Follow-up to the great adventure involving doctors, delinquents and cops from yesterday

“She’s a lot more calm than most.” – the cop, talking to Scott, about me

I love this, because the irony in the quote cracks me up. Where was I when they had this conversation? I was in the back getting a shot in my ass (literally) of Torodol to combat the migraine I had just developed. Which is why Scott’s response was, “She just internalizes.”

I asked the doctor to give me something, a sample of Maxalt laying around the office, a shot, I didn’t care. The nurse is like, “Do you want us to just call you something in?” I was like, “Umm, I have Maxalt at home. I just don’t have a way to get it!” Held hostage at the doctor’s office! However, seeing as how I was able to get the “good” meds as a result, I was held hostage in the best place possible.

Alright, well, here are a few of the most commonly asked questions I've received...

So, did you get your stuff back?

Well, the day of, we found my nook case and wristlet at the bottom of a drainage pipe, both empty.

The cards and the car keys were never recovered. The Nook, however, has been returned to me.

I got a call from the cop at 8 a.m., telling me he has the Nook back. He also told me the story went that the grandma told her thieving granddaughter to give it to her so she could turn it over to the police. Thieving granddaughter refuses. Grandma has to pay thieving granddaughter $100 before she will hand over the Nook, whereupon grandma gives it to the police.

Which leads into … do you believe that story?

Hell no I don’t believe it. Nor does the cop. But what are you going to do?

Of course, I told him (and he agrees), that grandma shouldn’t have forked over the money, should have let thieving  bitch rot in jail. Who the hell holds their grandmother captive for $100 to DO THE RIGHT THING? The cops obviously KNEW she did it, they could very easily find her and retrieve it from her, while also hauling her to Scott County Detention Center – so, yeah … apparently I don’t understand what runs through peoples’ minds sometimes. (Apparently grandma was doing everything in her power to keep her granddaughter from going to jail. Uhh… yeah, no. Let her go. Yeah, you might have to be in charge of her bratty kids while she’s doing time, is that what your problem is?)

Did I press charges?

Given the fact my Nook was returned, he asked if I still wanted to press charges. I would like to see this dumbass bitch go to jail, but not enough to go through the mental anguish of pressing charges over a $200 piece of technology. It’s just not worth it. (Now, had something happened to my car – I’d be screaming something different. And something very well still could happen to my car, and my mind will change very quickly.)

Why am I so laid back about this? In the end, she’ll get judged – by her family, by anyone who faces her again at that office (believe me, none of them took well to this, they won’t like seeing her again), and by whatever deity she believes in. She’ll get hers somewhere along the line. I don’t need to be the first lining up to seek justice. More than anything, you have to feel sorry for her kids, who are growing up with this type of trash as a role model. Wow.

What did my mom have to say?

God love my mother, who lacks compassion (I inherited that, though not quite to her level – though, I admit, there are times she’s compassionate and I wouldn’t be) asks me, “And what did we learn from this?”

*pause*

“To always pick your stuff up and take it with you.”

Thanks Mom. Love you!

She’s got a point, I should have taken my stuff with me. But I was going to a desk not 20 feet away. I didn’t really think it was an issue. I had a couple other people talk to me later and they were like, “I would have done the same thing.”

Why are you selling the Nook?

So, we found the awesome Nook case at the bottom of the ditch. The Nook was returned this morning. But I have decided – and Scott backs me up on this – that I’m going to sell it. I know what you’re asking, why? After all, the Nook still works.

WELL … the most disheartening thing about the Nook case was the fact that it’s at the bottom of the pipe, face down (which means the picture of my kiddo is face down in the mud). I mean, granted, it’s just a “thing” and is not my child, it still sucks. When I think of it, the only vision I have is that Nook case face down in the mud. Therefore, I will be replacing it, as opposed to cleaning it and keeping it. Yes, I’m crazy, I’m aware most of you don’t get it, but that’s okay.

As far as the Nook is concerned – I have already had it blacklisted from my account. Basically, no more book purchases can be made from that serial number by my account. So, I have to essentially start over anyway. Plus, I don’t know what this bitch intended to do – read what I had on there, sell it (I would have thought she would have already pawned it to be honest), or take it in a field and beat it with a baseball bat thinking, “Take that white girl I don’t know.” I don’t know. Nor do I want to know. But just like my case, it’s tainted. It’s just not the same. Nothing is wrong with it, it still works. I just don’t want it. So I’ll sell it to someone who does and go get a replacement.

Side note, we had a debate over upgrading to a Nook color or replacing it with itself, and I’m leaning in the direction of sticking with the tried-but-true e-ink version. After all, I can always read on my phone too, and I don’t need the same basic back-lit interface on both devices. Defeats the purpose.

I don’t expect everyone to get my desire to replace my Nook. That’s okay. Just don’t judge me for it. Thank God for being employed and having the ability to make this decision.

What was in your wallet?

My wallet was simply a Vera Bradley wristlet, it didn’t hold a lot. There were no checks or anything, thank God for that. But it did have: two debit cards (one to each one of my banks), my Kohl’s card, my Maurice’s card (which I JUST GOT the day before), my Bank of America credit card, one of Scott’s credit cards, a Wal-Mart gift card (no worries, it was in-store credit from a return and only had like $12 on it), the key to our room in Disney World, and two Photo Pass cards from Disney.

My license was in my hand, as I needed it to check in, so that’s something. And my phone was with me, otherwise she’d have that too, and then someone might have to hold me back, because taking away my phone is not cool.

What all was on the keys?

My car key and remote, my house key, my mailbox key, the key to Scott’s dad’s Dodge pickup, a key to my old house in Virginia Beach, a ring Scott gave me YEARS ago that I can no longer wear because of the fact it’s bent out of shape because I dropped a car battery on it, a giant blue horse I bought at Keeneland, and all my shopping cards that I have neglected to scan into the app on my phone and I am currently kicking myself for that fact.

Was your car messed with in any way?

No, my car was left alone. Now, that’s not who is to say that it won’t remain that way – after all, my car keys are God knows where (and he’s not telling me at this point) and all someone has to do is wander a parking lot hitting the panic button to find it. I do not like the fact that this is a possibility. I mean, what are the odds this moron will find my car in the parking lot at work in Lexington? Slim. However, you know, it is also seen all over Georgetown. I think we will be using Scott’s car more regularly until my keys are returned to me.

What are you grateful for in all of this?

There are actually a lot of things I’m grateful for…

I *think*the Photo Passes expire after 30 days, so the pictures shouldn’t be online. So, assuming she’s smart enough, she shouldn’t be able to get online to see “Ohh, what this poor sap look like, and her family and how can I torment them more?”

That I have a job, and we have enough money that I can replace my Nook. That Scott’s understanding enough of my crazy delusions to let me do that, no questions asked.

That Jocelyn wasn’t with me. Who is to say that this would have happened if she was there? (Probably still, she would have taken off to play somewhere.) But I would not have been near as calm and collected as I was if I had to deal with her too. Plus, I’d totally be in protective mama mode, so who knows what would have come out of my mouth in that mode. (Of course, it is food for thought to think that, had I had her with me, I wouldn’t have had my Nook. Wallet still probably would have gone missing.)

I’m grateful there were witnesses. Even if the cop didn’t get to talk to them until this chick managed to skip off, at least people saw her and that’s why we were able to recover what we did.

I’m grateful the grandma is pissed. Good. There are times the wrath of grandma/mom is worse than anything you may get in a court of law.

I’m grateful I took my phone up to the counter with me (as I was waiting on a text with the insurance cards in it). Otherwise this bitch would have my phone too. You know I wouldn’t be getting that back. That’s worth more than the Nook.

I’m grateful it happened at the doctor’s office, so when the migraine hit, I was able to get meds for it.

I’m grateful we had an extra set of keys. (Even if Scott didn’t, I had the valet key at the house, so the car could have been driven home regardless.) Like hell I would have left it.

I’m grateful I was able to remain calm and collected and not flip out. Had I turned into a total bitch, I’m sure the cop would have been less likely to help me. I mean, yeah, it’s his job, but he could be an asshole to me, cops like to play those mental games with people. I’ve seen it happen.

I’m grateful that my husband bought me pizza for dinner and a huge chocolate bar. Comfort food. Yum. (Side note, I have not eaten the huge chocolate bar yet.)

Oh, that if I *did* end up having to press charges (read: something DOES end up happening to my car), I have plenty of lawyer friends to call. The most likely candidate - Brady. Because he would so love this one. (Come on, Scott, tell me you disagree!)

What’s the biggest pain in the ass right now?

One – I just got the remote for my car fixed two weeks ago. TWO WEEKS AGO! It cost $80. And what good did that serve me? To make it easier to find my car for this bitch? I half wish I hadn’t done it yet so she could walk right by my car and never know because the old remote didn’t work.

Two – I still worry about her finding my car. Calm and collected will go out the window. I am so close to getting it paid off - don't think I won't be pissed beyond belief if my car gets messed up right as I get it paid off. Heaven help her.

Three  – I had to cancel all my cards. Until the new debit cards come in, I have no way to pay for anything. Sigh.And once they do come in, I have to set up all my automatic bill pay that used my debit cards (like the Sprint bill and the alarm system, etc.).

Four – I just, out-and-out, feel violated. I mean, of all the places in all the world, a doctor’s office? I mean, come on, I’m obviously there because I’m sick (sinus infection, thankyouverymuch), and you want to go add insult to injury? Fuck you. I hope you get violated and see how much you like it.

Let’s see if I can make an analogy. My mom’s car was stolen. It was recovered and fixed. The day after we got it back, my mom traded it in. She said it didn’t drive right. She’s probably right, it didn’t, not after that much damage was fixed. But at the same time, do you really think you’d want to drive a car that two teenage brats decided to take for a joyride? God knows I wouldn’t – it just wouldn’t be the same, whether they wrecked it and it was repaired, or it turns out they were the best drivers in the world. It’s just the fact that someone, who wasn’t you, took your stuff as their own. (And threw a picture of your daughter down a drain pipe, to boot.)

The whole story behind the status update of "F$%k me."

Seriously, sometimes you just have to sit back and ask yourself, “why me.” I mean, honestly. I’m a decent person. I think. I hope.

Started coming down with the start of a sinus infection, so I stayed home from work today so I could go to the doctor.

Now, let’s throw this out there – I love my doctor, been seeing her since 2003. On Monday of this week, she left the office she’d been in for about five years for a new office space, affiliated with UK Healthcare. I’ve dealt with the new call center twice this week and I was not happy either time. So, I walked in and saw Susan, the receptionist and immediately said, “I don’t like the new call center,” and she laughed and said, “Nobody does.” Ha! At least it’s not just me.

Due to the new transition, they handed me a giant clipboard full of stuff to fill out. Information I know they’ve had for years, but because it was a new computer system, I had to fill out again. Alright. And I needed my insurance card and photo ID when I returned it.

I go sit down, and set my car keys, Vera Bradley wristlet and my Nook (in it’s very awesome Nook case featuring a picture of my very photogenic daughter) down on the chair next to me and start telling UK Healthcare my name, address, employer, mother’s maiden name, father’s name (what the hell do they need that info for, especially because he’s been dead for a year and a half!), and other information that, I guess, proves I am who I am. I lost my insurance card a couple months ago, so I asked Scott to take a pic of his and text it to me so they could get the information. (Gotta love technology.)

As soon as I’m done signing my name on the line almost as many times as I did in the refinance paperwork, I head up to the desk with my clipboard, license and phone so I can finish checking in. I leave my wristlet, keys and Nook sitting on the chair, as I’m only walking about 20 feet away and am in plain sight of it the whole time.

Well, while I’m in the process of waiting on the girls to get their acts together to take my stuff, I glance over my shoulder. The chair that held my stuff was surprisingly empty. I looked around me, did I carry it to the desk with me and forgot? No. I just, in passing say, “Hey, my wallet’s gone.” Of course, the girls at the desk freak out and start asking questions. I go back to where I was and look all around, nowhere to be found. I ask the older couple that was sitting there, “Wasn’t my stuff right there?” The older man says, “I saw someone who was sitting at the end pick some stuff up.” Nice.

Now I will give you the God’s honest truth, I didn’t pay attention to the person on my left while I was signing my life away to UK Healthcare. So I don’t remember a thing about her, except for the fact it was a female. I couldn’t even tell you if she was black or white.

Apparently the old man immediately pointed to an older black lady on the other side of the divider and said something about how it was her. I know she didn’t move the whole time I was there, and that old woman is going off showing the insides of her purse, cursing, showing off the insides of the purse of the girl with her, etc. I said, “I didn’t accuse anyone, I just noticed my stuff went missing.” She goes, “But he did.”

Well, at that point, my name was called to go back. The office manager says she’ll call the police. I almost looked at her and said, “You know, this really isn’t important enough to get them involved.” But I figured I’d be quiet and let them do their thing. One of the other girls at the desk told me that I was amazingly more calm than I should have been. Eh, what was I going to do?

Renee, my nurse, went to weigh me and I was like, “Do I have to?” She laughed and said, that no, after what just happened, she’d let me out of it. (I got on the scale at home this morning. It was not a nice number. I don’t want to share that number with anyone, especially my doctor.)

So, we go into the room, and she does my BP, which, understandably is high, and we ran through the usual “why are you here,” bit. Then I cracked up laughing and said, “You know what’s really funny? I hope to God the person who took my Nook was a flaming liberal because I had the George W. and Laura Bush books on there.” She found that funny. (As did my doctor when I told her.) Here’s what’s kind of funny, while Renee and I were in there, a lady was out walking in the back and actually waved at us from outside. Renee was kind of confused because she goes, “They aren’t supposed to be able to look in.” Yeah, well, it seemed a bit odd she was back there anyway, but, what are you going to do?

My doctor comes in, and first off offers me a Xanex, which I shrug off. Eh. Stuff happens. We get down to the reason I’m there, which she confirms my suspicions, sinus infection. Yay! As we get ready to leave, I realize my car keys are among the missing items (why it didn’t hit me before then, I do not know).

My doctor gives me a hug as we’re walking down the hall and, once again, offers me a Xanex. I turn her down. Again.

The office manager then takes me to the break room where I’m, essentially, held hostage for about 20 minutes before the cop comes back to talk to me. Why they wouldn’t let me out to make sure my car was still in the parking lot (as was my fear as soon as I realized my keys were MIA), or anything else, was frustrating. But I used that time to text my friends and fill them in on what was going on. And lamented with one of the employees about how “this is Georgetown, this kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen in Georgetown.”

So, the cop finally comes back and talks to me – there’s a few miscommunciations going on – he thought it was a purse, to tell him I had a Vera Bradley wristlet was sort of over his head. When I said I had a Nook, he was just like, “A what?” Once I likened it to a Kindle, he was like, “oh.” He even asked me what it was worth and I told him and he goes, “The same as a Kindle.” Well, yeah. The biggest thing to me about the Nook was the fact I just got a new Nook case, and as such, had a picture of it on my phone, so I could at least show him that.

So, we go out and he wants me to show him where it happened, which I did, and then we went in the back again. This is when he tells me that he’s pretty sure he knows who did it, but he had nothing on her to prove it. He did stop and question her, and searched her car, but couldn’t find anything and she said she had to leave to go get her kid. He said she swore she’d be back. (Guess what, we left two hours later and she hadn’t returned yet. Weird, huh? Yeah, didn’t think so.) He believed her because her grandma was still at the office and she was grandma’s ride. (Side note, Grandma was the older lady who cursed and swore she had nothing to do with it.)

The cop walked me around the building and told me how someone said they saw this woman and her son digging, and burying stuff, in the new landscaping. But he took his baton and sifted through the mulch and came up with nothing. Then we walked a little further and said someone else said they saw this woman with a handful of credit cards – a green one on top – trying to stuff them between the sidewalk and the dirt of the yard. (I laughed and said, “yep, definitely mine, I just put the green card in my wallet this morning .” I just got it. It’s a Maurice’s store credit card.) Then he walked over to the drainage pipe and said they’ve been looking around in it, but it was full of water and had two paths off of it, so if they threw something in there, he didn’t know where it could have gone. There was a horse in a field next to the office and I said, “Hey, the horse saw it, someone go ask him!” The cop laughed and goes, “Yeah, Mr. Ed.”

So, he and I walked around told me that yet ANOTHER witness saw her digging around in the rocks. I looked at him and said, “Well, we saw her outside the window while I was back to see the doctor and she waved at us.” He goes, “Weird.” Of course she waved. The only other thing she could have done that was more appropriate was flick me off.

So, we saw another drainage pipe, but there was nothing down there. There was a third one, and he shines his flashlight and goes, “Hey, do you know what that is?” Down at the bottom of the drainage pipe was my Nook case. Face down, but I knew it was my Nook case. It was a little too deep for him to get to the bottom, but luckily there were builders working on a building next door who helped us fish it out. (No, they didn’t see anything, so they were no real help as far as that’s concerned.) They fished it out, and my beautiful Nook case, featuring my gorgeous daughter, is now covered in mud, is wet, and is (unsurprisingly) empty. My wristlet was down there – also empty. Car keys still missing. Of course.

Two office workers, the cop, and I traipse around the field behind the office looking for the keys, thinking they could have been tossed out there, but the fact is, if they were, there wasn’t a shot in hell we’d find them. (Which, let’s throw this one out there – it would have been really easy to find my car. Hit the panic button and see which one went off. But she apparently didn’t do that, because everything in my car was untouched. And she best be grateful cause if she stole – or messed with my car in any way – I would be ready to kill.)

So, after all that, and after I talk to Scott and he’s on his way to come get me (because, after all, I can’t take my car anywhere without keys – but he’s got a spare key, so it’s not like we couldn’t get the car home – so nah, nah on that bitch who thought she might be able to steal my car later). I head back into the office to give them the insurance card that finally came through e-mail, and ask if the doctor would be willing to give me something for my migraine. Walk in with a sinus infection, walk out with a migraine. Woohoo! (They did end up giving me a shot of Torodol, God love them.)

Afterwards, the police officer informs me he does know who did it, he’s got enough on her, and knows she’s on probation. He said that, if the items are not returned to him by 8 a.m. tomorrow, he’s got enough for a warrant, if nothing else, but he assured me she would be going to jail. Woohoo.

He even told Scott while I was in the back getting my shot that I was a lot calmer than most. Scott told him it wasn’t that, but that I internalize stuff. Yeah, I do. But honestly, what good would it have done me to start pointing fingers and flip out? It’s just stuff. In reality, I’ll get a new Nook – I’ve cancelled all the credit/debit cards that were in my wallet – the only thing I’m even remotely pissed about at this point is a) my beautiful Nook case is now tainted and b) I WANT MY CAR KEYS! I just got the remote working a week and a half ago, dammit!

So, now I just sit back to wait to hear from the cop tomorrow.

It is important to note, when we left, the grandma did come up and apologize profusely to me. I said, “This stuff happens.” She goes, “No, not with her.” Um, apparently, yes, with her. I really didn’t know what to say. I mean, what did she want from me? She didn’t take it, she didn’t owe me an apology. Her grandkid’s a fuck-up, not really her fault. The police are involved, and therefore, it’s beyond my control. Did she want me to take pity and say I wasn’t going to let him take her granddaughter in? Not gonna happen. Enjoy the cell, babe. I’ll wave at you from outside.

Everything must go, but nobody takes anything!

So the neighborhood had a yard sale today. Woohoo! I mean, it's Georgetown, and the weather is getting nice, yard sales are always going on. (When we lived in Bradford, the little old lady at the end of the street had one every Friday and Saturday in summer. She was, how do you say, a professional yard saler.)

I digress. Someone decided to organize a neighborhood swap meet (I mean, yard sale), which is always good to generate more foot traffic.

Now, after the neighborhood yard sale we did six or seven years ago (in Bradford - competing with the professional on the corner), we ended up with a big, fat fail. Made about $200, sweated about 20 pounds (that was happiness), and watched everyone go across the street because she had all the baby/kid stuff. All I had were books and stuffed animals from my childhood that followed me around and had to go. (Let me backtrack - I still have stuffed animals from my childhood. Just because they followed me did not mean they automatically ended up in the sell pile. No, no, no ... there were, and still are, a handful that I won't even give to my daughter. If you know me, I'll give Munchkin anything ... "sure baby, you can have that machete, just let me teach you how to use it safely, okay?" ... so that's saying something. But again, I digress.)

I swore I would never do it again. I meant it. But our house was starting to look a little bit like an episode of "Hoarders" and it just had to go. Since someone else organized the yard sale, all we had to do was deal with cheap people, right?

It wasn't quite that easy. Poor Scott had to get ready for the event without me, as I had plans elsewhere. (You think I did it on purpose, and had I know the date of the yard sale ahead of time, I so would have done just that. But this is pure coincidence. I swear.) We hauled all our crap down to Chris and Laura's house because 1) their house is on the main street of our neighborhood so better visibility; 2) putting their stuff and our stuff together made it look like more (and it was all mostly kids/baby stuff) so that would generate more foot traffic; and 3) the kids could play together, which is always a good thing (even though, as it turned out, mine was super-crabby).

They got started early, and actually did have a few decent sales. Scott managed to sell the rocking chair that I thought was so far beyond repair I was going to throw it in the trash truck myself, next time I saw it. Shows what I know.

I swoop in around 12:30, four and a half hours after it gets started. Hey - wait, before you hate on me, I brought back LaRosa's and if you're familiar with northern Kentucky and pizza then you know LaRosa's is the best, and the furthest place south I can get LaRosa's is still a 30-45 minute drive from home. So, there you go, I brought lunch. Woohoo. I start my duty answering idiotic questions. Below, actual exchanges...

"Can I leave you my name and number? My niece just found out she's having twins, and they've got nothing. She's not that far along, so they don't know what they're having, but I don't want to just go buying stuff yet. So, maybe you can just save what you don't sell and give it to her?"
Laura and I both have this blank look on our faces at this point. The lady repeated her plea and this time she said something about a "small price" for the lot. Oh, she she wasn't necessarily asking for handouts. Cause after she left, Laura and I were both like, "umm, if we're giving something away, it's to Goodwill so I can claim it on my taxes, thankyouverymuch."

There was this one lady who was insanely large and lacked much of a personality. (Which is funny because isn't it the general thought that bigger/more unattractive girls have better personalities to make them desirable AND if you're going to go offer people next to nothing for their items, you might want to at least have some charisma or ability to develop a rapport to do that.) Anyway, she picked up some VHS tapes. VHS? REALLY? Wanted to know if there were more. We had some in our closet, so I sent Scott home to get them. She did end up with quite a few VHS tapes when it was all said and done. She also picked up a picture and wanted to know how much. I hesitated - I paid $75 for that picture. So I didn't know what was fair. Was $10 fair? Seemed a little under-value, so I told Scott to put a price on it. He goes, "Two dollars." She goes, "I'll give you $1.50 for it." My heart sank doing the math. I can't believe I let that happen. Scott was pissed later when he found out it originally cost so much, he wondered why I didn't put a higher price on it. Mainly because I knew this bitch would walk away, maybe not even with any of her coveted-VHS tapes, so you know, trying to keep the customer happy.

We also had the droves of Mexicans descend upon Sutton Place. Come on, if you're going to buy my stuff, at least have the decency to speak English to me. (Don't get started. I can go off, I sold car parts to them for two years. They never looked me in the face. God only knows what they were saying to my boobs as they rattled off in Spanish.) But, anyway ... more than once I saw them put their kids on the tricycle we were trying to sell, push the kid around, and we'd kind of do that happy dance of "we're going to get rid of that obnoxious thing!" and then the Mexicans get pissed off (probably because we either don't have the prices in pesos or we're not willing to speak Spanish to them) and leave. Don't even make an offer on the tricycle that entertained the kid(s). Hey, screw you too. Perhaps you were unaware of this fact, but a yard sale is not where you go to test drive the kiddie toys. You're supposed to buy them!!! You test drive them at Toys R Us, where at least the people who work there are getting paid to deal with your dumb ass.

Chris said the Mexican women were awful when it came to the clothes. He'd say $2 for two or three baby shirts and they'd freak out. Like they were expecting to pay a dime for three shirts. Umm, no, the sign said "Sutton Place Yard Sale." It didn't say "Five and Dime."

Laura had this toddler bed we've all attempted to get rid of. I listed it on craigslist. She listed it on craigslist. She had it out there and people inquired about it all day. There was one lady who placed money in Laura's hand (not as much as Laura wanted, but it was something and it was out of her house) and the lady goes, "Oh, wait, I don't need this, the one at home converts." And just like that, sale gone. There were countless people who would ask, once they got an answer they'd call someone. My favorite response after one of those moments was, "Yeah, she just didn't want to spend any money." So, when you asked "do you want to BUY a toddler bed" she's like, "No, but they can give it to me if they want." Yeah, well, get in line behind the other ballsy chick asking for handouts.

I also love the lady who rang our doorbell after dinnertime. She bought something (or someone did earlier) and she was coming back to get it, and she didn't know where to go to get it. That seems really mean. First of all, to do for the seller, because what happens if you don't come back? And it's mean to do to the poor customer, because then they look like idiots to the 15 people who answered the door saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

All said and done, we didn't hardly make enough to cover the amount of money I spent shopping out of catalogs tonight. (Haha, before you even say it, I was not buying more stuff for a yard sale - I am buying the stuff for other people.) Stupid yard sales. Next time I say, "Hey, let's get in on this, it won't be that bad." Shoot me. Just shoot me.

By request: Ronald McDonald ALWAYS wins over cops

Coral Springs woman orders lunch from McDonald's drive-thru instead of pulling over for police

Flashing police lights apparently couldn't stop a Coral Springs woman with a fast-food craving. 

Well, you know, when you got a hunger only tacos can stop, you gotta make a run for the border. You know exactly what you’ll order, three tacos, two tostadas and a soda pop.

Police say when an officer tried to pull over Roberta Spen, 64, Monday for having faulty brake lights, she instead pulled into a McDonald's drive-thru lane and ordered lunch.
Oh, it wasn’t Taco Bell. Darn. (Shhh, I know what the headline said, but I wanted an excuse to make a South Park joke.)

Well, you know, maybe she was so hungry, she thought her hungry monster was getting a police escort.

The bizarre exchange happened along University Drive just south of Atlantic Boulevard at about 2 p.m., and it spawned an all-out police pursuit.
Woohoo, was it a 35-mph chase? Wait, those low-speed high-speed chases only happen in California.

Officer Courtney Vassell pulled up behind Spen in the drive-thru lane, and got out of the patrol car. With police lights flashing behind him, he told her to pull out into the parking lot for a traffic stop, according to a police report.
Right, and risk the fries getting cold? Surely not.

Spen, though, completed her food order, paid the bill, and then drove her bronze 2001 Chevrolet out of the parking lot and onto Northwest Sixth Court, Vassell said.
Is it just me, or does it seem extraneous to include the year, color and make of her car here?

So, she completed her order, paid the bill and drove off. Why didn’t the cop use his car to block her from leaving the drive-thru? I mean, I know the McDonald’s people would be pissed because it would totally throw off their timer, but I’m sure they’d let their numbers slide for a cop. I’m starting to think this cop is a moron.

Vassell again flipped on his siren and stopped Spen outside the McDonald's, where he said she "rolled her window down one inch and said she was not speeding and she would not roll her window down."
Oh, goody, she actually stopped.

See, this is where I guess my curiosity would get the best of me. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“Um, no, I don’t, because I wasn’t speeding. Please enlighten me.” (Yes, my sarcastic nature would get me a ticket all by itself, but my cleavage would get me out of it.)

Spen also refused to hand over her driver's license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance, then drove away from Vassell, police said.
Did she drive over his foot too? Cause that would be funny.

Vassell got back in his patrol car, flipped on his emergency lights — again — and followed Spen as she turned north onto Northwest 98th Avenue, east onto Atlantic and then north on University Drive.
Did he turn on his siren? Or just his lights? Maybe she didn’t think it was a real traffic stop without the siren.

Several other police officers joined in the pursuit.
Woohoo, it’s a party!

Although the police lights did not stop Spen, a red light at University and Ramblewood Drive did, and several officers attempted to box in Spen's car. Somehow, though, Spen was able to drive in reverse out of the box and continued driving north on University, police said.
What kind of shitty cops do they have here? I mean, they couldn’t even box her in? This crazy old lady who is multi-tasking driving and eating is able to out-maneuver multiple cops? At this point I think crazy old lady gets a pass. We do that with the kid, when she outsmarts us, we throw our hands up and say, “Alright, you get by this time.”

Spen finally stopped at the Mobil gas station at 1351 University Drive., where officers again surrounded her car.
She filled her belly, it was the car’s turn. It makes sense.

This time, when she refused to leave the car, the officers went in and got her — smashing the driver's side window and pulling her out, police said.
She just wanted to eat her Big Mac in peace! Of course, I’m pretty sure she ordered hers without glass shards, but the cops were nice enough to make sure her sandwich was complete.

After a quick check-up at Coral Springs Medical Center, Spen was taken to a Broward jail, arrested on charges of fleeing and eluding, resisting arrest without violence and driving with defective equipment.
I don’t know why they didn’t just let the medic at the jail check her out. You know they’ve got to have one there. Seems like they just gave her more time – and another opportunity to escape their grasp (since, obviously, she’s a master of eluding them).

Police said on the arrest report that they found no indication Spen was under the influence of drugs or alcohol at the time of the chase, and they could find no explanation for why Spen, who before her arrest Monday had no criminal record in Florida, didn't just pull over.
She wasn’t drunk or high, she’s just old. She’s just too old.

It’s always the ones you least expect! 

In bond court Tuesday Judge John "Jay" Hurley ordered her release under the condition she submit to a mental health evaluation.
Ya think???

Spen could not be reached for comment Tuesday evening.
Of course she couldn’t, she had to submit to a mental health evaluation. Besides, what are they expecting her to say?

Reporter: “Why didn’t you stop the first time?”
Her: “I was hungry.”
Reporter: “Why didn’t you roll your window down and give the officer your license and registration?”
Her: “I didn’t do anything wrong, why should I?”
Reporter: “When you were surrounded by police, why did you back off and run?”
Her: “Because I felt like it.”
Reporter: “Why didn’t you get out of the car when you were surrounded at the gas station?”
Her: “I always wanted an excuse to say, ‘Come and get me, coppers!’”

Yeah, that’ll make a great story.

---
This really has nothing to do with the story, save for the fact it's McDonald's-related, but I thought it was too awesome not to share.

I can't believe I'm reduced to policing the blog...

“I am an insenstitive piece of crap,” apparently

Note the misspelling in the headline – that’s a direct quote from a comment.

Well, let’s rewind a little bit here. I posted a blog about a guy who got pulled into a pasta machine and was killed. It’s funny. Sad, yes, but it was funny. The writing in the story was nothing short of atrocious.

Now, here’s the thing, this is MY blog, and I can write about whatever I want, providing I am not breaking any rules. Just because I attacked your moral fiber by being insensitive, does not mean I’m breaking any rules.

Furthermore, being MY blog, I have gained my following (which is larger than the 12 people marked as followers) by writing what I want to write about – which is traditionally ripping apart news stories for shitty writing, reporting, or the sheer stupidity of people and/or situations. This particular instance was no exception. My peeps know and appreciate my sarcastic approach to the world, and if they don’t, they agree to disagree, or politely generate comment. They don’t do it by hurling insults at me. You hurl insults at me, I will hurl them back at you, so be prepared.

Yes, I get it, the dude died. Tragic. Here’s the thing, we all die. And have you not heard of 1,000 Ways To Die? They make fun of ways people die, and I am willing to bet that, once time passes, this one will make it on there.

Death is not funny, but it’s a fact of life. It happens to us all. It will happen to you, and it will happen to me. There’s no need to walk through life on eggshells, it’s no way to live. I choose to look at the humorous side of things. I choose to find a way to laugh at everything, most of all myself. What good is life if you take it too seriously?

Have I dealt with death? Yes. Was it sad? Yes. Did I crack jokes about it? Yes. Because that’s what I do. It’s how I roll. If you don’t want to roll with me, that's fine, I didn’t ask you to.

I address serious stuff on here as well – they are more rare than the humorous jabs at life – but they are there. For example, I’ve addressed gay marriage (multiple times), discrimination, murder, labeling other people, death, suicide, etc. Every now and then, there’s that serious side of me that needs to write as well. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I like to generate discussion. I ask you to bring it on. But do it in a tasteful and tactful manner. 

I mainly write this out of concern for my readers, not so much myself. I know by putting some of this out there, I open myself up for the attacks and insults. (Like I said before, I will hurl them back.) But I don't want this to turn into just another place on the internet to hide behind an "anonymous" label and say mean things just because you can. That's not what I'm about. Nor will I let it be what my blog is about. So I will step in to protect my readers, and those who choose to comment to generate discussion, because I will not have someone I do not know insulting my friends just because the internet allows them that luxury.

It’s actually sort of sad that I had to write this, because I thought a) people got what I was doing here, especially given the information about the blog in the header – where I admit to not being PC and b) I never expected my blog to go the way of reader comments on stories on USA Today. Next thing you know, someone’s going to blame George W. for my blog, wait and see.

You want to get your kid drunk? Just go to Applebee's!

Tipsy Toddler: Restaurant Mistakenly Serves Alcohol to Child

It was toward the end of their meal at an Applebee's restaurant in Detroit when Taylor Dill-Reese noticed something odd about her son, D.J.
Really, it took her this long to realize her kid was odd?

The 15-month-old boy was acting strangely, his mother said. "He was saying hi and bye to the walls," she said. "He eventually laid his head down on the table and we thought maybe he was just sleepy."
Honestly, my toddler says “hi” and “bye” to a lot of things, and I’m sure she’s done so to a wall a time or two. It’s because they are toddlers. Toddlers are crazy. This is the time in their lives when it’s acceptable to have a conversation with a stuffed dinosaur and not be thought crazy, I don’t see why the wall would be any different. Plus, you’re at an Applebee’s. They have pictures of all sorts of has-beens on the wall, maybe he wanted to talk to them. You just don’t know.

Maybe so, but the toddler was also drunk. He had been served alcohol mixed in with his apple juice.

Drunk = sleepy, so it’s all good.

Served alcohol mixed with the apple juice. Good times. Remind me never to order Munchkin apple juice at Applebee’s.

Let’s think this through – a snafu with the apple juice … at Applebee’s. How apropos.

Police said it was an accident; a mislabeled bottle at the bar was poured into a cup for the child. Applebee's said it's looking into the matter.
Are the police sure? Maybe the toddler was irritating some people. I mean, the waitress could have been pissed at the kid for throwing food on the floor, so she figured if she got the bartender to slip him something, he’d go to sleep. Or maybe he was throwing food AT people sitting at a nearby table and they instigated it – and paid for it. “Hey, sweetheart, get the toddler over there a mixed drink, it’s on us.”

The mislabeled bottle at the bar story doesn’t work for me. Number one, they said earlier it was mixed in with the apple juice. Pouring a kiddie cup of apple juice does not involve multiple bottles. Which means this kid got straight liquor because they weren’t mixed. Sure, yeah, the original bottle could have been drained and they had to get a new bottle out, okay, but wouldn’t someone notice the liquids didn’t look the same while pouring. I mean, piss-colored drink in the cup and clear liquid being poured in is very obviously two different things. It’s not rocket science people. Which brings me to another question, who doesn’t know what apple juice looks and/or smells like? Why couldn’t the bartender tell what was going into that cup wasn’t apple juice, if it was mislabeled or not?

Plus, let’s harp on the parents for a little while, shall we? Didn’t they smell it? I would think you’d be able to smell it from a distance. Did you not taste it? I’ve totally been known to steal a few drinks from Munchkin’s drinks. But, that’s the bad mom in me coming out. (Rest assured, if we order apple juice anywhere that it doesn't come in a clearly-marked box, I will be taste-testing!)

What about the kid, if it tasted funny, why did he drink it? Granted toddler’s palettes aren’t very refined, but you’d think he’d recognize it was not apple juice.

"Obviously, any situation like this is unacceptable," Applebee's said in a written statement. "We are working with local authorities and conducting our own investigation to assess exactly what happened."
A situation like this is unacceptable? You think? What else were they going to say? “Obviously we find this situation to be funny as hell, and kudos to all the people who didn’t pay attention to make this possible. We will be introducing a new happy hour every night from 7-8 for our patrons 3 and under. If they don’t puke after the first one, the second one is free!!”

Alright, now, they are working with local authorities (really, what are the cops going to do here?) and conducting their own investigation. How much of an investigation is warranted? Find the supposedly mislabeled bottle, see what’s in it, find the bartender and find out what the hell happened. End of investigation. We know no one will ‘fess up to this, so just figure out what went wrong and fix it. If it’s truly an “accident,” then no one needs to be fired over it.

Applebee's has been in this situation before. In 2006, a New York City Applebee's admitted accidentally serving a 5-year-old a Long Island iced tea alcoholic drink instead of apple juice.
Wait, they’ve been in this boat before? Really? But wait a minute, wait a minute … this one is more ridiculous. The kid is five. The kid clearly knows what apple juice tastes like and is clearly old enough to verbalize “This isn’t apple juice,” or “This apple juice tastes funny,” or something like that. So, yeah, the idiot kid just wanted to get plastered.

"Within minutes, his eyes were glazed," the child's mother, Cynthia Pereles, said. "It was clear he was under the influence."
LITs have nothing but alcohol (save for a shot of Coke to give it color), you can’t tell me you didn’t smell that across the table.

LITs are served in glasses. (In some places, giant fishbowls!) So what sort of idiot mixed one and poured it into a kiddie cup anyway?

In 2007, a California restaurant served a margarita to a toddler in a covered, plastic sippy cup. Again, the patrons had ordered apple juice.
I’m clearly detecting a theme here. Do not, under any circumstance, order apple juice at Applebee’s. Lesson learned. Next.

This one has no excuse. You put the drink into the kid’s sippy cup, it’s obviously not one of the ones the business uses. You were very obviously trying to do something to that poor kid. You cannot, in any way, mistake a margarita for apple juice.

In Detroit, after realizing what had happened, Dill-Reese said her son was taken to the hospital. The toddler was found to have a 0.1 blood alcohol level, well above the legal limit for an adult to drive.
Elitist reporter note: Editing fail. You don’t go to generalizations like that and then back to the story. It’s confusing, I had to read the story twice before I could follow the convoluted flow. You write about the situation, and then, to close, you talk about how this isn’t the first time this happened.

I hope Applebee's will, at the very least, be paying those hospital bills. 

His mother said the child is now fine but Dill-Reese, who is 18 and too young to drink legally in Michigan, doesn't understand how something like this could have happen.
This sentence structure is awkward, I had to read this one twice too, because the first time I thought they were talking about the kid being 18, not the mom, so I was like, “Wait, this just happened and the kid is 18 now? What, I don’t get it.”

She doesn’t understand how it happened? Really? I don’t think anyone does, hence the internal Applebee’s investigation which is in conjunction with local authorities. Does it really matter to you how it happened? It’s not like, “oh, well, it was just a blind bartender, it’s no big deal.” No, whatever reason behind it does not make it acceptable. Unless you liked your kid being drunk, in which case we need to worry about your parenting skills.

"Nobody at the table ordered alcoholic drinks; we can't, so he definitely shouldn't have received one," Dill-Reese said.
Even if you had ordered alcoholic drinks, he shouldn’t have received one. God, what an idiotic statement.

** EDIT 4/12/11 ***
Apparently, as a result of this accident (which, as you read above, was the THIRD time it happened), Applebee's is changing their policies on juice pouring.

Applebee's changes policies after child served alcohol

Observations from the KFC Yum! Center (AKA More interesting stuff than George Strait)

So, if you read my previous entry, you know we went to the KFC Yum! Center for the first time to go see the George Strait/Reba concert. Below are some of the stories and various observations made while there, some pertaining to the concert and some not.

The KFC Yum! Center is nice. No offense to the home of my beloved Cats, but it puts Rupp to shame. Then again, at least the architecture is nice because God knows the basketball played there isn’t. (*rimshot*)

I posted this on FB, but it’s still true. At all country concerts to which I have been, there are people in cowboy boots and cowboy hats who don’t even know what they are. The fact people are posing as rednecks just cracks me up. It does not make sense.

The girls who don’t dress up in boots and hats dress up like complete hootchies. What the hell? Why go to a concert (especially one in which the tickets cost $90 apiece) to look cheap? Even worse, why do that when you are with someone? I mean, you only dress like a dime-store whore if you’re out trolling.

And seriously, why wear a concert shirt to a concert. (In my younger days, I was a violator of this. Looking back, I see the error of my ways.) What’s the point in wearing a shirt featuring the person you are coming to see other than to advertise, “Hey, I’ve seen this before.” Whoopie do if you saw it before, I don’t give a damn. And congratulations, you had enough money to waste on a shirt that time. Good for you.

Speaking of, do you think these people (particularly shy ones like George Strait) like the fact they are emblazoned on t-shirts, and that you’re wearing his picture on your fake boobs?

George Strait so looks old. Time has not been good to him.

I saw a chick wearing a shirt that said, “Strait Girl.” I think that would be hilarious on a lesbian.

I sent Scott to get a Diet Coke. He comes back with a Louisville Cardinals cup. He apologized profusely and said there were no other large cups. Just holding this cup, I felt my hands starting to burn.

Decorating the arena, there was a banner for McDonald’s advertising the “Official Burger and Fry.” I’m guessing it’s the official burger and fry of Louisville basketball. Which is quite fitting in reality – Louisville basketball is the McDonald’s of basketball. You don’t really want it, but it’ll do in a pinch. (*another rimshot*)

During Reba’s show, LeeAnn Womack was out and about (she said during her set she wanted to watch the show anyway), and, at one point, she was standing in the floor entrance right near us. People were about jumping over the edge of the seats we were in (lower level, fifth row up) to see her or grab a picture. Really? Scott asked if I was going to do that and I was like, “No, I don’t want to be one of ‘those’ people. She just wants to watch the show, dammit.” What the hell? Why are people so rude?

Speaking of that floor entrance, the security guard down there was an asshole of infinite proportions. I watched him stop people for no reason, force them to come all the way back so he could see their tickets, and other bitchy stuff. I mean, I understand looking at the tickets the first time someone goes by. But for a guy who is carrying a fresh beer during the last half hour of the show, is this really necessary? Maybe if you’d just pay attention as he walked out on his beer run, you wouldn’t have to be such a prick. Someone’s just wielding power because he can.

Speaking of that asshole wielding power, he stopped a guy who was wearing the most ugly shirt, ever. Like some weird gray design on blue (okay, though kind of out there), and when you flipped the cuffs up, it was the reverse pattern. It was a reversible dress shirt. Load up your wardrobe now, you do laundry half as much! Winning.

There was this one couple being all lovey-dovey and dancing during one of Reba’s songs. Which was freakin’ hilarious considering it was a break-up song.

So, the George Strait aspect of the show was boring. He is not a showman. So, basically, it gave me plenty of time to look around and people-watch. There was my favorite guy, who was drunk off his ass, dancing like a freaking fool down on the floor. I mean, it was white-boy dancing at its finest, and off-rhythm, so entertaining as hell. At one point, I think he realized I was watching him, because he looked right at me and mouthed something. I’m not sure if it irritated him or flattered him, and to be honest, I don’t care, he was entertaining.

During some George Strait song, this couple in lower level seats across the arena started dancing – he twirled her and everything. I don’t even remember the song they were dancing to, but it was funny to watch, regardless. All I really remember is it wasn’t a song you would expect couples to dance to. Eh. To each drunk ass his own.

There was a guy sitting on the aisle seat and he had his left foot out on the stairs, so you had to maneuver around it, which was hard to do in the dark. What a moron. Really? (Scott said when he went to get the aforementioned Diet Coke, someone fell on the stairs, and he suspects it was someone tripping over that dude’s ill-placed foot.)

The people in front of us made us feel very good about our weight. I didn’t really notice them at first. I saw a chick’s hand messing with the hair of the guy next to her, and I immediately cringed because I’m not a fan of PDA. I noticed how fat her fingers were. I actually kept holding my hands up to compare. Scott put his out, her fingers were the same size as his! Then, after I noticed that, I looked at old boy she was with who put the DA in DAMN! I politely referred to them as “Chunky” and “BigUn” when speaking to Scott all night. And BigUn was texting someone all night. I probably would have too, but my phone didn’t get reception inside the chicken bucket.

As we were walking out of the Yum! Center, a chick screams out “C-A-T-S! Cats, cats, cats.” I screamed, “Yeah,” and she turned and high-fived me. I’m guessing she got some evil glances because right after that she goes, “In Lexington, no one cares when you do that.”

So then we started walking to the parking garage a few blocks down. Only I got all turned around and ended up going down the wrong street. Oops. So, we got lost in downtown Louisville and had to backtrack our way a little bit to find it. My bad. And I wasn’t even drinking!!! About the point we decided to turn around, I realized my feet couldn’t handle the boots anymore, so I started to take them off, I was just going to walk around downtown Louisville in my socks – gross, yes, but necessary, or I was going to kill someone if I had to walk another quarter mile in those things. So, Scott helps me, and these girls in a pickup yelled, “Yeah, help her put her boot on.” I said, “No, he’s taking it off!” There were a few more interchanges with these guys, but they understood why I was doing it. (Side note, this is the second time in three months I’ve walked around Louisville in socks/stocking feet – I did the same thing after the even more painful boots I wore to the Gabriel Iglesis stand-up made me homicidal.) That’s the thing, hot boots are made to complete an outfit, not to walk half a mile in. Shit happens, though. Let’s just say, once the boots came off both times, Scott had to lead me because my eyes were on the ground in front of me so I could avoid stepping in something nasty. (Further side note, this would not have been an option if I were wearing shoes without socks/stockings/tights/whatever. Then again, there are people who don’t have shoes and have to go everywhere and do everything without shoes. That’s why they have One Day Without Shoes - which, had I known about it before it already passed this year, I so would have done it.) … and before you judge me for my altruism for wanting to do this event, I almost had my left foot amputated when I was nine because a bacteria from my shoe was pushed into my foot when I stepped on a nail. Had I been barefoot, I would have been just fine. That’s a rare instance, I know it’s much scarier to not wear shoes … however, I’m just throwing that out there, that wearing shoes can be detrimental to your health too.

I have derailed big-time here.

That was pretty much the end of the night. After that, I let Scott drive my car (which was a mistake) because he backed into a red concrete barrier in the gas station because he wasn’t paying attention. If you know me and how much I love my car, you know that led to silence in the car for awhile. It could have been worse. But, you know, doesn’t make the fact it happened any less irritating. I’m not really pissed, except when I look at my car – and try to figure out when I’m going to be able to set aside some time in the next few weeks to get intimately familiar with the car buffer Scott’s sister bought us for Christmas years ago and we haven’t used yet. But hey, it was made for instances like that, so at least we have it.

Disabled kangaroos need love too!!

Woman fights to keep disabled kangaroo

BROKEN ARROW, Okla. (AP) — An Oklahoma woman suffering from depression has found solace in the company of an unusual companion, but local city officials worry that the therapy pet — a partially paralyzed kangaroo — could become a public safety risk.
First of all, let’s get this out of the way, do you really have high hopes for a story that comes out of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma?

Now, let’s look at just this sentence, not even the rest of the story … the woman was depressed. She got a partially paralyzed kangaroo, and it pulled her out of her depression (I’m assuming that’s what “found solace” refers to). But if she keeps the kangaroo, it could become a public safety risk. Anyone think that if you take the kangaroo away she will become a public safety risk? She’ll plummet into a worse depression, and then she’ll go to a school and open fire on innocent children before killing herself, all the while screaming, “I just wanted my kangaroo.”

Christie Carr is seeking an exemption from the Broken Arrow City Council to keep Irwin, a 25-pound great red kangaroo that she cares for much like a child. Irwin rides in a car seat, is dressed in a shirt and pants each day and is rarely away from his doting caretaker.
Is it just me, or does that picture of the kangaroo in the carseat look like, “Please, just kill me.” But you know what, if the kangaroo is attached to her hip all the time, how much of a threat can it become?

At the advice of her therapist, Carr began volunteering at a local animal sanctuary, where she met Irwin, then just a baby. Less than a week later, the kangaroo named for famed Australian animal expert Steve Irwin ran into a fence, fracturing his neck and causing severe brain damage.
Aww, that’s so sad. So, wait, the kangaroo has brain damage and the government wants to ban it. Isn’t that a violation against some sort of disability act or discrimination laws or something???

Carr volunteered to take the animal home and, while nursing him back to health, developed a bond. Irwin cannot stand or walk on his own, although he is slowly gaining back mobility and can hop three or four times in a row with assistance, she said.
If it was such a big deal that the kangaroo be in the general public, why did they let her take it home? I mean, honestly…

Furthermore, the dang kangaroo can only hop three or four times – with assistance – how much of a threat can this thing be? Oh no, it might eat all the lettuce in the local Kroger.

"Irwin will not live if I have to give him up," Carr said, adding that she would rather leave town. "I can't imagine a day living without him."
That’s very sad. We had our idiot real estate developer attempt to ban dogs in our neighborhood, after it was established, and a bunch of people said they’d rather move than give up their dogs. So I can appreciate the sentiment.

Come on, Broken Arrow people, she treats this thing better than some people treat their kids and you don’t take their kids away from them – why take her kangaroo away from her?

Native to Australia, healthy male great red kangaroos can grow up to 7 feet tall, weigh more than 200 pounds and bound 25 feet in a single leap. But because of his accident, Irwin isn't expected to get larger than 50 pounds, his veterinarian, Dr. Lesleigh Cash Warren, wrote in a letter to the council supporting Carr's request to keep him.
Yeah, well, they can, but ten-to-one says this one won’t. I mean, if he gets to the point she can’t cart him around anymore, I’m sure she will be rethinking her “parenting” strategy. Given this woman’s devotion, I seriously think that will involve releasing it onto the mean streets of Broken Arrow to terrorize little children and cause traffic jams.

Neutering has also lessened any chance he will become aggressive.
Well, yay for the snip. You know, the people at PetSmart taught me that a fearful dog is way more likely to attack someone than an angry/aggressive dog. So, you know, so long as this kangaroo doesn’t have to live in fear, it will probably remain fairly docile. So, mayor-boy, STOP SCARING IT!!!!!!!!!

"Irwin cannot be judged as any normal kangaroo," Warren wrote. "He is a unique animal due to his disabilities and will require a lifetime of care and concern for his welfare."
I mean, I think it’s awesome the vet took the time to write that, but it seems like any moron would know that. It has brain damage, and is obviously not growing at the rate of a normal kangaroo, I mean, “duh.”

Carr, who is unable to work because of her health, changes Irwin's diaper several times a day. She feeds him salad, raw veggies, kangaroo chow, popcorn and the occasional Cheez-Its or a handful of Cheetos.
Dude, that kangaroo eats better than I do!

You laugh at the “kangaroo chow” thing – there’s actually a business here in rinky-dink Georgetown that sells kangaroo feed. I laughed when he told me, he said there was actually a market for it. So there, Broken Arrow city council. I don’t see Mayor Varney trying to kick the kangaroos out.

The marsupial never leaves the house without first getting dressed. The clothes — a little boy's shirt cut and sewed to accommodate his neck, sometimes a tie, and jeans or slacks with a hole cut for the tail— are necessary for therapeutic reasons and to protect him against germs, Carr said.
OMG, seriously? A tie. You know you have a mental picture of a kangaroo in a tie and you are melting from the cuteness of that picture. And if you’re not, you are evil, and are probably on the city council in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.

The 1-year-old animal never leaves Carr's side for more than an hour, often accompanying her on errands and going out to eat. He rides in a car seat before being placed in a pouch when going out in public. Carr's therapist certified the animal as a therapy pet under the Americans with Disabilities Act.
See, the kangaroo is certified as a therapy pet (way to go therapist!) so it’s got to be protected. And I mean, seriously, he is in public in a pouch. If/when he gets big enough this woman can’t cart him around like that anymore, I’m sure she will rethink her strategy. (And I really hope it doesn’t entail putting that poor, disabled kangaroo on a leash.)

Broken Arrow Mayor Mike Lester said he worries what could happen if Irwin is able to regain full mobility. The council last week delayed considering the issue until an April 19 meeting, to give City Attorney Beth Anne Wilkening and other staff time to research the issue.
Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of its butt too. But you’re not going to take it away because of the possibility of adding more non-native animals to the general population of Broken Arrow, are you?

"There's just a myriad of things we need to consider," Lester said.
Yeah, you wanted an excuse to say myriad, didn’t you? Well, good job, but your argument has little merit.

The kangaroo has BRAIN DAMAGE! It’s already way smaller than its counterparts, which means it’s not growing at a normal rate. It can’t hop WITHOUT ASSISTANCE! The woman who owns it carries it around IN A POUCH! The possibility of this animal doing something is slim to none. But, you know, why don’t you reconsider this plan if/when the kangaroo outgrows its carseat and pouch. When it can hop unassisted. When monkeys fly out of its butt. Until then, STFU and let the woman have her therapy pet. Brain-damaged kangaroos need love too.

Every exception made sets a precedent, and the council must take that into consideration, Wilkening said. The council may decide to create an exotic animal review committee that would look at each animal on a case-by-case basis, he said.
Wow, you really think this is going to come up enough that you have to create an “exotic animal review committee?” Honestly?

If that’s the case, I suggest everyone in Broken Arrow go get an exotic animal, find a good reason for having it, and get your tax dollars’ worth out of that new committee.

Broken Arrow Nursing Home owner Joanna Cooper said she doesn't understand why keeping Irwin has become an issue. Carr has brought Irwin to the nursing home in the past for residents to hold and pet. Several residents of the nursing home plan to attend the upcoming council meeting with signs to show their support for Carr and Irwin.
Yeah, I wonder if the kangaroo can predict death like that cat. Wonder if he was useful like that if the mayor would let him stay.

Actually, all sarcasm aside, I think it’s cool she shares the love of her off-the-wall pet with the people in the nursing home. Their lives can get so mundane, it’s nice to have something out-of-the-ordinary to brighten their days.

"Why are people giving her problems when people have tigers and pit bulls?" Copper said.
I agree with the sentiment in this quote, however, I don’t think tigers and pit bulls fall into the same category. Pit bulls are aggressive, yes, but hardly exotic animals. I’m just saying…

Oh no she didn’t

Let’s get this out of the way up front – it’s a well-known fact I hate children. Well, at least other people’s children. And I have little tolerance/patience/whatever you want to call it, for people who do not even attempt to control their children.

Even before I had Munchkin, I knew enough about kids (from all those years babysitting, I guess) that there is a very distinct difference between attempting to control your children and failing miserably (which we all do at some point), and not even trying at all.

If there’s one thing you learn very quickly in Disney World, is that some people stop trying to control their children as soon as they walk through the gates. Apparently Disney is nothing but a giant playground and policing of children is no longer necessary (after all, that’s why they pay those people to say “keep your arms, hands, feet, and legs inside the tram at all times and no flash photography” over and over again, right). There are other people, like us, who tried to control our child, but you have to admit, there are times the amazement and wonder that is the Happiest Place on Earth will get the best of any well-behaved child and turn them into a monkey. And that’s okay, we get points for trying, right?

Anyway, it’s hard not to judge others when their kids are being complete assholes. (Side note, parent fact – the way our child acts is a direct reflection on us and our parenting. If our child is a big fat fail, so are we. At least that’s how I see it. Yes, she has her own mind – and it’s stubborn as hell – but it’s my responsibility to teach her how to use it, and if I don’t, then I didn’t do my job.)

Now, when I complain about controlling kids, I’m not talking about the couple-minute temper tantrum. No one likes to listen to a screaming child, but it’s Disney – adults go into overload, there’s no way a two-year-old won’t. It’s a place designed for kids, you have to expect that (and if you didn’t, you’re an idiot). However, it’s hard not to get pissed when kids dart out in front of you without looking, they stop to gawk at something and you almost slam into them, or strollers just appear out of nowhere or run over your heels (all of these are crimes committed by adults as well).

Here’s the thing – as a parent, you get pissed when you get the nasty stare. Sometimes the nasty stare comes with words. It’s really these moments that piss you off more than others. I mean, a stranger can walk by me and think my kid’s a punk (cause, hey, sometimes she is) and think I suck, but it’s in passing and you’ll forget about me as soon as you see something else interesting. No, it’s the ones who actually go out of their way that get you, because if your mental marquee and bitch-slap reflex are going in high gear, you know theirs is too.


The stare-down
We were at Downtown Disney, just stuffed ourselves senseless at T-Rex Café, and headed back out in the pouring rain. Despite the crappy weather and missing out on Harry Potter at Universal because of said crappy weather, I was still in a pretty good mood. Not ten feet outside the entrance to T-Rex Café, a kid darts out in front of the stroller I’m pushing. My first reaction was simply, “Whoa,” which was the first noise that came out of my mouth, and it was simply done in an effort to let said kid know I was there because I didn’t want to run him over.

I turned around to make sure I didn’t clip him, and his momma was crouching down next to her stroller, and screams “KIDS!” – like that was going to corral them. But worst of all, she gave me this stare, like “How dare you say something to my kid?” Uh, I’m sorry, bitch, next time I’ll run him over and leave him with stroller tracks on his back, okay?

After the brief moment of eye contact, I turned back forward, seething. I turned back around, and we had the stare-down again. She hadn’t moved in that time, she was watching me, I guess waiting for me to U-turn and run her kid over? I’m really not sure. We made eye contact again, and it was mom vs. mom. Honestly, it took everything I had not to go over and bitch-slap her right then and there. Do NOT treat me like that when I was not judging your parenting, I was not complaining about your kid, I was simply looking out for his well-being. In fact, at this point in time, I had no issue with your child, but rather your bitchy self.

The parenting lesson
If you are friends on Facebook, you’ve seen the short version of this story.

We’re in the Atlanta airport for about a two-hour layover between flights on our way home. Jocelyn’s been pretty good, but she’s on overload – between five days at Disney and being in an airport, which is fascinating in and of itself to her – getting her to pay attention to much of anything is a neigh on impossible. Add to that the fun of being in an airport, so not only do you have to keep an eye and hand on the child at all times, but also the luggage. And dear God did we have our fair share of luggage.

Scott and I realized it was easiest to do it in stages. We found a seat, he sat with the luggage while I took the kid to go potty. We came back, and he left to go to the bathroom and get us food (dear God, I hope in that order, and I hope he washed his hands before getting food!). Once he came back, it would be about time to take her to the bathroom again, and he’d have to baby-sit the luggage. You see how this worked.

While he was off getting lunch, which took forever and a day, Munchkin was running around the terminal gate like a mad woman. Somehow or another, between our stuff, her running laps in front of the window and my placement, we managed to take up an entire row of like six seats. I told her it was time to calm down. Hahahaha! So, I informed her she had to pick a seat and stay there or she was getting a time out. I could not, nor would I, chase her all over the gate. It wasn’t fair to me, and it wasn’t fair to the other people who just wanted to read their Kindles (yeah, everyone I saw had a Kindle – no Nooks). I asked if she understood, she said yes. Hallelujah.

She picked a seat. She gave me that little look. I knew what was coming.

She scooted down to the next one. “I want this seat.”

The tired, exhausted mom in me said, “Fine. Whatever, just sit your ass down.”

The mom in me who knew better, the mom in me whose bluff has been called way more times than I care to admit, stepped up. “No, I told you to pick a seat, you moved, you’re in time out.”

Into my lap the child goes, and here comes the screaming and flailing of arms. And here come the stares from the people at the gate. The people with kids give me that empathetic look of, “been there, done that, I hate having to discipline in public.” The people without kids give me the look of “shut the kid up, would you?” (What these people don’t realize is that, give a kid like this about 30 seconds, and not only will they most likely be quiet, but much better behaved.)

In this particular instance, we had option number three. It was the bleach-blonde college chick, with the sunglasses way too big for her face (a la Paris Hilton), who Scott proclaimed to be hung over later, came up to me and actually said, “If you let her go she won’t make noises like that, she wants to run around.”

Really? That’s why my kid is pissed off? I had no freakin’ idea. I am so glad I had her there to tell me that. Shoot, Jocelyn might still be screaming her little head off it not for her.

There were so many things that ran through my head at that moment. (Bitch-slap reflex was high, but since Jocelyn has an issue with a girl at school, the last thing I needed to do was enforce the fact hitting is okay when dealing with stupidity.) Finally, I settled for the very PC, “I know that, but she can’t.”

Who the hell did this woman think she was? In the time it took her to spit out that idiotic sentence, Jocelyn stopped screaming. She was still wriggling, but at that point, that’s my problem and not hers.

Honestly, though, what the heck was her deal? Not only do I not appreciate anyone insinuating I don’t know how to control my child, but I really don’t appreciate you opening your mouth to say something that stupid. No shit the kid wants to run around. The kid wants to fly the plane too, are you going to let her? I guess this idiot would, because then, apparently, she wouldn’t “make noise.”

Furthermore, if I tell my kid she can’t do something, it is not anyone’s place to turn around and tell her she can. Especially a complete stranger.

I just got two words for you, sweetheart…

Days Inn is the DEBIL!!!

Man tells police he set fire because of Satan

No, no, really, you read that right. Keep reading.

Convinced that he was sharing a motel room with Satan, a man set his blankets ablaze in Lynnwood on Friday, according to what he told police.
Well, I have to admit, there are a lot of people I’d love to share a hotel room with (a hotel, not a motel … I DO. NOT. DO. MOTELS.) – but Satan is definitely not on that list. So I can’t say that I blame this guy for not wanting to share his room with Bealz, but honestly, couldn’t you just call in an exorcist or ask to be moved to another room? Those things would definitely cross my mind before, “Hey, let’s torch the place.”

Plus, come on dude, he lives in Hell. Fire doesn’t bother him.
 

The man, 52, of Redmond, had been staying at the Days Inn on 196th Street SW for about a month, according to a police affidavit filed in Snohomish County Superior Court.
Well, his first problem is that he’s been staying in a motel for about a month, his second being that it’s a Days Inn. A place like that is just screaming to be infested by rodents, annoying children, demons, or the Devil. I mean, it’s really no surprise.

Fire crews were called about 8:30 a.m. Friday when smoke began pouring out of the second floor room where the man was staying.
I should hope fire crews were called to handle the fire. Though, honestly, if there was a church nearby, they could have gotten the pastor to sprinkle holy water and scream “Be gone, Satan” and it would have worked the same.

The fire was contained to one room because of fire sprinklers, officials said. About six rooms were damaged in all, as well as guests' personal property.
Was the fire contained to one room because of fire sprinklers, or because the Devil was only out to drive this guy insane. Who knows? Was the personal property the guests’ Bibles, because then you’d know it was the Devil for sure!

The man told police that he set the room on fire because Satan was in there, according to the affidavit. He reportedly said he wanted to protect "the good people" by setting the fire.
You want to protect “the good people” by running them out of their hotel and/or burning them alive if they got trapped. Yeah, you thought that one through. However, you have to appreciate the sentiment. It’s sweet. Of course, one might ask why the Devil was tormenting this one guy. I mean, if I were the Devil running rampant in a Days Inn, I’d be taking advantage of that fact and driving as many people crazy as possible. That’s why suicide bombers go for busy street markets.

The investigation showed that flames began in the room in at least four different places, including the blankets.
Are they sure it’s the flames from the fire this guy set and not the flames from Satan himself when he appeared to this nutjob?

Think about it … Satan pops up over here. Old dude runs after him. He disappears. Pops up in another location in the room, “Hahaha, can’t get me sucker.” And they play this game over and over again until the Devil popped up on the bed – which was stupid on his part, because you know Days Inn does not have high quality linens, so they aren’t flame retardant and poof … bed goes up in flames. (The Devil is cunning, he’s not intelligent. Big difference.)

Hotel officials told police the man had repeatedly called hotel employees the "anti-Christ" and "spawns of Satan."
Okay, now I’m confused. Was Satan in your room a hotel employee? I mean, the maid is allowed to let herself in to clean your room.

Hotel management had asked the man to move out the day of the fire.
Duh. Umm, not winning.

The man was being held Monday at Snohomish County Jail for investigation of first-degree arson. Police who searched his room after the fire found two bottles of lighter fluid, records show.
Investigation? How much investigation has to take place, I mean, really? Come on, you can’t automatically see lighter fluid and think arson, can you? I mean, what if he’s a fire-eater? What if … yeah, I got nothing. He did it. Lock him up. He’s crazy.

The case remains under investigation by Lynnwood police. No injuries were reported.
Well, except to this dude’s fragile mental state, but hey, that was bound to happen.

Chidren are excellent carry-ons, they fit perfectly in the overhead bin

Flight attendant fired for briefly putting child in overhead bin

What began as a father's in-flight game of peek-a-boo over the South Pacific ended with a flight attendant's firing for briefly hiding a 17-month-old boy in an overhead bin, according to reports from Down Under.
Where do I start with this? This extremely long sentence has so many things…

Okay, someone please explain to me how a game of “peek-a-boo” involved moving the child in any way? Peek-a-boo involves hiding your face behind your hands, a blanket, etc. and then surprise – reappearing and saying, “peek-a-boo.” When Munchkin was eight-months-old she could initiate a game on her own. Apparently we taught her all wrong.

In what world is it okay to just randomly pick up a complete stranger’s child? I understand talking to the kid, interacting with him, but picking him up – that’s five kinds of wrong. Hiding the kid in an overhead bin, that’s a couple more kinds of wrong.

I know this is USA Today and I know it’s a news blog which means there’s not the complete formality of a news story, but honestly, referring to Australia as “Down Under” – on first reference, no less? That’s enough to make my skin crawl.

Virgin Blue airlines said it fired the male attendant and offered Natalie Williamson two free trips for the incident, which occurred three months ago, the Melbourne Sunday Herald Sun reported.
I’m not really sure the guy deserved to be fired. He was trying to keep the kid happy, after all, we all know how much fun a pissed-off 17-month-old can be. I mean, in the end, yeah, he ticked off the kid and the parents more, but I don’t think that was his initial intent. I mean, had this been a second or third violation hiding a kid in the overhead bin, okay.

Williamson said her son, Riley, has been suffering anxiety and withdrawal and has seen several specialists. She said the child was inside the closed compartment for about 10 seconds during the flight from Fiji to Sydney.
Are you freakin’ kidding me? Really, 10 whole seconds has caused suffering anxiety? First of all, doesn’t this idiot mean “separation anxiety?” Second of all, someone please tell this wonderful parent that separation anxiety peaks around 18-months-old, so this is most likely (and by most likely, I do, of course mean, completely likely) a result of a developmental phase and not this poor dude trying to entertain your kid.

"My husband, Shayne, was standing one meter behind my son, Riley, when the air steward picked him up and placed him in the overhead compartment," she said.
Okay, seriously, it takes some time to pick up a kid and shove him in an overhead bin, why is it your husband, or *gasp* yourself, didn't intervene and tell him to put your kid down? Trust me, you could have uttered the words before your kid made it into the overhead bin and stayed there for 10 full seconds. In fact, I could type those words in less than that time, so I know you could say it.

"I stood up and there were people laughing and then I said, 'Get my son out of there now,' " she told the Sunday Herald Sun.
Of course people were laughing, they thought your kid and the attendant were playing. It’s endearing to watch people interact with children. And if he wasn’t screaming, they thought he was into the game, so it probably warmed them in the cockles of the heart. Maybe in the subcockle area. Maybe in the liver or the even colon, we don’t know. (Yes, the cockles is from Denis Leary's No Cure For Cancer, I can't take credit for something that good.)

"I was devastated. I was absolutely devastated.
You were devastated? Embarrassed seems like the more likely adjective here. I mean, if my husband was a complete moron and didn't interfere with a stranger picking up my child, I'd be embarrassed for both myself and my husband.

"I was crying. My husband was in shock. For days on end I was crying."
You are such a drama queen. And so are your husband and kid. For the love of all things holy, my stepbrother turned off the all the lights in the house so we could play laser tag. At some point I remember wigging out, and since he turned them off at the circuit breaker, I couldn’t turn a light on. But I’m not emotionally scarred for it. I don’t need to see a therapist because of it. And I promise you, it was more than 10 seconds.

Williamson said she and her husband are now estranged.
Yeah, because you’re a drama queen. I wouldn’t want to be with you either.