If you are employed by Child Protective Services just go on ahead to the next blog now, and have a nice day.

Actual conversation I just had with a certain eleven-year-old male person to whom I am parent and legal guardian.

Him: I hope I don't die.
Me: Yeah, me too, buddy.
Him: Because I ate gun powder yesterday.
Me: You should be fine, just don't eat any matches today.

Further proof that it's strictly their father's fault that they've made it this far.

Bulldogs Totally Hate Litter Bugs. Or, Give a Hoot, Get Yo' Ass off My Porch.

After I got a bulldog puppy everyone kept telling me that I should be careful because bulldogs are the most stolen breed of dog there is. They’re pretty expensive, and the bulldog babymamas only have 1 -3 puppies per litter, so they’re kind of hard to get.

At first I wasn’t all that worried, because my bulldog is a fairly big jackass so I figured no one would steal him, although I wrongly assumed no one would steal my jackass of a college boyfriend and I turned out to be sadly mistaken on that one.

So, anyway, that’s why I’m constantly on the lookout for sluts named Heather hanging around my dog. So far, the coast is clear, but that’s probably because there’s a big sign on my back fence that says “Heathers” in a circle with a line through it. Just pays to take certain precautions. For insurance, you know? Keeps the homeowner’s policy cheap.

Anyway, recently I’ve noticed that besides the severe Heather threat, everyone that tries to sell me stuff on my porch is also eyeing the bulldog. And it’s not just because he’s standing on the arm of the chair snorting and snotting all over the picture window at them. Shady looking dudes selling oranges out of a van asked me, “hey – is that an English bulldog? Ain’t they kind of expensive? What’s his name?” And I swear I am not making this up, they then asked, “You got an alarm on this place?” WTF? So I was all, “NO, I don’t NEED an alarm because that there dog is a KIL-LER – and if anyone tries to come in our house he gets all crazy and shit and just goes NUTS and I cannot be held responsible for what would happen next because that dog is not right in the head, know what I’m saying?” And they were all, “Yeah, okay, so no alarm, then?” And I said, “Oh, yeah, sure. Of course we have an alarm. Who doesn’t have an alarm, that would be so stupid.”

Yesterday some very energetic folks rang the doorbell in the middle of my nap...I mean, a conference call, so I nicely let them go through their spiel about wanting to become important business persons and that their whole neighborhood back home could be transformed if I would simply purchase nine years of overpriced obscure magazines from them. Because I’m polite. And hardly ever interrupt. Strangers. So, after they handed me over their vinyl-clad portfolio of interesting publications that included “Gardens & Guns” and “Budget Scrapbooking” they noticed my fine lookin’ pet snotting up the picture window. “Hey – what kinda dog is that? That a bulldog? Them dogs' is expensive, ain’t they?” And then, “What’s his name?” A-HA! Why do you want to know? So that you can trick him into coming out of the yard after casing my joint all afternoon? So that you can lure him with a pound of hamburger into your Chevy panel van with no license plates that you’ll lock him in to cross state lines and put him on Craigslist in Wichita? I dug deep…trying to come up with a name that would impart major fear in these "communications majors from Chicago." And I came up with…eh, nothing. I told them his real name. Maybe because I was groggy from the conference call, but whatever. Then I ordered 36 months of Gardens & Guns, Machine Gun Collector Monthly and How to Deal with Your Own Mental Illness and Total Disregard for Human Life Quarterly.

Which I’m pretty sure scared them off. But not enough to keep them from asking me for a drink before they left. UMMM? Really? You are out pounding the streets to learn “business” and you ask your paying customers for a beverage after closing the deal? It’s not even hot out. Being in shock...I mean, the caring soul that I am, I went in and got a couple of bottles of sugary sports drink, did NOT spit in them at all, and brought them out, pushing the dog away with a poorly timed “Down Killer!” which I’m sure totally frightened them out of any plans of crime against bulldogs. Fifteen minutes later, I looked out and saw where they left the empties on my neighbors’ step. Hello? TACKY. If they DO steal my bulldog, I hope he shits in their van.

I'm totally going to get the Tag-alongs from a different little girl in front of a different grocery store now. Because of YOU.

Okay, well, yes I AM sorry that I slapped your daughter, but seriously? I just bought a CASE of Thin Mints from the little bitch. Does she really think I don't know that I can freeze them? When I just paid her for a year's supply? Okay, month supply. WHATEVER. Make her stop crying.

MBA? We don't need no stinkin' MBA.

Today's business advice:

When in staff meetings, it is best not to start sentences with "Whose bright idea was it to..."

Because, sometimes, it was your boss's bright idea.

This shall conclude today's lesson. Class dismissed.

Because I'm a FASHIONEESTA, baby.

I get way too many email ads from way too many companies that I'm very unlikely to ever buy anything from, but I don't want to unsubscribe to the list and hurt their feelings. As a marketing type person all day long, I realize the VAST implications of receiving their emails and not responding. I'm totally screwing up the response rate, cost of sale and multiple other essential matrices. I get that. But on a grander, more important level of vastitude, I don't want some poor graphic designer or copywriter to get canned because they're blamed for a bad headline or something after I unsubscribe after getting an email. Except for that J. Crew copywriter who calls cardigans "cardis" because they are evil and must be stopped.

So, I get emails for cars, tools, toys, electronics, real estate, candy, dog medicine, children's clothing made in England that will never fit a hearty spoiled American child and much more. Everything I've ever bought online, which is pretty much everything I own, is followed up with a lifetime of emails I won't respond to. Including J. Jill. Now - plenty of you gals out there probably LOVE J. Jill. At some point in my life I found their catalogs particularly appealing and even ordered a few things. The attraction just didn't stick with me because it turns out I am not shaped like a box, and therefore their clothes and me just don't get along. I'm not saying I'm hourglassed or pear-shaped or any of those things. I'm more...hmmm...well, I'm shaped much like a 13 year old boy. With boobs. J. Jill clothes are made for girls. Girly girls with girl type bodies.

So I get the emails and I open them up to see if maybe there's some amazing deal on a cashmere sweater that's usually $158 but is only $22 today because I would totally wear that even if it DID look like a perfect square instead of something a 13-year-old-boy-with-boobs would wear. And today, I see THIS as their representation of ultimate femininity. The hawt-yet-breezy look for spring.

A brown dress. A brown $99 dress with no shape. Granted, I bet it is comfortable, but REALLY, J. Jill? That's it? That's the new look everyone 25-45 will be wearing this spring? In brown? What happened, someone in the accounting department come to a meeting and say, "Now listen, guys, the economy is down. No one wants to be happy. Please, PLEASE, if we wanna sell any dresses this spring, we gotta make them boring. Depressing. Like something you'd wear in prison. In 1930. But we still gotta make money, so make it like a hundred bucks, K?"

And the marketing people piped up and said, "But what about our cheerful demographic? Our SEO stats say that 35% of our customers who are dress shopping googled "Dress for Hope."

And that is why for just another $49 you can add the floral cardigan jacket thing to cover up the prison housecoat dress thing, for this amazing look. Really freshens it up, huh? I bet middle school girls are clamoring for this outfit.

I contend that the fashion experts at J. Jill were out at a team-building conference or something instead of at the ol' drawing boards when they planned the Must Have Looks for Spring 2009. Either that, or some guy in the research department decided that their prime customer was over the age of 80. Because besides being the exact replica of a JC Penney's housecoat, this hundred dollar dress also includes A Detachable Slip! Even though nothing is more sucktastic on a warm day than a clinging layer of polyester...except for maybe a layer of polyester clinging to gawd, pantyhose, it is against the law for anyone under the age of 80 to wear a dress without a slip, even if said dress is BROWN.

If I've offended you because you think the above look is young, clever, and an ironic nod to the vintage housecoat, I apologize. And also I would like to save you about $100. Because in another completely unrelated email, I was pitched these alternatives, which I would totally buy before the J.Jill one, because, Hello, they're $100 cheaper, and B: They're backless. Talk about a breezy look for spring. So cool it's hot.

Working from home.

The following is a "conversation" I recently had with my 9-year-old. I was nose-deep in a spreadsheet. He was bouncing a ball and watching out the window, waiting for a friend to show up.

Pete: Mom, do you think I’ll ever be homeless?

Me: No. Do you?

Pete: Kinda.

Me: Why?

Pete: Because I don’t really like to commit to working.

Me: Hmm. Do you think you’ll always be like that?

Pete: I hope not. If I’m going to own a turkey farm in Nebraska like I’m planning on then I better really get my act together. Also, I would like smaller ears and brown hair, and a smaller, cuter nose. I will keep my blue eyes, though. They hypnotize people.

Me: Hmmm. I like your blonde hair. You should keep it.

Pete: Yeah, well I’ll bet you a million dollars I won’t get a date until 13th grade.
There goes Sam’s dad. Sam is part Hebrew, I know because he goes to Hebrew school with Harry. He’s also part Jewish. Part Jewish, part Hebron. I guess he’s Hebron anyway, although Hebron isn’t the right word, but I’m pretty sure they’re Jewish anyway. At least partways. Not Evan, though, he’s not Jewish. So we’ll probably talk about sports while he’s here. Either that or his sisters. He’ll appreciate being here without his sisters. You can relate to that mom, huh, having sisters? Nice to get away, right? Man, the minutes are going by really slowly. Maybe he’s not going to be here for a long time and I should just be watching a movie to kill the time. Either that or go shoot all those pigeons on Vicki’s house, because they’re all just standing there. Does Evan’s mom drive a big white pickup? Nope. Not them. Maybe they have a small Suzuki or a Jetta. I don’t know. Probably a GMC? Just random questions, Mom. Well here come a big car and it is……it is not stopping. Dang. Well I must admit I am just a little hungry. I betcha 50 bucks that Evan hasn’t eaten lunch. But if he hasn’t, then I am not giving you 50 bucks. Okay, let’s change that. I bet you Evan HAS eaten lunch. But I really wish he HASN’T eaten lunch, because then he can eat lunch with me.

Do we have hot pockets?

And that, Ms. Bossperson, is why my spreadsheet doesn't make any sense.

This is fun! Find out more about your friends!

In 1994, I’d check my email like 42 times a day and get maybe 6 emails. Each one was exciting, it’s unopened little blinking envelope off to the side, its bold font looking at me with such unfettered promise. It was back in those Model T days of Outlook that I received my first All About Me quiz. And it was frickin’ awesome. What an amazing opportunity to share what time I woke up, the color of my socks, my middle name, my preferred toothpaste brand and whether I like hugs or kisses simply by Copying This Note And Forwarding. Also, it took up like 15 minutes of time when I should have been writing copy to sell cable television to people in West Virginia with black lung disease. Not kidding, my “You’re Dying. Might as well watch Cinemax!” campaign garnered a 3.8% response rate. Garnered is really a word I’ve only ever used in conjunction with the phrase “response rate” by the by. They go nicely together, I think, or at least Cable TV executives seem to think so. Sounds much better than “I GOT ME a 3.8% response rate.”

I digress. The All About Me quiz… I really do like getting them still to this day, I really do like reading other people’s sock colors, favorite ice cream and biggest fears. I really really do. But, I hate answering them. You see, back in 1994, I came up with some super good Hi-larious Hi-Jinx answers! Nutty, funny answers. Answers so good, they had to invent the acronyms LOL and ROFLOL just for MY answers.

One little gem:
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?
My answer: Cauli.

That is pure comic gold, dammit.

But, you can only answer Cauli so many times before it gets tired. And now, 14 years later, I’ve officially had to retire Cauli and all my other amazing answers – and right when all the “2009 Version” of All About Me has just been released. Which pretty much looks exactly like the 1994 version, but whatever, it makes people happy.

Scientific studies from leading researchers at really important universities with rich histories and ivy have proven that the All About Me quiz was originally made up by a female and 99.8% of the people that keep them going on the Internet are female. Which is why most of the questions are about chocolate and flowers and kissing. Further studies have shown that the very first quiz can be traced to a pair of 12-year-old girls connected to the internet via a Compaq computer in a public library in Yuma, Arizona. (They were wearing stripey socks, their favorite animal was a pony, and they loved hugs, incidentally. Biggest fear? That Tommy would make fun of their braces in front of everyone.)

All of this brings me to the very interesting thing that happened to me this week, and that is that I got an All About Me quiz from a boy. And not some girly boy, and not a “boi” and not a kid type boy under the age of 11. I got it from a self-proclaimed redneck. A country boy who wears boots and does construction and spits and drinks beer. A 42 year old father of three and owner of a big, loud pickup. Who apparently is rather new to email and the Internet.

And it was about the coolest thing ever. For starters, I’ve never seen “Carhart” as an answer for Favorite Brand Of Clothing? before…and I’m sure his wife was horrified by his answer “lint” to What’s Under Your Bed? Where women write “Losing my family” or “Dying before my husband” for Biggest Fear? this guy, this big, loud, belching guy, wrote “spiders.” His Favorite Flower was the unexpected and sweet “lilacs on the bush.” But perhaps the best part of all was his answer to “How Are You Feeling Right Now?” where he answered something a woman never ever would. He said: Tired. Overweight. Overall Good Mood! And he meant it.

No need to analyze that. I can’t wait to read his “All About My Spouse.” I’m sending it over to him right now.