Sorry Rachael and Kait. So I was all excited about this the other day.

I finally got around to eating a piece last night. Gag.

First of all - NO LADY FINGERS!!!!! The “cake” part was simply cake. White cake, which I hate. And the creme part - you could literally taste all the xanthan gum, guar gum, locust bean gum in it. *vomits*

What the hell is wrong with Texas man? Seriously. Then again, what do I expect, they use COTTAGE CHEESE in lasagna here. COTTAGE CHEESE!!! WTF?

Sweet news. Gaz is finally flipping with no spot. on the floor. She hasn’t figured out that no one is spotting her, so shhhhhh m’kay? Thanks. Last night at practice she was just goofing around on the tumble track trampoline and rebounded so high out of a round-off that she barely got her hands down for the back handspring. So she’s really close to throwing a whip, which is a big deal considering the mentalness that she’s overcome to do a round-off back handspring.

MEH and I were hanging out with Gaz while she was eating dinner after practice we had an in-depth discussion on why kids shouldn’t say the word fuck, shit, etc. I know, we’re total fucking hypocrites.

I’ll take total responsibility for Gaz saying shit. It’s totally my fault. I burned a CD for her with Pink’s U+UR Hand on it and well, now it’s her psych-up song. Her favorite part is:

In the corner with your boys you bet up five bucks
To get at the girl that just walked in but she thinks you suck
We didn’t get all dressed up just for you to see
So quit spilling your drinks on me yeah
You know who you are High fivin’, talkin shit, but you’re going home alone aren’t cha?

I should be thankful that she hates that song Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne or else she’d be like the rest of the girls at they gym singing:

Don’t pretend I think you know I’m damn precious
And hell yeah I’m the motherfucking princess

Um, yeah. That would be interesting to say the least. I don’t know which would mortify me more, that my 10 year old said motherfucking or that she was singing an Avril Lavigne song.

Glad I’ve got my priorities straight, huh?

Gaz, like her mom, has always had an eclectic taste in music and has never been the “typical girl”. Sure, Gaz jumped on the whole Hilary Duff bandwagon and I actually got us floor seats for the concert at the Irwin Center (the show was actually okay, believe it or not). She lost interest after a while. She knows the difference between punk and “punk” and rock and “rock”. The first song this child ever sang from start to finsh was “You Shook Me All Night Long” — she was 2 — get the picture? We both have a place in our hearts for No Doubt, so when Gwen’s solo album was released, we were both pretty bewildered. And so our hate for “Hollaback Girl” and all things “Gwen minus the rest of the band” was born. Unfortunately, every other girl on the planet lurrrved this song about a allegedly slutty girl who decides to kick some cheerleader’s ass because said cheerleader was perpetuating said rumor. This song showed up in so many cheerleading routines that season. OMG! My ears, they were bleeding.

So Gaz and I fought back. Gaz used to go to a really good (but expensive and that’s why she doesn’t go there anymore) gym in our area, we’ll give them the initials GAF for the sake of this discussion. (Call me paranoid, but I try to keep some level of anonymity here and I don’t want some Googling psycho cheer mom to stumble upon this blog, m’kay?) Their lock-ins are the stuff of legend, they’re that fun. So fun, in fact, that sometimes they have parent/kid lock-ins and the parents have more fun than the kids. It was at such an event that Gaz and I became GAF Idols. GAF Idol is basically a karaoke contest. The first time Gaz and I competed in GAF Idol, we did 1985 by Bowling for Soup — with cue cards ala INXS’ “Mediate” video — we kicked ass and totally won. Being the competitive freaks that we both are, we had to step it up for the next lock-in. So with 3 days notice, I put this together:

Uh huh, We’re GAF
We’re number 1 and we’re National Champs

I can’t wait hit that mat
Cuz I’m tired of hearin’ you talk that smack
Cause you ain’t no GAF girl, I’m an GAF girl
I can’t wait hit that mat
Cuz I’m tired of hearin’ you talk that smack
Cause you ain’t no GAF girl, I’m an GAF girl
Oooh, watch us win, we’re GAF
Oooh, watch us win, we’re GAF
Oooh, watch us win, we’re GAF
Oooh, watch us win, we’re GAF

I heard you say your gym’s the best
I don’t think so, I think you’re dreaming
Most you can hope for is second place, ‘cuz first is gonna’be ours
We’ve got it all, best coaches and staff
[redacted]
We set the standard, demand respect, oh yeah, and we win big.

CHORUS

Our walls are covered with banners and trophies
From the past 3 years, not 1980
You can say you’re gyms a winner, but we can back it up
We’re gonna’ be sharp, gonna give it our all
Gonna’ rock your world, gonna bring it on
That’s right, when the cameras flash, that picture’s gonna be us

CHORUS

Let me hear you say, we’re the best
B-E-S-T, we’re the best
National Champs
C-H-A-M-P-S – Champs
Again, we’re the best
B-E-S-T, we’re the best
National Champs
C-H-A-M-P-S – Champs

CHORUS

Um, okay. I wrote this parody in an afternoon and Gaz and I learned it in about 2 hours. I made cue cards in case either one of us got lost in the middle of the song. Needless to say we were victorious again. The cue cards disappeared and reappeared on the walls of the parent viewing area. By the end of the next week, everyone knew the song. Everyone.

So at competition when those gym’s that had Hollaback Girl in their routine hit the mat, the girls would sing along. With the lyrics above. I know, right?

Fast forward to last week.

MEH has been picking up Gaz from cheerleading practice. When they got home they were telling me about the what will probably be the next Hollaback Girl.

“I hate that stupid song! Gah!” - Gaz

The song is Girlfriend, the latest by Avril Lavigne. Excuse me for a sec, I need to go vomit.

Okay, I’m back. So I finally heard this song yesterday watching the video on YouTube and it made me feel a little stabby.

I think the reasoning behind Gaz’s vehement hatred for this song is not just because:

a) it’s the worst. song. ever;
b) that the premise of the song breaks the cardinal rule of “you don’t blatantly try to steal another girl’s boyfriend”;
c) every gym is going to use a cut of this song in their routines, not realizing that she actually says “motherfucking princess” in there;
d) “OMG Avril, just because you shop at Hot Topic, that doesn’t make you punk”,

but because Avril totally ganked her look.

Exhibit A


Performing “Flavor of the Weak” by American Hi-Fi - Fall 2004

Exhibit B

Publicity shot for “Best Damn Thing” - Spring 2007

OMG! and this:

Now I’m pissed. I think I need to go burn everything I own that’s got a pink skull on it.

There was a point to this post. Somewhere. I think.

Well, excuse me while I go re-write this song so Gaz and I will have something to mockingly sing during cheerleading season.

I seriously need to get a life.

All Star = Fun, Joy, No Complaining
Pop Warner = Hell

Saturday kicked off the cheerleading competition season in the Evil household. We are officially living in “Cheer World” as Maniacally Evil Husband so aptly puts it. This season isn’t as insane as it has been in past years because Gaz isn’t on an allstar team this year. She took the year off to work on her tumbling skills and truthfully, we just couldn’t afford it. I’ll have to do a whole entry on the world of allstar cheerleading.

Anyway, Gaz is doing pop warner cheer this year. Which she hates immensely, the only thing that motivates her not to quit is her friends Claire and Sofie …

and Lauren and J’la

I swear, if I had known how much drama this was going to cause, I wouldn’t have let her do this. But then it wouldn’t be cheerleading without drama.

Exhibit A - I hate this uniform!

It’s itchy, hot and (the horror) frumpy!

Exhibit B - Why do I have to go to this stupid game?

No one cares that we’re there, only 3 of us are going to show up and I get in trouble for actually watching the game. Isn’t that the whole point? The game?! Gah!

Exhibit C - My shoes, the bottoms are all brown from the stupid track now!

“Oh, and did I mention it’s hot. And this uniform is itchy. And there’s only 3 of us here.”

Exhibit D - The cheering part, that’s just stupid.

“We’ve got spirit… okay, not so much.”

Exhibit D - Why is the game so long?

“Is it over yet? Is anyone even paying attention?  Did I mention that I hate this hot, itchy, frumpy uniform?”

Yeah, I enjoy driving to what may be the scariest neighborhoods in the Austin area to be eaten by fire ants and watch my daughter complain. Oh, boy is that fun. Um, okay, not so much. MEH has washed his hands of the whole thing. Both Gaz and I are not allowed to bitch and complain about anything Wolf Pack related. Otherwise, he just sticks his fingers in his ears and goes, “Not listening.” Kind of like the Happy Bunny.

But not really. No, he really doesn’t do that, because he’s got a “mental mute” button that he hits when the females in the Evil household start bitching.

So Gaz is sticking it out. Because a commitment is a commitment, blah, blah, blah … and due to the fact that MEH and I said she could compete in individuals if she got good grades in the first 6 weeks of school. Since she got straight A’s, individuals it is. More on that later.

Why does this entry seem familiar? Oh, because I posted almost the same entry here. Ugh!

… two boxes of unfinished hair bows.

I ran out of black ribbon when I was making these:

and these:

I don’t know how I could have miscalculated the amount of ribbon I needed, but I did. I ordered more ribbon and it will probably be here by Saturday and I’ll be able to deliver them next week, but still …

I felt really bad about it until the mail came today.

This is a sample blinkie from [name of company redacted].

When I say sample, I mean free sample, meaning I paid for the postage for this to be sent to me. I ordered this sample in December of 2005. I thought it would be cool to order about 200 of these for the parents at the gym for national season which ran from January unitl April 2006.

It came in the mail today. Yes, today.

I don’t feel that bad about being 2 or 3 days off on my turnaround time anymore.

Oh, and by the way, I spoke to my customer this afternoon and she doesn’t need the hair bows for at least another 3 weeks. She pretty much rolled her eyes when I told her the bows wouldn’t be ready until next week.

My customers are pretty cool.

Well, well, well my Michelle

Michelle is coming to visit next week. Yes!

*commence happy dance*

Michelle is my best friend. We have those matching charm bracelets and everything. Um, okay, if you believed that, then you don’t know me at all do you? Michelle is my homegirl. She is one of my few friends that I can just be my actual self with. My no holds barred New Jersey self. The self that would make the other cheer moms and neighbors run screaming from the room.

Michelle’s daughter and Gaz were friends on the same team at cheer two years ago. We decided to carpool and split the hotel room cost for one of the competitions the girls were in. The rest, as they say, is history. It was a weekend of alcohol, profanity, 2 whiny girls that had to be up at 4:30 a.m. in order to be at a venue a half hour away from our hotel in full make up and uniform at 6:15 a.m. Gaz was being a huge drama queen when I was putting her make up on and I had finally had enough and said:

“You know what, Gaz, this whole cheerleading thing was not my idea, it was yours. I know it sucks to be up at 4:30 in the morning, but for right now you need to let me put your makeup. We can be done with this and actually eat some breakfast before we have to leave. If we leave on time, we may be able to hit a Starbucks on the way and then Mommy will be a happy camper. However, if you’re going to keep giving me a hard time, we’re going to be late. If we’re late your coach is going to yell at me. Not you. Me. Frankly, your coach kind of scares me. If she yells at me before I’ve had enough caffeine, I may just have to cut her.”

Michelle looked at her daughter and looked at me and said, “I don’t think I could have articulated that as well as you just did without dropping the f-bomb, but I’m so there with you on the Starbucks thing.”

I knew at that moment we would be friends. Not only are we friends, but all 4 kids get along and *gasp*, MEH gets along and is actually friends with Michelle’s husband, Mike.

Last October, Michelle called me with some news. Mike got a job offer with a new company, but the company was in Portand, Oregon. When she told me the amount of money and all the perks included, the conversation went like this:

CE: OMG, I’m going to miss you guys.
M: Well, we haven’t actually decided anything yet.
CE: Oh, please, that’s like Corleone money.
M: I know, right?
CE: The fact that you knew what I meant by that and have never seen The Godfather frightens me.
M: I thought you were going to go with “You can’t leave, all the plants are going to die,” but I have no indoor gardening skills to speak of.
GM: I know, right?

So Michelle & Mike and their 2 girls moved to Vancouver, WA in January. Just this past summer, Michelle and her youngest, Gaz and I met in NJ. She witnessed the horror that is my mother and I interacting and sided with me. Mike’s buddy in Hong Kong hooked us up with a suite at the St. Regis Hotel on Fifth Avenue for 3 days. We had a blast. On the day we were leaving, we went to Tiffany. I bought us matching Tiffany keyrings. This was something Michelle and I had been talking about since we started planning the trip. The girls were being, well, 9 year olds (it had been a long day and my in-laws were involved) and frankly, they kind of ruined the whole experience.

M: I almost wish we hadn’t brought the girls.
CE: I know, right?
M: I’m such a selfish bitch.
CE: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
M: I know, right?

Michelle is the sister I never had. She is one of the few people that I cannot shock. She curses even more creatively than I do. And she makes some mean raspberry jelly.

I told her I was going to blog about her today in this conversation:

M: Oh cool … wait, you mean on the internet? Can you check something for me?
CE: Sure.
M: Go to www.omnicheer.com. Now how am I supposed to figure out how the sizes run?
CE: Did you try clicking on “size chart” right under the picture of the skirt?
M: Oh… don’t say a word or won’t cut your hair, by the way, oh and what color is it now?
CE: *sigh* Bitch.
M: You say that like it’s a bad thing.

I can’t wait until next Wednesday!