Posts Tagged ‘Yo Gabba Gabba’

A friend of mine was alarmed when her son came home from Field Day with a “Participant” ribbon. She was concerned because he’s an athletic kid. Competitive. Usually at the top of his class academically and athletically. She was pretty sure, as he climbed into her car and she spied the ribbon, that he’d be sullen. Sulky. Disappointed.

How was it? she asked tentatively.

It was good! he answered.

How were the games?

Great!  I won the relay, my team won the tug of war and Scotty and I came in third in the balloon toss.

But…your ribbon.

Oh, yeah.  Everyone gets these.  They don’t do first, second, third ones anymore.


When I was a little girl, I had two favorite Sunday morning cartoons and they were on back to back.  I loved Sunday mornings.

8 am

9 am

Today, my kids request to watch either a giant purple dinosaur whose title song is “I Love You, You Love Me” or an overly enthusiastic black man dressed in an Orange jumpsuit who plays with small stuffed animals and hosts “Dancey Dance Time.”

Not quite the same.

My favorite song was this one…

Sweet, isn’t it?

Well, now they’ve gone and wrecked it for all of us.  Apparently it’s either bad for kids because little Jackie Paper eventually croaks or it’s bad because it’s actually about…well, this.

No more Peter, Paul & Mary?  Rumor has it, I’m supposed to be playing Kidz Bop in my car.  Really?  Really? Have you actually heard Kidz Bop?

Want your kids to listen to this?

Or, this?

I don’t know about you.  But, I think I’d rather my kids turn out to be 1st place winning, Tom & Jerry giggling, little Beatles listeners than merely participating, purple dinosaur watching, Kidz Boppers.

But, maybe that’s just me.

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Dear So and So...
Dear Market Basket Store Manager,
I want to keep coming back, really I do.  Your prices are far better than my local stores and even somewhat better than your chain competitors.  It’s worth it financially for me.  But, man oh man.  It’s a rough trip.  And, I’m all for exposing my children to the filth diversity of your plentiful clientele, but not willing to expose them to scurvy.   Where are the Handi-Wipes?  And the mouth masks?   It frightens me.  Really.
In Cleanliness,
Dear Dog,
You know we love you, right?  Hate your hair.  Hate it.  Hate it on my wood floors, hate it on my black clothes, really hate it on my bed.  I know we let you sleep there for six years but it was a lot cuter when you were 10 lbs than it is now that you’re 80 lbs and shedding.  Get off.  You have your own bed.  Use it.   There’s a pound around the corner and, I promise you, their cold, dank floors are not as comfy as your Orvis bed.
The One Who Feeds You
Dear Husbands,
Big, heavy bags left at the bottom of staircases mean “pick me up and deliver me to where I belong.”
The One Who Feeds The Dog Who Is Quickly Running Out of His Kibbles & Bits
Dear DJ Lance Rock,
Your show is weird.  Just plain weird.  You’re the Telletubbies of my kids generation.  I don’t get it.  Kids love you.  Grown-ups?  Not so much.  And, don’t let the Brad Pitt thing go to your head.  He dresses like a homeless person most of the time so your orange jumpsuit was an upgrade.   As soon as I can get my hands on the DVR remote, your days are numbered.
“Yooooooo!  It’s Almost Time To Go!”,
Dear Libido,
OK.  Kids sleeping through the night.  Lost some weight.  Settled into my new home.  Come on back, old friend.  Welcome.
I’ll Leave the Door Unlocked,
Dear Oil of Olay,
I’ve been using you every day since I was 14.  So, if you’re not helping me look younger too and I’m a wrinkled old raisin at 60, I’m coming after you.   And, $4.59 once every two months for 46 years ain’t gonna be cheap.   Just sayin’.
With the Better Business Bureau On My Speed Dial,


Dear Evan Lysacek,
Saw an interview with you yesterday in which you explained how you aren’t like all the other male skaters.  That you are, in fact, quite masculine (gasp).   Here’s a tidbit from your interview:

“I think I’m bringing an element of style and showing that this is my idea of what a modern man should dress like and look like,” Lysacek explains. “It can still be stylish, but [also] be masculine at the same time.”

Here’s what you wore last night for the Short Program.

Are those curly q’s on your shoulder blades?  Feathers on your fists?

Uh huh.

Thanks for the laugh,

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