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Soapbox Sundays! Better Late than Never!

Yes, I am the Chinese sign of the Tiger and I actually loved the book ,Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.  I am not saying that I am for not allowing  my kids to attend sleep overs or make them practice the piano a million hours a day.  I just like the fundamentals of the book and the author is hilarious and laughing all the way to the bank because she has roused up a whole sect of “soccer moms”.  I digress . . .   What my Soapbox Sunday is about is good ‘ol Charlie Sheen and his “tiger blood” syndrome.

 I am going to own that I am going to be guilty of doing exactly what I am on my soapbox about, but maybe if I can get enough of you to agree with me, words like Charlie Sheen and tiger blood will fade away as quickly as it  ignited.

I get that for some sick and strange reason America loves to watch train wrecks of humanity Hollywood.  No one really wants to face the reality that the world is in economic crisis, the Middle East is in civil distress, the Mid-West is in civil unrest, we are going to be bellying up to the pump at $5.00 a gallon soon  and there are only three episodes left of Big Love.   I get watching some “fictious” character of Hollywood on his crash and burn tour to either Promises Rehab Facility or to something far worse with only a True Hollywood Story episode to be remembered by, seems to be a good way to fill up the days of our pathetic lives. 

Unfortunately, Charlie is not a fictious character. He has people who actually love him and hates seeing this happening.  You have the mothers of his children trying to shelter them from them seeing their dad self destruct and a family that just don’t know what to do, so they are just bracing themselves for his rock bottom moment, ready to pick up the broken pieces, if there is any left to pick up.

This is a man who is not fueled by “Tiger Blood”, even thought my Sirius Radio has a whole station dedicated to “Charlie Sheen’s Tiger Blood Radio”, like it is something real.   What he is fueled by is all the attention he is getting out of this.  He is an addict and this is classic text-book addict behavior, I should know I grew up with addicts my whole life.

The media, the fans or non-fans need to leave him alone; he should be hearing a million crickets, not a million tweets. No one should be adding fuel to this train wreck.  

He is losing everything tangible and in his surreal false reality he is thinking he IS gaining everything and has an edge on the market of life.  A life that is troubled, disturbed, and wounded.   Please America, can we please stop with the tiger blood and get back to True Blood.  At least that is fiction and not someone’s true reality.

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We are in a world of Wi-fi, smart phones, DVR machines, Google, Facebook, Twitter, GPS, and even cars that can turn on by simply pushing a button.  Heck, my Miele double ovens have more features than the average mid-sized sedan.  In all of this advancement in technology there is one part of the equation that is not meeting its demands – the human race.  We seem to be reverting backwards in society where the only thing we have to show for the progression of technology are sore thumbs and more opportunities to morph into troglodytes.  This is the inspiration of my Top Ten Tuesdays:

10:  No one can spell anymore.  Yes, and I have to say I too, have thrown that whole notion out of the window.  Why would I ever continue to waste my time in learning to spell when  my smart phone not only checks my spelling but actually anticipates correctly the word I want to use with only two characters entered?

9. What would we do without  GOOGLE:  Why would anyone ever go to the library to do research and used the Dewey Decimal System when you can stay at home in you skivvies and drink booze while doing your reasearch?  All you have to do is type in your misspelled search words and Google will spit out nine million options on that subject AND most of all supply a healthy amount of porn to go along with it.  All the Dewey Decimal System did for me in college was add five extra hours to my time spent in the friggin’ libary with no “happy endings”. 

8. Blue Hairs.  This generation is just a lost cause.  They are still trying to figure out the  “Clap On” light switch and the thought of trying get them to hop on the world-wide web-internet highway without stalling out and having “fatal” error messages appear all over their computer screen is almost impossible.

7.  Customer service is no longer an instant service.  Yes, you know what I am talking about.  You call and you get a computer answering service that asks you to speak certain things, yet never understands what you are saying.  All you get out of the call is, “Sorry I did not get that, please try again.”  Which sadly ends in, “Sorry, we cannot understand your request, please hang up and try your call again.”  By this time you are throwing your phone across the room crusing up a storm and now you not only do not have the information you needed, but you have to go to the store and replace a phone to go through the same thing again.  

6.  No one can write with a pen or pencil.  Pretty soon babies are going to be born with hands and fingers in “text ready” position. It is already stating, all that most people can do is sign their name on the dotted line. 

5. Mail a letter? What is a Stamp? Isn’t that what email is for?  Who needs to know how to lick a stamp, let alone know even what a stamp is when all you have to do is send an email.  Right now I can tell  you that the mail I get on a daily basis is only advertisements and a few bills.  On the slim chance there is a card or letter in the mail from a friend of family member, I see the beam from heaven shining down on my little mail box and as I open it, I hear Handel’s Messiah!

4. Never leave home for it.  Who needs to knock the stank off,  get dressed, put on the war paint and drive to a store and interact with humanity to get items needed when with just one click of the mouse, you have your hearts’ desire with free shipping.  You can even have your groceries dropped off at your door. 

3.   Twittering and Tweeting are not longer just for the birds.  There was a time when all the tweeting you heard was the cute little robin or sparrow sitting outside your window.  Now all you get is the annoying chirp of your smart phone letting you know someone just tweeted.

2.  Who needs doctors when there is the internet?  It seems that thanks to modern technology and the internet, those that spent sleepless nights serving their medical residencies, are now being replaced by some blogger that is probably living his mother’s basement high on bad weed and is now your “authority” on the rash that you currently have.  Sure he may have a rash, but it is due to the combination of bad weed and not moving from his computer screen for  three days.

1. Diarrhea of the Facebook and Twitter:  I will admit, I enjoy getting updates and pictures posted to my Facebook account to stay connected with many of my inner and outer circle.  HOWEVER, I  did not need to know that you are checking in and out of the grocery store, the gym, Bed, Bath and Beyond, the proctologist, the local “dispensary”  and now the bathroom.   I also love those that have no sense of self edit or restraint of their virtual pie holes and accidentally post something catty about somebody on the wall of the person they are being catty about. Or better yet, just post something horribly embarrassing to their character of what a total tool they are.   It is amusing to watch that fire storms brew when that happens.  You can pretty much tell who will NOT be coming to the next Holiday dinner in certain families.

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I am in back-to-back birthday party hell mode this month.  It seems all my friends that are really close to me are having birthday parties for their little ones that are in the same age range as PD1 and PD2.   It is one of those things that you know you need to do to be a good friend and to encourage your kids to enjoy.  Let’s be honest here, if  all you parents sit down and truly assess the whole “other” kid birthday parties, you would have to agree most of you would rather watch paint dry, have hemorrhoid surgery or endure physical therapy (that’s for you, Idiot) than have to sit through a weekend afternoon with the results of other people’s bad parenting mistakes kids.  This is the inspiration to my Top Ten Tuesday!

10.  You get the invitation for a 3-year-old birthday party that says “NO GIFTS” or “Only Educational Toys Please”.  Seriously, it is a kid’s birthday party!  If I have to go to it at least let me go pick out the most cool but  annoyingly loud and obnoxious toy and relish in the fact that it is not at my house.  And really, aren’t all toys educational?  Heck even “adult toys” have some level of educational value to them!

9.  The party starts right smack in the middle of nap time hours.  Oh joy! Nothing excites me more that sleep deprived toddlers hopped up on sugar! 

8.  No booze.  OK, I get it is for the kids, but if it is a party that requires me to have to schlep two kids, by myself, and all the swag that goes along with it, then go sit and watch the organized chaos, or not, for two hours, shouldn’t I be at least rewarded with a glass of wine or cocktail?  Again, it all goes back to booze makes everything better.

7. Gift Bags.  I get that is nice to have a little parting prize for the kiddos but do we have to try to reenact the Oscar’s after-party swag bags?  A sandbox bucket, a thing of bubbles and a sticker is more than enough!  Even though the gesture is nice, the toddler did not need a cruise on Carnival along with the bucket and few sand toys.

6.  Games.  Having small children try to play musical chairs is a lot like trying to herd cats. Again, I have a lot more patience for that, with a cocktail in my hand! 

5. Cake.  Now, I love cake!  I love to make cakes!  At this age cupcakes are the way to go.  Nothing is harder to manage than a piece of cake for two small children.  At least with a cupcake, it is a finger food and can be manhandled and tolerate the mutilation a small child can bring upon the situation.  Clean up is still bad, just not as nearly as bad.

4.  Rain.  NOTHING is worse than being cooped up in a house with ten small children and their parents all hopped up on sugar, not napped and stir crazy.  Again, where is my cocktail?

3. No Bounce House/Jolly Jump.  Pulling up to a party, nothing is more relieving for me to see  than a Bounce House/Jolly Jump.  I actually get some mingle time and the kids will sleep like champs that night!  Oh, bless the creator of the Bounce House/Jolly Jump.

2. No Opening of the Presents.  What?  That is the best part!  Sure it makes the kids a bit antsy and some may feel left out, but IT IS NOT THEIR BIRTHDAY!  This is the first lesson on self-control and being happy on the outside even though you are green with envy on the inside and want to kick that kid’s ass for getting cooler toys than you have.  I love seeing the expression of the kid as he/she opens the gift we took all the time and effort to get, wrap and drag to the party.  I have also noticed it brings a very early stage of  joy to PD2 to see that her little buddy liked what she got them. Maybe I am a freak, but I love giving more than receiving! Get you minds out of the gutters, this a post about kid birthday parties!

1. Other People’s Kids.  Need I say more?

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* I am using an image of Peter Krause since many have said that the hubs looks very much like this actor.  Peter’s current role in Parenthood, actually not only looks like the hubs, but reminds me of the hubs.   Except the hubs is not nearly as uptight.

Well, I guess it is time to introduce the guy that is behind the name of Pie Hole, that would be my best friend, thorn in my side, the one that can push all my buttons and at the end of the day I somehow like him enough that I don’t poison his food. 

This is the man who took on a challenge me (I still think he may have lost a bet somewhere down the line) and has been the best thing that ever happened to me outside of my kids, but without him I wouldn’t have them, so that makes him the BEST thing that ever happened to me. 

He can put the Pie Hole in its place and make me laugh like no other. 

He has integrity that I strive to model.

He is tight  good with money to the point I am almost certain my over a carat diamond engagement ring was once a piece of coal (if you don’t know how he could have made a diamond from a piece of coal,  please crawl out from under that rock).

He is the most amazing daddy to my girls and it brings tears to my eyes to see this amazing bond he has with them.  He is the bar that they will set for their future partners and that is a very high bar. 

He wants to run and hid when emotional issues surface (God has a sick sense of humor in trying to stretch us, he was given nothing but girls, even the dog.)  Can’t wait till the puberty years hit this house.

He is someone I admire and respect.  He respects me and cherishes me.  We see eye to eye on most everything and those we don’t we can still listen and respect each other in our stance.

He is a MacGyver  in every sense of the word.  That man can fix and do anything.  

He has a sassy mouth and has a sarcasm that can outdo me. 

He wears MC Hammer jam pants still when he lounges and it amuses many of my friends.  He actually will go out of his way to put on a pair when one girlfriend comes over. 

His friendships are deep and long and he is respected and successful at his work.

He is the current president of the National Nerd Herd Association, and noting is more exciting than having a house full of Mechanical Engineers on a Saturday night (seriously) It is like an episode of Jack- Ass meets Myth Busters without the stupid 12-year-old toilet humor.

I hit jack pot when I ran off to Vegas and committed my life to him at the “Garden of Love” wedding chapel.  He is the only stable thing I ever had in my life outside of my God-given drive to be a strong and independent person. 

He is my Polaris, my North Star.  Always there never-failing and always shining.

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I found that best gift for all you ladies to give to that special man in your life and maybe the Idiot can pass this idea on to  Ms. Idiot.  After seeing this infomercial no man’s stocking should be without this, this Christmas morning!

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When I was  about six or seven we lived in California.  My dad was gone a lot, doing who knows what , and I was left with my first step mother her daughter that was six years older than me and my youngest half-sister that was just a baby. 

 Let me back up a little.  What I mean by who know where my father was, meant really that.  He would just disappear for weeks, not leave much money, we had no transportation, but could walk to the store if we needed food, again that is if we had enough  money.  As mentioned before my father was a Vietnam Vet that was still trying to adjust back into reality and was not doing that well (he is doing amazing now and has turned out to be a good dad to his adult daughter and a wonderful grandfather.  I would never call him a great father, because he was not that when I needed him to be and he owns that.  He has a strength that I admire so much in him.  He made tons of mistakes and big ones, but he owns them all, turned his life around and polished up his heart of gold and made himself a success story – there are still issues and he does like to push buttons, but he conquered his personal Everest!).  

During this time, my step mother would make these dolls, I called them Pee- Pee Dolls, because that was exactly what they were.  They were made out of nylon stockings and fluffy felt.  They were little cave men and when you would lift up their beards, their pee-pee’s would pop up.  I was part of the assembly line on those projects and I think that is why I abstained from sex until well into my twenties, those things scared the death out of me. Anyway, we had three next door neighbors in their late twenties and early thirties that always  participated in flea markets selling their art and willow furniture they made.  They would take bags of this Pee -Pee Dolls and sell them for her.  With that money we would have money for our daily needs.

If things were a bit tight and there were no cave men to sell, these next door neighbors would bring us bags of groceries and check up on us a couple of times a week and do odds and ends around the house if needed or just be a companion for my step-mother to smoke weed with and socialize.  They were very wonderful men, beautiful men, the kind you could stare at all day and never get bored doing it; they each looked like a member of an 80’s hair band. They had great patience with us and even took interest in our pictures we drew, stories we waned to be read, you know kid stuff.

One day my step mother explained to me that our neighbors were gay.  I responded to her, “I know they are happy, they are the nicest people on the street, why wouldn’t they be”.  She laughed and left it at that.  She realized that child like perception was the best way to look at life. 

We moved away a little while later leaving my father there and lost touch. Over the years I always wondered what happened to them and wished I could have thanked them for their kindness.  My grandmother told me that they moved to Wisconsin and opened a restaurant (since she owned that house we lived in).   A year ago, I was having a conversation with my Aunt (not related to my father) and somehow this story came up.  When I said Wisconsin she asked if their names were Jim, David, and Jessi.  I was floored! How did she know them?  Apparently, the world is a small one and when it comes to antique dealers and ex husband’s ex wives.   Turns out my aunt’s ex-husband and father of her son married a woman who was friends with them and they were all antique dealers (they are now divorced).  They all moved to Wisconsin and they started a restaurant and antique shop.  Within twenty-four hours of that conversation, I had a phone number and was calling these three angels from my childhood.  I could finally thank them!

The phone call was a bit of a shock to them and it was a bit of a shock to hear Jessi passed away about ten years ago.  It was a great conversation and I could tell that they were genuinely happy  “gay”  to hear from me. I was able to thank them and they were able to hear good reports on how it all turned out.  I could tell they were proud and honored that I made an effort to contact them just to say thank you.  We never exchanged information, we just left the conversation the way it was and hung up.  I feel that for some reason both of us needed to have that happen, not sure why, but it did.  

Those three men were my first introduction to the gay community and I was blessed to have them in my life.  With that experience, I could never hold prejudice or malic towards someone because of their sexual orientation.  What someone does in their bedroom is less concerning to me than what someone does out among society.  These young men were kind, caring, loving and thoughtful.  They showed compassion to a woman and three children, they were even kind to my father.  They understood that he was messed up from the war, and even though they did not like what he was doing, they were kind.   I cherish this piece of my history very much.  It was part of the molding process of understanding what being a kind and tolerant person is about.

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Well for all of those faithful bloggers that get suckered in each day to read me, the Idiot decided to start showcasing some of his blog buddies via their spouses.  I was hit late Tuesday night.  Click here for the dish the hubs gave on me.  The hubs actually surprised me on his writing skills.  

🙂

Getting To Know Missss Viiitttoooo Better (Courtesy of Mr. Vito)

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Not my jeep, but looks exactly like it.

When I was in my mid- to- late twenties I was a Human Resources Manager and Payroll Manager for a large car dealership with several locations.  There were about 220 employees that ranged from sales, service techs,parts clerks, managers, office staff, etc.  We had a color of diversity in culture, personalities and management styles.  The one department I very much loved and appreciated was the Service and Parts Departments.  It was a man’s world and I tend to get along very well with men; I am not easily offended and I love practical jokes.  Every day I would check in with the various service departments and get my fix of off-color banter and practical jokes.  I was far from being a conventional Human Resource Manager, which I was told made me a good one (I think many in my field would debate that).

I had recently bought a brand new bright yellow Jeep Wrangler (that was the love of my life until I got pregnant and had to sell that for my beloved Volkswagen wagon – somewhere in Idaho that little yellow Jeep is playing in the snow.).  The first day I drove it to work a bunch of the service technicians and managers were standing in the service bay drinking coffee and one yelled out, “Did someone call a cab?”.  They did that everyday, thereafter, it never grew old to them.   As I was getting out of the car, one of the service managers starting giving me the business that I must have decided to change teams.  “Change teams?” , I asked.  He said,  “Yes, you decided to become a “lip stick” lesbian.” He continued with,  “Everyone knows that when an attractive single woman buys a Jeep that is their “coming  out” gift to themselves.”  I just rolled my eyes and laughed and finished his banter with famous Seinfeld line, “Not that there is anything wrong with that!.” 

A few days later I had happened to pull into the local health food store and a woman just pulled in right behind me and started up a very friendly conversation. Once inside she kept following me and talking and finally she blurted out that I was so beautiful and she just has to go out on a limb and see if I am seeing anyone.  Me, being naive, yet obviously knowing that she was on the opposite team the minute I met her, I thought she was asking because she had a brother or a male friend she wanted to set me up with.  I told her I was single and she said, “Great, would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow,”  My head started spinning since I had never been picked up by a woman before. I turned a million shades red and fumbled all over myself trying to find the words to say,  “I am not gay,  but flattered by your invitation.”  The woman then proceeded to ask me if that was my Jeep I was driving.  I was a little confused what my Jeep had to do with this, but I told her it was.  She looked really confused and then rejected and quickly excused herself. 

The next day I went into work and told the two service managers about my adventure in the health food store and they were just rolling on the floor in tears holding their stomachs.  One of them said to me, “See, I told you, that Jeep is going to open doors to your rather boring dating life that you never knew existed.” 

Over the next two weeks I had four more similar experiences happen like at the health food store.  Every time I would go and tell the service managers about it and they would just be hysterical over it.  I was starting to think they were right.  Wow! I never knew the type of car you drove determined your sexual orientation.  It was a shame that I was not interested in women because my dating life would have been resurrected from the dead. 

A few days later I was leaving work early and it was the light of day.  I went to put a box of employee handbooks in the back of my Jeep and there I saw it; the answer of why all the advancements from the same-sex.  It was a thin rainbow bumper sticker that ran along the length of my bumper.  I never saw this before, I had not put anything in back of my jeep until that day, the way I parked at home never gave me the opportunity to see it and I never left work before sunset. 

The sticker looked very closely like this.

The minute I saw the sticker, I knew who the culprits were.  I peeled it off my bumper and headed into the service manager’s office. As I entered in the office with the sticker in hand they exploded into laughter and asked me what took me so long.  They told me that they put that on my Jeep the very frist week I bought it.   They said it was a riot to hear me come in and tell of my encounters and walk away so puzzled by how a car could be that impactful. Now it made sense why each woman looked utterly confused when I would tell them I was not gay.   Apparently, the whole service and part department were in on this joke and were highly amused.  I had to admit after all the practical jokes I was in on with other people, I had it coming to me and I too had a good laugh.  However, I did tell them to fasten their seatbelts, the karma from the lesbian community coming back to them was going to be really bad.

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Today is Veteran’s Day and since I am a daughter of a Vietnam Vet, I sit and really think about this day and what we are truly observing.  I will never fully understand what the Veterans of this nation from any war has gone through and are currently going through, but I have a compassion and honor towards each and every one of them.  The below post is a piece of something I have been working on for over ten years.  It is the birth of a book. 

 I remember walking in the cold and rain past the Korean War Memorial and its frozen majestic metal soldiers.  The dogwoods were in bloom and blossoms were falling with the steady sprinkle of the rain.  I caught one in mid-air before it could reach its final resting place; it was delicate and perfect.  I placed it behind my ear under my hood and continued on my journey.  My purpose was to pay respects to a man who had fought for this country beside my father.
As I made my way up the sidewalk I saw a black structure ahead. It seemed to grow in size as I drew closer, and suddenly I was enveloped in an ocean of black stone walls with numberless engravings.  I was unprepared for this; I had heard that The Wall was big, but that was a gross understatement.  I had no idea where to start among the many flags, flowers, family pictures, unopened letters, and poems left at the base of The Wall.  Then I noticed a kiosk a few feet away where there were directories.  I flipped through one as if I were trying to look up the local pizza parlor.  Eventually, I found the name and location code.  I was on a mission, still very detached from what I was doing; it was exactly like solving a puzzle.
As I walked down the sloping sidewalk, the wall seemed to grow even larger and the engravings became recognizable as individual names.  My heart beat faster; I felt hot and sweaty beneath my raincoat and my throat tightened.  I was beginning to understand that this was not just one of the many tourist attractions of the Nation’s Capitol, but was instead a horrifying reminder amidst this beautiful setting of manicured dogwood parks, majestic granite, and immaculate walkways; a perfectly evanescent of Viet-Nam.

I could not grasp the sheer number of names on that Wall.  It seemed to go on forever, with each name representing a family, a wife, a lover, a friend, a son, an enemy never reconciled with… but most of all a life never truly lived unto its fullest.  How did this happen?  How did it get so far out of hand?  Those were the questions that ran through my mind as I finally found the name for which I was searching.   It was too high for me to reach; I found a step stool provided by the groundskeepers, pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper and began taking an impression (never suspecting that when this mere scrap of paper, when presented to my father, would cause him to fall on his knees and weep as no one had ever seen before). 

 As I rubbed, I began thinking about his family and those who survived him.  How they must have felt so robbed and betrayed by death, the Government, and the senseless war he fought.  He was very young — in his prime — and it never should have happened.  It never should have happened to any of them.

I left the dogwood blossom that I had caught earlier on the ground just beneath his name, and an undeniable truth suddenly occurred to me: The Wall is not big enough… it is missing numberless names, and for countless reasons!  Most particularly, the names of the survivors with whom these men and women took their last breaths.  My father is one such survivor.  The guilt that he bears on that account is just another death sentence awaiting execution at any time.  He is only the least bit better off than those veterans who have lost their minds, their self-respect, and who sit outside the local grocery store hoping for a handout.  Likewise the veterans who didn’t make it even a decade past the war, whether death was by their own hand, or drugs, or alcohol, or violence.  And you must include the veterans who cannot cope without substance abuse or some toxic relationship to dull their pain.  Their widows, their ex-wives, their estranged family members, their forgotten high school classmates, their neglected children who forfeited childhood because their fathers lost all enthusiasm, compassion, understanding, and their once responsible outlook on life… they must be included in the list of casualties.

At that moment, standing in the rain and looking at my reflection in The Wall, the child of a Vietnam veteran, I knew that this Wall did not only memorialize the tragedies of those engraved upon it.  I realized that this Wall was only prologue to another war that will be fought for generations yet to come.

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As promised I am posting part two of the Halloween disaster at Disneyland  from a couple of weeks ago.   So let me jump right on in!   As you all know I have a two and half-year old and a fourteen month old.  That pretty much limits the “appropriate rides” for the family.  Since it was pouring out, I was a drowned rat, and I refused to purchase a poncho, we were very limited.  We found ourselves in the area that had the fairytale character rides, like Peter Pan, Pinocchio, Snow White, Dumbo, the Merry-go-Round etc.  That seemed harmless right?

PD1 loves all of those characters, yet I really have not let her watch any of the movies ( that should have been my first red flag). We thought we were the cat’s pajamas of parents sticking close to such “appropriate rides”  We get in line for Snow White and I may  have been on it before, but I did not remember it.  There was nothing indicating that this could be the possible worse idea that this should be considered an “appropriate ride”. . . well that is if I would have looked around and saw that there were no other kids in line under the age of ten! 

We load up in the car and off we go.  It starts out a little spooky, but nothing that would alarm PD1, then the ride takes a turn for the worst and the witch pops out at you around a corner and it all goes down hill from there.  I thought she was going to claw the hubs to death trying to get inside his rain jacket and she just kept saying, “Scary Snow White!”  The ride was finally over and she was in tears and needed to be talked down off the ledge.  We think another ride that will distract her, so we head to Peter Pan!

Now this ride was not as bad as Snow White, but seriously, PD1 was not convinced. She was just waiting in terror for that crummy witch to pop out at her again.  There was more tears and talking off ledges.

We finally decided that this whole fairytale land is for the birds so we decide to go to Pirates of the Caribbean.  We are convinced that she will love the music and the dancing pirates.  OK, I know by now each one of you reading this is screaming at me, “You are the stupidest parent on the face of the earth!”  Yes, I will own our stupidity.  One quarter the way through Pirate’s I looked over at the hubs who was holding our child’s head in his chest as she is not just crying, but sobbing, and saying over and over, “I want to go home mommy, I want to go home daddy”.  That is when I said to him, “Just so you know, we suck as parents!”  He nodded in full agreement.  We both just held our breath begging for the ride to get over so our little one will only have a week of night terrors not a life time. 

On our way back to Dumbo, a total safe option, we had to work our way by the Haunted House, due to the friggin’ trick or treat lines from hell.  Of course we would!  Why not have to walk right by the scariest part of the park after we just scared the piss out of our child and probably permanently scared her for the rest of her life.  That was another talk off the ledge moment. 

Finally we got to Dumbo and the Merry-go-Round and my thought was to ride those puppies as many times as we could. I was trying to do a “Superman” of reversing the past’s damage.  No, that did not work, that only worked for Superman.   We now have to have a night-light, the star turtle and the door open.  This was a child that could sleep in a cave before this little adventure to the Happiest Place on Earth.  Like I said before, we sucked as parents that day. The only “Happiest Place on Earth”establishment I am going to venture into for a while is Costco!

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