If I'd Only Listened To LeVar Burton All This Could Have Been Avoided

You ever have one of those days?

You know, the kind where it's Friday evening and you're doing your best to dress up for your spouses work Christmas party but you have a two year old grabbing for the iPad that's precariously balanced on the back of the toilet as you're trying to figure out exactly how the pretty people on PinINterest did that updo. And then you remember that you have absolutely no hair styling skills. So, instead you just twist your hair into three buns*, call it good and defeatedly hand the iPad to the two year old.

Then, two outfit changes, a frantic search for black nylons, some crusty mascara and heels you haven't worn since your best friend's wedding later, you wobble out the front door, leaving the children behind with their most favoritest babysitter EVER, and you think to yourself, "I haven't been this dressed up in YEARS!" Which is true. Because the only nylons you could find are circa 1998, your best friend's wedding was three kids ago and your dress? You bought it six months before you got married. In the year 2000. Meaning? You are either embarrassingly out of style, or awesomely vintage.

Then as you giddily rush for the ferry to take you to the BIG CITY, plain latte swish sloshing in your hand, you think, "Oh, man! A whole hour to myself to sit and drink coffee! No kids! No husband! And DUDE! I'M WEARING A PRETTY DRESS!"

But then you start to slow down as you notice the amount of people waiting. In line. Because there's not a ferry in sight.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Then, after a whole hour passes and your latte is gone and you've eaten the random packet of cheese crackers you found in the bottom of your purse, you snap a picture of yourself reflected in the window of the terminal. Because you are BORED!

And that's when you realize that you're paying someone $10 an hour so you can sit in a ferry terminal a little over a mile from your house, eat stale crackers from the bottom of a purse and take stupid pictures of yourself. But at least you have your phone, so, you know, you have something to do.

But then! There's the ferry! And people start moving! And you think,"THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER!"

But then, while waiting to get on the ferry, some guy mistakes you, in all your holiday party finery, for a Catholic nun.

For reals.

Of course, once you're actually on the ferry, you have go to the restroom to see what, exactly, it is about your outfit that's giving off nun-like vibes. And while you're there reapplying your nude colored lipstick and repining one of your buns, you rip a huge hole in the knee of your awesomely vintage nylons and think, "Huh. Maybe nylons do have a shelf life...."

So you take a picture.

Why? Because you have nothing else to do. For a really long time.  Because they've replaced the regular ferry with a much slower ferry and instead of taking an hour to cross over to the BIG CITY it takes an hour and a half. During which, you rip another hole in your awesomely vintage nylons.  But you don't take a picture. Because nuns don't take pictures of their derrieres.

Then? Your phone dies. Because you forgot to charge it. And you spend the rest of the ferry ride ducking the curious glances of the guy who thought you were a nun, pretending to look stuff up on your dead phone (to fend off any more awkward nun like questions) and trying to surreptitiously read the book of the lady who's sitting next to you. Until she moves seats. Because, obviously, she hates nuns.

Yeah.

Days like that.

You know what they teach you?

Always bring a book. Because everything LeVar Burton ever said was true.



And maybe buy some new black nylons.



*Because one bun says "librarian" two buns say "Princess Leah" but three buns say "I'm being all fancy and stuff". Obviously.

I'm Getting All Judgmental. Christmas Style.

Tonight, as Jon and Katie are enduring enjoying their annual trip to the Nutcracker, complete with fancy clothes and dinner out at the Family Pancake House, and Ellie is tucked cozily and grumpily in her "I'm a BIIIIIIG girl I go too!" bed, and I sit here, glass of wine in hand (on second taste this may be the expired pomegranate juice from the back of the fridge..*sip*... eh. wateves.), I bring to you 

The Comprehensive List Of The Worst Christmas Gifts To Be Found On A Single Shopping Trip To Fred Meyer With A Two Year Old

1) Half a set of footie pajamas. For men.

For men who aren't quite willing to commit to the Full Monty*.

*I'm totally using this phrase correctly.  Because, dudes, these pjs are begging for some stripping. But only in the privacy of your own home. Not mine, because that's just-Is this footnote getting awkward, or is it just me?

2) A spoonstraw. Because milk with floaties in it was NEVER meant to be drunk.

Didn't we all learn our lesson with the spork?

3) Finger lights. For those times you want to pretend to be Edward Scissorhands but can't get the nagging voice of your first grade teacher yelling, "Stop playing with the scissors" out of your head.

"Hold me."
"I can't."

4) A coffee cup that lets you catch that first glimpse of your "Crapaziodal! We're late for school again! Everyone to the car! Where's your lunch bag? What do you mean it's show and tell day? ELLIE PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!" morning face. You know. The pretty one. The one before your first cup of coffee.

In attractive zebra stripe.

5) So, let me get this straight. I drop a couple plastic cubes into a cup of "pomegranate juice" and a rumba and a topanga later I have myself one of those fancy slushy drinks? Because it's magic?  And exactly how many can I drink before the magical cancer sets in?

But it's BPA free! It must be totally safe!  

6) For the special person in your life that needs some comfortable footwear to go with their favorite sock monkey pajamas.

Wait.
I own sock monkey pajamas.
DUDE!
These slippers are totally awesome!

 7) Your own personal desk top style cotton candy machine! For those 2:30 in the afternoon feelings!

Oh. Wait. That's what grown ups are supposed to use coffee for.

8) Nausea. In a stripy stick shape.

Someday I'll have to share my "mint makes me nauseous at normal times but makes me throw up when I'm pregnant all the time and this one time I went to the dentist and they flossed my teeth with mint floss" story. It's spectacular. Just like Old Faithful.

 9) Twinkies. On a stick.

There's a reason the makers of Twinkies went bankrupt. And it's not because they forgot the sticks.

And finally,

10) The Keurig.

Listen. If someone is going to spend $190 on a coffee maker, you can be dang sure that it better make more than one cup of coffee at a time. At the very least it should charge my iPhone, pack Katie's lunchbox, read Ellie Robert the Rose Horse for the thousandth time AND lie  tell me how the color of the dove grey skies make my green eyes snap and spark while they gaze like emeralds from my bewitchingly beautiful countenance.  Without a stupid mirror glued to the side of my coffee cup.

What's the worst gift you've come across this year?