Beth Labonte's Blog, page 4

BK

When it comes to ribs, or any meat for that matter, I'm usually willing to pay more than $1 for it.  I think it's just a good rule to live by.  But thanks for the gross offer, BK. 

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Study Finds Cubicles To Be Soundproof

A recent study has found that when you take personal calls at your desk, not a single one of your cubicle neighbors can hear a word that you say.  Acoustical engineers from several leading universities have determined that an invisible, soundproof, barrier rises up out of the floor, encases you in a bubble, and prevents everybody in the immediate vicinity from hearing about your plantar fasciitis and your gambling addiction, and even that one time you may have been talking about having murdered someone.

According to researchers, it is a widely held misconception that if your cubicle neighbor is sitting on the opposite side of a one-inch-thick fabric wall, they will be forced to listen to every second of your annoying, bullshit, personal conversations.  When in truth, the study finds that you can say whatever gross, disturbing, and totally weird thing that you want, and your coworkers will just think that you're working really hard and doing your job.  They won't have heard a thing.  Not even the part about how you had diarrhea all last night.
 
The totally soundproof chambers

The rising of the invisible, soundproof, barrier may be triggered by speaking the words "Jiffy Lube," "What are we doing for Thanksgiving," and/or "Let me get on Expedia and give you a call back," although some evidence suggests that repeatedly clearing the phlegm from ones throat may also be effective.

While the invisible, soundproof, barrier has been confirmed, further research is needed to determine whether or not people standing outside of your cubicle can still see you scratching your ass.

Performance Evaluation Asks Secretary About Accomplishments, Goals

In a totally uncalled for, dick move, Human Resources has asked a secretary to complete a Performance Evaluation detailing her accomplishments from the past year.

"Are they kidding?" asks the secretary, squinting at her computer screen because she can't believe that's an actual question that anybody would ask of someone who routinely empties the K-cups out of the Keurig machine. "I mean, they've seen my job description, right?"

The Performance Evaluation, which is distributed to all employees regardless of how depressed it will make some of them, is due on November 16th.

"I haven't killed myself yet. Does that count?" sort of jokes the secretary as she tries to just click Submit without filling in any of the comment boxes. "Crap, that doesn't work."

The secretary, who has mentally run through all of her typical tasks, numerous times, is unable to pick a single one that could non-sarcastically be referred to as an accomplishment.

“Answering the phone, opening the mail, bringing the Fed Ex packages outside to the Fed Ex box. Could that be one? I mean, I always get it out there before the 6:00 p.m. pick-up time.” Upon being informed that, no, that is not an accomplishment but rather a regular duty that a Golden Retriever could perform, the secretary returns to staring despondently at her computer screen, only to find that the next question asks about goals she plans to set for the coming year.

“Christ.”

While it would seem reasonable that HR develop separate evaluations – one for employees who work on important projects and make actual decisions, and one for employees that print out Google Map directions to Town Hall – they have consistently failed to do so.

“Do they really need to rub it in my face like this?” asks the secretary, catching out of the corner of her eye the stapler that she once spent two hours trying to un-jam. “I guess I’ll just say that I plan to ‘catch up on my filing’ and maybe ‘take a class in Word’ or something.  That shows ambition, right?”

After drumming her fingers on the keyboard for several seconds, the secretary decides to type a single period into all four comment boxes before hitting Submit.  As of press time, the secretary was seen heading home to work on her second novel.

How We're Celebrating Halloween At The Office

1.  Switching to an orange highlighter.
2.  Imagining each of our coworkers dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.
3.  Wearing the black cardigan that eternally hangs from the back of our chair.
4.  Abandoning giant bag of Necco Waifers in the break room.
5.  Listening to Thriller until asked to stop.
6.  Coughing from flu virus.
7.  Egging boss's house on our lunch break.
8.  Bringing glow sticks to status meeting.
9.  Changing ringtone to Monster Mash before setting it to vibrate.
10. Leaving early.

Classroom Notifications

One of the worst things about preschool is receiving the dreaded Classroom Notification email.  These emails never notify you about anything good.  It's never "Surprise! We're keeping the kids for the weekend plus here's a coupon to Mohegan Sun!"  Usually it's about an outbreak of lice, foot & mouth disease, or conjunctivitis.  This past week I received one for a confirmed case of Fifth Disease.

Fifth Disease?  Anyone ever heard of this? I hadn't, so I consulted Wikipedia which said:  The name derives from its historical classification as the fifth of the classical childhood skin rashes (preceded by Measles, Scarlet Fever, Rubella, and Duke's Disease).  I can picture it now:

Scientist #1:  Well fellas, we've got another case of that mysterious rash.  I think it's time that we gave it a name.

Scientist #2:  Where's Duke?  He always comes up with the best names.  Well, except for Duke's Disease, he kind of just mailed that one in.

Scientist #1:  Shit, Duke's out sick today with Rubella. Now what?

Scientist #2:   I dunno.  How 'bout we call it Fifth Disease, since it's like the fifth one on the list.

Scientist #1:  You have a brilliant mind!   

According to Wikipedia, the disease is also referred to as slapped cheek syndrome, slapcheek, slap face or slapped face. There is a disease referred to as SLAP FACE?  Now the idiotic disease name makes a bit more sense, because clearly the scientists were these guys:

 
Slap Face.  As my son would say, "Real??"  Yes, real.  There is a chance we will have to take you to the doctor for a case of Slap Face.  Then, I think, I will get questioned by someone from Child Protective Services.  I can't wait for next week's notification about a confirmed case of Rotavirus - also referred to as Stinky Butt Syndrome, Poop Butt, Poopy Buttcheeks, and Stinkbum.
It's going to be a long winter. 

Pinterest is the Devil

A lot of my son's preschool friends are having birthday parties at those places that are filled with bouncy castles.  If you don't already know what that is, I don't really know how else to describe it.  I mean, it's a big room and it's filled with bouncy castles and parents stand around awkwardly in their socks trying to make small talk with other parents.  And I think they might have Wi-Fi.  Anyway, we considered having my son's party there this year, but since we are also going to Disney World we decided to just have an at-home family party instead.  Of course this morning he asks me if we're going to the bouncy place for his birthday.

Me:  "Not this time, buddy.  We're having your party at home because we're going to Disney World."
Him:   "And because that's going to be more fun than the bouncy place?"

Shit, I hope so.  I mean, you can bounce all day for about eleven bucks.  Maybe we should have discussed this before we booked the big fancy trip.

But anyway...we're having the party at home.  And in the spirit of our fun but apparently not as fun as a bouncy castle place vacation, I decided to do a Disney theme.  At first I wanted to do a Classic Mickey Mouse theme - red, black & white.  You know, this guy:



I figured I could find some decorations to buy online and then get some red and black plates & napkins.  Done and done.  But do you know what actually happens in the year 2013 when you Google the phrase "classic mickey mouse party"?  Fucking Pinterest happens.

Things started out bad:


Cupcakes with bows and Oreo cookies on sticks with at least five removable parts.  Is it even fun to eat an Oreo cookie off a stick? It seems like it would immediately crumble and fall on the floor. 
Then things got even worse.  Now we're talking homemade subway signs.  Homemade bottle labels.  HOMEMADE STRAWS.  I'm not sure what's going on in that bottom righthand picture, there seems to be a can of Coke and some Redi Whip.  Probably a special "signature" drink.  These types of parties always have a signature drink. 


And worse:
Exactly how many sets of lollipop molds do I need to invest in for this party?  Is that even a thing?  I take solace in the fact that every kid leaving this party is in for a boatload of cavities. 
And worse still:

Now they're bringing mason jars into it.  Totally uncalled for.  Never mind that I'll need to get out a drill in order to make the straw holes.  You may as well ask me to make corn on the cob in the middle of the afternoon. 
Then there's the popcorn buffet, because to throw a party like this you need to have invited at least 350 people:

I'm not sure why Goofy is lying face down in one of the bowls. Pull yourself together, man. Of course there are also take away bags for the popcorn with three different stickers to hold it shut:


These pictures are all from the Hostess With the Mostess Blog.  Don't get me wrong, all of these parties are gorgeous and I would love to do them if I had unlimited time and money.  I obviously write all of this out of total and complete jealousy. But I'd also love to be able to buy some of this stuff from Party Express if it were an option.  It's not an option.  If you want to do any of this you have to craft it yourself.  Or you have to hire someone to craft it for you and spend the equivalent of a small bar mitzvah.  Unfortunately, most of us can't do either of those things. Yet Pinterest bombards us with these pictures.
Fortunately, what was an option at Party Express was this 8 pack of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse cups (or "goblets," if you will):

And these bags of chips from Stop & Shop:

And these favor bags with a star on them from Target:

The only signature drink that we will be having is a packet of grape Kool-Aid that my son is super excited about.  I think it will be okay.  And if not, who cares? We're going to Disney World.
Screw you Pinterest.
Screw you Pinterest.
Screw you Pinterest. 

Ridiculous Food Art

When I titled this post "Ridiculous Food Art" I didn't mean it like "Woah, that food art's ridiculously awesome!"  I meant it like "That food art's ridiculously stupid."  I found the article in the October issue of Parents Magazine while eating breakfast one morning (having just served my son a peanut butter sandwich with a side of grapes).  The tagline read:
 Turn simple ingredients and techniques into adorable meals that will wow your picky eater. Here's your permission to play!
Hey Parents Magazine, I know you want us moms to really live it up and go nuts, but if you think carving flower petals out of cucumber skins is our idea of "playing," you can take a flying leap out of the parenting magazine business.    
Here's idiotic food creation #1:


My first reaction is - when did my kid go on Weight Watchers?  A few carrot sticks, half a hard boiled egg, a leaf, a few scraps of cheeses?  It's not even supposed to be a snack - this is supposed to be a meal.  And, according to the article, this "meal" has 197 calories.  I found recipes with similar calorie counts on a website called "3 Fat Chicks."  But whatever, that part's secondary.  My main annoyance is that I should stand there in the kitchen pissing away twenty minutes crafting this thing to a) present it to a 3 year old, and b) present it not only to a 3 year old, but present it to a 3 year old who will immediately disassemble it.  
Here's idiotic food creation #2:

This is one of my favorites because it involves having to make corn on the cob.  Not only will I have to make corn on the cob in the middle of the afternoon, but I will have to make corn on the cob just so I can slice off two small pieces.  Then I also have to make an omelette.  I bet those paper thin carrot slices and dry bits of pita bread are real filling.  My son totally won't be looking for snacks after this meal is over.  
Idiotic food creation #3:

Now we're back into Weight Watchers territory.  31 calories!  Nice.  Your toddler will have that coveted thigh gap in no time.  And what kid wouldn't want to be presented with a plate full of grass from the backyard? Those are actually chives there under the mushrooms.  Have you ever eaten a pile of chives?  No?  THEN WHY THE HELL WOULD MY KID?  They could have at least fashioned a little pool for the ladybugs out of ranch dressing. Jesus.  So let's see what my kid would eat here - okay, hang on a minute, carry the two....NOTHING.  The person that wrote this article seems to have forgotten that these were all intended for A PICKY EATER.  Guess what?  A picky eater would eat absolutely nothing from this dish, unless the yellow spots on the ladybugs are made out of mini M&M's.  But something tells me they're made out of quinoa or lentil beans or something equally revolting.

Idiotic food creation #4:


This is where my growing toddler eats a meal consisting of 16 Cheerios.   I won't even pretend to know how they carved that grass out of a cucumber peel, or whose kid actually eats cucumber peel.

And last, but not least, idiotic food creation #5:


The worst part of this one is the link below it that says "Our juggling monkey would be perfect for a birthday party with a circus theme."  OH REALLY.  Am I supposed to make ten of these for all his friends? Why are they even here for breakfast? Are they sleeping over?  Fuck that.  You know what kids actually want for breakfast?  Chocolate chip pancakes.  Or munchkins.  Especially if it's their birthday.  God, this thing is like a punishment.  "Here's a plate full of weird smelling cheeses and raw red peppers....we love you buddy!"  
In conclusion, I will never make any of these things ever.  When I was little and my mother wanted to get me to try new foods, well, I actually don't remember what she did.  Which might be my point.  Your 3 year old will never remember if you made him or her any of these fancy looking dishes.  If you feel like they simply must eat mozzarella balls and arugula, just throw it on a plate like a normal person.  Because this, Parents Magazine, is not normal.  This is the kind of shit moms see on Pinterest that makes them feel bad about themselves - right next to the pictures of birthday parties where everything is made from scratch using twine and chalkboards and upcycled vintage bathtubs.  
Cool it. 

Bath Time

I apologize to anyone reading my blog (there is someone, right?) for writing a bunch of posts about my kid rather than work related subject matter.  Now that I've gotten the apologies out of the way, here is another post about my kid.

Bath time, also known as I Can't Believe Our Bathroom Floor Is This Dirty, generally begins around 7:30 p.m.  In a previous phase of ones life, the words "bath time" might have brought to mind wine, an eye mask, and a CD of soprano saxophone music.  In the current phase of most parent's lives, the words "bath time" bring to mind utter fucking chaos.

The announcement of "It's bath time!" is typically followed by the child announcing "I want a snack!" and rifling through the snack cabinet for the most inconvenient food possible.  After wrestling a box of Zatarain's Spanish Rice mix out of his hands, we compromise on a "squirt applesauce" and head upstairs.  And by "head upstairs" I mean my husband holds the child by the armpits while the child walks horizontally up the stairs.  It's totally safe.  I don't know why, but I am always reminded of the Randal walk from Clerks, which I will now force you to watch because it's my favorite movie and everything reminds me of it:



Now that we've managed to Randal to the top of the stairs, squirt applesauce is being successfully squirted into his mouth, and we've almost made it into the bathroom where the cat who likes to drink out of the toilet is now drinking out of the bathtub.

Child:  "Aah!! Cat hair in the water!!"
Me:  [Swishes the water around a bit.]  "All gone!  Time to take your clothes off!" 
[After a good five minutes of running back and forth into the walls, child begins to remove clothes]
Child:  "Watch this!"
[Child works his underpants down to his foot, kicks his leg, and flings the underpants across the room like a burlesque dancer]
Me:  "Very impressive.  Now let's get into the tub."
[Child works his shirt up onto the top of his head and parades back and forth down an imaginary runway]
Child: "Look at my beautiful hair!"
[Husband raises concerned eyebrow]
Me:  "Okay buddy, it's time to get in the tub or we won't have enough time to read books!"
[Child finally undresses and rolls around on bathroom floor in exact spot where he drops his pee soaked Pull-Up every morning]
Me:  "I can't believe our bathroom floor is this dirty."

This seemingly quick exchange actually takes a good ten minutes.  Eventually, under the threat of NOT HAVING ENOUGH TIME TO DO STICKERS, he gets into the tub.  Then he gets back out because he forgot to use the toilet.  Then he gets back in and we spend the next few minutes negotiating water temperature (which is basically a ploy to get me to turn the tap back on so he can fill/dump/fill/dump the rinse cup).  Then we throw in all of his bath toys (see Exhibits A & B below).

Exhibit A













Exhibit B




































































The next step is for the child to yell "IT'S IN MY EYES!" before I've even come near him with the soap.

By the end of it all, my hair is frizzed up like I've been riding around on the Maid of the Mist, my pants are soaked, and my hands are totally dried out.  Of course the other end result is a fresh smelling four year old in Spiderman pajamas who really, really, wants to give you stickers.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

He Eats What We Eat

He eats what we eat is yet another one of those statements that moms make in order to make other moms feel inadequate. I'll tell you what my son eats: peanut butter sandwiches. He is very close to existing solely on peanut butter sandwiches. Not even peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, just peanut butter. He’s apparently had some sort of falling out with the jelly, which I might pursue further if it was say, broccoli. But it’s not, it’s jelly. It's okay if they stay mad at each other. So he’s been having peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast and dinner quite a few times per week. He gets on these kicks. The same thing goes for t.v. shows. Like last week he watched probably two hundred consecutive episodes of Peep and the Big Wide World, but if I even suggest it to him this week it's like I asked if he wants to watch the extended version of Lincoln. 

He eats what we eat. Right. I usually at least attempt to get him to eat what we're eating, but you tell me how you think this will go:

Me: Dinner’s ready!
Child: What are we having?
Me: Sausage and Escarole soup!
Child: What?
Me: Sausage soup.
Child: I don't like soup.
Me: You like sausages.
Child: I want a peanut butter sandwich.
Me: You should try some soup.
Child: I can walk like a crab!

Maybe it’s my own fault for serving something that contains leafy greens. Or beans. Or “on-yongs” (onions). Or, God forbid, carrots that aren't "school carrots" (Really, what is that preschool lunch lady doing with the carrots? Apparently she's some kind of culinary genius). So unless I make something standard like spaghetti or chicken, I'll let him have a peanut butter sandwich. It just makes life easier. He eats what we eat. Are you guys eating Toaster Cakes with grapes every night? If not, how did you accomplish such a feat? When he was a baby did you throw a bunch of baked stuffed shrimp into the food processor? Eat at the all-you-can-eat Indian buffet before breastfeeding? Coat his binkie with guacamole? I mean, my kid won’t even try a taco containing nothing but meat and cheese. And he's suddenly got this grudge against dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.

Child: Is that a T-Rex?
Me: No!  It's an oval!  See?  (bites the head off)
Child: I don't like ovals.
Me: You're in luck, this oval has legs and a tail!
Child:  I want a peanut butter sandwich.

I don't know. If your kid seriously eats what you eat, and eats more than one bite of it per evening, good for you. I don't know how you did it.  Maybe you arrange everything on his plate to look like a scene from Jake and the Neverland Pirates.  I don't have the time, the talent, or the mini toothpick swords for that kind of thing.

Or, and this is my real theory, you just never allowed your kid to taste a peanut butter sandwich.