I Skipped Number 8 Because One Should Not Have R Rated Conversations With Siri

It's likely that, if I'd been a true blue and green member of the Seahawks fandom, instead of just a wannabe in it for a cheap cup of coffee, I'd have realized that last Wednesday was the worst day in the history of all interstate road travel to schedule a meeting that resulted in having to drive a car through Seattle. Like, over 700,000 people standing in freezing weather watching football players being transported past Pike's Place in a fleet of amphibious WWII era vehicles named after a common waterfowl worth of bad idea. In my opinion. Either way, it is quite large.  It also meant that I was stuck in the car. For a really long time. With only Siri to talk to. And she was being particularly stupid that day with her note takings. So, in honor of the 12th man parade (which, still, no one will explain the historical significance of) I typed up

Siri's Top 12 Worst Understandings Over 70 Miles Of Freeway Through Horrible Traffic

Without Any Explanations 

Because I Don't Remember What I Was Trying To Say

Although I Did Give Siri A Chance To Explain Today

Because I'm Nice Like That

1. D is for dancing. 

Siri's: I don't see any places matching "D is for dancing". Sorry about that.
Me: Do you even like dancing?
Siri: This is about you, not me.

2. What is the significance of the cat?

Siri: I didn't find anything for the significance of the cat.
Me: Did you even try?
Siri: Now there's a good question. Now, where were we?
Me: What is the significance of the cat?
Siri: I did not find anything for the significance of cat. Search the web?
Me: Ok.
Siri: (Searches web)
Me: (waiting, glancing, sighing) Siri, you found absolutely no results! It's like you're not even trying!
Siri: Is that so?
Me: Yes!
Siri: That's what I figured.

3. The car inside your finger. Is there a filming of Matt Matt I did not know about?

Siri: I found six auto dealers.
Me: I don't want to buy a car.
Siri: Ok then.
Me: I still want to know about the car inside your finger.
Siri: I found six auto dealers.
Me: Siri, I still don't want to buy a car. How about, is there a filming of Matt Matt I did not know about?
Siri: (shows me the nearest car dealership on the map)

4. Beat up car to the side you'll anchor in price. Cut off Muckler behind. Is there a free Delmayne of bad?

Siri: (indignantly) I'm just trying to help you.

5. Butt based traffic today.

And then Siri showed me a map of the traffic. And you know what? She was right. Because days later people are still queued up to leave Seattle.

6. Very taking notes.

Siri: I found all of your notes.
Me: Can you read them all to me?
Siri: I can if you update to the latest version of iOS.
Me: Well, crapazoidal, I don't know how to do that. She totally just called my bluff!


7. U-Haul behind me Rathbourne iPad.

Siri: I'm not sure I understand
Me: U-Haul behind me Rathbourne iPad.
Siri: I'm not sure I understand
(That. 12 more times. (And, yes, I kept track.) Then Siri gave in and offered to look up "U-Haul behind me Rathbourne iPad" in my address book. But she didn't find anyone with that name. Ooo! Thought! Anyone want a new nickname?)

8. Deleted. On purpose. Also. Related: Do not ask Siri to take a note regarding any type of trucking business with children in the room. 

9.  Having Siri take notes for me in the car and listening to her messed up. It's rather distracting from the heavy traffic due to the Seahawks game this afternoon it, Doneghan! Get the parade! My mistake. A parade because they won the game which was last weekend. 

Siri: I created your note.
Me: What? I don't want you to take a note. I want you to explain the meaning behind the note.
Siri: Ok. I created that note.
Me: Siri, no. Stop taking notes.
Siri: Ok. I created that note.
Me: (face palm)

10.  I hate steak salad sandwich coffee. Angle blueberries down for lunch.

Siri: I see. Noted.
Me: Where did you note that?
Siri: I don't know. Frankly I've wondered that myself.
Me: So, do you hate steak salad sandwich coffee too?
Siri: I'm afraid i don't know the answer to that.
Me: Have you ever tried steak salad sandwich coffee?
Siri: Who me?
Me: Yes, you.
Siri: You?
Me: Seriously!?! It's "Couldn't be" Siri. Geesh!

11.  Note that on my phone before it blows up. For, I get to blowup like Mommy Lichtenstein up at 11!

Siri: I couldn't find any blood banks.

12. 12 Maneos the Hawks! Go Hawks! Game! Football with the football! I don't know anyone here!

Siri: I am searching the web for " 12 Mancos the Hawks! Go Hawks! Game! Football with the football! I don't know anyone here!"
Me: What? Without even being asked!
(And then she took me to this webpage.)
Me: Dude! A book written by a gunrunning poet? I need me a trip to the library!
(And then Siri mapped the nearest library. Because she's helpful like that.)

Where Can I Buy Cheap Tanning Lotion? I Have Some Science To Fake.

These Are Random Words Formed Into Paragraphs To Create The Necessary Backstory:

So, a couple months ago as Katie, Ellie and I were walking home from school in the crisp fall air (that darkly foreshadowed the gloom and doom of Januaries to come*) Katie told me about an assembly they had all about allergies. Her story about the assembly prompted me to tell a story about a friend, who also had allergies. And, who, in respect to their Internets privacy I will hence forth in this post refer to strictly as "they" or "their" or "one" or "whom" or possibly "thou". Because online anonymity should be respected by everyone. Facebook.  

On a side note: Everyone who got to this post through my personal Facebook account, "HI!" (Waves excitedly, like a bit of an idiot, but just a bit, because, sometimes it's more responsible to lie on the Internets than tell the truth.) And everyone who got here through my blogs Facebook account?

--------

 Yep. Those be crickets.

Anyway, as I was saying, I have a friend, One Whom when They were a baby was allergic to just about everything.  I'm talking bread, chocolate, milk, nuts, strawberries, oranges, basically if normal people ate it, Thou was allergic to it. Except for carrots. So Their parents fed Them a safe diet of pureed carrots. Until Thee, Ye Friend, turned orange. For reals.

Except I've never seen a picture of my Friend as an orange baby. So, maybe not for reals. However, except for a weird distrust of my use of a vegetarian broth powder that one time They came over for dinner, has never proved to be anything but perfectly trustworthy and has yet to lead me astray in the realm of personal remembrances. So I can only assume, like Peeta and Katniss's love, Thee Thou's story is for totes real.

End of Necessary Backstory Which, Upon Reflection, May Not Have Been All That Necessary But Did Allow Me To Use The Words "Thou" And "Totes" In The Same Sentence Which Shakespeare Would Totes Appreciate, Obvi.

So, last night, when Katie and Ellie excitedly ran into the kitchen, their eyes shining with the twin lights of imagination and scientific inquiry (one for each eyeball, obvi), and asked if they could have some carrots and oranges for snack so they could turn themselves orange, like any good mother, I said no.

BECAUSE! Dinner was supposed to be in like 45 minutes, and, I couldn't have them ruining their appetites with carro-

Ok. Yeah. I eventually got there too.

So after I handed them each a carrot to "eat like a rabbit" I made them dinner:

Because I care about the quest for knowledge by young scientific inquirerous minds.

Plus I have, like, a whole box of nasty orange flavored Emergen-C to use up.

Which of course meant I spent all of dinner time reasoning with Katie and Ellie that drinking the whole glass of orange flavored Emergen-C was vital to the bond the ions of the beta carotene in the vegetables needed to make with the electrons of the manganese gluconate in order to achieve the perfect shade of orange skin. Which, considering the grades I got in Chem class in high school, might be true?

But then, Katie looked at me with her Mom-Used-Too-Many-Science-Words-In-A-Row-She's-Probably-Making-This-Up eyes, which meant I had two options; 1) confess I was full of scientific bravado or 2) own it.

----------(this is the part where)--------------

----------(I pretended to weigh)-------------

----------(both my options)------------

And that night, the kids were in bed half an hour early in order to allow their bodies to lie in an extended, relaxed and, obvi, prone stasis so that the process of carotenosis could develop fully on their skin.

Because beta carotene is a terpenoid that derives from isoprene units. So it's very lipophilic. Which means, in order for carotenemia to establish itself, it needs 8-10 hours in a dark, cozily warm environment that doesn't keep coming downstairs asking Mommy for a drink of water... or a special stuffed animal... or if they can read just one more chapter of their book...or if....

And then? (deep sigh) All through the house not a creature was stirring because the children were too busy trying to turn into human carrots and I was watching the newest episode of Sherlock. Blissfully uninterrupted.



*She said in her best Alferd Packer imitation. Which also comes in song form.

Apparently The Seahawks Are A Big Deal? Huh. I Wonder What Benjamin Franklin Thinks About That.

Progression of a Football Fan
Specifically, On Friday, January 17, 2014

Now With All! New! Time! Stamps!

3:04:58

Arrive at Katie's school. Wonder why the kids are all shouting about "peacocks". Because, from where I stand in the parent pick up amoeba mob, I saw, like, zero teachers dressed in peacock costumes running around the playground being chased by students who had racked up 100+ hours of independent reading time. Which was disappointing, because that would have been awesome.

3:05:15

Realize that they kids are actually chanting about the Seahawks after spotting a teacher dressed in a football costume wearing a 12th man cape. (Note to self: Ask the Internets why only 11 people are allowed to play football. Plus: What's the historical football symbolism behind the quantity "12"?) 

3:05:47

Pat myself on the back for remembering that the Seahawks is the name of our professional football team. That play in a stadium. With a ball. And helmets. On a field of green. 

3:06:55

Search the Internets on my phone to see when the "Big Game" that everyone seems excited about is going to be aired. 

3:07:09

Notice that the game is scheduled to be performed on Sunday, at the same time the Family Folk Dance is supposed to be at the local community center. Think, "Dude! No wonder Jon isn't excited about going to the dance! He probably just wants to watch the football game!" 

3:08:01

Consider not only letting Jon off the hook about the Family Folk Dance but also staying home with the girls, making popcorn, and watching the game. As a family! Because maybe we should support our team? Plus there'd be popcorn....

3:08:39

Smile, in sportsman like solidarity, at one of the other mom's in Katie's class. Go Hawks!

3:08:52

Eyes brighten as she tells me, a FELLOW FOOTBALL ENTHUSIAST, about how she got a 12 cent coffee just for wearing blue and green to Starbucks.

3:10:11

Look down at my pants and wonder if the random Crayola marker swirls Ellie "accidentally" got all over my jeans would count as wearing our teams colors.  

3:10:45

Discard idea as silly and, really, an insult to our helmeted warriors in blue and green. Come up with a better idea. 

3:11:03

Map all the Starbucks on my phone because, Dude! $0.12 COFFEE!!! And, obviously because THE SEAHAWKS ARE BEASTLY AWESOME!

3:12:13

Plan a run for tomorrow morning in which I deck myself out in neon green compression socks and blue running shirt, and, with my running belt full of change, stop at each and every single Starbucks within a five mile radius, like my own caffeinated version of a pub run. But way cooler because eventually I'd buy myself a scone. Because they look like little pastry footballs. Of sugary goodness. Start chanting SEA! HAWKS! SEA! HAWKS! Silently. In my own head. Hopefully.

3:13:00

Casually ask fellow mom and, obviously, rabid Seahawk fan, if the 12 cent coffee deal goes on all weekend. Which, yes, I could look up on my phone, but, obviously, the Seahawks fandom is all about TOGETHERNESS and TEAMWORK!

3:13:29

Incredulously, indignantly and with thoroughness I douse my newly ignited Seahawk fan spark with a carafe of home brewed coffee. Literally. By which I mean figuratively. Because, according to the strangely overly enthusiastic football fan I was standing next to at parent pick up, the 12 cent coffee is a one day deal.

And now, on Superbowl Sunday Saturday Fri- Sunday (probably), when the Seahawks charge onto that field of green, I will be there, raising my home brewed cup of coffee high, in symbolic paraphrase of Benjamin Franklin's famous proverb:

For want of a 12 cent cup of coffee the fan was lost, 

for want of a fan the team was lost;

and for want of a team the game was lost; 

being overtaken and slain by the enemy,

all for want of care about a 12 cent cup of coffee.

            -The Way to Wealth (1758)

And then I will drink my coffee. While staring down the Seahawks fandom through the whole nine innings.

And that's a promise.

Well, you know, unless I'm at the community center folk dancing my boots off. Because there's no way you could combine the awesomeness of folk-

Wait a minute.

google google youtube internets

DUDES! I'M BACK IN!

January and Me? We're Like Hamilton and Burr, Elizabeth and Mary, Ahab and Moby, Milli Vanilli and That Skipping Recording; One Of Us Is Goin' Down

This morning? I finally pulled my lazy butt out of bed in the wee hours of the pre-dawn darkness to do one of the "gosh darn it just make your fat jiggle workouts" "good enough workouts" I had pinned on PinINterest. Which was completely necessary, because, it's January and I'm in a funk and my running has squeaked to a standstill. Again. And, doing a sequence of jumping jacks, crunches, squats and Russian twists in my cold, dank, windowless basement was the best way to raise my spirits, obviously. Except, it was still all overcast, cold and rainy when I was done.

Stupid January.

So, if you see me about the neighborhood later today, head low, rain boot shod feet slogging through the puddles, Ellie skipping ahead under her clown fish umbrella, feel free to join me, because it's likely that I'm totally playing this game I made up after my two week visit to the southwest entitled, "You Don't Need This In Arizona!"

But, I have to warn you, Ellie is quite good at it.

Me: (mumbling, scowling, sighing... being all around cantankerous, about to yell at some kids to "GET OFF MY LAWN!" in a minute.) Umbrellas. You don't need stupid umbrellas in Arizona. Or stupid raincoats. Or stupid rain boots. Or-
Ellie: (her perpetually happy three year old voice fluttering up from underneath her umbrella) Oh! I know Mommy!
Me: (pausing my scowling but continuing to shiver inside my wool sweater and raincoat) Yeah?
Ellie: I know something you don't need in Arizona!
Me: What?
Ellie: (triumphantly) PANTS! (and then she danced down the sidewalk, her sparkly purple tutu swinging cheerfully over her pink rain pants, while singing a song she just made up about raindrops)

Dude, it's like she doesn't even appreciate a good curmudgeony wallow when she sees one.

NEWLY UPDATED!!: Indiana Jones ACTION FIGURE! Now With More Phrases!

In honor of the holiday season I made this video with the naked Indiana Jones action figure I found at the salon while waiting for the kids to get their hair cut.

But, since I run a family blog, I made him put his clothes on first.




And, obviously,  by 'in honor of the holiday season' I mean, "Dang! Do you know how much stuff I still have to get done!?!"

UPDATE:
Apparently Indiana Jones hates Apple products, and possibly all technological mobile devises, which, let's face it makes him even awesomer than he was before, so, I'll just leave the video link right here.

Holiday Office Party Survival Tips You Can Actually Use

You know what's not useful? Lists people post on the Internet around the holidays entitled "How to Survive The Office Christmas Party in 12 Easy Steps". First off, 12 is way too big of a number of steps for my caffeine* ravaged brain to handle. Second, they all seem to offer useless advice like "You have to go" and "Ask people questions" or, my favorite, "Don't photocopy your butt", because, Dude, hasn't every sitcom in the world addressed this party faux pas like a thousand times? So, I'm making my own list.  Because it's Christmas, and I stupidly followed all those bossy people on the Internet's first tip of "You have to go" and attended Jon's work party last weekend, and, really, what else was I supposed to do there?

Rule #1: Dress fancy.

And fancy has rules. Apparently. For instance, items on the "approved fancy list": 1) your grandmother's art deco necklace, 2) dresses you didn't buy in 1999, 3) heels.  On the other hand, items on the "not approved fancy list": 1) the comfy sweater your aunt knitted your grandpa in 1972, 2) your jumping jack Santa pin you've had since you were six, 3) TURKEY! hats, 4) anything you wore to the holiday party last year, 5) running shoes. In other words, I had to go shopping this year. Because Mabel, Geraldine and Belinda made me.

Rule #2: Brush up on your baby sign language.
This is especially useful if it's one of those lame office parties with like, music and a dance floor and stuff, because communicating to your spouse that "shoes hurt" and "want cookie"  is a lot less embarrassing if you don't have to yell.

Rule #3: Wear a slip.
Seriously, get one, even if you have to rip the last slip JC Penney has on their shelves out of a 90 year old woman's hands.  Because, eventually, sometime during the night it will totally cover your butt.  Literally.  Because of science. And wool coats. And because, inevitably, the restroom will be located on the complete other side of the bar. Where all the people are. That you have to walk past.  Because of science again, or really psychology, which is "almost real science" according to Jon.

Rule #4: Pack extra panty hose.
Also, I shouldn't even have to say this, but, it's totally true.  Because you never know.  

Rule #5: Bring one of those over the door restroom hooks.
Because washing your hands with your purse, coat and scarf clenched between your knees while balancing on three inch heels is hard.  Plus, when women walk into the restroom to find you splayed against the wall, heels askew, coat dropped on the floor, scarf between your teeth, giggling, and insisting "I haven't even had my one glass of wine yet!" they totally don't believe you.  At. All.

I did think about making my list all even and adding a Rule #6 about how to converse easily with people you don't know in holiday party situations. But, after spending the night making socially awkward hand gestures, mooning everyone, and finding myself practically sprawled on the restroom floor, it was probably best the DJ was too busy bustin' the Christmas tunes to really have a chance to engage people in conversation, so we left. Plus, it was like 9:30 and the coffee carafe was empty. Strangely enough.

*Fun fact: I only drank coffee in actual coffee shops before I had kids.  So, if you think about it, having kids basically drove me to drink.

UPDATE: Teach Your Children Well, Because We All Know I Didn't Learn It The First Time Around

I was never very good at math. In fact, teeeeechnically, if you insist on using a traditional grading system,  I never learned my 6, 7, and 8 multiplication facts. And I only passed my 9s because my best friend taught me that finger trick, which, has seriously, been invaluable in my day to day life. And really, I'm not sure how I actually passed third grade math, let alone earned a college diploma in Elementary Education that says I'm competent enough to teach the subject.  So, you can imagine my absolute delight when on the day of my marriage to Jon I realized that not only did I marry a pretty awesome guy (yadda, yadda, insert heart warming mushy gushy stuff here) BUT I now had my own live in human calculator! The bliss! The joy! Never to have to figure out how much to tip a server again! Never have to add fractions while doubling recipes! Percentages! Areas! Averages! Means! Exponential Models! Periods of a periodic function! Directrixations of parabolas! FOCAL RADII! The idea of all that bonus marital mathematical freedom was absolutely intoxicating!

And short lived.

Because, apparently, Jon doesn't appreciate random equations being verbally lobbed into his "internal intellectual space". He also doesn't appreciate it when I try to pass off phrases I make up, like "internal intellectual space" for example, as something he's said. However, if I've learned anything in this past decade plus of marriage, it's that it's all about compromise. Jon.

I'm sure you can imagine, and sympathize with, the awkward social situations I have had to, literally, struggle through these past years. And, no, your imagination is not exaggerating, it has been that bad. But, then, at the store yesterday, as I was hoisting on my grocery filled backpack (with a very womynly grunt)  and wondering how heavy it was and dreading the tediousness of all the math I would have to do by myself when I got home, adding up the weight of each and every item, I realized, dude, this is what I had kids for!

So, when Katie got home from first grade, I had this SUPER FUN MATH PROJECT waiting for her on the kitchen table:

Mommy and Eleanor went to the store to buy groceries.  When mommy checked out and loaded all the groceries in her backpack she said, "MAN! This backpack must weigh 637 pounds!" Was mommy right?  If not, how heavy was her backpack? Use the table to solve the problem. 

And, with a smile, that girl sat down at the table and totally figured it out!   

Dudes. I'm soooo getting that human calculator!


UPDATE:
You know the old saying, "A calculator doesn't make you smarter, just prettier"? Let's just say, I used a calculator to check Katie's work and my eyes looked completely amazing while doing so. My hair was shiny and bouncy too.