That’s right my friends. With my new found riches from GE Caulk Singles I am going to sponsor one lucky readers hair TRANSFORMATION–mation-mation-mation…

Nothing can make a bad day good or a good day better like a great hair day.

I am here to make that happen for one lucky lady (or dude, whatever, but I’m going to warn you dudes the ladies are going to be pretty cranky if you get up in their hair contest.)

What’s even better? The hair goddess Sarah from Whoorl has agreed to join me in my efforts. The winner will be fast tracked to the FRONT! OF! THE! LINE! over at Hair Thursday (you know, the little hair site that has been in the NY Times and on Nightline? Yeah that one, the one with a massive waiting list?) Sarah herself will decide on a new style for the winner, readers will vote, off someone will go to a salon chair somewhere in the world to get a fabulous new do that they will come back and show off on Hair Thursday-all paid for by me and my cock caulk money (up to $140 USD).

Now here’s what you have to do.

You have to write a post on your own personal blog (Yes, you must have a blog for this contest, sorry.) sometime between today and Midnight EST Monday, July 14th.

• You must link back to this original entry and to Hair Thursday. Then, leave a comment on this post with a link to your entry. Each entry has to include:
• a picture from your horrid hair past (even if it was twenty minutes or twenty years ago) Like say, this one. (I know, believe me, I know. Where do you even begin making fun of such a photo?)

• a picture of a really good hair day captured on film (again, anytime in your life) Like this one perhaps:

• and a picture of where your hair stands today (or sits, or flies away, or frizzes, or poofs). (Which just happens to be like the above photo for me. Everyday. My hair is magical. Heh. Whatever.)

Anything else you add is completely up to you. The winner will be picked randomly from all qualifying entries and announced whilst Sarah and I are in San Francisco (between Thursday, July 18th and Sunday, July 20).

*************

Fine print? Well, to make sure you use the money for your hair, arrangements will be made with the winner for payment. I will either purchase a gift certificate to the salon of your choosing or will call the salon personally to make payment arrangements. You’ll also have to provide photos of your hair being done in a salon atmosphere, no Miss Clairol and home and passing it off as professional. You have to get your hair DONE and DONE RIGHT. You deserve it.)

Good luck!

So maybe you’ve heard by now that my bathtub crayon drawings all over my bathroom sink won me $1000.

No?

Well, the bathtub crayon drawings all over my sink won me $1000.

Proof that parking your kid in front of a movie for an hour, drawing all over your sink and taking pictures of it can be worthwhile.

The Caulk Judges even gave me a perfect 10. (Go ahead, take the L out of caulk and giggle furiously like Heather did when I told her.)

What does a $1000 mean in our house? So far it means golf clubs for Cody and the longest damn massage at the swankiest spa in San Francisco I can find.

I’d say it meant new clothes but since I won a $250 shopping spree at TJ Maxx last month, my wardrobe is pretty much taken care of.

What’s that? Sleeping Jellybeans? OH! Seething jealousy! Yes, I totally understand. I’m a little jealous of myself. Believe me, I’m just waiting for a piano to fall on my head or worms to start spurting out of my toes.

I’m sure blogher is all “Can one person BE so lucky?” And I say unto you-YEAH THEY CAN.

In an effort to pay it forward I will be having a little (okay, kinda huge) giveaway/contest of my own here by the end of the week. It will be sweet. You will totally want to enter.

Best news? I won’t be able to.

Ah, yes. Google “orgasm on treadmill” and guess who’s #1?

Hi. That would be me.

Apparently I’ve taught the world a lot about odd things that can occur when exercising.

I just never thought I’d teach my teacher (and entire class) about these odd things.

I continue to take a yoga class where my flexibility and bendy parts still service me well. As you may remember I’m quite good at the “plow” pose. It was while in the “plow” Monday morning that my teacher decided to make an example out of me.

“Can you bring your hips straight up and your legs out?”

Of course everyone in the class turns to look at me.

“Hi!”

I started to do it until I noticed the eerie silence in the room and the fact that all eyes were on me. When I move out of plow, I queef. Hardcore.

I dropped out of the pose quickly and mumbled “I’m always afraid I’ll queef when I do that.”

“Excuse me what?”

“Queef, you know, a, uh, a vaginal toot?”

This is when my yogini laughed hysterically and thanked me for giving a name to this COMPLETELY COMMON yoga freak of farting. And in fact if you DON’T queef chances are you’re not doing it right.

So queef with pride my sisters, it’s one fart that lets you know you’re doing something right.

I worked at a frozen yogurt shop around the corner from my house when I was 14. (14! Yes, fourteen, the owners didn’t seem the type into child labor laws, they paid me straight out of their personal checkbook.) Anyway, I was left alone in the shop a lot.

14 year old, surrounded by candy and frozen yogurt.

I’m not proud to say that I pretty much ate myself silly everyday. Especially with the Butterfinger. Oh the massive amounts of Butterfinger.

Every Christmas eve my family would eat crab and strawberry daiquiris by the fire.

I then worked at Marie Callendar’s pies at the age of 16. I was fueled on cornbread and potato cheese soup.

After I left home I worked at Spaghetti Factory. My free spaghetti meal was what kept me alive each day during that period of my life. I sometimes went into work to pick up shifts just so I could eat.

One of the best meals I ever had was grocery store Chinese take out with an orange cream soda. It was the best because I ate it on my very own bed in my very own apartment.

When I met Cody (at the mall) we ate Gyros almost every day that we worked together.

When I was pregnant the only food I never barfed up was Velveeta Shells & Cheese. I came close once, but kept it down out of principle.

I also craved Arby’s Beef & Cheddars. I did barf those up, but continued to eat them anyway.

My sister and I devour sushi whenever we are in each other’s presence.

I’m not officially at “home” in Utah until I’ve had a pork burrito.

When I think of my mom I think of her pineapple spareribs.

When I think of my dad I think of popcorn.

When I think of my step mom I think of spaghetti, chicken broccoli fettuccine, frog eye salad and turkey.

When I think of my step dad I think of huevos rancheros.

Golden Corral and Sizzler? Totally my in laws.

I fantasize about the day my child calls home from college and says “I MISS YOUR COOKING.” Or the day I’m able to welcome my grandkids in with a squishy grandma hug and a plate of warm cookies. (The best cookies they’ve ever had of course.)

I think it’s safe to say I have an insufferable emotional attachment to food.

Blog-I am your faddah and yo muddah. For this I am sorry. All those dramatic “fatal error” messages you’ve been forced to give people? Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m not ashamed to beg ask for help. In the last twelve hours two people have been up in your business doing things I was unable to do on my own. Sorry if you feel violated, but you look so much better. And hopefully work so much better too. (Hey, if any of you get a fatal error message will you let me know? kthxbai)

Big juicy thank yous to Elizabeth and J. Maxfield for getting their code all up in my FTP. (blog humor. har.)

And now moosh-your dad is up in bed snoring and moaning like a severely wounded walrus. Today is Father’s Day and I just wanted to let you know, as someone who’s lived with your dad for seven years that the teasing and relentless obnoxiousness will likely never stop. It’s how he shows us that he loves us.

Seriously.

Your shrieks of horror and protest must be music to your dad’s ears or else he wouldn’t insist on pissing you off so often. He never had a brother. We have to forgive him for this. Guy just doesn’t know how to be surrounded by wimmin all the time. It’s made him a little crazy. Good news? Any brothers that you may have will pale in comparison to what your faddah dishes out.

There is a moment in your birth video where he reaches out and touches you really REALLY quick while the nurses are cleaning you off. He didn’t want to get in trouble. You can hear the nurses say “It’s okay dad, she’s yours, you can touch her all you want.” Later when he told me that he got to be the first! to! touch! you!  was the first time I ever saw him weakened with the power a little girl holds over her daddy. He hasn’t recovered since. You are his world.

In another hour he will get up and start teasing us. And poking us. And annoying us. This is how boys show they like you. From kindergarten to high school to marriage. The more they pick on you the more smitten they are.

I think it would be impossible for daddy to be any more smitten with us.

We’re lucky ladies.

Happy Father’s Day dude.

I should have warned our sink about Cody. Cody has crazy amounts of facial hair and has to shave on a regular basis for work. Cody just happens to be missing the gene that causes him to wipe his whiskers out of the sink. Bummer really, because it leads me to scrub the living daylights out of the poor sink, whatever caulk it had and frankly the sink and I don’t have a very healthy relationship.

So after a crazy session of husbandly shaving I cleaned the sink. Well, after I solved one other little problem.

If there were such a thing as sink therapy my sink would be sending me the bill.

So after unclogging and scrubbing I patted myself for a job well done and planned on watching a little TV.

The sink had other ideas.

OH REALLY? And what do you expect me to do about it?

CAULK YOU? Seriously? With the gun and the time and the 24 hour period and the money and the waste and I DON’T CAULK.

Okay. I see your point. So maybe a little caulk wouldn’t hurt. I just wish there were an easier way to do it.

“Excuse me ma’am?”

Yes?

I am a GE Caulk Single and I am here to save the day for less than two dollars! (available at Lowe’s, ACE Hardware and True Value, just sayin’)

Okay sink, maybe you win this time. I’ll start scraping.

(Insert heavy caulking session here.)

Well say! That was pretty easy.

HEY! I’ve never caulked before. I think I did a decent job. Now quit with the nitpicking and tell me how you really feel.

That’s right you do. And you look better too. Now say thank you to Mr. Caulk Single.

So there you have it. GE Caulk Singles saves the sink. (And gets me a sweet entry into BlogHer’s Spruce Up Your Space Contest for wha? A $1000 gift card. That’s right. HURRY THERE’S STILL TIME TO ENTER!)

Now if they could only make sinks whisker proof. *sigh*

What you say: “If you do that one more time, WE WILL GO HOME.”

What you think: “For the love of Pete please KNOCK IT OFF because I spent an hour getting ready to come here and I really don’t want to go ten minutes after getting here.”

Anyone experienced with the 3′ and under set know that as soon as you bend one rule with a toddler they are on you like flies on poo. They suddenly feel entitled to get away with tantrum murder. I’ve been lucky thus far in my parenting career. Generally if I have “that tone” in my voice when telling the moosh to mind me she listens without further argument. And let me just tell you there have been moments when I had no consequence or punishment in mind, I just threw the “mom tone” out there hoping it would fool her. *phew* most of the time it does. But then there’s those times when you throw out a consequence that you don’t really mean, and you’re left praying that your kid shapes up or your faced with the flies on poo dilemma.

Take for example our trip to the pool today. We had finally gotten there (Have you ever taken a kid swimming? The toys, the sunscreen, the potty, the snacks, the swimsuit, the towels, the bikini line, THE UTTER PREPAREDNESS OF IT ALL.) and after an hour the lifeguards took a break and everyone was to get out of the pool during the guards break. the moosh pulled some attitude after I told her to get out of the pool.

“You pull attitude again, we go home.” I said (thinking that would be enough to set her straight, HA HA said the parenting gods.)

She did the ugly grunt/growl at me, stomped her foot, scrunched her nose and yelled “NO!”

Decision time.

Two hours to get to the pool for only one hour of swimming. Do I abandon all that hard work on principle?

Yes, yes I do. Flies on poo Casey, flies on poo.

“I asked you not to be mean, we’re going home.”

Cue the tears. OH THE TEARS. To see the moosh with her wet mop of curls, over sized mermaid sunglasses, wrapped in a pink beach towel with her chubby thighs sticking out bawling the saddest cry a small person is able to muster is a sight no one can look away from. People want to hug her, give her candy and unicorns. (I want to hug her and give her candy and unicorns too, but PRINCIPLE!) I’m left dragging a haggard, sad, chubby little water baby out of the YMCA all because she didn’t listen to me.

Now I’ve only had to abandon a well planned activity once before. It was the zoo, early last year. An hour to get prepared and travel there and less than ten minutes inside the gate when Tantrum War II broke out.

Principle sucks sometimes.

Another time the moosh was in her car seat just as we set out on a ten hour drive to Kansas City. Whatever she was doing was unacceptable and I turned to tell her “IF YOU DO THAT ONE MORE…” I stopped myself. What the heck was I going to do to a kid strapped in a car seat? Leave her at the side of the road? She knew it too. She looked at me as if to say “You’ll do what MOM? Put me in time out? Really? I’m right here. No going anywhere. Bring it.”

But I’m pleased to say that the moosh listens perdy darn well for a three year old. And if it takes days like today to give merit to my scary mom tone then so be it.

You’ve done this too right? Everyone? The whole “I’m saying it but I really don’t want to mean it” thing? How scary is your scary mom tone?