Sometimes when you think you're getting The Bee Gees you actually end up with Bollywood. It happens, roll with it.

Sometimes  A lot of the time Most of the time, I like to go to thrift stores. As in, I pretty much meet the DSM-V criteria for an addict, only for thrift shops. And I've scored many a wonderful find, let me tell you. Like the time I bought a 1918 Rookwood Pottery piece hand painted by one of their A+ artists, for $1.98, and sold it on eBay for $405. Or the time I bought a Bakelite poker caddy for $5 at an auction, and sold it for $365. I'm just lucky, plus I have what some people call "The Eye." This is when you can walk into a room full of crap, and miraculously are drawn to the ONE THING that has any value whatsoever. I have that, and I really do count myself blessed. The money I've made selling those treasures has paid for school tuition, winter coats, and one ABSOLUTELY AMAZING Christmas. Also, for my divorce.

But when I walked into the Goodwill last week, nothing prepared me for what was about to happen. Sure, I may have found a strand of gray baroque pearls set in sterling silver and 18k gold, with matching earrings, but the real magic happened when I was in the check-out lane, perusing the used CD's. That's when I saw a copy of the soundtrack to Saturday Night Live. Woohoo! I opened it up and checked for scratches, and when I saw it was in pristine condition I popped that sweet little baby into my cart.

You know that moment when you open up your bag from the thrift store and think Awesome! I'm gonna to listen to the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever, while I nuke a couple of hotdogs for the kid. I'M SO EXCITED!  Then you notice that the actual CD is called, "Check It Out!" and has a bunch of songs that are NOT sung by Barry Gibb or Yvonne Elliman? And then you look a little bit closer and see that the songs are called, "Punjabi Party Mix", and "It Was Wrong Mix", or even, "Don't Sample This Mix?"  And then you pop it in the CD player, just for Ha's, give it a listen, and....and.... that's when you realize HOLY F*CKING SHITBALLS! I accidentally bought an Indian Punjabi dance mix!

That just happened to me.
Oooh. They're at a discotheque!

I won't rape you until we're married. I PROMISE.

 Look! Now we're MARRIED!!!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to my awesome Bollywood CD. SO MANY TIMES.

Just when you think you're done with word problems, YOU FIND OUT YOU'RE NEVER DONE WITH WORD PROBLEMS.

My son has recently Discovered Time. Not time, as in, Oh hey, it's about 5:30. Time to start dinner. 

No. He has Discovered Time, as in, It is exactly 4:31pm. How many seconds until dinner is ready?

Basically, he has turned into a Time Nazi. At the beginning of this phase, when he wanted to know what time it was, I would say something like, Eh, it's around 5:30ish.

Which, if you've never encountered a Time Nazi, is totally not the right answer.

The correct answer is, It is exactly 5:28pm.

So now, when he asks for the time, I make him come to the kitchen and find that shit out himself.

Tonight, on the way to our martial arts class, we ended up discussing how the rate of velocity affects what time you arrive at your destination. This conversation took place completely by accident, and I wish I was a Time Lord, and could go back in time to erase the concept of time, rate of velocity, and all related concepts from his young brain.

But since I can't do that (legally), we ended up talking about how long it takes to drive a mile. Which is where the rate of velocity came in. Then he dropped it, and I thought Well, that was easy. Maybe his obsessive nature is taking a backseat this summer. Woohoo!!!!

Tonight, as I was enjoying my 2nd glass of wine, my child posed a question. A question that let me know the idea of Time + Rate of Velocity HAD NOT LEFT THE REALM OF HIS CONSCIOUSNESS.

The question was this:

If you are driving 59 miles per hour (please note that he did NOT round it up to 60mph. Because that would have been TOO EASY!), and the ocean is 100 miles away (We live in ILLINOIS), how long would it take you to get to the ocean?

Ok, I would like to take this moment to say, WHAT THE F*CK???!! I thought I was done with word problems back in 6th grade. WTF kind of bizarre joke is the universe playing on me? I'm the Language Arts parent, his dad was the Math and Sciences parent!!! F*CK YOU, UNIVERSE!!!

However....HOWEVER, I did not get to the age I am by being stupid. In fact, I am a firm believer in "work smart, not hard." So my first question to The Boy was this:

Do YOU know how long it will take me to get to the ocean?

He said no. Just as I suspected.

So I just made some shit up, I think I said something like, Well, according to my calculations, it will take exactly 1 hour and 39 minutes to reach the ocean. 

And everybody was happy.

Goats+tranquilizer darts = PURE WIN

Back story. My deceased ex-husband had a machete and a field-radio, both of which his grandfather brought back from WWII. My son is OBSESSED with the machete, which I've been wise enough to hide from him because....

Most of the time, Zach forgets about the machete's existence. And then there are days like today, right after I dropped his sister off at tutoring:

Z: When I grow up, I can use my machete to cut throught the jungle underbrush, right?

Me: We live in Illinois. There is no jungle underbrush.

Z: But just in case, I could, right?

*I have already hidden all sharp knives, scissors, box cutters, and razor blades from this child. Primarily because he has no concept of his own mortality.

Me: Probably not. You don't need a weapon.

Z: Well, then I'll get a gun! When I'm older you can't tell me what to do, and so I'm going to get a gun. Not to kill anyone, though.

Me: So what are you going to use it for?

Z: Hunting.

*My son is a big softie, and would never harm or kill an animal. Unless it's a rollypoly. And even then, those were accidental deaths.

Me: You know that means you'd have to actually kill an animal, right?

Z: I would only hunt ducks. Because they're kind of ugly.

Me: Ok, except after you kill the duck, you have to rip out it's feathers and take out it's insides. Then you have to eat it.

Z: *completely aghast* Is that a rule?

Me: Well, yeah. You can't just kill an animal and leave it to rot. You have to eat whatever you kill.

Z: *thinking* I know! I'll only shoot GOATS.

Me: And then you'll eat them?

Z: Oh, I forgot. Do people eat goats?

Me: Uncle Asshat ate curried goat in Jamaica, remember? Some people do.

Z: Oh yeah! Remember that episode of The World's Biggest Cheapskates? That guy ate a goat head. He even ate its EYEBALLS!!!

Me: *sigh*

Z: Ok, how's this idea. I'll only shoot the goats with tranquilizer darts. Then I'll sell the goats to farmers. It's a win-win, right?

Me: .......

Z: Seriously Mom, I'm going to make a TON of money.

Because nothing tastes better than a grilled chicken with a can of beer shoved up its ass.

Tonight the kids and I spent the day with my best friend, her 2 kids (who are friends with my 2 kids), and her husband. K and I drank margaritas, the kids swam, and her amazing husband grilled ribs and 2 chickens. It was amazeballs. So good.

K's  husband cooked something called, "Beer-Butt Chicken", and I've never had chicken that was so juicy and yummy in my life.

If you've never had (or heard of) Beer-Butt Chicken, then you've come to the right place, because I'm going to tell you how it's done.

1. Buy a whole chicken
2. Rinse it
3. Heat your grill to 350 degrees
4. Open a can of beer
5. While holding the chicken vertically, shove the can of beer up the chicken's asshole
6. Open another can of beer
7. Drink this beer in an attempt to forget the fact that you just anally assaulted a dead chicken
8. Use toothpicks to hold the skin together at the neck
9. Set the chicken, ass side down, on your grill
10. Shut the grill lid
10. Walk away for 1.5 hours
11. Use kitchen shears to cut the chicken open, because that beer can is going to be HOT
12. Eat that ish
13. Go to the store and buy your wife and her friend more margaritas
14. Clean up after dinner while your wife and her friend drink
15. Do some laundry

Ok, 14-15 are optional, but that's what K's husband did. I'm pretty sure it made the chicken taste better.

13 is NOT optional, however K's husband seemed to feel that it was, so we got no more margaritas. :(