Existential Waitress

An Ice Cube concert review by the whitest girl in the cosmos and how I came to realize I watch too much of VH1's reality programming (repost)

2011-09-13T17:01:00.000-07:00

Backstory: Over the years, I've been known to attend concerts that stretch the parameters of my music tastes, because not only am I open-minded, I'm just cool like that. For instance, the last concert that I saw (other than the Wiggles or My Little Pony: The World's Largest Tea Party) was The Extreme Metal Tour 2001 - I say "saw" because as I've said before, you sure as hell can't hear it. I've also been to Ozzfest. Twice. And seen Metallica more times than I can remember. That sort of music really isn't my style (to say the least), but I used to take my little brother to a lot of shows when we were younger because he loves it, and I'm the best sister in the world.

But anyway, it had been a while since I'd seen a show, and when Carl asked me if I wanted to go with him and a group of our friends to see Ice Cube, I said what the hell, I'll go. Besides, I like Ice Cube. I'm familiar with his work in Boys in the Hood, and more recently the inimitable Are We There Yet? franchise. Yes, methinks this Ice Cube is a likeable fellow.

The Ice Cube concert is at the House of Blues. When we arrive I immediately take note of my fellow concert-goers. I observe that these are definitely not the sort of individuals that might attend say a Cat Power gig. Wait! I think I see Flavor Flav! Carl tells me that the gentleman I'm referring to is certainly not Flavor Flav and quietly suggests that I refrain from yelling "Do you know what time it is?" (and by that I mean that he told me that he would leave me then and there and pretend not to know me for the rest of the night if I did not stop it right now). The security line, while not long, takes ages to get through, which I consider to be a potentially ominous sign. I decide that there should be drinks. Lots of drinks. And have one of Carl's friends fetch me a rum and coke.

Finally we make it through security and into the venue. While we wait at the bar for more alcohol per my request, there is a brief scuffle and some girl throws a punch at our friend's date. Charming behavior, but that's nothing compared to a Metallica concert I attended where paramedics had to be summoned to assist the guy that o.d.'d in the row in front of us. I guess I'd rather have some bitch throw a punch than have a stranger projectile vomit in my direction. That's just my personal preference though. At that moment I also recall a time at Ozzfest when by the end of a long day of music and revelry, the ubiquitous red-necked males had become quite intoxicated and the environment potentially hostile and I locked myself inside the safe confines of my car until my brother was ready to go while blasting 'NSync in retaliation. Oh, the memories. But I digress...

After we finally get our drinks and find a spot down on the main floor, Ice Cube is nearly ready to take the stage. When the main act does begin and Ice Cube swaggers forth, I notice that he is considerably more portly than the image on the set design behind him. I prefer the portly Ice Cube and make a mental note to consider whether or not I have become a "chubby chaser." Food for thought.

Suddenly I recall something that I learned in grad school from a course on hip hop and film (I was actually the Teacher's Assistant in this class, which makes it even more frightening that I have retained almost NO information.) "Ice Cube is from N.W.A., right?!" I exclaim excitedly to Carl who confirms my observation. I'm all proud now. But I am distracted suddenly when I think I see Garth from VH1's cancelled reality show Megan Wants a Millionaire. I tell Carl that I'm certain that the greasy plumber that serenaded Megan with a plagiarized song called "Sex Mode"* is standing RIGHT BEHIND US!!! Carl does not watch VH1's ground-breaking brain cell eroding reality programming so he is oblivious to my washed up loser celebrity sighting. He ignores me, preferring the vocal stylings of Ice Cube.

As the concert progresses, Ice Cube performs some classic hip hop from the 80s and 90s. I like this about Ice Cube. Some of these songs I am familiar with (and by that I mean that I've heard them once or twice). At one point Ice Cube asks, "You Down with O.P.P.?" (you may want to refer to Wikipedia if you are unfamiliar with this acronym. I was, but I had the urban dictionary that is my husband to translate for me). "Why yes, Ice Cube, I am down with O.P.P., thank you for asking." At other points, Ice Cube gets down right gangsta, but he looks snugly to me and I wonder if he likes cuddles.

Later, Ice Cube performs one of hits from the early 90's "Check Yo Self." He tells me "You better check yo self before you wreck yo self." Methinks this is sound advice Ice Cube. Yes indeed. While I do manage to get my groove on, I fear that I probably look like Bree Vandecamp from Desperate Housewives trying to fit in with the Ice Cube crowd, but roll with it anyway, trying to enjoy whatever contact high I can get from all the weed I smell around me.

In all seriousness though, I would have to say that I really had fun at this concert. It was a cool experience and I'm glad that I went. I might even consider attending another one. But only after Carl agrees to watch me rock out at a Rilo Kiley show - or better yet, maybe I could force him to go with me to see Morrissey (although I'm pretty certain that he'd throw down over that one). Really the options are limitless...

*Note: Carl does NOT consider it erotic when I serenade him with "Sex Mode" , just in case you were wondering. "Grab my stick and switch right into SEX MODE..."

In Philly even the geese have attitude and why my son has an irrational fear of gerbil-sized dogs and animals in general. (repost)

2011-09-13T16:07:00.000-07:00

In the past I have for the most part refrained from posting about some of the more embarrassing behaviors of my kids, not so much because I'm fearful of embarrassment - I mean I think we've established at this point that I have absolutely no problem humiliating myself here for the sake of entertainment. No, I've refrained because I would never want to post something on my blog about my kids that might serve as fodder for their humiliation later in life. I mean adolescence is difficult enough without your mother spilling to the Internet all your childhood secrets about thumb sucking and toilet issues. That said, every now and then there comes a moment when I want to talk about my kids' freakish behaviors, if only to be able to commiserate, even briefly. Today's topic: my son's bizarre fear of dogs the size of a hamster. Even when they're on a leash.

A bit of back story: I've always been a dog-lover. I had dogs throughout my childhood. I even had one when C and I were dating. That's a story in and of itself. Let me just say that a decision to adopt a lab/pit bull mix should not be made after a night of drinking Tequila. Actually, that particular night I ended up with a dog and knocked up. Yes, that was a memorable night indeed. That damn dog ate everything from a bottle of prenatal vitamins which, on Christmas Eve had me desperately trying to contact animal poison control in a panic - and the only thing the dog suffered was an extra shiny coat. This dog also ate OUR HOUSE (I kid you not. He chewed all the stucco off the side of the condo we were renting at the time) and our YARD. Eventually, we had to give the dog away due to all the damage he inflicted on our condo, and the fact that as it turns out my kids are allergic to dogs. Don't worry, I assure you we found him a good home (which is far better than the one he came close to getting in Heaven). So anyway, we gave up the dog before my son was old to remember that we ever even had one.

Anyhoo, a couple of summers ago we went back East to visit C's family and decided to take a trip to the Philadelphia Zoo, as the kids had never been to a zoo before. All was fine and good aside from the 100 degree heat with humidity (I'm from the desert people. It's hot here, but it's not generally humid, and we have freakin' air conditioning everywhere). Anyway, when we sat down to eat our lunch, we were accosted by a giant herd or flock or whatever you call it of geese (I guess geese just randomly wander the Philly Zoo - maybe this is normal for zoos, I don't know), and let me tell you they were aggressive. In Philly, geese don't politely request that you toss a few crumbs their way Good Sir. No they get downright ghetto about it and demand that you give up the goods, motherfucker! And these geese were nasty. They had some sort of mucus emanating from their geese nostrils (germ phobe alert!). Anyway, the geese were practically charging us and, well a flock of geese forcibly snatching my son's hot dog from his tiny hand with their evil pestilence-covered beaks was understandably terrifying to my then three year old. My husband and his friend successfully chased the geese away (but then some idiots decided to start feeding them part of their lunch, which brought them right back).

But anyway, that marked the conclusion of "The Geese Incident." It was, however, just the beginning of "The Zoo Incident," as we still refer to it to this very day. You see, the zoo does not allow straws on the premises because the animals can ingest them and die or something (I'm no zoo expert. I don't know.) But if you recall, it was about 100 degrees out and apparently I failed parenting 101 and never taught my kids how to drink out of a cup like normal people do, because Maggie wouldn't drink out of a cup without a straw that would enable her to suck "sippie cup style." Well this prompted the temper tantrum of the century. A temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums. This child wailed the entire way to the car (she had to be carried of course, as her back was arched, her face red from all the screaming. I worried that someone would think that we were abducting her, but then with the way she was carrying on, who would even want this kid I wondered?). She continued to scream non-stop for about 45 long minutes as we drove through downtown Philadelphia, screeching and frothing at the mouth. Recently when recalling "The Zoo Incident," the friend that accompanied us to the zoo told me that he had never in his life heard a kid scream like Maggie did that day. I'm fairly certain that "The Zoo Incident" single-handedly affirmed his decision to remain single and child-free for life.

But to return to the issue of the dog phobia, it became obvious to the hubs and me shortly after our return home from Pennsylvania that our son seemed to have developed an irrational fear of all animals, including even the very smallest of dogs, ON LEASHES, as well as cats which he believes to be dogs I think. We know this because when people innocently bring their pooch to the little park by our house my son has been known to loudly shout things like, "This is MY park! Tell that dog to GO HOME!" or better yet, "I HATE dogs!" Yes, we're so very proud of our anti-social animal-hater. My husband and I have tried on numerous occasions to explain to the boy that a) that's rude, b) it's not his park, and c) an animal the size of a gerbil on a leash is incapable of spontaneously mauling him. It just is. But this has been to no avail. There have been times when my six year old has literally jumped into my arms while shrieking uncontrollably to escape the immanent danger that he believes a Chihuahua poses him. Yes, my son is "that kid."

I think when it's all said and done, this pretty much says it all: This is a page from my son's school journal. It reads "A good pet would be a red fish." This makes sense to me seeing as how he hasn't had any unfortunate incidents with fish. Yet. I think his teacher's response of "That is a good idea!" is kind of funny. Perhaps she too has had a dog that ate her house. Either that, or she's witnessed my son's behavior around dogs and is saying "A fish IS the ideal pet for a freak like you. Your parents must be crack-dealing pedophiles."

A fish is the pet my son prefers.

*Update: Just yesterday some poor lady brought a dog to school when she came to pick up her kid - the dog was in in her purse by the way, so it was not a large threatening animal by any stretch of the imagination. When my son saw the dog he pointed to the sign posted on the side of the school that says "No Dogs Permitted On School Property" and said (loudly mind you), "That sign says no dogs here! Why does that lady have a dog? I HATE dogs!" Okay, now I'm embarrassed.

So Let's Talk About Buffets (repost)

2011-08-28T10:05:00.000-07:00

Yeah, this is a repost. Lately with so much on my plate, a few repeats may be in order. Besides, I recieved a request from a friend that I repost this particular piece, as well as a few others, and quite frankly that makes my life just that much easier right now. But do not fear, I'm working on a little something about Disney Channel live action television programming and Grease. Oh yeah, baby.

As I'm sure it is for many families, dinner is often a source of contention in our household. It would seem that not one of the members of our foursome likes any of the same foods, with various food allergies making the process of choosing something for dinner all the more difficult. Lately my husband and I often find ourselves staring blankly at each other whenever the inevitable topic of "what should we have for dinner" presents itself. I do cook regularly for my children as does my husband, but lately the kids only like two things, and I'm gonna freak the hell out if I have to prepare tacos or plain noodles with meatballs one more f***ing time.

That said, last week Carl had a stroke of genius - we live in Vegas, why not take advantage of something that Vegas is known for the world round? Their fabulous buffets! At a buffet, each of us can choose whatever we want for dinner.(Plus we had a coupon that made dinner practically free, and considering the fact that we're flat broke, that was a nice bonus). Naturally I was resistant at first, I mean buffets are disgusting. How white trash are buffets (very)? But eventually I conceded because I sure as hell didn't want to have to start the painstaking process of reconsidering our dinner options all over again.

After we picked my son up from school, we headed directly to the buffet because we were all starving and it makes sense to try and beat the dinner rush (add that to the list of reasons I'm geriatric: I prefer to beat the dinner rush when I frequent the buffet at 3:30 in the afternoon). You may be wondering at this point "aren't you the same ~~annoying pain in the ass~~ person that is supposedly into "organic, hormone free this and that?" Yes, I am. But I'm also into not wanting to gouge my eyeballs out with a blunt instrument every time the question of dinner comes up. So that brings us back to our most recent visit to the buffet...

Let me just preface this by stating a disclaimer: children sometimes say things (unintentionally) that are not politically correct. I am not advocating or encouraging these statements; my children are 4 and 6 - they don't know what the hell they're saying. If you're offended please remove the stick from your ass and go away.

So after we made one of many rounds at the buffet (come on - you know it's a pig fest! It's a buffet!) Maggie and I took our seats and proceeded to chow down while Carl and Bear rampaged the taco bar. While I ate mashed potatoes, Maggie began feasting on one of her personal favorites: watermelon. And boy she was gettin' into it. With her eyes practically rolling back in her head, "Mmmmm, I love me some watermelon. Watermelon is gooood." Naturally these comments were said in the not-so-subtle tones of a four year old (meaning she's practically shouting), which aside from the bad manners wouldn't have caused such embarrassment if we weren't sitting next to a table of African Americans. Again, I don't think this would matter all that much if I weren't getting looks, and by looks I mean they were turning around to stare at the person that was loudly saying "Oh yeah, I do LOOOVE me some watermelon!" I mean Maggie did seem to be putting on quite the show and I kind of wondered if they thought she was doing it on purpose or if I had put her up to it or what. (Yes by writing this I am acknowledging the existence of a stereotype about African Americans liking watermelon. What can I say, I was mortified). I was very embarrassed and at that point attempted to get Maggie to keep her ecstasy over the watermelon to a minimum. And I will admit after that I did forbid her to get fried chicken.

Then there was the point at which my son loudly called my husband fat and offended an old lady, all in one fell swoop.. Whoo hoo! We were on a roll! After dinner Carl was standing up because he was so full (our family really believes in getting our money's worth at the buffet). Bear was all (in the loud kid voice of course), "Dad your belly is FAT! I've never seen a belly that big!" and then proceeded to hit the belly and we all know that doesn't feel so good after a binge like we just had. Carl told Bear to stop that and jokingly said that he might explode if he doesn't stop to which Bear replied, "Yeah! Explode! That'd be cool!" Carl responded, "I don't think so. I'd die." Which at this point I'm thinking "Dumb-ass. Don't say 'die' - I so don't wanna go down that road right now. But Maggie didn't miss a beat with that one.
Maggie: (Loud kid voice) "Mommy where do we go when we die?" (We talk about this A LOT).
Me: (Resigned) "Heaven."
Bear: (As usual) I'm not going to Heaven. That's boooring.
Maggie: "But not for a long time right?"
Me: (Looking around and noticing the elderly woman sitting at the next table, only three feet away. Shit. She's looking at US now). Um, yup. More desserts anyone? (Mind you, we were all about to throw up at this point).
Bear: (Again, in the loud kid voice) You mean we'll go to Heaven when we're all old and wrinkly, right?
At this point Carl and I pretty much decided to high tail it out of there (yes with the kids in tow, although at that point we did consider leaving them). Hopefully we're not eighty-sixed from the buffet, because we just got another one of those coupons in the mail. Besides, my son likes the buffet because you don't have to wait for the server to bring you food because waiting (like Heaven) is soooooo boooorrring.

Happiness Project

2010-03-09T10:42:00.000-08:00

Kid dance classes.

There's just something about watching a bunch of pre-school age little girls arabesque to songs like "Bust a Move" and "Word Up." Yes, Maggs loves her dance classes and so do I. Last week, parents were encouraged to join in on the fun and cut a rug a la John Travolta to the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive," preferably while making silly faces. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a little song and dance. But I'm even more of a sucker for Maggs in a ballet suit making good use of disco fingers. How can something like that not put a smile on your face?

Now it's your turn. Go ahead and grab Leigh's button and post a photo of something that makes you happy. I mean, what the hell's wrong with you? Do you have something against happiness?

Um, pardon me father but that cow is no longer mooing...

2010-03-01T09:50:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've been slacking in the commenting department lately - I assure you that it's not for lack of interest. Sometime last week I determined that I'd finally had enough of the general disorder and filth around here and decided that it was time once and for all to get my act together and get some housework done. I really busted ass all weekend and the house has actually been restored to some semblance of order again. I mean, let's not get ahead of ourselves, there's still much more to be done, but at least we all have clean underwear in our dressers biatches (oh yeah, we be fancy now). What's more, this morning I didn't have to perform an emergency scramble for socks, which usually requires that I blindly rummage through 10 loads of unfolded laundry piled up precariously in my laundry room, all the while praying to god that I don't cause some sort of laundry avalanche. On more than one occasion the children have had to settle for socks that don't match. Well, their socks match today, baby! Booyah!

I'm about to continue my 1950's housewife shtick and go vacuum something - oh trust me, I'm sure this little phase will run it's course and my household will once again begin to look more like a re-run of Roseanne than Leave it to Beaver. For the time being, however, I will leave you with this...

Last night we were enjoying a typical EW dinner. Okay, maybe not so typical: the hubs was having a steak and I was having a martini (okay you got me again, I was actually eating a meal too - I'm not a complete lush. But I did mention that I'm pretending to live in the 1950's. Aren't steaks and martinis pretty much prerequisites for any 1950's fantasy?) Anyway, Maggs inquired as to what her father was eating...

Dad: Steak

Maggs: What's steak?

Dad: Beef, which is from cows.

Maggs: (Incredulous, even though we've told her this before) Cows?!

Dad: Yeah, cows.

Maggs: You mean the kind that go "moo?"

Dad: Yeah.

Maggs: (Suspiciously, as if she's onto us) Um, then why isn't it mooing anymore?

The conversation continued until Maggs wanted to know specific details about how cows are killed and then made into steak. I kind of shushed the hubs because Maggs still weeps inconsolably about (what she considers) the untimely death of Goldie the goldfish over 2 years ago. I'm pretty sure she'd require therapy if the hubs were to detail the slaying and butchering of her favorite barnyard friend.

By the way, my son, over-tired from a busy weekend, had already been dismissed from the dinner table at this point for unacceptable behavior - AKA whining, complaining, and generally being unpleasant. I guess the Beav didn't get the memo requesting that he behave like a Stepford child until further notice. Let's hope that while he's at school today a space pod replaces my son's current incarnation with a more 1950's sitcom-friendly version...

If my man wants a sausage party, by golly I give it to him!

2010-02-22T10:12:00.000-08:00

This week C celebrates his 33rd birthday (yeah, that's right. I'm 2 years older than him. I'm one of them cougars. Meow! Okay, so I'm not a cougar, but C assures me that I am a MILF - to which I say, aww thanks, babe! Now why ya be goin' and gettin' all romantic-like?)

Anyway, C has to work all week, so the kids and I threw him a little pre-birthday soiree here at home. Bear and Maggs gave him some clothes (okay, really it was I who gave him the clothes because the children don't have any money and can't drive or anything - they're kinda lazy like that) - you know his usual "Cholo on Easter" attire (I totally stole that from Knocked Up, but this description just suits the hubs and his "look" ever so well). I also made him two of my famous "mixed tapes." I put a lot of effort into these musical endeavours because, while I like to think that my knowledge of most genres of music is above average, my familiarity with rap and country is admittedly fairly limited, and rap is C's music of choice. It's actually pretty funny to be trying to select the best songs for these compilations and to hit the thirty second "preview" on itunes, only to hear "Move bitch!/ Get out the way!" or "You's a fine mother fucker/ won't you back that ass up?" - at which point the kids come running from the next room to inquire if I'm listening to "Daddy's music." You know what they say - it's all fun and games until someone calls social services...

Nevertheless, my CD's are usually a big hit with the hubs because, as my son is fond of saying, "I'm too good." In order to add flavor to the festivities C style, I suggested that we grill some sausages to go along with dinner, as this is one of the hubs' personal favorites. I myself opted for a few pomegranate martinis (damn, I'm hooked on those suckers!).

When it's all said and done, I think that the hubs' birthday party was a success. Just before bed, I paused to give C a tender peck on the cheek and to whisper ever so lovingly, "Happy Birthday, Honey. I really hope that you enjoyed your sausage party." Because I'm considerate like that. If my husband wants a sausage party for his birthday, by golly I let my man have a sausage party! I am such an awesome wife like that.

I hope everyone is getting into the swing of things on this fine Monday morning. If I can ever figure out a way to balance housework and mom duties with my blog addiction, maybe I'll get around to finishing one of the 50 unfinished drafts I have going right now (keeping my fingers crossed). But for now, I'm going to go fold laundry and scrub some toilets. Jealous much?

Blast from the past.

2010-02-18T12:53:00.000-08:00

The following is a repost from when I first started writing this blog. I seem to be fighting something off yet again, and I just can't deal (with anything) this week. Don't fret, I have more great stories in the works - just you wait!

Until then, please enjoy the following tale of dorky teen angst, waiter-stalking, and crappy teenage cruise-mobiles. And I'd like to give a shout-out to Girl in the Room for giving me the idea to repost this.

******************************

From December '08

Blast From the Past

This has been a busy week and I'm glad that's it's finally coming to an end - although now it's looking like the weekend might be just as busy. Bear is the "Star Student" in his class next week, and I have to make him a poster, a journal complete with pictures of him hanging out with the class bear "Ted," and snacks to share with his classmates - it's amazing how much work I have now that he's in school. And of course he has a winter play next week, a student-teacher conference, and then there's the holidays to consider...anyway, we're busy.

C is going out of town until Tuesday, and the kids and I will be left to fend for ourselves for the next few days. Bear and Maggs really love their weekends with their dad, so I've come up with lots of fun things for us to do in order to distract them from his absence. Today I took the kiddos for a ride on the carousel that's by our neighborhood Whole Foods, and then we had dinner at Chili's.

I haven't eaten at a Chili's in years, but it seemed like a good idea since it's kid-friendly (my main objective in selecting this particular restaurant), and there's one a couple of blocks from Bear's taekwondo class. For a brief period during my teen years, I frequented Chili's with two close friends on a pretty regular basis. In addition to driving our crappy cars aimlessly around the suburbs (more on my crappy car in a minute), we took great pleasure in eating out as often as our jobs permitted - and I'm not talking about Taco Bell or Burger King (perish the thought!), I'm talking about real restaurants, pretty much every day after school (and no, we did not weigh 300 pounds).

For a while Chili's was the destination of choice, and for a short time we decided that we were in love with one of the waiters that worked at Chili's because we thought he looked like Neil Finn from Crowded House (perhaps not most teen-aged girl's idea of a heart-throb in the early 90's, but to each her own). I'm not sure that he even served us food more than once or twice, but we sure thought he was the cat's pajamas.

Neil Finn. You know you want him.

On the subject of my crappy car: it was a 1984 dark red Ford Thunderbird with paint chipping off of most of the passenger-side door (I always suspected that it had been spray-painted by the previous owner). It had no AC, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if we didn't live in a place that can sometimes reach 120 degrees in the summer; that car felt like an oven in July. This car also made strange noises when it accelerated, which deterred several friends from wanting to ride with me (although if I'm being completely honest, my less than stellar driving skills were more likely the real reason people politely declined a ride in my "cruise-mobile").

Tonight when, coincidentally, I heard "Something So Strong" playing on Chili's piped in musak, it really took me back to those days. I laugh at the absurdity of our crush on the Chili's waiter (sort of a la William H. Macy's crush on the braces-wearing bartender in Magnolia, but in a funny way and, I'd like to think, less pathetic. We thankfully possessed enough self-awareness to recognize how ridiculous we were, and derived great pleasure from making fun of ourselves. I guess some things never change).

I also laugh at our version of teen angst: driving around the 'burbs in crappy cars, cranking "How Soon is Now?," and debating about which restaurant to eat at after school. (As I recently pointed out to A, we probably could have afforded better cars if we didn't spend so much money on restaurants. But as usual, our love of food prevailed). I suppose we could have been using illicit drugs and having unprotected sex (I saved that for my mid twenties. Good times.), but that just wasn't a part of our journey. We may have been dorks (okay, we were defintely dorks), but now that I have my own little girl I hope, no I pray, that someday she'll be a dork too.

I love the smell of piss in the morning.

2010-02-15T13:17:00.000-08:00

*Disclaimer: I'm cranky. Real cranky. Read at your own risk!

So I've been sick all weekend. Just a little head cold, nothing to get your underwear in a bunch over. But of course due to my ~~refusal~~ inability to follow everyone around, ~~wiping their asses~~ cleaning up after them and generally waiting on them hand and foot, the house is ~~a shit hole~~ in a general state of disarray. The last time I dared to venture into the main living space of my home, there were dirty kid underwear on the kitchen floor, random half eaten waffles left lying on the carpet, and a sink full of dishes overflowing onto the surrounding counter space. And don't even get me started about what my son did to the toilet last night. Let me just say that the hubs almost had to make an emergency trip to Walmart for Drano, after my plunging prowess failed to rectify the situation (the hubs saved the day with his own mad plunging skilz. It's true though, I'm hella good at plunging. Sorry boys, I'm taken. XOXO).

What's more, this morning I was awakened at the butt crack of dawn by the ever-delightful sound of children bickering (ahhh, music to my ears), at which point I discovered that Maggs, who ~~always~~ occasionally sleeps with me, had also wet the bed. Good times. You know me - I love the smell of piss in the morning.

A post about the most romantic gift that I've ever received. And nipple cream is part of it.

2010-02-09T10:45:00.000-08:00

In honor of Valentine's Day, I thought that I would share with you, Dear Readers, the most romantic gift that I have ever received. Perhaps you're wondering what an Existential Waitress considers to be a romantic gift? Flowers? Godiva chocolates? They're both fine and dandy, but no. Diamond earrings? Eh. Been there done that. A pearl necklace (not that kind, you pervs - and HELL no, by the way) and a surprise trip to Cancun? I'm really just not that much of a jewelry person. A Video iPod (back when they were all the rage) with an engraved message on the back? Close. You're getting warmer...

The most romantic gift that I've ever received is

a breast pump. For reals. I'm not kidding.

When my son was born, I was kinda flying by the seat of my pants (my standard M.O. I've reluctantly come to realize, as I fancy myself a planner), and pretty much had no clue about breastfeeding. Basically, I was a mess. We'd acquired all the basic baby gear by the time my son was born, but it had never even occurred to me that I might need a breast pump - that is, until the hubs came home with one and surprised me with it. Mind you, my husband is the kind of guy that plugs his ears and says "I can't hear you!" when I tell him that I have my PERIOD or that I'm MENSTRUATING, and is not the sort of chap that volunteers to buy tampons when he goes to the supermarket. So the gift of a breast pump really meant something to me.

To this day, I still feel all warm and fuzzy inside just imagining him perusing the breastfeeding section of Babies R Us, trying to find the perfect pump to surprise me with. He even purchased accessories like storage bags and nipple cream. It was just too cute and thoughtful. Jewelry and gadgets aside, this really IS in all seriousness what I consider to be my favorite gift of all time - call me crazy (because I know you want to). It's memories like this that remind that there is something redeeming about C when he's on my shit list for being an inconsiderate jack-ass. Later this week I'll post about the delicious dinner the hubs cooked for me on Super Bowl Sunday. I'm liking him more and more by the minute. (C may be many things, but he's definitely not dumb; he knows I'm less likely to kick him to the curb if he plies me with tasty fixin's).

Before I get ahead of myself though, perhaps I should give mention to the 24 Hour Rule (which is kinda like knocking on wood for good luck). Because that shit will come back to bite you in the ass. Every. Single. Time.

I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

2010-02-07T11:26:00.000-08:00

Maggie just approached me, begging with much excitement and enthusiasm, for something she just saw on TV called "Bumpits." She continued to inform me that "they're only $9.99 plus process and handling, and if you buy one, you get one free!"

The hubs seemed to be concerned by her request for Bumpits, as if he were assuming that naturally I would rush to take advantage of the twofer. However I would never purchase Bumpits for my daughter for these reasons alone:

At best she might look like this

And at worst she might look like this

Yeah, I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

Yeah, that's right. I'm doing a "Not Me" Monday post and it's Tuesday. Ya wanna make somethin' of it?

2010-02-02T12:51:00.000-08:00

Yesterday after reading a "Not Me" Monday post over at Good Girl Gone Redneck, I decided to grab the button and write one of these posts myself. And believe me, after the Monday I had yesterday, I could use a little venting. Unfortunately, due to some unforeseen circumstances which I will go into in a moment, I was unable to finish writing said post before Monday was long gone. Anyway, here it is.

Yesterday morning, it wasn't me who hit the snooze button until the very last possible second before I had to roll out of bed and take my son to school in my pajamas and Uggs. I mean, driving around in your pajamas is embarrassing - who would do something like that?

Because I hit the snooze button so many times, it was definitely not I who provided breakfast courtesy of the Starbuck's drive-thru on the way to school. And I did not order a venti quad shot latte with whole milk for myself because that is way too much espresso, and whole milk is full of saturated fat. I ~~adore~~ abhor saturated fat.

It wasn't me that allowed my son to go to school with a few random stray hairs protruding from around his ears after my husband cut his hair at home. Because we believe in nothing but the best for our munchkins and always get our children expensive, professional haircuts. And I would never tell my son "I guess you'll have to figure it out for yourself then" when he threw a temper tantrum because I merely suggested that I quickly trim the aforementioned hairs.

It wasn't me that decided that Throwback Pepsi is an excellent meal replacement plan. Because Throwback Pepsi isn't wholesome or organic or any of that jazz, so I would never drink it to excess.

It wasn't me who discovered that her son has been peeing in the bathroom trash can on purpose. That is disgusting and no child of mine would do something like that.

It wasn't me that almost picked my computer up and threw it through a window yesterday afternoon because it was moving at a snail's pace. Not me, because I am of excellent temperament, and patience is one of strong points.

It wasn't me that waited until I was in excruciating pain and couldn't hear out of one ear due to the pressure of my impacted wisdom teeth to finally make a dentist appointment. Dentists are my friends and they would never do anything that would hurt me. I'm not afraid one bit to be "put under" so that they can rip my impacted wisdom teeth right out of my jaw. In fact, I'm sure they'll use special dental wizardry to perform this procedure, and rainbows and unicorns will abound.

It wasn't me that caught my kids sneaking chicken nuggets (because I absolutely never allow my kids to eat chicken nuggets) into my room where they deposited them directly onto the carpet (as opposed to a plate or a bowl or something) so that they could continue playing while they ate. (Ironically, they were doing a yoga for kids DVD when I discovered the chicken nuggets on the carpet. Can you spell c-o-n-t-r-a-d-i-c-t-i-o-n? That's like when I eat jarred cheese substance with organic corn chips).

It was not me who attempted to embarrass her husband at dinner last night by doing enthusiastic fist pumps to "Round and Round" by Rat and "I Can't Drive Fifty-Five" by Sammy Hagar at the local pizza joint. I would never do something so crude and insensitive because I'm respectful and wifely and shit.

Finally, it was definitely not me who discovered that my car keys were missing right as I was supposed to be leaving to pick my son up from school yesterday afternoon. It was certainly not I that blamed my husband, insisting that it was he who lost the keys. It was also not me who found the keys hours later in the trash can, only after my husband insisted that I look there - not that I would have minded anyway because digging through trash is good times. And I would never secretly suspect that angry spirits threw my keys in the trash (thank you, Paranormal State), because it was definitely not me that absent-mindedly tossed them in the kitchen trash yesterday morning.*

I blame the car keys fiasco for the lateness of this post. It kinda took a long time to find them (mofos. I still believe that angry spirits were involved and that by watching a Paranormal State marathon over the weekend, I opened a portal to the spirit world. I think Ryan and his team of paranormal investigators would concur). Anyway, I hope your Monday was better than mine.

*The hubs happened to be right next door to my son's school just then and was able to save the day by picking him up for me. Show off.

My version of Wordless Wednesday: Mommy Don't Play That.

2010-01-27T11:27:00.000-08:00

Because there really are no words that sufficiently convey how shit full I am of my son's attitude lately.

Dear Son,
When I tell you to do your homework, this does not mean that my request is open for negotiation. When we go to Whole Foods to grab a quick bite before taekwondo, I do not think that it is unreasonable that I too be permitted to select dinner for myself without having to listen to you whine the entire time that you're starving and that I'm taking too long and this is sooooo boooring. I won't even get into last night's temper tantrum during dinner, because while you obviously could care less how this looks to other people, I'm embarrassed for you. I understand that you consider temper tantrums to be a viable approach to getting your own way, but in the immortal words of Homey D. Clown, "Mommy don't play that." I hope you like your bedroom, because I have the feeling you're going to be spending a lot of time there in the coming weeks, maybe even months. Your father and I understand that we have a legal obligation to provide you with food, water, and shelter. We are not however required to provide you with video games, lightsabers, or television. We suggest that you kindly bid these things adieu. That said, you have the opportunity to redeem yourself, and to one day be allowed to rejoin society if you are able to adhere to the rules set forth by the Responsibility Chart. Rule #1? Stop acting like a jack-ass. Love, Your Exasperated Mother.

In Philly even the geese have attitude and why my son has an irrational fear of gerbil-sized dogs and animals in general.

2010-01-22T19:22:00.000-08:00

A fish is the pet my son prefers.

Maggs goes vintage.

2010-01-21T12:25:00.000-08:00

Maggs is rocking a vintage Nintendo t-shirt (circa 1987) , courtesy of a keepsake box rediscovered in my garage last weekend. She's accessorized her latest find with a wooden bead necklace and matching bracelet (not shown), which she made herself. Eat your hearts out.

Seven

2010-01-19T11:00:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by Theta Mom to list seven facts about myself that my readers probably don't know. That said, I must confess that I'm going to cheat a little bit. About a year ago I posted a list of random facts about myself, but I'm pretty sure that (less than) a handful of friends were reading my blog back then, so I feel pretty comfortable re-posting a few of those facts now. Cool? Here it goes then:

1. I was born in Lubbock, Texas. My mom was 17 and my dad was 19. They’re still married today. When I was little, my dad played in a rock band that won the battle of the bands in Texas. Born in 1974, I enjoyed a carefree, free-wheelin’ early childhood that I recall in the avocado green, burnt orange, and muddy brown tones that were so prevalent in the 70’s.

2. After a near-miss with a tornado in Wichita Falls, Texas, we moved to a small town of 3,700 people in the northeast corner of Wyoming (although the tornado was not the impetus for our move, according to my mom and dad. That would have been enough for me though. I do not dig natural disasters AT ALL. When I lived in L.A., I used to time how long it would take me to get under my dining room table in the event of an earthquake. I'm not kidding). Anyway, the town we moved to was nestled at the base of the Bighorn Mountains. I had an idyllic childhood full of tree climbing, running through sprinklers, and playing outside from sun up to sun down. (I also enjoyed pretending to be Sandy from Grease and roller-skating to The Jazz Singer soundtrack.) I had the same thirteen kids in my class throughout elementary school.

3. Being from Wyoming, I've consumed my fair share of "mystery meat" and fresh-from-the-tit cow's milk. While some people may believe this to be "tasty fixins," milk that is still warm because it just came out of a cow makes me want to blow chunks. For reals. By the age of nineteen, I'd declared myself a vegan, and I maintained some level of vegetarianism until I was pregnant with my son. Now, after various trials and tribulations with food allergies and elimination diets during breastfeeding, I do consume some poultry and fish. But I never, ever drink straight cow's milk unless it's in my coffee (cafe au lait, come to momma). Otherwise, I think milk is uber gross.

4. My family moved to Las Vegas when I was eleven so that we could continue to enjoy things like food and a roof over our heads. I've lived here off and on ever since. Although living in Las Vegas has afforded my family many opportunities, eventually I want to move to a place where my kids can experience seasons, and where I can have my own garden. Although I guess I should start by learning how to not kill my house plants first.

5. My great grandmother is still alive. Three summers ago I took my kids to meet their great, great grandmother in Texas. My great grandma is an amazing woman - she’s in her nineties and has macular degeneration in both eyes, yet she still lives independently and volunteers at a hospital. The last time I saw her she recalled the day I was born in detail (the date and all). She rocks. I hope to be like her when I get older. But considering the fact that I can't remember who got kicked off Project Runway last week, I'd say that I've got my work cut out for me.

6. I am happily married (well, depending on the day) to a man who I have absolutely nothing in common with. Within the first fifteen minutes of meeting each other we both declared “I could NEVER be married to you!” (I swear this is true.) The rest is history…

7. I have a Master’s Degree from USC in Critical Studies in Film and Television and also completed a year in the PhD program. I currently use this education for absolutely nothing. Despite the fact that I now owe thousands (upon thousands) of dollars in student loans, I’m nevertheless fine with that. Life is a roller coaster. You just gotta go with the flow… You dig?

At this point I think that I'm supposed to tag seven people to do what I just did and list seven facts about themselves that their readers probably don't know. That said, I've created a new rule here at Existential Waitress. (Because I can do that, you know. My blog is like my house. I might even make you take your shoes off when you visit. So there.)

Let me just preface this by saying that I love being tagged, and I love receiving awards. I'm so flattered that anyone even thinks to include me in any of these things, and I get all happy and tell the hubs that I'm important now and that I have blog friends and that they like me, etc., etc. To which he says something that goes like this: (to be said in the Charlie Brown teacher voice) "Mwa, mwa, mwa, internet stalkers, mwa, mwa, mwa, you need to get out more, mwa, mwa, mwa, whatever makes you happy." But seriously, I am a total dork when it comes to loving blogging and loving all the tags and awards that you ladies have so generously bestowed upon me.

Anyway, the only downside is that when I have to pass along a tag or an award, I get all anxious and worry about picking and choosing from amongst all your fabulous blogs. I'm always concerned that a) I will pick someone that hates tags and awards and that they'll feel obligated to do it while cursing me the entire time, b) I will exclude someone and then they'll feel upset or offended and call me a biatch, or c) I'll pick someone that gets just as anxiety ridden over this process as I do. My point here is that, should I be fortunate enough to be tagged or receive one of these awesome awards, I will graciously accept - for reals, I totally appreciate each and every one of them and they make my day - please, keep 'em comin'! But in the event that I do receive them, I will automatically share them with everyone on my blogroll because you are all awesome! As always, thanks for reading and thanks for commenting - you're the best!

Wherein I entreat you to point at me and laugh.

2010-01-15T10:14:00.000-08:00

Inspired by Aunt Becky over at Mommy Wants Vodka, who proposed an Internet DUEL of embarrassing photographs, I am going to accept this challenge and treat you to some truly embarrassing photographs of me as a kid. Why? Because I enjoy humiliation. And just in case you were wondering, I also like to be spanked (just kidding, this isn't that kind of post). Truthfully, I am certain that my mother possesses pictures far worse than the ones that I've posted here - you know, the typical 1982 flashbacks of perms gone bad, sparkle headbands and Olivia Newton John inspired "Let's Get Physical" leg warmers. I promise to attempt to procure these photographs and share them in the not to distant future. But anyway, here's what I've got for today:

The year is 1983. I had just received some sort of award in swimming and my mom wanted to get a couple of snapshots of me in all my swimsuit glory to send to out-of-state relatives. It was winter in Wyoming (which means it was really cold) and my mom made me put on my swimsuit and pose for pictures before school, which I'm sure you can tell did not make me happy. Even at the tender age of 9, I was most definitely not a morning person. Truthfully I think my mom has another picture where I'm crying, and this one was taken after she threatened to beat me if I didn't stop. (Just kidding, mom! Love you! But there is one where I look even more unhappy, I'm certain of that).

Circa 1985. Here I am with my little brother, and I don't think I need to tell you that I thought I was the hotness with this haircut and my rockin' dangle earrings. Also, check out the pastel blouse/sweater vest combo. Oh yes, I believed this outfit to be the shit. Scroll down for a close-up.

"Come and get me, boys."

And now for the creme de la creme of today's embarrassing photos, me circa 1988. Oh yes, we have the quintessential ratted bangs, which no doubt required an entire bottle of Aqua Net to sculpt to perfection, and a badass attitude to boot. When this photograph was taken, a childhood friend from Wyoming was visiting for the summer and I remember rocking out to "Talk Dirty To Me" by Poison and watching The Lost Boys and Like Father Like Son marathons. Embarrassing confession: I used to have a crush on Kirk Cameron. I can't even believe that I'm admitting to that right now because that is just so nauseatingly GROSS! It kind of makes my stomach queasy. And oh how I wish now that I had never succumbed to the ratted bang trend. Remind me not to complain from now on when Maggs does that weird thing with her headband.

Well that does it for today. I hope that you've enjoyed this little trip down memory lane. I promise to look for more embarrassing childhood photographs for the express purpose of your amusement, because I'm more than willing to subject myself to humiliation for your pleasure. Aren't I nice like that?

Say hello to my little friend...

2010-01-12T11:32:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows that I'm a bad-ass. And a mom. That said, I would like you to say hello to my little friend, Nintendo DS. Yes, Nintendo DS is what I like to refer to as "Mommy's Little Helper." Perhaps at this point you are thinking, " Pshaw! Video games rot the brain! Good parenting? I think not!" To which I would respond that you are a fool - a fool I say!, and attempt to persuade you to listen to what Nintendo DS might have to offer your family.

1) Video games may or may not rot the brain - that remains to be seen in the EW household. But I will tell you this: Nintendo DS makes my son do his homework. Mostly because I say this, "If you don't do your homework now, I will take away your Nintendo DS." Works like a charm every time. *Note: Feel free to apply this formula to bedtime, teeth brushing, you name it. Get creative! Nintendo DS will not fail you.
2) Nintendo DS also functions as a magic wand of sorts. When I wave Nintendo DS suggestively at my son before school, he understands this to mean that if he gets in the car ASAP without whining, crying, or refusing to go to school that day, he will be allowed to play a quick round of Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Winter Games en route to school. Voila! Peaceful mornings abound!
3) Nintendo DS allows one to at least entertain the thought of embarking on a family vacation (not for the weak of heart, mind you). Five hour plane ride back East? No problemo. Nintendo DS is the solution to your problems. *Note: Okay, I'm not gonna lie. A situation such as this may require the assistance of yet another of Mommy's Little Helpers, and no I don't mean alcohol (this time at least). I'm referring to the ever-trusty portable DVD player.

Until recently, Nintendo DS had been used exclusively as a parenting tactic for my son. But to both our surprise and delight, Carl and I realized just weeks before Christmas that Maggs had recently developed an interest in the Nintendo DS as well. Lo and behold, Santa surprised Maggie with her very own pink "in-tendo DS" (as she calls it, which is too cute) on Christmas morning!

Like mother, like daughter.

Which brings me to my favorite reason of all for being a proponent of the Nintendo DS.

4. While these handheld devices may serve as "little friends" that help my day run smoother by functioning as a means of occasional bribery (let's just call it what it is), they make my kids act like friends to each other, which is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

One of the main reasons Carl and I thought that Maggs would enjoy a Nintendo DS of her own is that the kids can sync their machines so that they can play games together, which they think is the bee's knees. And I'll admit, nothing gives me greater pleasure (other than jarred cheese sauce, Tivo, and 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep) than hearing my kids laughing and having fun together. It's just the best sound in the world. So if you haven't already, I highly recommend that you do yourself a favor and hightail it to your nearest Best Buy or Toys R US or wherever, and purchase a Nintendo DS of your own today. Trust me, you won't regret it.

There comes a moment in every husband's life...

2010-01-10T14:02:00.000-08:00

I stapled this to the wall of the garage (C's hang-out area) as a little reminder that Rent.com offers plenty of affordable places to live should C continue to inhabit his alternate personality, which I commonly refer to as "Good Time Charlie." I'm not even kidding. Lest you think, "Her poor husband!" or "What a bitch! The guy just wants to have a little fun!" I should mention that even his friends are on my side and feel that I have good reason for posting this friendly reminder. A Saturday night out for someone that lives in Vegas should not resemble a re-enactment of The Hangover (okay, okay, so maybe it wasn't quite that bad). I'm not going to elaborate right now lest my head explode, but let me just say that because we do live in Vegas, we don't exactly have to go out of our way to find a party i.e., alcohol and gambling. Do I really need to spell it out for you?

As a side note, I'm considering getting C something like this for our anniversary. I mean hey, you gotta be able to laugh about these things, right?

*I also signed up to have regular notifications matching the search criteria I selected at Rent.com to be sent to C's phone as another reminder, just in case "Good Time Charlie" attempts spirit him away once again.

Just another day here at the Cleaver house...

2010-01-08T12:58:00.000-08:00

I present you with two scenarios, typical of daily life here in the very Cleaver-esque EW household (would you expect anything less?):

First scenario: The kids have been non-stop bickering all day. This bickering escalates considerably when I ~~demand~~ gently suggest with kisses and hugs and promises of cookies and pony rides that the children clean up their playroom. I mistakenly tell them to do this together. When they initially refuse, I ~~threaten to sell them to a band of gypsies~~ remind them that Ward will give them a talking to if he sees that their playroom is ~~a shit hole~~ in disarray. Eventually they comply because they ~~don't want to lose their videogames~~ hate to disappoint us. (*Note: I suppose June would happily tidy the toy room herself, all while keeping her coif neatly in place and her dress maintaining the appearance of being freshly pressed. Fuck you, June. I am sick to death of bending over 10,000 times a day to clean up legos that, when they're not painfully embedded in the heel of my foot, are so small they're nearly impossible to detect with the naked eye).

But if only it were that easy. Eventually, exasperated and sick of hearing exchanges such as "You're just a poo poo diaper baby." "No YOU'RE the poo poo diaper baby." "Mom! Maggie called me a poo poo diaper baby!" I repress the urge to scream "You're BOTH poo poo diaper babies!" and instead inform them both that they're no longer allowed to speak to each other ANYMORE. For the rest of their lives. To which Wally and the Beav respond with enthusiastic cheers of, "YAY!" while doing a sort of jig around the playroom. I should have seen that one coming.

Second scenario: The weekend. It's bedtime and the kids are having a camp-out style sleep-over in my room. As usual, they have refused to eat dinner, therefore their bedtime snack is restricted to fruit and dry cereal such as Cheerios. Maggie approaches me to ask for popcorn and cookies, a request which needless to say I deny. She informs me that her brother told her to demand that I provide them with popcorn and cookies and that if I refuse, to hit me. She relays this information to me with a look that clearly says that she understands that this is not advisable. At that point it becomes clear to me that Bear is pulling an "Eddie Haskell" by setting his sister up for his own amusement, and I imagine him in my bedroom suppressing snorts and giggles with his ear to my door in an attempt to eavesdrop on our exchange. I mean, who would want to miss out on that shit storm? "Dance, puppet, dance!" I imagine him thinking as Maggie set out on her mission. For him I guess it's a win-win situation. Either she comes back with cookies and popcorn, or he gets to see what happens when his baby sister tries to put the screws to their mother. Good times all around. Of course, Ward and I did give him a talking to.

I'll actually take these Stepford Children because they seem to be eating whatever it is that's on their plates without whining, crying, gagging, or lying prostrate on the floor.

Yeah, "Happy Birthday To Me" ya jerk off.

2010-01-05T22:02:00.000-08:00

What he's really saying: "Hey, thanks a lot asshole! Happy fucking birthday to me."

Monday was Bear's first day back at school after winter break. When I was taking his homework out of his backpack last night I found this message from Mickey. At this point I should be honest and tell you that we were completely unaware that it was Mickey's birthday in November so we did not write, call, or send a gift. My apologies Mickey. I will be sure to put your birthday on the calendar for next year.

Is it just me or does this seem passive-aggressive? I had to do a double take to make sure that Mickey wasn't flipping the bird. Carl thinks that I'm crazy as usual and that this message from Mickey is innocent enough. To which I responded that perhaps my perception has been clouded by too much time around our families over the holidays. I'm just sayin'.

*Update: You know what? I just realized why this seems evil to me - does anyone else remember the Mickey Mouse Sticker Scare from the early 80's where the stickers had drugs or poison or something on them and creepy adults were supposedly handing them out to kids on the playground? That may have just been an urban legend, but I think this is why Mickey looks creepy to me here - that and the whole "adults in costumes phobia" that I share with my son. You gotta admit, adults wearing costumes is way weird.

Stop the Insanity!

2010-01-04T14:55:00.000-08:00

Remember Susan Powter? The semi-creepy motivational speaker, dietitian and personal trainer who rose to fame in the 90s with her catch phrase “Stop the Insanity!” Maybe you're wondering why the hell I would mention that annoying bitch when you have tried so hard to block her from your collective memories. No I have not decided to single-handedly resurrected Susan Powter from the annals of 90's pop culture. Lately I just haven't been able to get the catch-phrase "Stop the Insanity" out of my head in reference to my current diet and exercise routines (alright, who are we kidding. There is absolutely NO exercise happening here lately. The size of my ass can certainly testify to that).

All good things must come to an end - well that is if you think that ingesting mass quantities of potato chips smothered in that jarred Tostitos Nacho Cheese Dip substance is a good thing. I do. Or did that is, because just the thought of it makes me want to vomit now. Now that probably is a good thing. Man did I get off track in the month of December. I replaced a diet that consisted of mostly vegetables with one that currently consists of virtually NO vegetables (unless we're including potato chips as a vegetable. No? I didn't think so).

Here are some signs that I must Stop the Insanity right this instant:

1. Carl seemed shocked and maybe a wee bit horrified when I told him that I had eaten three jars of that Tostitos processed cheese dip substance over the course of one week. And this is the same person who eats scrapple. Wow. This may be the ultimate wake up call. Oh my God, I just read the jar and it says that 1 serving of this substance is 2 tbsp, and there are 13 servings per jar. A jar lasts me on average two days. So I'm eating around 6 or so servings of cheese substance a day. This is indeed alarming.

2. Just now Carl called me from the store to let me know that the large carton of Haagen-Dazs is unavailable. He seemed to think that this would be an issue for me because he kept repeating that the LARGE carton is unavailable and that they only have the 16 ounce carton in stock are you SURE that this will be okay?! I repeat THE LARGE CARTON IS UNAVAILABLE!!! I'm like, okay dude, I get it. It's fine. I mean, is this the last opportunity that I will have in my lifetime to purchase Haagen-Dazs? Does he actually think that I would want to eat more than 16 oz of vanilla ice cream in one sitting? (Okay you got me there. I actually have done that, but not since I was pregnant). Anyway, my point being that when he called me from the store he seemed kind of panicked and like I might bitch slap him if he didn't come home with the 32 ouncer.* Maybe this is a sign that I need to re-evaluate my relationship with Haagen-Dazs.

3. I noticed a perceptible jiggle to my arse when shopping at the supermarket in sweats yesterday for more cheese substance and potato chips. And Pepsi. One mustn't ever forget the Pepsi. (I was wearing a pair of really nasty Old Navy sweats with Uggs by the way, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the automated doors when entering the grocery store and this is so NOT a good look for me).

4. Carl's muscles feel stiff and sore from starting his new work-out routine. Mine feel stiff and sore from not moving from either the computer or our Lazy Boy recliner where I gorge myself with ice cream, potato chips and cheese substance while watching marathons of Snapped, and the television equivalent to jarred cheese substance, Jersey Shore.

5. My hair and skin feel all greasy because my body is no longer 65% water, it's now 65% jarred cheese substance.

Upon reading this, you will no doubt agree that the time has indeed come to Stop the Insanity. I'll keep you posted about my progress.

*Carl's fears may have been justified: Haagen-Dazs changed their 16 ounce container to 14 ounces? WTF?!

Update: A little while ago when it came up in conversation, Carl asked me if I was still watching Jersey Shore. When I reluctantly confessed that I did watch this week's episode, he said "Oh, honey!" in a way that suggested that he's disappointed in me as a human being. And I can't really say that I blame him.

I'm feelin' a little bloggy.

2010-01-02T11:25:00.000-08:00

I am so excited to have received the Lemonade Stand Award from Naomi at one of my favorite blogs Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip! Thank you so much, Naomi - I'm beyond flattered (blushing).

Receiving any sort of blog award kind of blows my mind because until recently I think I had maybe two or three readers. Maybe. And one of them is my mother. I think she's pretty much required by some sort of maternal law to gush shamelessly about how much she just loves my writing. She also thinks that I look good without make-up and that I have a beautiful singing voice (trust me when I say that neither of these things is even remotely true).

When I originally decided to start a blog, my main objective was simply to discipline myself into writing on some sort of semi-regular basis. I've always really enjoyed writing, and after leaving academia to become a mother, I truly missed the creative outlet that writing affords. Moreover, I realized that instead of bombarding friends and family with lengthy emails concerning the mundane details of my day to day life as a wife and mom, I could pour it all into a blog instead, and then they could either choose to read it or not. The funny thing is, I really never expected to become so addicted to this blogging business, or to enjoy the social interaction and friendship that exists within the blogging world as much as I now do. I only wish that I had more time to partake of my favorite hobby. I would like to give a big thank you to everyone that has taken the time to post comments on my blog. I still can't believe anyone that isn't a blood relative or a life-long friend has actually taken the time out of their day to read the (more often than not) random crap that I post. You're all awesome.

Here are the rules for the Lemonade Stand Award as I understand them. After receiving the award, I must:

- Put the Lemonade logo on my blog or within my post.
- Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude or gratitude.
- Link to the nominees within my post.
- Let the nominees know they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
- Share the love and link to the person from whom you received this award.

There are so many great blogs out there, it's difficult to choose. Here are a few that I really dig:
Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip (right back at ya) ;)
Girl in the Room
Speaking from the Crib
Mommy Words
Stir Fry Awesomeness
If Evolution Really Works...
Martinis or Diaper-Genies?
A Life More Exciting
Zen and the Art of Motherhood
Theta Mom
Flux Capacitor
Bon Bon Rose
Diary of a Mad Bathroom
Kerry Character's Blog
Mommy Wants Vodka
Let's Have a Cocktail...

One of the nicest surprises that I had in 2009 is how much I have come to enjoy the community of the blogging world (I know I already said that, but I really mean it). You guys rock! Every morning I look forward to sitting down to read your fabulous blogs over a cup of coffee. Happy blogging to everyone in the new year!

It's not officially the new year YET mofos! Here's what I'm still avoiding.

2009-12-31T17:10:00.000-08:00

Screw New Year's Resolutions. I'm just not in the proper mindset yet. Here's what I'm still avoiding:

1. The scales. It's the holidays, I don't think this requires any further explanation.

2. The treadmill.

3. Healthy food of all varieties. Again, it's the holidays. I'm fat and feel disgusted with myself. Clearly all avoidance of scales, exercise equipment, and healthy food is in order until I just can't take it anymore. Go big or go home as they say; ice cream and potato chips GET IN MY BELLY!

4. Mirrors. Because not only am I getting fatter by the day, my roots are horrendous - which wouldn't bother me (quite) so much if I didn't have the nicest, awesomest hair girl in the WORLD (I heart her FOREVER) who, understanding my financial limitations as of late, offered to give me a free root kit, as well as a text REMINDING ME to use said root kit 3 weeks before my scheduled appointment. This is supposed to allow me to extend the time in between pricey visits. But do I use this root kit when she texts me? No, because I am lazy. And my hair is ugly now too.

5. My toes. OPI's Royal Rajah Rubi nail polish just doesn't look the same when it's all chipped and nasty, and your big toe has a busted nail being (not so) strategically concealed by a Transformers band-aid. Professional intervention may be necessary.

6. Credit card statements. Christmas spending got a little, um, shall we say out of control this year. And I may or may not have indulged in a post-holiday sale or two. Or three. I have to move on at this point because I just can't bring myself to think about that right now...

7. The laundry room. Our laundry situation is more out of control than ever.

8. School on Monday for Bear. What can I say? I like having the kid home all day. And no, home schooling is not a viable option for us. I say screw school altogether. He'll learn enough from video games and television.

9. The dentist. The constant ache where my wisdom teeth are struggling to come in (sideways by the way) is becoming more and more of an issue and I'm attempting to ignore the pain in the hopes that maybe it will just go away (highly doubtful).

In summary: Yes, some New Year's Resolutions are no doubt in order if I'm ever going to get my act together, but just not quite yet. Until then, Happy New Year and be safe tonight - I plan on staying home in my PJ's. So unless you consider death by chocolate a viable New Year's Eve danger, I'll be safe and snug right here in my living room. HAPPY NEW DECADE and best wishes to you all in 2010!

An Ice Cube concert review by the whitest girl in the cosmos and how I came to realize I watch too much of VH1's reality programming

2009-12-28T14:46:00.000-08:00

Backstory: Over the years, I've been known to attend concerts that stretch the parameters of my music tastes, because not only am I open-minded, I'm just cool like that. For instance, the last concert that I saw (other than the Wiggles or My Little Pony: The World's Largest Tea Party) was The Extreme Metal Tour 2001 - I say "saw" because as I've said before, you sure as hell can't hear it. I've also been to Ozzfest. Twice. And seen Metallica more times than I can remember. That sort of music really isn't my style (to say the least), but I used to take my little brother to a lot of shows when we were younger because he loves it, and I'm the best sister in the world.

But anyway, it had been a while since I'd seen a show, and when Carl asked me if I wanted to go with him and a group of our friends to see Ice Cube, I said what the hell, I'll go. Besides, I like Ice Cube. I'm familiar with his work in Boys in the Hood, and more recently the inimitable Are We There Yet? franchise. Yes, methinks this Ice Cube is a likeable fellow.

The Ice Cube concert is at the House of Blues. When we arrive I immediately take note of my fellow concert-goers. I observe that these are definitely not the sort of individuals that might attend say a Cat Power gig. Wait! I think I see Flavor Flav! Carl tells me that the gentleman I'm referring to is certainly not Flavor Flav and quietly suggests that I refrain from yelling "Do you know what time it is?" (and by that I mean that he told me that he would leave me then and there and pretend not to know me for the rest of the night if I did not stop it right now). The security line, while not long, takes ages to get through, which I consider to be a potentially ominous sign. I decide that there should be drinks. Lots of drinks. And have one of Carl's friends fetch me a rum and coke.

Finally we make it through security and into the venue. While we wait at the bar for more alcohol per my request, there is a brief scuffle and some girl throws a punch at our friend's date. Charming behavior, but that's nothing compared to a Metallica concert I attended where paramedics had to be summoned to assist the guy that o.d.'d in the row in front of us. I guess I'd rather have some bitch throw a punch than have a stranger projectile vomit in my direction. That's just my personal preference though. At that moment I also recall a time at Ozzfest when by the end of a long day of music and revelry, the ubiquitous red-necked males had become quite intoxicated and the environment potentially hostile and I locked myself inside the safe confines of my car until my brother was ready to go while blasting 'NSync in retaliation. Oh, the memories. But I digress...

After we finally get our drinks and find a spot down on the main floor, Ice Cube is nearly ready to take the stage. When the main act does begin and Ice Cube swaggers forth, I notice that he is considerably more portly than the image on the set design behind him. I prefer the portly Ice Cube and make a mental note to consider whether or not I have become a "chubby chaser." Food for thought.

Suddenly I recall something that I learned in grad school from a course on hip hop and film (I was actually the Teacher's Assistant in this class, which makes it even more frightening that I have retained almost NO information.) "Ice Cube is from N.W.A., right?!" I exclaim excitedly to Carl who confirms my observation. I'm all proud now. But I am distracted suddenly when I think I see Garth from VH1's cancelled reality show Megan Wants a Millionaire. I tell Carl that I'm certain that the greasy plumber that serenaded Megan with a plagiarized song called "Sex Mode"* is standing RIGHT BEHIND US!!! Carl does not watch VH1's ground-breaking ~~brain cell eroding~~ reality programming so he is oblivious to my ~~washed up loser~~ celebrity sighting. He ignores me, preferring the vocal stylings of Ice Cube.

As the concert progresses, Ice Cube performs some classic hip hop from the 80s and 90s. I like this about Ice Cube. Some of these songs I am familiar with (and by that I mean that I've heard them once or twice). At one point Ice Cube asks, "You Down with O.P.P.?" (you may want to refer to Wikipedia if you are unfamiliar with this acronym. I was, but I had the urban dictionary that is my husband to translate for me). "Why yes, Ice Cube, I am down with O.P.P., thank you for asking." At other points, Ice Cube gets down right gangsta, but he looks snugly to me and I wonder if he likes cuddles.

Later, Ice Cube performs one of hits from the early 90's "Check Yo Self." He tells me "You better check yo self before you wreck yo self." Methinks this is sound advice Ice Cube. Yes indeed. While I do manage to get my groove on, I fear that I probably look like Bree Vandecamp from Desperate Housewives trying to fit in with the Ice Cube crowd, but roll with it anyway, trying to enjoy whatever contact high I can get from all the weed I smell around me.

In all seriousness though, I would have to say that I really had fun at this concert. It was a cool experience and I'm glad that I went. I might even consider attending another one. But only after Carl agrees to watch me rock out at a Rilo Kiley show - or better yet, maybe I could force him to go with me to see Morrissey (although I'm pretty certain that he'd throw down over that one). Really the options are limitless...

*Note: Carl does NOT consider it erotic when I serenade him with "Sex Mode" , just in case you were wondering. "Grab my stick and switch right into SEX MODE..."

So let's talk about buffets.

2009-12-17T19:48:00.000-08:00

As I'm sure it is for many families, dinner is often a source of contention in our household. It would seem that not one of the members of our foursome likes any of the same foods, with various food allergies making the process of choosing something for dinner all the more difficult. Lately my husband and I often find ourselves staring blankly at each other whenever the inevitable topic of "what should we have for dinner" presents itself. I do cook regularly for my children as does my husband, but lately the kids only like two things, and I'm gonna freak the hell out if I have to prepare tacos or plain noodles with meatballs one more f***ing time.

That said, last week Carl had a stroke of genius - we live in Vegas, why not take advantage of something that Vegas is known for the world round? Their fabulous buffets! At a buffet, each of us can choose whatever we want for dinner.(Plus we had a coupon that made dinner practically free, and considering the fact that we're flat broke, that was a nice bonus). Naturally I was resistant at first, I mean buffets are disgusting. How white trash are buffets (very)? But eventually I conceded because I sure as hell didn't want to have to start the painstaking process of reconsidering our dinner options all over again.

After we picked my son up from school, we headed directly to the buffet because we were all starving and it makes sense to try and beat the dinner rush (add that to the list of reasons I'm geriatric: I prefer to beat the dinner rush when I frequent the buffet at 3:30 in the afternoon). You may be wondering at this point "aren't you the same ~~annoying pain in the ass~~ person that is supposedly into "organic, hormone free this and that?" Yes, I am. But I'm also into not wanting to gouge my eyeballs out with a blunt instrument every time the question of dinner comes up. So that brings us back to our most recent visit to the buffet...

Let me just preface this by stating a disclaimer: children sometimes say things (unintentionally) that are not politically correct. I am not advocating or encouraging these statements; my children are 4 and 6 - they don't know what the hell they're saying. If you're offended please remove the stick from your ass and go away.

So after we made one of many rounds at the buffet (come on - you know it's a pig fest! It's a buffet!) Maggie and I took our seats and proceeded to chow down while Carl and Bear rampaged the taco bar. While I ate mashed potatoes, Maggie began feasting on one of her personal favorites: watermelon. And boy she was gettin' into it. With her eyes practically rolling back in her head, "Mmmmm, I love me some watermelon. Watermelon is gooood." Naturally these comments were said in the not-so-subtle tones of a four year old (meaning she's practically shouting), which aside from the bad manners wouldn't have caused such embarrassment if we weren't sitting next to a table of African Americans. Again, I don't think this would matter all that much if I weren't getting looks, and by looks I mean they were turning around to stare at the person that was loudly saying "Oh yeah, I do LOOOVE me some watermelon!" I mean Maggie did seem to be putting on quite the show and I kind of wondered if they thought she was doing it on purpose or if I had put her up to it or what. (Yes by writing this I am acknowledging the existence of a stereotype about African Americans liking watermelon. What can I say, I was mortified). I was very embarrassed and at that point attempted to get Maggie to keep her ecstasy over the watermelon to a minimum. And I will admit after that I did forbid her to get fried chicken.

Then there was the point at which my son loudly called my husband fat and offended an old lady, all in one fell swoop.. Whoo hoo! We were on a roll! After dinner Carl was standing up because he was so full (our family really believes in getting our money's worth at the buffet). Bear was all (in the loud kid voice of course), "Dad your belly is FAT! I've never seen a belly that big!" and then proceeded to hit the belly and we all know that doesn't feel so good after a binge like we just had. Carl told Bear to stop that and jokingly said that he might explode if he doesn't stop to which Bear replied, "Yeah! Explode! That'd be cool!" Carl responded, "I don't think so. I'd die." Which at this point I'm thinking "Dumb-ass. Don't say 'die' - I so don't wanna go down that road right now. But Maggie didn't miss a beat with that one.
Maggie: (Loud kid voice) "Mommy where do we go when we die?" (We talk about this A LOT).
Me: (Resigned) "Heaven."
Bear: (As usual) I'm not going to Heaven. That's boooring.
Maggie: "But not for a long time right?"
Me: (Looking around and noticing the elderly woman sitting at the next table, only three feet away. Shit. She's looking at US now). Um, yup. More desserts anyone? (Mind you, we were all about to throw up at this point).
Bear: (Again, in the loud kid voice) You mean we'll go to Heaven when we're all old and wrinkly, right?
At this point Carl and I pretty much decided to high tale it out of there (yes with the kids in tow, although at that point we did consider leaving them). Hopefully we're not eighty-sixed from the buffet, because we just got another one of those coupons in the mail. Besides, my son likes the buffet because you don't have to wait for the server to bring you food because waiting (like Heaven) is soooooo boooorrring.

Quick post because I'm busy being Christmas-y.

2009-12-17T12:15:00.000-08:00

Maggie may or may not be getting eight pairs of shoes for Christmas. Is that wrong? I wish you were here so I could show you the clothes and shoes that I got her for Christmas because they are SO F***ING ADORABLE I'M DYING!!! Carl, while supportive, is really not that interested in gushing over her new wardrobe (oh but trust me, he does hear about it). I kind of like to lay it all out on my bed and squeal continuously for hour increments at a time. In my defense, she's recently gone through a growth spurt and has next to nothing in when it comes to shoes and clothing, so really these purchases are quite practical (yeah, that's the ticket). All I can say is she'd better fit into this shit come fall because it's kind of a lot, and even though Maggie may be dressed to the nines come New Years, she may have to outfit herself in my SUV because after Christmas we may be livin' in a van down by the river.

My favorite Christmas story. Ever.

2009-12-13T14:56:00.000-08:00

I'm so sorry I haven't posted all week. Christmas is really screwing up my ability to effectively ~~waste time~~ blog. And there have been so many events over the past week that I so desperately wish to relay to you - including but not limited to our recent trip to a buffet and last night's Ice Cube concert. I realize that you are understandably on the edge of your seat. Pinkie swear, I'll post soon.

Until I do have time to write something that is worthy of the literary genius that is my blog, I'll leave you with this charming holiday tale, written by my friend Girl in the Room. It still makes me laugh after all these years, and it's probably my favorite Christmas story. Ever.

I think I've created a monster...

2009-12-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

Please note both the scarf (Maggie's favorite, as it's very purple-y) and mini-Starbucks (which contains hot chocolate not coffee. I'm overindulgent, not insane).

Ice Avalanche

2009-12-03T21:46:00.000-08:00

I just walked into the kitchen to find the floor covered in ice cubes and my 6 year-old and 4 year-old scrambling to clean it all up. When I asked them what had happened Bear responded, "Um, we kind of had an ice avalanche." The kids had been trying to make their own ice waters and I guess the ice machine got a little out of control. Maybe I've lost my mind or maybe it's the booze, but I'm still laughing about this.

Dare to be different.

2009-12-02T11:12:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned before, Maggie has very specific ideas about art and fashion, and I've always highly encouraged her individuality. Lately, however, she's taken to wearing her hair in strange ways, and I'm not gonna lie, this kind of bothers me. I constantly want to reach over, yank her headband off and comb that mangy mess she calls her hair (which is usually somehow inexplicably sticky - possibly from one of those glue sticks she's forever toting around in one of the 10,000 miniature pink purses she owns. Because you just never know when you're going to need to glue something. Seriously.)

But as much as I find this new phase slightly frustrating, I do appreciate the fact that my daughter likes to do things her own way. This is also why I allow her to leave the house in outfits that consist of what some might consider less than favorable combinations such as leopard print pants with a pink and purple striped t-shirt and patent leather boots. Because she likes it. And believe me, I do gets looks, as well as the sporadic comment from other parents. They either get it or they don't. But given the choice, I'd rather allow my daughter to explore who she is through fashion, than repress her individuality and insist that she look like a model for Baby Gap. Maggs, even though it drives me nuts sometimes, I like the fact that you have your own ideas about things. We will need to wash the glue out of your hair occasionally, but you can wear it however you like.

My Old School

2009-11-29T11:40:00.000-08:00

Memories of simpler times. Memories of childhood. I can vividly recall listening to this song and dancing around the living room with my mom when I was Maggie's age. Steely Dan always puts a smile of my face.

I really dig this photo montage I found on You Tube. I love the 70's. These photos make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's kind of funny that I loved this song as a small child when the lyrics are really about such inappropriate subject matter. From what I gather the song is actually about a drug bust at Bard college - something to which I was, needless to say, completely oblivious at that tender age of three or four. For some reason though that kind of makes me love this song even more now. Is that wrong?

What are some of your favorite songs from childhood?

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-26T10:31:00.000-08:00

Getting ready to make our traditional breakfast feast before we head over to the home of some extended family for Thanksgiving dinner. Later the kids and I will be chillin' while we play board games and watch Frosty the Snowman. I love this time of year! Sadly, Carl has to work. We'll really miss him, but make the most of it anyway. Happy Thanksgiving! I hope everyone has a great day.

Confession: I suck at laundry

2009-11-25T12:40:00.000-08:00

There's really not much to say about that except that Carl, you probably don't have any clean clothes for work, and you may have to "go commando."

*Only kidding - believe it or not, I actually can find a clean pair of underwear in there, and my husband does have clean clothes for work (at least I think he does). Still, I really do suck at laundry.

At our house even the stuffed animals have attitude

2009-11-24T11:37:00.001-08:00

Just in case you're wondering, this stuffed leopard is indeed a socialist. Furthermore, we as his family not only support this choice, we advocate it.

Yup, that's my daughter.

2009-11-23T11:54:00.000-08:00

I just sent Maggie to her room for a time out, and as she stomped up the stairs (as loudly as humanly possible for a four year old of course) she looked directly at me over her shoulder and said, "You NOT the best mom I know!" I had to struggle to contain my laughter because come on, that's pretty funny.

Whoopsie!

2009-11-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago I got a speeding ticket - okay, that is I got another speeding ticket. In my defense, the cops are out right now in full force trying to drum up revenue in this god-forsaken economy, and I know quite a few people that have recently received speeding tickets. But anyway, the kids who happened to be in the car with me both times I was pulled over are having quite the field day with this. My son loudly complained from the backseat the entire time that the cop was writing the ticket, "This is soooo boring! Can't we just leave?" To which I reminded him that I would be arrested if I decided to go all "Grand Theft Auto" and gun it and take off at that moment. Then after we were free to go, Maggie told me, "I like that policeman, I just don't like the ones that arrest us." To which I reminded her that we have never been arrested - something I adamantly tried to reinforce as we headed to Bear's taekwondo class where we would be sitting with about 20 other parents. Not that I really care what anyone thinks of me, but I kind of didn't want Maggie giving anyone getting the impression that I'm arrested on any sort of regular basis. Both times that I was ticketed I tried to use the experience as an opportunity to reinforce the idea that I broke a rule, and this is what happens when you break a rule; there are consequences in life even for adults (I'm getting a ticket anyways, I might as well make the most of it). But on a personal note, it does kinda suck that apparently the days of getting out of tickets by looking cute and naive seem to be behind me (although I did get the cop to write me up for violating a less costly speed bracket, so I guess that's something).

Last Days of Summer

2009-09-29T10:35:00.001-07:00

Mommy Nosferatu

2009-09-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

Miss is an artist. That much we've established. The only question I have now is why I seem to resemble Nosferatu in her most recent drawing. Maybe this is supposed to be a depiction of me first thing in the morning, before coffee. But then again maybe not, because I seem to be smiling.

Not that I don't dig vampires - as a teenager I was obsessed with them. But the cool Lost Boys kind (OK, maybe that's not so cool now, but it was when I was 13 so give me a break).

Blech

2009-08-26T13:41:00.000-07:00

I had a super crappy weekend and have been feeling pretty down. Here are a few things that I've come up with to make myself feel better tonight after the kids are in bed:

1. Lay's Potato Chips.
2. Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream. And a lot of it.
3. Us Weekly Magazine.
4. Lime-flavored Perrier, extra cold.
5. Tivo and bad televison. Fortunately, I think I have an episode of Real Chance of Love waiting on my Tivo list right now. I know that I've said this before, but thank you VH1 for producing some truly awful television. I love you.
6. Pajama pants, a comfy t-shirt, and socks with Adidas flip flops.
7. My bed and goose down comforter.

Any other suggestions?

This makes me laugh every time

2009-08-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

With the current state of affairs in this country, it's pretty easy to wake up depressed most days. Bill Maher's comedic spin on things at least gets me laughing once a week - I love "New Rules." This clip is almost six months old, but it's one of my favorites and I think it says a lot.

Thanks George W. Bush, AKA Dream Killer

2009-08-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

Um, they didn't get that from ME...

2009-08-19T16:14:00.000-07:00

I must confess something: sometimes I curse. A lot. Mostly while driving. And sometimes the children have been witness to this cursing. When Bear and Miss were younger, I used to blame my husband for any curse words they happened to repeat, which fortunately was never that often anyway. He curses a lot too, so that didn't seem that far-fetched - even to him. But now that they're older, the children are fully capable of implicating me as the person who called the moron who cut us off in traffic a "jack-ass" or "asshole," (I do manage to refrain from the preferred albeit slightly more colorful terms "fuck stick" and "douche bag"). So the days of shirking responsibility are pretty much over.

Which leads me to the point of this story. My husband and I get on each other's nerves as much as any other married couple I know, but rarely do these annoyances ever escalate into full-blown arguments. This however was not the case a few nights ago, and our disagreement led to me storming out of the kitchen and into our bedroom where I proceeded to slam the door - but only after calling Carl a "big baby" (very adult of me, I know - but he really was being one just so you know). Miss happened to be in my bedroom just then, and when she inquired as to what was going on and why I was mad, I did tell her that mommy and daddy were cranky and that sometimes married people argue, but that there's nothing to worry about - to which she responded knowingly and with a fair amount of sympathy, "Dad's a jack-ass?" And as much as I wanted to say "YES!" and laugh my ass off and commiserate about what a big baby he was being, I did tell her that "jack-ass" is not an appropriate word for a young lady, particularly in regard to her father. Miss seemed to understand this already and I could tell that she had thought this was finally her moment to successfully incorporate the word "jack ass" into her vocabulary without any objections on my part.

Ten minutes later, Carl and I had laughed it off, happily proceeding with our usual evening of chips, ice cream, and bad television. And cursing aside, I'd like to think that maybe Miss learned something from this, because arguments happen - particularly in relationships. Sometimes people get mad at each other, and sometimes people yell. That's not necessarily unhealthy. But the important thing is that you try to find a way to compromise and don't sweat the small stuff.

Have a rockin' weekend!

2009-08-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

I've always appreciated the fact that Miss seems to have an innate understanding of "disco fingers" (she gets it from me, no doubt - her father wouldn't be caught dead with disco fingers). Here's to doing things your own way and havin' a rockin' weekend!

You Can Catch More Flies With Honey Than Vinegar...

2009-08-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

Bear just passed me this note from underneath his bedroom door after being sent to his room for a minor infraction (namely, fighting with his sister which they've been doing all morning long). I've gotta hand it to him, the boy knows how to work me - he's no longer in time-out.

Eek!

2009-08-12T19:44:00.000-07:00

I just found another huge, scary-ass spider - this time in the pool. At least this one was dead already. That makes seven of these spiders now - seven! After much research courtesy of my trusty friend the internet, I've determined that this is the closest approximation of what they look like:

A Wolf Spider

I'm not the sort of wife that calls her husband all day at work, but the day I found one of these things in the garage, I A) killed the bastard with a phone book. I then, B) found a means (a very tricky maneuver) of moving the spider's carcass into a zip lock bag so it could be preserved as a sample for the exterminator. After performing this brave feat, I C) called Carl (more than once) to inform him that he had better fix this situation now because I'm going to die! DIE! if something isn't done. He calmly assured me many, many, many times that the bug guy would arrive by noon the next day. And while this did assuage my fears to some degree, it did not reassure the part of me that was certain that at any moment, the children and I might be spontaneously attacked by the spiders that had no doubt infested our home (although thankfully we 've only found one inside the house so far - knock on wood - and it was by a door that opens to the outside). Therefore I D) began what would become hours of research on the computer, utilizing the zip locked spider's preserved carcass as a means of identification. I was hopeful that this was not the dreaded, lethal Brown Recluse Spider. Instead I reached the conclusion that this might be a Wolf Spider - somewhat less threatening near as I can tell. Of course the bug guy told me it could be either (dumb-ass). Why do you always have to figure everything out for yourself?

We've had the bug guy come a bunch of times now, but I've heard from multiple sources that this is a particularly bad year for spiders because the weather has been out of whack. We also have a vacant lot behind us where they've started and stopped construction on another house multiple times over the last two years or so. This continually disturbs whatever insects are living back there (or at least I believe that it does) - yet another thing I can blame on this crappy economy: freaky-ass insects that make me want to pass out whenever I see them. Of course, I'm the only one that ever does see them, and therefore I'm the one that's forced to kill them. Although, my fear is that Carl has seen and killed a few (or more -eek!) and refuses to tell me because he's knows that I'll completely freak out and insist we move or something. I tagged and bagged the one I found in the pool. I'll leave that as a little gift for Carl when he gets home with another note that says, "Fix this!" Now I need to go make that creepy-crawly feeling to go away before I end up in a fetal position somehwere.

Summer

2009-07-31T10:08:00.000-07:00

Now I can die. My mission in life is accomplished: Miss finally likes broccoli.

2009-05-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

I never had this problem with Bear. Even back in the baby food days, Bear would eat pureed broccoli - in fact I can't remember him refusing any vegetable I offered him back then. The kid will even eat Brussels sprouts from time to time and I don't know many kids that don't throw down over Brussels sprouts. Miss is another story though. Until recently, it's been a real struggle to get her to eat pretty much any vegetable other than carrot sticks, and I've had to be super-resourceful about sneaking them into other dishes (I'll post about Blueberry Oat Bars with hidden spinach in them another time). But I'm just so elated that the child finally ate broccoli - and a lot of it - without a huge ordeal. In fact, she claims she loves it now. The recipe is nothing special, but I'll post it anyway - if anything because getting my kids to eat healthy food is a particular obsession of mine and makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.

1 large bunch of broccoli
1 tablespoon of extra-virgin olive oil
salt to taste
several cloves of garlic, chopped
red pepper flakes to taste (optional)

Chop the broccoli into bite-size pieces. Wash the broccoli in cold water, drain it, and place it in a pot with 1/4 cup of cold water, the olive oil, salt to taste, and the garlic. Add a pinch or more of the hot red pepper flakes (I just add a very tiny amount so the kids don't wig out). Bring to a boil, cover tightly, and let steam until broccoli is bright green and very crunchy tender, no more than five minutes.

I think next I'll try serving this with pasta (penne or rigatoni) and some soy cheese. Miss is all picky about pasta too - but then again, the boy freaks out if he spies marinara sauce anywhere in close proximity to his plate (don't ask. I've learned not to question the bizarre food phobias of small children, no matter how ridiculous and nonsensical they may be).

I love it when the kids make me stuff!

2009-05-07T16:02:00.000-07:00

The Hair Pics

2009-05-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

Song of the day: "Feels So Good" by Chuck Mangione

2009-05-06T09:54:00.000-07:00

1. This weekend I got my hair done and got some new super-cool low lights.
2. Yesterday I got my teeth cleaned at the dentist.
3. I noticed that I've finally lost most of my gut and have significantly shrunk my mid-section! YAY!
4. I gave myself a much-needed pedicure and painted my toe nails a really rockin' shade of blue.
5. Got my eyebrows done.
6. Purchased a few new $10 tank tops.

Yeah, I'm definitely feelin' good.

This One Doesn't Cut Me Any Slack

2009-04-21T13:53:00.000-07:00

This afternoon after we dropped Bear off at school, Miss as usual wanted to know where we were going. I told her that we were going to do our usual Trader Joe's run and then head home. She insisted that I take her to Rubio's for lunch, to which I responded that I just didn't have the cash for that today. While she accepted this as a reasonable excuse, Miss demanded to know exactly how many "cents" Rubio's costs. I kind of brushed her off absent-mindedly and gave her a vague "I'm not sure" response (I mean, she's three. I kind of didn't expect her to have any real concept of money, so I guess I was perhaps a little dismissive). Well, apparently Miss did not appreciate this because she then informed me, "YOU'RE the one that takes me to Rubio's, YOU should know how many cents it costs!" While I may find it frustrating at times, I'm glad my daughter doesn't take crap from anyone - even if sometime's that's me.

Little Miss Attitude

2009-03-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

Just a minute ago after she woke up, Miss stomped into the kitchen and announced "I woke up bored!" I'm soooo looking forward to her teenage years...

Sunday's Mellow Favorites

2009-03-08T13:18:00.000-07:00

Me, November 1976

Most people who know me are well aware of my deep appreciation for the mellow hits of the 70's. Here's my playlist for a chill Sunday afternoon (and no, I do not consider mellow hits a form of child-abuse).

You Make Lovin' Fun - Fleetwood Mac (The music of my childhood.)
Nobody Does It Better - Carly Simon
Wild World - Cat Stevens
Forever in Blue Jeans - Neil Diamond (Neil Rulz.)
Same Old Lang Syne - Dan Folgerberg
Tiny Dancer - Elton John (One of my all-time favorite songs.)
Crazy Love - Poco
Teach Your Children - Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young
Reminiscing - Little River Band
Superstar - The Carpenters
I Can't Tell You Why - The Eagles
I'm Not In Love - 10cc (Get drunk, put on your headphones, and crank the sound. You'll thank me.)
How Much I Feel - Ambrosia (I don't care what anyone says, Ambrosia kicks ass!)
Dancing in the Moonlight - King Harvest
Love Will Find A Way - Pablo Cruise
I Just Wanna Stop - Gino Vannelli (The song starts with the line, "When I think about those nights in Montreal..." That's awesome.)
Get Closer - Seals and Crofts
Just the Way You Are - Billy Joel
Baby I'm-A Want You - Bread
Killing Me Softly With His Song - Roberta Flack
The Logical Song - Supertramp
Maragaritaville - Jimmy Buffet
Keep On Loving You - REO Speedwagon (This is a "Power Ballad." What's not to love about that?)
Maggie May - Rod Stewart
How Deep Is Your Love - The Bee Gees

*I realize that a few of these songs are not from the 70's. Sue me.

Day at the Lake

2009-03-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've undertaken the project of scanning all of our old photographs into my computer. Here's a couple I unearthed yesterday. Here, Bear is just 14 months old. We'd gone back to Pennsylvania in late October to visit C's family. This was also just three weeks before I discovered that I was pregnant with Miss. Something really struck me about these photographs. For some reason, life seemed simpler back then. But it's not just that either; I felt moved by these images of me with my first born, and the unique bond we share as mother and son.

Happy Sunday Morning

2009-03-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

Vivre sa vie

2009-03-07T17:06:00.000-08:00

Armageddon on the Island of Sodor

2009-03-06T10:37:00.000-08:00

It's not looking good for Thomas and his gang. The Island of Sodor is being assaulted by reptilian invaders. This is what I discovered last night when I went upstairs to get a book from the loft.

I have to say, Thomas and his Trusty Friends appear justifiably terrified.

Recession-Proof Recipes That'll Knock Your Socks Off!

2009-03-05T20:03:00.000-08:00

Unless you've been in a coma, you're probably aware by now that our country is currently experiencing a recession. Maybe the term "recession" is an understatement at this point, but it's more optimistic than saying we're in the midst an economic shit storm, or as Bill Maher succinctly put it, "Our booze cruise just hit an iceberg." If, like the rest of us, you're trying to find a means of putting dinner on the table without straining your pocket book, I've come prepared with recipes that I'm delighted to share with you, Dear Reader, from the 1970's era Better Homes and Gardens cookbook that I remember so fondly from my childhood. (I couldn't find the date of publication in the copy that I borrowed from my mother. It's so old that it's missing that page by now). I will feature some of these recipes regularly in a new section of this blog called "Recession-Proof Recipes That'll Knock Your Socks Off!" Since the 1970's were also a time of recession in this country, many of these recipes are geared towards limited household budgets. You can look forward to tasty recipes such as Applesauce Beef Loaf and Frosted Cheese Mold. Today's menu features tender, delectable Ginger Sauced Tongue and a delightful Cucumber Cheese Ring. Happy Recession and Bon Appetite!

GINGER-SAUCED TONGUE:

1 2- to 4-pound smoked beef tongue
1 medium onion, sliced
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
4 bay leaves
Gingersnap sauce

Place meat in Dutch oven; cover with water. Add next 4 ingredients. Cover and simmer till tender, allowing 1 hour per pound. Remove meat; strain and reserve 1 cup liquid for sauce. Cut off bones and gristle from large end; slit skin on underside from large end to tip; peel off. Slice meat on a slant. Makes 4 servings per pound.

Serve with hot Gingersnap Sauce: Crush 5 gingersnaps; combine with 1/3 cup brown sugar, 1/3 cup raisins, 1/4 cup vinegar, and reserved liquid. Cook and stir till smooth.

CUCUMBER-CHEESE RING:

Refreshing as a cool summer breeze

1 3-ounce package lime-flavored gelatin
1 cup boiling water
1 3-ounce package cream cheese, softened
1 cup mayonnaise or salad dressing
1 teaspoon prepared horseradish
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3/4 cup drained shredded or ground unpared cucumber
1/4 cup finely sliced green onion

Dissolve gelatin in boiling water. Add cream cheese, mayonnaise, or salad dressing, horseradish, salt, and lemon juice. Beat smooth with an electric or rotary beater. Chill till partially set. Stir in cucumber and sliced green onion. Chill in 3 1/2-cup mold till firm. Makes 5 or 6 servings.

* I feel it worth noting that when I described the recipe for Ginger Sauced Tongue to C, he became physically ill and angerily insisted that I never again discuss cow's tongue as a food item in his presence. This is the same person that eats Scrapple, but whatever.

WARNING: Delusional Mother Moment

2009-03-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

This is some of Missy's recent artwork. Maybe it's just me, but I think the child has an eye for this sort of thing. I mean, look at her use of color in the first picture. What's more, Miss has very specific ideas concerning her masterpieces, and each and every one is a labor of love (please see November's post, "Ahhh, A Temperamental Artist in the Making). When coloring together, Miss will often reach over to my section of the picture and quickly scribble a little of this or that, claiming for instance "This needs more gold!" The child has vision - who am I to argue with that? I included the second drawing here just because I think it's cute.

A baby in a stroller.

Remembering When...

2009-03-02T09:45:00.000-08:00

I had sheep hair.

*I had to do some serious cropping to this photograph in order to protect the innocent - I mean, who wants to be seen with someone that has sheep hair?

Happy Monday Morning

2009-03-02T09:28:00.000-08:00

Winter Vacation '09

2009-02-25T11:02:00.000-08:00

It Hurts To Be Beautiful

2009-01-30T10:42:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the 1950's. The Atomic Age. Who knew that "radioactive dirt" and Geiger counters could be used as beauty implements?

Cabin Vacation '09!

2009-01-30T09:48:00.000-08:00

This is actually going to happen! We booked a cabin and we're going next weekend. I'm really excited. Here are some photos from last year's trip.

Sex Ed Movie Part 1

2009-01-26T11:04:00.000-08:00

This is hilarious. I like how the "doctor" looks like an actor from a 1970's porno film. Why exactly is he hanging out in a bowling alley discussing "menstruation?" And is that a beer he's drinking? It sure looks like one. Don't fret - I promise to post Part 2 later today!

Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP-r-Tb7H78

This Gives Me the Warm Fuzzies

2009-01-25T14:43:00.000-08:00

This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Trip to the Beach

2009-01-24T11:35:00.000-08:00

March 2008

Remembering When

2009-01-23T13:51:00.000-08:00

Me, circa 1994. Charming, huh?

This Is So Awesome

2009-01-22T19:54:00.000-08:00

My friend Amy supplied me with this You Tube clip of David Gergen (love him) cuttin' a rug. Because it is so awesome, I feel obligated to share it. Enjoy!

My Heart Just Melted

2009-01-19T18:04:00.000-08:00

Just now over dinner, Miss told me this: "When I grow up, I want to be a firefighter, a doctor, and like you. What else saves?" Too cute.

Hello! Have We Met?

2009-01-19T12:35:00.000-08:00

Next Sunday, C and I will have been married for six years. You would think that by now, he'd have a general idea of my likes and dislikes. But last night he seemed surprised when I declined to watch his most recent Netflix request, Death Race. Here is the Netflix description of Death Race:

"Jason Stratham stars in this futuristic thriller as Jensen Ames, an ex-con turned speedway champion who's framed for a grisly murder and forced to compete in a grueling three-day televised car race against his fellow inmates. Sitting behind the wheel of a monster car outfitted with machine guns, flamethrowers, and grenade launchers, Ames is in the race of his life - and the whole world is watching."

Car races that involve monster cars outfitted with machine guns, flamethrowers, and grenade launchers? What would make C think that this would sound evenly remotely appealing to me? But for some unknown reason, C also mistakenly believed me to be lusting after Jason Stratham. (By the way, this was also after he offered me some of his "scrapple"). At this point, I have to assume that he must be confusing me with his other wife.

Visit with Momo

2009-01-19T11:26:00.000-08:00

This photo is from last week's visit with my grandma, the kids' great-grandmother and M's namesake.

And Now for Something Truly Disgusting...

2009-01-18T17:26:00.000-08:00

Tonight, we had "breakfast for dinner," something we do fairly often since it's relatively easy to prepare and the kids seem to enjoy it. However, for the first time ever, C cooked something truly disgusting called "scrapple," which I had never heard of before.

Apparently, scrapple is the unique creation of the Pennsylvania Dutch. Being from Pennsylvania, I guess C practically wet his pants when he stumbled upon his beloved scrapple at our local grocery store.

According to Culinary Sleuth, "the word, scrapple originates from 'scrap' or 'scrappy' meaning (that it's) made up of odds and ends because that's exactly what it is—boiled, ground leftover pig scraps with cornmeal and spices thrown in."

Perhaps you're wondering exactly what parts of the pig go into the creation of scrapple? I know I was, so I googled it. Again, according to Culinary Sleuth, "after the ham, bacon, chops, and other cuts of meat are taken from the butchered pig, what remains are the fixings for scrapple - including the meat scraped off the head" (sorry, that was just me dry-heaving). Depending on the batch, "scrapple may contain pork skin, pork heart, pork liver, pork tongue - even pork brains."

What's more, scrapple is gray in color.

This image really doesn't do scrapple the justice it deserves - it's far more gray than that.

And as if frying scrapple and eating it at the same table that I have to eat my own dinner at weren't offensive enough, C managed to get scrapple grease all over the stove and my favorite blue pot as well. Now that really pisses me off!

My cute blue bean pot

Baby Fashionista

2009-01-15T18:45:00.000-08:00

My Kind of Fun

2009-01-13T10:28:00.000-08:00

Sunday morning, my bed, a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and a ready abundance of movies such as these for my viewing pleasure:

Currently on my tivo list:
Some Like It Hot
Double Indemnity
The Big Sleep
Now Voyager
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
Sunset Boulevard
Viva Las Vegas
The Miracle of Morgan's Creek
Straight Jacket
Tomorrow is Forever
DOA
Bob, Carol, Ted, and Alice
Queen Christina
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Roman Holiday
Yojimbo
Mildred Pierce
A Place in the Sun
Blow Up
All This and Heaven Too
Dark Victory

*Note: Needless to say, rain would make this scenario even more ideal.

Christmas '08: Semi-Partial Highlights

2009-01-02T20:55:00.000-08:00

This Christmas has been the most chaotic holiday that I can remember in recent years. Here are some highlights (okay, two highlights for now because I'm tired):

Christmas Eve: Rejecting the ensemble that I had selected for her (which was very cute by the way), I overhear Miss asking Bear to find her a "red" outfit, so that she can appear festive when we visit my mom and dad's house. Bear, ever the good brother, dutifully retrieves some red and white clothing from the dresser in her room. Unfortunately, it is a Valentine's Day ensemble, minus the matching skirt. Miss happily garbs herself in the cardigan and tights, with a "Route 66" t-shirt from our trip to Flagstaff underneath. Later when I inform her that she will, at the very least, need to find something, anything, to cover the lower half of her body, she becomes very distressed and insistent that this-is-what-I-want-to-wear-to-the-Christmas-Eve-Party-don't-you-understand-that-this-is-the-"LOOK"-I'm-going-for?!?!

So you know what? I let her go to the Christmas Eve Party without pants, because I'm cool like that. (Also, the party was at my parent's house where the children have been known to do things like stay up all night and eat ice cream and cookies for breakfast in my mom and dad's bed. Sometimes when I pick them up from a sleep-over, they're still wearing the clothes that they had on the day before. With that said, I don't think that it's unreasonable for me to feel that at this point, pants are optional). And besides, just as I anticipated, my mother and aunt gushed shamelessly about how adorable Miss looked, and even had the audacity to claim, "I never even noticed that she wasn't wearing pants!" Hello! The child has no PANTS! Delusional, I tell you. Delusional.

Miss in all her pantsless glory.

And now on the subject of the boy who, thanks to his (many) very generous grandparents, received numerous video games for Christmas, including a Wii Console. I should preface this by saying that my son is a video game junkie. The boy cannot control himself and, if allowed, will forsake basic human requirements, including sleep, hygiene, and nourishment, in order to play non-stop video games. After allowing what I feel is ample time to enjoy his gifts, I have now begun limiting Bear's time playing video games because he was starting to look way to cracked out for my comfort. For the last several days, the minute he rolls out of bed he refuses breakfast, claiming he's not hungry, and instead asks urgently, "Can-I-play-the-Wii-I-gotta-play-the-Wii-when-can-I-play-the-Wii?" This morning I decided that we really needed to spend the day at the park.

Bear, "in the zone," with the Wii.

Here are a few more highlights from this holiday season:

This Is So Not Good For My Image

2008-12-24T10:48:00.000-08:00

These are pictures from last week's "Gingerbread Performance" at Bear's school. Throughout the concert, Bear totally looked like he was thinking, "Could somebody please get this stupid-ass thing off of my head!" I guess it probably is hard to look like a pimp when you're wearing a homemade reindeer sweatshirt and a gingerbread man crown that you colored yourself with a bunch of other Kindergarteners. Nevertheless, he really was adorable and did an awesome job when it came time to deliver his lines.

The glazed-over expression in this photo suggests to me that Bear is trying to go to his "happy place."

Here he looks like he's thinking, "Alright lady, enough with the pictures! This is embarrassing enough - do you really need to create any more evidence of my humiliation?" Or, " I'm warning you, lady - one more picture and I'm gonna go all Sean Penn on you and your camera!"

Bear may not feel that his lines in the "Gingerbread Performance" were as cool as his free-style, kick-ass tae kwon do weapon form, but his father and I are just as proud. And when he's older (much older, I might add), I will exercise the parental privilege to annoy and humiliate by showing future girlfriends proof of his adorableness.

Arr! Merry Christmas!

2008-12-21T09:57:00.000-08:00

Overheard: Miss enacting the events of Christmas morning with her "Little People" Santa.

Miss: Yo Ho Ho! Merry Christmas! I'm Santa. Gimme yer presents!

Apparently in our household, Santa has morphed into some sort of pirate who, instead of peacefully sliding down chimneys to deliver gifts to good boys and girls, breaks into your house and demands your presents. A minute ago I heard the kids take out their Little People Train Set - perhaps Santa's about to perform a re-enactment of The Great Train Robbery. Maybe later I'll suggest that Santa and Mrs. Clause use the pink Little People Minivan to go all Bonnie and Clyde and pillage the Little People Main Street Village.

Note of interest: Miss insists that Santa's reindeer is named "Boris." I honestly have no idea why she thinks that Santa is a pirate with a Russian reindeer.

Snow Day?!

2008-12-18T12:44:00.000-08:00

We ended up getting almost ten inches of snow last night! School was cancelled today, and the kids are having a blast in the snow. Due to poor driving conditions, they actually had to close the road that provides access to the area that we live in. Some people had to leave their cars on the side of the road and endure the walk home (wearing completely inappropriate clothing I might add, as we live in the desert and don't anticipate this sort of weather). Fortunately, we stayed warm and cozy here at home. This has been totally crazy and I'm absolutely loving it!

I still can't believe that I actually had to break out the snow gear we usually reserve for trips to the cabin, just so the kids could play in the backyard.

This is the perfect day for some of my homemade split pea soup. Mmmm...

Winter Wonderland

2008-12-17T16:01:00.000-08:00

This is the most snowfall that Las Vegas has seen since 1979. The area that I live in might get as much as 10 inches! I simply cannot believe this.

That's My Boy!

2008-12-14T12:24:00.000-08:00

Last night, when Miss told Bear that she was going to feed "Ted the Kindergarten Cub" (pretend) milk from a sippy cup, Bear firmly informed Miss, "That's soy, not cow!"

And while he generously allowed his sister an opportunity to play with Ted, he did ask if she could please remove the pink bib as soon as possible.

Blast From the Past

2008-12-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

This has been a busy week and I'm glad that's it's finally coming to an end - although now it's looking like the weekend might be just as busy. Bear is the "Star Student" in his class next week, and I have to make him a poster, a journal complete with pictures of him hanging out with the class bear "Ted," and snacks to share with his classmates - it's amazing how much work I have now that he's in school. And of course he has a winter play next week as well, and a student-teacher conference, and then there's the holidays to consider...anyway, we're busy.

C is going out of town until Tuesday, and the kids and I will be left to fend for ourselves for the next few days. The kids really love their weekends with their dad, so I've come up with lots of fun things for us to do in an attempt to distract them from his absence. Today I took them for a ride on the carousel that's by our neighborhood Whole Foods, and then we had dinner at Chili's.

I haven't actually eaten at a Chili's in years, but it seemed like a good idea since it's kid-friendly (my main objective in selecting this particular restaurant), and there's one a couple of blocks away from Bear's tae kwon do class. For a brief period during my teen years, I frequented Chili's with two close friends on a pretty regular basis. In addition to driving our crappy cars aimlessly around the suburbs (more on my crappy car in a minute), we took great pleasure in eating out as often as our jobs permitted - and I'm not talking about Taco Bell or Burger King (perish the thought), I'm talking about real restaurants, pretty much every day after school (and no, we did not weigh 300 pounds).

For a while Chili's was the destination of choice, and for a short time we decided that we were in love with one of the waiters that worked at Chili's because we thought he looked like Neil Finn from Crowded House (perhaps not most teen-aged girl's idea of a heart-throb in the early 90's, but to each her own...). I'm not sure that he even served us food more than once or twice, but we sure thought he was the cat's pajamas.

On the subject of my crappy car: it was a 1984 dark red Ford Thunderbird with paint chipping off of most of the passenger-side door (I always suspected that the paint had been spray-painted on by a previous owner). It had no AC, which wouldn't have been such a big deal if we didn't live in a place that can sometimes reach 120 degrees in the summer; that car felt like an oven in July. This car also made strange noises when it accelerated, which deterred several friends from wanting to ride with me (although if I'm being completely honest, my less than stellar driving skills were more likely the real reason people politely declined a ride in my "cruise-mobile").

Tonight when, coincidentally, I heard "Something So Strong" playing on Chili's piped in Musak, it really took me back to those days. I laugh at the absurdity of our crush on the Chili's waiter (sort of a la William H. Macy's crush on the braces-wearing bartender in Magnolia, but in a funny way and, I'd like to think, less pathetic. We thankfully possessed enough self-awareness to recognize how ridiculous we were, and derived great pleasure from making fun of ourselves). I also laugh at our version of teen angst: driving around the 'burbs in crappy cars, cranking "How Soon is Now?," and debating about which restaurant to eat at after school. (As I recently pointed out to A, we probably could have afforded better cars if we didn't spend so much money on restaurants. But as usual, our love of food prevailed). I suppose we could have been using illicit drugs and having unprotected sex, but that just wasn't a part of our journey. We may have been dorks (okay, we were dorks), but now that I have my own little girl I hope, no I pray, that someday she'll be a dork too.

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting!

2008-12-09T23:14:00.000-08:00

Setting: Tiny Tiger Tae Kwon Do Tournament. ACDC’s “Back in Black” is playing, as some of the older Tiny Tigers bust out kick-ass Ninja-style action in the adjoining rings. Five year old Bear, sitting like a black belt at the edge of the ring with the other children, nervously awaits his turn to perform. At one point, he politely requests permission to use the restroom (hey, nature calls). When his name is called (the second time – the first time he was still in the bathroom), he bravely approaches the center of the ring and busts out some of his own kick-ass Bruce Lee-inspired moves. I cannot help but notice that many of these moves are free-style and not a part of his prepared weapon form, as well as the fact that, to my knowledge, he has never attempted any of these moves before. At one point, he decides a spontaneous somersault would be a nice addition to his improvised routine. Unfortunately, he approaches the somersault in slow-motion, appearing instead as if he’s attempting a headstand while also leaving his weapons several feet behind. Nonetheless, he does manage to bring home two first-place trophies, an accomplishment of which his family is extremely proud.

Note: When asked the night before if he was nervous about his tae kwon do tournament, Bear confided matter-of-factly, “I’m a little apprehensive.” “Apprehensive,” I said, impressed by what I feel is pretty sophisticated vocabulary for a five year-old. “That means nervous mom,” he responded, rolling his eyes as if to say, “God mom, you really don’t know anything.”

Operation: Make Kids Stop Behaving Like Jack-Asses

2008-12-09T14:24:00.000-08:00

Does this really need any further explanation?

Today's Playlist

2008-12-07T19:51:00.000-08:00

Today I'm short on both time and sleep. This week has been insane. Here's what I'm listening to on my ipod while C watches football:

Four Winds - Bright Eyes
Crooked Teeth - Death Cab For Cutie
O Valencia - The Decemberists
Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon
I Turn My Camera On - Spoon
Ulysses - Franz Ferdinand
You Only Live Once - The Strokes
Losing Touch - The Killers
Dashboard - Modest Mouse
Ocean Breathes Salty - Modest Mouse
Another Sunny Day - Belle and Sebastian
I'm a Cuckoo - Belle and Sebastian
Australia - The Shins
The Absence of God - Rilo Kiley
Jesus, Etc. - Wilco
Either Way - Wilco
Reckoner - Radiohead
Independence Day - Elliott Smith
Song to Bobby - Cat Power

A Girl After My Own Heart

2008-12-05T21:37:00.000-08:00

Today, after dropping my son off at school, I stopped at the beauty salon to pick up some cosmetics. My daughter wanted to know what we were doing, so I told her enthusiastically, "We're going to one of your favorite places, the beauty salon!" This was an attempt to a) be playful (Miss does like hair-cuts and girly-girl stuff, so I thought that saying "beauty salon" might perk her interest), and b) employ "Mom Psychology" in order to head off any future objections to this errand by making it seem "fun." I then asked her for the hell of it, "Is this one of your favorite places?" After pausing a moment to give it some thought, she very seriously asked, "Does it have food?"

My Top 10 Worst Movies Ever

2008-12-03T23:07:00.000-08:00

If the following movies could be wiped off the face of the planet, I feel the world would be a much better place. Not coincidentally, most of these movies are from the late 80’s – a horrible time period for the arts in general. In no particular order:

1. Pretty Woman. I have never found this movie to be romantic on any level. You lost me at hooker. And Richard Gere just doesn’t do it for me.
2. Cocoon. Please see Driving Miss Daisy.
3. Driving Miss Daisy. I have nothing against the elderly; I just don’t want to see movies about them. I’m sure I’ll feel differently about this when I’m old. Or maybe not.
4. Cocktail. This fits in nicely with my hatred of “Kokomo.” To be posted at a future time: My Top 10 Worst Songs Ever. “Kokomo” will definitely be on this list.
5. Top Gun. “Take My Breath Away…” will also be on the list.
6. Dirty Dancing. As will “She’s Like the Wind.” Yes, I too am noticing a pattern developing… And if Patrick Swayze's monotone crooning wasn't enough (it is), the line "Nobody puts Baby in the corner" firmly solidifies Dirty Dancing's position on my list.
7. Ghost. The pottery scene is so cheesy. And I prefer that ghosts be reserved for the horror genre. I do not enjoy them in the romance genre.
8. Road House. A professional bouncer with a Ph.D in philosophy? Played by Patrick Swayze, no less? I don’t think so.
9. Any movie starring Kid ‘N Play. I don’t get it and I never will.
10. City of Angels. Please see my comments on Ghost.

Bonus:
11. Weekend at Bernie’s. I just remembered this one and had to add it. Do I really need to elaborate?
12. Mannequin. How could I have forgotten this gem? A mannequin that’s really an Egyptian Princess? Crazy hijinks ensue! It’s a romance, it’s a comedy, it’s unwatchable (I tried recently and I'm not joking, it really is unwatchable).
13. Three Men and a Baby and Three Men and a Little Lady. Gross.
14. Look Who’s Talking. Grosser. Babies are cute and all, but I do not like movies that feature talking babies.

I reserve the right to revise this list at any time - not because I think that there's a chance in hell that I'll ever experience a change of heart about one of these cinematic atrocities, but because I might remember a movie that sucks even more than one of those listed above (even though that’s pretty hard to fathom). I’m sure that there’s some other movie starring Julia Roberts, Tom Cruise, or Patrick Swayze from the late 80’s that I’ve blessedly, yet only temporarily wiped from memory.

And while I’m pretty certain that only two, maybe three people are reading this blog, I apologize if anyone takes offense to my dislike of these movies. Mine is but one opinion. I don’t get my panties in a bunch if someone tells me they think Grease sucks ass (although if you do like Grease, scroll down and watch a super-cool trailer)! Nevertheless, if you are indeed offended, I have a feeling this blog is probably not going to be your cup of tea anyway. So happy trails!

Ahhh, A Temperamental Artist in the Making

2008-11-30T14:22:00.000-08:00

Suddenly convinced that her art-class panda isn't "special enough," I've just spent the last ten minutes trying to convince a devastated, highly irrational three year-old that her yarn panda is indeed "special." The origin of this terminology confounds me, because this is not an expression my husband or I ever use. She has now informed me that she's hidden the panda picture in her room due to it's lack of "special-ness," and that it will stay there until we "add more black." Since this project was created in art class over three months ago and it's been hanging on our fridge in plain view ever since, I have absolutely no idea why it suddenly fails to live up to baby Picasso's high standards. I'm kind of afraid to tell her that we don't have any black yarn in the house...

Say It Ain't So

2008-11-28T18:25:00.000-08:00

Here's Tivo's description of an episode of What Not To Wear from today's marathon on TLC (loved it!): "A thirty year-old student, dresses in t-shirts and wears socks with sandals." Holy shit, Stacy and Clinton - can you see in my livingroom?!

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

2008-11-28T16:15:00.000-08:00

Check this out. Play the waitress game. You're one click away from some good clean fun!