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Oh the endless drudgery of teeth brushing, when will it ever end?
<<< SHAZAM! >>>
Well all I can say is thank god for that. Because I don't know about you, but I can't wait to insert a little bit of Queen PHYSICALLY INTO MY SKULL.
I think I need to go lie down now.
One of my poor, beleaguered husband Jamie's longest-standing complaints about me (and ohmygod, believe me there are many, since after all he's married TO ME) is that I am incapable of accepting criticism. That I can't hear a constructive critique regarding anything related to me or the things I do without almost immediately retreating into some kind of prickly, defensive posture. And when he points this out to me, I generally reply with something along the lines of “HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO ME, YOU HATEFUL SWINE! WE'RE GETTING A DIVORCE!” Because, you know, I have this problem.
Whoever came up with this ad has quite clearly been living my life:
So, so good (and so on-the-money).
EDIT: Speaking of good advertising, Danny from Dad Gone Mad just hepped me to this video ad, which is (in a wholly different way from the Volvo advert) totally amazing.
This was not the bestest of weekends, folks.
Mostly because I spent the majority of it horizontal on our couch, physical incapacitation courtesy of one nasty UTI. Which, because I'm about as dense as Christmas fruitcake, I was clued in to having only once I'd reached the code-red state of having to piss every two minutes (give or take a minute), with an accompanying sense that someone was mercilessly ramming several thin steel rods into the lower portion of my spine. Yeah, that finally got my attention. Like, durr.
Yes indeedy my friends, there is a pattern here: it involves the detailing of my burgeoning decrepitude as I speed furiously toward death. Wheee! And with my competitive spirit still intact as it is, I will surely beat all of you to that particular finish line. HA! I win! I wi-- oooooh. Umm, nevermind. cough.
Coors Light.
“If you gave me a car made of diamonds and blowjobs all day I still wouldn't drink that beer.”
More hilarity hither.
As part of my New Year, New Me, Get Off Your Ass And Get Healthy Program (patent and trademark pending) -- or NYNMGOYAAGHP for short -- I have, among other things, taken to eating as God and Nature originally intended. Meaning: of the earth, of the expensive whole foods, ruthlessly excising-- much as a surgeon would a cancerous, pus-filled tumor -- all edibles from my diet that are processed, sugarified, or otherwise manufactured and nutritionally unholy. Well, with the possible single exception of Rold Gold Tiny Twists Pretzels. Because jesus christ people, I may be strong, but I'm not a fucking superwoman.
Rold Gold Tiny Twists are my sole nutritional weakness. My tiny, twisted dietary achilles heel, if you will.
Oh wait, I guess it can. Hey, did you guys know that Elton John's music is “really gay”? And FRANK SINATRA NOOOOO! snort.
No backdoor. Heh. Geddit? Durrr...
And now, as a sort of self-cleansing ritual, I'm off to watch the first season of The L Word and and make out with my life-sized poster of Joan Jett. Poppers, anyone?
[via]
(I think the only way I'm going to be able to fight my way out of this writer's block is to write. Oddly enough. To just ignore the fact that all the words I choose grate on my nerves and feel wrong and inadequate and dumb. I can't just allow myself to remain stuck in the doldrums, to aid and abet what's clearly spiraling downward toward a more generalized, all-encompassing depression of some sort (and I know many of you are feeling this way, too, and it helps to know that... god, I hate this part of winter). So. Here goes...)
The other night, Jamie announced that he had a surprise gift to present to M_. And, of course, she plumb lost her mind at hearing this, anticipating chocolatey goodness, or something cute and fuzzy and animal-shaped, or perhaps even (dare she hope?) tickets to Disneyworld. But my husband, being who he is, instead offered her the following:
Continue reading "The Preschoolers Do Not Understand The Art" »
I'm sorry, but I have nothing to say. My mind? Empty. And whenever I try to think of something clever or entertaining to say, my brain kind of starts to shudder and spin and my insides flood with liquid panic... because not a single, solitary word comes to me. I got nuthin'. A big, fat ZERO.
So I may be MIA until I get this whole, err, not-having-anything-to-say thing worked out. I'll keep you apprised.
But saaaay, did you guys know that the beautiful and brilliant (and famous! and, like, a real writer! of actual books!) Jen from Jennsylvania is now writing over at Mamapop? And that she just wrote this freakin' GENIUS post recapping last evening's television viewing in haiku? Why don't you go read that, huh?
For a good friend of mine who is going through a rough patch at the moment, with much love.
So you've probably gotten the sense by now that my little girl is something of a performer and a ham. Well last night she actually requested that I videotape her rendition of this song, asking me to use “the camera with the pictures that move.” Which sort of sounds like something an elderly grandmother might say. “Go get that moving pictures camera... and tell those kids to off my lawn while you're at it!”
Anyway, as you'll soon see, she's something like an elderly four-year-old lady with just a touch of The Alzheimers.
Early yesterday morning, as I was scurrying out the door to take M_ to preschool, I caught sight of something in our front garden that took me just a wee bit by surprise: a huge, brown bear.
Hi! I'm Number One on the Threat-Down! Pleased ta meetcha! Oh, and RAAAWR!
Continue reading "The Curious Incident Of The Bear In The Day-Time" »
Because I love projects for project's sake, I'm utterly enraptured by Secret Agent Josephine's Gumball The Kitten, and the related flickr group. I foresee Gumball going on many exciting adventures with my family in the near future. And I foresee many resultant photo posts. Yes, that's right: YOU TOO WILL LOVE GUMBALL THE KITTEN, BY THE TIME I'M DONE BLUDGEONING YOU WITH HIS LIKENESS.
![We [heart] Gumball The Kitten!](http://farm1.static.flickr.com/164/359787214_0efd8c11d5_m.jpg)
Continue reading "Gumball The Kitten Takes Over Her Heart" »
My friends, the toothy damage, she is done. But its nothing that a prescription for Vicodin can't fix. Apparently.
Wheeeeeeee!
But more of my root canal trials and tribulations later... In the interim, please join me over at ye olde Mamapop tonight roundabout 8pm for some good old fashioned liveblogging of The Golden Globes, which promises to be a fabulous spectacle of flash over substance that even those not pumped full of narcotics will appreciate (though -- and this probably goes without saying -- the drugs DO help. Wheeee!). Be there or be, like, L7, dudes.
Oh, and did I mention? WHEEEEEE!
I have a terrible, foreboding sense that once I run out of painkillers I'm going to be in for a mighty, painful crash. But in the meantime? EVERYTHING IS BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE EVERYBODY.
I know. Enjoy this while it lasts. I sure am. [Stifles superfluous “Whee!”]
I'm being punished. I don't know by whom, or why, but that I'm being punished is clearly the case.
Wednesday started off at a crippled, limping pace. I'd just spent three days nursing my child back to pre-Pink Eye levels of health, and felt completely washed-out, burnt-out, and out-of-sorts. As I sat at my desk in front of the computer, letting the warm flow of information from the interwebs wash over me, I shifted my jaw slightly and felt this weird, well, crunch. Funny, there was something in my mouth. And I hadn't been eating. WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON IN THERE?
I pushed my tongue around and fished out the object. It was a frighteningly large piece of tooth.
And here's where the fun begins.
Continue reading "The 'Oh My God I'm In So Much Pain I Could Die' Post" »
Dear Neal,
Let me begin by saying that I love me some McSweeney's. And that, for the most part, I've enjoyed the various literary products authored by McSweeney's writers like yourself. However, all that aside, I feel confidant in saying that I am not alone in feeling rubbed just a wee bit the wrong way by your present “Alternadad” shtick. Please allow me to explain.
Continue reading "AlternaWHA? (An Open Letter To Neal Pollack)" »
Oh yes, it is indeed that time of year again... the time of year when I humbly ask ya'll to show yourself, say howdy, or just plain SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING. NO, REALLY. Yes, its National Delurking Week, and so all you strong, silent types should put up and stop shutting up. Because really, how can I love you if I don't even know your name?
I KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE. I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.
But wait -- here, I'll even give you an (optional) topic upon which to comment: Pick ONE of the following, and tell me your answer:
1. The best book you read in 2006
2. The best movie you saw in 2006
3. The best album you bought in 2006
4. The best ____ you ____ed in 2006 (keep it clean, people)
...and why this thing was The Awesomest. Okay? Ready? GO!
In can't-catch-a-break news: the Pink Eye, she hath again cometh. And is it just me, or is my kid sick, like, every-other-week now? I mean, is this even normal? Oh sure, I know that preschoolers are basically just walking sacs of festering pestilence, but seriously, this is getting ridiculous. WE ARE DRAINING LOCAL MARKETS OF TISSUES AND ANTIBACTERIAL HAND GEL. SITUATION CRITICAL. PLEASE ADVISE.
One deeply discounted Scooba floor washing robot: $190
Irritation at having to move all our floor-level crap out of the kitchen before letting Scooba loose: Mild
Noise of working Scooba as it scours: Average shrill vacuum cleaner-level
Not having to ever wash our floors again myself: Priceless
Hydrangea buds in our garden... Someone needs to be reminded: its January (though our weather forecast here in Baltimore is calling for temperatures in the low 70s this weekend, so I suppose I can't blame our leafy friends for being confused).
PS: This is the beginning of the earlier promised bludgeoning-you-with-my-new-macro-lens hell. You have been warned.
As seen from our front porch tonight.
(You will be excused for hearing strains of that infernally omnipresent OK Go song in your head upon reading this post's title.) (Because I'm just that generous.) (And parenthetical.)
A newsflash of sorts: my inaugural post is up over at Styledash! So head on over! Say hello! Leave a comment of love and support (if the spirit moves, of course)! Question my editor's comma insertions! (Kidding... No really, don't do that. Please.) Visit now, and visit often! Woo-hoo!
EXCLAMATION! POINT!
Sirrrrously though, this is a sweet-ass gig. I'm the luckiest bitch alive, the end.
Just had to quickly share this: M_ has been weirdly obsessed with the image from this Threadless T-shirt for the past month (she caught me looking at it on my laptop, and completely lost her proverbial shit over it). As in, its become one of her stock jokes (“Honey?”) and the image itself is now installed as the desktop wallpaper on her computer. So it was almost like Christmas had come again this afternoon when our mailperson delivered this:
I think that smile says it all, man.
PS: And now I bring to you one of my patented, wholly unrelated and totally random edits (shut up, you know you love it): have ye beheld Bloggy McBlog Blog yet? Its a guddun, folks. I can't wait until next Monday... and the Monday after that... and the Monday after that... [Thanks, John!]
There's nothing quite like coming back home after a week away to force you to come to grips with the reality that your life is all kinds of fucked up and desperately in need of some serious tending. Like, you suddenly see how living with piles of clean (and dirty) clothes stacked in unstable, Devil's Tower-like piles about your bedroom probably isn't the most expedient (let alone hygienic) way to live. The clutter and dustbunnies crowd about you, taunting you with their tangible, suffocating actuality, for scattering among them you see the sum of your domestic failures laid bare... and oh my god, have you even LOOKED in the fridge lately? Its jelly-dribbled filth is not for the faint at heart, my friends.
So while I attempt to dig myself out of this anxiety attack (as well as out from underneath the ginormous pile of about 400 magazines I have blocking one entire side of our bed upstairs (NOT KIDDING)... UGH), here's some photos taken by M_ during our trip to Rehoboth Beach, DE last week using her new-fangled kid-friendly digital camera (a most excellent xmas present from my Aunt Elaine):
Oh, THE POWER.
Continue reading "Preschooler + Digital Camera = INSANITY" »
I can't think of anything that could start 2007 off on a better foot than this video of a conversation with Stephen Colbert (out of character) at Harvard:
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I'm an imperfect Gen-X Parental Unit from Baltimore. I believe in early afternoon cocktails, the greatness of Jon Stewart, and that being a smartass is a virtue. More about me...
