Burgers & Cupcakes

Is that not a fun and compelling restaurant name? I want to go RIGHT NOW! Anyone? What a perfect combo beaten only by . . . wait. Nothing! If I lived in NYC, I think I would eat there nightly.

Jesus Loves You

My first boss -- a beautiful, perpetually tanned widow who wore high heels daily with her tight skirts and had a dancer's body, infectious laugh and a more active social life than Paris Hilton -- once received a card that had an image on the front of Jesus hanging on the cross. Along the bottom it read, "Jesus loves you" and on the inside it said, "Everyone else thinks you're an asshole."

She thought this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. I shared it with my dad, who had a penchant for anything off-color, and he concurred. I think he may have even sent one to his brother, my uncle Frank, given that they had a lifelong exchange of all-things-vile.

Lark News has a t-shirt for sale with a tamer, more Christian version of this sentiment. "Jesus loves you. Then again, he loves everybody."



They also sell a shirt that says, "I want to be a pastor's wife" which I think we should sell at my church -- where every woman who attends claims to be in love with our pastor. We could make a killing! D'oh!

Be Very, Very Careful!

I read on CNN.com yesterday how "San Diego State University has suspended six fraternities after a sweeping drug investigation that landed members of three fraternities in jail on suspicion of openly dealing drugs on campus." It reminded me of this guy I knew in undergrad who, upon answering a knock on his dorm room door, told an undercover cop, "Wrong room. I think you want the guys next door." He later found himself facing drug charges as an accomplice.

The following summer a letter from the D.A.'s office was sent to his parents' home simply stating that his drug charges were dropped. The funny part (or not-so depending on your viewpoint) is that he shared the same name as his father who a) opened the letter thinking it was addressed to him and b) flew through the roof.

Good news, your drug charges have been dropped! Just what every parent wants to hear . . .

My heart goes out to all of the parents of those drug-selling college kids in CA who just messed up their own, and others', lives. I'm sure it's heart wrenching for them to bear.

Birthday Meltdown

Today is Son #1's eighth birthday! Holy moly! Happy birthday dude.

Last night, I came home to have dinner with the family (as most normal parents do) and put the kids to bed before going back to work until 2:15 a.m.

Son #1 wouldn't fall asleep and I finally had to say, "Hey birthday boy, I have to get to work so that I'm not there all night long. But just think, next time I see you, you'll be eight!!!"

Bad idea.

He burst into tears exclaiming, "I don't want anything to change. I don't want to turn eight. I didn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish for seven yet."

(Huh?)

"What did you want to accomplish for seven?"

"Lot's of things. I had goals for seven."

OMG. Since when? This is the kid that prefers video games and watching Naruto over pretty much everything else except perhaps chess. The kid who would prefer to watch Iron Chef and learn how to cook than play outside. The kid who loves to swim but can't be bothered to learn any proper strokes. The kid who, at seven, refused to learn to ride his bike until almost the last day of the summer. What goals?

After much hugging and cajoling, I got him to calm down and go back to his room. And there, hanging in a bag on his door, were the parts of one of his unfinished (or should I say "un-started"?) projects: making a Webkinz wishing well out of a paper towel roll, string, etc.

Let the waterworks begin anew. "That was one of my goals. I wanted to make that when I was seven and now it's too late!" Yes, little man, it is.

Now, thanks to Outlook and a husband who had to deal with additional sadness after I left for work last night, I now have a 9:00 a.m. "craft date" with my son scheduled and confirmed on my calendar for Saturday morning. And Son #1 and I agreed that we would begin a list of "Things I Want to Accomplish While I'm Eight" to ensure all of his goals are met this year.

I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Why Wait?

My mom, although in perfect health, wanted her DNR (do not resuscitate) notarized and filed with her lawyer. My brother told her it wasn't necessary; we were all planning to smother her with a pillow regardless.

In preparation, maybe we should pitch in for this beautiful piece from Coffin Couches. Mother's Day is right around the corner after all and it would actually complement Grannie Annie's funky home decor.


On a side note: Isn't it interesting that used coffins cannot be resold (by law) for dead bodies due to health and safety issues; however, they can be recycled and re-purposed for the living?

Methinks that if I owned Coffin Couches -- which would be fabulous! -- I would focus on some more interesting "body" copy on the home page (given that the products have so much character they're just screaming for some left-of-center marketing support) and relegate the biohazardous text to a secondary page. Otherwise, it's a bit off-putting!

Multitasking Mayhem

Yesterday, I was driving across town to a client when I dropped my lipstick and it fell under the seat of my car. So, while merging onto the expressway, I quickly reached my hand down between the seat and the console -- and my wrist got stuck! I had to yank it out, bleeding, so I could again sit upright and raise my line of vision from the dashboard back toward street level before I caused an accident. Only me . . .

And now for something completely different from the hubby: Kitty Wigs! Won't Stinky be surprised on her birthday (whenever that may be)?!

Customer Service #1

I stopped at the Saks Off 5th at the Niagara Falls Outlet Mall on the way home from a client last night to see if I could find a cute little black dress for an upcoming fund raising event. Nothing looked great on me but two inexpensive dresses -- one Calvin Klein and the other BCBG -- were okay. Just okay.

I asked the woman manning the dressing room what the return policy was: 30 days. "Bummer, I won't be back here until June 4."

She immediately got on the phone to her manager, told her that I cannot return to the store within 30 days and the manager told her that it's okay, she'll authorize it at the register and give me a couple days of flexibility.

Wow. That's customer service!

I went out to buy the dresses (so I can show them to my hubby, mom and sis to get feedback) and lo and behold, realized I had missed a big section of the store. I kept shopping, returned to the dressing room to try on the entire store's worth of little black dresses and, of course, looked heinous in all of them.

Needless to say, an hour later I headed back to the register with my original two frocks and . . . you guessed it, no one knew what I was talking about. "Our management would never agree to that." "Our policy is written; we cannot extend it."

To quote the Eagles, (I'm) "afraid it's all been wasted time."

Late to dinner with my girlfriends for naught. But spared from spending money on something frivolous that accentuates my lumpy body? Yes.