But only the beers you serve with lime. The regular kind of beer is full of uck.

Sam and I stopped by a quick-stop-and-go-gas-station place for beer. I set it at the register and sort of stepped away so Sam could pay. Okay, what I really did was turn away and stare longingly at the enormous candy display behind me, reciting (In my head, only, thanks. I'm not completely insane.), and this sounds like The Little Train That Shouldn't, "I don't need candy. I don't need candy. I don't need candy."

And as I'm standing there, trying to ignore the Whatchamacallit, I sort of sense... the woman behind the counter is doing... nothing?

I look at her curiously. "Hi," I say, trying to prompt her ass to just ring up my beer, already.

But because I am obsessive about the candy (and also, to get some, I must choose one before the bitch hits "total"), I turned back to the display.

Yet there is still no beepy-beepy meaning she's ringing up. But there is, "Uhm, do you have any ID?" So I turned and smirked (okay, and snorted) at Sam because, seriously? Neither of us will ever again pass for traditional college students. But he handed over his license, and she studied it. And studied it. Then she handed it back to him (I assume, because at this point I was still obsessing with the SweeTarts), and I hear, "I'm going to need your ID, too."

...

Aren't we being a tiny protective of the beer?

But I held my tongue (mostly) and handed over my license so we could just get the hell out of there. Seriously. Bitch. Wrap up the beer. Oh. Mygod.

It wasn't until I was climbing back into the car that it occurred to me. Okay, so maybe my obsession with the candy display, the awkward ignoring of the activity at the cash register, my continuous back-turning to her. Maybe it looked a little bit like me turning away to hide my face? And that dude, the one who was obviously old enough to buy booze, but he's with that chick who isn't making eye-contact, who's acting kinda sneaky? And who isn't, for whatever reason, making the purchase herself. Huh. Maybe someone needs to call the cops.

Ethan is Already Planning Out His Own Time in Fatherhood

I had on the 19 Kids and Counting show this morning.

Shut up.

And, forewarning, I've got another post about the show in edit right at this moment, so I should think you'd be best served by learning to deal now.

So I was playing a DVR'd episode of the show this morning- yes, I not only watch the show, I record it.

For anyone who is not currently sneering at their screen, I'll give a brief description of the show. Super religious couple, they have 19 children. Nope, none adopted. Her poor uterus. The oldest child, Josh, is married to Anna, and they have a baby.

That's all you need to know to appreciate this.

So we're watching this episode- that is, Ethan is sitting on the sofa with me, Sam is in the room- I'm pretty sure he'll claim he wasn't watching. This bit of the episode is focused on Josh and Anna and baby, getting baby ready, taking baby on trip, hoping baby will be good on the plane, blah blah blah. Ethan is kind of absorbing this, seemingly not paying too much attention. He wrinkles up his nose, squints up his beautiful blues... "*scoff* They're penguins."

Eh? I raise an eyebrow to Sam. He shrugs. Back to Ethan. "What?"

Ethan rolls his eyes, gets up to walk out of the room. "They. Are penguins."

"What does that meeaann?" I whine after him.

He turns back around, flings a hand toward the television. "They never put that baby down."

Wow. Apparently Ethan, at seven, has already decided he's not a fan of attachment parenting. I probably shouldn't mention to him that he spent his first eight months of life sleeping in a co-sleeper.

Remember when I told you about that good friend I lost?

Except not that for-serious post. This one. Which was the follow up to this one. They were all about a particular spam email that really pleased me. I was checking my spam folder again for blog fodder anything sent there by mistake, and noticed it had reached a personal high for spam count. Thirteen! Let's discuss.

To begin, I just don't think anything official would have a from line of "loteryclaimsoffice2009". Now, of course I have previous dealings with, er... "JAPANESE WORLD CYBER GAMES" (What the hell, spellcheck? "Cyber" isn't a word? And neither is "spellcheck"???), but the real people know how to spell their own from line. Der.

Up next! As I would never subject an email I wrote as "DEAR SARAH" (besides the fact that I never give any of my emails a subject) (you're welcome, people with whom I correspond), I would therefore never receive back an "RE :DEAR SARAH". However! The beginning of the email is apparently, "Dear SARAH Good day and God bless you. I feel quite safe..."; me, too, rechelleyton. Me, too. And thanks!

Then mary_wong is harping on the "Japan Lottery" again. Can't trick me! You are not my contact with them, bitch!

What I don't get about this next one is why itunes is concerned with ((((Percocet-Aderall-Viagra-Vicodin)))) usage. I've already had my intervention, thankyouverymuch.

iborilucky wants to know, "CAN YOU SUPPLY OIL MATERIAL?" What. the. fuck. Please, no one explain this to me.

And THEN someone is trying to get me with the New Zealand lotto. Well fool me once, folks! I only play the JAPAN CYBER LOTTO. Morons.

And then there're a couple more people all up in my business about my drug use again. Bastards. Although the "Love love pill Offer Pack" has admittedly got me curious. The pill so nice they named it twice. But no capitalization for you, asshole. "Offer" and "Pack" are mucho mas importante. (Imagine the accent marks there. I'm not searching out those keystrokes.)

Let's see... another JAPAN LOTTERY faker. This one used "TOYOTA". Apparently spammers don't read the news... itunes is up in my craw about my drug use again... "noreply" doubled up! One email offering me drugs followed closely by one offering me online gaming. Wow. noreply is spreading himself thin, these days...

Oh. My. GOONIE. (as Connor says)

This one is for real, y'all! It's from a barrister! (A foreign one, obviously.) barristerbrwn12 says, "Re: Dear Sarah"... fuck. Okay, we'll just ignore that. "My name is brown Liam, a Malaysian national and personal At...". "At" what??? "Attache"??? Oh, wait. Probably "Attorney". I'm kind of insulted that brown Liam felt the need to translate it for me. Also, you'd think a lawyer wouldn't put up with shit like being called "brown Liam". Unless this nickname keeps him from getting mixed up with "douchebag Liam" or "bigamist Liam" in the office. Who am I to judge? All I know is goddamned gmail screwed up once again and deposited non-spam email into the spam folder! What if I had not decided to mock the spam folder and had missed this?

Anyone know if I can sue gmail? Hang on, I bet brown Liam knows. I've got an email to respond to.

I just paid eighty bucks for the doctor to tell me to put my daughter on the BRAT diet.

Because apparently letting her eat fried chicken and grapefruit with an upset stomach is a bad idea.

Apparently.

Go me.

I'm an awe-inspiring mother.