The (5-second) Chuck E. Cheese Quiz

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If the subject of the kids' pizza restaurant "Chuck E. Cheese" comes up, lots of opinions start flying around.  Some can't stand the place and some tolerate it because they're children love it.  My main complaint is that none of them ever have Ms. Pac-Man.  Many, many, many children love this mini-casino, complete with a constantly smiling rodent, music, lights, pizza, salad, glow-in-the-dark hand stamps and coins for gambling on the Skee Ball machines, though.  Whether you like it or not, you have probably said the name of the place a time or two.  Or three. Or eight-hundred. That's what this post is about.  How you say it.  How YOU say "Chuck E. Cheese".  My husband and I say it differently.  I always ask him to say it again after he's said it once and then I ask, "Why do you say it like that?" and then he asks, "Why do YOU say it like THAT?"  and then I ask, "Why do you say it like that?" and then he asks...

Forget it.

Let's get on to how you say it. 

(REALLY emphasize the orange!  Say it loud!  Exaggerate!  Put some power behind it!)

number one

CHUCK e. cheese

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number two

chuck E. cheese

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(I guarantee you a child has left a puddle in that yellow car hanging from the roof.)

number three

Chucky Cheese

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Okay, this isn't really a way to say it, but I saw someone spell it like this the other day.   If we are counting this one as a way to say it, it would probably be like #1.  So #1 and #3 are essentially the same answer, it's just this one is spelled "Chucky".  IT'S NOT SPELLED "CHUCKY"!!  When I saw that he wrote it like that, I wondered for a long time how I could bring myself to talk to him again.  Still haven't decided if I will...  Anyway, back to the quiz, I contemplated putting a picture of Chuckie, the terrifying boy doll, up to represent this answer.  I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  Ahhhhh!!  If you think about it, though, I guess Chuck and Chuckie have some things in common.  The plastic face.  Also, the consecutive letters C-H-U-C-K.  Ummmm... Both have bad teeth?  And both make babies cry.

number four

Chuck E. Cheese's

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(Look!  There is an 's at the end!  Who knew??)

So, which number are you? 

(What I'm really anxious to know is if you say the 's at the end of Cheese.  Do you SAY that?  Do you say, "Hey, kids, get in the car.  We are going to Chuck E. Cheese's again for a birthday party"? You say that?  I so admire you.  You don't let an apostrophe slip past you!)

Today, we salute YOU...Ms. Starbucks Barista Lady!!

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After posting this status update on my personal Facebook page, "Hearing what people order from Starbucks entertains me. Please entertain me. Tell me exactly what you say when you are finally standing in front of the barista", I knew it was past time to salute the Starbucks barista girls as a part of my "Today, We Salute You..." series.  If you click on those same words in my navigation bar above, you will see that 12 ladies have been saluted so far in the Break Room.  It blows me away that it has taken me this long to get around to the Starbucks ladies!  Because I have been so, so entertained by my friends' responses, I put them in the comments section below.  People get downright CRAZY when ordering their Starbucks.  I love it!

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***The below is sung to the tune of those popular commercials from that REALLY big beer company, which you can hear here***

Kelley's Break Room presents...

Real Women of Genius

(Real women of geeeennniu-hus!!!)

Today we salute YOU, Ms. Starbucks-Barista-Lady.

(Ms. Starbucks-Barista-Laaaaaaahaaaydeh!!!)

It's your turn today to work the morning shift, so you quickly put on your black shirt, your black skinny jeans and then tie your green Starbucks apron around you so fast and skilled that you sometimes wonder why you just didn't become a ninja.  After making sure all of your face piercings are nice and secure and that your teeth are brushed, you run out the door, hop on your bike and pedal fast toward THE Starbucks in town.

(Can't-wait-to-eat-some-pound-cake)

Within seconds, you're behind the counter and fielding all of the coffee requests from sassy people who transform into royalty once in front of your cash register.  There is no way you are fooled by people in jeans and t-shirts.  Starbucks customers may dress casual, but once inside your store every single one of them is a prima donna. Every single one of them feels a little smarter, a little more trendy, a little more "with it" once you succumb to their demands, they get their coffee and go on their way.  That makes you smile.

(C'MON!  THROW SOMETHING IN MY TIP CUP!!!)

You marvel at yourself for being able to understand demands like, *"Grande 6 Pump Soy Chai.  No, make that a Caramel Macchiato with Soy, upside down and inside out"  and **"venti-iced-quad-shot-three-raw-sugar-upside-down-not-stirred-caramel-macchiato-with-lots-of-caramel-on-bottom" without having to ask for a repetition.  No average Jane could make it as a barista and, for that, you sometimes get a little cocky.  You can take the order AND make the coffee.  In fact, you could run this whole store all alone and know that if there was ever a "Starbucks Barista 101" class at the local junior college, you'd be the professor.

 

(Just-don't-make-me-be-the-pastry-getter)

So, crack open a new package of those Starbucks-green plastic stirrers that fit into that spout in the plastic lids and know that YOU are the real reason we drive right past the donut shop with the black coffee for 25 cents and straight to Starbucks where we fork. it. over.  Our retirement fund may have all been spent on your delicious coffee and a whoopie pie or two, but, for your smile and expertise (and strange tattoos that we like to stare at every morning), it will all have been worth it.

Ms. Starbucks Barista Lady!!!!!!!!!!!!



(not her below)

Not a lady, but one of my favorite Starbucks
employees ever.  He let me take a picture of his official Starbucks
ski cap that had been embroidered with handcuffs by his very own mother.

*My friend Stephanie's order.
**My friend Kim's order.

(I would LOVE to hear exactly what you say when you are standing in front of the barista, even if you wear the "Coffee. Black." badge.)

Finding the Funny #5: Should I go with the Don King or the Paula Deen?

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The Newt and I have much more in
common than I thought...

 In my post about why I'd be an awful contestant on The Bachelor, I mentioned that I had a hair dye allergy.  I have tried just about every dye in the store, even the"natural", no peroxide, ammonia-free type.  All of them make me break-out.  The way my neck looks after dying my hair, you would think I was running through the forest and tripped neck-first into a patch of poison ivy.  So, thinking maybe my hairdresser had a solution, I went to her a couple of months ago.  Trying to be cautious, she performed a "patch test" on the back of my neck by swiping some of the dye she'd actually ue.  She instructed me to wash it off 30 minutes later with a wet paper towel.  I did that and less than a day later, it looked like I was skipping through the edge of the woods and fell neck-first, again, into a patch of poison ivy.  Think red/itchy/welps/burns/wounds that don't fully go away until four weeks later.  Have you ever seen someone with mental illness start itching the back of their neck like crazy out of the clear blue?  That was me.

Flash forward to yesterday.  My last hope was Aveda and maybe henna, though I have heard mixed things about using henna dyes.  So, really, my last hope of a professional person to dye my hair was Aveda.  Every salon I've talked with said they don't use henna dyes.  But, Aveda?  Aveda was supposed to have the answers anyway. Supposedly, they use more natural products and have "tricks" where they combine lavender and whatever else into their products to help people with sensitive skin. With my 3-year-old by my side, I went into the store yesterday and asked if they could just swipe a dab of the color on the inside of my elbow to see if I would have a reaction.  They insisted that they must paint the back of one side of my neck for a reliable patch test.  I gave them the squinty eyes and succumbed like a lamb being led to slaughter.  It was easy to succumb, because, well, they fixed me really nice tea, gave my son a fancy glass of water, put a magazine in my hand and asked me to sit in one spot until 30 minutes had passed.  To top the royal treatment off, they insisted on washing my hair twice and then conditioning it with their rosemary-minty shampoo followed by both of them brushing and blow-drying my hair.  ALL FOR FREE.  It was heavenly.  My hair had never looked so shiny and straight.

But then, less than 24 hours later...

It looked like I had fallen in poison ivy.  Neck-first. Again.  Later today, I suspect I will swing by to show them what happened so that, in the future, they don't insist on doing their artwork on someone's neck who has claimed awful hair-dye reactions in the past.    My Twitter friend @pamtastic of My Pamtastic Life, realizing that this is the most awful thing ever to happen to a human being suggested I start a petition for government funds for Anti-Hair Dye Allergy research.  What an awesome idea!  We could even have a telethon or something to raise money.  WE NEED TO FIND A CURE!  I'm inconsolable over here right now!

Not really.  I'm fine.

What I'm not fine about?  Becoming grayer and grayer and grayer on my head so that my hair color ultimately resembles Newt Gingrich's in a few short months.  Maybe years.  But, still. NEWT. STINKIN'.GINGRICH.

That is why I need your help.  If I'm going to become gray, I at least need to find the right gray hair role model.  I need to find the gray hair look that suits me best.  I've already started to read The Going Gray Blog: Celebrating the Right to Choose.  Apparently, there are people out there who embrace the gray and celebrate it!  Celebrate even!  Would that be you?  If you have gray, do you "celebrate" it or cover it up as soon as you see it?  Since I may have no other option, I need to find a gray hair-do that will be best for me.  I need your help.

Which one should I rock?

THE PAULA DEEN

(Thanks for ignoring the awful two-toned skin disease I acquired during that photo shoot.)

THE DON KING

THE GRANDMAMA ADDAMS

THE MAMA'S FAMILY

Maybe The Early Sinead O'Connor would be better?








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It's "Finding the Funny" time again! Link up any funny posts you have written recently or in the past for our fifth round of Finding the Funny. Week after week, Anna and I are laughing out loud at what you all write and I know this week won't be any different!  Make sure you put the title of your blog post where it asks for "Name" in the linky tool thing.  Also, if you talk about it on Twitter, please include the hash tag #findingthefunny. Thank you!

Top 5 Links from last week:

#1 - Allow Me to Translate Let Me Start By Saying

#2 - 10 Things I Dislike about Facebook Sharing Slices of My Life

#3 - Hints (not from) Heloise Abby Has Issues

#4 - How My Husband Almost Let Me Die of Vertigo Little Paper Things

#5 - I Owe My Mother an Apology Motherhood on the Rocks

The ABC's of a Thankful Blogger Mom

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Last month, I decided to host a guest poster monthly.  Thought it might be nice to have a new janitor around here once a month to put some new reading material on the Break Room table, re-stock the Cokes and dust that orange chair up in the top right-hand corner.  April Nolen from That Nolen Chick kicked it off by putting on the janitor suit last month and writing "If I Met Me on the Street".  This month, actually today, Stephanie from Southern MOMentum is putting on the super-cute janitor's outfit.  Yay!  I really enjoy Stephanie's writing.  She is a funny lady that writes a fun and creative humor blog meant to inspire "moms to hit their stride".  She is the main writer of the Southern MOMentum, but has several regular guest writers, including me, that all have different unique Barbie dolls to represent their personalities.  My Barbie, for example, is in prison. Another fun thing she does is host a "Mom Prom" in her home state of North Carolina.  I love that! You would be doing yourself a favor if you followed her blog, liked her on Facebook and followed her on Twitter!  You'll agree with me, I'm sure, once you read through her funny ABC's.  Made me laugh!

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The ABC’s of a Thankful Blogger Mom

I’m Thankful For:

A
A Good, Controversial Subject or Hollywood scandal to rock the world of mommy blogging.

B

Blog Envy. Nothin’ like a good case of blog jealousy to “up the ante” on my writing skills.

C

Comment Spam. Without it, I would have never known that “rats are good pets” or “you can earn $1,374,659 in 3 months from your home computer”. Thanks Saif Alyamany.

D

Dedicated Followers. Thank you. To all 3 of you.

E

Every. Single. Crack. Laced. Comment. (Get it? Comments are like crack? Er, um, not that I would know.)

F

Fashion Blogs. How else was I supposed to know banana clips are out?

G

Google Spell Check. Without it, my chances of posting about Hors d’oeuvres or smörgåsbord are shot.

H

Hormones. Without them, sappy, tear-jerker posts would not exist.

I

Ideas. Especially the ones that come to me at 2 am or in rush-hour traffic as I feverishly dig for a pen amongst the crushed cheerios and goldfish on the floor of my van.

J

Just the right amount of time to whip up the 3 dozen cookies (I forgot about) for the 1st grade party and still have time to write tomorrow’s post.

K

Ke$ha, Disney and Barfing Cats. You wouldn’t believe the mileage I get out of these 3 subjects.

L

L.A. for producing people like Snookie and the Kardashians. Another unlimited resource of blogging opportunities.

M

My offspring. Without the two of them, I wouldn’t have the golden ticket to enter the mommy blogosphere.

N

Nickelodeon. For being my 24/7, on-call babysitter.

O

Online friends whom I’ve never met in the real world — but feel like I have known forever. You know who you are. *fistpump

P

Priorities. To know when to step away from the laptop & play Pretty, Pretty Princess.

Q

Quiet, guilt-free time with my favorite coffee-snorting blogs.

R

Realistic, Anti-Supermom blogs who keep it real by reminding me that, they too, have forgotten to put the toothfairy money under the pillow (more than once).

S

Social Services. For NOT reading my blog. Thank you. Really.

T

The S.I.T.S. Girls (and, of course the Blog Entourage) — for giving us all our well-deserved day in the sun!

U

Unsubscribers. *cue scary witch voice followed by evil laugh*  Yes. I am thankful for you, my little pretties ... I know who you are Miss melissa415@gmail.com.

V

Vino. For boosting my creativity levels after bedtime.

W

Wordpress. For giving me a place to profess my love for Ryan Reynolds.

X

X-Rated Lyrics provided by some of our lovely entertainers. May they, too, have children of their own who learn to spend their Friday Nights streaking in the park and skinny dipping in the dark.

Y

YouTube. For providing a platform to discover amazing talent to blog about — talent like Anita Renfroe, Justin Beiber (yes, Beiber) and the adorable 7-year-old who sounds like Nicki Minaj.

Z

Zhu Zhu Pet Aisle. For keeping my children entertained while I “gain momentum” (aka steal ideas) in the Shoebox greeting card section of Hallmark for future blog posts.

***If you are ever interested in being the janitor here, let me know!***

The day my 3-year-old made me want to flush myself down the toilet

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You get one chance to guess who dressed my 3-year-old son in this picture.
(Clue #1: It wasn't my husband.)

The other day, my 3-year-old and I were at the grocery store.  Right in the middle of our trip, he said he had to go to the bathroom.  After the "Are you sure?" questions from me, since I was knee-deep in frozen chicken breasts looking for the best deal while simultaneously losing a small toe from frostbite, we made our way up to the front/opposite side of the store with a metric ton of groceries in our gargantuan 18-wheeler-sized grocery basket disguised as a cute, yellow car and parked it in front of the water fountains.  Despite the fact that my groceries were piled so high that the loaf of bread on the very top kept getting caught in the light bulbs dangling from the store ceiling as we trudged along at a speed of -3 miles an hour, I said a quick prayer before heading back to the restroom that no overzealous store employee would think the basket's owner had skipped town and then decide to put all of the groceries back on the shelf, a task that would take at least until 2021.  Confident that all the employees had an IQ higher than 3, minus the produce guy who failed to keep the free fruit samples stocked, I grabbed my little dude's hand.

Once hunkered down in the handicapped stall, with me saying yet another silent prayer that we wouldn't emerge once we were finished to find a very angry old lady in her motorized grocery cart waiting for THE only stall she could possibly use and find it occupied by a healthy and able mother and son, my 3-year-old made his way over to the "toe-wit".  Right as he announced, "I GOTTA GO POO-POO, MOM", I realized that all of the stalls in the restroom were occupied.

"Okay, okay," I said quickly and quietly to cut off any other discussion he wanted to have about the inner workings of his little body.

"YOU GOTTA GO POO-POO, MOM?"

"No, no.  You just go and then we'll finish shopping, okay?"

"FffffbbbshhhhfffffffbbbbbbbbbshhhhhhhffffffffffffffffffFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!" (The verrrrrry loud and looooong sound my son made with his hind-end while on said "toe-wit".)

"YOU HEAR THAT, MOM?"

"Yes.  Hurry up, okay?"

"I FAHTED, MOM."

"I know.  Finish up, okay?"

"FFFFFFfffffffffffffshhhhhhhh." (Sound the lady directly beside us made with her hind-end while on the toilet.)

"YOU HEAR THAT LADY FAHT, MOM??  MOMMY,MOMMY, DID YOU HEAR HER FAHT?"

"Shhhhhhhh!!!" (Me in a desperate attempt to make him quit talking about our stall neighbor's "faht".)

"WHY YOU SAY 'SHHHHHHH', MOM?  WHY YOU SAID THAT?"

Right then and there, I would have attempted to flush myself down the toilet if a) my son hadn't been doing his business in it, b) if I would have fit and, more importantly, c) if I had been wearing my bathing suit.  (There's no way I'm diving into a toilet, floating through pipes and ending up in a sewage plant in nothing but my cutest swim attire.)  We waited and waited and waited AND WAITED until finally that faht-ing lady made her way out of her stall.  That is when we slllloowwwwly emerged, just in case there was a lady in her motorized wheelchair waiting for our stall with her cane poised to knock me in the head.

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If you enjoyed this story about my 3-year-old, I am certain you will appreciate my post that went up yesterday over at Nickelodeon's humor website for mothers, NickMom.  It is called "My 3-year-old's rules for playing 'I SPY'".  It is super short!  It would mean TONS to me if you took a look.  You can go there by clicking HERE.  Thank you!

Also, if you have a past/recent funny post you want to share, you still have time to link it up with "Finding the Funny".  It ends tomorrow!

Finding the Funny #4: Was I a 'Mean Girl'?

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Can you be a mean girl in elementary school?  No, right?
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Please tell me you have a hard time believing that I was a mean girl in elementary school.  Please?  I wasn't mean all the time, of course, but I had my moments in...

kindergarten: My mom was always up at my school helping teachers and volunteering for stuff.  Maybe I felt more confident when she was around?  One day when she was in my Kindergarten classroom to pick me up early, she was talking to my teacher at her desk.  I was standing in the front of the room and thought this would be a good time to pull the chair out from under a boy named Ross.  So, as Ross started to sit down, I swiped his chair ("TAKE THAT, ROSS!!!") he fell down, I giggled and my mom and teacher gave me horrified looks.

second grade: Every day at recess a girl named Joanna wanted to walk around the courtyard with me and pick pebbles off the pebbled-wall on the side of the school.  So, I would walk around with her and then suddenly, I would turn to her and say, "Joanna, I don't want to be your friend anymore."  She would start crying and I would just stare at her.  I think I was fascinated by her sudden reaction to just words I was saying. ("GET A GRIP, JOANNA!!")  This scene would repeat itself several more times in second grade.  Horrible, right? (I'm just glad all those pebbles we picked off the wall didn't weaken the structure of the building resulting in an implosion.  That would be mean, youknowwhati'msayin?)

third grade: The meanest thing I can remember about third grade is just staring at a girl's bottom on the little attached stools of the cafeteria tables and being in awe that it covered the whole thing.  She was older than me, so, I guess it was no wonder that it did.  ("Oh, my gah, Becky, look at her butt.  It is SO big!") Still, every time I saw her until I graduated from high school I thought of her as the girl with the butt that covered the whole seat.

fourth grade: It was apparently "the thing" to get a bowl of pickles from the lunch line.  I'm not exactly sure what happened, really.  Either I got the bowl of pickles or Nicole did, but one of us wasn't sharing and one of us wanted some pickles.  So, after lunch in the restroom, Nicole confronted me about the pickle fiasco while I was on my way into a stall and she slammed the door so that it hit me in the head.  I began crying ("Mean girls don't cry, Kelley! Get yourself together!"), the teacher came in the restroom and seconds later we were in the principal's office.

fifth grade: This is where it really gets mean. On Valentine's Day one year, a boy that liked me handed me a box of chocolates with a sweet note.  I handed it back, told him I didn't want it and ran off.  A couple of months later, he gave me a little gift for my birthday.  Again, I handed it back, told him I didn't want it and ran off.  At my birthday party a few days later, I opened a gift from a friend and it happened to be the same thing he had given me.  I was happy to see it from her and thanked her.  Just afterwards, she told me it was actually the gift from him.  So, I.....handed it back, said I didn't want it and ran out of the room. My mom made me apologize to my friends and that boy over the phone.  I started the phone call off with, "My mom told me to call..."


The ironic thing about it all is that teachers would say I was a very good kid.  I never really got in trouble in class or anything.  I was quiet, respectful, etc., but that doesn't mean I wasn't a mean girl sometimes, too.  Shame on me.

Do you remember any mean things you did in school??

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<a href="http://www.mylifeandkids.com"><img src="http://i1235.photobucket.com/albums/ff438/whitneak/Finding-the-Funny-Button.gif" alt="Finding the Funny" width="150" height="150" /></a>

It's time to link-up your funny posts again!  Anna and I have LOVED laughing at your posts and are excited you are coming back each week to show your funny stuff with us.  Just FYI, the funny/amusing/humorous/witty post you link up can be one you have written recently or one that you wrote a long time ago.  When you click on the linky thingy, it will ask you for your name.  Put the title of your post in that blank instead of your actual name.  If you refer to this link-up on Twitter, please refer to the hashtag #findingthefunny.   Thank you!


The most clicked posts from last week:

#1 - The Question I Never Should Have Asked

Let Me Start By Saying

#2 - Naked at the YMCA!

HouseTalkN

#3 - Hubby is Going to Get It!!

Ahhh Mom

#4 - Pregnancy: When Fetuses Attack

Ninja Mom

#5 (TIE) - Why I Never Comb My Hair

Celebrating Christmas Year Round

#5 (TIE) - Breastfeeding Lessons from a 5-Year-Old DorkDaddy.Com

Whitney Houston: The soundtrack of my life

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1963-2012
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Okay, I'm getting a little dramatic there, I know, but...it's kind of true.  I loved Whitney Houston.  From elementary school until I got married, I can think of a Whitney Houston song that meant something to me.  It is likely that many of you can do the same, especially those of you who were children of the '80s.  Last night when my husband and I were eating with my sister and her husband at a Mexican restaurant, I had gotten up to go wash my hands.  While I was away from the table, I got an alert on my phone that Whitney Houston had died at 48.  It shocked me, like it shocked so many.  I feel like a part of my childhood died or something.  I felt this way when Michael Jackson died, too.  After reading the text message about her untimely passing, I came back to the table to break the news to them.  It is ironic that I learned of her death while out with my sister, because when I think of Whitney, I always think of her.  Losing Whitney Houston makes me sad. I have been playing her music all day.  It reminds me of so much.

1986: The Greatest Love of All

The year this song was released, my family and I went to Dollywood in Tennessee.  When my sister and I saw the "recording studio" there, we BEGGED our parents to let us sing that song.  It was our very, very favorite.  I found the tape today and uploaded the very, very end of the song. You will quickly realize that I was hogging the microphone because I believed I sounded like Whitney herself.  I was 11 years old.  (My feelings won't be hurt if you laugh at me. I don't really see what else you will be able to do.  I'm even laughing at myself at the end.)

1987: I Wanna Dance With Somebody

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When our friends would come over, we would always have a "dance contest", which involved pushing the coffee table out of the way and opening up the living room to get our groove on.  I was infatuated with her hair in that video. In an effort to get the most votes, someone always chose this song.  Everybody loved Whitney. 

1992: I Will Always Love You

This song reminds me of high school.  There is a very specific memory I have of it that I won't elaborate on in this blog, since, ahem, people read it.  But, it reminds of a sweet moment.  Her voice was pure.

1995: Waiting to Exhale

This soundtrack is in my car right now.  When the news broke, I dug out my old CD box in my closet and found it.  By this time, I was already in my second year of college.  Whitney's songs on this album, and songs by others, including my favorite one on the soundtrack, "Not Gon' Cry" by Mary J. Blige, remind me of early college relationships.  I felt tough singing along to those songs. 

1999: You Were Loved

(The Preacher's Wife)

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The song "You Were Loved" came out in 1996, but it meant the most to me in November 1999.  It was the song that was playing in the background of our wedding slideshow.  I hope this is a song that made her feel special in her life, especially during her darkest, darkest moments.  I hope she listened to the words herself.  Judging from this picture of her with her daughter, Bobbi Kristina, and the response of millions everywhere, there is no doubt that Whitney Houston was loved.

What good memories do you have of Whitney Houston?