry. Face it, the number of people wearing the clothes up in the window is going down, not up – maybe you should consider that before you send your customers to the windowless room in the back of the store.

Or not – it’s possible I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ve been trying to write this post for about eight hours today, but I keep getting interrupted by work. I was going to talk about the car I was forced to key, how lousy Landmark Honda’s service department is, or even give you a Friday Five about dumbest things said to me this week.

All that’s gone, though. It’s 5:53 PM, I still have at least an hour of work ahead of me and so this is what you’re going to get. Sorry about that, y’all – I’ll try to do better next time.

A Shopping Observation...

As a plus-sized woman there are two things that depress me.

Shopping for clothing. And stereotypes about overweight women. Well, and not really being able to enjoy a cupcake without immediately following it with two hours of cardio, but I'll get over that. 

I am currently in a weird clothing stage. I can still technically shop in the plus sizes, but I can also shop in the larger end of normal sizes. Either way, nothing fits me correctly and even though Stacy London would probably scream "TAILORING" in my face when I mention it, the truth is, it's not even worth it right now.

A few weeks ago, I attended an event that required two things. A snazzy pair of shoes and a semi-trendy outfit to go with them. I am not hip. I have friends that are and I completely admire and adore them for their ability to keep up with (and look adorable in) the latest fashions. Me? I am totally a jeans and v-neck sweater kinda gal. Buying red heels is about as out of the box as I get, people.

I'm living on the edge, y'all.

None of this, however, kept me from shopping with my adorable and perky friend Hollis that Saturday morning. We went from store to store, looking for shoes, then looking for things that went with the shoes, then looking for nail polish that matched the things that matched the shoes. And, since I wasn't exactly above looking for things that would work for me (because I am my mother's daughter), I glanced at, tried on, and window shopped for the majority of our outing.

Except. One thing plagued me.

These little boutiques and shops in the mall? They had four sizes. Extra small. Small. Medium. Large.

Now look. I'm not one of these crazy Fat Acceptance people. Because, I don't like it. I have hated every single day that's passed me by. I have loathed trying on and sampling. Public speaking. Anything that's involved the spotlight shining directly on me personally. I was (and in some ways still am) embarrassed about the way I look. So, I'm not all bent out of shape about not being able to find yoga pants with "S-E-X-Y" splayed across my ass in a 3X at Abercrombie.

But, no Extra Large? Yeah. I have a problem with that. A big one. 

Is this the message we're sending now? That if you're not within these certain measurements, you can't shop here? If we don't have you're size, you don't fit within society's standard of what's beautiful or sexy or pretty or normal.

I don't even have daughters and I'm appalled.

I know gorgeous women of all sizes. And not just on the outside, on the inside too. But, they're shoved into a dark corner way back in the back where nobody can see them purchase clothing. They're forced into frumpy dresses peppered with bows that do nothing for their figures. Or, worse. Left to shove themselves into clothing that is cut smaller than most.

We don't have much better choices shopping for our daughters. Revealing skirts and tops that leave little to the imagination. No accommodations for young girls who might not fit into an Extra Small, or even a Large, yet would like to be able to find a formal for prom that doesn't look like it came from 1986 (or, maybe they do, because I'm afraid my childhood is coming back to haunt me). And God forbid they've developed early.

There's no room for those of us outside this new norm and it infuriates me.

I know at least a dozen women right now who are out there desperately trying to lose weight. Some need to (um, me). Many don't. They've tried every trick in the book. Every fad diet. Every shake, every meal plan, every new exercise. I know a few who starved themselves. Some because they needed the lifestyle change. Many because they desperately just wanted to be accepted.

Ladies. You're all gorgeous. I don't care what size you are. So many of us have more to offer than what's underneath our size 16 or 20 jeans. We have men and children who adore us and are surrounded by friends who could care less about what the tag on our sweater says about who we are. We're more.

That's what matters. Not whether or not we can fit into society's clothing closet. 

Parenthood...

Wednesdays are hard.

It is slowly becoming my least favorite day of the week, even though I get the most out of it. Well. And it's also Hump Day, which if you live in this house, has more than one meaning to certain members of our family.

Boys.

On Wednesday, we get up early. I spend the majority of the day in two places. In church, among people I really just adore. And in the front seat of my car. I don't love that so much. Because I am truly not one of those on-the-go types of people. I do not enjoy it. I like being at home. I like doing my own thing. I like not having to load four people in and out of a vehicle all day and veer in and out of the left and right lanes on the highway because people don't understand the concept of "SLOWER TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT!" 

But yesterday was different.

Andrew was supposed to walk the few blocks from his school to Mr. BFG's office after his club meeting while I picked up the little boys from choir practice. I was okay with it. I knew that I needed to let go and allow him that little bit of freedom that many of us were given at this same age. I let him ride his bike around the neighborhood and to friend's houses, this was only slightly different.

The feeling of anxiety started slowly. I let it grow and build all day long, reassuring myself that it was okay. I left Blake, Reese and Riley in the care of completely competent people, and went to the grocery store. Alone. Which, if y'all are anything like me, is a totally blissful experience. A miracle on it's own.

I walked each aisle aimlessly, hoping that it would pass. I made it to the cereal aisle before I started crying. For those who aren't sure of the layout of our grocery store, that ain't far. It's pathetically short, actually. But still, I pushed and even managed polite smiles and "excuse me's" before I finally decided to head to the check-out, pay and rush to the school so I could just pick him up.

He was disappointed. Probably a little bit embarrassed too, because what (almost) 12 year old wants his mom hollering frantically at him while he's messing around with his friends? Not mine. And after I grabbed him, I rushed back to church to wait for my little boys. Thankfully, they're still always happy to see me.

Parenting is hard. Damn hard.

I say this not only because it's true, but because all of this and more comes with the territory. I don't think I could even count the amount of sleepless nights and difficult decisions. My bank account shows very clearly the financial strain of activities and grocery store trips. There is a permanent dent in our bed from babies who grew into toddlers who grew into preschoolers who grew into tweens. My stomach bears the scars and shape of carrying twins.

And before I know it, they'll all be adults and I'll look back wondering where it all went.

Far too often, we find ourselves complaining about things that, in the bigger picture, don't matter. We resent our spouses for not helping or working later than planned, while not even thinking that for some moms there's nobody coming home at the end of the day to help. We complain about the mess and time it takes to bathe them, completely forgetting that for some families, bathing involves a chair lift or washing a child who might normally be capable of washing themselves but can't. We rush to get our babies to sleep through the night, trying every crazy method in every crazy book, hoping for relief. We never think that maybe this is a normal developmental stage that will pass when it's time.

If you can't put in the work to have kids, don't have them. If you're not ready to sacrifice your body, your mind, your time. Just don't. It takes time and effort and sometimes things happen that we just aren't prepared for. You're going to face adversity. You're going to be criticized. You're going to spend more money than you ever thought was possible on things like bananas and bread.

It comes with the territory. Get over it.