Congratulations!

Congratulations to . . .

Linda K

Winner of the Babyhopper Castile Soap, sponsored by The Dancing Grasshopper!

Introducing .... Miss Perceived

Remember when Miss Spoken (that's me) promised to introduce you to my saucy neighbor, Miss Perceived?

Well, wait no longer because Miss Perceived and I, along with Johnny Boy, Puppet Boy, Legal and a small army of children are heading up to Donner Lake for one final farewell to the heat-goddess-bitch Nevada likes to call Summer. I have to make these introductions pre-camping trip because who knows what kind of shenanigans will ensue and I just want to make it clear ahead of time that she is not what she seems.

Oh, Miss Perceived ......

Don't let the blonde hair, the golden tan, the lashes dipped in eight coats of mascara, the sprightly disposition or that Colgate smile fool you.

When I first met Miss Perceived I was sure that she had spent some time at the top of some sophomoric cheerleading pyramid. Did she have jazz hands? Bet she actually had a high school sweetheart and his name was Chad "the Chadster" Bingham. Did she listen to Britney Spears and sip Slim Fast through a straw while cursing her trumpet-tongued Chardonnay slurping neighbor (yours truly)?

Miss Spoken did not want to like Miss Perceived. Miss Perceived appeared to be so good-natured, so nice, so good with her son The Regulator, so ... I don't know ... blonde. But as time trickled on here in Babbleville, Miss Spoken was reminded of one very simple truth:

All blondes are evil.

Miss Perceived is like a carnivorous plant.... gorgeous, but with an arsenal of unexpected traps and rapid movements meant to distract you from her objective -- consumption and survival. 

Miss Perceived was never on top of that cheerleading pyramid but I bet she probably kicked down a formation or two back in the day. It's possible she screwed the quarterback and maybe his girlfriend, too. You're more likely to find a Brown Eyed Girl on her Ipod than a Womanizer and in fact she likes a shot or two of Grey Goose in the morning when Dick Head (also known as her ex-husband) decides to live up to his name and be an actual dick head. Miss Spoken likes that; she likes that a lot.

So in summary, Miss Spoken was in fact completely wrong about Miss Perceived and is now truly, madly, deeply in love with her. Or is at least willing to sneak into her tent and use her portable toilet this weekend.

Letter to a Vagabond

Dear Lady at School Who Only Wears Pajamas,

School has been in session now for what, a week and a half? Everyday I do the drop off and the pick-up thing. Actually, I do that little routine twice because Boss Lady gets out at 11:30 and The Boy isn't released until 3:00.

Every morning I manage to throw two waffles in the toaster for The Boy because without his waffles he will in fact go screwball ape shit crazy and every morning Boss Lady gets her cereal. I consume coffee. Sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's cold, sometimes it's vodka. The Boy's hair gets all spikey and semi-mohawked and Boss Lady gets a ponytail. If these early morning hours go smooth enough, she might even get her beloved pigtails which is saying something for my time management skills because Boss Lady has more insane intersections in her hair than downtown LA which means getting a straight part down the center is damn near impossible. I do it because Boss Lady is ... well ... bossy and she sometimes rubs my back when Legal makes me want to drink lots of Nyquil and sprinkle Flexeril all over my Raisin Bran.

Anyway, in the midst of this regularly scheduled chaos, guess what lady? I manage to walk out of the house in actual clothes. I sometimes even dismiss my bedhead by running my fingers through my hair and on occasion, I have even found the time to throw on a pair of sunglasses so as not to frighten the little ones. So why JesusHellChristShit do you always arrive at the school in your Powerpuff Girls flannel pajama bottoms, a flimsy tank top, no bra and some slippers? And why are you wearing Powerpuff Girls clothing in the first place?

It drives me C.R.A.Z.Y!

You arrive at 3:00 in the exact same thing! Oh, and by "arrive" I mean that you walk. You walk to and from school in your pajamas and slippers with four kids; two of them trailing behind you in their pajamas as well. Can you not find 60 seconds within that 6 hours that the kids are in school to, ohh I don't know .....  get dressed? Are you writing the Great American Novel? Studying quantum mechanics? Or are you watching General Hospital and re-runs of Dog the Bounty Hunter?

Look, I don't know if you reside within Babbleville's finest real estate or if you live in the prettiest little double-wide you ever did see. Either way, I'm just tired of being confronted by your nipples at 8:45 every morning and hearing the sound of those damn slippers as you shuffle and flop your way back to the couch.

Enough with the damn pajamas and buy a fucking bra.

- Miss Spoken

My Gay, Lady Gaga and the Texas Roadhouse: A Love Story

Last week My Gay turned 25. By everybody else's standards he's irritatingly young but, as I mentioned, he's gay so he's all aflutter with concerns that he might be past his Purchase By date. Whatever. I'm 37 so in Gay Land, I'm already expired. Soured. Curdled.

Regardless, it's a day of celebration or at the very least consumption. I checked out our Babbleville Local Directory of Crappy Happenings but alas, the Gay Rodeo was nowhere to be found. Because what better way to say Happy Birthday than with a little bit of this:

And a whole lot of this:

I had to settle for the culinary stylings of the Texas Roadhouse which was fine by me because with My Gay and Puppet Boy in tow, I was confident we could bring some Brokeback swagger wherever we went. And at this point, I'd go anywhere if it meant getting my posterior out of this house and my feet into these Fergalicious Red Croc heels. 

Ahhhh ..... heels. Paired with Mac's Viva Glam Matte Red Lipstick.

Sweet nectar of love.......

The Roadhouse did not disappoint. I feasted (yes.... feasted) on the world's most well endowed chicken smothered in Guaranteed-To-Make-Your-Ass-Wider White Gravy with a side of Straight-To-The-Thighs Mashed Potatoes. Lady Gaga was our bartender. My Gay line danced with the staff while twirling his napkin in the air and also rode on a saddle that they wheeled to our table while we sang his Birthday praises. My little Annie Oakley is all done and grownded up. Sniff. Sniff. 

P.S. Told you we could bring a little Rainbow colored funk to the joint.  Yee-haw bitches!

The Dancing Grasshopper - Handmade Bath & Body Products (Closed)

In my ongoing quest to find more things to rave than rant about, I happened across an Etsy shop called, The Dancing Grasshopper. 

This family and home based business is a treasure, offering beautifully handcrafted olive oil soaps, lotions and lip balms; soy candles, bath salts and organic buckwheat pillows. Using only the purest ingredients and botanicals, it is clear that this is a labor born of love. A great deal of attention and care is poured into each product from inception to the simple yet stylish packaging. I am a collector of bath and body products. Actually, the term hoarder might be more appropriate. My point is that I know a good product when I see one and this is the real deal.

I sampled their Mint Julep Lip Balm ($2.95) which comes in this very cool retro slide-top tin. Think of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies and you get a sense of just how delicious this stuff is. I wanted to devour it. With olive oil as a primary ingredient, this lip balm doesn't just smell great, it works great too. And who doesn't love the slight tingle that mint leaves on your lips?

Also on my menu of indulgence, their Tomato Leaf Olive Oil Lotion ($7.95).  Living in Nevada, my skin gets so dry it hurts. So I prepared to slather some on this morning with the nagging suspicion that nothing would ever make my skin feel good again. The first thing I noticed was the smell - clean, fresh, balanced. This light lotion absorbs into the skin fairly quickly and never once did I feel the need to wash my hands after using it. Hours later, my skin is still as soft as it was this morning. Lovely.

Finally... my favorite. Their Blackberry Sage Soy Candle ($5.95). This is six ounces of hand-poured heaven. The smell of ripe blackberries and the earthy notes of sage conjure up memories of long summer nights. This candle makes me want to place an order for anything and everything they sell with this scent. Intoxicating.

WIN IT!

The Dancing Grasshopper is also looking out for your little ones with their Babyhopper line of Beeswax Body Lotion and Castile Soap. Enter today to win this bar of unscented, 100% olive oil soap made specifically for your baby's sensitive skin.

Main Entry

• Go to The Dancing Grasshopper, browse through their collection of bath and body products and pick your favorite (other than the giveaway item), then come back here and leave a comment or paste the link.
• If your email is not publicly available, please post it in your comment so I can reach you in the event that you win.

Extra Entries

• Follow The All You Review (link on right sidebar)
• Post The All You Review button on your site (leave link for verification)
• Blog about this giveaway (leave link for verification)
• Make a purchase from The Dancing Grasshopper before midnight, September 13 (PST)

Contest ends midnight, September 13 (PST)

Open to US mailing addresses only

Winner chosen using a Random Number Generator

Winner will be contacted by email and must claim their prize within 48 hours

The Boy's First Misdemeanor

Does this look like the face of a criminal?  

Look closer ....  closer ...

Last night The Boy, Boss Lady and I had dinner at Grandma's house. And when I say dinner, I mean that while most of us ate enchiladas, The Boy had pasta (remember that pesky eating disorder I diagnosed him with?) and not much else.

On the way back home, we had a brief layover at The Store That Claims To Sell Things Way Cheaper Than The Other Stores. I don't usually hit this particular spot but was lured by the promise of that creamy garlicky goodness known as Boursin cheese. Alas, some Boursin-Cheese-Eating-Harlot must have snatched every last one of them because they were all gone. I did however learn that Wolfgang Puck has a new line of frozen appetizers out on the market. So with my cart full of chilled risotto balls, snacks for my wicked children and an array of lotions and potions that I don't really need, I pay for my haul. Needless shopping done, we arrive home and I throw The Boy and Boss Lady in bed. No bath because I said so. Lights out.

Cut to the next morning.

Before I can even peel my eyes open, there is a small warm body next to me softly whispering in my ear, "Mom, don't look at the gum in the drawer. Plllleeease."

Shit.

Is there sticky sweet and strawberry scented gum attached to everything in my makeup drawer? Is it his drawer? Is there a web of fruity gluey goodness entangling his new school clothes? Or is it (gasp!) a ball of gum, partially eaten by The Boy and partially feasted on by a colony of ants?! 

His pleading is escalating as I approach what I think to be The Drawer. Sure enough, inside there is a pack of candy. Not gum though, it turns out to be Jawbreakers. It also turns out that while I was distracted by frozen Wolfgang Puck and bottles of $3 wine, The Boy put the jawbreakers in his pocket, i.e. he stole them!

I've been down this road before with my oldest daughter. When she was two years old, I took her to the Berkeley Flea Market and she "accidentally" took off with some hippy chick's stash of string bracelets. That probably really was just an accident. It wasn't an accident however when she was busted stealing energy drinks at the local grocery store. Or lifting eyeliner from Walgreens. 

The Boy feels bad and wants to know if he'll be going to jail. Not this time. He will however, be going back to that store, confessing his crime and paying for his Jawbreakers.

Get off the junk, son

Babbleville ... An Introduction

Welcome to Babbleville!

Babbleville is my fictional name for my very factual neighborhood. You could say we're located in Northern Nevada, but I prefer "majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains." It just sounds ... better. Here we get to sweat like whores in church during the summer and pay small children to shovel snow in the winter. Spring is nice; fall is even better.

Sounds good so far, right?

We're also close to Reno which hails itself as The Biggest Little City in the World. This qualifies us as a 24-hour community. Aside from higher auto insurance rates, it also means that the freaks don't just come out at night. They slither about all day long.

Let me take you to my block.

I live in a community of townhouses, all individually owned which makes for some good fun but, I'll get to that a little later. Also on the block -- a gas station that is always conveniently out of regular gas but not premium, an over-priced grocery store where I like to buy my 1.5 liters of Barefoot Chardonnay, a hippy sort of mystical thrift store that sells bikes with plush animals somehow sewn to the actual bike frames (huh?), a laundromat, a place that sells a pretty good chicken burrito, a Christian book/gift store, a tattoo shop and a hair salon that caters to the bingo crowd and AARP members.

In time you'll get to know the other residents but for now let me introduce myself. My name is Gina but in Babbleville, I am Miss Spoken. I can be guilty of letting my words get away from me. Like darts dipped in poison, they can sometimes sting a bit. Not always. Kinda. Maybe. I think I'm funny but I'm not always. I like a glass of Chardonnay at 3:00. I like more later. I have three kids I've nicknamed Legal, The Boy and Boss Lady. Legal used to tell her friends that I only liked the Disney villains. She was right. Me and Maleficent are like twins separated at birth (hey Malef, I want my horned headdress back whenever you get the chance. Text me!). 

So that's a snapshot of Babbleville and a brief look at Miss Spoken. Maybe tomorrow I'll introduce you to my next door neighbor, Miss Perceived. But it's almost 3:00 and Miss Spoken has a nagging sensation that there is something else she's supposed to be doing right now.