I got berated this morning from a clerk at the gas station for no good reason. Big deal if I hand her a $20 for a 74 cent drink! Big deal if she has to count out $19.26 in change!

I’ve had issues at this gas station before. What I thought was quite humorous was this sign on the front door. Yes folks, they are asking that you please not smoke inside near the fireworks. The sad part is that somewhere, at some point, someone was smoking where fireworks are sold and it probably set off a few bottle rockets - which led to this warning sign.

I’m not even sure why they are still selling fireworks, but surely most people would be smart enough not to smoke at a gas station in the first place! Let alone around fireworks.

Most people yes, but apparently there are people who need a warning sign like this. The Parent Bloggers Network is talking about wacky warning labels such as on everyday products we use.

In today’s world do we really need all these warnings to protect ourselves (and companies) from getting sued? There are record numbers of frivolous lawsuits tying up our court system. Check out “Sick of Lawsuits” for more information on lawsuit abuse.

If you have a wacky warning label you can participate too! Go over to PBN for more info.

It’s time for September’s Perfect Posts. Several weeks ago I read something Jail Diet wrote and bookmarked it thinking it was indeed a perfect reflection of feelings I had thought for a long time, but didn’t know how to express.

It is in regards to September 11th and worth your time. Go over and check it out.

To see the other posts nominated you can visit Petroville or Suburban Turmoil.

Last week (or maybe two weeks ago now) Jail Diet tagged me on a “meme.” The challenge was to list 5 things that certain people (who may not think I’m the sharpest crayon in the box) would consider to be “totally lame,” but I am totally proud of.

1) I still have and proudly sleep with a green blanket. It is not my original baby blanket, because I cut mine up to make Barbie clothes then stole my brothers. When I say I sleep with it, I mean it travels everywhere I go. Detroit? Oh hell yes! It wasn’t even embarrassing when the security agent opened my suitcase looking for anthrax and lifted it up for the airport to see. I’m also proud to say my husband has known about this since we um…first got together…so he is very accepting of my unhealthy attachment.

2) I was so excited to see that Jail Diet did this. I always thought I should have been a dermatologist. If it weren’t for all those years of medical school I would have done it! I love picking at my own face. Pimples and zits all intrigue me.

3) I have serious OCD issues with cleanliness. I clean things obsessively. I’ve been known to get out the Dirt Devil Kone and clean the dining room floor before my dinner guests have finished!

4) I’m a hypochondriac to the tenth degree. The internet was probably the worst invention for people like me. A sniffle turns into the bird flu and a headache turns into a brain tumor…all with a few clicks of Google.

5) Long ago in a far off land when flexibility was not an issue I would bite off my toenails. There I said it. Judge me if you wish. I’m not necessarily proud of this, but I’m do miss the flexibility.

Over the summer we camped for several days with my parents in what my sons refers to as “their house in the middle of the woods.”

I knick-named it “The Taj” because the granite counter tops, in their larger-than-life kitchen area, certainly beat out my 1960’s pale beige Formica.

The drawback to even their pimped out house on wheels is that the bathroom is very small. Either that or my ass is too wide?

It was much easier to shower in the bath house at the campground. So after spending a day on the lake Ethan and I headed that direction carrying our essentials.

There were other mothers and children with the same idea, so we waited in line long enough to listen to some of the most interesting conversations between naked people I’ve ever heard. A few times I had to cover Ethan’s ears.

I’ve always found it intriguing that individuals will talk loudly about personal things when they blatantly know others are listening. Maybe that is the exact reason they do it?

Once inside our 2X2 stall I instructed Ethan to keep his flip flops on while we showered and not to step on the floor barefoot. He of course questioned this and I counteracted with my stern “because I said so” look.

Surveying the floor of backed up water and floating hair (from other people) was almost enough for me to pack it up and just make a few more swipes of deodorant under the arms calling it good.

I’m not sure if it was Ethan almost dropping my clothes on the floor or when he actually dropped my clean towel in this icky water that I lost it. Either way he knew I wasn’t happy. Trying to do the tango with a 5 year old while keeping your feet on top of sandals and dressing isn’t easy.

But knowing your towel now has the particles of the people I overhead in the shower stall before us talking about how many people they’d “gnawed on” at their swinger campsite last night put me over the top.

Ethan’s only defense was to look at me and ask, “Do you like me?”

He’s gotten pretty good at reading those non-verbal expressions.

(That’s Bureau of Motor Vehicles)

It all started yesterday with a trip to renew license plates, but really every visit I’ve ever had there was greeted with the worst staff I’ve ever encountered. No matter which location I choose.

Surprisingly, I did not have to wait in a long line (which has been the case in the past). As you check-in you’re expected to show documentation of your visit and proof of identity. The lady behind the counter asked for my id. I handed her my driver’s license. She gave me a look and asked for more.

I was a bit surprised and questioned what else she wanted to see. Not phased at all she pointed to a sign stating different types of acceptable id. Since when did junk mail count as id? I still get credit card offers sent to me that have my maiden name from 7 years ago on it.

I challenged her by stating, “Why isn’t my driver’s license enough? It should be credible since you issued it.”

Wrong thing to say to an obviously hungry woman at 11:40 a.m. on a Friday.

Finally, we compromised on the letter I’d received in the mail from the BMV asking me to renew my plates as id. GEEZ!

So next I’m greeted at another station by a woman who meant business. I gave her a receipt I had for paying for a specialty plate, which wasn’t what I needed. They offer about 100 choices of groups, colleges and what not to choose from and make it nearly impossible to actually get them.

Apparently the organization’s plate I had already made my donation to had not sent me the proper documentation (which isn’t the BMV’s fault). So for the meantime she gave me a regular state plate and said I’d have to come back with a piece of paper and $9 extra dollars to switch them out later.

As she was working her computer magic I see a sticker on the counter in front of her keyboard reminding her what to do:
1) Smile
2) Make immediate eye contact
3) Engage in conversation

This cracked me up to no end. I look around and see all the other woman working inside the BMV have this same sticker at their stations and I have witnessed no one adhere to these reminders. It’s pretty bad when you need a sticker to remind you to be a normal, polite person.

By the way have you ever seen any men work in these places? I’ve been to several in this area and never a male. Although really I imagine the women at these BMV’s all are on the same cycle’s by now and each month all hell breaks loose. So any man would barely make it 3 weeks - tops!

When it comes time to check out I hand her a credit card. Houston - we have a problem. Since it has my husband’s name on it, I can’t use it there. Even though his name is on my registration as well as mine. But I understand that, it’s the manner in which they criticized me for trying to use someone else’s credit card I despise. I do not need a lecture from the BMV.

She hands me the new plate and asks me to sign the registration. I sign it and put it into paper pile that goes back into my glove box and await the receipt. When she returns she questions whether or not I have signed the registration.

“Yes.”

“Take it back out.”

Smiling, making immediate eye contact and engaging in her conversation -
“No, thank you.”

Just when I thought, “What else could possibly go wrong?”

Duh! The laptop hadn’t blown up yet! (literally it blew up!)

So after last week’s events of the garbage disposal dying, having both vehicles in the shop at the same time (for 2 days), cramps galore, the dog chewing through the new blinds in the living room and our son turning into a klepto….the laptop decided it was time to be thrown out in the middle of the road! R.I.P. Dell.

Please forgive me. The only internet access I have is through work and I’ve been so swamped there I can’t even sneak time to check on other blogs, let alone write at my own.

We are researching new laptops, so if you have any suggestions please let me know.