White-knuckling it

Okay, yeah, so I fell off the bead diet wagon yesterday and made three purchases. One was on sale, one was something I’ve been trying to buy on Etsy for three months and every time the seller lists one, somebody else gets it before I do (literally had one sold right outta my cart before I could finish checking out), and some stuff that was just too breathtaking to pass up.

I HAD to have it.

HAD TO.

Or I would’ve died.

Like that time in 7th grade where I HAD TO have a pair of Chemin de Fer jeans to wear to school the next day or I was gonna die. And they had to be the sailor style with the five buttons on either side.

I still remember my mother standing at the checkout counter with me at Miller’s Outpost (remember them?) and loudly saying “$35??? For JEANS???!!!”

Ahhh…the 70’s.

Anyway, no more purchases until Saturday at the show. I am determined. Surely I can go 48 measly hours without making a bead purchase? Right?

I am a responsible adult woman with a college degree. I will not be defeated by a tiny ball with a hole in it, dammit!

Speaking of which, I read the funniest bead joke yesterday that I’m going to share here.

**NOTE**: It’s a little off-color so if you get offended easily or you’re one of those people who feels compelled to e-mail me whenever I don’t keep the blog G-rated, just do us all a favor and stop reading now, okay? Okay.

For the rest of you:

A bead is a marble that’s lost its virginity.

*Snicker*

Okay, *I* thought it was funny. But then, I spend all my time with a 6-year-old boy so it’s possible that my sense of humor may be a bit debased.

For example, this is the conversation that took place in my bedroom last night (again – warning and read at your own risk and potty words, etc.):


CREAAAKKK! I hear my bedroom door opening and I look at the clock. Crap. 2:42 AM. Why does this stuff always happen in the middle of the freakin’ night.

Kid: “M-m-mommy?”

Me (TRYING to be nice and yet still not wake all the way up): “What’s wrong, honey? Did you have a bad dream?”

Kid: “No.”

Me: “Well, go back to bed then.”

Kid: “I can’t”

Me: “Why not?”

Kid: “My underwear is stuck to my butt.”

Sigh. (Okay, so I didn’t find it so funny at the time, but this morning it’s making me giggle)

I bet Angelina Jolie doesn’t have to put up with this kinda stuff. Or if she does, I bet she makes Brad go deal with it.

So, until the day when Brad Pitt comes to be my live-in nanny and all-around man slave, I guess I’ll just have drown my sorrows in my beads.

How many more hours to the show?

KJ