Rabbit Eyes are Watching You

Have you seen this?! Have you SEEN this?!

It's no secret that I am a fan of Cadbury Mini Eggs. And I'd be lying if I said this was the first Cadbury purchase I've made this year. Or even the fourth. But that's not the news. First, a back story.

I live maybe a half mile away from a Walmart. I grocery shop there. So sue me, hippies. Actually, don't sue me; at least not until I've had time to brush up on Legally Blonde. Anyhow, so long as I've shopped at this Walmart (years) they have NEVER, I repeat, never carried the Cadbury Mini eggs. And just to be sure no one's pulling a fast one on me, I scour the store each visit during Cadbury season. All of this is strange because in the Cadbury '09 season, I spotted the candies at the Clinton Walmart. And in the Cadbury '11 season, I found the candies at the Layton Walmart. [Minds are no doubt blown at this point.] 

So today, as I was perusing through the seasonal candy aisle at my local Walmart, a familiar purple bag with yellow lettering caught my eye. And then it was made very clear to me, as a beam of light shone down from the heavens onto . . . a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. In my Walmart? Could it be? Yes. It was true. I picked the bag up, and to my delight, it was no ordinary bag of candies. It was a ONE POUND+ BAG. If I'm not mistaking, I heard angels singing. Naturally I scooped it up and carefully placed it in my cart. And then I looked back to the shelf where I'd found the bag . . . and here's the funny thing, the space that had originally held Cadbury candies was now mysteriously filled with candies of the Reeses variety. Strange, I thought. But not unheard of. So, on I went with my grocery shopping . . . all the while grinning because of my discovery.

But here's the thing. Once I got the bag home, I noticed something. Has that rabbit always been on the packaging? And is it a little eery-looking to anyone else? Does it seem like maybe that rabbit had one too many Cadburys before that photo was taken. I swear that rabbit is NOT on the other bags, but I honestly can't remember what the smaller bag looks like now. I have pound-bad blindness. I see the whole world in pound bags now. But what's even stranger is that I swear the rabbit's eyes follow me when I walk around the room. It's as if he's saying, "I, and I alone, know how many calories of chocolate you have consumed today. You answer to me now." And then I just feel sad. Chocolatey over-dosed sad. I can't help but wonder if the FDA or some other government organization mandated that creepy rabbits be placed on all pound bags of Easter candy to help subconsciously regulate the caloric and sugar intake of people who purchase the candy. I mean, this is the only logical explanation.

And so now that I have this knowledge, I need to act. I know now what I need to do. I need to drive a few extra miles to Smith's to buy the smaller bags of candies sans the creepy rabbit and enjoy my Eater candy. Because, hey, Easter only comes around once a year.

[That awkward moment when you realize that you just wrote an entire blog post about candy. I need a puppy.]

Some things I wish I could forget

During my first, or possibly second year of teaching, I signed up to take a class called "Beginning Guitar for Teachers in the Elementary Classroom." I thought it would be a great opportunity to learn some fun tunes to play while kids sang about times tables, counties and county seats, and so on.

I began the class with a borrowed guitar. I can remember learning very little. There was very little method or even skill taught. But, I did learn how to mimic my teacher's hand placements on the fret board as he taught us "The House of the Rising Sun" over an eight-week period. He told me I was a natural. I was excited about this until my dad explained that the only song my teacher had taught me was about a whore house . . . and that wasn't nearly as useful in an elementary classroom as I'd hoped it would be.

Although I learned nothing useful, I got a free, new guitar from my creepy teacher. Sometimes being a natural at playing whore house-themed music pays off.

When bad clothes happen to good people

Just when you thought you were getting used to the low jeans that show your ambition to be a plumber  every time you bend over, mother fashion comes back with an old style and bites you in the backside!

Something has happened . . . something big . . . something neither you or I can prepare ourselves for . . .

HIGH-WAIST, MOM-BUM PANTS!

They're all over the place! While doing some shopping in Vegas last month, I innocently picked up a pair of what I thought to be baggy, khaki,  cargo capris. Boy, was I wrong. The waist came up almost above my belly button and the legs of the capris were tapered. . . TAPERED, I tell you! I threw the pants down and have tried my best to forget about the incident and move on.

But then, I was doing some online shopping during a brain break today (only window shopping, honey), and I saw these:

And these:

And even these:

Even these skinny models have what I lovingly refer to as "mom bum" in these pants as seen here:

And here:

The proof is in the puddin', people. These pants are back, and they're here to stay. We've gotten rid of them once, and I believe we can do it again! Please show your support for this cause in one of two ways: (1) Tell everyone you know and love. Warn them about the effects of these pants. Consider starting a support group for people who have a weakness for this style. (2) Give of your time and money by entering and scouring clothing retailers near you. Find pants that fit this description, buy them, and burn them! 

Remember, friends don't let friends wear high-waited, tapered pants. Together, we can make a difference.

Why I'm so glad I'm not longer meeting men...

And just in case you're thinking, "This can't be real." It more certainly is. Ask any single woman, and she can tell you a similar story... or two... or three....

Thanks, Janis, for passing this along.