Wednesday, December 29, 2010

HEY! Somebody Forgot The Cottage Cheese!

This week I was trying to make an entertaining post for you all out of all the dairy products that are currently curdling in my refrigerator. I was kinda hoping for that, "Awwww... isn't this cute! It's perfect!" response. You know, like you give your three year old when you open up your Christmas present and you find a fish net. And you don't fish. Ever. You don't even know how.*

I know what you're thinking. "Dairy products? Really? You mean like, milk and cheddar cheese?" Yes, those, AND whipping cream, AND half and half, AND buttermilk, AND homemade paneer (thank you Jon), AND yogurt, AND butter, AND egg nog, AND Goldfish, AND ice cream, AND cream cheese. Seriously. It's like Jon decided to bring home every part of the cow I would eat! Let me explain. You see, I was going be all witty and talk in this really bad Swedish accent. But then I remembered that John Wayne already did that in The Long Voyage Home in 1940. At the last minute I realized everyone would be all, "Been there, done that Ole!" and there you would have it, a butter turkey of a post.

So, since I'm convinced that robots/computers are going to take over the world someday (you have seen those Roomba commercials, right?) and since you all obviously enjoy my insanity/prophetic ramblings or you wouldn't still be reading, I decided to let the robots do the writing for me. After all, it's a New World or a New Year. or some such random potato/poetato-ness.

What Google Voice thinks I said in the message I left Jon on his cell:

Hey Jon, I thought I was just calling to let you know that I forgot that or come drop down below. I was going to transfer money order that I forgot and then, I was pregnant. I should be told his wife. Bill is almost like do about it up so I can do it so I'll hang. Yeah that'salright. So I'll talk to you later. Okay bye.

Awww maaaannn! Do you think Bill's wife will believe me when I tell her the computers made the whole thing up?

*Goodwill is the BEST place to take kids shopping for Christmas presents! I'm totally going to make this a tradition! Oh, and, Merry Christmas Jon!

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

You Know That Feeling You Get Shopping On Christmas Eve When You Realize Everyone On Your List Would LOVE Toothpaste This Year? Yeah. Me Too.

You know it's Christmas when:

1. You see SANTA FROG!!
Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, alofting* across the Pacific ocean by the aerodynamicness of his vaguely Pope-ish hat-just like The Flying Nun!

2. As you wait in line to see Santa at the neighborhood tree lighting you realize that, yes, yes, the man in front of you IS dressed like a woman golfer playing the circuit in August, and no, no, you do not have enough gumption to take a picture with your cell phone. Besides, Santa's watching and I'm pretty sure excessively embarrassing someone who obviously lost a bet gets you kicked off his good list faster than regifting last years slippers.

3. You reduce your three year old to tears as you grill her about what Daddy got Mommy for Christmas. In my defense, this will totally come in handy when Katie is taken hostage by evil spies from The Ring when she's president. They'll be all, "Tell us where the Intersect is!" while brandishing cyber knives or whatever, and she'd be all, "Is that all you got? Dude! My Mom is totally better at this than you losers are. Ice skating elephant! Ice skating elephant!" Although, we'll send her to Harvard or some other smart kid school and she'd actually be all, "I don't believe I'll tell you. Where did you aloft from, you cretins! The Intersect will always be safe as long as I am President! Ice skating elephant! Ice skating elephant!"

4. I am, once again, unable to take a decent Christmas card photo.
I don't know what's going on here. Well, that is, unless I'm about to vomit on Katie's shoes, after ripping her nasty mint candy cane from her hands and tossing Ellie at the broom stick brandishing snowman behind us in order to distract him as we make our get away with the chocolate peanut butter trees. Dude, I'm telling you, Christmas can be brutal.

5. We attend our local Festival of Trees to gather ideas for decorating our very first family Christmas tree.

Me-Recycled and Environmentally Friendly (minus the nasty flocking)

Katie-Ruffles Ruffles RUFFLES!!! With a Groovy Disco Ball On Top

Jon-Rubik Cubes and an Indecipherable Math Joke

(Insert Polar Bear In a Snow Storm Joke Here)

Ellie-Since she was more interested in, um, lunch they didn't have any trees that caught her eye. It WAS a family event, you know!

In the end we compromised on a traditional tree with a very cool** spoon tree topper.

Oh, and by the way, that's my ice skating elephant under the tree. Isn't it awesome?!!

*Alofting is TO a word, geeze! It means to carry one forth across an expanse of sea or land delivering presents to all the good little smolt and tadpoles of the world. Obviously.

**Yes. You can be jealous.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

All Of These Things Are Just Like The Other, None Of These Things Are Different

I may have been kinda, um... lax with my blogging lately. However, I've been very busy squeegeeing crap in other places. I know what you're thinking, "Does she seriously just scrape the words right out of her head without a moment's hesitation and plop them down right here on the Internet and expect us to read them? Because that's lazy!" And yes, yes it is. And yes, yes I do. Also, this may or may not be the reason my readership is down by 6.45 people*.

And on that flapdoodle of a note:

Things that may or may not be related to my enjoyment of Captain Underpants:

1. I recently joined a burpee challenge. One burpee on the first day, two burpees on the second, three on the third, and so forth until March.

2. I have eaten oatmeal and guzzled coffee every morning for breakfast for the last month.

3. Ellie has been jostling herself awake by ripping up the cheese wind every morning. I now call her Tooty McTooty. Because I'm creative like that.

4. I had this conversation with a women from a random plumbing company, who I'm guessing isn't going to be sticking around too much longer at her job:

Me: The plumber I had out yesterday thinks the main sewer line is backed up with, what he called, oatmeal.
Random Plumbing Company Woman: (in a horrified whisper) What do you think that is?!?!?
Me: Ummmm.... well.... probably........ toilet paper and poop. Ya think?

5. Our house had a flood of BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS! Not a "one if a unicorn, two if a rabbit" flood. Our flood was more " Jesus's ability to walk on water would have come in really handy in our basement so he wouldn't get dysentery between his toes". Because dysentery is squishy. And brown. And doesn't always float.

* My imaginary friend, George, is on vacation.**
**OK. That sounded WAY less dorky in my head. No seriously. It did.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

My Twilight Years

A few weeks ago I alluded to some notes I made for a post on "Why I would date Edward Cullen" but instead decided/was coerced by Pandora (the internet radio, not the character from a cautionary tale about snooping around Christmas presents) to write a post that saved the world from inappropriate x-ray photos and cancer, which was way more giving back/paying it forward/good karma/superhero stuff than another poke of fun at my interest in teenage vampire books. And now that the world is once again safe from low levels of radiation (because President Obama reads my blog and will soon be deploying the first TSA K-9 brigades to your local municipal airport, or at least he should) I'm indulging my decidedly more shallow side. Considering my deep side is like, 4 inches below my kneecap, you KNOW what will follow is complete drivel, just like what you waded through above. So, feel free to go and read something more intellectual, like this.*

(Looks left. Looks right. Looks under chair.) Just the two of us left huh? That's why we're besties!!! (giggling and clapping)

So, you know the quote from the movie, "You're impossibly fast and strong. Your skin is pale white and cold. Your eyes change color, and sometimes you speak like you're from a different time. You never eat or drink anything. You don't go out in the sunlight. How old are you?" That's why I'd date Edward Cullen.

Let me explain.

When I was in college I signed up for this history class. I'd never been interested in much of any American history past the passage of the 19th Amendment but I needed another history credit for my minor and 20th Century America was open and fit my work schedule perfectly. With dread, I dragged myself to class that first day and there. he. was. He was perfect. So distinguished. Plus he was extremely cute with the way his hair made a perfect fuzzy point on the top of his head! And he was 88 years old. Dude, I was going to be taught modern history by a man who had lived it! He spun stories of growing up during WWI, how he fought in WWII, the Vietnam era, Watergate, flappers, speak easies, the Civil Rights Movement....and it was only the first class! The next week, I skipped lightly over the quad, notebook tucked under my arm. Birds were singing, butterflies had landed gently on my blue backpack attracted by the rainbow colors of my educational joy. But when I got to the classroom my octogenarian professor was not there. Instead there was some TA lady who said she was taking over the class because MY PROFESSOR HAD DIED!!!! Seriously. Died. Do you know what kind of baggage that leaves you with?!?

So, it's not Eward's sparkly skin or his impossibly fast reflexes or his He-Man like strength. It's not the amber twinkle in his eyes or his animal blood diet (which I'd totally Bunnicula-ize by the way). It's because, while we are taking long romantic walks through the hazy Hoh rainforest just outside of Forks, he could spin stories of Black Tuesday, Frances Perkins, Sputnik, when Elvis met Nixon, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, sit-ins, the Beatles influence on modern American rock music, Gershwin.... And the butterflies would land gently on my blue backpack attracted, again, by the rainbow colors of my educational joy.

*I'd totally read something else if I had any brain power left that could function on such a level.**

**Because the computers and children are currently sucking my brain out of my left nostril and have dropped my brain wattage from something like 10 volts to 2.***

***I've never understood electricity so I only assume that two is less than ten. Assumptions have gotten me into trouble before.****

****Do I REALLY need another footnote to explain this one?*****

*****DUDE! I totally crack myself up!******

******definition 3*******

*******This is only funny if you clicked on the like this link.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

My Thanksgiving Post About Chickens Because Turkeys Simply Don't Have The Gams For The Dance Moves I Choreographed

My town recently passed an ordinance that allows you to keep up to four chickens on your property. When Jon heard, his eyes lit up and he began to imagine the scritch-scratch of little chicken feet running around our backyard and a non hormone free range chicken dinner in his future. When I heard, my eyes lit up and I promptly named one Ticky and the other Tacky and promised to love them and hold them and squeeze them forever and ever and ever!

After 10 years of marriage we finally hit the traditional "I want a pet/I want to eat our pet" impasse.

Unfortunately, this means I will not be able to relate to you the crazy antics of Ticky and Tacky, the chorus line dancing chickens. However, it does mean that YOU can go find some cute little balls of yellow fluff, dress them in rainbow sequined gowns and teach them to peck to the tune of the Do-Re-Mi song from The Sound of Music. But keep your sticky fingers off my chicken names. (I'm giving you an intimidating glare here-just like the one you'd get if you tried to touch my coffee. Seriously. It's scary.) You never know, Jon may become a vegetarian any day now and get over this insane idea that he wants to eat the cutest and most talented chickens EVER and realize that computers are evil and will someday take over the world. He will then chuck it all to hike the Appalachian trail with me from terminus to terminus while performing our favorite show tunes from Glee with Ticky and Tacky in order to earn money to buy gallons of ice cream. We will then consume our massive amounts of Baskin-Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon in one sitting, wrapped in our smelly sleeping bags at the laundry mat, while we watch every stitch of clothing we own tossed against the window of the industrial sized front loading dryers. Dude. I think I just wrote my Christmas list!

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

It's Kinda Like A Rant. But With Pomposity!

Someone told. Someone or something told Pandora that I was sitting in front of the fire last night doing nothing but reading and eating gingerbread turkeys. I think it's my iPhone. Normally I don't go around pointing fingers, but since I'm pretty sure my phone is like three times smarter than me, I think it's a pretty good guess. How do I know this? Because tonight while eating dinner with Katie and Ellie and balancing a plastic horse on my head Benjamin Gibbard mocked me with the song "You Remind Me of Home." The chorus? "You're wasting your life... You're wasting your life....You're wasting your life...You're wasting your life...." It seriously went on forever. RUDE! I don't need to be belittled by the lead singer of Death Cab For Cutie. It's not cool man. Not cool.

So, in order to prove Benjamin Gibbard wrong (because he was obviously talking about my blog), I've tossed my original post topic of "Why I Would Date Edward Cullen" for the much more relevant topic of "The Thanksgiving Boycott of X-Ray Body Scanners and Airport Security." And you all thought I was only capable of cannibal jokes, Twilight references, mocking Michael Bolton, bashing sci-fi, and throwing out prophetic Buck Roger warnings. (Not to mention butchering all grammar rules. On purpose. Obviously. Alot.)

Heh-hem. (That's me clearing my throat pompously in order to get your attention. You know, like a history professor.)

Heh-hem. (No one ever listens the first time.)

When I was pregnant with Ellie and jet setting around the country (read, I flew to Ohio) I was hoping someone would ask me to sashay my fertile self through one of those new fangled x-ray scanners. Mostly, because when I'm pregnant I walk around with a huge chip on my shoulder. But, they didn't and a little part of my inner grouch died that trip. BUT! I then read about the boycott people are calling for on the day before Thanksgiving and to them I say, "Here! Here!"

We simply can not allow our government to throw money around in an attempt to create a database of fuzzy naked photos of airline passengers. It's demoralizing. And...kinda creepy. Plus, who knows to what use those images will be put in the future. For instance, Katie walks through one and next thing you know some hacker in 2042 finds her photo and pastes it all over the internet thereby totally derailing her bid for the presidency and my chance to find all the secret passages in the White House with my grandson, Hubert in tow. Again, not cool, man. Not cool.

"But what about the Crotch Bomber?" you say. "We couldn't have caught him without the gratuitous use of cancer causing technology or a serious bun squeezing pat down."

True. But what about dogs? Bomb sniffing dogs. Crotch bomb sniffing dogs to be exact. Imagine, there you are at airport security with little Hubert.

Hubert: Mom! Can I pet the dog?
You: Why, yes, Hubert. Yes you can!

And then you just shuffle the family in their airport socks on over to meet Pickles, the nose of airport security!

It's simple. It's effective. It's fuzzy. Cute. And STILL naked! Plus, the average lifespan of a dog is, what, 12 years? Those dogs will totally be dead by the time Katie runs for Executive Office! Score!


Maybe I should stick to Twilight.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

My Kids Are Smarter Than Yours*

I've been reading other blogs lately. Many of them are "Mommy Blogs" and I noticed something. Most of them dedicate at least one post a month to gushing about the wonderfulness of their children and how much they love them. Then I looked at some of my previous posts and realized, dude, I don't do that. In fact, I'm way more likely to make inappropriate cannibal jokes about eating my own children. Which Jon informed me are not funny and that I "might want to think before I type". First I was all, "Whatever..." But, it is cannibalism, so maybe I should clear this up:

People! There is one thing I DO NOT want to do. I do not want to fry my children in the worlds largest skillet and eat them while drinking copious amounts of coffee. Whew. Dodged a CPS bullet there! Wait. Are CPS jokes appropriate? Dang....This is harder than it looks!

Anyway, I decided, if those other mommy's could do it, I could too. I was sure I could write a post that shot rainbows, unicorns, red balloons on a long black string, flowers, kittens, pink elephants and the like right out of my computer. Easy peasy. But guess what? I can't. No. Really. Seriously. It was baaaad. Oookkaaayyy. Fine. Read it for yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you!

Like the colors of the rainbow, so are the children in my life. If a rainbow only came in two colors, that is. OK. That didn't make any sense. But whatever,this post isn't about science, it's about love. Motherly love. It's what brings us together today. The joy their laughter brings into my life sounds like the Dora theme song-sweet and adventurous and a little multicultural. Except no one speaks Spanish or, heck, even Hindu in our house. Although Katie is learning sign language at preschool so it's basically the same thing.

Ellie's baby talk reminds me of the shore birds that wing over the watery horizon on a Spring day and her poopy diapers smell sweeter than the dead crabs they leave on my deck.

And that's how far I got, because Ellie is highly susceptible to the power of suggestion and I was thinking out loud during that last sentence. But then Jon came home and told me all about this study that someone did where they concluded that if your child is not very physically talented in their early years it coincides with a higher IQ later on. So, basically, the smarter your child the more walls they ran into as a toddler.

Guess what? Katie totally ran into five walls today! And Ellie? She ran into two**!

Now THAT'S the kind of bragging I can really get into!

*But not YOURS, obviously. I mean theirs. (points finger in opposite direction)

** Ellie can't walk yet, so I had to help her out a little. But it will totally pay off later! Can you imagine how intelligent Katie would be now if I had started running her into walls when she was five months?! Ellie is going to be a GENIUS!

Friday, November 5, 2010

When Mommy Entertains Herself...

Sometimes I get bored. To combat the onset of Mommy boredom, I mess with my children. But just a little. Or a lot. It really depends on your parenting style. (I wanted to say sense of humor, but I didn't want to offend anyone. So I didn't.)

While walking behind Katie as she rides her tricycle through the park we shout out syllables:
Katie: Hel!
Me: Met!
Katie: Hel!
Me: Met!
(I'm helping her with reading skills people! She'll thank me one IOWA/WASL test day.)

Playing with Ellie and her teething toy while waiting in line for my coffee:
"Eat the duck! Eat the duck!" (pulling the toy out of Ellie's mouth) "We don't eat ducks!"
(Because vegetarian brain washing can never start too soon.)

As we pile into the car at church:
"Who wants to play a drinking game?"
(Water people. IT'S JUST WATER!!)

Messing with preschool minds:
Katie: Moms know everything!
Me: They do?
Katie: Yep!
Me: Do I know everything?
Katie: NOOOOO!
(Wait a minute. Did I just use my child to insult myself? Naahhh...)

Unfairly categorizing Katie while on a walk through the neighborhood:
Me: Which would you choose, Katie?
Katie: Why?
Me: Because I'll buy you a donut. If you choose wisely.
Katie: That boy. (points to Jacob)
Me: Not this one? With the cool jacket? (points to Edward)
Katie: NO! That one! (points to Jacob again and stamps her foot)
Me: Really? Not... (indicates Edward with a Vanna White hand flourish)
Katie: NO! I like the boy with the green shirt!
Me: (walking away, sadly shaking my head)

Katie, donut-less but proud new member of Team Jacob!

While helping Katie remove her little bottom from the toilet at Target:
"Oh shake, shake, shake! Shake, shake, shake!
Shake your booty! Shake your booty!"

While encouraging Katie to eat the raisin bagel at Fred Meyer:
"WOW! Look at the raisins on this guy!"
(Huh. Maybe this is why I get so much unsolicited parenting advice from the retirees at Fred Meyer.)

And by the way? I don't want to hear any flak, people! It's not like I'm throwing my children into the world's largest frying pan in an attempt to make them into tasty kid flavored pancakes or anything!

No matter what kind of photographic evidence there is!

Saturday, October 23, 2010

This Post Is Dressed Like A Dork For Halloween, But It Was Either This Or The Domino Costume Again

The night is dark, dank, and smells faintly of Dove Powder Fresh underarm deodorant. The power is out on your street and you sit struggling to read by the light of the fireplace wondering, "How did Abraham Lincoln do this? Between this, emancipation and the whole axe thing he's totally number one on my Greatest US President's list." Then you hear it. From the fireplace comes the faint tinny tones of, "You are the candle, loves the flame. A fire that burns through wind and rain.... Said I loved you, but I lied. This is more than love I feel inside..."


Bwahahahaha! Velcome to Halloveeeen! (gestures evilly with her hand for you to enter)

Three, count them, one, two, three! Bwahaha! Three things that give me the heebie-jeebies (besides Michael Bolton and power outages). Read them, IF YOU DARE!!

1. Stalkers.

Yeah. I found this on my car, people. At FRED MEYER! Seriously. Back off. And next time? Sign your name, please. Because if you're going to stalk me, turn about is only fair play.

2. Evil that comes with it's own controller.

"It's sucking our brains! It's sucking our brains!"
At least zombies can be decapitated with chainsaws. (And I mean real zombies, people. Not those fake ones in Tetris or the Indiana Jones Lego game. Geesh!)

3. The Droid phone commercials.
Let me show you.
First, this droid reference will give you nightmares.

While this droid makes you want to give him a big hug.
Shhhhhhhhh.... little guy! There's Michelin men around the corner!!

And just when you thought it was safe to dive into the Internets again....

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Taking Advice From Your Gardening Glove ROCKS!

Because a glove told me to, I boarded a plane and flew for 8 hours across the country. With a four month old. By myself. Where I learned nothing says, "Welcome to your vacation!" like hearing the captain announce your final decent while balancing a brand new puddle of sloshing baby poop in your lap.

Because a glove told me to, I sprinted through the airport terminal sprinkling liquid feces left and right and piled into a mini van filled with my college besties*!

Because a glove told me to, we partied! Just like in college! But with more pumpkins and less country dancing.**

Yes. We've always been this cool.

Because a glove told me to, I stayed up much later than my 9:30 mommy bedtime, discussing, um, world news and stuff.... Seriously! See:

Jenn: Oh my goodness! The Chilean miners are being rescued!
Me: Yay!
Aingel: They hadn't been rescued yet?
Jenn: Can you imagine seeing light for the first time in two months?
Scooby: I know, it's a tragedy, but a happy one.

Actual conversation fueled by M&M's transcribed for your entertainment from our actual hotel room. Nothing else was discussed outside of world news. Except literature. And classical music. And you know, other smart people stuff. Oops... and pumpkins. I let that one slip-sorry guys! (I'm trying my hardest to have your back besties!! Um....You guys are still going to watch mine even though I apparently can't stop using the word "besties", right? please?)

Because a glove told me to, I moonwalked my way down the aisle of the flight home and answered every Flight Attendant's question with a crotch grab 'n pop. Wait. That may not have been the right glove....

*I can NOT get this word out of my head!
**Believe me. It's just as embarrassing for me to type "country dancing" as it is for you to read. At least you don't have the mental picture of me dancing like a stiff jointed Barbie doll to Shaina Twain's "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!" stuck in your head.

Then again, maybe you do.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

I Don't Have A Clue How This Happened

I've been working in the yard lately. Something tells me I may need a vacation.

Disclaimer: I've never flipped anyone the bird in my entire life. Really! I'm not kidding!


There was that one time when I was substituting in a 4th grade classroom. I was going over the vocabulary words on the board and I realized I'd been flipping the whole class off for about five minutes. In hind sight, I should have talked in an English accent the rest of the day. It would have made everything way less embarrassing.*

*But not as embarrassing as the time I told the story about Deadwood Dick and bulldogging to a bunch of 5th graders. Don't worry. I only teach Sunday School now.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

In Which I Contemplate A Career Change And Come To A Rather Messy Conclusion

As a mom of two children ages three and under, I've taken myself out of the job market. Instead, I spend my days doing a variety of mundane tasks all while reenacting the Winnie the Pooh story where Rabbit and Pooh and Piglet decide to get rid of Kanga and Roo by stealing baby Roo and replacing him with Piglet but then realize that they can all be friends in the end, but not after Piglet is given a bath and a cookie. Strangely enough, some days I dream of more....

So like the organized person I've become, I've made a list of all the jobs I am currently acquiring a skill set in.

Vegetarian Chef
Salary: $32,000/year

Will knowing 20 different ways to prepare mac and cheese get me a raise?

Salary: $40,000/year

Since I have actually taught in a classroom, "Bwaaahhahhaha!! Hee, hee, hee, heeeeeeeeeeeee....That's not funny."

Groom of the Stool, aka Poop Wiper
Salary: 50 Pounds/ year under the reign of King Edward VI (1537-1553)

Apparently I CAN'T get a job wiping the Queen of England's butt anymore since the first Queen Elizabeth decided to get all independent and start doing it herself. I was overly qualified anyway.

Barista at Steamy Grounds Espresso, aka Boob Flasher
Salary: $17,000/year

I drink A TON of coffee and I breastfeed Ellie. I'm thinkin' it's about time I get paid for it.

So which of these exciting opportunities is going to be my new career path?

None of the above.

I've found something better!

Competitive Eater
Salary: $50,000/year

However, I do have two questions for the International Federation of Competitive Eating before joining their sport circuit.

1) Can Sonya Thomas, aka The Black Widow, eat 37 hot dogs in 12 minutes while arguing with Katie about eating her mashed potatoes, holding a screaming and pinching Ellie and stalk people on Facebook at the same time? Because if not, I totally OWN HER!

2) Can I bring my own Tofurky?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

This Post Is For All The Conspiracy Theorists In The Room!

Me: (In my best Kris Kross voice) All you conspiracy theorists out there, can I get a WOOT!

You: (crickets)

Me: (Optimistically jumping like Kris Kross) How about a WOOT! WOOT!


Me: Thanks guys. That's not embarrassing. Nooooooo. Not at all.

How "Major Credit Card Corporation"
Tried To
Kill Me

While headed out the door with my hands full of infant seat carrier, diaper bag, water bottle and Fuzzy Bear I lie to "Major Credit Card Corporation" about writing down their phone number to have Jon call them back. (I also do this to the blood bank when they call. Mostly because I'm evil.)

"Major Credit Card Corporation" knows I haven't given the message to Jon and calls back anyway. They speak for 20 minutes. "Major Credit Card Corporation" tries in vain to get Jon to tell them his birth date, the name of his first pet and the last four digits of his Social Security number. Jon tries to convince "Major Credit Card Corporation" that they are a scam. Neither the employee nor their supervisor agrees. Jon hangs up.

The girls and I go shopping for clothes that don't show off Katie's skinny little belly button where I DO NOT use "Major Credit Card Corporation's" card but do buy four shirts, eight pairs of socks and one pair of dress shoes with flowers.

We arrive at Roundish Table Pizza where their computers weirdly stop working just as we order. A diaper change, 1 1/2 personal pizzas, and a snack for Ellie later we try to leave. Because I'm not a kangaroo and therefore have to carry all my own baby crap (Yeah. Thanks God.) I can't seem to open the door labeled "To Remain Unlocked During Business Hours". For like five minutes. Eventually some employee* of the pizza place shuffles over and mumbles something about having a FREON leak and needing to lock the doors. So no one can leave. At all. Unless they wave their hands up in the air and wave them like they just don't care! (Sorry. That was a reference to my Kris Kross impersonation at the beginning of the post. It won't happen again. Probably. Or not. Your choice.)

So let me break it down for all of you who don't think Elvis is alive. (Which he totally is by the way. I saw a Inside Edition about it once in junior high.) We refused to give out personal information about ourselves to "Major Credit Card Corporation" so they took away the Internet and tried to KILL US ALL by creating a poisonous gas leak and barricading the doors at a pizza place we rarely go to. Yeah.... That moon landing is looking pretty suspicious the more I think about it.

*Or a "Major Credit Card Corporation Undercover Pizza Employee". Or a zombie. It was hard to tell.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

How I Turned Into A Potato

I've been busy these last few weeks or so. Katie started Montessori school, Ellie grew, Jon shared some snot disease with us all and I jumped through fire!

And hurdled logs floating in neck deep water! And scrambled over Armageddon abandoned cars! And scaled a cargo net like a pirate! And ran up steep hills (OK, walked but they were really steep hills)! And finally, slithered through a mud bog under barbed wire!

All for a medal and a banana.

As well as the chance to engage in smack talk with my husband that went something like this:

Me: Dude! You're first real medal! Isn't it awesome!
Jon: What do you mean? I have medals.
Me: But not like, real medals for sweating and stuff. Those are just high school Academic Decathlon medals.
Jon: You're just jealous because you couldn't be in AcDec.
Me: What do you mean, couldn't???? Did you just call me stupid?
Jon: I mean the math. There was no way you could have done the math.
Me: searing him with an evil obtuse look (which is a geometry term so obviously my math skills are totally quantitative and not sub par)
Jon: What?! It's true!
Me: Your momma.*

And finally, at the end of the day when all the little warriors and their Dora backpacks

were nestled snug in their hotel beds, like a potato, I scrubbed and scrubbed but the dirt just kept coming.

* Is there an online tutorial for smack talk? Because we may need it.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Bran: The New Blogging Tool

I've been rated. Hot rated that is. Little Black Book rated. Cat called walking by the construction zone rated. Honked at by a passing car while on a run rated. But not by a reliable source like this:

But by the internet. And two of our local landfills. And the proposed quarry site. And possibly the government. (Seriously. I can't make up things like being objectified by methane producing garbage and the IRS.)

The other night, I was just minding my own business narcissistically searching for myself on Google, when, there it was, my Hot Score: 6.2

I didn't really get the point of a website giving out hot ratings based on municipal dumping grounds, but, 6.2! Really?!?!? Obviously they haven't seen me walking around town sporting my ring watch, because I've seen one on every single sexy person I've fist bumped this summer! And, I'm sure they haven't seen me dressed in my sexy Halloween costume:

Come on! I'm totally the hottest domino in the county! About to run a race. Really early in the morning. On Halloween.

So what does that make me, Hot Duck?

Yeeaahh, that's right!

So, internet, flatulating landfills, proposed rock diggers and the government of these United States of America, get it together, because the Hot Duck never lies.

Break it down for us Hot Duck!

You had to have seen that coming!

Monday, August 16, 2010

Unmoderated Comments From My Head

On Dreaming In English
I've been having this urge the last couple days to use the word pisser, as in, "He's such a pisser." It's probably the Hugh Grant dreams I've been having where he walks around with his hands in his pockets, very Cary Grantish, and says things like, "He's such a pisser." Maybe. But I haven't said it because with my luck it's one of those really bad English swear words that sound funny but aren't* and I'd probably blurt it out at the park and there'd be a huge convention for English Nannies of Highly Impressionable English Children. Because they have those. A lot. Like all the time.

* You know, like bloody and cheerio.

On Gardening Ethics
I was grumpily watering the flowers, trees, shrubs and stuff outside because it was going to be a really hot day-like 88 (quit snickering desert people) and I realized I only watered the plants I liked. Hydrangea? Nice long drink. Stupid poky Ponderosa wanna be shrub? Barely a sprinkle. Then I remembered the very LOUD newborn baby pooping that woke me up at 5:30 and the whining three year old that followed at 7 when I headed downstairs and I smiled as I giddily played with the thought of applying my gardening ethics to parenting.**

**It's called dark humor people. You know, like this:

On Aliens Taking Over The World
I found a death threat from aliens posted at the coffee shop. Thank goodness they want chai and not coffee! Otherwise I'd have to learn how to play a video game like Space Invaders or Tetris to defend my coffee-I MEAN WORLD! No country! Um, fellow man...? Ah, crapazoidal. We all know I mean my coffee. My gorgeous, dark, highly caffeinated, keeps me awake in the middle of the day and all the hours on either side, creamy, delicious coffee.... (sigh)

I think there were more comments stashed somewhere in my head, but I can't find them because I've run out of coffee and the buzz is wearing off from my cappuccino flavored plumping lip gloss.

Monday, August 2, 2010

The Post Where I Get Political

Instead of writing haiku's to Powell's for this post* I've decided to run for US Senate. (I thought about running for US Representative, but one of the candidate's is a karate instructor and I haven't watched "The Karate Kid" in a really long time and my crane kick stance is a little wobbly.) I realize I'm throwing my hat into the ring a little late in the race, but I totally think I'm qualified. Especially after reading through my voter's pamphlet last night.

The one that reads like a singles ad by a guy from Jupiter:
"Goodspaceguy loves beautiful stars in the sky and in the movies. People of Spaceship Earth are his family. If you google goodspaceguy, you'll find me and talented people who claim to be me, Goodspaceguy." -Goodspaceguy-

The one that's threatening in a weird hippie kind of way:
"BEWARE! My personal doctrine for business and politics speaks for itself. I am currently promoting an Amtrak Tour of America ala "Woodstock" style for the summer of 2011. How? I am not Joe the Plumber. BEWARE!" -Mike The Mover-

The one you thought was a legitimate candidate:
"I'll never stop fighting against the powerful on behalf of you and your families." -Patty Murray-

The one that thinks he can take over the world using his superior intelligence:
"Since other politicians value their positions more than anything else, they will ultimately follow the wishes of their voting constituency. Therefore, it will be necessary to provide leadership for a vigorous national movement in the press and every other media available." -James "Skip" Mercer-**

And, if they're going to try and take over the world, I figure I can too!

(prefers Sunny Days Sweepin' The Clouds Away)
Somewhere close to Seattle, WA Website:

Are you an approved candidate of your preferred party?
You'll have to ask Big Bird, he's the tallest.

What background and experience do you bring to this office?
I was educated in Arizona and live in Washington so I understand weather extremes. I received the highest score on my AP Government final in high school, so obviously I understand politics, although in class I tended to just agree with the girl sitting in front of me to avoid public speaking. I enjoy books and believe that computers will one day take over our brains and subject us to being their slaves and bringing them margaritas-or whatever computers like to toast with after taking over the world. I came to this conclusion after watching Buck Rogers-YOU SHOULD TOO! Ring watches are THE BOMB! And I plan to be the coolest 90 year old on my block some day.

If elected, what will be your top three priorities, and how will you accomplish them?
1) I will go backpacking, because once I'm a Senator they give you a nanny like right away and I'd REALLY enjoy some hiking time.
2) I'd spend the night in the White House because I'm too impatient to wait for Ellie to grow up and become president so I can find all the secret passageways and stuff like in "National Treasure."
3) I'd teach the world to sing and hand out M&M's to everyone that came to my office-unless I was stuck in one of those secret passageways or hiking through Virginia, then my nanny can do it.

Dude, vote for me because Jon already did.

*Books, more books to read
Swirly smooth caffeine for me
I could live well here
(You thought I was joking, didn't you?)

** "What are we going to do tonight, Brain?"
"The same thing we do every night, Pinkie. Try to take over the WORLD!"

*** I just got my hair cut. Now Don Music and I are like twins! Last time I let Ernie cut my hair....

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Things I Did While On The Lam

Why was I on the lam? Because I stole this from IKEA:

Well, more correctly Jon stole it. But I guess since I was distracting the employees with a screaming Ellie and fit throwing Katie technically I'm an accomplice, and they'll send you to jail for almost holding a horse. Just look at poor Edmund Spangler. The world's largest yellow 59 cent bag and almost holding a horse? They're practically the same thing people! So we took off, blew the joint, hit the road, knocked over that peanut stand, jumped the train (we actually did this one literally) and ended up here:

(Do you hear the heavenly music too, or is that just in my head?)

Where I found the PERFECT book!!!

But, I didn't buy it* because I don't need these kind of images in my head:

"Terrifying new developments in robotics like the EATR, which powers itself on meat!!!!"

I'm doing just fine with my normal nightmares thank you very much! (Like the one where I find an extra foot growing out of Katie's head.) So I bought a book about zombies instead.

And after being drawn like a fly to a compost heap (also, interestingly enough, the name of the slice I ate**) to the local pizza place across the street from Powell's, I thought perhaps I had overreacted, just a little. I mean, it's IKEA not McDonald's, it's not like they're evil or anything. Of course, just to be on the safe side, the next time I'm wondering dazedly IKEA (the place is HUGE people!) I'm planning on looking less like:

and more like:

But just the bangs, because the rest of his hair is kinda freaky.

*But you could, and then lend me your copy with all the scary pages ripped out.

**Come on. You know you want a bite of my vegan pizza!
“[Insert your name] is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to [insert the applicable site name ( or].”

Monday, July 5, 2010

I'M GONNA BE HUGE! And Not In A Sushi Stool Kinda Way. Man! That Joke Is Never Gonna Get Old!

Have you all noticed how awesome I am lately? No, really! I'm overflowing in my coolness, exuberanting in my keenness, radiating from the tip of my toes to my right ring finger with sheer whizz-bang trendiness! Because today, while both little bodies were napping, instead of being responsible and getting a little yard work done I bopped around the Internet instead. (I've been even less motivated yard work wise since my neighbors think I've moved and have been bringing my wonderful landscapers bundt cakes to welcome them to the neighborhood.) But guess what?! The Internet spiders have realized that my blog is THE blog to crawl for all things trend setting.
Oooohh Yeeeeaaaahhh! KA-POW!! It's a RING WATCH!

I found it for sale on ModCloth just days after posting about my own new fashion accessory. Seriously people, you need to rush out and get your own or be left standing awkwardly against the wall watching (hee-hee! That's a cool person joke.) while all us "in" people flash around our new finger blings, and, um, dance, or whatever us cool ring watch people do. Which,obviously, I totally know all about....

Friday, June 25, 2010

I Need A Fist Bump!

"The fist bump gesture is performed when two participants each form a closed fist with one hand and then lightly tap the front of their fists together. The participants' fists may be either vertically-oriented (perpendicular to the ground) or horizontally-oriented. Unlike the standard handshake, which is typically performed only with each participants' right hand, a fist bump may be comfortably performed using the left hand of one participant and the right hand of another, which is convenient if one's right hand is holding an item or otherwise preoccupied." (wikipedia)

Which is awesome because lately my right hand has been preoccupied with this:

Oh YEEEAAAHH that's right! KA-POW!!! It's a ring watch! It showed up in the mail the other day in a package from my grandmother, who must have realized how much more convenient it would be to check the time on my finger instead of my wrist. It's my new favorite toy. Seriously! Look how amazingly useful my bling-y ring watch has been so far!

Is it time for a cookie? Yes. Yes it is.

I can now teach Katie the alphabet and how to read a clock all at the same time!

I never spend too much time visiting Mabel in the garden anymore.

I also used to waste precious seconds by glancing at my wrist watch while solving Katie's plastic slide-y puzzles. Not anymore thanks to my RING WATCH!

I'll stop now because I'm starting to sound like an annoying infomercial (Yours for the low LOW price of $59.95!) and I'm fighting the urge to make this post into one while writing in a horribly fake red-neck accent*. And, I'm sure, sugar honey, ya' all don't be wantin' to hear all that, now do ya'?

Plus, I don't want my wrist watch to get jealous.

*I should so share some of my essays from jr. high, or high school, or, um,well, college.... Because, there's nothing anyone likes better than reading a five paragraph essay comparing and contrasting the use of imagery in selected poems by Emily Dickinson in the voices of Billy Bob and Bubba Joe, am I right?


Due to the overwhelming comments on this post of "Where can I get my OWN ring watch? I want to be the FIRST in my neighborhood to own one this summer!!" I created some links to help you guys get the Have To Own accessory of the summer! Plus, in case you were wondering how cool a ring watch really is you can see Matt Frewer flip one open in Episode 9 of Season 5 on Star Trek: TNG. Happy shopping!**

** “[Insert your name] is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to [insert the applicable site name ( or].”

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Things I'll Put A Bra On For, But Not Shoes*

*Mostly because once The Thing (now more aptly named Ellie) was born my feet finally figured out that I was pregnant and immediately blew up to the size of two podiacal shaped hot air balloons hovering over the New Mexico skyline. "Balloon!! Balloon, guys! This is our last chance!!" Yep. That's my feet talking.

Bra worthy outing #1

Just a few days before going into labor I entered a contest to win free coffee for a week from Manette Coffee Company-an awesome little drive thru kiosk with great lattes just up the road from our house and guess what? I WON!! Sure, only like seven people entered, but, whatever-because if there's ever a time I need a free jolt of caffeine it's now! Two, three, four, five, six, twelve nighttime feedings? Not a problem! Just send Jon down the road for my free daily latte and I'm good to go (for like an hour, then I need a nap.)

Bra Worthy Outing #2

TOFUSEDAY!! It should be a county wide holiday every week, it's seriously that good. I've eaten at Hi-Lo's every Tuesday I could tear Katie away from Story time at the library with a minimum of whining. I mean, just look at what they can do with tofu:

But I may have taken Katie there one too many times for their kid friendly grilled cheese. Before I got one bite of that sun dried tomato/pesto/pine nut/tofuey goodness, Katie hurled that kid friendly grilled cheese all over the floor. Yeah. I put on a bra for that? Just so we're all on the same visual page here, it looked a lot like this:

While not the actual vomit, (it's the split pea soup with aminos and nutritional yeast I made a few months ago) it did look amazingly similar. (You guys should really come to dinner at my house some time!)

And, in case you're wondering if The Thing (now more aptly named Ellie) is really here and can be blamed for this randomly put together post:

This is also why Jon isn't allowed to play with my phone anymore.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Is That A Chip On Your Shoulder Or Do You Just Want To Hurt Me?

Jon said to quit talking about it. Said I would loose my readership. Said they'd get bored reading about all the crappiness that IS my pregnancy. But you know what? I'M the pregnant one. I'M the one that scares people simply walking into a restaurant. I'M the one who gets the "Dear LORD, is she going to give birth right here in the post office? Right in front of me? She looks like she's going to POP!" looks. I'M the one being trapped between the birthday cards and some lady's shopping cart as her hand flutters giddily toward my belly. I'M the one who has to listen to endless stories about all things birth and baby related (which either freak me out or bore me). So, naturally I'm a little grouchy. And if I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IT I CAN! BECAUSE, GOSH DARN IT, I'M THE ONE WITH A HUGE BELLY THAT GETS CAUGHT IN BETWEEN THE PASTRY CASE AND THAT BUS DRIVER AT THE COFFEE SHOP!

OK, very grouchy.

True Story:
I have a friend that I've known since college who posted on Facebook that she couldn't find her motivation. I, in my ill-tempered, crusty, petulant, cantankerous way told her it was "In her butt." I'm sure she totally appreciated it too because apparently she found it PANTS shopping. Which can only mean one thing: my irritable pregnancy hormones have given me PSYCHIC POWERS!

Now I'm awesome. Because I'm a super hero with super powers that give me the right, no, the DUTY to walk around town with a huge ill-natured, obstinate, testy chip on my shoulder, because I might find your keys or your great Aunt Gertrude's pink pearl necklace or something. My grouchiness is for the good of all mankind.

True story:
I'm having lunch all by myself at this little cafe down by the waterfront. Katie is spending the day with Daddy and I'm trying to savor what little time I have to sit by myself not feeding, wiping, or trying to fake enthusiasm for another conversation about Fancy Nancy with someone else. Then I notice the woman in the corner. She's staring at me. "What?" my eyes shoot back sarcastically (because I'm a super hero and my eyes can totally talk) "Do you not like my taste in books? Do I have salad dressing on my chin? OR COULD IT POSSIBLY BE THAT YOU SIMPLY CANNOT BELIEVE THE SIZE OF MY BELLY AND ARE DOING THAT DEER IN THE HEADLIGHTS THING BECAUSE YOU'RE CONVINCED I'M GOING TO DROP A NEWBORN RIGHT HERE AND GET PLACENTA ALL OVER THE PERFECTLY POLISHED HARDWOOD FLOORS? HUH, LADY? HUH??" (I said my eyes could talk, I didn't say they were good at telling people off.) Then, the staring lady got up, picked up the leash for her SEEING EYE DOG and threw her trash away.

Crapazoidal. I may not have super psychic powers after all.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Tweet Thoughts*

Can you find the real tweet among the impostweets? the fake-o-tweets? the countertweets? the trick-or-tweets? (I'll stop now.)

-My favorite swear word is crapazoidal. I've either been married to a math geek for too long or am channeling Scooby Doo.

-The best thing about being pregnant? I can wear whatever I want and no one has the courage to tell me I look like a freak. (This is not as bad as it can get.)

-You know how if you eat a lot of beets your urine turns purple? What happens if I gorge myself on beets the week before I give birth?

-My three year old just asked me for the cribbage board.

-No. Like you don't understand. This mac and cheese was life changing!


*That is, if I actually used Twitter and didn't think it was another insidious plot for world domination by super Buck Rogers computers.