Tag Archives: Please Don’t Kill Me

Monday Movie Menagerie: This Post May Save Your Life

Lately, I’ve been watching a lot of movies. I’ve also been falling asleep during a lot of movies, which has made writing a Movies Teach Us post difficult.

Here are the bits and pieces of what I’ve learned from the movies I’ve watched over the past month. Feel free to add your own lessons learned.

Hansel and Gretel

  • Never walk into a house made of candy.

Don’t go in. The candy isn’t worth it.

  • If you’re going to kill a witch, set her on fire.
  • Gretel’s a biter.

Red Dawn

  • When stealing supplies, remember the bucket of soda.
  • Living Call of Duty isn’t as much fun as playing it.

The Hangover Part 3

  • You don’t have to have friends to play Word with Friends.
  • Giraffes and bridges don’t mix.

Pretty Woman

  • Your arm from your wrist to your elbow is the same size as your foot. (I checked this on myself. It’s true.)

I saved this Wrong Turn 4 for last because…well…I’m not really sure what I was thinking when I watched it. Has any movie that’s made it to #4 ever actually been good?

It did, however, provide a lesson that I’m sure all of us will use some day.

Wrong Turn 4

  • When inbred cannibals are killing and eating you and your friends, don’t lock them up. Just kill them. It is not the time to pull the “We can’t kill them. We’re not like them” holier-than-thou stance. They will escape and eat you.

What GIJoe Taught Me About Breastfeeding

I’ve asked everyone about babies.

  • Was your baby late or early?
  • During labor, how many times did your wife threaten to kill you? Obviously, she didn’t kill you, but did you receive other injuries?
  • How long was your labor?
  • Is it possible for you to birth the baby for me?

A coworker had a baby…without drugs. Because her experience was just a couple months ago, she couldn’t say, “You’ll forget all about the pain,” because she was still dealing with the aftermath…stitches, bleeding…other stuff I don’t want to think about.

Coworker: My labor lasted about 5 hours. It was pretty short.

My Thoughts: This woman is a god. I must do everything exactly as she did.

And you know what she said has been the most painful part of her new baby?

Not the drug-free delivery. The breastfeeding.

Someone else may have immediately thought, “Bullshit.” But me, I want to be optimistic and believe that I’ll barely feel anything while delivering.

So I focused on the breastfeeding pain.

Coworker: Someone told me to prepare myself for breastfeeding I should slam my nipples in a door. I don’t think that’s far off.

Thoughtsy: ::horrified look::

This will be my baby: “I’m going to whip your breasts into shape.”

And suddenly, ignorance seemed so much better than preparation.

Then I went all GIJoe: Knowing is half the battle.

I know ALL about breastfeeding.

So I went to a breastfeeding class. Because according to the 50/50 GIJoe logic, attending a class meant only one of my breasts would hurt.

And you know what I found out?

Breastfeeding will only hurt this much. Just a little bit.

Sure, you’re going to be sore at first, but if breastfeeding is painful, you’re doing it wrong.

That means only one thing: I’m now worried about labor pains again.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I recommend doing a couple of shots and becoming 100% sh*t-effaced. Then you wake up in the morning going, ‘Ooh, my head… but hey, the baby’s here!'”—BluzDude

Operation Pickle Juice Is a Go

Throughout the entire pregnancy, Kiefer’s been like:

  • “We have plenty of time.”
  • “There’s over 3 months left.”
  • “There’s still 2 months left.”

Next up will probably be, “You’ve hit 40 weeks. I’m sure she’s staying in another week or two. We have time.”

The only thing Kiefer isn’t procrastinating on is getting a new car. My 2-door Civic isn’t going to work once the baby arrives. It barely works now when I drive with Boo and Radley.

We have 7 weeks left. Seven!

To shake him up a little, I decided to take Darla’s suggestion and implement Operation Pickle Juice.

If I give him a shot of Jameson before and immediately after, I think my prank will be better received by Kiefer.

  1. Find pickles in back of refrigerator. I haven’t craved them since the first trimester.
  2. Pour out some of the juice being careful to leave some pickles and juice for future cravings.
  3. Splash pickle juice all over my crotch, down my leg, and onto the floor.
  4. Scream at the top of my lungs so Kiefer runs into the kitchen and thinks my water has broken.
  5. Pray that he thinks it’s funny after I show him it’s just pickle juice.
  6. Call Ozzy into the kitchen to lick the floor so I don’t have to clean it up.

Only one question remains: Should I use Dill or Bread and Butter pickle juice?

Wish me luck!

Please free to leave SUV suggestions in the comments.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “We don’t have any unicorns in our neighborhood, so I tried recipe #1 with my cats. The results were disappointing.”—Laura

Airplane Safety: I Didn’t Need to Know That

I’ve been spending a lot of time on planes lately. And I hate it. All of it.

I hate…

  • Being crammed next to complete strangers.
  • Losing all feeling in my butt.
  • Standing in all of the lines. That’s all airports are. Lots and lots of lines.
  • Paying an arm and a leg for a pack of gum.
  • Imagining monsters on the wing of the plane….


As if that’s not bad enough…there’s also that whole plane crashing thing.

Sometimes I fly into Reagan National Airport. And I recently read this:

Pilots flying into Reagan National Airport have to dodge several no-fly zones located over our nation’s capital just to land. Most of central Washington is prohibited airspace up to 18,000 feet, so pilots are forced to follow the Potomac River in the “River Visual” approach, according to the FAA. While following the Potomac River pilots have to perform a 30- to 40-degree turn while close to the river to line up with the runway. This maneuver is what has caused some to place the airport on their scariest airports lists.


After I finished my cupcake answered Kiefer’s proposal, we stopped by a park near Reagan where we watched the planes land. It was scary stuff.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “…You should have your guests toss sprinkles at the wedding exit.”—Angelia Sims

Please Don’t Stab Me

So I am laying on the comfy and warm massage table, and the masseuse walks in. You can catch up on Part 1 here.

Masseuse: So you’re from Maryland? What are you doing here in Tampa?

Thoughtsy: My boyfriend and I are visiting friends, and this massage is part of my birthday present.

Masseuse: Awww…you have a nice boyfriend. Not like my exboyfriend. He was a crackhead.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Oh my god, where the hell did Kiefer leave me? Weren’t those macarons in the Serenity Room? Surely the ghetto spa wouldn’t have macarons. Or a Serenity Room.

Thoughtsy: I’m glad he’s your ex.

Masseuse: My new boyfriend isn’t much better. He moved in with me because the crackhead was stalking me, but he slept with some girl a few nights ago.

Thoughtsy: Oh, I’m so sorry.

Masseuse: Don’t worry. I showed him. When he showed up at my house last night, I started screaming at him. And I threatened him with a butcher knife.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Mental note to keep track of where her hands are at all times.

Masseuse: He was so controlling, too. I was never allowed to have any friends over, but he could have his over. But I showed him. Once when we were grilling with our neighbors, and I used scissors to cut his shirt.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Dear God, Please let me make it out of here alive.

The masseuse eventually asked me what I thought of her current situation. I told her I thought it was time to leave her boyfriend. She agreed. I hope she does.

Masseuse: Oops. I went a little over on your massage because I was so busy talking. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t even going to talk to you at all, but I guess I just needed to get it all out.

Moral of the Massage: Listening to a masseuse vent will get you a longer massage.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Oh come on, no way she’s an effective bum self waxer. She can’t even see it all.”—Omawarisan