Target trip from hell

I often have people tell me they wish I would blog more often.  I would love to but really I only blog when the situation presents itself as a blog-worthy event.  I know everyone has funny and fun things happening every day but about once a week or once every other week I have an experience or a series of experiences that are so freaking funny the only thing TO do is blog about them.  I don't make it up.  I don't encourage it or coach it along.  I just sit back and watch it happen to me/around me/because of me.  I tell it like it is.  And what it is tonight is hilarious.  I could have prevented some of it if I had my mind right (like my father-in-law tells the boys) or get my brain back (like our daycare provider tells the boys). I did neither of these things.  I was on a mission.  I couldn't be stopped.  But it wasn't pretty.  So here's my story....

My goal was to purchase some fun kid gifts for a few underprivileged boys....which I am doing on behalf of someone else so I don't want to take the credit for all of this :)  This task is right up my ally because a) I have two young boys so it's super easy to find something they will like and b) I am a shopaholic.  I'm the right girl for the mission.

I picked the boys up from daycare and before we left we took a quick potty break before we headed to the store.  Leo peed onto his undies and shorts by peeing under the lid but above the potty....so straight through that tiny slot right onto his clothes.  I always ask myself later why I didn't see this disastrous night coming right then and there.  I wiped him off as best as possible with the intention to run home and change his clothes before our shopping trip.  In the time it took me to get to the car and 10 houses down the street to our house I forgot.  Thus  he wore shorts with a pee spot on them the rest of the night.  Every day I see my chances for Mother of the Year slip farther and farther away. 

So to Target we go.  My plan was to buy a few electronic game type things and a few accessories and get out of there.  I know exactly where they are so it should.....SHOULD being the key word.....have been a quick and easy in and out.  It SO WAS NOT!!!

I warned the boys ahead of time that we are buying gifts for kids that don't have toys.  We have lots, they have none or very few, etc, etc.  We are NOT buying toys for us, but we will buy one treat/candy at the register if they are good.  And they were pretty good.  We were able to get all but one of the items at the Target and learned that the other item we needed was at another Target nearby.  Totally doable.  (Totally NOT!). 

We made it all the way to the register without incident.  We actually successfully picked out fun toys for someone other than ourselves without incident.  Big ol' pat on the back!  So they were rewarded with treats.  Fruit snacks for Leo.  Chocolate for Justin.  The kid has never actually had a real full sized candy bar so he was transfixed by the Twix we chose.  Aside from the melted chocolate on his fingers Justin was an absolute angle the whole time!  Couldn't have been more proud of him throughout the next disastrous hour. 

Leo.  Um, not so much.  I let him have about 10 of the fruit snacks and then figured we should stop lest we ruin his dinner.  We are in the check out line.  In fact the girl has already scanned both treats so they could eat them.  Enter:  TOTAL FREAK OUT.  This kid just freaked out.  Bawling and begging for the rest of the fruit snacks.  Let me see if I can paint this picture for you: 

After a day full of daycare and playing outside Leo is filthy. His hands and face are grimy and the tears are just making big dirt stained tears down his face.  He put on bright red Lightening McQueen socks last night before bed and insisted on wearing them to daycare today with his white and blue tennis shoes.  I had a yellow shirt already picked out for him.  So the poor kid is looking a little mismatched as it is and the big fat freak out isn't helping matters. 

So I'm trying to pay.  I was trying to open up a Target debit card for my 5% discount since I was making kind of a large purchase so I'm going through the prompts on the credit card keypad.  For whatever reason, karma probably, it doesn't like me.  When the clerk tries to process the application it gives an error message.  Reflecting back, if I am turned down for a DEBIT card that debits directly from my checking account then it probably means I shouldn't be spending money anyway.  It's like it was in cahoots with my husband to prevent me from spending money....but this wasn't my money anyway.  Remember, I was purchasing these items on behalf of someone else. 

Anywho, the cashier keeps pushing the enter button like 20 times and eventually the whole register shuts down and gives this scary looking error message.  Meanwhile Leo is SCREAMING!  Yup,  this whole time.  So we head to another register to try it again.  Same thing happens.  A different cashier/manager person tries to get it to work with no luck.  By this time I have entered my info on the little key pad about 5 times and it won't work.  Leo continues to cry most of the time alternated with rolling around on the dirty target floor.  Super.  Justin is being ridiculously helpful by trying to distract Leo by playing "we are on a mission" and crawling in and out of the bottom of our cart.  He was thoroughly impressed with himself each time he ended up on the other side of the cart.  Knock yourself out kid!  More crying from Leo. 

I finally just asked Target to give me my 5% discount anyway and let me pay with my own card so I can just get the hell out of there.  Remember I still needed to go to the other Target nearby and purchase the one item they didn't have at this store.  Again, I didn't have my mind right because I thought I could just run in there and do it quickly despite the chaos continuing around me.  So finally they get the stupid card thing to work.  The boys are rewarded for their "patience" with a Target sticker which Leo tries to eat.  I get it.  We haven't had dinner yet, but it's not like he is six months old and puts toys in his mouth!  What the hell is wrong with him?  I know, I know.  It's me.  I needed to just stop what I was doing and feed them dinner.  Hungry boys = cranky boys. 

After almost 25 minutes at the register we are out the door.  Leo asks for fruit snacks again which are denied simply on the principle of it at this point although I know he is hungry.  I can't give into him now after he just screamed in Target for 25 minutes.  (reflection...I should have purchased some other snacks while I stood there in line but I'm just not that smart!)  He asks for gum in the car, he gets it and all is well.  Crying and fits have ceased.  I think we can make our 2nd Target stop.

Silly, silly girl I am.

We hit Target #2 over by Metro North Mall.  As soon as I get the boys out of the car and into the parking lot Leo shouts out of nowhere "MY PEE PEE HURTS!!!" and immediately grabs himself and pushes it down.  What????  Are you kidding me?  So my first thought is that I just don't understand how a 2 year old gets an erection in the Target parking lot (because that's why his pee pee was hurting).  I just don't get it.  I will  never understand how a body part just moves independently of its owner.  My second thought was that this dang 2 year old is getting a hard on by making my life miserable!!!!  I realize that is an inappropriate thought but it is the reality of what I thought.  Some of you are laughing because you've been there.  Others of you have gasped or rolled your eyes at me or if you are like my mother you have pursed your lips together and you are shaking your head.  Whatever.  I stand by my thought that Leo was getting some sort of pleasure in torturing me tonight.  I repeat:  I just don't get it.

We make our way inside and because I am a stupid broad (as someone called me....and my staff... at work today) I forgo the shopping cart.  I  need one thing and one thing only.  I know where it is and I want in and out.  Why, oh why did I not learn my lesson in the first Target?

As we run, well I walked and they ran, towards the toy aisle Leo shouts out that his big toe hurts.  What now?  Are you freaking kidding me? He starts a dramatic limp down the aisle begging me to pick him up.  Why did I not get a cart.  WHHHHYYYYYYYY???????

So I pick up the child and lug him around.  I get the little gadget that I need and head for the front of the store.  Halfway there I realize this particular gadget can only be charged by plugging it into the USB port of a computer....which this underprivileged family DOES NOT HAVE!  I have wasted my trip.  I could have purchased everything at the first Target.  I could just kick myself.  We go back to the toy section (lugging Leo due to new toe injury likely caused by tennis shoes that are too small from last year that he insisted on wearing today) and get a different toy.....one that WAS available at the first Target. 

Then back to the register.  Something about the register setting reminds Leo he should be throwing a fit.  The crying and flopping on the floor commences again.  We pay quickly this time, thankfully, and we head out the door. 

As we get in the car Leo says "Hey, I stopped crying now mom.  I am ready for my special treat."  Sure.  Here's a bag of fruit snacks.  Eat your heart out.  I'm spent.  And thanks for saving the good behavior for the privacy of our car.  I would hate for anyone to think I have any control over anything outside of my own car or home. 

We make the trip home, cram in some dinner and a quick Batman cartoon and prepare for bed.  I am exhausted and haven't eaten dinner myself at this point so I'm not really a happy camper.  Justin's response to my crankiness:  Mom, maybe if you are cranky you should try to go to bed early. 

Yeah, I'll get right on that.  Thanks, buddy. 

Whose your Baby Mommy?

We are big fans of make believe in this house right now.  With a 4 year old and a 2 year old pretty much everything revolves around make believe.  From the good ol' days when Pooties was everyone's favorite imaginary friend to Justin's recent "date" with Batgirl to Leo's fake machine gun noises while his Batman toy attacks Darth Vader we are sporting some huge imaginations around this house. 

For example, Leo insists on being Batdog most evenings complete with growling/barking in place of talking, licking in place of good night kisses, and of course remaining on all fours at all times.  This can make the bedtime routine a little challenging.  He was pretty much Batdog for the last 45 minutes of the night tonight.  He only breaks character to remind me that he is a dog.  "No, mom say 'brush your teeth DOGGIE" whenever I mistakenly ask Leo to do something. "Go potty, doggie."  "Do you want to rock-a-bye, Doggie?" "Say goodnight Doggie."  He even barked at me as I shut his door tonight.

One of their other favorite games right now is to play Baby Justin and Baby Leo.  It's just what it sounds like.  They are baby crazy right now so they want to pretend one of them is a baby.  They want me to hold one of them and cradle him in my arms while the other one lovingly coos and baby talks to his "baby" brother.  They whimper and cry like a baby and drink fake bottles, etc, etc.  Usually this happens right after bath time so they can be swaddled in a bath towel.  They really have a rough life, huh?

And because I am still trying to get back in the running for Mother of Year (after Justin's use of the words freaking and shit all in one weekend), I play along with everything.  I mean EVERYTHING.  I pretend the scribbles are in fact a well drawn spaceship and I knew that all along.  I play with cars, trucks, and numerous transformer/batman/scooby figurines although my car engine noises and my transformer conversations leave something to be desired.  I listen to the stories and give proper oohh's and ahhhh's and scary or surprised faces all on cue.  I dance at the dance parties.  I applaud all of the Lego configurations.  I allow Wrestlemania just about every night and go along with the entire song and dance (sometimes literally) that goes with each wrestling match while silently praying that no one breaks and arm or cracks their head open!

But heaven forbid I be allowed to get in on the whole act.  Tonight I was all cuddled up on Jeremy's lap taking a brief rest before starting dinner.  Justin had to come poke his nose in our peaceful moment and wanted to know what we were doing.  So Jeremy tries to play out one of their favorite games and starts pretending like I am Baby Mommy.  Not, mind you, Baby Mama....although I guess I am that too if you think about it.  So Jeremy starts using the baby voice and cooing in my face.  He is rocking me in his arms as if I'm a baby.  I'm all cuddled up and making little cooing sounds back at him. 

And what do I get for my efforts at make believe?  Justin just looks at us and says "Stop it, Mom.  That's just being ridiculous."  Well, alrighty then.  Baby Mommy got shut down!  Do you think he would like it the next time he "draws" me a picture and I just say "Geez Justin that's just a big pile of scribbles!" Or when he hands me a dandelion should I say "are you freaking kidding me?  that's a weed! get it out of my face."  But no, I am a mother.  So I oblige him by stopping the "ridiculous" Baby Mommy game and get back to the reality of a Thursday evening.  It's ok.  I went into this job willingly and I wouldn't change it for the world!!

Bedtime Story

Justin's bedtime story tonight:

Once upon a time long, long ago but not too, too long ago there was a neat forest.  AND, there was a girl named Goldilocks and her friend Little Red Riding Hood.  And of course they were with Bugs Bunny.  And they were walking.  And there was a witch (insert scary shiver and crazy eyes).  And the witch had a house.  And they threw a boy in the house.  Then they threw the witch in the house too.  And she was in some goo.

THE END. 

I hope you can all sleep better tonight now that you have had your bedtime story.

I lived to tell about it, and so I will.

I have been reading 90 Minutes in Heaven which is a true story about a man who died in a car accident in the late 1980's and was dead for 90 minutes before coming back to life.  He was brought back to life by the power of prayer and the grace of God.  If you don't believe it is true or possible, I encourage you to read the book. 

As you may know, I had my own experience with heaven and dying a little over twelve years ago (http://sothisismy30s.blogspot.com/2011/06/fancy-fainting-part-2.html).  I was dead for just under one minute and my experience with heaven was brief but wonderful beyond words.  God wasn't ready to keep me yet, but I am forever grateful of the glimpse of what is to come.
 
It is comforting to me to read the book for several reasons.  First, Don Piper's experience in heaven was much longer than mine and therefore much more detailed and extensive.  I can only think of how lucky he was to have seen more. 

I also have a good friend who had a similar experience.  Several months before I wrote the blog about my heavenly experience, I randomly mentioned it to a friend of mine who then told me that she, too, had died and experienced heaven several years ago.  I hadn't mentioned my experience to anyone in quite some time.  She had stopped telling anyone about it because the response she received was less than supportive.  But somehow and for some reason she and I shared our stories with each other out of the blue.  She recently had a close family member pass away.  I know now that God opened up our discussion to reinforce to her that heaven is real and hopefully help her work through this difficult time in her life.

It just makes me wonder how many people are experiencing the joys of heaven, even though temporary, but shy away from sharing their story in fear of rejection and ridicule.  And wasn't I kind of one of them?  I never doubted my own experience, but I was so prepared for others to doubt it that it was easier to keep to myself.  I don't know why I write "was so prepared" when really I remain in that place.  I continue to be prepared to defend my experience instead of just letting it be.  Letting it speak for itself.  Those who want to hear it will listen.  If I'm lucky, those that don't want to hear it might listen and it might make a difference. 

I didn't mention it to anyone for several months after my experience.  Then I started feeling out a few friends to see how the information would be received.  Again, very similar to Don Piper's experience in the book.  Like Don, the more people I told the more I realized people were very open to the information.  Then in about 2001 or maybe 2002 I was speaking at an America Heart Association event which I often did in those first few years after my heart surgery.  I am guessing there were a couple hundred people in the room.  My typical speech was one of "it could happen to anyone" sort of theme.  I was a seemingly healthy and active young adult who experienced a serious cardiac event that almost took my life.  But as I spoke I kind of drifted off my usual speech and found myself telling this large group about my experience in heaven.  I know now that it was God's hand pushing me to share the joys of heaven with this group.  Afterwards I was sort of self-conscious that I had branched out from the topic at hand and perhaps the organizers of the event wouldn't be pleased.  After all, it was not a religious gathering.  It was a fund raising event. I was pleasantly surprised to be approached by many people after the event thanking me for sharing my experience. 

So like a small child, with that positive reinforcement I began to repeat my behaviors.  I started telling a few more people, and then a few more.  I was living in Alabama at the time and people don't shy away from religion down there.  They embrace it.  It was easy to start sharing.  But I was still sharing in comfortable settings.  I was sharing in places or situations where I knew the information would be well received.  Even telling this story via my blog is a relatively safe way (emotionally) to share it.
As I read Don's book I felt like I was reading my own story.  I could relate to so much of what he experienced.  His recovery was WAY more difficult than mine in a physical sense.  He was in the hospital for months and has undergone dozens of surgeries.  But somewhere in the midst of his recovery he began to understand that God left him in this life for a reason and a purpose.  That purpose is to share the experience.  I am encouraged to do the same.  Reading his book has brought me to a renewed sense of peace and understanding about my experience with death and heaven.

I lived to tell about it.  There are not a lot of people that can say that.  I lived to tell about it.  And I will. 

The Real Househusband of Kansas City

We've all been there.  A little birthday celebration after a long week.  A few too many cocktails.  And then the truth comes out.   Sometimes the truth hurts.  And sometimes it's just the truth. 

In my case, I spent the better part of the 40 minute car ride home last Saturday night explaining to Jeremy how our house needs to be cleaner.  Or is it more clean?  I'm going with cleaner.  While I don't necessarily recall the conversation, per se, his recollection is that I had a bit of a rant about the dirty windows and baseboards in our home.  The truth hurts.

What is also true is that I am fortunate enough to be married to a man that not only actually listened to my drunken tirade while driving my drunk ass home, but took it to heart and went on a cleaning spree this week.  What can I say?  The man likes to clean.  (Thank you, Eva)  He takes pride in his work.  (Thank you, Kevin)

He called me three times at work on Monday to describe the specialized cleaning products that he purchased and advise me of his progress.  The minute I got off of work he called to tell me how clean the kitchen floor was and proceeded to tell me about it all the way home.  Once I arrived home he was like a child on Christmas morning.  He could barely contain himself as I walked up the stairs to see his handy work. 

That evening I actually heard him talking to himself as he reviewed his work:  "It's a good start, Jeremy.  A good start." 

Jealous yet?  It gets better.

On Tuesday, he spent all day steam cleaning our carpets.  He moved every single piece of furniture in our living room, dining room, hallway, and bedroom for a deep cleaning.  The house smelled AWESOME when I got home.

The more I think about it, I think we could slap some high heels on him, give him a boob job and some lip implants and he's got his own show: Real Househusband of Kansas City!  It would require some serious electrolysis but I think we could make it work. 

Anyway, I have decided I should get drunk and go on rants more often.  Or maybe I should just repay the favor and start on the windows......or I could do all 3.  Get drunk and go on a rant WHILE cleaning the windows.  Yup, that's my plan. 

(Bonus photo of Jeremy vacuuming with Leo in the baby sling.....which is why Leo has always called it "daddy's vacuum")   

A Blog Worthy Birthday

I'm not one to draw a lot of attention to my birthday, but today is worth recording here for a variety of reasons. 

It really started last night when we celebrated my birthday with dinner, present, and cake (YUM) because Jeremy had to work today.  Present was awesome!!  Dinner and drinks were yummy despite our waitress' listening difficulties and lack of follow through in the blue cheese department.  The cake was fabulous.  Red velvet with chocolate creme.  Did I already say YUM?  I was able to scarf it down despite Jeremy's claims that he can't "fit like a million candles on here so I just put 4."  Gee, thanks honey. 

Early to bed with a plan of early to rise.  Jeremy was up and out by 5:30 and we were fortunate enough today to not have issues with Saydie, our recently bowel and bladder challenged miniature pincher.....earlier this week Justin came up stairs carrying a piece of poop from the hallway.  Well good morning! 

So, thus far the birthday was going well.  It was only 5:30 am.  I had really, really, really good intentions of getting up and working out.  I figure I'm 34 and I probably ought to start developing a real game plan against flab.  But I didn't.  I went back to sleep.

At 6:15 am Leo came running up the stairs proclaiming in one run-on sentence after another "Thorry, Mom I peed my pants that's otay I need to wake up and tell you I need to go pee-pee thorry mom it's otay."  I always appreciate the efficiency of my 2 year old who can hold both sides of our conversation himself by reporting the accident, comforting himself, reminding himself of how to improve next time, and then comforting himself again. 

Fortunately he wasn't soaked so we headed to the bathroom where he INSISTED that I feel his underwear to prove he had peed in his underwear.  "Check it, mom.  CHECK IT!"  SUPER.  It's 6:15 on my birthday and I would just love to touch your urine soaked undies, Leo.  But of course I oblige his request, confirm the accident, hear a repeat of the "thorry mom, it's otay......" and off we go to the other bathroom to wash up, get clothes and strip the bed.

In my half-sleep half-hurried state I rip the sheets off and the corner of the mattress pad that is already torn gets stuck under the bed.  As I obliviously continue to pull it off the bed, I pretty much just rip it all along the whole seam thus rendering it completely unusable.  Good, I definitely wanted to buy a new mattress pad today. 

Justin wakes up during this process and we take a family trip to the basement to start laundry.  Oh what?  What is this?  I am out of laundry detergent.  That's about right.  Fortunately it's home made so I just have to scoop some out, funnel it into the jug, add some water, shake, and I'm back on track.  I feel obligated to fold the laundry in the dryer so finish up that quick chore and head upstairs.  The boys are requesting (I'll call it that) a movie so I grab "Griffin" which is a Scooby Doo about a large pterodactyl type thing that's named Griffin.  It's Leo's go-to movie.  Oh what now?  It doesn't work.  It won't play.  So I tried Toy Story 3.  Nope, won't work either.  So now our DVD player is broke since last night???  SUPER.

Thank goodness for DVR.  We head to the living room, find a recorded Batman and I head for the shower.  It's now 6:30 am.

Before I hop in the shower I decide to quickly weigh myself to reinforce that, in fact, I really should have gotten up early and exercised.  My scale shows and error message.  Seriously?  It refused to weigh me.  That's gotta be a sign.  I hear ya, Mr. Scale.  Reading your message loud and clear.  I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down.  I could feel its silent judgement for my lack of willpower.  Screw the scale.  I never liked the damn things anyway. 

I start my shower by grabbing the conditioner instead of the shampoo.  Really? At this point I start to get the giggles and I start making a mental tally of these things for what I now know is going to be a very blog-worthy day.   I figure it best not to push my luck at this point so I skip shaving my legs.  I want to live to see 35. 

Morning progresses.  I get my teeth brushed without incident, but when it comes time for make-up I hit another small snag.  I pull out my $3 clearance eye shadow pallet with about 40 colors and decide on light pink.  For some reason half-way though my mind wanders and I switch to a dark blue.  By the time I come to my senses my eyes are semi-striped in pink and blue and I'm sporting a bad 14 year old's make-up look.  I repeat the eye-makeup application and finished the morning without further incident. 

Work was work.  I was greeted with about 10 mini-balloons on my desk (thank you, Mary).  We had a meeting to review our compliance with federal and state mandates which we passed with flying colors.  Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cari.....not that a lack of confidence has ever really been a problem for me! I desperately wish I could blog about work, but HIPAA and the feds generally frown upon me sharing that info.  Party-poopers, that's what I always say. 

I really, really, really wanted to leave early for some "me time" but alas it was not to be.  On the upside, I won $15 on the random lottery ticket I purchased this morning while getting gas and I got a call from my world traveling (and living!) baby sis which really brightened me up in the mid-afternoon.  My super wonderful staff also got me an ice-cream cake which made the last hour or so of the day bearable!  Thanks girls! 

And by the way, did I mention it's freaking hot out today?  I mean, I don't find it to be unusually hot.  It's hot every single year on my birthday.  It is the end of July after all.  Every day the weatherman has to go on and on about the record breaking heat.  If we are breaking a record every single day shouldn't it be like 256 degrees by now?  What record are we breaking exactly?  That it's 100 degrees on a Thursday on an odd numbered year in the middle of a moon cycle? It's freaking July!  It's hot.  Just call it what it is.  Oh.....I have  digressed unusually far and for that I apologize.  It's been a long day.

I will simply wrap up the birthday story with 3 short events:

1. as we left the house tonight for Bitty Basketball my garage door broke (oops, I forgot to tell you that honey.  It's on your to-do list tomorrow along with buying a matress pad and fixing the DVD player).  I thought it was going to come crashing down on us because it made this huge noise.  So what did I do?  I yelled "Oh shit!"  And what happened?  I think you know.  Justin says "Oh shit."  I'm going to come in last or second to last in this year's Mother of the Year contest!  I'm fairly certain I can beat out the mom I met today at work.  She was special to say the least.
2.  I got a nice surprise by seeing an old friend at the Y tonight during basketball.  Brought a smile to my face....as did the Bitty Basketball events which tonight included two boys (thankfully neither were mine) kissing under the basketball goal during the game.
3.  For the last 30 minute of their night, the boys pretended to be Batdogs.  All communication was via dramatic panting and head nodding with the occasional break in character to ask for treats.  Some things never change.

And with that, I believe I will end my birthday at just a little after 9 pm.  Good night folks. I'm sure 34 will bring many, many blog-worthy events!

Cancer Benefit

Two weeks ago my wonderful husband, Jeremy, told me that we were invited to a Cancer Benefit.  Or at least I THOUGHT that is what he said.  It was $50 a couple.  Ever the perfectly organized wife, I wrote Cancer Benefit on the calendar and arranged a withdrawal of $50 from our monthly budget.  I then asked him where the money is going and he said to the food and alcohol.  Of course what I meant was to which charity was it being donated, but we got sidetracked and never finished the conversation. 

This past Monday on the way to my parents house, I asked him about the cancer benefit again and he said "why do you keep calling it that?  It is a cancer party.....like a party for the people born in June and July with the zodiac sign of cancer!!!!!"  We got a pretty good chuckle out of our miscommunication.  We later regaled my family with our funny little story.  Ha, ha, ha! 

Fast forward to Friday night. We are on our way to the cancer benefit....because I insist on still calling it that!  My sister called me and said she just heard a commercial on Hot 103 JAMZ for the Zodiac Cancer Party at 18th and Main in downtown KC.  First of all, I have no idea why Mandi was listening to Hot 103.  Let's just say it is most likely not her type of music, but really who I am to judge?  So I assumed she was playing a joke on me but she insisted that it was true and there was a possibility that the cancer benefit we were going to was being hosted by Hot 103 JAMZ.  And to make matters worse, the commercial said there is a strict dress code.  Great.  Jeremy was in shorts and a t-shirt.  I, on the other hand, was rocking my skinny jeans (thanks for the vote of confidence, Higgins) and a silk animal print shirt.  That's right, I am a brainiac and decided to wear jeans and silk shirt when it is 100 degrees outside. (wonder why my great-grandma always said Mandi was the smart one??)


So I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Feeling hot (no pun intended) in my cute outfit.  Winkin' at myself in the mirror.  Just kidding, I don't do that...my husband does though.   
 
We arrived at the benefit.  It is not the Hot 103 JAMZ party.  No, no it's not.  Instead it is a party in an art gallery in what appears to be a rundown area of downtown Kansas City.  It probably has a cute little name for that area of town but I live in the suburbs....and I pretty much stay there so I wouldn't know. 

Ohhhh, art gallery you might be saying to yourself.  Fun.  Fancy.  Wrong and Wrong.  It was a warehouse type building with no windows.  The door and the garage door were shut and there was NO......wait for it....freaking air conditioning!  That's right.  It's 100 degrees outside and a whopping 120 inside (said my internal thermometer).  And I am in jeans and a silk shirt.  Jeremy, while in shorts and a t-shirt, has a built in sweater of hair.  He is sweating through his shirt within seconds of entering the building.  I never sweat much at all due to my general lack of hydration related to my heart problems.  But I was moments away from sweat dripping down the crack of my ass.  You are welcome for the mental picture.

Jeremy heads straight for the keg.  I ask for water and am told.....wait for it...they don't have any water.  BUT I was generously offered a plastic cup of ice from the keg cooler (gag) and some water from the bathroom sink (double gag).  

We positioned ourselves in front of one of the 8-10 fans stationed throughout the "gallery" that are blowing the already hot air around the room.  Correction, Jeremy planted himself in front of one and myself and another couple tried to stand near him to see if we could catch any of it from around the sides of him.  Thanks honey.  After about 3 minutes I am ready to leave.  Jeremy on the other hand is ok to stay and chat with his friends.  I get that.  It's cool.  Ok, bad choice of words.  Rather, it's ok. 

No worries.  I'll just look at the boobs.  What,  you say?  That's right.  A large portion of the art on display are drawings of naked women.  Don't get me wrong, they were mostly tasteful and some of the non-boob art was actually really good, but if I wanted to look at boobs all  night I would have stayed home and looked in the mirror.  And winked at myself. 

And then there were the mannequins.  Naked female mannequins strewn throughout the gallery with the occasional purple crepe streamer wrapped around various body parts.  I am clearly not an artsy fartsy kind of person.  I'm plain jane.  I like normal food, bottled water, and air conditioning.  I like family pictures up on the wall.  I prefer boobs tucked safely into well-fitted bras.  So sue me.

So this plane jane told her husband that it was time to go.  Blame the bitchy wife.  I don't care.  I can own that role.  I play it well.  He obliged and we donated our $50 to Cheesecake Factory instead.

As Mandi put it:  "I have always hated cancer."