It's much like pointing out that a child does not ethnically resemble his parent.

The first time you tell someone that they look too young to have had whatever child they have, it's a compliment... or, at least, can be meant as one.
The second time you make the comment, it becomes mildly uncomfortable to the target. Target is the appropriate word here because the statement has become pointed.
The third and every following occurrence, you are simply begging for an awkward conversation about teen pregnancy and what it feels like to be a statistic.
Are you looking for some sort of confession?
Are you my priest?
Did my Catholicism unlapse without my noticing?
Have some couth.

Haha, get it? "Face" the facts? I kill me.

Dear Sarah,

The line under your eye is not eyeliner. It's a wrinkle. Please stop trying to remove it with a q-tip.

Face the facts,

Your Raw Skin

...so I booted his ass into the ditch.

Connor has to run a trivia game in one of his classes tomorrow. I insisted that he take candy for the winners because how can a game that ends in candy be anything less than kickass? So I picked up some Jolly Ranchers for him, Nerds for me, on the way home from his hockey practice. By the way, convenience store? You're welcome for his stinky self not coming in with me.

I tossed them into his lap when I got into the car:

Me: I got a whole ton of them. Might as well give them to everyone... You can make it raiiinnn. *rainy fingers*

He: Should I stand up on top of one of the desks?

Me: Duck and cover, bitches!

He: You're gonna get a call from my teacher if I do that.

Me: I'll just tell him, "It was funny at the time!"

And then after we giggled over this conversation, he had the nerve to try to hold my Nerds hostage...

Work retail? Me? How'd you guess.

Floating around the internet for a while- always reappearing at about this time each year- is a photo of a sign at Nordstrom. There's actually multiple versions of this photo, taken in different years. It essentially says... well, here:

(Courtesy A Little Ditty and Apartment Therapy, respectively. I know nothing of either of these sites, except they are, as it were, pro Nordstrom signage.)

At first, I was all for this. And then I thought, hang on... the reason stores put up Christmas stuff early is to get your bucks before you give them elsewhere, by reminding you that 'tis the season, bitches!

This, I think falls into the same line of thinking as car manufacturers who keep putting their vehicles out earlier and earlier. These days, you buy a 2013 vehicle in February of 2012. Same with magazines. Weekly magazines can be pulled from the rack a week before the date on the cover. Monthly magazines come out two months before their date.

So, sure, Nordstrom isn't putting up decorations. They're just putting a goddamn sign in your face. "Look at us! We're better! See how we're not mentioning Christmas to you? We're not mentioning Christmas! (Or Black Friday!)"

Back-handed bitch slap, that is. You don't know you've been hit until after the forehand is already on trajectory back to you.

So, yeah, my first objection was my slow realization that I had just been psychologized. And then it hit me. How in the hell do they go from day-before-Thanksgiving-NOT-Christmas to day-after-Thanksgiving-CHRISTMAS? And they prep for Black Friday? Because, I will tell you, Christmasing a store takes hella long. It's an intense process... Please, someone correct me; I want to be wrong on this. I want there to be a way that this store magically converts itself- without making their employees work crazy hours the day before Thanksgiving, or, worse, on Thanksgiving itself.

I'd rather see decorations too early.

Just don't play the music.

Do the right thing, New York Senate.

A little over a year and a half ago, I sort of ripped NYS a new one because of a defeated gay marriage bill. I swore and called names, threw in a minor threat or two...

Today, I am calmly calling for the Senate of New York State to simply look around, notice what the House has noticed. The majority of New York State residents are in favor of gay marriage. This is not a "gay" issue. This is a civil rights issue. This is not a religious issue. This is a civil rights issue.

Do not hide behind arguments of "forcing" churches to provide health care for the spouse of a gay employee. You can take all the semantics and bicker behind closed doors later. For now, recognize that his-and-her marriage is no more valid than his-and-his or her-and-her marriage.

Now's the time, New York.

It's not my least favorite question, but it's in the top ten.

All the damn time:

Me: Emily, can you please go find the XYZ?
Emily: *sigh* Where is it?
Me: Really?

We got dry ice packed in with a shipment at work today.

Apparently I'm rather odd, in that as soon as I saw it, I claimed it. "Oh, I am taking that home!" My coworker looked at me oddly. "You know, you can freeze fruit, shatter it. You can make a spooky cauldron. You can even make root beer!" He gave me that look; you know the one. It says, Okay, sweetie. I'm glad you're excited. You're weird for it, but hey, I'm happy that you're happy.

This is the same reaction I got from a second coworker.

Then, as I was walking out of the building, I passed Kevin. I do so adore Kevin. He gave me the curious look: You have a box. That's not one of our normal boxes. The box has frost on it. Tell me about the box!

I had just the slightest hesitation before telling him about it. Twice bitten, whatnot. But this was Kevin! He did not let me down.

"Ohmygod, dry ice is. so. cool! You can do so many things with it! Like a spooky cauldron. Do we get this in a lot? Where can you even buy dry ice?*"

I love Kevin. But he was not getting my dry ice. He can have the next batch, though, I swear.

I'm gonna stand on this side of the normal line, with Kevin. Life's always more fun over here.

Me, enjoying one of those cool things you can do with dry ice. This is kind of in real time because Sam is taking this photo while I'm writing this post. Also, my husband is a kick-ass bartender.

See the fog? See the frozen lemons? See the tequila?

*Dear those closer to the west coast (okay, mostly Utah). You cannot buy dry ice in supermarkets in the east. I know, this is odd to you. It is, nonetheless, a fact.