<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297</id><updated>2012-02-16T20:27:23.542-08:00</updated><category term='Red Lobster sucks'/><category term='Christmas 2008'/><category term='bad customer service'/><title type='text'>Kryspy Treats</title><subtitle type='html'>Stories and anecdotes floating around in my head making me giggle uncontrollably when least expected OR..more simply stated...sh%!*t that makes me giggle</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>16</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-929583996956795303</id><published>2009-03-17T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T12:41:33.288-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Idiosyncracies</title><content type='html'>As many of you may know (those that do not are likely victims) I have a knack for identifying those little things people say or do unknowingly...idiosyncrasies. I don't think I have many hugely identifiable ones. Brent would argue but then he would argue that my name is not my name. But I have noticed that Michael has several.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My current favorite pops up quite frequently in conversation. He is very verbose these days and our conversations verge on adult - more so than I'd like. He's not even 4 and I find myself pondering his thoughts. He'll start new parts of conversations with "Well, you know..." dragging the well and know out. "Well, you know mommy sometimes people get pulled over for speeding." "Well, you know it's not dark out yet so we should go to the park." "Well, you know I always like Macaroni and Cheese." Usually these conversations are in the car as he has time to look around and form new thoughts. One day he says..."Well, you know I've been very quiet back here. I deserve a treat." So I have to ask myself if I'm feeding this? Did I tell him that if he's quiet in the car that he'd get a treat? I don't recall and I can't think of why I'd tell him that. I'm blaming Brent since I get blamed for Michael's often timely use of colorful terms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More sooner than later I hope...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-929583996956795303?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/929583996956795303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=929583996956795303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/929583996956795303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/929583996956795303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2009/03/idiosyncracies.html' title='Idiosyncracies'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-4209054780521407186</id><published>2008-12-19T13:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T13:57:41.627-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The boys in my life...</title><content type='html'>It's not often that I'm not with Michael outside of work so when something funny happens and I have to hear it 2nd hand I'm both happy that I get to hear about it and sad that I missed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day Brent was driving Michael to meet me at work when Michael's little voice pipes up in the back..."Daddy, my teeth are getting bigger!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael was chewing on a candy cane and the candy was sticking to his teeth.  I'm still laughing. Ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Brent - He called me to tell me he had an Indiana Jones moment.  He had exited the house through the garage having closed the door and ran to get out when he realized his keys were still in the house and he'd have no access to get them.  So...he DOVE under the closing garage door just barely making it in on time.  Whew!  That was close :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the boys in my life.  Laugh on...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-4209054780521407186?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/4209054780521407186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=4209054780521407186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/4209054780521407186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/4209054780521407186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/12/boys-in-my-life.html' title='The boys in my life...'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-7888654464050416686</id><published>2008-12-08T18:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T19:15:35.059-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas 2008'/><title type='text'>Letters to Santa</title><content type='html'>All week long we'd been prepping Michael to get ready to visit Santa and remember what he was going to ask him for Christmas. He even received a letter from the Christmas guy himself and one from Bwutus (Rudolph) the wed nose weindeea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael has been very serious and industrious in his approach to the formalities of asking Santa for his gifts. He very patiently sat right in front of the stage where Santa and Mrs. Claus were visiting with all the children until it was his turn. Then he unleashed this huge list of toys he'd never told us he wanted??? No idea where he was storing those ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the funniest thing occurred when we wrote his letter to Santa. I sat with him and explained that he would write a letter to Santa thanking him for his letter and letting Santa know that he was so happy to be on the Nice list (he got a certificate signed by Mr. C, Bernard the Chief Elf and a hoof print from Bwutus). So he prepares his letter and hands it to me explaining that one little spot was Santa's nose and the big blob on the top of the letter was Santa. At the bottom he wrote his letters to Santa. There was an 'A', a 'C' an 'L' that looked like a backwards 7, an 'M', his favorite letter, an 'i', because it has a dot on top like sundaes, an 'R' that looked like a marshmallow on legs and an 'H'. Letters to Santa. They happen to be the letters in his name with the exception of the e as he always forget how the e goes but he emphatically insists that he wasn't writing his name. They are his "...WETTERs to Santa, Mommy. huh. Don't ask me again." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND I'm not allowed to mail it to Santa because "...he might not get it because sometimes mail gets wost and he wants to hand it to him hisself to make sure Santa gets it because he wants to make sure Santa gets his wetter because he weally wikes the Chwistmas Guy and he's on the nice list and..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still laughing...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-7888654464050416686?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/7888654464050416686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=7888654464050416686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7888654464050416686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7888654464050416686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/12/letters-to-santa.html' title='Letters to Santa'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-1068286491741072934</id><published>2008-11-30T06:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T06:17:06.239-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Christmas Guy</title><content type='html'>Michael calls Santa Cwaus the Christmas Guy.  This is really a Mikumism however it's longer than just a phrase...it's the entire concept.  So says Michael...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Cwistmas Guy wides his weindeer and gives good boys and giwews pwesents and tuff (stuff) but he's not weal he's pwetend but he brings us tuff and sometimes if you have a chimnee  he comes down but he doesn't get burned by the fire cuz he knows a secwet way and then he eats cookies and drinks chocwatey miwk and goes to see Weece."  (Reece is his best friend)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-1068286491741072934?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/1068286491741072934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=1068286491741072934' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/1068286491741072934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/1068286491741072934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/11/christmas-guy.html' title='The Christmas Guy'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-7484540012238945999</id><published>2008-11-30T05:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T06:12:06.007-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Michael's Dreams</title><content type='html'>Been a while but I have some really great new material so I will TRY to post them all in this next month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Top of this list for today...Michael's Dreams.  On the weekends we take our time getting out of bed (Michael inevitably has crawled in with us) and upon waking we ask what dreams Michael had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you all know where this is going.  Surreal plus 3.5.  It doesn't get any funnier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night's dream: &lt;br /&gt;Me: What did you dream about?&lt;br /&gt;Michael: Red Robin (pronounced Wed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Wobin&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;Me: Did you have their yummy Macaroni and Cheese?&lt;br /&gt;Michael reflectively: No...they were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cwosed&lt;/span&gt;.  So I went &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;somepwace&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ewse&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh.  Where did you go?&lt;br /&gt;Michael:  Home Depot.  They had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;wots&lt;/span&gt; of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tuff&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;Me: Did you eat there?&lt;br /&gt;Michael:  I had a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;hotdog&lt;/span&gt;.  Then I went home.  The end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before:&lt;br /&gt;Me: Did you dream last night?&lt;br /&gt;Michael: Yeah.  I dreamed about Batman.  He was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;fwying&lt;/span&gt; all around and around and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;kiwwing&lt;/span&gt; all the bad guys.  Mommy why are there bad guys?&lt;br /&gt;Me:  So Batman has a job.&lt;br /&gt;Michael: Oh.  Huh. Well Batman was saving all the people.  The end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get a new camera I will post a really funny video of him jamming on his air guitar.  He came home one day and just did this.  Jammed out, told me to rock out and went on his merry way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-7484540012238945999?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/7484540012238945999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=7484540012238945999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7484540012238945999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7484540012238945999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/11/michaels-dreams.html' title='Michael&apos;s Dreams'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-903041888702720782</id><published>2008-10-10T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T18:11:41.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Mikumisms</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;These are more actual scenarios that are too funny to not post.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;On getting up from the table at dinner time: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Me:  Michael, where are you going?  You have food to eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Michael: Mommy, I need to make more room! (Spoken in a very exxasperated tone with his hands flipped up)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Me: How do you make more room?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Michael:  First you poop, then you go pee, then you have more room for Macaroni and Cheese.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;On going out to eat:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Memaw: Michael, we're going to meet you're mommy for dinner at Bob Evans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;Michael:  I don't like Bob Evans.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;I like Wed Wobin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;When I pick him up from daycare and they are on the playground:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Michael: Not yet mommy.  I don't want you here.  I'm not ready&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;On drop-off:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Michael: don't weave mommy.  Wait 5 minutes until I'm ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;When I say the F word:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Michael:  Mommy.  Fuck is a bad word.  You shouldn't say fuck.  Why did you say fuck?  Do you like to say fuck?  I'm not allowed to say fuck cuz it's a bad word.  Mommy, I don't say fuck.  You shouldn't say fuck.  Mommy, don't say fuck any more ever again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Me: &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;OK&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-903041888702720782?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/903041888702720782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=903041888702720782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/903041888702720782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/903041888702720782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/10/new-mikumisms.html' title='New Mikumisms'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-410207031587369138</id><published>2008-09-25T10:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T10:20:08.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On this day...</title><content type='html'>On this day in 2008 something funny happened but I can't remember what it was...damn useless brain...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-410207031587369138?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/410207031587369138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=410207031587369138' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/410207031587369138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/410207031587369138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/09/on-this-day.html' title='On this day...'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-6126081672727009305</id><published>2008-09-12T07:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T07:40:29.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Kind of Funny</title><content type='html'>My son has this new thing where he says or does really silly or mundane things and then asks me if it's funny.  It's cute and oddly comforting knowing that he wants approval for making us laugh.  My answer is usually, "yeah, bud, that's funny" or "well it's kind of funny".  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then we rented Be Kind Rewind.  It's truly an awful movie but there are some really funny moments with Jack Black and Mos Def or whatever his name is when they are doing the Sweded thing.  (I'm not going to spoil this masterpiece for you.  Just rent it and don't expect too much. You can really skip the beginning and end and get the good stuff from the middle if you like.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My point...there is a scene in the movie where Jack Black is dressed up as RoboCop and he's in character talking like him.  Something happens and he responds in the RoboCop voice..."It's kind of funny".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I of course think this is hilarious and now my response to Michael is my version of the RoboCop voice (all nasally due to my tonsillectomy) "It's kind of funny".  He doesn't get it.  In fact he'll say, "Mommy that's not funny.  Don't do that voice anymore."  HA!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On another note - it's bad movie month for me...don't rent The Lost Boys Tribe movie....the only good thing is that it's short.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-6126081672727009305?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/6126081672727009305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=6126081672727009305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/6126081672727009305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/6126081672727009305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/09/its-kind-of-funny.html' title='It&apos;s Kind of Funny'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-4965804850494629923</id><published>2008-09-08T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T08:33:21.902-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tonsillectomy...schmonsillectomy</title><content type='html'>So I get my entire throat gutted out...literally.  My huge-ass tonsils along with my soft palate which includes that little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dangly&lt;/span&gt; thing at the back of your throat - all gone.  I feel like the inside of a pumpkin at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Halloween&lt;/span&gt;.  Anyone have a candle?  Maybe one of those new electric flames so I don't burn the roof of my mouth would be best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's funny how doctors and even those that have gone through a procedure will gloss over or even forget the details of how crappy the ordeal truly is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I was told I would be out of commission for 10 days to two weeks.  Pretty accurate.  I returned to work on day 13.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I was told the pain was awful.  True - definitely blows away childbirth and I had back labor so it was rather excruciating.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I would have limited ability to eat and drinking liquids quickly might come out my nose.  True.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;In fact&lt;/span&gt; its quite funny to do on purpose if I can suffer the pain.  My son thinks is hilarious - "Mommy blow the water out your nose again..."&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I might sound nasally.  Well I don't sound like Fran &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Dresher&lt;/span&gt; in the Nanny but I do sound like I was born partially deaf.  At least to me - others say I sound different - don't be polite just tell me.  It's kind of funny. (It's kind of funny in a Jack Black &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;robocop&lt;/span&gt; voice - now that's funny - rent Be Kind Rewind but don't expect too much)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I would lose weight - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;woohoo&lt;/span&gt; - hell yeah I did and I'm still losing so yippee for me.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Here's what no one told me (some of these are funny - you have to picture me stumbling all &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;mediciney&lt;/span&gt; headed around my house in bed clothes, hair all in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;disarray&lt;/span&gt;, afraid to talk or swallow, starving and dying of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;thirst&lt;/span&gt;):&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The pain medication hurt so bad to take that I didn't want to take it but suffered through it to be able to sleep or drink&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Codeine is your friend&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can't stop a sneeze no matter what&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sneezing is excruciating when your throat has been gutted&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Coughing is right up there with sneezing&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Yawning is excruciating - maybe &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;topping&lt;/span&gt; sneezing due to frequency&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Excruciating as a term for the pain doesn't truly do it justice&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Salivating makes you have to spit - constantly - I hate to spit&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That funky smell is your throat rotting or something - healing???&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Coffee makes the stench worse&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Brushing your teeth is a dangerous and treacherous ordeal&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Something messes with your body's ability to process what it's taking in resulting in unexpected and uncontrollable &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;BM's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can't shout at your suicidal &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;schooler&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Liquid diets are boring&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jello for every meal for two weeks SUCKS!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Chicken broth is not a beverage&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can't blend a salad enough to make it palatable&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;But I'm back to work and my regular schedule.  I can't eat or drink, talking hurts and I can't seem to stop the damned yawning.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Supposedly I will not get as sick anymore and I sleep without a snore.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Was it worth it?  Dunno - that may be a future blog.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-4965804850494629923?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/4965804850494629923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=4965804850494629923' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/4965804850494629923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/4965804850494629923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/09/tonsillectomyschmonsillectomy.html' title='Tonsillectomy...schmonsillectomy'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-3393539895222100620</id><published>2008-08-21T07:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T08:54:30.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mikum-isms</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;OK...OK I know kids say the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;darndest&lt;/span&gt; things...BUT...this is MY kid and he's got some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;whoosies&lt;/span&gt;. So this is my tribute/log-for-his-18&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;-b-day/funny shit list of some of my favorite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Mikum&lt;/span&gt;-isms. And of course as I write this I can not recall the best ones. I will be adding to this tho so stay tuned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Mikum&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;- he used to refer to himself as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Mikum&lt;/span&gt;. This was when he was around 2 and he was really starting to talk well. Now he's 3 and he's &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Mikoh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ga-Ga, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Shasha&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Sheeshoe&lt;/span&gt; - &lt;/strong&gt;His imaginary friends. He used to call them his buddies and then I asked him their names. It's even funnier that their names are always the same and they always appear in this order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ga-Ga&lt;/strong&gt; works with Daddy. He was Michael's first imaginary wrestling partner. Now they play soccer in the living room. Ga-Ga is always the goalie and Michael always scores on him. He sucks as a goalie. He can't bat for shit either. AND we can't teach him because HE'S NOT REAL MOMMY!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ga-Ga is not allowed over right now because he keeps shooting Michael and I have to dig out the bullets and make the wounds heal for the next round. Ga-Ga drives a cool, fast car that Mommy can't catch because her car is too &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;slooooooow&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Ga-Ga likes &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ice cream&lt;/span&gt; and Michael insists that I make him a bowl when Michael gets one. We have lots of chocolate soup.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Shasha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; is a girl but not Michael's girlfriend. They are just friends. Michael has girlfriends at school. It's a toss up between Abby, Alena and Payton.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Sheeshoe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; (another boy) doesn't work. He doesn't have a job. I think he's just lazy and plays video games all day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What the heck?&lt;/strong&gt; - I told him this wasn't a bad word so now he uses it all the time. What the heck?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;quishing&lt;/span&gt; you head -&lt;/strong&gt; Guess what we taught him to do :D Notice no 'S' He leaves it out for words like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;school&lt;/span&gt; and stool. Stinker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm not a 'tinker mommy&lt;/strong&gt; - See number 4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm not a little Sit...I'm a BIG Sit &lt;/strong&gt;- some 'S' words are pronounced without the 'Sh' sound.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mommy it's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; I say Hell because that's not a bad word. That's a place&lt;/strong&gt; - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Whoa&lt;/span&gt;! - now I KNOW he didn't get this from me. I'm saving the my-little-angel-is-going-to-hell speech for much later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oh snap&lt;/strong&gt; - thanks Rachel.  And he says this with the snap and the head thing.  My son the diva.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Gots&lt;/span&gt; more coming later gators&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-3393539895222100620?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/3393539895222100620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=3393539895222100620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3393539895222100620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3393539895222100620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/08/mikum-isms.html' title='Mikum-isms'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-7613736276043746903</id><published>2008-08-06T09:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T09:07:09.527-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Red Lobster sucks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad customer service'/><title type='text'>I could lose my job for this - Red Lobster sucks - G0 because crappy service isn't funny</title><content type='html'>What an excuse for passing the buck and not being accountable for crappy actions. I don't know when it happened...I was busy continuing my education so I could get out of the restaurant/bar business...but somewhere along the way good customer service or at the very least customer service was shoved behind the accountability curtain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I did work in the hospitality industry and in retail I always hated the notion that the customer is always right. I remember clearly that people would use this to their advantage. But I always tried my best to help people and own up to anything I could be held accountable for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now that I am in a completely different industry I find myself at the behest of those still in hospitality and the bar has most certainly dropped - damn near to the floor if you ask me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I write this? Well normally I would address an issue head on with whomever can effectively make it right or make me feel like they can. In this case I feel as thought the entire corporation is not adequately responsive so I must speak out and warn others of the dangers of crappy service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently had a less-than-satisfying experience at Red Lobster. I can not recall when we went there previously but I know it had been a while and now I remember why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was late on a Sunday evening - 8pm-ish. The restaurant hours of operation posted stated they would be open until 9pm. We were seated fairly quickly. Our server came over and offered drinks and perhaps stated her name. We ordered. Then we waited. During this wait we witnessed several employees going through closing motions. We felt rushed and in the way but still we waited. When we finally received our salads I remember thinking - these are rather skimpy even for side salads. Then I overheard our waitress tell her next table that the salads are no good and that she did not recommend them - to which she addressed us and said - 'Oh, but yours are ok."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we waited. During that time we were given some rolls. When our meals finally arrived my famished toddler was more than ready to go to town on his food, but as any toddler mom surely knows he could not eat without a side of ranch dressing. So the side I requested showed up after I had shared my meal with my son and he was no longer interested in his. so we packed his to go.&lt;br /&gt;We received the bill very promptly, paid and left our packaged food on the table and left. After buckling my son in and heading out of the shopping complex we realized we had forgotten the to go box. So we turned around. It was now 9:04pm. The doors were locked so we knocked. 4 employees walked by, saw us, shook their heads and not one addressed us. So the knocking became constant pounding. Perhaps they could not actually see or hear us. When that produced no results we tried laying on the horn of the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A manager finally came to the door and shouted through it. "We're closed" We stated we knew that. Pretty obvious. but we could see our to go box on our table that hadn't yet been cleared and just wanted it so we could be on our merry way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she goes and gets the box, opens the door, hands it out and says, "I could be fired for this." to which we responded that she should probably worry more about the complaint we're going to send in than the fact that she opened the door. So our crappy service ended with a chastising from a pitiful chain manager who didn't have the decency to address us as normal people. We don't look threatening. People don't knock on doors unless they really want something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This brings up another point though. We've become a society of hiders. We hide behind the notion that you can't trust anyone these days or some company policy designed to protect those who don't know any better. But what really is happening is that accountability is chucked out the window and people no longer have to think for themselves. I think it's sad and if any of you ever catch me doing any of that crap I want you to kick me in the head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-7613736276043746903?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/7613736276043746903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=7613736276043746903' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7613736276043746903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7613736276043746903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-could-lose-my-job-for-this-red.html' title='I could lose my job for this - Red Lobster sucks - G0 because crappy service isn&apos;t funny'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-7599862308975859924</id><published>2008-07-14T10:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T09:49:51.998-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Those awkward public restroom sounds</title><content type='html'>You all know what I'm talking about, farting, poop plopping and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;occasional&lt;/span&gt; buzzing...yes I said buzzing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are like me (boy do I hope you're not - it's crazy in here) then trips to public restrooms are a trial in self-control.  I always have been and will always be hyper sensitive to bodily sounds in public places where I don't know anyone.  Totally different story amongst super close friends and family though as I know many of you can attest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was in a stall and there was someone in the stall next to me equally sensitive from what I could tell - you know not making any noise but very noisily running the toilet paper roll around and around.  I took note of her shoes - not sure why I did but I always do and I am of course assuming she was a she.  They were brown snake-skin open toe mules with thick black heels at about an inch.  If my sisters were with me they could have told you the designer.  I'm not that good or that interested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I finish quietly of course, exit the stall and proceed to wash my hands vigorously - I've become a bit obsessed with clean hands.  Actually I was stalling.  As I was exiting the stall I heard a very distinctive and tell-tale buzzing.  Oh yeah - I said buzzing.  It was brief but I know that's what I heard.  So in my head little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Kryspy&lt;/span&gt; was saying - "There is no f-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt; way that's what you think it is - you're at WORK???!!!"  Well I couldn't hear it while the water was running but as soon as I turned off the faucet there it was again.  And it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;intermittent&lt;/span&gt; so I could hear it going on and off, on, off, on longer, off shorter....  I dried my hands and slowly exited the restroom - little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Kryspy&lt;/span&gt; in hysterics in my head. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the hallway I was debating sticking around, maybe loitering near a desk with a good view of the door so I could see whose shoes I'd seen.  I was convinced I was going to have a huge laugh over this.  I had my phone - I could take a discreet picture or better yet go back in and record!  I think I'm sick but it was really funny.  They were really old looking toes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I had a game plan worked out on how I would catch this person I heard that buzzing again.  What's going on?  Little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Kryspy&lt;/span&gt; stopped laughing for one second.  When I realized it was construction work on the floor above me I almost peed myself - in fact I probably would have but I had just been in the restroom.  I'll give you a second too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that all this really funny shit only happens to me when I'm alone and can't immediately share it with anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope you all laughed out loud and fell out of your chair as your boss walked by :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-7599862308975859924?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/7599862308975859924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=7599862308975859924' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7599862308975859924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/7599862308975859924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/those-awkward-public-restroom-sounds.html' title='Those awkward public restroom sounds'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-3038894428793298082</id><published>2008-07-10T18:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T18:56:29.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My son the boogie extractor - G9 if you have kids - G1 and kinda gross if you don't</title><content type='html'>This evening I was driving somewhere and Michael pipes in from the luxurious dedicated throne of his in the backseat..."Mommy - I need a tissue. There's something yucky in my mouth" so I hand him a tissue and ask him what it was. He promptly answers rather non-chalantly, "A boogie". So I of course have to ask how it got in there to begin with. He says in his little toddler logical way, "Well...I put it in there Mommy! ???" When I asked him if he is allowed to put boogies in his mouth he says no but it's Thursday you see so its ok - all while using some crazy hand gestures that clearly meant Thursday is OK-to-put-boogies-in-your-mouth-and-spit-them-out day.&lt;br /&gt;Duh. What was I thinking....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW - he got lucky on the Thursday thing.  Usually it's Sunday or Friday on Monday or Tuesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-3038894428793298082?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/3038894428793298082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=3038894428793298082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3038894428793298082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3038894428793298082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-son-comic-g9-if-you-have-kids-g1-and.html' title='My son the boogie extractor - G9 if you have kids - G1 and kinda gross if you don&apos;t'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-3528188867999768925</id><published>2008-07-10T05:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T18:40:58.979-07:00</updated><title type='text'>5AM Workouts - G0 on the giggle scale (this blows)</title><content type='html'>Going from athlete to fat girl was fun. (this over a course of 20 years mind you) I got to drink alot (did I say alot - I should say a ton) eat (very bad habits here - Raviolis at 4AM - yum) and be merry. I could maintain or gain and didn't care much. I never obsessed about any of it as long as I didn't have to shop at Lane Bryant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then along came Michael. I had almost 10 months of I-can-eat-anything-I-want "freedom" because I was growing my parasite. The mid-wife warned me that it would be really tough to get rid of the fat later but I didn't believe her. I'd done it before and I felt giddy any way. I was having a baby - woohoo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I want to be married and I can't eat or drink hardly anything. Going from fat girl to athlete or at least more atletically (my play on aesthetics for those of you who think I can't spell) pleasing to the eye sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we started this 5AM workout regimen - yes I'm that dedicated - hahahaha - more like stupid but let me go on. Brent is fantastic about it. He gets up religiously, runs a mad mile, pumps some iron, showers, has breakfast and runs off to work. I on the other hand slowly, creakily, saunter down the stairs, wait for the mad run to end unless I waited in bed of course, get in a leisurely 10-15 minute walk (sometimes I opt for the quick sprint), stretch my aching calves and back, do some arbitrary stretching, pump my 10lb weights for one or two reps, spin on the Red Dot (ultimately faking my ab workout), go upstairs, make breakfast, pack lunches, shower, fight with Michael to go to daycare and go to work. That is if I even get up. If I don't you can skip to the shower and the mad scramble to get lunches packed, boy dressed and out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we've been doing this for over a month. Brent looks fantastic and I gained weight I think anyway. AND I've been bitching about it the whole time and justifying my binge on chocolate as the whole effort being pointless. Until today. I don't know if I lost any weight (I think I broke the scale the last time I checked) but I feel great for the first time since we started. I feel like I want to go work out now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not expecting any miracles and I'm not going to say I'm going to give it my all and keep at it. However I will share with you that time when I flew off (ok take this one lightly - I'm not a beach ball) the end of that treadmill because I set it too fast and couldn't keep up or the time when I dropped that stupid 10lb weight on the edge of my shoe. Oh and my favorite...jiggling. I'll leave it at that and let you imagine - tastefully what I could possibly mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the next thought invades my brain...and causes a giggle to run down my back...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-3528188867999768925?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/3528188867999768925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=3528188867999768925' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3528188867999768925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3528188867999768925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/5am-workouts-g0-this-blows.html' title='5AM Workouts - G0 on the giggle scale (this blows)'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-5384146995591335603</id><published>2008-07-10T03:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T04:18:50.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me Blog...me giggle - G12 (Giggle factor 12 on the 10 scale)</title><content type='html'>It's not often that I read anything that is not mainstream horror, drama or suspense but I seem to be having a hard time finding good fiction that engages me to the point that I forget where and who I am for those brief moments that I am 'in' the book. *breathe*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My current read was actually a gag gift for my future husband. It's this hilariously witty memoir written by Bigfoot. It's called Me Write Book, It Bigfoot Memoir by Graham Roumieu. OMG. Every page I read makes me giggle in that uncontrollable-my-tongue-is-too-big-for-my-mouth way. I'm about halfway through the book and I felt compelled to share as I go along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The book starts by stating it was poorly researched. It then goes through the life and times of Bigfoot and his comments on enduring constant misunderstanding. I almost peed myself reading a page called Inside. I don't want to give it away so go get the book...or if you are near and dear to me you can borrow mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each page is a segment or event in Bigfoot's life and he makes clever correlations to eras and known people in those eras. I can't give the details.  You have to read for yourself - unless you have no sense of humor...then don't bother.  Now I'm not sure why I've even written this post because it's not giggle worthy but if I get any of you to read this book you'll completely understand why I was so compelled...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read it. Oh and did I mention there are 2 others. I don't correctly recall the names but I think one is called Me Not Dead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-5384146995591335603?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/5384146995591335603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=5384146995591335603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/5384146995591335603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/5384146995591335603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/me-blogme-giggle-giggle-factor-12-on-10.html' title='Me Blog...me giggle - G12 (Giggle factor 12 on the 10 scale)'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7336258321654728297.post-3747054139265242109</id><published>2008-07-01T10:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T04:02:37.179-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Faucet Fiasco</title><content type='html'>Let me start with - crap like this just happens to me. If a camera followed me all day long with a little band that could play circus or caliope music or keystone kops stuff I'd make a fortune. Reality comedy...so ludicrous it must be real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you know that a leaky faucet in a bathroom (when messed with because you are convinced you can easily just tighten it) can and will shoot hard and high enough to hit the ceiling thus resulting in the flooding of an entire bathroom and leakage into the basement through the vents and walls?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you also know that said activities would freak out a 2.5 year old to the point of heaving bawling. We're talking pure terror here. Not sure if it was the water or perhaps I too was screaming - I really don't recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No building should ever be built with only a main water shut off valve hidden in the basement where you would never think to look. Ran up and down twice to find it (water shooting up the whole time). 12 bath towels later, a soaking mom and toddler, many tears and a surprise visit from the boyfriend who thought the looks on our faces was priceless when he walked in - we have a new faucet in place. Sheesh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just thought I'd share :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you aren't rolling over laughing you aren't picturing me in a tiny bathroom with my son peering over the sink "helping" when Old Faithful burst through my faucet and wouldn't be controlled or stopped. If it helps picture me holding my hand over the geyser with water spraying horizontally then unsuccessfully trying to stuff the thing that shot out back in. If that's not enough how about frantically searching for a valve in the basement while water was dripping down on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a great day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this I must add the Giggle factor rating.  This episode rates a mere 7 on the 10 scale or G7 which is really the 7-12 scale because why would I bother with anything below a 7???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7336258321654728297-3747054139265242109?l=kryspytreats.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/feeds/3747054139265242109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7336258321654728297&amp;postID=3747054139265242109' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3747054139265242109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7336258321654728297/posts/default/3747054139265242109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://kryspytreats.blogspot.com/2008/07/faucet-fiasco.html' title='The Faucet Fiasco'/><author><name>Kryspy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15589701737109499314</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
