Here’s what else made me laugh this week:

– Tommy Johnagin on David Letterman

– AT&T commercial: Latte please. An entire website is dedicated to commercials people hate and this one is on the list but I think “Coffee Patron No. 4″ is funny.

– Little girl’s running away letter.

— Alex Baze.

Lactose intolerance is born out of lactose ignorance.

— Alex Baze (@bazecraze) May 18, 2012

Everybody wonders if they’re fat and nobody wonders if they’re boring.

— Alex Baze (@bazecraze) May 17, 2012

— Facecrooks, the Social Media Watchdog.

— Mental floss.

     “I love them! Where do you get your nails done?”
“The color is beautiful. What salon do you go to?”
“No, I recorded it but haven’t watched it yet.”
“It was okay but not as good as the reviews made it sound. You can’t trust the critics.”

Have you seen “Office Space?” Seriously, when I first saw it I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I worked in Corporate Accounts Payable so that woman who answers an alarming barrage of calls with an annoyingly chipper, “Corporate Accounts Payable! Please hold,” was disturbing to me. And yes, I had a chronic case of The Mondays. Sometimes on Tuesdays too. 

As a stay-at-home mommy I can be found at 9:00 A.M. on a Monday nursing a newborn and watching SpongeBob with a toddler. Now why would I ever want to leave this and go back to earning a salary? I still drink all the caffeine I need but without having to face morning traffic or referee the thermostat arguments between pre and post menopausal women. Although, surprisingly, I’ve found that dealing with toddlers is not all that different from working with CEOs. You have to deal with their crap and you know they’re never completely listening to you.

If there’s one thing a women can do it’s make a mental note of something that bothers her, stew about it, and bring it up at a time convenient for her. I am such a woman, the time is now and the subject is Target and the data-miningof their customers’ shopping habits.You probably heard recently about Target discovering a teen girl’s pregnancy before her father knew. Most shoppers have long been aware that retailers track purchases in order to sell more products. The fact that their analysis is sophisticated enough to determine pregnancy is what’s frightening and offensive to some people. Target’s response to the onslaught of media requests regarding their guest marketing was to issue a statement that they, like many retailers, use “research tools to understand customer preferences and provide offers that are relevant to them.”

What’s funny to me about the panic over this targeted marketing (no pun intended) is that we’re only comfortable with this kind of thing going on if we don’t have to know or think about it. Really, this is nothing new and pregnancy prediction is only one piece of personal information a retailer can glean from their customers’ shopping habits.

For example, I’m one of countless consumers who swipes their shoppers card at their favorite grocery store each time they shop there. I like that this triggers a mailing of handy coupons for things I frequently purchase like Oscar Meyer bacon or Beneful dog food. I don’t worry that the food chain could guess my week’s dinner menu or know that I baked muffins because I bought eggs, sugar and blueberries. They could probably determine my family’s risk factors for diabetes and other illnesses. My grocer has an in-store pharmacy so they already have some of our medical history data to work with.

Amazon knows I’m a sucker for Anne Tyler novels and a good memoir. They can reliably recommend good books for my Kindle since they record my purchases and searches. What does this reveal besides my education level and hobbies? iTunes does the same with music. Does my varied music playlist speak volumes about me? I’m a moderate Fanilow, I like 80s tunes and I’m a bona fide Monkee Junkee. (Contrary to what that might indicate, I’m not a middle-aged extrovert.) Take note iTunes: you can do something useful with my music preferences besides suggesting songs and artists, like marketing concert tickets. I’d like advance notice that my favorite band is coming to an amphitheater near me.

Besides purchases, what about interpersonal relationships? Facebook and Twitter aside, they aren’t exactly a secret either. My cell phone carrier can tell you how often I call my mother and every other person in my contacts list. (Actually, they can triangulate and even tell you where I call them too.) Bet they’d know I had a fight with my best friend if there was a sudden drop in activity…

Am I completely naive for not worrying that the minutia of my life is circling in cyberspace available to marketers or mysterious Men in Black? I confess I’m not even a document shredder and I know people who blot out their info with a black Sharpie first. After all, what if the men in ski masks hiding behind their trashcans waiting to pounce and steal their identity not only have a lot of Scotch tape but patience too? I know, I know. Identity theft is a serious problem. People’s lives are harmed and the damage can take years to undo. I’d also prefer to choose what details I make public instead of corporate executives data mining it for themselves. But for now I’ll just try to take reasonable precautions to maintain my privacy and personal data. I didn’t fall for the texting scam promising a $1,000 WalMart gift card so I’m not completely reckless.

Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

-Horatio, Hamlet Act V Scene ii

•  The Perfect Man. Cute PG chick flick with Hilary Duff and Heather Locklear. My favorite quote:

Beefy construction worker (referring to football game on TV): “You’re a Jets fan, right?”
Lance (played by Carson Kressly): “Oh my God, hel-lo! I LIVE for West Side Story!”

• Fashion Police, Grammys Edition.

Joan Rivers on Kristen Wiig and Lea Michele: “I look at Kristen and I think, ‘I hate that choker.’ I look at Lea and I think, ‘I’d love to choke her.’” Gotta love that acid tongue on Joan Rivers.

•  “That bee sting look,” says my husband.

I made homemade salsa with the bounty from a farmer’s market shopping trip. The recipe called for an insane count of five serrano peppers. (One unlucky cook commented that she and her husband, who eat habaneros everyday, made the salsa and didn’t remove the seeds. After eating it they “lost all feeling in their heads.”) Having used only 3/4 of a pepper and taking four or five bites, I had to ice my raw lips which my husband thought was so funny he had to take my pic and post it on Facebook. “You have that bee sting look,” he laughed.

The salsa was delicious though. Too bad I forgot about my food processor while I chopped tomatoes until my hand cramped. NOTE: if you add sugar it lessens the spiciness.

•  When Moms Steal Groceries.

“Grocery shopping with children is not an errand… it’s an extreme Olympic sport where you must locate and purchase your items with great speed and determination, before one of those little beings gets thirsty, needs a nap, misses her Dora doll, has a meltdown and overall makes your life unbearable.”

•  George McWashington. A McNugget that looks like George Washington selling on Ebay. Seriously?

•  Crappy Robot Boy. Thank you, Amber Dusick, for never failing to make me laugh.

Hope you have a great, sugar-regulated weekend.

Everyone was vocal with their opinions, which often strayed from the issue at hand: Casey Anthony’s guilt or innocence in the death of her toddler, Caylee. The public considered George and Cindy Anthony fair game to judge and lambaste on the news, some even trespassing on their front lawn to protest with signs. Much of the outrage came from the perceived ignorance of the Anthonys and their unwavering support of their daughter. Others decided Casey was a product of bad parenting but sympathizers of George and Cindy believed Casey must have been born a monster capable of filicide – the nature versus nurture argument.

If the plight of the Anthonys interested you, you might enjoy the bestselling novel by William Landay, Defending Jacob. The narrator of the story is Andy Barber, a highly respected assistant district attorney in Massachusetts suburbia. He is assigned the shocking murder case of a teenage boy, Ben Rifkin, only to be put on paid leave as his son Jacob becomes a suspect and is subsequently arrested.

Andy and his wife Laurie are stunned to become social pariahs overnight as even their decades-old friendships are strained. Laurie begins homeschooling an ostracized Jacob. Andy personally investigates the Rifkin homicide, hoping to find the real killer and exonerate his son. While in extreme denial about the damming evidence mounting against Jacob, Andy does face the reality of heading to trial and finally confesses to Laurie the truth about his family’s history of violence. The bloody Barber legacy is another cause for Laurie to question Jacob’s innocence but Andy remains resolute in support of their son.

Any parent could find it frightening to ask themselves the questions the Barbers were forced to consider: How well do you really know your child? Do you know how they spend their time online (keeping in mind that tech savvy kids can circumvent parental controls and permanently erase their history)? Are you really following their Facebook activity? Do you know what social peer group they fall into at school? Have you met their friends?

Some reviewers of Defending Jacob commented it gets a little sluggish during the murder trial. While I don’t entirely disagree, I was never bored and I give William Landay credit for a satisfying ending with a surprise.

“My what?!” I quickly examined myself – was my zipper down? Had a button come undone?

“Your aura,” she repeated. “It’s orange.”

“Thanks,” I same dumbly. How do you respond to something like that? I had a vague idea of what an aura was – it’s the “electromagnetic field that surrounds the human body,” if you want a textbook definition. Some people claim to see auras and you can find books on the subject with how-to instructions. What an orange one meant I had no idea but later learned it varies widely depending on who you ask. Some sources say it shows a desire or ability to control people. Others say orange is the color of vitality and it indicates energy, creativity, productivity, and courage. I’ve also heard it’s indicative of stress and addiction. I don’t believe in any of that hocus-pocus but I did wonder if an orange aura would have anything to do with orange being my favorite color.

You might think it would be a good thing that if I had to sum up my week in a word it would be “orange.” My previous post, a recommend of the book Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman, was the good part. The rest… not so much.

It started with the sickeningly sweet orange drink for the glucose screening every pregnant woman has to take. I chug-a-lugged the nasty beverage and an hour later a phlebotomist drew my blood. If you haven’t had the displeasure of drinking the syrupy soda used to check your sugar level in your third trimester, then let me tell you it’s enough to ruin every happy childhood memory of Orange Tang. When I was little I remember my great aunt always having some in her pantry. When her back was turned I’d sneak scoop after heaping scoop of the powdery mix into my water glass. It was so thick I’d have to eat it with a spoon.

Thinking all the grossness of glucose testing was behind me, I was surprised when my doctor called a few days later to say that my sugar levels were elevated and I needed to come back and re-test. Except this “re-test” was more than a repeat of the first time. Now I needed to do a three-hour glucose tolerance test. This meant after midnight I wouldn’t be allowed to eat or drink anything – not so much as a stick of gum or ice chip was to pass through my lips. I was to show up at 8:00 a.m. and get my blood drawn. Then I had to drink that orange concoction again in five minutes or less. For the next three hours on the hour they would re-take my blood. That’s a total of FOUR BLOOD DRAWS but who’s counting?

So that was how I ended my week – sitting in the waiting room of my doctor’s office. Hungry. Thirsty. Getting poked twice in each arm. I passed the time reading a New York Times Bestseller on my Kindle, of course with an orange case.

Now I’m just crossing my fingers for good test results. Although, after reading about the symptoms of gestational diabetes (what would I do without Google?) I’m pretty sure I can see where things are going.

So… what was funny this week? To be continued…

So do I. Sadly, one of the most memorable for me was the Valentine’s Day that wasn’t, circa 1985. I was in fourth grade and on February 13th the whole class decorated brown lunch bags with red, pink, and white construction paper hearts, wrote our names on them in giant letters, and hung them in the back of the classroom by the cubbies.

Anticipation was high for the party the next day since it was the last big hoorah for the school year. St. Patrick’s Day would pass with some shamrock decorations and warnings not to pinch anyone for not wearing green. If we were lucky we’d make some bunny craft in Art class for Easter. Certainly we’d make something in May for our mothers but Valentine’s Day was bigger than all of that.

First, there was the all important valentine selection. Fourth grade protocol demanded nothing too cutesy or juvenile and woe to the kid whose mother took them shopping too late and found everything picked over! They’d have two options: buy the crappy ones or make homemade valentines. Second, there was the party. The teacher would call your row and you’d get to distribute your valentines into everyone’s lunch bags then go get a paper plate full of sugary goodies: cupcakes, frosted cookies, conversation hearts, and suckers. You could fill a paper cup from the punchbowl full of red KoolAid. All day there would be no real lessons or learning and definitely no homework. Third, the valentine revelations. I don’t know what the boys were doing but in fourth grade there was some critical analysis taking place by the girls. Each valentine was assessed individually: a card with a large piece of candy, an extra sticker, or anything written in addition to the boy’s name could mean you were the object of someone’s crush. Everyone understood a crush could lead to “going steady,” which meant that the other person saved you a seat on the bus and might call you at home one day for five minutes while their friends laughed and prompted them what to say in the background.

But the morning of Valentine’s Day I awoke feverishly ill and, despite my pleas that I WOULD MISS THE CLASS PARTY, my mother insisted that I stay home and not infect my classmates with my germs. In my weakened condition I did my best all day to pout and explain how she was ruining my life.

Wouldn’t you know I woke up February 15th having made a miraculous recovery and my mother made me go to school? The day after Valentine’s Day it was back to business. Finally in the afternoon my teacher gave me my paper bag of cards. A few kids taped suckers or conversation hearts to the envelopes but other than that I’d been cheated out of all the sugary loot. I was allowed to pass out my own cards but since I hadn’t put any candy with mine they seemed like a pitiful afterthought as I went around the desks handing them out.

This is just one of the reasons I’m in therapy.

Me, before the psychological damage.

Hope your Valentine’s Day isn’t emotionally scarring.

Does this artwork stir your emotions? Does it capture the jarring impact as the teenage boy crushed my back bumper in a parking lot? Can you feel the joyous relief when I learn my unborn baby girl is unharmed and has a healthy heartbeat in the 140s? Do you hear the instrumental melodies as I wait on hold with the auto insurance company? Can you taste the crunchy taco dinner that left me with a cracked tooth? Can you feel my sadness from learning a house we’d been interested in is sold? Yeah, I thought so.

Now on to what made me laugh:

•  Madison scares easily. Poor girl wouldn’t last two minutes on Fear Factor. Couple that with her gullibility and she might as well walk around with a target on her back. Recently we were in the car and I tricked her into thinking she was about to get wet when we drove past some sprinklers. That was nothing compared to her genuine reaction to a bumblebee buzzing around the car while we were parked at a red light. She startled, squealed, curled into a ball and yelled, “Aaaaaack! A BEE!” After laughing until my stomach hurt I’m like, “The windshield is solid, Madison.”

•  Catnap. For non-parents, this is exactly what sleeping with children is like.

•  Done in 30 Minutes with the kids versus WITHOUT them. Another NickMom gem.

•  My friend’s Facebook status: “Last night I told my twins they could be anything they want when they grow up. Hannah announced she wants to be a Daddy. Abbie announced she wants to be an M&M. A red one.”

•  1984 Realized. (Thanks, Luke.)

Hope your week was less eventful and even funnier than mine. Have a great weekend… and watch out for those teenage drivers!