I find this totally hot:

Facial hair + holding our kid + playing air hockey with another of our kids = insanely sexy

Also sexy: when I find him doing dishes, helping the kids with their homework, or babysitting while I have girl time with friends.

Yup. Hotness.

(also: it doesn’t hurt that he looks rather like Jack Bauer with glasses)

Tonight was the Annual Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. Jachin and Jon made a replica of a Corvette Stingray. They spray painted it orange, because orange is the raddest color ever! Plus, it was the color we had in the garage already.

(Jachin was more excited about it than he lets on in pictures.)

At first we were worried. The cars were supposed to be turned in at the Cub Master’s house for the final weighing last night at 8pm. At 7pm Jon managed to epoxy three of the wheels to the axels. So three of the four wheels didn’t spin. This didn’t bode well for the car’s chances, since traditionally the Pinewood Derby is won by cars with four spinning wheels. Luckily a spare set of wheels was found (read: busted off of Jachin’s car from last year) and the Stingray was quickly patched up and rushed to the Cub Master’s house, just under the 8pm deadline.

But we were worried. The car was hardly “fine tuned”.

So tonight, tensions were high and the heats were run. The village children came to witness.

Winners were applauded and lavished with gifts, and losers were mocked and humiliated. (not really.)

At the end of the night, Jachin’s Stingray took 2nd place overall, taking first in all of its heats.

And he won the “Killer Nickelcade” Award… due to the fact that his car had about $3.40 in nickels epoxied to the underbelly.

What? That’s what gives real Corvettes their speed, right?

See these tasty things here:

These delicious things are the spawns of Satan. Because I guess the devil is made of licorice. Who knew?

Why all the evilness, you ask? Because I can’t frickin stop eating them. I eat bags of them. And I wish I was joking when I say I eat “bags of them”, but I literally eat bags of them. It is easy to hop in the car and drive down the street to Rite Aid, where I will purchase several bags at a time. The daytime cashier knows me now. We have an odd relationship. She rings me up and gives me that look like,  your butt is visibly wider than it was when you were in here two days ago. But she says nothing except, “Will there be anything else for you?” And she knows the answer is no. She knows that I only came in for the Pull-N-Peels. But it’s in her Rite Aid Employee Contract to ask. One of these days I will totally yank her chain. When she asks, “Will there be anything else for you?” I will say, “Yes, these Tic Tacs here.” And her jaw will drop and she will be taken aback, and she’ll say, “Really?” And I’ll say, “No, not really. Sheesh. Just ring up the frickin licorice already.”

But I can’t stop doing it.

I. Can’t.

I have tried. I went to Jon last week, with much hesitancy — much like a suburban housewife would reluctantly go to her doctor when she’s finally decided to confront her prescription pain pill addiction.

“Honey,” I said to him through the shower door, “I need for you to not let me eat any more Pull-N-Peels.”

“What?” he asked, shampoo running into his eyes.

“I can’t stop eating Pull-N-Peels. And I’m not even kidding. I am addicted to them. And you can’t let me buy any more.”

“Ok,” he said, surely trying to figure out how he could possibly enforce such a thing. Then he said, “Don’t buy any more.”

“Ok. Thanks.”

Whew… that was done.

But two days later I found myself back at Rite Aid, being rung up by my judgmental dealer. “Will there for anything else for you?”

I threw Tic Tacs at her.

And that night as I sat in bed, eating Pull-N-Peels, Jon walked in and said, “I thought you weren’t going to buy any more of those.” But his eyes said to me, your butt is visibly wider than when you asked me not to let you buy any more of those. And I looked around, but I couldn’t find any Tic Tacs to throw at him (if only I had actually bought some, instead of throwing them at the cashier’s head). But I couldn’t be mad, because he was only trying to enforce what I’d asked. So I just got all sulky and passive aggressive and tied my Pull-N-Peel into a noose and ate it.

I then came up with a brilliant plan. I figured that if I ate enough of them, I would eventually become sick of them and then it would be easy to stop eating them. I would now eat as many of them as I physically could! Well, a bag and half later, all I had done was successfully ingested 1,800 calories and made myself a little thirsty.

I’m working on a Plan B.

Oh, and if Pull-N-Peels are the spawns of Satan, then these are the spawns’ cousins:

Because apparently the devil’s brother is a big, evil Goldfish. Who wears a helmet when riding a bike.

When I am out of Pull-N-Peels, I eat these by the truck-load.

Sure, they look cute. Sure, they claim to be Made With Whole Grain! But don’t be fooled. They will do just as much widening of the arse as a bag of Pull-N-Peels any day. When eaten in bulk-like quantities. Which I will invariably do. Because Satan will tell you nothing of portion control.

But one of these days I will shock the crap out of the Rite Aid cashier. In a few weeks, when the snow melts, and the air warms, and the spirits lift, she will ask me, “Will there be anything else for you?” And I will hand her a bottle of Zantrex-3, some running socks, and a water bottle, while I tell her of my plans for an afternoon run.

And just maybe I’ll get some Tic Tacs… for fresh breath and ammunition.