If I'd Only Listened To LeVar Burton All This Could Have Been Avoided

You ever have one of those days?

You know, the kind where it's Friday evening and you're doing your best to dress up for your spouses work Christmas party but you have a two year old grabbing for the iPad that's precariously balanced on the back of the toilet as you're trying to figure out exactly how the pretty people on PinINterest did that updo. And then you remember that you have absolutely no hair styling skills. So, instead you just twist your hair into three buns*, call it good and defeatedly hand the iPad to the two year old.

Then, two outfit changes, a frantic search for black nylons, some crusty mascara and heels you haven't worn since your best friend's wedding later, you wobble out the front door, leaving the children behind with their most favoritest babysitter EVER, and you think to yourself, "I haven't been this dressed up in YEARS!" Which is true. Because the only nylons you could find are circa 1998, your best friend's wedding was three kids ago and your dress? You bought it six months before you got married. In the year 2000. Meaning? You are either embarrassingly out of style, or awesomely vintage.

Then as you giddily rush for the ferry to take you to the BIG CITY, plain latte swish sloshing in your hand, you think, "Oh, man! A whole hour to myself to sit and drink coffee! No kids! No husband! And DUDE! I'M WEARING A PRETTY DRESS!"

But then you start to slow down as you notice the amount of people waiting. In line. Because there's not a ferry in sight.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Then, after a whole hour passes and your latte is gone and you've eaten the random packet of cheese crackers you found in the bottom of your purse, you snap a picture of yourself reflected in the window of the terminal. Because you are BORED!

And that's when you realize that you're paying someone $10 an hour so you can sit in a ferry terminal a little over a mile from your house, eat stale crackers from the bottom of a purse and take stupid pictures of yourself. But at least you have your phone, so, you know, you have something to do.

But then! There's the ferry! And people start moving! And you think,"THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER!"

But then, while waiting to get on the ferry, some guy mistakes you, in all your holiday party finery, for a Catholic nun.

For reals.

Of course, once you're actually on the ferry, you have go to the restroom to see what, exactly, it is about your outfit that's giving off nun-like vibes. And while you're there reapplying your nude colored lipstick and repining one of your buns, you rip a huge hole in the knee of your awesomely vintage nylons and think, "Huh. Maybe nylons do have a shelf life...."

So you take a picture.

Why? Because you have nothing else to do. For a really long time.  Because they've replaced the regular ferry with a much slower ferry and instead of taking an hour to cross over to the BIG CITY it takes an hour and a half. During which, you rip another hole in your awesomely vintage nylons.  But you don't take a picture. Because nuns don't take pictures of their derrieres.

Then? Your phone dies. Because you forgot to charge it. And you spend the rest of the ferry ride ducking the curious glances of the guy who thought you were a nun, pretending to look stuff up on your dead phone (to fend off any more awkward nun like questions) and trying to surreptitiously read the book of the lady who's sitting next to you. Until she moves seats. Because, obviously, she hates nuns.

Yeah.

Days like that.

You know what they teach you?

Always bring a book. Because everything LeVar Burton ever said was true.



And maybe buy some new black nylons.



*Because one bun says "librarian" two buns say "Princess Leah" but three buns say "I'm being all fancy and stuff". Obviously.

I'm Getting All Judgmental. Christmas Style.

Tonight, as Jon and Katie are enduring enjoying their annual trip to the Nutcracker, complete with fancy clothes and dinner out at the Family Pancake House, and Ellie is tucked cozily and grumpily in her "I'm a BIIIIIIG girl I go too!" bed, and I sit here, glass of wine in hand (on second taste this may be the expired pomegranate juice from the back of the fridge..*sip*... eh. wateves.), I bring to you 

The Comprehensive List Of The Worst Christmas Gifts To Be Found On A Single Shopping Trip To Fred Meyer With A Two Year Old

1) Half a set of footie pajamas. For men.

For men who aren't quite willing to commit to the Full Monty*.

*I'm totally using this phrase correctly.  Because, dudes, these pjs are begging for some stripping. But only in the privacy of your own home. Not mine, because that's just-Is this footnote getting awkward, or is it just me?

2) A spoonstraw. Because milk with floaties in it was NEVER meant to be drunk.

Didn't we all learn our lesson with the spork?

3) Finger lights. For those times you want to pretend to be Edward Scissorhands but can't get the nagging voice of your first grade teacher yelling, "Stop playing with the scissors" out of your head.

"Hold me."
"I can't."

4) A coffee cup that lets you catch that first glimpse of your "Crapaziodal! We're late for school again! Everyone to the car! Where's your lunch bag? What do you mean it's show and tell day? ELLIE PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!" morning face. You know. The pretty one. The one before your first cup of coffee.

In attractive zebra stripe.

5) So, let me get this straight. I drop a couple plastic cubes into a cup of "pomegranate juice" and a rumba and a topanga later I have myself one of those fancy slushy drinks? Because it's magic?  And exactly how many can I drink before the magical cancer sets in?

But it's BPA free! It must be totally safe!  

6) For the special person in your life that needs some comfortable footwear to go with their favorite sock monkey pajamas.

Wait.
I own sock monkey pajamas.
DUDE!
These slippers are totally awesome!

 7) Your own personal desk top style cotton candy machine! For those 2:30 in the afternoon feelings!

Oh. Wait. That's what grown ups are supposed to use coffee for.

8) Nausea. In a stripy stick shape.

Someday I'll have to share my "mint makes me nauseous at normal times but makes me throw up when I'm pregnant all the time and this one time I went to the dentist and they flossed my teeth with mint floss" story. It's spectacular. Just like Old Faithful.

 9) Twinkies. On a stick.

There's a reason the makers of Twinkies went bankrupt. And it's not because they forgot the sticks.

And finally,

10) The Keurig.

Listen. If someone is going to spend $190 on a coffee maker, you can be dang sure that it better make more than one cup of coffee at a time. At the very least it should charge my iPhone, pack Katie's lunchbox, read Ellie Robert the Rose Horse for the thousandth time AND lie  tell me how the color of the dove grey skies make my green eyes snap and spark while they gaze like emeralds from my bewitchingly beautiful countenance.  Without a stupid mirror glued to the side of my coffee cup.

What's the worst gift you've come across this year?

Real Runners Wear Them Across The Finish Line

It's Thanksgiving, and we all know what that means! (Well, beyond vegetarians the world over teaching their geriatric poultry how to do the merengue, that is*.) It means it's time to break out those TURKEY! hats and run a 10K in them!

Everyone but me, that is.

Because, this awesome hat:

is sitting on a store shelf. In eastern Washington. Hundreds and hundreds of miles away. All lonely like....(...*sniff*gooobbble*sniff*....) dreaming of the day, it too, can run wild and free along a really really really** hilly route that has a beautiful view of a harbor while Canadian geese honk their encouragement overhead as you POWER UP THOSE HILLS***!!!

I know. It makes me sad too.

So, in lieu of a TURKEY! hat that, let's face it, I'm not spending $45 on, (Do you know how many coffees that will buy!?! Priorities. I've got them. And they come caffeine flavored.) next year I'm just going to wear this poster:

Like a banner of awesomeness, people. A. Banner. Of. AWESOMENESS!!



*Untapped market, people. That's all I'm sayin'!
**Really.
***Spoiler Alert: I walked.

I Used The Words "Best Besties" and "Totally" In The First Paragraph, But That's OK Because It's Another Post About Twilight Again.

Sooooo..... (clapping hands in excitedly!) Tomorrow? I know! Right! I mean, you know what I'm talking about, obviously, because we're like the best besties in the history of, like, e-ver, obviously. And, it's the end of a four year epic battle for, um, for, um..... stuuuuuff.... Um. No. Wait. I know this. Totally! It's love. It's totally an epic battle about love, and finding your place in this world, and growing into the person you're meant to be, and angst, leaning against his silver Volvo full of angst, while he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You noticed them, right? Because his eyebrows are kinda, prominent. I mean, right there. On his face.  He's like the Brooke Shields off the vampire world. Which, is not a cut down Edward, geesh! Everyone knows Brooke Shields is like, gorgeous and stuff!

But.... You have to admit,

the resemblance is uncanny!

Speaking of resemblances, have you seen Vampire High? The TV show that ran from 2001-2002? It's about a dark, silent and mysterious vampire who falls in love with a human girl from his high school and struggles with the consequences of such a dangerous relationship. Oh, and he and some other teenage vampires are supposed to be trying to learn to live in peace with humans. No. Seriously. It is. One is a newborn who is having trouble controlling his urges. Another is a beautiful and glamorous. A different one can read other people's minds. And another is known for his humorous outlook on life and light hearted nature.  I mean, dude, all it's missing is a werewolf pack and a half human half vampire baby with a stupid name. (Sorry, Stephanie, but, come on, I mean, I can't be the only one who kept pronouncing her name as Resume every time they read it in the book. Of course, it's not like I have a better suggestion, so, you know, that win is totally all you right there.... Can we high five now? No? Too soon? I get that.)

So, next month, when the buzz from all the Twilight hoopla has faded and all that's left is a half used bottle of body glitter and a jagged hole in my chest where Edward's eyebrows used to be, and all I want to do is drown my sorrow in a plateful of turkey shaped gingerbread cookies, will you, my best besties, come over and watch Vampire High with me? Please? Because, dudes, this kind of angst doesn't mock itself.

A Pictoral Study In Similarities. Or Similies. Or Is It Metaphores? Or, Um, Uh.... *Face Palm* I'm Sorry, English Teachers Of My Educational Past, I Don't Know What Happened Either....Can I Distract You With Pictures Of A Cute Dead Cat Instead? UPDATED: The Cat Is Not Dead In The Pictures! And, Well, Possibly Not Now Either. Maybe. It's Complicated.

My Back Porch 

Buster the Cat

Halloween 1989

My Kitchen

Ellie the Human

Halloween 2012

Dudes!

You know what this means?

Exactly.

My cat reincarnated himself!

And this time around? I totally taught him how to use a spoon.

Someone Invited The Curmudgeon To A Party And Now I'm On PinINterest

One night at Mabel's house:

Mabel: Hey! You know what would be cool?

Belinda: What?

Mabel: We should have a Pinterest Party!

Me: (Silently. In my own head, while remembering Katie's fifth birthday party planning.) Crapazoidal.....

Belinda: (Excitedly, because that's how Belinda rolls.) AWESOME! That'd be so fun! I found this really cool pin with tennis balls!

Me: (Silently. In my own head.) Crap-a-zoidal....

Mabel: (Excitedly planning, because that's how Mabel rolls.) Everyone could bring some project they found on Pinterest and we could do them! 

Me: (Closing my eyes and willing myself invisible, like Ellie does when she doesn't want to do something.) 

Mabel: (Grabbing her phone to show something to Belinda.) We could make our own dishwasher detergent!

Me: (Chanting silently. In my own head. Sitting very still with my eyes glued shut.) I'm invisible...I'm invisible...I'm invisible...

Mabel: Martha! This is going to be fun! You're coming. Right? (Which she probably said with her own version of "don't-you-dare-touch-my-coffee-stare." But I didn't see it. Because I was invisible.)

Me: (Silently. In my own head. But very loudly.) CRAP-A-ZOIDAL!!!! I was supposed to be invisible! (Out loud. In my curmudgeon voice, because that's how I roll.) Only if you guys call it a PinINterest Party.

Mable and Belinda: (without a second thought) OK! (Then they high fived each other.)

Me: (Muttering, under my breath, curmudgeonally.) Crapazoidal....

And that's how I found myself, just hours before the party, trolling PinINterest for something other than "Birthday Parties for Lazy People".

But first, a touching back story:

See, I had a grandpa and he was pretty cool.  He gave scratchedy mustache kisses and hugs that seemed to always smell of pipe smoke even decades after I last saw him smoke a pipe. He told me I was beautiful, which, especially, as a scrawny and horse toothed thirteen year old, I needed to hear and didn't want to disbelieve.  And, sometime, after he retired, he bought a computer. Grandpa used his computer to research things like genealogy, surf the internet, connect with near and distant relatives and old and new friends all around the world, and send emails.  You know the ones. The ones with a bunch of forwards on them.  One's that had amazing pictures of structures made completely out of oranges, or cats sleeping in weird places, or heart wrenching stories of penniless mothers doing their grocery shopping, or close up photos of the Blue Angels flying formations, or useful stuff like how you can open up pesky plastic packages with a can opener. He sent so many that I eventually had to make a mailbox just for him so I didn't misplace any of my other emails in the deluge. But then, Grandpa passed away, and after my uncle sent one last email from his account letting everyone in Grandpa's inbox know that his email address was now inactive, I thought about emptying the inbox, but, never managed it. Because I missed my grandpa.

End of touching back story.

A few years have passed, and it's hours before the PinINterest Party and there I am desperately scrolling through all the pretty pictures on PinINterest trying to find something to bring to Mabel and Belinda's party other than a recipe for making my own dishwasher detergent when I got the strangest sense of deja-vu. Because, dude, I had just seen a picture of a cat sleeping on a dog's head. And a plane! And! And! A useful tip about how to open up all those pesky plastic packages with a can opener! Dude.  I had seen this stuff before. In an email.  From my grandpa.

And that's when I realized:

PinINterest isn't just for overly extravagant children's parties anymore, it's also the place all those old forwarded emails have gone to die.  

And by die, I mean, they went to pretty pretty internet heaven, filled with recipes of caramel brownies, houses with water slides instead of staircases, huge libraries with cozy reading nooks, fuzzy knitted sweaters and running workouts... just like real heaven*! 

So. I did it. I joined PinINterest. Because it's the newest coolest whippest thing out there on the world wide web. Join me? Please?  I have a great recipe for dishwasher detergent!

*OK, sure, I don't actually know if heaven has a water slide, but, come on, God is awesome and so are water slides, you do the math.

Random. Just Like Normal.

The following stuff never made it into any real blog posts.  There may have been a reason. But, then I thought, DUDE!, everyone loves an underdog story!

She knows nothing, people. NOTHING! (And I need to add more sit-ups to my workout routine.)
Ellie: (at the park, while climbing up to the slide) I'm a big sister.
Me: (spotting from below) No. You're a little sister.
Ellie: (looking over her shoulder to pierce me with the cutest death stare ever) No. I'm a big sister. (finishes climbing to the top of the slide and yells) I'M A BIG SISTER! ELLIE IS A BIG SISTER!!
Me: (chuckling awkwardly, backing away, and sucking in my gut while giving a death stare to everyone at the park that day to just DARE and congratulate me)

We may have a bit of a problem....

We have run out of bookshelf space and took a trip to Powell's the other weekend.
Which means....
These books may have a permanent home on the floor of our living room. 

Fun story.  Mabel dropped by to borrow a book.  I told her, no problem, I'm pretty sure I know where that one is. Then I walked into the office and said, "I know I saw it in here somewhere once." And Mabel said, "You narrowed it down to one room?" And I said, "You do realize that each and every room in our house is floor to ceiling books, right? The fact that I could narrow it down to just this one room actually is quite impressive." And then I handed her the book.  End of fun story.


I'm in a video! At Zion!

I may have made it myself....


The unfortunateness of being a pear:

Pear. Rear.  They're  practically the same, um... word...

It's never too early to discuss politics:

Me: (reading from the new bulletin board at the library) Duck for President! Bad Kitty for President! Baby Mouse for President!
Kids: YAY!!!
Me: Who would you vote for Ellie?
Ellie: The Penguin.
Katie: She means the Duck.
Ellie: (turns toward Katie) NO! The Penguin! (does penguin walk) Waddle, waddle, waddle!
Me: And another independent voter is born!


And, lastly, and quite possibly leastly:


Cutest picture of Jon and me EVER: