{Update} Has anyone in this family ever seen a chicken?

So you may remember last November when I rescued two love-torn ceramic chickens from the depths of a bargain bin.


They are currently having a love-in aka tucked safely away in my basement until I move out.

This weekend while shopping for some gifts, I made an incredible discovery.

I found their mom.

The resemblance is uncanny.

I wanted to get her so badly and reunite this feathered family, but with only $13 in my bank account I had to settle for a picture.

I think I might have a problem.

PS if you don’t get the reference in the title of my post, you need to stop whatever you’re doing and go watch Arrested Development right now.


Cousin lovin’

Don’t worry, I’m not writing this from West Virginia.

As I mentioned previously, I’ve started to watch Arrested Development for the first time.  Yeah, I’ve never seen it.  Not totally my fault, since I wasn’t even allowed to watch TRL in 2003.

I’m a huge Michael Cera fan and I secretly want to stalk him and make him fall in love with me since he is my ideal dorky boy.  So of course I love all of George-Michael’s storylines, particularly with Maeby (whose name I will admit may possibly have been added to my list of baby names… I mean… secret list of baby names).

I can totally relate to being in love with your cousin.  That’s  probably something I should be admitting to a mental health professional rather than the internets.

I have a lot of cousins.  Between my first cousins, their kids, and their kids’ kids, I have almost 50.  But one in particular stood out as I was growing up.

Stephen was a year older than me and a ginger.  Obviously the combination made me swoon.  Who cares if we shared DNA?  I was determined to find a way to make it work.

He was the middle child of three boys and my younger brother was the same age as his brother, so our families visited each other a lot.  Whenever we visited their house, I’d end up sleeping on the trundle bed in Steven’s room.  It’s like our parents were asking for our young love to blossom.

I remember mixing up huge glasses of strawberry milk (that stuff was amazing) and watching episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark together.  He used to make fun of the fact that I hadn’t been kissed by a boy yet (at 5, I was a late bloomer, romantically speaking).

When I was 6, Stephen’s family came up to NJ and we went into the city to see Aladdin on Ice.  Our parents let us each buy a souvenir.  I chose a Princess Jasmine costume and the boys all got swords.  When we got home, we decided to play Aladdin.  Of course I was Jasmine and the boys all fought over who had to be Aladdin.  None of them wanted to have to get all lovey dovey with me since I was their sister/cousin.  Ehren announced he would be Jafar and the rest of the boys continued to argue over who had to be the hero.

Stephen finally stepped up to the plate.  This was my moment.  The boys reenacted the fight scene as I huddled helplessly in the corner with Raja (one of my Kitty Kitty Kittens which were also awesome).  After defeating Jafar and his minions, my Aladdin finally came to my rescue.  He ran over to me, gave me his hand, and pulled me up.  I was of course expecting a romantic kiss, or at the very least, a warm embrace.  But instead, he grabbed Raja, threw her across the room, and called me a stinkhead.

And that’s why you should find love interests outside of your genetic pool.

I wish stripper policemen would run at me every time I tried to buy drugs

Day #2 of being stuck on my couch and I’ve obviously accomplished a great deal.  A great deal being an hour long phone call with my grandma explaining why it’s not okay to take off her clothes in the middle of nursing home Bingo followed by 6 episodes of Arrested Development.

Of course this has given me a lot of time to be reflective.  Watching Michael Bluth try to teach his son a lesson by hiring stripper policemen to perform a fake drug bust reminded me in no way of my own childhood and that makes me sad all day.

Growing up, my mom was pretty strict.  No tolerance for cursing (she still yells at me when I do), messiness, or bad behavior.  My IM history was checked, I wasn’t allowed to watch the Friends series finale when I was 15 because it was “inappropriate”, and boys were completely off-limits.  But instead of teaching me valuable life lessons through in-depth conversations or at least a skit, she used to lock me in a room and make me watch Dr. Phil episodes she had taped.

Just a note, my mom is awesome. I was a terror in my pre-teen/early teenage years, so it’s probably a good thing she kept me on that child leash since otherwise havoc and/or a natural disaster would have occurred.  I mean, I still got away with a lot of stuff, but to this day I’m scared she’ll find out about it.

One time, my best friend’s family and my family were down in LBI at her grandparent’s shore house for Memorial Day Weekend.  I think we were about 13/14 years old.  Now, Jen and I wanted to be able to walk around the island on our own.  We felt like we were missing out on the crazy nightlife the beach had to offer.  I mean, the mini golf place was open til 10pm on WEEKNIGHTS!  Plus we wanted to scam on all the hotties.

We weren’t asking much: minigolf, the ice cream shop, and all the little tourist-y shops were within a 5 block radius from the beachfront house.

Our moms decided that before we were allowed out on our own, we had to watch 4 hours of Dr. Phil episodes.  My mom had the VHS tapes all ready.  They locked us in the master bedroom and subjected us to horrifying stories of pregnant 12 year olds with thongs that said “Daddy’s Girl” hanging out of their jeans.  This was definitely not a Mary-Kate and Ashley straight-to-video kind of deal.

After hearing about child abductions and the dangers of navel piercings, we were given the go-ahead.

It was about 7pm when we left the house and it was starting to get dark.  We made it to the corner store to get some chocolate whipped cream (our favorite snack, we used to eat it right out of the can) and decided to go for a walk on the beach.

Now, after having our minds tortured with images of creepy men, we started to get a little freaked out.  There were a few lone people on the beach and of course we were convinced every single one was a serial killer who would impregnate us and steal our Beanie Babies.

We had walked farther than intended and started to panic.  The beach was dark, we were going to die, and Dr. Phil was right about it all!

We decided to get off the beach and walk down the main street where there was more light.  We were only about 10 blocks from the house, but we had ended up near some of the bars.  So now there really were drunk leering men, and we, being classy, smart young women, decided to deal with this problem by running down street in flip flops screaming at the top of our lungs.

When we finally got to our street and realized no one was following us, we burst into tears and swore we would NEVER go out by ourselves again.