After what we’ve been through in the past three months I’m convinced that buying and selling a house brings out the worst in people.  Strangers basically pick the lock and wander through your home while you’re not there, judging the size and cleanliness of your closets before criticizing your paint colors.  If that’s not enough, they whine about your lack of counter space while totally overlooking the new carpet you just put in.  Then they put in an insultingly low offer while hiding behind their white-toothed Realtors.  Assholes.

I know this because we have both been these assholes, and been the victims of them.

Greyson and I are always appalled at the snobby things people say on shows like “House Hunters.”  They act like they are somehow entitled to granite countertops and “his and her” sinks just because he works in IT and she’s pregnant with their second child in the suburbs of Cincinnati.  (Yeah, we watch too much HGTV.)

It hurts my heart to think about the negative things people might say when they’re touring my house without me.  Don’t they know this is the house where we set up our first Christmas tree as newlyweds and brought home our rescue dog?  Don’t they realize we ate doughnuts in the yard with our best friends during the neighborhood garage sale?  Hello?!  We lovingly painted that nursery upstairs and our baby rolled over for the first time on the living room rug.  We loved here.  We live here.  This is our home.

And we’re choosing to leave it.  It’s an emotional thing.  So, I’m deciding to be gentler as I wander through others’ rooms in the homes where they loved and lived.

Except for the offers.  I’ll be an asshole hiding behind my Realtor.  It’s a buyers market and I’m counting on vicious white teeth.  (He he, Realtors really do have noticeably white teeth.  Am I right?)

Greyson says I’m a total snob about baby names and that I’m judgmental about what people name their kids.  Eh, sue me.

I think I’m justified with this one.  This week I heard someone say they had a friend who knew someone who named their daughter Camry.

Me: “So I heard about this little girl named Camry.”
Greyson: “As in Toyota Camry?”
Me:  “I wonder if she has a twin sister named Corolla?”
Greyson:  “Is she Japanese, or made at a factory here in the US?”
Me:  “I’m not sure, but I heard she’s very reliable and fuel efficient.”

Judgmental, yet hilarious.  We’re here all week, folks.

If you’re wondering what this is all about. Here it is. Grab a tissue and enjoy. Clearly we did.

I think all bloggers get a kick out of seeing the search engine queries that land someone on their site. Some of my recents are “Sasquatch arm”, “conversion van sink”, and “sinus pot.” Nice, right?

A search term I saw yesterday chilled my blood and turned my stomach.

“naked baby girls in the bathtub”

Oh, holy Sandusky! Who is the perverted Jon Benet Ramsey fan that Googled that?! I know that that search could have been totally innocuous, but as a parent I was freaked out. I scoured old posts for any picture of Charlotte in the bathtub on the blog. There was only one. I took it down immediately. I don’t take completely nude photos of my child that show genitals in any way. I certainly NEVER put them online. This photo was very innocent and really only showed Charlotte’s bubble covered head, but still.

I Tweeted this problem out to get response from other bloggers. One said “I get that and worse in my stats. I’ve learned there are freaks out there and there’s nothing we can do about it. Try to ignore.” Another said, “People are disgusting and no one should ever take a picture of their child in a bathtub and put it on the Internet, ever.”

I’ve heard the horror stories from bloggers about others using the pictures of their children to start their own fake blog. This story of someone using a child’s likeness on a t-shirt in Brazil is bizarre.

I knew the risk of putting my life on the Internet when I started blogging. I’ve heard remarks from other parents about overexposing my child. I’m confident in my ability to protect her and still write a blog. This is really the only negative thing that has happened to me aside from the occasional weird or rude comment. (I don’t really mind those. At least someone read it.)

Again, this could be a totally innocent thing and someone was looking for some type of Anne Geddes cute picture. But, “naked baby girls in the bathtub” does have a creepy, pedophilia vibe. The worse part? It got four clicks to my site! Someone searched that four times!

If you’re a parent, what would you do if you were me? I mean, show me a parent in 2012 that hasn’t posted an adorable bubble bath picture of their kids on Facebook or a blog? Am I overreacting? Be honest. Seriously.

I have a friend at work that regaled me with a little tale I want to pass on to you lovely readers.

This is Forsyth Park in Savannah, Georgia. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This fountain is designed to be reminiscent of fountains in the Place de la Concorde in Paris and is near the city’s Confederate Memorial Statue. So show some semi-racist respect, you!

Anyway, my friend was walking her roommate’s dog when the little pup felt a call of nature. A solid call. My friend was panicked to realize she did not have a baggy for this doggy duty. Err, doodie. To make matters worse, the dog left its deposit on the cement sidewalk, in front of a police officer. Obviously, she would have to pay a fine if she left it in front of one of Savannah’s finest.

Oh she paid a fine, alright.

She searched her pockets for a bag, some paper, or anything to scoop the poop. My friend was forced to turn to America’s old pal George. George Washington. That’s right. She used a dollar bill to pick up s#*% off the sidewalk.

The dog’s name? Gucci Onasis. Only Gucci the dog would make you pay to pick up its poop.