Obviously Not a Sponsored Post. Heh.

It's been awhile since The Retail Universe slapped me across the face and screamed, "YOUR BABY ISN'T A BABY ANYMORE." I've been crossing that awful aisle between baby clothes over to the *sob* big girl *sob* clothes for months. However, I've been cheating. Alexis wears almost nothing but Gap clothes, so the Walk of Horror from babies to big girls is pretty much like a walk from the Macy's shoe department to a good ol' fashion shoe store. It's mostly a lot of the same.

Sure, the Gap big girl clothes are cut slightly differently than the baby ones, but they are the same fabric, just less of it. Uh, yeah, the straps on dresses? Get thinner as the sizes get bigger. I SWEAR IT. I'm pretty sure the skirts get shorter, too. Obviously, it makes sense that we should have our kindergarteners dressing like strippers and not our toddlers. Totally makes sense.

Anyway, since fall is quickly approaching, I needed to acquire some new clothes for Alexis. Specifically, I needed to get her some junk clothes that I can send to daycare for her emergency clothing stash. Usually I send old stuff, but a quick look through her long-sleeve/warmer stuff was a big old bust. She has outgrown everything that she was able to wear as spring 2009 faded away. Since old stuff didn't work out, my best option was to head to Wal-Mart.

Shut up.

I know.

I hate it, too, but Wal-Mart does have really, really, really cheap clothes. I don't care about the quality of junk I send to daycare because Alexis almost never ends up wearing those clothes. I only send them as a means of tricking Murphy into thinking we are prepared for any sort of potty/paint/marker/fashion disaster. In a world where my budget for junk clothes is under $10, Wal-Mart fits the bill.

So, Alexis and I walked into Wal-Mart. I instinctively headed for the baby clothes, but quickly realized there wasn't a single thing that would fit her. So we turned and crossed the aisle.

And saw her.

That . . . hussy.

Miley Cyrus.

Apparently Miley Cyrus has partnered with some Max dude and designed a line of "clothing" for little girls.

I say "clothing" because, people, this stuff shouldn't be considered clothing. It's . . . uh . . . scary and stuff. The best part? IT ALL COMES IN SIZES SMALL ENOUGH TO FIT MY THREE-YEAR OLD.

Yes, all of it.

Even this:

Lumberjack plaid isn't just for boys any more. Now even the littlest girl can hack at wood all the live-long day, while donning her girlified plaid in the form of a dress. The only problem is that if you don't want to see the moon while your little lumberjack hacks, you better buy a REAL big size. In order for that sucker to go down to Alexis' knees, she'd need a large. She's three. THREE. She's not even tall for her age.

At least Wal-Mart was a little more honest with this one:

They say it's a shirt. It's definitely a shirt. The weird thing is that I thought that whole plaid thing went to the grave with Kurt Cobain, no? Could it be that Miley is stealing ideas from the 80's and 90's?


Yes, she is. If the vest over t-shirt thing isn't proof enough, how about this?

Pick your jaw up off the floor, please and thank you. Yes, those are Cyndi Lauper's pants. Aren't you glad yet another generation will get the chance to marry camel toes with animal prints? Thanks, Miley!

Fortunately, Miley didn't notice that whole pesky stirrup pant thing from around the same era.

Whoops. I guess she did notice them. She didn't realize they were fug, though. They're even more fug now than they were back in the day.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. Much worse. I don't know what kind of wacky tobacky Miley has been smoking, but I'm thinking these pants are her first step in trying to bring the mullet back into play:

Hello, shiny! Best part? They are sold out online. Find the six people who bought them and smack some sense into them, will you?

Alexis and I left Wal-Mart empty-handed. I figure she's better off risking nekkidness in the event of wardrobe emergency than she is dressing like that hussy-making Miley.

Oh, and get off my lawn, you damn kids.

(All photos borrowed from I would have taken some myself, but I didn't feel like getting kicked out for that. Again.)


Obligatory Pittsburgh Complaint about Construction

I grew up thinking there were three absolute truths in life:

1. There will be snow for Halloween.
2. You can totally make a meal out of lefse, just so long as you have butter.
3. If you turn left three times, you'll end up back where you started.

I still think all three are true, but only if you are in Minot, North Dakota. Here in the land of Pittsburgh? #1 isn't really a guarantee, but more a possibility. #2 is some sort of foreign language. #3? HAHAHAHAHA! Turn left three times here, and you'll end up in West Virginia.

No. Really.

While a map of good ol' Minot looks kinda like this:

A map of Pittsburgh looks more like this:

Which is why I get absolutely, positively sporkified when I see these:

Before our move, I drove a whopping three miles from our house, to daycare, and then to work. It was a beautiful thing. Now my commute is a bit longer. It happens to be roughly seven or eight miles from our house to my office, and then I get to drive right past it as I drive another three miles or so to daycare.

So, ten miles. Not that bad.

Except, those ten miles happen to be on roads that feature signs like this:

When those signs are joined by Road Closed signs? THINGS GET UGLY.

Right now there are, and yes I really did count them all, six construction zones between home and daycare. SIX. That's six times that I have the wondrous opportunity to drive down the road only to be stopped by the good ol' Road Closed sign. Since this is Pittsburgh and we don't need no stinkin' detours, I get to try to figure out an alternate route on my own.

Um, please refer to the map of Pittsburgh. There ain't no stinkin' detours because there ain't no stinkin' alternative way of getting from Point A to Point B, unless you are OK with a reeeeeeally long drive through the middle of nowhere. The first time that I tried to navigate around the road closures, I was able to show Alexis the countryside. In Texas. And probably Massachusetts. I think we may have even seen a little bit of California.

Can you say painful? I CAN.

It has taken me two weeks to find a route that doesn't require that Alexis and I carry our passports. Two weeks.

It's enough to make me kinda sorta miss when my commute consisted mainly of looking at the rear-end of a beat-up Accord.

Can someone please pass the lefse?


Using that Fancy Translation Degree They Gave Me at Kent State

When a three-year old says "I'm not tired," she really means, "I can barely hold my eyes open, and it's your fault. You must pay for your crimes. WAAAAAAH!"

When a three-year old says, "I want to wear my Minnie shoes," she really means, "I was wandering around the house in the middle of the night and decided we should play a fun new game. I hid my Minnie shoes under my pillow. I know you'll never find them there, and I'll LOVE watching you search everywhere. I bet smoke comes out of your ears when you try to decide whether to try to convince me to wear other shoes or to keep looking!"

When a three-year old says, "I need to tell you sumpin," she really means, "I hope you weren't trying to go anywhere important because I'm in the mood to just sorta stand here and stall for twenty minutes by repeating that phrase over and over and over. I'm never actually going to tell you anything, Sucka. HAHA!"

When a three-year old says, "C'mere, Cody," she really means, "I feel like torturing a small animal. You, the small black and white puppy, you look like you're fun to torture. Come hither so I may beat you."

When a three-year old says, "Where are my markers?" she really means, "I can't believe you haven't hung any art on this wall. I'll fix that right quick."

When a three-year old says, "I don't like that dress," she really means, "Let's play a guessing game! If you buy it, will I ever wear it? If you don't buy it, will I spend the rest of my life complaining about how that was the greatest dress ever made? Go ahead, make your choice. No matter what, you're going to lose!"

When a three-year old says, "I can't find my Zoe backpack," she means, "Find. it. now. I'm going to lose my shizznet in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . TOO LATE."

When a three-year old says, "I'm not hungry," she really means, "Good grief, I'm so hungry I could eat that mutt over there. You know what I won't eat, though? That crap you just put in front of me. I wonder if I whine enough if you'll morph into a short order cook and fix me up some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

When a three-year old says, "I have a booboo. I'm going to die," she really means, "It's been at least four seconds since I had your undivided attention. This makes me sad. So, I'm going to be as overly dramatic as humanly possible because I AM THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE!!!!!"

When a three-year old says, "I love you," she means, "I love you." No translation required for that one.