Reserve Not Met

While browsing news articles on the internet I came across the story of a woman who put her gaming husband up for sale on Craigslist.  The link was immediately sent to my aunt who could really relate.

Intrigued, I went scrounging for other obscure listings for sale.  One of the first things I came across was a wireless doorbell…for your dog. 

No amount of training would get my land manatees to use a doorbell when trying to propel themselves through the panes of glass on the door works just as well.

I also found someone claiming that, for only $24.99, they would accurately predict the gender of your unborn child via mail!

Along the same lines there is the person selling a sealed cardboard box claiming that there is a ghost inside.
See, now this is a bad idea whichever way you look at it.  Someone purchasing the box just to prove the seller wrong was dumb enough to spend money on air.  But what if that same person opened the box to reveal an actual apparition? 

This next one is just…wow.  I fully believe that there are men out there who willingly PAID $5k to act in an adult movie.  And by movie they mean the low-budget moaning shown on Skin-a-Max. 

And last but not least (certainly not least) we have someone in Austin, Texas offering their “Immortal Soul” for the starting bid of $500.  Seriously?  Are there really soul collectors out there?

So I put it to you guys:

What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen up for auction or sale online?

I before E, eh?

We've all heard it.  "I before E except after C".  It was drilled into our little grammar school heads over and over as the Cardinal Rule of Spelling.

Well, my friends, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this...  (cue sad instrumental music) that rule is crap. 

I know, I know, you're all:

And that's all well and good.  But may I present you with:

Such rebellious words.  Clearly the E is before the I and no one noticed in all this time?!  Shouldn't it be anceint?  and Soceity?

And finally we have those shifty "ie" and "ei" folks that switch it up when there is NO C INVOLVED:

Yep, I don't get it either.

Tune in to our next attack on spelling, grammar, and pronunciation when we explore "cello" and "cellophane".  Why isn't it pronounced "CHELLO-fane?"

A Mutual Enemy

Though the battle between Team Overhand and Team Underhand is one that may never be resolved we are forced to admit that we share one thing in common:

I Survived Pregnancy For This?

It was last November that I revealed to men the no-no’s of dealing with a pregnant wife in The Man’s Survival Guide to Pregnancy.  Now, one year later, I am back bearing warnings for the ladies. 

There are countless websites, pamphlets, dickhead relatives, and nosy strangers who tell you that “Things are going to change.”  Well, no kidding.  You are adding a family member who can’t take care of himself but who has the mysterious ability to turn any adult into a blundering, baby-babbling mess.  They tell you that you may as well throw out all of your shoes because they won’t fit anymore (this happened to me and I’m still bitter about it) and to “sleep while you can”.  Right.  Like you’ll really be able to say, “I can stay awake and take care of the baby for four days!  I got all of that extra sleep before she was born stored up and I can’t wait to use it!” 
 Sore girly bits, hair in places where hair has no business being, fingernails that require industrial strength toenail clippers to trim: all of this is true, ladies.  If you think your self-esteem took a plummet while you were pregnant get ready for the crash and burn after the baby is born.  

See, before you become pregnant you have time to not only create but adhere to a beauty regimen.  You have manicures and pedicures!  You have clothes that actually make you look cute!

After the baby is born you must face a few harsh truths when it comes to your appearance and your ability to maintain it.

Suddenly life has become less about looking your best and more about playing catch up and things that are user-friendly.  Silk and satin graciously step aside for cotton and polyester and the iron bows out entirely in favor of the “sniff test”.  You purse morphs from a cute little handbag into something that requires three separate measurements at the airport to ensure that it doesn’t break carry-on regulations.

And the one that surprised me the most (okay, maybe not the most.  That extra hair thing is still creeping me out) is that the emotional wuss you became when your hormones went crazy during the first trimester NEVER FULLY GOES AWAY!!  I mean, really, I have a long list of exes (not that long of a list.  I’m not a slut or anything) who, at some point in our relationship, complained that I was cold-hearted and hard to reach emotionally.  At least a third of my dvd collection is horror movies. 

But since having my son?  Oh, no.  The stupidest things get me choked up.  I see a smashed happy meal toy in the street and I’m all “oooohh!  What kind of person could just abandon you!?”  Yeah.  It’s that bad.

Having kids is absolutely worth it.  My son is the big cheese and he knows it.  Every once in awhile I get dressed up and go out for an evening with the girls or a date with my husband but it’s never the same.  For one thing I can’t just turn my phone off when I don’t want to be bothered anymore.  And I can’t just enjoy myself without a million thoughts running through my head.  Things like:

“I’d better leave in an hour.  I know I’ll have to get up at six regardless.”
“I should call home and check in…again.”
“What’s jiggling?”

For a new mom out on the town that last question is one you never want to know the answer to.

Vampire French Fries

So today while I was catching up on the few blogs that I follow as often as I remember to I followed a link and stumbled upon This Is Not That Blog.  I chuckled at the first entry, laughed at the second, and by the time I got to the vampire french fries I was hooked.  I mean, come on!  Vampire french fries!  What's not to love?

What you read is true, folks.  Cool people will, in fact, check out that page. want to be cool, right?  Did I mention the vampire fries?   
...there are zombie fries too.

Not What's Expected

Can someone explain to me why it is that absolutely soaking a campfire in water to the point of floating coals or wood chips will result in this:

But when trying to light the fire in the first place you are faced with this:

I call shenanigans.

Laziness Pays Off Now...

The early bird may catch the worm...
 ...but the lazy mouse gets the cheese.

Does Not a Parachute Make

Last night my husband and I were sitting around in a circle talking with some friends while our son tore around the living room, basically tormenting each person in turn.  This had gone on for about thirty minutes before my husband looked and me and said, quite forcefully:

“That is your son.”
“No, he’s definitely yours.” I replied.  “You were the hyperactive one as a child.  I’ve heard the horror stories.  I’ve talked to your mom.”
“Yeah, but at least I didn’t jump off of a building,” he countered.
“…shut up.”

So I may have jumped off of a building when I was eight years old.  But you don’t understand…there were circumstances…

My cousin and I lived in a single story home on horse property with our grandmother growing up.  Despite his “I’m such a good boy, I never get into trouble,” exterior, he was a hellraiser when no adults were around.  And I was just the most gullible thing ever.  Like the time he convinced me that (in 1987, mind you) there was a company that created life-sized robot dolls that sold them to the general public for only $1k. 

Despite my crushing discovery that he was just pulling my leg I was totally willing to believe his next fabrication.  He convinced me that we could jump off of the roof and float gently to the ground by shoving our arms through the handles of plastic grocery bags and using them as parachutes.
 We spent the next few hours carefully plotting and planning our daredevil stunt.  We walked the perimeter of the house, searching for the perfect place to climb up and the perfect place to dismount.  Like we had much choice.  We either climbed up the wall or the tree to get to the roof and we jumped off on the west side to avoid the cactus patch.

Next came what I believed to be the most dangerous part of the event.  Sneaking grocery bags out of the kitchen.  Now let’s get real, no one would have even raised an eyebrow if we picked up some plastic bags, we did it all the time.  But this was different.  We had to be stealthy, we had to be sneaky.  Basically, we had to make sure we weren’t questioned since I was the worst liar on Earth.
 We scrambled out the back door, booty in hand, and scrambled up the wall and onto the roof before anyone could spot us.  We crept to the edge of the roof and looked down at the seven-foot expanse of dirt and rocks shimmering in the light of the setting sun.  It was at this point that a small seed of doubt crept in. Why was it that I didn’t realize until now that this entire scheme was dependent on me actually JUMPING OFF THE ROOF?  I looked at my cousin.  He looked back at me, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Y-you first,” I stammered.
“No way,” he stated.  “You go first, or else you’ll back out after I go.”

Well, that was probably true.  I took a deep breath and crammed my arms through the handles of the grocery bag.  I took a step toward the edge. 

“Go on,” he urged.

The ground seemed to be moving farther and farther away.
 In what seemed like two minutes but was actually the better part of an hour I gathered my wits, tugged the grocery bag handles to make sure they were in place, and closed my eyes. 

I won’t say that I jumped.  It was more of a slow roll toward the edge that resulted in a sort of pitched-forward motion and I was airborne. 

Yeah, that lasted all of about 1.4 seconds before I hit the ground in a tangled heap.
I learned several lessons that fateful day in 1987.  I learned that grocery bags do not, in fact, make good parachutes.  I learned that it is possible for your back to crack in more than ten places without breaking.  I learned that one should always jump feet first.  I also learned never to go first.  My cousin turned around, came down the ladder, and hit me with the ol' point-n-laugh. 

Unfortunately, I did not learn to stop letting him talk me into doing stupid things like this. 

A Light in the Darkness

In no way has this ever happened to me...
Blessings of Samhain, Happy Halloween, and Merry End of October everyone!!

...nope, never happened to me...

Lost in Translation II

In the time that has passed since the original Lost In Translation post I have indeed found yet more phrases that don’t elicit the intended interpretation when they hit my ears.  As Drawn to Madness gains popularity (yay!) I’ve also received a few submissions that bear repeating as well.  Let’s dive right in.

Down With It

This phrase is very versatile in that “It” can be anything from a noun (“You like imported beer?” “Yo, I’m down with it.”), verb (“Wanna go to the liquor store and pick up chicks?” “Yo, I’m down with it.”), or a place (“Ever been to Sam’s Crab Shack?”  “Yo, I’m down with it.”). 


I first heard this phrase when listening to the Skee-Lo song “I Wish”.  He wished he was a taller baller.  I’m still not 100% sure what he meant by that.

Remember in my last post I covered the phrase “The Bomb”?  Well, it seems to have evolved.  Instead of someone or something being “the bomb” they are now immortalized on the world wide web.


“Bitch, you be trippin,” was the first way I heard this term used.  My response?  “I did not!”

Junk in the Trunk

This was another one from the talk shows.  I swear, if you can get through all of the bleeped out expletives, shows like Jerry Springer and Ricki Lake are fountains of illiterate phrases.


This one I had to look up.  Then, upon learning its definition (According to Wiki: Krumpin' is a street dance popularized in the United States that is characterized by free, expressive, exaggerated, and highly energetic movement involving the arms, head, legs, chest, and feet.  The youths who started krumping saw the dance as a way for them to escape gang life and "to release anger, aggression and frustration positively, in a non-violent way.) I still didn’t get it so I went on YouTube in search of a visual demonstration. 

The video was one minute and thirty-two seconds long, the first 28 seconds were dedicated to the five men adjusting their crotches and hiking up their pants.  Then they started moving (or krumpin, I suppose) and I said to my husband, “Oh please, Michael Jackson did this in the eighties.  And he did it better.”  This one really makes my head hurt.

Rather than dredging up more slang from my high school days I thought it might be an interesting change of pace to check out some slang from another era entirely.  Wanting to get as far away from “Krumpin” as possible I dove into the 1950’s for some classics:


This one was meant as a substitute for “popular”.  “Cheryl is so radioactive!”  In today’s lingo that would have an entirely different effect.


A replacement for “hairdo”.  I’m not sure when “nest” went from a harmless description to the more sinister “rat’s nest”.  Either way though, it doesn’t sound like an appealing style.


Meaning it does what it does and it does it well.  I however imagine that a song that cooks should provide nutritional substance.


If someone were to come up to me and ask me if I had any nuggets I would stare in disbelief before stalking away angrily, muttering that it’s not anyone’s business whether or not I have nuggets. 
But in the 1950’s they would be asking for loose change.


“Watch out, Greasy Jim is frosted!”
Actual meaning in the fifties was that he’s pissed off.

Bent Eight

This stood for a V8 Hot Rod.  Even knowing that I would have assumed that something was wrong with the engine if it was “bent”.

I wonder if parents in the 1950’s heard phrases like “nuggets” and “bent eight” and rolled their eyes.  I guess its part of the circle of life.

Cue Elton John.


Went out last night with an old friend to a new hangout.  In spite of that nagging little voice in the back of my head we were NOT the oldest ones there.

The above drawing is of us dancing.  The way we saw it in our heads.  The actual act was neither so graceful OR rhythmic.  We drew a lot of concerned stares from the other patrons but dammit, we had a good time.

I woke up this morning with "dart arm". 

Mecha Fly

 I admit it, I killed a fly yesterday.

I didn't just kill it, I systematically stalked that little bastard after his many attempts to fly up my nose.  He was no match for the fly swatter.

Fast forward a couple of hours to dinnertime.  The spouse and I were sitting down enjoying a lovely dinner when I was attacked again.

Me: OMG that &%$*# fly is back from the grave!!

Spouse: Oh come on, you know that's not possible.

Me: This is the same fly!

Spouse: I never said it wasn't.  But see, all of his little fly brethren put him back together using bio-mechanical engineering.

Me: (long pause)'re telling me there is a bio-mechanical fly engineering plant somewhere in this house?

Spouse: Yes.

Me: And that it can build ultra-intelligent Mecha Flies?

Spouse: Basically.

Me: We're moving.