if you are a locksmith (or my husband) you might not want to read this.

It’s been a pretty eventful week here at the Impropers.  I’ve been a busy little bee getting shit done.  That’s what I do. GET SHIT DONE.

This morning, I was sitting here at my computer getting more shit done and the mister calls sounding very sheepish.  He says, “You’re going to kill me, but I need you to call a locksmith.  I locked the keys in the car and I have a meeting in an hour and it’s going to be pushing it.  I’m really sorry, babe.”

Now, you may be wondering what kind of ball-crushing wife I am for my husband to call me so tail-between-the-legs like for an honest to goodness mistake people make all the damn time.  Well, let me tell you why.

BECAUSE THE IDIOT DOES IT ALL THE DAMN TIME.  ALL the damn time.  I’m sorry for the screaming.  But, you guys, if you were in my head right now, you’d know some bolded capitalized letters here is the understatement of a lifetime.  My blood pressure is through the roof.

Again, you might be thinking, “Jeez, Kel.  Cool it.  It’s not that big of a deal.”  And you might be right.  IF- and hear me when I say if, please- IF I hadn’t also just locked the keys in the car this past weekend and had a little experience of my own.

You see, I took Elle to a birthday party at a skating rink about a half hour away on Sunday.  I hadn’t had lunch yet so I took her in and then went back to the car to eat in some peace and quiet.  When I got out of the car…blah blah blah. Locked out.

So, I called the man (the husband) and told him what an idiot I am and asked for some help.  He said, ask someone that works there for a wire hanger and then see if you can get someone to help you.  Fine, I will humiliate myself and do that.  I got the hanger.  Everyone who worked at said skating rink was 12.  There were two men at the rink.  One was 80 and one looked like he just got out of the federal pin for pretending to help a woman get the keys out of her car and then sticking her in his van and taking her across state lines for god only knows what.

So, I called the man again and said he was going to need to get his ass of the couch and COME HELP A BITCH OUT.  Which he did.  Along with his dad.  Which I am forever grateful for.  Thank you, dad.  NO THANK YOU, JIMMIE.

Fast forward to today, because this is where it gets goooood.  I maintained my decorum and was the nice wifey.  I called a locksmith.  He said he’d have someone call me right back.  Seven minutes lapsed and I called another locksmith.  Because we are on a time crunch for an important meeting.  That person was on their way before I even hung up the phone.  And they were $15 bucks cheaper.  They win.

While on the phone with hubby, first  locksmith finally calls.  I miss it.  I call back.  No answer.  I call back again.  No answer.

Phone rings 5 minutes later and some *ahem* not very good English speaking person (no problem there, except I couldn’t totally understand him.) starts YELLING at me.  ”WHY YOU CALL SO MANY COMPANIES TO GET YOUR HUSBAND’S DOORS UNLOCKED LADY??”

I said, calmly, “Because the number I initially called did not call me back for over 10 minutes.  By the time you called me, someone else had already returned my call and was on the phone with my husband already almost there.  And don’t you ever call yelling at a potential customer.  I’m sorry for the inconvenience for you, but this is poor customer service and you are RUDE.”

He said, “Oohhhhh Drama Queen, huh?”

I said, “You haven’t begun to see drama queen you pathetic son of a bitch.  Go to hell.”  (Or something like that.  I don’t completely remember because I think I was in the middle of a stroke my blood pressure was so fucking high.”

Drama Queen?  You damn right you pansy ass little door unlocker.  And I have your phone number.  I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN.

Whew.  Okay, I am okay.  I will not maim and destroy poor locksmiths.  I will not lose my shit.  I will not lose my shit. Peaceful Zen thoughts and Xanax to begin now.

Aaaannnnd I’m off to Walmart for a freaking magnetic hide-a-key thingy.  And our next car will have keyless entry.  And AAA.  And anything else that will get my idiot husband into his car without costing over fifty bucks a pop.

Pass the Tylenol.

love, marriage and heidi klum

I feel like you guys really miss out when you’re not on my Facebook, because I’m generally pretty brilliant on there.  Now, I know, it’s not the coolest thing out there and many people have sworn off the Facebook for some seriously good reasons.  It’s just…well, I’m lazy.  And that’s the one place I can post pics of the kids for the grandparents and not have to email 14 people separately.  When every single side of your family has been divorced at least once, there’s a lot of freaking people to send this crap too.  Plus, most of the people I know are still facebooking it up and it’s just EASY.

Also, I haven’t been in a writing mood lately.  But whenever I feel a little snarky and want to get something out there, I can put it on FB and it only takes about a sentence and I feel better and you get a chuckle.  Or another reason to add me to your church’s prayer chain.  So…for those of you that swear off the book of faces, here’s what you’ve been missing:

Jimmie has decided he somehow has a shot with Heidi Klum.  {side note: that man’s laminated list grows longer every day.  should I be concerned?}  Anywho, he informs me this morning that Heidi Klum is back on the market.  {another side note: he did this as I was walking from the shower to the bed. Why was I doing this? You figure it out.  SO, not the best time to be bringing up Heidi Klum’s availability.  I digress…}

Jimmie: “I just want you to know Heidi Klum is back on the market.”
Me: *rolls eyes*
Jimmie: “Well she is. And I know I’m sexier than Seal. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder.”
Me: “oh god.”

I gotta say, I really can’t disagree here.  That Seal is not a pretty fella.  However, I think Jimmie may be a bit deluded himself. (shh.)

Also, we recently survived “snowmageddon” of the Pacific Northwest.  Actually, I think our area was the only one really hit very hard, but we had a couple of days of snow followed by a few days of ice that nearly killed us.  The Seattle area does not handle snow.  There’s no real plowing system and this joint is full of hills and crazy people who only see sunshine every third month for approximately 14 hours.  It’s just not really a good place for snow to fall.  And then, when there’s freezing rain and ice storms which cause the trees to topple over onto power lines and we dark dwellers lose electricity to boot, it’s just no bueno.  Three days in the dark will make you crazy.  We loaded up and went to the in-laws since they have a generator, but it was still an ugly mess and I’m still recovering, mentally and emotionally.  And in the laundry department.  Holy shit I got behind.

To add to the fun, Jimmie quit tobacco (which in this case might as well have been crack for all the withdrawal issues) and I quit caffeine.  During snowmageddon.  Shit got real, folks.  Shit got really real.

I swear to you I thought we had reached that point in marriage where someone was going to have to go.  I mean, we are seriously committed to NO divorce.  We’re both from broken families, and we will kill each other before we do that to our kids.  But, for about two weeks, I really thought maybe I was fooling myself into thinking that was a possibility.  Don’t worry, we talked it out and some serious coming to know jesus was done.  And now he is back on track.   Uhhh… I mean, we are back on track.

Unless, of course, that whole Heidi Klum thing works out for him.  And then? Well, just send really good alimony, pal.

why i can’t watch scary movies. ever.

I am like an eight year old child when it comes to watching anything remotely in the “thriller” or “horror” genre of movies.  ”Suspense” is usually acceptable but only if most of the scenes take place in the daylight.  To put it simply, I’m an officer first class in the chicken army.  And my imagination? is exceptional.

When we were in “the cult” I actually underwent deliverance (read exorcism) for my fear issues.  (That was a horror movie in and of itself so I’m gonna skip the details for today.)  Basically the people who were in charge of my “ordeal” told me to NEVER watch another horror movie as long as I live.

Fast forward a few years to my favorite experience: the Texas Chainsaw Massacre viewing of 2004 (ish).  I tried to google the DVD release date, but I got too scared of all the images that came up on the goog so I’m just guessing.  I literally watched the whole movie with my face buried in Jimmie’s chest and peeked out every few minutes for a split second to see if Jessica Beal really was as hot as all the asshat men I was watching the movie with claimed she was. (She was.)  When the movie was finally over I fled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet sobbing for forever.  When Jimmie came to check on me I told him I thought he was a terrible husband for even bringing that movie into our home what with my condition and all.  He so sweetly tried not to laugh at me (yah, right.) and then followed me around for the next two days because I told him I’d divorce him if he left me alone for even one minute.  It was the worst movie experience of my life.

So yesterday, as part of my twelve step recovery process for the holiday hangover, Jimmie and I watched four and a half movies.  It all started after the kidlets went to bed and we turned on Red Riding Hood.  Mock me all you want, but I was afraid it would be too scary for me so I posted a question on facebook asking those who know me best if I could handle it.  They agreed I could so I proceeded.   I actually loved that movie.  There were a couple of scenes where I jumped a little or hid behind my pillow, but mostly it was just GOOD.  I am surprised at how much I liked that movie.  And even though it didn’t scare the bejezus out of me, it did leave me a little jumpy.

So when Jimmie told me he was running to the corner store really quick, I was mildly apprehensive.  I knew there was no werewolf waiting to pounce on me, but still.  I don’t like being home alone at 11 pm on a good night.  Suddenly, the wind was howling, rain was pelting all the windows and strange noises were coming from the front door.  The dog went nuts and when I picked up my cell to call Jimmie to see when in the hell he would be home my battery died.  Well, of course.  Obviously the fates waited for me to watch a horror movie so they could send a werewolf to kill me while my hubby ran to the store.  DUH.  Luckily he returned about three minutes later so I only had mild panic attacks.

Then we began movie number four.  A psycho thriller following a serial killer who looked like what I imagine an albino meth addict would look like.  It did me in.  I watched the last third of that movie behind a pillow.

The last half of a movie was to help me recover from the previous two so I could fall asleep without curling up in the fetal with my special blankie and thumb in my mouth.  I told Jimmie I needed to watch cartoons or a kid movie to bring my heart rate back to normal.  I feel asleep on the couch halfway through the movie so it must have worked.  It was one twisted movie though.  Have you seen Scott Pilgrim vs The World?  Holy crap it was made for a night of mushrooms and marijuana.  (I had neither.  For the record.)  Even though it was a whack job movie, I really need to finish it because no matter how bad a movie is, I have to see the end.  I have never started a movie and not finished it.  I just can’t.

I’m reasonably sure that after yesterday’s movie marathon, I’m well on the way to recovery from the holiday hangover.  Tomorrow I might even have it in me to take the tree down.

 

excuse me, does anyone know where i left my sanity?

This time of year my brain shuts down and I just sort of wander around aimlessly and ramble and put things in random places in the house and just waste space in general.  It always takes me a good week to recover from the holiday season.  I call it my holiday hangover.  You have it too, admit it.

Last night Jimmie told me something that didn’t quite sit right, but I couldn’t totally put my finger on it.  I blame my holiday hangover for making me a little slow on the uptake, because tonight I finally realized what it was.  Are you ready for this?

“We need to work with the kids on dealing with their own crap.  They lean on you for everything.  They don’t even try to find their own shoes.”

BAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Excuse me, dear dad.  I think they get that awesome quality from you.  This is coming from the guy that asks me where to find something on the average of 14 times per day.  This is also the guy that can never find his car keys or his wallet for that matter.  And what does he do when this occurs?  ”BABE?!  Have you seen my insert asinine and mundane item here that I use every stinking day?”  Then babe proceeds to go to the place where said item is supposed to be and lifts one item that is laying on top of it (if that) and gives it to the moron that can’t seem to do this simple task.

And so now I am supposed to “get on top” of the kids doing that so they don’t turn into their dad.  Again I say, BAHAHAHAHA.  I give up.

Happy Holiday Hangover, kids.  Hope you enjoyed the heck out of your family this season.  By the way, does anyone know when school starts back up?  I need a break.

hey derek jeter, you’s a pi-yamp fo sho.

I just spent five minutes asking Jimmie how to spell pimp with a twang.  What I’m trying to accomplish here is the use of the word “pimp” with a gangsta lean.  You feel me, right?  Jimmie didn’t.  All he could do was shake his head and look at his feet.  What?  Like he doesn’t know I’m gangsta.  We’ve been in this phase for a while now.  You’d think he’d get used to it.  Notsomuch.

So last night, we happened upon Barbara Walter’s most fascinating people show in between DVR’d shows I actually want to watch.  It was the part with Yankee’s baseball star Derek Jeter which prompted Jimmie to tell me a little story he heard on the radio about DJ.  Apparently, he is a baseball star by day and a straight up P.I.M.P by night.  What he is ladies (and gents,) is a man-whore.  Sure, he has dimples that make a girl’s toes curl and a bank account the size of Yankee Stadium, but I prefer my men of the non-whore variety (unless it’s birthday stripper night, then… whatever.)

{Ohmygod if I continue to use the words pimp and whore on my blog I am going to have google searches out the wazoo landing on my doorstep.  And you guys, it is straight up creepy the things you people are googling.}

Anywho, apparently when “DJ Woop Woop” invites a lady friend home to show her how he swings his bat, he sends her home with quite the parting gift.  This gentleman, with a capitol Douche, likes to send his laydies home with his personal car and driver and a lovely gift.  Picture it with me if you will…

You awake in the home of DJ Happy Pants with breakfast croissants, fruit bouquets and fresh squeezed oj accompanied by a card that reads:

Dear _{handwritten name here}_____:
Thank you for a magical evening.  Please allow my driver to escort you home in my klassy  towncar used exclusively for this occasion.  I’ve left a lovely parting gift for you inside. {not inside you, inside the car. don’t panic.}

Sincerely,
Jeter.  America’s Sluttiest Allstar.

You eat your complimentary breakfast and head down the elevator for your walk of shame through the lobby of his high-rise apartment building.  At the curb, a silver town car awaits with that driver from Pretty Woman ready to escort you home.  As you slide into the car, you spot the most lovely gift basket with flowers and chocolates and… oh no, wait.  The basket is full Yankee gear and baseball memorabilia.

Derek Jeter, America’s most prized ladies man, leaves his darlings with a gift basket containing a giant foam finger and a signed baseball.  Because nothing says “thanks for playing with my balls” like an autographed baseball.  Am I right?

No one claimed DJ Romance could hit a home run off the field.  Not even Minka Kelly.

Keep your douchey gifts, Derek Jeter.  You suck.

pick your favorite or i’ll pick your nose.

This has been hell week.  And it’s only Wednesday night.

Jimmie had his professional “year-end review” today and we have been cramming like college kids across the country to get this crap done.  Reviews and charts and graphs and goals and projections.  UGH!  Anyway, I’m out of creativity and the funny in me has been beaten with a rubber hose and left to die in a seedy motel.  So…yahoo.

Anyway, today babble.com released their Top 100 Mom Bloggers list.  I wasn’t on it.  Don’t worry, I’m not drinking myself into oblivion.  I just like seeing some of my friends and favorite blogs get on the list.  Seriously.  I’m not crying and eating pounds of salted pecan fudge.  I’M NOT.

But, it is that time of year when I ask you to vote on your favorite post from this year.  I’m giving you three options based on views, comments, shares, etc.  But if you just SUPER DUPER want to vote on a different one you can write in whatever you want.  Beware: listing one by the bloggess won’t make any difference.  I know. She’s my favorite too.  Everyone that responds will receive the Improper Christmaskah photo cards too awesome to send to family.  Dudes.  You want this.

Thanks so much for playing along.  I really do appreciate your input.

Favorite Improper Blogs of 2011

can i tell you a secret?  The one where I tell you what a loser driver Jimmie is.

villagers have more important jobs than raising my kids.  The one where I almost die trying to get into my sports bra.

housewife survival guide. for the newlywed.  I think that sums it up.

Oh, and Jimmie’s review went awesomely, because I am a kick-ass report preparist, obviously.  So, we get to have an income for another year.  Yay.

Update: If you want the Improper Christmaskah card I’ll need  you to comment below or send me an email so I have your address.  My email is improperlyforward at gmail dot com.  Thanks!  I trust you to respond to the poll before you do that.  You can be trusted, right?  RIGHT?!

victoria’s secret models are whores. period.

I already posted today, but I am procrastinating. I have ironing to do.

I KNOW. Fucking ironing. Remember back when I told you I don’t do ironing? It was here. Well, apparently, I was lying because now I do. If your husband works a job that requires a fancy button down shirt and slacks, and you don’t leave the house to do a job, then I guess it’s your job to iron. That is, if you don’t want to spend the $2 per shirt to have it done for you. And the pants. Holy shit the pants. I HATE ironing the pants. I can never get the crease right. His pants are the size of those covers they put over tanks or WMDs to keep the satellites from spotting them. It’s seriously the bane of my existence.

So, I guess I decided to put it off for ohhh… about three months. I actually just made him wear golf shirts and sweaters over the top. I mean, it’s cold. That works. But then he started getting pissy. So I gave in and today I’ll be ironing and watching shows that have been clogging up the DVR. Fine. But now, while I’m procrastinating, I will share some of the random things going on inside my brain. Because then maybe I can get some peace and quiet in there.

I freaking hate watching TV shows with British/English (whatever is more pc or whathaveyou) accents. It bloody annoys me. And then I have the word “bloody” in my mind and I want to add it to all the profanity I’m spewing. So then I am wandering around saying “bloody fucking” this and that all day. I think we’ve talked about this before but I don’t want to think about “bloody fucking” so I want that out of my head. Plus, don’t tell anyone, but like 98.3% of all English men are actually ugly. They just are. They’re hairy and have moles in all the wrong places and look dirty all the time and I just don’t like looking at them. So, please don’t ask me to watch anything that came from the BBC because I just won’t. Also, Hugh Grant. No.

Moving on… Victoria’s Secret “fashion” show. The other night Jimmie and I were watching our evening TV when the commercials for the slut show started. Of course, he decided we must DVR it because “there are some great bands performing!” Uh-huh. Riiiight. Now, I am not a jealous woman. I know those women are seriously gorgeous (and plastic.) I really don’t care if he wants to watch them parade around on stage in ridiculous diamond crusted bras and angel wings that would poke your freaking eye out. I don’t. But… well, puh-lease. I guess I just think the whole show is ridiculous. So, I decide that while he’s at work I’m going to turn it on and watch it. Because I honestly never have before. And as soon as one of those brainless debutantes said “every little girl dreams of being a Victoria’s Secret Model” I threw the remote across the room and turned it off. Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a glorified stripper. My little girl better not ever dream of showing her ass on national tv. I don’t care if JayZ and Beyonce are in the audience. Also, John Mayer was sitting there looking uber pervy and I threw up in my mouth.

So, I think I’ll just delete it. Let me tell you, if I were the one prancing around that stage there’d be a lot more than mah boobs jiggling around. And I just don’t feel like competing with trampstravaganza. So, if you’re reading this babe, the “fashion” show is gone. It was… meh. Okay. Nothing to be impressed over.

jumping from bridge can be fatal and tragic

It’s a pretty sad state of affairs if one should be warned that they will die if they jump from a bridge.

I’m not in a jumping from a high bridge state of being, but I’ve been in a funk for so long I’m not sure I remember not being in one. I’m not one for loving transition, but this last one just took it out of me. Seriously.

I’m sure you remember that we moved this past summer. At the time we were so jacked about moving the kids to the land of opportunity (better schools for the long term) and Jimmie having a better job without a whack-job boss and hopefully lots more money, as well as being close to family that I just didn’t process all of the down sides to things. I think it’s really been hitting me lately.

I am so grateful for the kids new school situation. It really is the thing that is turning out to be as great as we hoped. I know this would have been a tough year had we still been in the area we were. But as great as the job is, the money really isn’t a lot better yet. And as great as it is to be close to family, it has it’s down sides too. And well, if I’m truly honest with myself, I just miss the hell out of my friends.

I am not a happy person right now. I know I’m not because Jim asks me how I’m doing about 42 times a day. That pretty much means I’m probably being assy and a downer and he isn’t sure what to do about it except make me admit it. I usually just say I’m fine but I think that answer is running a little thin.

So, as I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me, I have decided I’m missing out on my girl time. We may have been far from our family and people we’d known for most of our adult lives, but our previous home was full of friends and love. I think all of us are really missing them because the kids spent about a half an hour today reminiscing about the funny things they remember doing with some of our close family friends. They aren’t really the kind of kids that sit around and talk about those kinds of things without a reason.

Have you even been in a place in your life where the friendships were almost effortless? I think these relationships are few and far between. When we first moved to a tiny town called Moses Lake I was not excited about it. I’m a city girl and I always have been. People joked that “the Hole” would suck me in and I’d never want to leave. I guess they were more right than I even knew.

There’s something about living life simply and without the fast paced, traffic congested craziness always surrounding you. There was also something wonderful about it just being us- our little family of four- in our own space, figuring out life in our own way. I love the kids being close to family, but I really loved the distance too.

I miss monthly Bunco and spur of the minute Girl’s Nights. I miss meeting our friends for Thursday night bar food at the local bowling alley and softball games in the freezing wind. I miss football parties and Christmas get-togethers where someone ends up curling up under the tree for a nap. I miss barbecues and sitting out on the lake until dark because no one wants to think about cooking or cleaning the sand off of the kids (and beer and potato chips make a fine dinner anyway.) I miss friends that invite themselves over for dinner and bring KFC for the whole family. I guess, I just miss people that aren’t so wrapped up in their own stuff that it makes it impossible to make time for someone else. And I miss being one of those people.

It’s possible that our next door neighbors could become those people to us, if I had it in me to put out the effort. I guess it’s time to quit moping around and get my shit together. Whether I like it or not, this is our home now and if I want to have some good, meaningful fun I will probably have to be the one to initiate it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Doesn’t mean I even know where to start either. Crap.

i swear it wasn’t me that was pepper spraying people at walmart. but if i would have thought of it, i might have.

You may remember a couple of weeks ago when I decided to kick off the holiday season by sending my hubs Black Friday Shopping.

If you haven’t read that post you should just click on over and read it.  I’ll wait while you get caught up.

So yes, we really want that XBox Kinect for the kids for Christmas.  So much so that I planned all of Thanksgiving around Jimmie being able to go and sit in line.  Just like most young families, we split the holidays between two families.  They are on opposite ends of the Seattle Metro area, so about an hour apart.  We left family number one’s get together which is way south in time to drive all the way north for family number two’s.  Jimmie dropped us off and proceeded to the Walmart that was close to their place for a little recon work.  There wasn’t yet a line and he had his bearings and what needed to be done so he returned for dinner.  I want you to know, if there had already been people in line he would have missed dinner for this.  That’s how serious we were about being one of the few that would get this damn doorbuster.  That’s how scared he is of me when I tell him to do something.  Because I’m that crazy.

So after dinner he went back to WallyWorld armed with a camping chair, a book,and a fully charged iPhone and Blackberry.  It was 5:30 and the sale started at 10:00.

He promised all of us a play by play of the night’s events via facebook.  Here’s how things went before I showed up:

“In line and the 15th person.  Hope I don’t stand here for no reason!”

Line in front of me.

 

Line behind me.

Pretty ladies in line next to me.

Clearly the man was losing it early on.  Here’s a few more status updates:

“It’s getting good.  Walmart employees are telling all the people that cracked into the specials early to return them.  One of the employees                         looks just like Fire Marshall Bill.”  Yikes!

“I think I will crack open a twelver, buy a Styrofoam cooler and some ice, but then I might pass out and miss all the fun.  Maybe I can just                                 ‘borrow’ it all.”

“Can I just say that its not a good idea to sit in a camping chair on the end cap while every person walks by. Not the best view or smell.”

“People are cutting and I have a lady behind me that’s going to go nuts! Video to come.” (no video ever came, but apparently the lady did confront quite a few people and it resulted in… less than a fist fight. loser.)

Okay, enough of that.  Here’s how it went down.  Jimmie stood/sat in line from 5:30 to 8:30.  He was right in the middle of a major throughway of the store, just sitting there in his camping chair watching the freak show play out.  While he may have had to sit at butt level and see/smell a lot of turkey fueled asses wander by, at least he wasn’t sitting out in the freezing rain!  The store was mostly empty except for others waiting in line so it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Meanwhile, I was home washing about two hours worth of holiday dishes.  Then I put the kids to bed and promptly made myself the most delicious vodka tonic in a “to go cup” and hit the road with my Sister-In-Law to join in on the fun.  Just as we were arriving, the store handed out tickets to those who had been standing in line and said to return at ten to claim your XBox.  It also must have been the same time that every single person in town decided to come to Walmart, because that store got Ca-Ray-Zay.

Me with the golden ticket.

WE DID IT! (uhhh, I mean, HE DID IT!)  We wandered around for a while and then returned to line up for the best Christmas gift ever (which is what my kids better say on Christmas morning or their dad is going to kill me.)  We had to stand in that line for about an hour.  I instantly made friends with the women in front of me when I announced this needed to end soon because I was sweating like a whore in church and needed another drink. Listen, I didn’t think I needed to pretend to be classy in Walmart.  I was in good company.  We pretty much reeked of Klass.

Once we got the magical box of fun, we then had to stand in line for another hour and a half to pay for the freaking thing.  Even though we had sent the SIL to stake out a place in line long before that, the line moved so slow and the people were such colossal idiots it really didn’t matter.  This night was destined to be a CF of the greatest magnitude ever from the get go.  We were at Walmart for crying out loud.

The only thing that would have made it better is if this would have been a flash mob.

But, we made out with the best doorbuster of the season (says me) and our kids are going to love it!  I hate Black Friday.  I hope to GOD we never have to do that again.  But, I’m pretty darn proud of our purchase.  And I was very thankful to have a hubby that would endure such a shit show so we could give our kids a cool present without having to sell off any vital organs.

Jimmie’s last status update regarding Black Friday.  ”Watching people fight over XBox games, Legos, TV’s and computers.  I can’t believe there is that that much desperation out there. What I really can’t believe is that people are that greedy. I don’t think I will ever do it again. I feel dirty.”

That may be.  Tis the season, I suppose.  On the way home he also said that “tonight is saving Christmas.”  Which was pretty cute coming from the guy who hated Christmas when we first got married.

VICTORY

what? don’t all wives make their husbands train in high heels?

I hate to be the one to break it to you, folks, but the holiday season is upon us.    It’s beyond upon us.  It’s breathing down our freaking necks.  I know this because my ass is spreading exponentially.  Which has nothing to do with my neck.  But everything to do with holiday baking.

My son has been talking for about the past, ohhh I don’t know, three months about how he’s going to get a new XBox 360 from Santa (ours broke around the time he broke his leg and he’s all about getting a new Kinect.)  Now, I know most of you are rolling in oodles of cash in this stellar economy, but the Impropers are not.  I mean, we’re not eating out of soup cans, but we’re not living in the lap of luxury either.  The game system my son is convinced Santa is bringing is to the tune of $300.   That’s a little stiff for me considering we have other people to buy for as well.  So… I began to get creative.  Ebay and Craigslist and all sorts of searches have been going on around here.

Can I just tell you Ebay makes me break out into hives?  I feel like I’m rummaging through the city dump looking for an earring back.  With a blind fold on.  In the middle of a rain storm.  For me, it is the equivalent of an online yard sale.  I know TONS of people find great stuff both at yard sales and Ebay, but I get hives just thinking about it.

Anyway… I was freaking out as to how we are going to swing the Kinect hoopla as well as the rest of Christmas when I found the solution sent from the marketing gods.  Wal Freaking Mart is having the very bundle on sale for Black Friday for a third of the price (after all the specials and fireworks) and I am determined Jimmie will snag us one of the three that I’m sure the store will actually be offering.  I know Black Friday “limited quantity” items are mostly a sham.  I do not care.  I am confident in my hubby’s ability to do what has to be done.  But, I have instituted his training regiment just to insure his abilities.  It looks remarkably similar to the Target training regime.

Yes, I am making him train in heels.

You may be wondering, at this point, why Jimmie is training and I’m not.  The sale we are hitting starts at 10 pm on Thanksgiving.  I think that’s ridiculous, but you guys, we have to get a deal on this freaking thing.   I can’t very well leave the kids and family and everyone and miss Thanksgiving dinner, but, Jim can.  I mean, it’s not like he does much anyway.  He wasn’t so excited at first, but I broke it down for him like this:

1) Sit in the cold all day waiting for the doors to open.   You can bring the “hooded camping chair” to keep the wind and rain off.  You can bring a book, your iphone (which you spend half your life dinking around on anyway) and enjoy some peace and quiet rather than crazy family shenaniganz.
2) Wear your running shoes because there WILL be a foot race to electronics.   Don’t freaking disappoint me!
3) Engage in hand to hand combat with thirteen people in order to secure yourself one of the three items set aside for the sale price.
4) Pray to god you actually get the advertised deal so you can
5) Give your child the gift he is dying for without having to sell a vital organ to afford it.

It’s totally simple and I KNOW you can DO this!

So, he’s kind of excited to go and brave the Seattle elements (read: rain) and beat down any and all freaking competition that tries to get to the electronics department before he does.  I’m sure I will show up sometime just before the sale.  I actually run a little faster than he does, so I’m counting on my lioness prowess to get us the upper hand.

I don’t know you guys, I’ve never actually gone Black Friday shopping.  I get a little stressed by crowds.   I will most definitely pack the thermos full of vodka tonics with a splash of Triple Sec.  So… someone else will have to drive us home.

Cross your fingers and pray to the retail gods.  I WANT THAT FREAKING KINECT!

What about you guys? Are you Black Friday bargain shopping?  Are you totally incensed at the retailers for cutting their employee’s holiday short?  Normally, I think I would be, but desperate times and all that…

 

UPDATE:

I thought you’d like to see the adorable response to this post that Jimmie sent via text.  He’s just so cute.