An Open Letter to Potential Buyers

Dear Potential Buyers Who See My Ad On Craigslist,

Thank you for your interest in my beautiful home. I appreciate your offer of a *perfect fit moneymaking opportunity* for me and the helpful link that you have enclosed. I am also grateful for your offer of *double current asking price* for my home, and your astute insight that I have *undervalued my excellent property* which meets your needs quite well.

Why, yes, I am more than happy to accept a *money order for quite more than the asking price* in an effort to *effectively and immediately* make this deal happen. In fact, if you could directly wire the money to me from your Nigerian bank account, the deed to the property is yours. The sooner, the better.

Sincerely,

FSBO Sucker Shana

Dear Jonas Brothers, I'm sorry I dissed you. Please come back.

The day that Carlie decided she'd rather listen to Sirius Hits One or The Pulse instead of Radio Disney was, like, one of my really happy days. Because? Radio Disney was making me mental. A lot.

But now? Here's a short list of things I really wish I hadn't heard come from the mouth of my 10-year-old child today:

"You spin me right round, baby, right round, when you go down, when you go downtown."

"When it comes to love, if it's not rough it isn't fun."

"Don't trust a 'ho"

And while I do love me some JT, where in love means OMFG hot, I could live without my kid singing softly under her breath while she paints her little toenails right this very minute:

"Got enough dead homies, I don't want no more."

Because? She certainly does not have any dead homies. And? Poser.

Another thing that she has taken upon herself this summer is to stop what she is doing at 5 p.m. and watch the news. The local news. On TV. Why? I have no idea. When I asked her why, she said "Because I like the news." OK. No one likes the news. Especially the local news. Also? The news generally makes her cry. Yet she still tries to sneak into the TV room to watch it. WTF? Weird kid.

I never in a million years thought it would be possible to miss the musical stylings of Miley Cyrus, where in musical stylings = Dear Mom, please forgive me for playing Shaun Cassidy's* "Da Doo Ron Ron" eleventy billion times a day in 1977. Amen**.

**For those of you too young to appreciate the beauty that was Shaun Cassidy, he was THE SHIT in 1977, when I was 11 years old. He was my 'tween edition of OMFG hot.

*My mom died in 1998, but I am pretty sure she reads this blog.

UPDATE locks of I HATE YOU Mom Forever

Crisis is over. In a moment of extremely fine parenting, I forced the generous hair donor to sit in front of the computer and look at heartwrenching photos of kids with cancer, while using my shrillest mom voice to say things like... That kid? That kid gets to have a tantrum, not you.

And now? We are going to eat icecream.

locks of loathing

So I came upstairs to check on the generous donor when I heard her mad ranting subside into pathetic sobbing. And found this note on her laptop, in the place where she should be doing her homework.

Locks of Love UPDATE: make that locks of despair

UPDATE: Hair cut is ONE HOUR OLD and the generous donor? Is balling her friggin' eyes out because SHE HATES SHORT HAIR and OH MY GOD, THIS IS A BOB! I SAID I DID NOT WANT A BOB! and HIDEOUS HIDEOUS HIDEOUS and I CANNOT EVER GO TO SCHOOL AGAIN.