Dear Sonic Restaurant Worker People,

First off, I would just like to say that you are right. You ARE my favorite drink stop. That special ice of yours makes me so happy. If I were on Prozac, I would stop it and crunch your ice instead. That is how good your ice is.

Your french fries aren’t the best, but they’ll do. I will put up with your less than best fries for a chance to drink your yummy cokes and crunch your yummy ice.

Your cheeseburgers are extra yummy. Just the right amount of grease, so as not to make me have a heart attack the minute I lay eyes on you, but they still manage to taste as though I should be having a heart attack. Pure heaven. HOWEVER, what is the deal with that dreaded question you ask the minute I say cheeseburger? Mayonnaise, mustard, or ketchup style? WHAT? Mustard OR ketchup? Don’t most people use both? Or is it just me? It must be me, because every time I say ketchup and mustard ya’ll pause for a minute and then wonderingly question "both?" as though I must be mistaken. Um, yea. I like both on my burgers.

So. I order both. And I know it confuses you and I know it ruins your day and for that I am sorry. But, you see, I am the one paying for that cheeseburger. That means that I would like it made the way I like to eat it. With ketchup and mustard, both of them, married on my sandwich the way God intended. So, when I order it and you then you act all confused and I explain to you that yes, please put BOTH on the sandwich, I just don’t understand how you could mess it up? I mean really, people. Why is it that I never actually get both ketchup and mustard on my cheeseburger? Is there an extra charge for both? I’ll pay it. Just tell me what I have to do to get both ketchup AND mustard on my sandwich. TELL ME!

Also, if you are wondering why I don’t just go home and put my own ketchup or mustard on the sandwich in the privacy of my own home, I will tell you why I do not do this. TEMPERATURE, people. You usually put mustard on and forget the ketchup. That means that the mustard has had time to meld with the burger and become one with the temperature. My ketchup happens to be refrigerated. That means that I will be eating a cheeseburger that is all the same temp EXCEPT FOR THE KETCHUP. And thats just wrong.

In closing, I would like to thank you for your yummy drinks and let you know that I will be compelled to return again and again regardless of if you figure out this ketchup/mustard problem of yours. However, I will be forced to stop ordering the cheeseburgers and stick to the drinks. Maybe I’ll even be one of those bitches who orders just a cup of ice. Free ice! That is what this will come to if you don’t start marrying my damn condiments.

Sincerely,
Karly, recovering Sonic addict

Apparently I am dumb. And, apparently you all knew that and DIDN’T TELL ME! What the hell is wrong with you people?

At my parents’ house last night my dad nonchalantly asked me how many dollars 7000 pennies equaled. I immediately knew what he was talking about. THIS. When I typed it I thought about it and thought about it and ultimately decided that yes, of course 7000 pennies equals 700 dollars. Duh! If seven hundred equals 7 dollars and seven thousand equals 70, then seven thousand would equal 700. Yes, I do see that I said seven thousand twice. I effed it up, okay? Shuddup.

Now that we all have recognized that I am dumb, what I want to know is this: why didn’t anyone tell me?! Ya big jerks.

The best laid plans and all that…

Today I planned to take Cindy-Lu to pick Eeyore up from school, then swing by the grocery, then head home, and from there leave to go to my parents for dinner.

We walked out the door with plenty of time to spare to get to the school and actually find a parking spot in the extremely too small parking lot. I had to walk off the driveway and into the neighbors yard to open Cindy-Lu’s door. She was following behind me. Our neighbor has been destroying his yard with a cement truck adding a porch to the back of his house and the yard is a big fucking mess a bit torn up. So. I step in a little mud and hurry to open the door so I can grab Cindy-Lu before she steps in all the mud. And by all the mud, I mean ALL THE MUD IN THE WHOLE WORLD WAS JUST DROPPED NEXT TO MY CAR AND THEN SNOWED ON AND THEN THE SNOW MELTED AND NOW IT IS A VERITABLE LAKE OF BROWN DIRTY MUD.

As I turned back to grab Cindy-Lu she slipped. She fell. Face first into the lake of mud. Arms flailing about, I rushed to her side in the hopes of saving her before the mud SUCKED HER IN so great is the power of this mud.  I  stepped in to the deep part where Cindy-Lu was laying, face first, mud EVERYWHERE, and nearly tripped. I know, you were all hoping that I did fall in the mud, because what a funny story that would be, but you’ll just have to settle for knowing that I ruined my semi-new Skechers.

I scooped Cindy-Lu up and she was covered. COVERED in mud. My only option was to put her in the car and get my ass to school, because now I DEFINITELY needed a spot in the parking lot because that is the only way I can leave her in the car when I pick up Eeyore. If I’m not in the parking lot I have to take her with me to get him, and OHMIGOD the MUD on this child. I couldn’t take her in public like that. So, I buckle her in as best I can without getting THE MUD all over me and notice that she has now transferred the mud onto not only her carseat, but my coat that was in the backseat, the portable DVD player hanging on the seat in front of her and pretty much anywhere else she could reach. I ran in the house to get some baby wipes, for what I don’t know. There was so much MUD that no way was a baby wipe going to do any good, but it made me feel more in control to have them with me.

Halfway to her bedroom I remembered that I also had stepped in the mud. I also remembered that I mopped this morning. THE MUD, people. THE MUD!!

I got back to the car knowing that there was no way in hell that I was getting a parking spot in that stupid fucking little parking lot. I ended up driving around the block in circles unto there was an opening which meant that I was late picking Eeyore up from school. I couldn’t bear to look back at her and see what havoc she had wreaked on my car so I made myself concentrate on the road and ignore the mess. That is, until I heard her spitting. I looked back and she had a mouthful of mud. I can only guess that she thought it was chocolate. Or, hell, maybe she knew it was mud and just didn’t give a shit.

I also could obviously not go to the grocery store, because HELLO people, I had a child covered in MUD in my backseat. So, we got home, I stripped her naked in the entry way and proceeded to clean her brand new Reeboks. That was a waste of time. They aren’t coming clean.

THE MUD! Oh, the mud.

What did I win, you ask? A haiku! From Leslie at My Mommy’s Place. She wrote a post the other day titled "Master At The Art Of Time Suckage" and promised to write a haiku for anyone that could guess what movie that line was from. I won! (Reality Bites, if you don’t know.) So, without further ado, I present my fancy schmancy haiku:

A blog that’s called snot
Is it a coincidence
that I gigglesnort?

BWAAAAHAAAAAHAAAAAA! Love it. Loooooove it.

So, I just thought I would share my lovely little haiku with all of you and tell you all to go check Leslie out. She likes me so is obviously very cool has a really cool site and writes some bad ass haiku!

I am the first and only daughter born to my wonderful parents. I am the only sister to my little brother. I am the reason my mom’s hair went gray at such a young age.

I am the little girl who used to sleep on the floor between my brother’s bed and the wall on Christmas Eve in hopes of seeing my presents passing the bedroom doorway on their way down the hall to the Christmas tree.

I am the little girl who had a friend whose house I had never seen. I am the little girl that was convinced she lived in her car and for this reason always refused to spend the night at her house.

I am the little girl who got angry with my little brother’s friend and took one of his gloves and cut it into a bajillion pieces and hid it in the ceiling tiles of our basement.

I am the girl who missed her turn for school one day and looked at my friend in the passenger seat and said "want to keep going?" and ended up driving 400 miles to get to Omaha, NE. We were on our way to the ocean, but decided we had better turn back after talking to our parents on the phone.

I am the girl who got upset with my parents over something trivial and ran away to meet Bob Dole with a friend who claims she is related to him. He is her cousin’s aunt’s dog’s brother. Or something. We made it about 300 miles and were caught by the police. I am the girl who was told by the officer not to try to run because there was a lot of snow and he didn’t want to have to tackle me. I am the girl who did not run. I am, however, the girl who, while sitting in the police station waiting for our parents to pick us up (from 300 miles away), walked in front of those police station mirrors that they can see through and pretend as though I were walking down stairs.

I am the girl who fell in love at the age of 16, got pregnant at age 17, and married at age 18. I am the girl that was told it would never last. I am the girl that is proving them wrong.

I am the girl who turned out to be a good mother when no one was quite sure how it would turn out. I am the girl who first looked at my son and was scared to death and not overflowing with love. I am the girl who thought that something was wrong with me for not feeling the love that mothers talk about the instant they lay eyes on their children. I am the mother that fell in love with my son, slowly but surely, more and more each day that I got to know him. I am the mother that has never told anyone that before, because I was to ashamed. I am the mother secure enough in her love of her children to know that this was not that abnormal and that it is ok.

I am the mother who whined and begged to have a second child for 3 years before her husband agreed. I am the mother who changed her mind instantly after he said yes, because I was to scared. I am the mother who got pregnant that month and never looked back.

I am the mother of a beautiful boy who is full of kindness and love, who likes to play the I love you more game to the point of making me want to scream. I am the mother of a little girl who is full of piss and vinegar, but still manages to be the funniest, sweetest little thing you could want.

I am the wife who loves my husband with all my heart. I am the wife who nags and moans and groans at him for the littlest things. I am the wife of a husband who never complains about me (to my face, anyway). I am the wife of a man who works as hard as he possibly can to provide for his family. I am the wife of a man willing to work 72 plus hours a week so that I can stay home with our children. I am the wife of a man willing to let me spend 200 dollars on a purse as long as the bills are paid. I am the wife of a man who has yet to do that, because I feel to guilty. I am the wife of a man who will one day throw that guilt out the window and head to the shops.

I am a woman who is overweight, but can’t seem to motivate myself enough to change this. I am the woman who knows that I could pretty if I would just lose the weight. I am a woman who is insecure.

I am the woman who spends most of her days playing on the computer and reading blogs. I am the woman who loves to read books. I am the woman who adores shopping, especially when I have money to spend. I am the woman who watches Days Of Our Lives, Scrubs, and Heroes faithfully.

I am the woman who is, for the most part, happy with her life.

*Mary, at Owlhaven, is holding a writing contest. This is my entry. To join the fun or for more details, please visit Mary.