I Killed the Sea Monkeys, But at Least My Hair is Straight

Getting a moisturizing, straightening keratin treatment for my hair doesn't take away the fact that born-again child evangelists are after my son.

But it helps.

Straight, silky-smooth hair also helps numb the sting you feel once you realize that you've killed off your children's sea monkeys.

I totally should have let the sea monkeys go to "activity night" at a "church" instead of my highly impressionable eight-year old son. What was I thinking? That "activity night" would involve a little pizza and a couple games of basketball? That my son would run around and play with other boys his age for a couple hours? That the experience, offered by a seemingly stand-up place in a nice town, would be completely innocuous?

Yes. [Note to readers: some humans have sea monkey-sized brains.]

Alas, there is no such thing as free pizza and a couple games of basketball without a pitcher full of Kool Aid. Or Kook Aid, as the case may be.

And everyone knows that young kids will drink whatever Kool Aid you serve them, whether it's Tooth Fairy Kool Aid, Easter Bunny Kool Aid, or YOU'RE A SINNER Kool Aid. They'll gulp it down and ask for seconds.

Add pizza and games to the mix, and the Kool Aid goes down sickeningly fast.

You know, I used to hide from the Jehovah's Witnesses that came to my front door until one day my daughter asked me, "Mom, why were you hiding from that nice lady?" I didn't have a good answer, so I never hid again. To this day, I happily oblige the Jehovah's Witnesses who stop by to chat. I answer their questions the best I can, take their Watch Tower pamphlets, and wish them a good day.

It was in this spirit that I obliged my son to join his friend at "church."

Who knew? Certainly not me, but at least my hair is straight.

Where's Mall Cop When You Need Him?

While the rest of the country spent this weekend digging victory gardens and licking their 401-Ks, I joined JUST ABOUT EVERY RESIDENT OF CONNECTICUT at the mall.

Come rain, sleet, hail, snow, lack of credit, and the very real prospect of imminent financial ruin, we Connecticut folk flock to the mall on weekends like lambs to the slaughter. Baa.

First, we all nibbled on chicken lettuce wraps and slurped egg drop soup at P.F. Chang's China Bistro - no doubt lured there by the giant horse statue out front. Apparently I'm not alone in succumbing to the appeal of a giant cement horse statue over luminous sunshine and refreshingly crisp air.

Fully satiated with mono sodium glutamate and the guilt associated with eating overpriced mediocre food after being seduced by a giant horse, we all headed straight to Forever 21.

Of course.


If ever there was a need for a bouncer, it would be at the trendy, teenage crap fest known as Forever 21 - a store plagued by a clientele of bloated, middle-aged women desperately trying to prove that they "still got it."

Unfortunately, many of these women - myself included - "still got it." That is, we've "still got" leggings, over-sized striped sweaters, and ill-fitting tube tops left over from 1985. What we don't "still got" is the ability (read: body) to wear them.

And yet...there we are, jockeying for space before displays of jangly lead-painted earrings, and elbowing our way through "new" threadbare spring designs, if only for the sweet taste of nostalgia.

Jenny, I got your number.
I'm gonna make you mine.
Jenny, don't change your number.
8-6-7-5-3-0-9....

Thankfully, my teen and tweenage "covers" got me out of that store just in time to hit American Eagle Outfitters, a place so reeking of teen spirit I wouldn't have been surprised to see Zak Efron lounging on a display and puckering his lips at the throngs of teen, tween, and bloated, middle-aged female shoppers.


After what felt like puberty, we emerged anew from that store with our "it" merchandise all wrapped up in a semi-pornographic bag. I could not believe this bag. It was the kind of bag that one might expect to receive at a store like Good Vibrations. The bag needed a bag, is all I'm saying.

Blushing just a little, I suggested we beeline it to Sweet Factory. There's something inherently wrong with spending $10 on stale gummy worms, but at least stale gummy worms help to get the taste of bad Chinese food out of your mouth for the brief few moments before you arrive at Limited Too, now ironically renamed "Justice."

Trust me, there's no justice in that store. It's Forever 21 for eight-year-olds, except instead of spending $4.50 for leggings, you pay $29.99! And you get to hear Miley Cyrus screech in your ears while you do it! Overwhelmed by saccharine pop music and toxic melamine and bisphenol A fumes coming off the clothing, you succumb to the madness and the next thing you know you're singing along with ICarly and forking over your debit card!

Justice.

Maybe there's simply no justice to be found anywhere these days? At least not at the mall.

Ruthless Unplugged

Ceasing to blog for a few weeks is like not showing up to work day after day after day.

It's a little death, of sorts. Like slitting your digital throat. Cutting off your own air supply. Unplugging your ties to a big, wide world of imaginary friends.

But I had to do it.

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
William Wordsworth (1807)

I needed a break from the madness! I needed to commune with nature! To rake my yard! To play with my kids! To go on dates with my husband! (OK..."date")

Oh, and also? My computer crashed. There was that.

[And my new computer? Heh! She's a beaut. A technological masterpiece. A lightning fast, sleek and shiny, powerhouse of a STALLION! Gid-dy-up.]