Let’s dive right in, shall we?

This Week at The Stir:

I wrote about author Charles Murray and his ‘elitist bubble’ concept published in his new book, Coming Apart, The State of White America, 1960-2012. I scored a 37. I think that number, like my age and my weight, is just a number.

Apparently food stamps are going to fix the economy. They’re going to fix it so well that the government is giving out $75,000 grants to groups that devise ways to sign more people up for food stamps.

This one on Susan G. Komen defunding Planned Parenthood got such a hateful reaction that Mark Davis’s producer Susan contacted me to be on the show tomorrow morning to talk about it. Some people are just mean. If you’d like to listen in, I’ll be on at 7:04 Pacific, which means I’ll be locked in the garage or something while poor Leif wrangles the kids to get ready for school. I love you, Honey!

The Latest on Moms Matter:

This State of the Union Analysis is technically from last week, but seeing as CafeMom hasn’t posted this week’s article yet, I thought I’d include it anyway. Hey, it’s my site, I can post what I want to!  (Even emoticons!)

What Happened on Glee:

Glee was new this week, which means I shut everyone out of my bedroom at 8pm on Tuesday to watch high school musical drama, write about it, and call it ‘work.’ My job kinda rocks. I ended up talking more about my marriage than the show though.

Happy reading!

As much as it irritates me to have to defend Romney, I gotta say that he’s right. He did not say that he enjoys firing people; he said that he enjoyed the ability to do so. He enjoys freedom. He doesn’t care for bad service.

What is wrong with that?

Last Saturday I fired a restaurant.

No really, I did. I will never be going back to this particular establishment, because the service was abominable. I will no longer give them money to provide me with delicious melted cheese and singed knuckle hair (that will make sense later, I promise).

You’re fired.

It was my birthday on Saturday, and I had an actual birthday party for the first time since I turned 21, but that one kinda sucked because I had to cut the night short to go home and nurse my 10-week-old infant because she wouldn’t take a bottle (she’s still just as stubborn eight years later, by the way).

This year I wanted a party. That’s it. I wanted to go out to a restaurant with my friends, order four cocktails, and generally be the center of attention for a night before going back to my glamorous life of wiping noses and working from my couch in velour pajama pants and chipped nail polish. A girl’s gotta live a little, after all.

My awesome and amazing hubby Leif done good this year. He planned a party for me, invited my friends to my first 29^th birthday celebration, and even flew Ashley Sewell out from Texas to celebrate with me. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I totally figured it out. But it was fun to tell everyone that Leif got me an Ashley for my birthday.

We met up with everyone downtown and proceeded to make merriment. Our waitress seemed a little strange at first, but I blew it off because it was my birthday and besides, maybe she was having an off day. We’ve all had those.

The first *real* issue came when my friend Michelle ordered a cocktail with a sugared rim. Ok, so there’s this cocktail (at another restaurant) I love called a vanilla lemon lust, and Michelle fell in love with it too when we went there, so every time we’ve gone out together since, she asks me to order for her.

“She’d like a lemon drop made with vanilla vodka, and served in a cocktail glass with a sugared rim and a twist.”

That’s easy, right? Well this waitress asked me three times what a cocktail glass was before I finally gave in and called it a martini glass. Then she got it, and made some strange comment about why didn’t I just call it that. Uh, because a martini is made with gin and vermouth and served in a cocktail glass.

By the time she came back, so much of the drink had spilled over the edge that the sugared rim was virtually nonexistent. Michelle asked if I would send it back, and I said yes, because the sugared rim is the best part. She was kind of shy about it, which I understand because I usually am too, but it was my birthday, and I’m always better at taking care of my friends than taking care of myself (I think most chicks are like this) so I got the waitress’s attention.

“Excuse me, but is it possible to get this drink re-poured into a glass with a sugared rim?”

She stared at me and said, “It is sugared.”

Michelle pointed to the one spot of sugar and said as politely as possible, “Only in this one spot … it’s just that the sugared rim is the best part…”

The waitress came over and examined the glass, and again insisted that it was sugared. She said, “That’s the best I can do, because the sugar dissolves when the alcohol sloshes on it.”

Yes, she just admitted that she doesn’t know how to carry drinks.

“Could you please bring us another glass with a sugar rim, and we can just pour it ourselves?” My friend was going to get her sugar, gosh darn it!

At that point, Miss Sunshine rolled her eyes, grabbed the glass, and announced snidely, “I’ll take care of it. It’s just going to be a shorter pour.”

A shorter pour? Eye-rolling?  Uh… yeah, that just happened.

When it came time to choose our main courses, she insisted that we choose a certain style of cooking. We even asked about the other methods, and she told us that they weren’t important because they weren’t as good as what she was recommending. Ok fine, whatever. Later that evening when we got the bill, we found out that the methods she recommended cost extra. Of course.

Throughout the evening, whenever we could get her to wait on us, she acted like she was doing us a favor. The eye-rolls and generally bitchiness probably did quite a bit to prepare me for when the girls are teenagers, but for my birthday party, it was no bueno. There were multiple empty glasses left on the table, we couldn’t get extra sauces, and she almost lit Leif’s hair on fire.

Yeah, you heard me.

We were just starting on second dessert (more on this in a minute), when our waitress lit a shot of alcohol on fire and poured it over our chocolate fondue. She held it too close to Leif’s hair, and the entire table gasped. Did she apologize? Act horrified at her ineptitude? Nope. She just said out loud, “I haven’t had knuckle hair in years! I can’t even have acrylics anymore, because they kept melting off.”

Appetizing.

Several of us speared some marshmallows and tried to toast them over the fire on the chocolate, and the lady pushed past us to stir the alcohol (along with the fire) into the chocolate. No toasted marshmallows for us, no apology or explanation from Suzie Sunshine.

So let me get back to the second dessert part of the evening. Remember all of those empty glasses on the table? As dessert was being set up, our waitress had to clear some of those away. She lifted one carelessly and abruptly, which resulted in a hard impact with the hanging pendant light.

Glass went everywhere. All over the table. All over our dishes. In my cleavage.

At least she apologized for that one. She started clearing the plates of dippers for the fondue, and wasn’t going to replace all of the dishes. Everyone at the table was frustrated at this point. We’d stopped ordering drinks because we didn’t want to give the restaurant any more of our business. In between picking bit of glass off of laps, out of hair, and from in between boobs, we insisted that everything be replaced.

After that came the fire and knuckle hair comment.

Finally got to the end of our evening and got the (ginormous) bill, where we learned that our specialty cooking styles had cost extra. We also discovered that we had been overcharged for a few drinks. Our waitress had ended her shift at that point, and the new guy taking care of us took the extra drink charges off, but said he couldn’t do anything about the cooking charges.

That’s when I said something I’ve never ever said before.

I’d like to speak with the manager.

He seemed the decent sort of guy, and apologized several times to everyone as we all regaled him with the story I just told you. I told him that normally I’d let it go, everyone has bad days, but the service was atrocious, and it being my birthday and all, I just couldn’t. He took the extra charges off our bill, gave us a 10% discount, and told us that he would have a talk with Miss Grouchy Pants.

Now Mr. Manager couldn’t see because his back was to the door, but our waitress (who we thought had left for the evening) poked her head in the room THREE times to angrily glare at us. We were just the teensiest bit skeered of her. Chick obviously has issues and is definitely in the wrong line of work.

So yeah, I agree with Mitt Romney (ack! Never thought I’d be typing that…) on the issue of firing people. I’m glad that I have the ability to fire people. It’s not fun. I wish everyone could just be awesome and not suck at his or her job. The world would be a better place, and all birthday parties would be splendiferous. But that’s not how the world works.

That restaurant is so totally fired.

I went inside and ordered a breakfast sandwich and a nonfat chai tea latte (I only like coffee if it’s in ice cream), and then get this: I gave them money that I had earned through working, and then they brought me breakfast. It was great. No one forced them to feed me, and I wasn’t forced to be there. I was there because I like Panera; they served me with a smile because I paid them to do so.

Contemplating the beauty of capitalism, I had to tweet about it:

Because I love Twitter. And I’m addicted to it.

After I ate my lovely breakfast and got some work done (so I can go to Panera again in the future), I embarked upon my errands.

First, I had to get some charms added to my charm bracelet that Leif got me for Christmas last year. It’s totally sentimental and silly and I absolutely love it. Among the charms are a wine bottle, a palm tree, and a heart painted with stars and stripes. Again, I love capitalism. You think Soviet wives under Stalin got charm bracelets for Christmas? No way! They were lucky not to starve to death.

Next up was a return. I bought this shirt and cardigan thingy over the summer from Nordstrom. It was a splurge purchase for me, in celebration of one of my best contracts being renewed. Because the pieces were so nice, I always dry-cleaned them, even though the labels said I could hand wash in cold water. Then a couple of weeks ago, I decided to go last minute to Vegas to see the CNN GOP debate, and I didn’t have time to hit the cleaners. So I hand washed them. And they shrank. Like a lot.

I still had my receipt, so I took the clothes back to Nordstrom and told the sales girl exactly what had happened. “Oh, I hate when that happens!” she shared while she returned the items and credited my Visa, no questions asked.

One of the reasons I love Nordstrom and choose to shop there is because of their exceptional customer service. Again, viva la capitalism! In fact, I was so thrilled with the transaction that I immediately went to the girls’ department and spent the money on Christmas dresses for the girls. They’re teal and velvety and I know they’re going to love them and look adorable in them.

After I left the mall, I knew that I needed to find a place to buy some new running shoes. I loathe Sports Authority something fierce, so I avoid it at all costs. Why do I hate it so? Because the employees act like they’re doing me a favor by even glancing my way. Hello, I’m trying to give you money in exchange for goods; can I get a little help here? Anyone? Bueller?

No thanks.

There’s this store I’ve seen near my house that looks like a boutique running store. I was worried that they wouldn’t have a big selection, or that everything would be overpriced, but in the spirit of trying new things and supporting small businesses, I thought I’d give it a try.

It was wonderful! The sales guy was an avid runner, and asked me all about my routine, he measured my arches, checked for pronation, and brought out several different styles for me to try. After each one, he asked what I liked and what could be better. He and the owner (who was nearby at the counter) made small talk and cracked jokes, and even said I had good running form.

I left with a reasonably priced pair of kicks and the satisfaction of having supported a small business with an awesome work ethic. I’ll be going back there for all of my running needs.

The whole morning of business transactions made me so grateful for capitalism. I get to do a job that I love, and I get to choose where to spend the money I earn. These Occupy kids have no idea how the world works, with their stupid ideas about government regulations fixing everything. That never works.

Capitalism isn’t perfect, but regulation through free-choice spending is the best option we’ve got.

1. Occupy Wall Street’s Sanitation (or lack thereof)
2. Obama’s Jobs Bill, Confusing Cloture, and Mainstream Media Fail
3. Iranian Space Monkeys and Assassinators
4. Crazy California Bans Open Carry of Unloaded Guns
5. The DOJ Hotline for Alabama Immigration Policy
6. Topeka Choses Skate Parks Over Prosecuting Domestic Violence
7. Baseball (Or as I like to call it: Cute boys in tight pants)

Plus we have a rant, a dirty joke from Eli, and and awesome Dude of the Week.

Happy listening!

Anyway, I wrote some schtuff last week. And you should click on it, because my editors like traffic. Also because it’s interesting and informative.

Leave my stuffed-crust pizza alone! You know what never solves anything? A government program designed to save us from ourselves. That’s why I advocate against the so-called fat tax.

I also extrapolated why I don’t want my rich, fat cat boss to pay higher taxes: Because I like getting raises. Less capital leads to less investment leads to no bonus checks for a job well done. Boo!!

And I wrote about birth control and why the new “womyn’s health” mandate in Obamacare is dumb and doesn’t actually open up any valuable services to poor people.

Happy clicking reading!

Now what were you saying?

In between choruses of “I’m hungry!” and breaking up fights and swimming and paying bills and visiting with adorable chubby babies, I wrote some stuff. You should totally read it. In the words of Thing 2, “Cuz I say so.”

I really have no idea where she gets it.

Do you know how much oil we’re sitting on in the U.S? A lot. Way more than Saudi Arabia. You know what would be cool? Creating nearly a million American jobs and lowering the cost of fuel. Drill, baby, drill.

Was it a corporate jet? Was it an ATM? Nope, it was Obamacare that killed the economy. I wonder if there was a death panel involved…

Shared sacrifice my hiney. If I hear President Obama say one more time that ‘the rich’ have to pay their fair share, I will scream. Or at least tweet about it. Because Dude? You know what’s not fair? That fact that half the population pays nothing.

That’s the roundup! Have a great week, you guys.

Here’s how an economy works: Cobbler Joe makes excellent shoes, but his wife really wants a purse for her birthday. So Cobbler Joe works extra hard in his shoe shop creating excellent shoes that he can sell for a decent price. When he has enough money saved, he goes down the street to Polly’s Purse Shop where he purchases a fabulous handbag for his lovely wife.

When Polly sees Cobbler Joe, she’s reminded of the pair of purple satin stilettos she wants, and asks Joe if he has any in stock. He does, and she stops by later and purchases them. Or she goes to Jim’s Shoe Shop because he’s selling them at a discount. Or maybe she goes back to Joe who will price-match them.

Read the rest at The Stir

Why not? It’s a fast, easy, and mostly free way to communicate and share information. Anyone can contribute, and everyone else can choose to listen, watch, or read at will. It’s a beautiful free market system – anyone can try and anyone can buy.

The mainstream media has paid attention, and bloggers like Erick Erickson, Dana Loesch, and Andrew Breitbart himself are now regular media fixtures. They are informed, they have opinions, they share share them, and have gained a following. Media outlets saw the demand for their insight, and offered them CNN commentary jobs, radio hosting opportunities, and book deals.

Read the rest at Big Journalism

Now Borders is closing stores because why do you need to go to Borders anymore? Why do you need to go to Barnes & Noble? Buy an iPad and download your newspaper, download your book, download your magazine.

And in news from 100 years ago, Henry Ford caused massive unemployment from horse and buggy manufacturing plants when he implemented the assembly line in his automobile factory to crank out Model-Ts.

Too bad we don’t use real horsepower as our primary mode of transportation anymore. I have extensive knowledge on the subject due to my vast collection of regency romance novels, and every girl worth her salt knows that the best way to seduce a duke is in a carriage.  Minivans have denied too many ladies ascension to royalty.

Read the rest at The Stir

Anyway, at $4.05 a gallon, I got about 18 1/2 gallons for my $75. Hopefully it will last more than a week, because $300 a month to spend on gas for my car alone is not exactly in our budget.

On my way home, I swung through the McDonald’s drive-thru for a 42 oz. Diet Coke. We’re out of Coke Zero at home and I wasn’t up for the after-work rush at the grocery store. Plus I have other things I need to get at the store, and if I went for soda, I’d feel too guilty to not do the rest of my shopping too. Besides, McDonald’s has an excellent deal on their 42 oz. sodas — only $1.09!

I like math, so I decided to compare the cost of my car’s fuel with my own fuel. The gasoline works out to 3.16 cents per oz, and the Diet Coke was 2.59 cents per oz. Which means that the stuff I put in my car costs about 22% more than the stuff I put in my body.

Car food is more expensive than people food. Go figure.