Ok ladies and gentlemen, I have a confession to make.  I am 100% completely and totally going through some serious TV issues right now.  I mean, the tube is seriously boring me to tears these days. There is basically just not one show that I watch right now that is really getting it done for me.  What can I say?  I miss the action.  I miss the juice.  I miss the drunk chicks tripping over themselves at the cocktail parties.  And I really miss the drama.  Basically, I’m having a classic case of Bachelor withdrawal. Knowing that I have to wait until May to experience the nail biting suspense of a Rose Ceremony is seriously making me delirious.

What the heck?

I’ve decided that it really just isn’t fair to keep us Bachelor junkies waiting a good two months in between shows, and in protest of this gap, I’ve composed a nice, tasteful letter to Chris Harrison.

Dear Chris,

My name is Mary, and I am a self-proclaimed Bachelor/Bachelorette addict.  I mean, if there were a 12-step program available for this addiction, I’d probably have entered it years ago.  I seriously just cannot seem to manage to cope with the fact that I have to wait all the way until May until the next season of The Bachelorette airs.  And just in case you wanted to know how totally dependent I am on your show, I don’t even LIKE Ali in the slightest, yet I still can’t wait to see her get all gussied up and make out with a handful of guys who probably have way less going for them than the show alludes to.  In all honestly, I live for this shit.

The show is my Monday night escape from reality.  It makes me laugh, it makes me roll my eyes, and it somehow manages to make me feel a whole lot more secure about my “ordinary marriage” and my “ordinary life.” Because I may not have a TV show that revolves around me (yet), but I’m also pretty sure that my husband didn’t marry me simply because he’s gunning to be a Country-Western singer.  At least I hope that’s not the case.

What the heck Chris??

I just don’t understand how I can be expected to wait a good 60 days in between seasons before witnessing the “REAL” most dramatic rose ceremony ever.  Because I know it’s coming.  I know that one of these days, the rose ceremony is actually going to deliver on that promise.  And I know that you won’t let me down on that one, Chris.  Because I have faith in you.  And you work your ass off for your paycheck.  And I’d love to apply for your job should you ever choose to retire.

photo credit

I’m really hoping that you will strongly consider this heartfelt plea from a stay-at-home Mom and shorten the window between seasons a little to appease my addiction to insane reality bullshit.  I need it, and it needs me.

I’m countin’ on you, Chris.  You just gotta come through for me.

Your slightly over the top but loyal fan,

Mary, The Mommyologist

The McLinky is up below and I can’t wait to read your What the Heck? Wednesday and/or Glam Check! posts!

Ok, everyone.  I have a confession to make.  It’s not something that’s easy for me to admit, but I’m gonna have to go ahead and put it out there if I want to stay true to who I am and hopefully maintain my sanity.  Here goes nothing…

“My name is Mary, and I genuinely fear and distrust Legos.  They have completely taken over my son, my house, and my life, and I just can’t seem to manage to dig out from under them.  Every time that I think I might have things a bit under control, those damn Legos emerge and prove once again that they are the boss of me.  And I’m thinking that maybe I should just wave the white flag and surrender because I don’t think that I have a chance in hell of winning this battle.  I’m just not strong enough.”

I have a new little theory that I’d like to share with you that has been born out of my frustration with Legos.  I am almost 100% convinced that the makers of Legos are secretly working with alcohol manufacturers in order to boost revenue.  I mean, the two totally go hand in hand.  And no, I’m not exaggerating in the least, and yes, I’m being totally serious here.  I used to have a nice area rug in my family room, but now the floor looks something like this:

What the heck?

Just in case I haven’t proven my theory to you quite yet, here are a few more arguments that will hopefully swing the vote in my favor.  I don’t want a hung jury here.

1.  The Pain Factor – On more than one occasion, I have walked into my family room to say something to my son only to wind up yelling expletives at the top of my lungs after the bottom of my foot has been nearly punctured after unknowingly stepping on the infamous Lego mound.  And every time this happens I feel like I need a shot of whiskey to numb the throbbing, and also to calm my nerves due to the fact that I am well aware that I’ve just said the “F” word very loudly in front of my 4 year old and I know that he’ll choose to repeat it at the most inopportune time.

2.  The Aggravation Factor – My son loves to build all kinds of “vehicles” out of Legos.  And every time he gets whatever vehicle he’s making almost completely put together, one of those freakin’ pieces snaps off, and then when he tries to snap it back into place, his entire creation breaks apart. And then he gets really frustrated and screams at the top of his lungs, and then that makes ME extremely frustrated FOR him, and then I just really feel like I need a glass of wine or seven.

3.  The Time Factor – Every time that my son gets a new set of Legos, there is some sort of perfect picture on the outside of the box of whatever the contents inside are supposed to build.  And the age range on that box may say 4 to 7, but the conspirators over at Lego know very well that my 4 year old is not going to be able to follow the little pamphlet of instructions included in the box in order to build the seaplane, tractor, or whatever the hell else is pictured on the front.  They are also tuned into the fact that my 4 year old will fully expect me or my husband to put the entire thing together.  And they are also fully aware that this will piss us off to no end because the damn thing takes FOREVER to build and sometimes it is virtually impossible to identify the pieces that are pictured on the instructions.  And then when one of us can’t manage to put it together, we call in the other party for assistance, and then we wind up fighting over which piece goes where, etc., and then by the time one of us figures it out and does manage to put the vehicle together, our son has completely lost interest and has moved on to something else.  And then we wind up needing a really stiff martini to get out of our respective funks.

See what I mean?  It’s all a conspiracy.

What the heck?

Have a What the Heck? post of your own that you’d like to share?  Grab my button and link up below!  And don’t forget that you can also link up your GLAM CHECK! posts here as well!  I’m really looking forward to reading all of them!

And don’t forget to stop by tomorrow for the big Mom Sexy announcement!

Ok, so I fully had the intention of going a completely hilarious route with What the Heck? Wednesday this week.  In fact, some of the things that went down in the past few days were real doozies!  For now I’m going to have to ask everyone to please stay tuned for those stories to pop up at a later date. Because this morning’s What the Heck? moment totally has me freaking out.

I logged into my Bank of America account this morning with the intent of paying the mortgage.  The balance looked a little lower than I expected, so before I hit the “pay now” button, I went in and looked at my transactions.  Most of them were normal and expected, that is until I got to the charge for $765.65 from Pizazz Tuscan Grill at the Pier 5 Hotel in Baltimore.  Ok, ok, so I know what you’re thinking, and yes, you’re right.  I can be kind of a lush sometimes and have been known to rack up a pretty hefty bar bill.  I assure you that at this dinner, however, I only had two glasses of Pinot Grigio and a 9-inch pizza.  Ok, you caught me.  I had three glasses of Pinot, but that’s beside the point.

There were about 25 of us dining at Pizazz that night from the Bloggy Boot Camp crowd, and I think we all kind of knew that something was fishy when three of us, who happened to be sitting right next to each other, had our credit cards declined when trying to pay for our meals.  Little Miss Shady Waitress tried to run my Mastercard first, and now that I know the amount that she was attempting to run, I’m not at all surprised that it didn’t go through because I have seriously beaten that credit card to death over the past couple years.

Since the Mastercard was declined, I made the mistake of giving her my Debit Card.  That went through no problem and I signed the slip for $60 and headed upstairs to bed. If I’m adding things up correctly, I wound up spending about $820 on three wines and a pizza, and all I got was a lousy fraudulent charge.  I mean, if I am going to spend that kind of dough, I at least expect someone to give me a police escort up to my room and tuck me in.  What the heck?

I talked to Bank of America, and because the charge was still pending, they were able to remove it.  Let’s hope that the Pizazz folks don’t try and run it again.  And let’s hope that I can get to the bottom of this when I call the hotel today and hopefully save some other poor chick the agony of seeing her funds unnecessarily sucked out of her checking account.

From now on, I’m carrying cash.

What the heck?

Have a little What the heck? action of your own that you’d like to share? I’d love for you to join me. Grab my button from my sidebar and link up your post below!

I’m back everyone! Ok, so I think that I was in a little bit of a bitter mood this morning when I wrote my initial What the Heck? Wednesday post. Maybe I just don’t know quite enough about the blogging world yet to know how reviews and giveaways, etc. work, or maybe I was just irritated and decided to jump to conclusions. At any rate, I think that a second post is needed today!

I received an email a little while ago from Larissa, the person who I originally communicated with at Hanky Panky when I contributed to their Thong Diary. I am about ready to climb under my desk right now and hide from my computer because I am really THAT embarrassed. Larissa was so nice, and apologized for the fact that I hadn’t received my free gift from Hanky Panky, and I think she was a bit upset that I hadn’t emailed her first before posting something negative about them this morning. I am definitely the type of girl who acts on her impulses immediately, and I really need to get better about that. I am also the type of girl who owns up to my mistakes when I make them, and I made a big one this morning, so I’d like to apologize to Larissa and to everyone else at Hanky Panky for not contacting them before assuming they’d used me for free advertising.

I have been taken advantage of so many times in my life, and I find it hard to trust people if I think that they are making false promises and not following through on their word. I truly feel that good customer service is pretty much dead these days, so I guess I just immediately assumed that this was the case with Hanky Panky as well. For the record, now I understand why the old saying goes, “Don’t assume. It makes an ass out of you and me.” I’m definitely the ass this time.

I have to admit that I was quite shocked that Larissa had read my blog. I didn’t think that anyone outside of my small group of followers was reading it. Again, there I go with the assuming!

I learned a good lesson today, and I am making a promise to Hanky Panky, to my readers, and to myself to not get ahead of the game in the future before giving people the benefit of the doubt that they deserve. That being said, I am SO sorry Larissa, and please pass on my apologies to everyone else at Hanky Panky! Thank you for reminding me that good customer service has not completely disappeared. I have to admit that I’m really glad that I don’t have to hang up my Hanky’s anytime soon. I honestly don’t think that I could ever find a good enough replacement.

Guess I’d better stick to my word and go email the chick from Crystal Light.

Hey, nobody’s perfect, right?