Can I Borrow Your Kevlar, Please?

A couple years ago I witnessed a bank robbery.  Well, I didn't see the actual stick up, but I did stumble upon the craziness that took place outside of the bank.....as a matter of fact....I think I might have been one of the reasons the bad guys got away.

I had just gotten a mani/pedi and I was parked down the way in front of the bank.  I left the nail salon in a scattered rush because I realized I was late for carpool pick-up.  Running as fast as I could,  I competed with my wet nails and paper flip flops--trying to keep your toes spread apart while running is not easy, but somehow I managed to get to my car--nails unscathed.  Perfect.

I jumped in, went to back up, and realized I was blocked in by a huge armored police van.  I rolled down my window and noticed a policeman creeping up the side of my car--he was in full SWAT gear.  "Yoo hoo, Officer.  Can you move your van please? I'm late for carpool," I said with a big friendly grin. 

You should have seen the look this man gave me.  It was somewhere between shock, disgust, and complete irritation.  His extreme expression, coupled with his emphatic "SHHHHH!!!" led me to believe some serious monkey business was happening.  Man oh man, am I quick or what?  (NOT!)   My Nancy Drew instincts led me to connect the dots and I realized he was edging towards the bank..."Oh my God!  Is somebody robbing the bank? Do something!" I screamed.  "SSSSHHHHHH!!!!" the policeman again shushed me and frantically tried to wave me to be quiet.  I was stuck.  Stuck in my car.  And stuck with no protection whatsoever---if the robbers came flying out of the bank, firing aimlessly, I had no way to escape.  I thought about asking for a Kevlar from my new police friend, but he looked busy so I didn't want to bug him anymore......I already felt like the biggest pest.

All of a sudden, 3 tellers came running out of the bank--the robbers let everyone go then apparently snuck out the back.  Fortunately everyone was safe but the crime was not foiled.  For some reason I feel like I might have been part of the problem as opposed to the solution......not sure why....

Oompa Loompas and iPhones

My daughter is going into the 6th grade and she doesn't have a phone.  To her, and most of her friends, this is a travesty and my "mommy ratings" have plummeted because I won't cave and buy her one.  We made a rule long ago that our little people would get  phones for 8th grade graduation, just prior to high school, and I'm sticking to my guns.  What happened to earning something, paying for it yourself, or God forbid being asked to wait with patience.....everything is so fast and furious these days...so snappy speedy....gimme gimme gimme...it's enough to drive a person mental.  Mix that with a relentless 11-yr-old female and you've got yourself a battling bonanza.  I've been calling her Veruka Salt..........

You all remember that little spoiled witch from Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. "Daddy!  I want an Oompa Loompa and I want one NOW!"  Switch the words Oompa Loompa and iPhone and it's the same scene except that I'm saying no.  I've got to hand it to my mini me though, she does negotiate well and her art of persuasive selling is pretty decent.  She has learned many things under my tutelage, and someday she will be a Master Sensei of Sass too, but not in this house.  There's only room for one sheriff in town.....and her name is Kelly Von Sassypants......so back it up, sister!

Man Panel

Dear Sassies:

I'll be adding some contributing male writers to my blog and would love to hear from you with regards to questions you'd like answered or topics discussed......let's talk turkey with our mens and find out what they are really thinking, hating, loving, whatever.......send your goods, bads and everything in between to  kelly@kellyvonsassypants.com     Oooooooh what fun this is going to be!  Sassylicious!

And don't forget to be awesome.

Did I Just Say That?

Thursday night I attended a fundraiser that was held outside...that's right--I said outside.  Fundraising events in Dallas are always swanky...super tres chic... and at this time of year, usually inside, due to the blistering Texas heat.  In a word, the summers here are oppressive.

I carefully picked my outfit, not an easy task for 103 degrees, knowing full well I'd be a hot mess within minutes.  I aced that category but made a humomgo mistake when it came to my hair: I blew it out straight and wore it down...I have no idea what I was thinking.  My locks are not silky smooth or easy to manage, but curly and frizzy.....not good curly like Nicole Kidman...more like Gene Wilder or Carrot Top. Pity. 

When I climbed out of my car at the valet, I could feel my coiff going ballistic in the humid heat....I felt like I was in an Easy Bake Oven....shit......this was not working out. I was cranky and fussy and hadn't even entered the event. First stop....a much-needed cocktail.

I battled my way through the crowd.....and let me tell you, trying to make small talk while moving is very difficult, but I couldn't stop......the breeze created by my brisk walk was the only thing sustaining me...and knowing a cold glass of chardonnay was just inches away...."please let this be a bartender with a long pour," I silently prayed......

I ponied up to the bar and began mingling with a group of new friends....we chatted about this and that while I tried to remain cool and dry....not possible...the sweat was running down my back and into my jeans......butt sweat.  I had to stand up or die.  "Where are you going?" one of my new buddies inquired.
"Oh nowhere, just had to stand, I'm getting major butt sweat," I said with ease.  My three new amigos just stared at me.....so I walked away.....I needed to air out anyway. 

My next stop was an encounter with a breathtaking model who was wearing a couture dress that was one of the raffle prizes. She cut me off  just before I escaped inside the restaurant for a much needed AC break and started yapping about the dress and designer.  I wasn't listening at all because I was too busy giving her the once over....staring at her bony frame and wondering about her diet.  "Do you ever eat burgers?" I asked.  "Huh?" said Miss Perfect.  "Burgers.  Do you eat them?  You should."    She responded with a gratuitous chuckle and then said, "Thanks for the compliment."  Was that a compliment? It wasn't meant to be. I really did want to know if she ever killed  Quarter Pounders or not.

These are the things that keep me up at night: what do models eat and how do I prevent butt sweat?  Are they proper conversation topics for highfalutin affairs?  Probably not.  But I'm sure other people wonder about this stuff too, they just don't ask.  I, on the other hand, have no filter and will ask.  I should wear a warning label that reads:  Do not talk to me if you embarrass easily.  Jeez.....you really can't take me anywhere.......

No Really.......Hit On Me.....PLEASE!!!!!!

So I'm checking out in the grocery store this weekend and get to talking with the mommy in front of me.  We are yapping about this and that, when all of a sudden I feel a "WHACK" on my rump.  I quickly turn and find this woman's 5-yr-old son standing there with a DVD case and smiling an impish grin. 

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!  I don't know what to say--this is so embarrassing," she shrieked as she looked at her son with shame. "Are you kidding? That's the best thing that's happened to me all day...I LOVE it!" I exclaimed.  And I wasn't joking. 

As I continue to climb towards my mid-forties, I've decided that any and all external affirmations (even lewd gestures) are not only welcome but earned. That's right, baby...I said it...I should be worshiped!!!  For nothing else, I want recognition for all the sweat equity I've put in. In fact, I want to be known as a MILF and my future goal is to become a cougar....and if any of you young boys make googley eyes at me and then follow it up with a "ma'am" I'm going to cream your face.

I've spent the last 30 years dieting, exercising, bleaching, waxing, hi-lighting, perming, straightening, plucking, make-upping, and now botoxing...I want to see the ROI and I'll take it in the form of a compliment please: appropriate, inappropriate, male, female, transgendered, disfigured troll.......it doesn't matter. The messenger is insignificant...it's the message that matters.

It is YOUR job to make ME feel good....stop being so selfish.

Trick or Treating with The Fuhrer

Over the past year or so my 7-year-old son has become very interested in World War II.  He has watched a couple specials on the History Channel and enjoys books detailing artillery, equipment, and world leaders during that time.  It's blown my husband and I away because his level of interest is pretty involved; he looks at maps, studies and inquires about alliances, and is irritated that France didn't do more. He has very strong opinions, can articulate his thoughts and support his points.  Of course those points are simple and direct, but well-stated nonetheless.

I was loving his historical interest, his big ol' brain, his desire to learn.....up until the point he hit me with this zinger:  "Can I be Hitler for Halloween?"
"Sure sweetie whatever you want...wait....what did you just say?"
"I said, can I be Hitler for Halloween?"

This question came out of nowhere while we dined upon Leggo waffles.  I watched him as syrup dripped from his chin and he wiped his mouth with his shirt collar, trying to lick it back off again.

"Ummmmm.......no," I responded in a perplexed voice. For a moment we just stared at each other with tilted heads while we simultaneously chewed.

"Why not, Mom?  He's really famous, he has a costume and I can wear a wittle moustache and everything."  (he still sounds like Elmer Fudd when he says his L's, R's and W's)  "AND,"  he added, Abbi could be Mrs Hitler!"  Again, excellent points from a 7-yr-old mind when considering Halloween theme and attire.  I was in a real jam. It took a few days but I finally was able to explain the reasoning behind my emphatic no.

For just a moment, however, I did imagine my 2 precious darlings gallivanting around town as Hitler and Ava Braun, scoring all the Butterfingers and Sour Patch Kids they could. I also thought about the annual picture of the neighborhood children and what it would look like: John is a great hobo, Jennifer's Raggedy Ann costume is too precious....and Patrick is a dead-ringer for Adolf.  Things that make ya' go hmmm....

Livin' Large

One of my very fave questions to ask kids is: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  The answers are usually standard....a teacher, a doctor, a policeman, etc.....but sometimes the responses are so outlandish and lofty it can be difficult to contain an outward laugh.

For a while my son and daughter repeated the same career choices when asked about their future endeavors, but recently they have come up with a few new gems that absolutely kill me....

Per my son, his future bio will include the following: $1,000,001.  A jetpack.  The ability to make himself invisible.  With these three items one could rule the world; and my shorty has the determination to do it.

My daughter is much more blase' about her career path. She doesn't like to waste time thinking about minute life stuff like work, school, homework, etc.  Over the last year or so she has thrown out professional soccer as a career but has changed her mind in recent weeks due to the 1.5 mile run she has to complete during her club practice. It's just too much work for the little princess. If something isn't easy to attain, she ain't interested....

"So if soccer's not going to be your gig," I ask, "what do you want to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," she'll sigh, "I'll probably just be a famous actress." This bold statement is made with absolutely no commitment whatsoever.....she's not in drama, hates to read, and gets embarrassed in front of crowds. So good luck with that one, toots--you're right on track!  When I remind her of her soccer talents and how great she is and could be with continued training, she looks around and gingerly says, "Nah.....I think I'll stick with the acting..."  Stick with it?!?!?  There's nothing to stick with, crazy!

Recently the two of us went to the bookstore and while I browsed for a new read she skimmed the teen fan club section in order to find the best autographs.  After all, she needs to be ready for all the paparazzi and mobs when she makes her debut in Hollywood........apparently it's as easy as that.