Here You Go, Redbox…Take My Money


This time it will be different.

This time is not going to be like the last time. Or the time before that. And definitely not like the time before THAT.

This time when I rent a Redbox movie I’m going to return it promptly the next day. This time it is going to cost me $1.25. That’s it. Not a penny more. See, that’s supposed to be the beauty of Redbox. You can rent a movie for less than a cup of coffee. It’s like a no brainer. Well, at least it is supposed to be like a no brainer. They even make it so easy by placing the big red boxes everywhere. And you don’t even have to go into the store to return the movie like you used to have to do in the old days when the Redboxes first came out. Now the big red box is right there on the outside of the store. It’s easy…

…except it’s not.

Do you have any idea how much money I spend on late Redbox movies? Sure it’s only a measly $1.25 per day, but I absolutely never return it the next day. Not on purpose…it just absolutely never happens. So right off the bat we’re talking a minimum of $2.50 to have the movie for two days. Still not so bad. Except that I usually get a code texted to me for a free rental for one day. A free rental! How can I not take advantage of Redbox’s generosity? It would be rude not to. So I usually get a second movie, and return it late with the first movie. And once I’m into the second day with both movies still in my possession I know that I will be hit with a charge of $3.75. Which is actually still not bad….if I returned them on that second day. But I don’t. By day three I’m out $6.25. By day four: $8.75 for two stupid movies that weren’t even that great. Instead of being returned to their rightful place, both movies remain safely sitting in two different DVD players at my house for days on end. Out of sight, out of mind. The fact that I have two movies to return never even crosses my mind until I’m in the center of town and I see the big red box outside of CVS and then I’m like, “Omigod! The movies!” I resolve that the minute I get home I will get both of those movies out of the DVD players and put them in my car. I even make a note in the note section of my phone (which I always forget to look at.) By day six I make good on my promise and I do indeed put both movies in my car…where they remain for about 3 more days until I remember that they are in there and need to be returned. At this point I know that I’m going to be out over 20 bucks. And here’s the thing: at some point, when you have kept the movie for enough days that you owe the actual price of the movie, they charge you that price and the movie is yours to keep.

So now I have to try to figure out where I am in the actual cost of the movie.

Am I more than 1/2 way to the final cost? If so, then it’s much more sensible to just keep the movie instead of returning it and paying all that money for nothing. That would be foolish. Sometimes I have no choice but to decide that it makes way more economical sense to keep the movies and pay the price.

I should never be allowed to rent another movie from Redbox again.

But I do. Because it’s so easy. And it’s so convenient. And it’s only $1.25 a day. That’s the beauty of Redbox. You can rent a movie for less than a cup of coffee. It’s like a no brainer…


Nicely Played, Karma

Karma is a bitch.

A real byatch.

And it always comes at you when you least expect it. Right now karma is all over my ass in the form of TRESemme hairspray. Tres Two Spray #4 Extra Hold hairspray, to be precise. The one with the superior hold and touchable feel. That one.  That’s my middle schooler’s hair spray of choice. My middle school boy. BOY! I didn’t know boys even cared about their hair, let alone set their alarm clocks to wake up early for the specific reason that they wanted enough time to actually “do” their hair. Did 12 year old boys care this much about their hair when I was in middle school? I always thought that the boys just woke up, towel dried their mullets, and went off to school looking naturally good (“Good” being a relative term.) Is that NOT how it went down? Don’t even tell me that they styled their hair. Do NOT tell me that they looked in the mirror and gelled and hairsprayed it. Just don’t. I thought it was only us girls who paid attention to their middle school hair. After all, we were the ones with the banana clips, the side ponies, the scrunchies and the spiral perms. We had a lot going on. And what we had going on took time and skill to accomplish.

So the other day when I yelled (Screamed? Shrieked? Call it what you will.) up the stairs to my son that he better not be late for school because he was doing his hair, I knew that life had come full circle and was now laughing in my face. Because I can remember, like it was literally yesterday, my mother yelling (Screaming? Shrieking?) the exact same thing up the stairs to me when I would be getting ready for school. My mother was the master of wanting to kill me if I missed the bus because I was doing my hair. And I was the master of missing it anyways because I was trying to make my hair look hugely fabulous. I knew where my priorities lay.

And then there was this one day.

I’ll never forget it.

I was a sophmore in high school. It was drizzly outside. Not raining (which would have been okay), just a warm misty drizzle. Basically the worst weather ever for a girl with curly hair. So I’m in my room and I’m doing my hair and it’s getting to be later and later…and I hear my mother yell down the stairs “The bus will be here is 5 minutes, and you better not miss it just because you are doing your hair!” Yipes! 5 measly minutes. I start going for it with gusto. I’m brushing, and spraying, and teasing, and lifting, and flipping, and scrunching, and spraying some more, and then some more, and then some more just for good measure (because, like I said, it was all misty out so my hair needed to be like a shellacked coat of armour) and finally I was done and my hair looked perfect. (Seriously, it looked so good.) So I jumped up, grabbed my bag, and booked it to the front door…just in time to see the bus pull away. Shit! Shit! Shitshitshit!! Sure I probably could have run outside and chased the bus and it most likely would have stopped to pick me up…but, as I mentioned before, it was drizzly. And warm. And my hair looked too fab to ruin. So I decided to take my chances and just risk the wrath of my mother.

She was bull.

But, you know, whatever because my hair still looked so good that it was totally worth it. We rode to school in silence. When we took the left turn to drive up the LONG driveway to the school she most likely laid into me about my lack of respect for other people’s time. (Okay! Geez, don’t have a cow.) I can’t remember exactly, but all I know is that from the beginning of the long driveway to the end of the long driveway things went south fast. When she stopped the car in front of the school I attempted to get out in a huff (that would show her!) but she stopped me and said something along the lines of “What about a thank you for driving you to school?!” And I, in all my adolescent stupidity, looked at her and said,

“Thanks for NOTHING!” (cringe!!!)

And I got out of the car and started to walk away leaving the passenger side door open. OPEN! (OMG! I shudder to think about it now, because I don’t know how she didn’t jump out of the car and full body tackle me right there on the sidewalk.) But she didn’t. Do you know what she did? She laid on the horn. That’s right. My God! It was such a brilliant, bad ass move. She laid on the horn and one whole class full of kids ran to the window to see what the ruckus was. “Get back in the car” she said in a dangerously quiet voice. (Crap! I’m dead!!) So I got back in the car and she started to drive away. (What is this?) She drove away from the school and allllll the way down the looooong driveway (Is she taking me home?), and she stopped the car, turned to me and said, “Now get out and walk back.”

Mary and Joseph!!!

Was she kidding me? What was this madness?! It was clearly drizzly and misty and warm outside! Anyone could tell that my hair would be ruined if I had to walk up that long driveway! There was no amount of Aquanet in the world that could have saved me. Oh man oh man oh man!!! It was genius!!! My adult self wants to go back to that moment and high-five her. It was simply the most brilliant move any mother anywhere ever in the history of the world has ever done.

So it is pretty much a no-brainer why I am now being tortured in such a merciless way by my OWN child who drives me to the brink of madness almost every single day with his hair styling absurdity.

Nicely played, karma. Nicely played indeed.



He. Could. Go. All. The. Way!

Your son is not going to play in the NFL. He’s not. I know you think he is great and all…and I don’t want to burst your bubble, but your son in NOT going pro. I know it for almost an absolute fact. I’ve done a little research. Let me break it down for you: over a million kids play high school football, of those million kids there are approximately only 80,000 that go on to play college football, and of that 80,000 only 1 out of every 325 kids will get drafted to the NFL. Which means that basically only about 250 will even get the chance to TRY to be in the NFL. Those are some odds. Now just imagine the statistical improbability of two kids from the same town playing on the same youth football team BOTH getting drafted into the NFL…basically not going to happen. Right? Right. So, how do I know that your kid isn’t going pro? Because he is on the same team as my kid…and I think it’s pretty obvious that my extremely talented (not to mention, well-behaved) child most likely IS going pro. They can’t both go pro, now can they? Don’t be sad, this is actually good news for you. Now, instead of watching your kid play the game with stars in your eyes and grandiose ideas in your head about his “future professional football career” you can just relax and enjoy the game…just for the love of the game.

You’re welcome.

Like I said, I’ve done a bit of research. Here is how I know that my little pumpkin is going to make it to the big time.

First of all, he’s wicked cute. That right there should be all the proof that you need. I mean, look at Tom Brady, Julian Edelman, Brett Favre (hubba hubba). All of them were cute kids, and grew up to be delightful eye candy. So my scrumptious little nugget is practically a shoe-in, based solely on his undeniable cuteness.

He also has an amazing arm. Seriously. He throws the football so straight and there’s a ton of power behind it. I should know because the other day he was like, “Think fast!” and he threw the ball at me. I didn’t think fast enough and the ball beaned me off the head. It was a real doozie. Ouch. I was so proud. Oh, and not only is his throwing impressive, but the ball practically spirals every single time. Every single time. Practically. QB 101 right there. You probably think your kid has a good arm, too. But…no.

My little dreamboat is also a good catcher. And kicker. And runner. And blocker. If we can get him to run a little faster he could just throw to himself. I’m pretty sure that the reason he isn’t in for every single solitary play during the game is because the coaches don’t want the other kids to feel bad when they watch him and his magical moves. So they just have him in there a regular amount, same as all the other kids, so as not to draw attention. (Big shout out to the coaches for that one. Way to go guys. We are clearly on the same page.)

Oh, and another reason why it is clear that he is going to the NFL is that all he thinks about is football. All the time. Except when he is thinking about Minecraft. And except when he is thinking about how to get out of doing his homework. And except when he is thinking about food, and riding his bike, and playing on his ipad, and watching silly video’s on YouTube. Other than that I am very certain that the only thing that is on his mind is football. I think. He says it’s not. But he’s probably just saying that. You know kids.

Listen, I’m not saying that my kid is better than your kid, because in all fairness I’ve never actually paid attention to your kid. I’m just saying that I’m pretty sure that my son is the best ever. I think if you watched him you would agree. How could you not? He is the fruit of my loins for god’s sake. I know extraordinary fabulousness when I see it, and this kid is truly extraordinarily fab.

And I do have to tell you that I find it to be a little creepy that you think that your OWN kid is so fantastic and perfect. Puh-leeze. Don’t tell me you are one of THOSE parents. Come on. Get a grip.


Where Were the Lazy Days of Summer?

that was summer vacation

The kids started school on Wednesday. A moment that I had been waiting for for quite some time. Yes, that’s right, I had a countdown going. 5 more days…4 more days… As the big day got closer I would find myself smiling for no reason. Little bursts of hysterical laughter would escape me as I imagined the joy of the big yellow school bus arriving. My kids thought I was going mental. “Why do you keep giggling?” they would innocently ask me. “No reason. No reason at all.” Suckas. The end of their summer vacation marked the end of my busy season. It marked the end of the every day craziness. It marked the end of the shit show. School starting meant I finally had a minute to breathe. And I couldn’t wait.

So the big day comes and I was up early with excited butterflies in my stomach and so much pent up nervous energy bursting out of me that I was practically walking into walls. It’s the big day. The BIG DAY! One by one the kids got ready for the day. One by one they gathered their things to walk out the door. One by one they got on the school bus. And one by one they drove away. (except for the youngest two, but whatevs. I can handle two measly kids with one hand tied behind my back. Easy.) I headed home from the bus stop humming a happy tune and waiting for the feelings of joy to wash over me. I got home, flopped on the couch and waited to be bombarded with all the amazing feelings I had anticipated feeling for so long. Freedom. Exhilaration. Relief. Delight. I could feel them all bubbling up inside me. Which one would make it to the surface first? Probably Delight. No, maybe joy. Oooh, I wonder if it will be exhilaration! That’d be nice. Here we go…I feel so…I feel so…I feel so crappy? Wait, what?! Oh my god, why do I feel crappy? What the heck? Why do I feel bad?

Am I sad that summer is over?

Can it be?

Oh no. I am. I’m sad that summer is over. Who am I? I don’t even like summer all that much. It’s too hot, and there are bugs everywhere, and my hair looks weird. But, still. Can it really be that summer is OVER? That was IT?  Where were the lazy days of summer that everybody talks about? Where was the lying on the grass and looking at the clouds? Where was catching dragonflies and fireflies? Where were s’mores over the firepit every night, drippy ice cream cones, and sitting in rockers on the front porch drinking lemonade? In the movies they make it look so nice and relaxing. And easy. And smiley and happy. That’s the summer vacation I wanted. Not the shit show that it actually was. I guess I just pictured the whole thing so much differently in my head. Next year we are going to do it right. Next year we are going to be relaxed and spontaneous and everyone is going to get along and no one is going to try to kill each other and we are going to make gimp bracelets. Sure, it’s going to take a lot of planning to be that easy breezy, but I’m up to the challenge. Next summer is going to be amazing! And I have a whole entire Pinterest-filled year to plan it out.

In the meantime, we are almost upon my absolute fave season: Hallothanksmas. I love it. Now THIS is a season of fabulousness. I can envision it now. There will be pumpkins being carved, pumpkin bread being made, perfect Halloween costumes created, turkeys being eaten, thanks being given, and Christmas presents bought early and on sale and without any of the crazy stress of last year’s holiday season. I’m pretty sure that it is all going to be exactly as I have it pictured in my head…