Why Vonage's Transcribed Voicemail Service Is My Favorite...

"Hey babe girl it's me Morrison you've been trying to call. I didn't know  he's been trying to call. I'm sorry I missed call from Germany. Alright. I'm still in Marian. We will be we got of be in Allied the 30th. But Tina should retarded and we don't really know any airplane date. So at least Monday, shadow, I will be here if you're going to be able to find who you know freaking Mary awesome I love you Christine. I but I made by now if I go ahead and I so if he does not if I don't answer I don't have my charger. So I'm going to put it on better receiver mode because my treasure the hospital where I was because I guess she hadn't had a big boy but I love you very much. If I do not answer and okay sorry I haven't tried her about tomorrow bro which means that you called. I'll be booking I check my voicemail so I love you very much. Cheers then. Bye"


*****************************************************


This is the exact email the husband received from Vonage after my baby sister Bimley left a voicemail. Clearly, this is not what she said. Or maybe it is. 


For 1, Her name is Bimley Louise, so she didn't say "it's me Morrison". Her lies are way more creative and elaborate than that. 


Translation key:


Marian = Maryland
Allied = Hawaii
Tina = TMO
Christine = Sissy
and my second favorite:


Cheers then = see you soon

A Letter To Some Idiot...

Dear German dude who works at the commissary,

I am so proud of you for biking to work. I mean, you save yourself half a million dollars or so in gas since it's so expensive, and you don't pollute while doing so, which is saving the earth for my kids. I'm also glad you chose to work on base, and speak English fairly well. However, I did not appreciate your strip show in the middle of the parking lot this evening.

Now, I know today's weather was positively gorgeous, and at 7 pm it wasn't even remotely chilly, but that does not give you permission to remove your pants in front of God and everyone. Yes, I know you were wearing bike shorts underneath your pants. Yes, I know that it wasn't underwear, or heaven forbid your naked bum, but the visual image I had when I initially glanced your way is one I didn't ever want to have to imagine. No one should have to breathe a sigh of relief when they find out the tall, lanky dude who just checked out their groceries is not getting nekkid on the sidewalk.

Please, for the love of all things good and sacred, can you change "into" your riding shorts in the privacy of a bathroom stall? Please? For me?! That would be great. Otherwise, I'll have to tell the Internet on you. Again.

Much love!

~ Me ~

Explanations.

Yesterday was the day for photos that needed further explaining.

First, I sent a picture of my arse to Erica for our project. It's not REALLY of my arse, just part of one cheek, and the tattoo I have on my pre-butt. (You know, that part between where your back technically ends and your butt technically starts?)

My daughters have seen it numerous times. Zoe has even tried to scratch it off a few times. Even after I assure her it's not going anywhere. Yesterday, while I was changing to go swimming, she saw it again, and in less than 15 minutes she reminded me 6 times that I have a tattoo.

She would walk into the room, see it, and say "Mommy! You have a tattoo!"

As if I don't remember it's there. Like it magically appeared one night in my sleep. So, yes child. I have a tattoo.

Then there's the one I posted here.

That nasty shiny white thing on my fingers is a burn blister. You see, whilst I attempted to make Zeph a new hair bow, I had the hot glue out. (You see where this is going, right?) I had glued 3 out of 4 ribbons successfully, when I missed the last ribbon all together and squeezed the glue out onto my finger.

I have no idea how this happened. I wasn't holding the ribbon. I don't recall my finger being in the way.

I've mentioned I'm blonde right?

So Glad I'm No Longer Dating...

I love when I am out in public and I get to overhear lovely conversations. Except today, I'm really really confused. I have been married for almost 6 years. I'm not old, but I guess I'm all kinds of out of the loop. The other day, I overheard this gem of a conversation... Random dude: Yeah, as soon as I kissed her, I just started taking my clothes off. Random chick: Awww, that's so sweet! Please someone explain this to me! I'm dying to know what I'm missing...

Trying To Tell Me Something?

I wonder, if maybe, just maybe, this little butt head was trying to tell me that I should do some laundry. What do you think?

What The World Is Coming To...

I have a morning routine that involves reading of frivolous websites. I make it a habit to attempt to only waste time before we start doing everything else we have to do during the day. Like, school, and laundry, and thinking about mopping the floor.

One of the sites is Texts From Last Night. It is a site that is full of unacceptable things that people text their friends while inebriated. Each text is listed by the area code it was sent from, and when I see area codes of places I have lived, I cringe thinking that I might have driven on the road with these morons.

However, as of late, I have actually learned things from the idiots who wind up on that site. The other day I read that the guy who plays McGee on NCIS is Thackery Binx from the movie Hocus Pocus. (That being my little sister's FAVORITE movie.) Then yesterday, I got an IM from Brat about the mermaid girl passing away. While I chatted with Brat about it, I clicked on TFLN and saw that that was one of the texts from the night before. If she hadn't have told me I would have found out 5 minutes later anyway.

So now, not only is there a place where drunk texting ends up on the internet, this is also a place I am getting my news.

Oh the age of technology...

Oh Em Gee!

My husband informed me of something I really wish I would have known two weeks ago. During a practice PT test, he passed out during the mile and a half run. On the side of the road. Fell over. Completely blacked out. He says he woke up to his coworkers yelling for someone to call 1 1 2. They offered to take him to the hospital to get checked out via ambulance, but he declined, came home, and I took him to the ER. He found out yesterday that this incident wound up in the base newspaper police blotter! While the incident was scary, it really wasn't a big deal. But, there were still 3 ambulances and a fire truck sent to the scene. Personally, I think that's a bit of overkill. Paulo wants to know how they justify spending the gas for all of that. And really? A fire truck? That is the part I just really don't understand!

A Letter to the Oma

Dear Oma Next Door, Guten Tag! Sprecken sie Englisch? Nien? Gut, Nien sprecken Sie Deutsch! Tchuss! Sara See that lovely little letter up there? ^^^^ That is almost the full extent of my German vocabulary. It says "Good day. Do you speak English? No? Good, I don't speak German. Bye Bye! Sara" I have a few more words up my sleeve. None of which lead to any kind of conversation. Unless you want to know my favorite color. (Rosa, if you must know.) The only time I feel like a "tourist" around here is when the Oma next door tries to talk to me. After the "Hallo"s, I got nothing. So I spend all that time smiling and nodding. She could tell me off and I would have no idea. However, now that I think about it, it would be a perfect time to try the "What kind of thing can you get away with saying as long as you smile?" experiment...

Sisterly Love

Big Z: *z*, give me my rootbeer. Little Z: No. Big Z: But I'm THIRSTY! GIVE IT TO ME! Little Z: No you're not. You're lazy!!!

Who Are These Kids? And Why Are They Calling Me Mom?

While cleaning the play room, we found Little Z's Tinkerbell doll. Who currently only has one leg. Big Z then stated: "It's good she only has one leg, 'cause we only have one shoe for her..." ************** I asked *z* for a kiss earlier. She held out her little hand and said "Give me $51 first..." All I can say after all that is, Oh dear...

Dear You...

Dear Lady At the Commissary Customer Service Desk, I appreciate the fact that you ignored me standing at the counter for almost a full five minutes. I'm sure you were very busy sitting in that chair staring at the wall. It seems like your job might be a stressful one. With working at a store where there is never a line at customer service. I can also appreciate you not looking into the little room right next to you to see if my cart of groceries were there before you waited on the guy from the cooler to call you back. Even if it was only 5 minutes since I realized I didn't have cash nor my debit card on me. You never know if one of your coworkers is going to be stupid and push a cart back for FIVE minutes of waiting on someone to come back. I've worked in customer service before. I know it's really a "nice" gesture, simply used to keep cold things cold. However. What I do not appreciate is the fact that since you do not have eyebrows, either of your own volition or some medical problem, you opt to draw your eyebrows on. And it's not even the drawing on of the eyebrows that is the problem. My PROBLEM with your drawn on eyebrows is the fact that one is completely straight, while the other is arched as though you are giving me a questioning glance. Seriously. It is not okay to walk around looking like the Rock all the time is NOT a good look for anyone. Not even the Rock himself. Lots of love (or something...) Me

Wordless Wednesday ~ Circa 1987

Wow..... For more WW go here and here!

Opps! They Lied to Me!

(This is for Ms. Holly, since it's HER daycare kid, and we just swapped for the day!) **Note: DCK is "daycare kid". Names must remain private to protect the guilty.** DCK: "Ms Sara! (sob sob) your son hurt me!! (sob, sob)" Me: "Um, the baby is not my son, and he's a baby. You are four! I don't think he hurt you!" (After a short time out) Me: "DCK, what happened?" DCK: "*Z* hurt me with the thing!" Me: (totally trying not to laugh) DCK, *Z* hurt you? I thought you were talking about the baby because you said "son". A son is a boy. Is *Z* a boy?" DCK: "I think so..." ...oh dear...

NO! YOU are!!

I love Noggin. But probably only because I am sick of PBS Kids Sprout. I want to stab Nina in her eye. However. While watching an episode of Little Bill on bullying, my kids did not learn the fine art of letting hurtful untrue words roll off their backs. No, instead, my kids learned the wonderful art of bullying. The favorite insult these days is: "YOU'RE A DIAPER POOPIE BABY!!!!!" ...at least they only bully each OTHER right?

When I was a Dog...

When the Hubs, whose name is Paulo (so I can not type "the hubs" over and over again), and I started dating his little sister had been two for all of one week or so. She talked well for her age. Even if she was really little. (She's going to be taller than I am I think, which will be awesome!) The problem came before she met me though. My lovely (or something) brother in law and Paulo had a dog named "Sara". They had this dog for a long time before they even moved to the town I lived in. (I have decided that her name was not Sara(h) it was Cera. Like the little triceratops in the Land Before Time movies.) For a little while, before I met Paulo's family, his sister thought that he was talking on the phone to the dog. She was the only Sara that existed in her world at the time. Poor thing. Then, however, after I became a semi-permanent part of her life, there was an easy way to distinguish between the two of us. Sara dog. and Sara girlfriend. Sadly Cera dog is no longer with us. She was a great smelly old dog. And I am merely Sara. Because Little Aunt (as she has been known on my blog) is 8. But I am her only sister. So it's all good!

Oh Dear!

Daycare is up and running and running smoothly if I do say so myself. Baby Tee is nine months old. So of course, he comes with diapers. That must be changed. Not a big deal. Not like I have never changed a diaper before. Except, there is also Z, z, and MyMy in the house too. MyMy is almost 2. When Baby Tee needs his diaper changed, the girls RUN to "help". Today, they all were hovering, and I told them to back away. My exact words were: "This is not a peep show." Little Z then repeated: "This is not a POOP show." It was all I could do to finish dressing the baby before I fell over laughing.