The Philadelphia...Tale?

No...The Philadelphia...Recap?

The Philadelphia...Essay?

The Philadelphia...Roman a Clef?

Aaah...darn it...there's a perfect title in there SOMEWHERE...just can't think of what it could be.

Anyhoo...

Friday: Day One of The Trip to see Erin, Ben, and their new little baby boy, whom we shall refer to as The Bean.

Day one was also, sadly, Day Two, if-ya-know-whad-I-mean. (How is Day Two, after two months with none of those days whatsoever? It is MIND-BOGGLINGLY BAD AND DISGUSTING, as it turns out. Thanks for asking!)

I flew out on Friday morning through Houston. Uneventful. I fell asleep with my magazines on my lap, and the nice young man sandwiched next to me had to pick them up. At least once.

Erin and the Bean picked me up at the airport that afternoon, and I spent a lovely evening staring at the baby - who is utterly worth losing oneself in, take it from me - and thenceforth walking with the family to a fabulous neighborhood pub. I was forced into having a ginormous cheese steak with fries, plus several beers, as we watched the Phillies take a loss on their path to pennant victory over the hated Mets. Loverly. (Not the Phillies part. That was apparently a bad thing. I, not liking my chances otherwise in the bar-full-o'-fans, elected to assume the role of Phillies devotee myself.)

So, this pretty much sums up Friday (I didn't get one of the steak):


Saturday: Outstanding day. Blue sky, seventy-something degrees, happy baby, lots of coffee. We roused ourselves out of the house at the crack o' noon, and upon my vague requests to see something "old! And historic-y! But not the places I've already seen! (Independence Hall, Liberty Bell, etc.) And outside! And some actual fall! Like leaves and stuff!" Erin and Ben elect to head to Valley Forge.

Valley Forge is entirely beautiful. It's a big state park, but really well within the bounds of Philly proper. It's hilly, and green, with tons of trees and wild animals. (We saw approximately one skillion deer, and at least one fox.) I think most people who actually live there go there to walk the very nice exercise trails, but we waited for the park ranger to deliver his little tour/spiel combo about Washington, the Continental Army, and the famous winter that they spent there. And, Erin even talked me into sitting for the storytelling lady's story. It was very interesting, about a Quaker woman named Lydia Darragh who sort of accidentally became a spy for the Continental Army, which resulted in the Quakers - staunch pacifists and not-take-siders that they were - kicking her out of the religion.

We also saw the Musket Guy do a talk about...well, muskets. It was cool. He shot it.

Replica huts. Real hot(ties):

And, Erin and Ben. Don't know what he's doing behind her.


That night, Erin and Ben indulged me in a bit of Austin-ness...I cooked up two kinds of enchiladas - one batch of chile/chocolate mole, with some dried chiles and Mexican chocolate from Central Market, and one batch of green chile/sour cream, or "suiza" enchiladas. Served with refried black beans and homemade tortilla chips...it was a big, greasy, mess o'Texas, right there in their lovely kitchen.

Of course, we also had margaritas with fresh lime juice...it would have been illegal not to do so, I believe...and, as Erin didn't have a shot glass, the resounding cry of "Of COURSE a quarter-cup measure will do!" echoed around her lovely 1930's home. Several of those later - and at three in the morning - Erin and I somehow managed to find our beds. I think. No, no, I'm almost positive.



Lovely house with pretty tree. I was like a week too early for fall. But, look! That tree, it's kind of reddish-hued!

Sunday: Girls in the City day. (No Sex in the City. Day Four, plus mother of a new baby? Hello?) Erin and I headed into town on the train. I saw her lovely office, and we spied on an open-house tour of her old, single-girl apartment, which was entirely fabulous and way too cool for me.) We had the most incredible gelato ever - Olive Oil! Seriously! - and then a lovely dinner at a small Italian bistro.

Here's me at Independence Hall, thinking "Olive oil gelato?"


Saturday night, Erin provided me with perhaps the biggest indulgence of the trip...she bought tickets for, and hauled my ass to, the King Tut exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum. On the LAST DAY. Of an exhibition that has hosted ONE POINT THREE MILLION PEOPLE. AT 8:30 PM, which was the EARLIEST time we could GET IN.

Things did not look good for us when we got in. Within five minutes, two people had treated us crappily. It was crowded, and we were still feeling the margaritas and the late hour of the night before. (A quarter cup, for future reference, is MORE THAN one shot.) We got there early at my behest, and of course they wouldn't let us in before our scheduled cattle chute entrance time.

Sullen, heads throbbing, we looked vainly for something to do that wouldn't involve us getting into a fistfight. And...lo and behold, there arose a tented mecca, temporarily erected in the middle of the museum, for pissed-off tourists: Tut's Oasis, from whence you can purchase such delights as the "Tutini." Pictured below are the "Blue Nile" and the "Nefertini," respectively:


These lovely, overpriced confections with the absurd names, coupled with a smiling waiter who was only barely suppressing a laugh during our entire time there, saved the evening. We gamely shuttled through Tut - really, really fascinating and incredible, and of course horrifically crowded - and ran back for our train home.

Sunday: A leisurely walk, a lovely lunch, a stop by the awesome hoagie/cheese steak place for three more sandwiches and two slices of pizza for The Man, and then the flight home. I pass out during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I lose the pizza on the plane, and one of the sandwiches mysteriously doesn't make it home.

Today: Back at work. This greeted me as I picked it up from school:


Cute? Yes! Disgusting? Most certainly! (Do you like the filthy street urchin-slash-"princess" dichotomy?)

Leaving, coming home...it's all good.

Thanks for a great weekend, E, B, and Bean. Can't wait to reciprocate in Austin. (But, no promises on seventy degrees, unless you come in like February. Then, it could be ninety; could be twenty.)

Austin Ho!

Back. Fat. Tired.

Even my back fat is tired.

Will post after my cheese-steak swollen fingers are better able to type...

East Bound and Down

I'm off for a long weekend, folks. (Just me, the rest of 'em are staying home. We wonder in what condition the house will be in when we get back. We really, really do.)

Can you guess where I'm going?



Wait, I'll give you some more hints...



What, you still don't know? OK, one last one:

Oops... that's David Boreanaz naked. My bad. How'd that one get in there?

Oh, wait...I know!

He's from....PHILADELPHIA!

Another Suburban Family Morning...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Mags Hartman! Mags Hartman!

So, I went to the gynecologist yesterday to find out why Aunt Flo is nearly two weeks overdue.

No, I'm not pregnant. As it turns out, I am actually a WIZENED OLD CRONE.

I mean, I found out that I was perimenopausal a year ago, but I wasn't really thinking that it would, you know, begin to GO AWAY all that fast. (To quote the inestimable Michael Palin from Holy Grail, "I'm 37! I'm not OLD!")

Sigh.

You know, I always used to watch those old comedy shows - "Soap," "Maude," "All in the Family," and the like, and they were always making jokes about women and taking "the hormones."

Though I got the gist of the jokes then, I didn't really laugh at them. But now - now, I'm sure I would find all that humor just freakin' hysterical. Yes, folks, I'm now on the estrogen.

Hey, you kids, stop all that racket! I gotta go take my hormones, 'lessen I go crazy.

Things You Need To Know RIGHT NOW

First:
For those of you who are committed to going to ACL Fest next year - or for those like me who are looking for an excuse not to be so fucking old and tired and lame all the time - at their website, they are taking names for a lottery-style chance at buying $50 tickets for next year.

You have to do it pretty quickly after they notify you, so I guess you have to be pretty convinced that you either a) want to go, or b) can sell your tickets to someone next year if you don't. Probably the last one is a safe bet, especially if you're only asking for what you paid for them.

(Note...if that link to the ACL fest doesn't work, you may have to sign up to be on their e-mail list before you get the chance to enter.)


Second:
It is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Darrrr!


Third:
I learned that, if one wants to, one can buy perfume that smells like a woman's va-jay-jay. (And, um, if it weren't already fairly evident, don't click on this link at work.)

And that is all.

A conversation with the OG yesterday

We were sitting at the table, having lunch, alternately eating and reading, as we are wont to do.

OG (suddenly, out of nowhere, snickering slightly): "I can see your boobs."

Me (in a sleeveless top and jog bra, replying wittily): "Huh?"

OG: "I can see your boobs. That means 'armpits.'"

Me: "Errrm...no, it doesn't."

OG: "Then what does it mean?"

Me: "Errrm...it means 'breasts.'"

OG (pensively, with a look of slowly dawning comprehension): "Oh."

Me: "But that is NOT a term you use with your teachers, grandparents, or other authority figures, OK?"

OG: "OK. But I still see your armpits."

Me: "Duly noted."

Not At ACL Fest

Hello, I'm Mags, and I'm not at the Austin City Limits Music Festival.

I'm not seeing Dylan, or Crowded House, or Bjork, the Killers, Reverend Horton Heat, the Arctic Monkeys, Robert Earl Keen, The Decemberists, Spoon, Yo La Tengo, Steve Earle, Raul Malo, or Arcade Fire.

And, though I sound it, I'm not particularly bitter. It was hot, expensive, and - the presence of The Jelly Dots notwithstanding - not particularly kid friendly. (See "hot." And "expensive.")

But - as in the previous "If I Were at South By Southwest" post - I do reserve the right to daydream about the bands that I WOULD have seen. And to make a mental "fantasy schedule" of the whole three-day festival.

Sad and lame? Yes. But at least I know I'm sad and lame. Which makes it OK, and much hipper than being sad and lame AND uninformed about how sad and lame I am.
__________________________
At some point within the last month, YG has become a completely-formed three-year-old, shrieking temper tantrums at all. I thought I had skipped this phase with this one, but apparently not.

The upside of all this is that OG has realized that she has suddenly graduated to the status of the "less stressful" child. And she is pretty damned gleeful about it, let me tell you. When I'm hauling YG off for a time-out because she's having a wall-eyed screaming fit about the amount of milk in her bowl of Cream of Wheat, it is all the OG can do to not dance about the living room in joy.

Though I admonish her for taking pleasure in her sister's pain, it's pretty damned funny, I have to admit.
___________________________
So, I'm making 10th anniversary plans, for me and The Man, already. They're very exciting and secret. And perhaps premature, since it's not until next June. A lot can happen in 9 months. (But not THAT. I hope. Anything going on down there yet? Helloooo?)

In that amount of time, he could totally ditch me for some hot, beer-and-track-and-field-loving, politically far-left-wing, mass-transit-espousing, Tina-Fey-looking chick with perkier breasts and less ass fat.

But, hey, dude? If you do, then you won't get to do this kick-ass anniversary thing with me. So think about THAT, why don't you, you cheating bastard!

Things I Cannot Live Without Right Now

• Flight of the Conchords
• Freshly made peanut butter - PARTICULARLY the "Honey Roasted Peanut Butter" from Whole Foods. Damn you, Weight Watchers! (shakes pudgy fist in the air)
  
• The oddly compelling video for the (lovely) Shins song "Phantom Limb"
• 
  
• Morning Edition
• My cell phone (which has been missing for five days now, and is presumed stolen, according to my phone company. DAMMIT!)
• Double, half-caf, skim-milk lattes from Sorrento's on Anderson Lane in Austin
• New TV seasons of Heroes, The Office, My Name is Earl, and 30 Rock
• Reasonably nice EVOO
• Burt's Bees Evening Primrose Overnight Cream
• My new, super-comfortable-but-good-for-work, slate-greyish-silver, short-heeled, open-toe-but!-fine-for-fall-'cause-hey!-it's-Texas! - Josef Seibel "Zina" sandals from Nordstrom
• Various soundtracks from musicals (e.g. Godspell, Evita, Rocky Horror,) played at top volume in my car, ven I vant to be ALONE
• The big, juicy pluots that they've been selling at Central Market the past few weeks
• Aveda Lip Glaze in melon. I've decided that lipstick ages me. It makes me look like I'm in my late thirties.
  
• Eddie Bauer jeans, hemmed (thanks, Connie!) because I'm apparently somewhere between a "regular" and a "tall." Wear with snug-fitting "boob shirt."
  
• My period, which I never thought I'd be happy to see. (You scamp; you're getting so unpredictable these days! First I see you every two weeks, and now it's been six, and nothing! And Mr. EPT says no, no, no...so, where are you?)

(insert clever title here)

Jeez...what on earth did I do with my weekend? I swear to GOD, and I am not exaggerating AT ALL, that if I DON'T write this shit down, it is GONE from my head by the next week. Just gone.

I am sure that the aluminum in my anti-perspirant is giving me Alzheimer's Disease. Sadly, I am DOUBLY sure that just using hippie-dippy Tom's Deodorant is going to ruin my career and every one of my friendships.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I was moaning about being sick on Friday. (I can't believe I forgot to mention my Marky Mark lookalike gutter man who came over on Friday. I must have been sick. I must say, when he was working on my roof with his shirt off, I was tempted to use one of those lines that I'm sure many a bored housewife has used on him. "Hey, you. Can you come tend MY gutter?")

Saturday:

9:50 AM - Went to YG's first music class with her on Saturday morning, snuffling and coughing. It was cute, all the little three-year-old girls dancing and singing little songs with the charming French music teacher. I enjoyed myself, but am feeling anxiety that I now have the responsibility to ensure that yet another child does her homework.

10:30 AM - Ran to see 15 minutes of OG's soccer game. Still the fastest on her team; still hanging back in the backfield. The Man has angst about this. (I try to let him own this one.)

12:30 PM - I refused to succumb to my cold, and went out on the Leftover Bobnoxious Birthday Dregs Party Barge Party Part 2 on Saturday. (Damn if I was going to miss another trip to the lake due to illness. I would have gone even if I had been bleeding from both ears.) Tylenol Allergy Sinus and cheap box wine saved the day. I have a great time. Later on, I have mysterious bruises and a nagging sense that I looked less than dignified hauling my tipsified ass up onto the boat, both of which confirm that I did indeed have a great time. (But my gauge of whether I drank TOO much - which is a horrible fear that I made out with someone not my husband - did not go off. So, yay for me.)

4:30 PM - back in the car. Listened to Mizzou kick Ole Miss's dixie butt on the satellite radio. Sweet.

5:00 PM - We race to Wonder Boy's birthday party. Poor OG, who has been making such enormous social progress, hit a snag with another guest, and I don't think she ever really got past it until the party was over. Though I was stressed at the time, I was very happy that she did not appear to be the instigator, and - honestly - I didn't think she was completely overreacting! For once, I was totally, and completely, empathetic with her - to the point that I even teared up a bit myself. (I believe that I have some old birthday party tears still lurking around the back corners of my psyche somewhere.) I think I decided, right then and there, that she's going to be OK in the world, and that I'm OK with her.

7:00 - Watch/listen to UT with The Man. They have a hard first half. I am secretly pleased. (I love The Man, and Austin, and even went there for grad school, but part of me hates the big UT monolith. I don't necessarily want them to lose all the time; I just want them to realize that they're a college, and not a fucking professional football team. And, I find it highly amusing that their fans start bitching and beating up on their team when they win.)

9:30 - Call my sister, wish her a happy birthday. Try to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with OG, but my voice has finally given up the ghost. Suck on the Liquid Benadryl teat. Watch 15 minutes of SNL before dropping into a stupor.

Sunday:

8:00 AM - Hoarse, slightly hung over. I drink several cups of coffee, but still make The Man fix me a cappucino. He makes the best foam. No, that's not a euphemism.

10:00 AM - Bill and Julie have us over for their daughter's four-year-old birthday party. Jokes are made about getting started drinking early. I am not amused; yea, I am in fact, slightly sickened by these jokes. I drink a whole lot of water and eat one more piece of pizza than Weight Watchers suggests is appropriate. Urg.

1:00 - I embark upon installing Elfa shelving to create a home office for the man. I invent a new slogan: "Elfa! It's cheaper than a divorce!" which is quickly modified to "Elfa! Where the fuck is that little bag of screws?"

7:00 - It's done, with only one trip back to The Container Store. It looks fabulous. I am an awesome wife. (Not so sure about being an awesome mother though. Can't remember at all what my kids were doing for those six hours.)

8:00 - kid bedtime. There, I can't be that bad; I did find them in time to put them to bed. So there.

9:00 - I watch the new HBO series, Tell Me You Love Me. I am more or less unimpressed. If I wanted to watch thirtysomething couples ragging at each other, well, then, I'd just go hang out with my friends. (Kidding! That's a joke. LAUGH, DAMMIT, LAUGH.) The main reason to watch appears to be "Are they really doing it or not?" To me, it appears that there may be prosthetics in play, but they're clearly doing enough to where it doesn't seem to matter. But it's really, really not erotic at all. It was weirdly depressing. I will give it two episodes, like I did "John From Cincinnati," but if nobody has smiled or made any more interesting conversational interjections than "I just don't know you!" by the end of the second episode, I'm done, full-frontal and junk viewings notwithstanding.

10:00 - Damnit, there's still laundry on the bed. Why is there always laundry on my bed on Sunday nights?

11:30 - I really need to go to bed earlier.

Monday:

6:00 - Jesus, school starts early.

7:17 - I try to open up a bottle of red nail polish to do a quick touch-up. The lid is stuck. I try to jimmy it open with a pair of nail scissors, and BAM - the neck of the bottle breaks. My hands, the sink, and the floor are covered with red nail polish. FLY. ING. FUCK. There is not enough nail polish remover in the house to deal with this. I suddenly sympathize with what serial killers go through when they have to clean up a crime scene. OG yells from the next room: "MOOOOM! IT's SEVEN SEVENTEEN! WE HAVE TO GO OR I'LL BE TAAARDY!"

7:22 - I take OG to school. My hands are still covered with red nail polish, and I stink of acetate. Yay, Monday!

7:30 - I decide it's not that bad. I go on to work. Maybe they'll just think it's dry-erase marker.

10:00 AM - I trip over the legs of a table and come down onto my knees on the tile floor. Hard. More large and unsightly bruises on my legs, now.

Rest of day: Reasonably uneventful. The Man likes his office. I am good on my diet. There's still fucking laundry on the bed.

10:00 - Stewart. Colbert. Bed.

11:00 - Oooh! Reno 911 is on! I haven't seen that in months!

12:00 - I really need to go to bed earlier.
----------------------------------------------
So...on this topic, I ask this: When do I get to pull a rock star, an Amy Winehouse, and get to take time off for "exhaustion?" Would someone send me to a spa if I developed a nasty drug habit?

Because, I can, if necessary! I'm already halfway to freebasing the Benadryl...

I'b sorry...

...but I cabn't post. Because I hab a bad cod. And I cabn't breathe.

And I just swigged four teaspoonsful of liquid Benadryl, so, night night, world. Night night, you stupid, stinky, germ-and-allergen-filled world.

*sniffle*

- Mabgs

Crank That, Soulja Boy!

Wait, not Soulja Boy....



um...Crank That...um, Tim, Kevin, and Blaine?

(And, am I odd that I think that they are just too cute?)

And so it begins...

This afternoon, on the drive home from school, OG was in a great mood, and was uncharacteristically forthcoming about the events of her day.

I, pleased, kept up a fairly lengthy conversation with her about who she was playing with now, who her friends are in the classroom, how she feels about boys ("Nothing!" was that answer, so we're good there for the moment,) that sort of thing.

She brought up the subject of the little girl - we'll refer to her as "Bella," for no other reason than she's pretty - that she's been OBSESSED with for two years, but who has never returned her feelings in a manner satisfactory to OG. The poor thing is just a quiet, shy little girl who I'm sure is completely freaked out by my in-your-face daughter. I'm glad they're not in the same class, now, but they still see each other on the playground.

Anyway, OG has decided that she totally hates Bella now. (Except when Bella decides to be nice to her, at which point OG would stomp a kitten in her mad rush to be by her side. But that's another matter.) Happily, OG and another girl - "Frieda," have bonded over their mutual hurt feelings from Bella, and they seem to have formed a friendship that was at first based on this, but that is now also because they identify as "tomboys" (the diametric opposite of Bella, who is very feminine).

I like all these girls, I will venture. It's not Bella's fault that my kid gets intensely fixated on people, and that she is not easily reasoned with. But I especially like OG and Frieda making friends, and I see in them the hope for a real, true, friendship for my girl, based on equal participation and trust rather than the whole "girl" experience, what with the backstabbing and friend-taking, and all that. But I digress.

Anyway, OG said today - and I have never used this word to her - "Bella has gone over to be on the popular team. Frieda and I hate the POPULAR team!"

I was briefly amused - I had no idea that it had become a team sport - but quickly saddened. I didn't remember that it started so young.

I mean, we talked a bit about it...I wondered what "popular" meant to her, and I think she defines it as "girly," as in the girls with painted fingernails and who wear dresses. (OG complained a bit about another girl, saying "She used to have normal fingernails, but now she paints them so that she can be with the populars.")

But, really, what was I to say? That this isn't real, that it is a false construct set up by insecure people? That women trying to prove themselves better than other women just serve the nefarious purposes of those who would keep us down? That her class, surely, would not divide into these subgroups, in this, the supposedly enlightened twenty-first century?

I didn't. I wish that I could have given her a lie that she would believe, for a little bit longer. Sadly, OG knows a dissembler when she sees one, and I just didn't have one in me.

Well, honey...I will tell you this; we, the non-populars, turned out to be not a bad subgroup, when it's all said and done. I like us. I always have.

My mantra for you, now and always: GET. THROUGH. HIGH. SCHOOL.

(And watch some Monty Python movies. Couldn't hurt your team any.)

--------------------------------
YG, on the other hand, appears destined for Cute Fairy Princess Girl School. (Todd helpfully pointed out that she is very reminiscent of Dawn Weiner's little sister in the tutu from "Welcome to the Dollhouse.")

The other day, I asked her if she wanted to get her hair cut short, like her sister's (and mine, for that matter). She replied, "No, I want it long like Ariel's. Princesses have long hair. I want to be able to do this " - at which point she tossed her head back and flipped her hair around with her hand, as if she were posing for the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated.

Fine. OG and I will reserve the right to mock her if she becomes a cheerleader, though.

Not to her face.

(OK, just a little bit to her face.)

The Mags List of Instructions for Your Life

It's Sunday...no, wait, it's Monday. But, it feels like Sunday, so it stands to reason that I'm feeling preachy.

Hey, everyone else has done it...I feel a sense of entitlement to do so as well. So, here 'tis: The Mags List of Life Lessons - Guaran-Goddamn-Teed to Make YOUR Life Worth Living.

Oh, and, you're welcome.

• People don't change. Oh, they'll quit habits, lose weight, get/lose religion, smooth out the rough edges of their personality, etc., but fundamentally, they don't change. And - more importantly - YOU will never change someone else. So, love, accept, even grit your teeth sometimes; but don't believe, for one second, that a person will change for you.
  

• Regarding marriages: See above. Don't expect anyone to change, and you will be happier. They will, too, knowing you accept them for exactly what they are. That's where all that trust stuff starts, you know?

• Also, regarding marriages: Try to have lots of sex, even if you think you don't want to, or you're too tired. I read somewhere that orgasms are self-perpetuating; the more you have, the more you will want...plus, they have the nice side-effect of creating a more relaxed and confident person in the daylight as well. So, if there's a stagnant spot here or there, get it moving - force the issue with yourself, if necessary - and it will get better with practice.

• For women: Don't sweat the porn issue. You know your man looks at it. It's OK. You have your fantasies, too, and that's all it is. He's not comparing their bodies to yours, and he doesn't want those women in his bed. (And, just a suggestion...if you will venture so far as to occasionally look at it with him, he will think you are totally scandalous and dangerous, and thus smokin' hot. Word.) I think - and this is my opinion only - that husbands viewing internet porn is the thing that we just have to accept, like the way previous generations accepted that men would visit prostitutes or have affairs with their secretaries. I don't know about you, but I'm better with it this way.
  

• For men: Don't sweat the "ex-boyfriend" issue. You know your wife has them. It's OK. She doesn't want them. I swear. Emotionally, physically, mentally, she made the vow to you, and she bloody well meant it. If there are thoughts of her past lurking in her head, they are just special memories, that she might pull out like a photo album from time to time. These have as much real, substantive meaning as your feelings toward that girl on that website you were looking at last night. (Hey, I have an idea...can we just consider these two issues a trade-off?) And - talk about your self-fulfilling prophecies - if you are more confident in your woman's love for you, that confidence radiates from you, and makes you more attractive to her. Thus, more trust, and more sex! (See above.)
  

• Try to eat something new, and listen to new music, at least once a month. I read a study somewhere that suggested that, if you have not tried something by the time you are 40, statistically speaking, it is highly unlikely that you will ever try it. Break that pattern. Stay interesting, even if it's only to yourself.

• Moderation, moderation, moderation. Except for occasionally. Which is FUN. (To quote the eminently succinct and correct Dr. Seuss: "If you don't/You should/These things are fun/And fun is good.")

• Go dancing. (Yes, men, I'm talking to you, too. The psychic penance you feel for possibly looking like a dork will be more than repaid by the happiness of your partner for getting out there with them.)

• Your kids - if you have them - are clearly your biggest responsibility in your life, and you must give them an enormous part of your being in order to raise them well. Do this - but do your utmost not to give short shrift to yourself and your relationships with your significant other and your friends. Resist being subsumed into their lives completely, or when they've moved out, you may be left with nothing.

• Don't be a hypocrite. Don't go screaming about family values if you're fucking another woman (or other men). Don't go on about the horrors of illegal immigration if you didn't screen that cheap roofing company's employee roster to make sure they all had green cards. People can handle your transgressions far better than your hypocrisy, and the cognitive dissonance in your brain will not clang as loudly.
  

• Along those lines, do your best not to judge others. That horribly behaved child in your kid's class may have a nightmarish family life. Same with that bitch in your office, or the guy that yelled at you in front of your boss. Sure, be angry; you're human. But just remember that there may be another story of which you are unaware.

• Your life is too short to hold on to hate or grudges. Learn from your mistakes, of course, and withdraw from "crazymakers." But, holding onto bad experiences in your heart is like sucking on poison. Try to let it go. Don't let your anger define you.
  

• Have animals in your life, in some way. Sometimes furry unconditional acceptance is the only kind you're going to get. (Even if that acceptance does admittedly smell pretty foul sometimes, and occasionally licks its anus prior to unexpectedly french-kissing you.)

and, last, but most certainly not least:

• Never, ever, underestimate the value of a good haircut and color. If you take nothing else away from this discussion, hear me on this, my children. If you are feeling down, get thee hence to the nearest swanky salon. There, prostrate yourself at the Aveda altar, and pray for your floral-scented deliverance from shag, frizz, and two-inch long, disturbingly gray roots. Amen.
  

Porn! Foot Fetish! Lindsay Lohan! Scrapbooking!

(shhh...I'm trying to get my hits counter to 10,000 by September 9, which is one year from when I started counting.)

And, no, I don't want to hear about all your damn hits per day, superbloggers. The ones that get mentioned in magazines and recognized in public.

Some of us just have a small, quiet, dignified readership. Hmph.
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According to SiteMeter, my most accidental hits come from these two posts:

Keira Knightley's Jaw
My accidental - and I'll swear to that on a stack of Monty Python and Mel Brooks movies - hit on the GrannyRiders website

So, now that you're here...first group, isn't Keira Knightley's jaw very attractive, and strong, for a thin girl?

And second group....EWWWW!!!

GAAAAAAAAAAAA

Republican Senator Larry Craig was arrested today in the Minneapolis airport for "lewd sexual conduct" in the men's room.

Word from the senator's camp is that it was a "he said/he said" misunderstanding.

OK, I'm giving up on this thread. It's just getting repetitive now. I guess that we can just assume that if you're a gay Republican, you will get your karmic comeuppance, after you do something really really friggin' stupid.

Be warned.

Ted Nugent on Sean Hannity from July

From Salon:

"Hannity had Nugent on his Fox Show in July to discuss a blog post in which a writer said he had 'dibs' on Rush Limbaugh if it ever became legal to shoot him, and that others would be 'welcome to' Nugent if they wanted him. Hannity said he took such threats seriously, and he asked Nugent if people who make them ought to be arrested. Nugent's answer: Yes.

'You know, I'm an American. I love all Americans. And I would help any American pursue their dreams and their pursuit of happiness,' Nugent told Hannity. 'But you find that the left, there's a lunatic fringe on the left that literally are trying to force us to comply to their outline of life. And I find it just reprehensible that they would recommend violence, not to mention murder and shooting people and assassinating people. This is bizarre.'

More Gay Republican Tragedy

See? SEE?

I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of murder/suicide. I cannot imagine the pain that the families of these men are going through, and I wish with all my heart that it had not happened.

BUT.

I believe that there is a cautionary tale here, one that keeps playing out, over and over again.

For the record:

If you are gay, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, join the Republican Party. They preach hatred and discrimination against you and others like you. (Yes, many are secretly gay themselves, and this may lend itself to fun, hot, "taboo" sexual encounters, but this is not enough of a reason to enmesh yourselves with people who will only cause you to HATE YOURSELF and thus to make extremely poor life decisions.)

I loves me the gays. Oh, my friends, please, please, abandon this Republican culture that hates you. Head on over to some of their websites...say, Free Republic...and search for the term "faggot," and prepare for a pretty huge number of hits. They won't even make you richer, like some of you think they will. Look at the economy for the past eight years, and compare it to the previous eight, if you think I'm lying.

Quit hiding in self-loathing isolation. Cross over, children! Come into the light! Come out, come over, and join our ranks. We need you, your activism, your culture, your passion, and your contributions. When we take back over - the presidency, for starters, and the Supreme Court, as soon as we bloody well can - it's going to be all good.
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Speaking of outrage...who's going to go arrest Ted Nugent for getting caught on video waving a machine gun around and saying that Barack Obama (the "piece of shit") and Hillary Clinton (the "worthless bitch") should "suck on it" and "ride it," respectively?

Now, if I can't bring a goddamn water bottle on an airplane - and I've never fired so much as a BB gun - surely this merits some involvement from Homeland Security, doesn't it?
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OK, Mister Digital Scale. (I assume you are a man, because you are a dick.) Two days, scrupulous point-counting, and exercise, and all you give me is a half-pound off so far*?

You want to play it that way? Fine. Oh, we'll play, mofo; we'll play.

Egg Beaters for breakfast, and pea pods and tuna for lunch. Fucker.

*I swear, I can remember, in college, that I once lost 17 pounds in three weeks. And I think all I did was give up beer and pizza.

Really!?!

I stepped on the scale this morning.

Really!?!

I admit to having eaten and drunk with semi-abandon while on vacation, but that was for the sum total of like 17 days, out of 90. I eat egg beaters and sliced turkey for approximately 75% of the summer, and I still weigh this, this horrifying amount, that I have not weighed in several years? Really?

This is completely impossible. Really. I did let the exercise slip...a bit...OK, a lot...but this cannot be possible; I didn't STOP exercising, refuse to leave the couch, and eat whole sticks of butter while watching "World Series of Pop Culture" marathons! Really!

I was hoping to avoid this, but I have to go back to Weight Watchers.

Really.

------------------
That was, of course, stolen from one of the few funny things I've seen on "SNL" this year, back when all Michael Vick had to worry about was being caught with a little pot on a plane: "'Really!?!' with Seth and Amy."

Working is hard!

So sorry I haven't posted...I've had to return to work, after 12 weeks off.

And, it's soooo hard!

Your condolences are greatly appreciated at this time.

----------------------
From Badger...

God, I will never get any respect if I don't start scoring significantly better on these things. I'm totally not trying to lie on them, either!

There's Not a Violent Bone in Your Body

You're cool and collected, even when someone really gets under your skin. And while you don't blow up when you're angry, you know how to express your anger calmly. You don't bottle emotions up or let them get out of control. For you, violence would never be an option.

Could You Be Violent?

Your Personality is 56% Addictive

You may have an addictive personality, but you have it mostly under check. Just don't start any new bad habits, okay?

Do You Have an Addictive Personality?

In Which The Man is An Ass

So, since I've been diagnosed with the Meneire's Disease, I requested a formal, retroactive apology for the 13 years of teasing for being clumsy that I've endured from The Man.

He responded, "No, because you're still clumsy, there's just a reason for it!"
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McJo's Poker Tournament results: I came in seventh, out of 32 people. The top five got money, starting at like $30 and going up to like $450.

In a nutshell, I played Texas Hold-Em poker for 10 1/2 hours - in my house, which is of course wrecked due to 32 people traipsing through it all day - and I got jack shit for the effort, except for the pride of being the last woman at the final table.

It's two in the morning, more than 12 hours since we started, and the game is still going on, outside my bedroom door. And, if you can believe this...I am so pissed that I'm not still playing right now, I cannot even begin to tell you. (I'm oddly competitive, for a pacifist.)

Wah, yes, I do b'lieve I'd love an Ambien, thank yew very much! And, good night! Bastards!

It's a Bloggerspiracy!

They will NOT let my link about purple plates work! I've tried to link to several different sites, and it will absolutely not work.

WHY, I ask you, WHY, do they NOT want you to know about this?

Fine. You will just have to go to your Google - or try www.purpleplates.com - to learn about how, and I quote:

"The atoms and electrons of the aluminum have been altered so that the plates are in resonance, or in tune, with the basic energy of the Universe. They function as transceivers of the Earth's paramagnetic force...creating a field of energy around themselves that will penetrate any material substance by osmosis. This energy is very beneficial (the life-force energy) to all life...plant, animal, or human. It might be considered as Positive Energy, or as God power. Love is "positive energy". God is Love. God is Energy.

The websites say that they give you energy, improve your sleep patterns, make produce last longer, attract money, and keep your pets safe if you put one on their collar. (Probably especially safe if you use the angel one, don't you think?)

Now, aren't you sorry that you don't have one? I thought so! And I know that they have to work, because Nikola Tesla said they would! Or he said something about electromagnetic energy once! And I know he was a really really smart guy!

In fact, I KNOW they work, because my MRI came back with no brain tumors on it. So...yay! It's just Meneire's Disease, which is annoying but decidedly un-fatal.

Thanks, Mr. Tesla! And you, the little purple plate in the side pocket of my station wagon!

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Oh, no; how will I ever show my face amongst my friends again?

You Are 44% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side. Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

Damn! Damn! Damn! It's not true! I'm super-evil! I fantasized about elbowing a slow person out of my way at Target today! So there!

5 Random Things You Don't Know About Me

I keep meaning to get back to telling y'all the story of the Older Girl. I promise, I'll do it soon. It's still evolving...case in point, the neurologist has now referred us to the infectious disease specialist...so it doesn't have an ending, yet. However, the major events of this summer bear documenting, and I'll try to get to it within the next week...probably after I get beat out of the Annual McJo's Poker Tournament this Saturday.

So, a bunch of bulleted non-sequiturs is all you get. So sorry.

• I read Free Republic online - the horrible horrible vicious right-wing discussion forum - like it is secret porn. I mean it; I'll flip away from the window if The Man comes home and sees me doing it. I am secretly fascinated by their abject, wanton, evil ignorance, and I turn it on every time a Republican fucks up, just so I can gloat in their pain. (After the 2006 election, I read it like six times a day for a week.)

• I carry a metaphysical, protective purple plate in both cars at all times. (My mother gave them to me, so shut it.) Hey, say what you will; I've never had an accident since I put them in my car, and believe me, I used to have plenty of them.

• I looove fruit, but am fairly leery of fruit-flavored anything. Jelly, strawberry ice cream if it's a premium brand or Bluebell, banana bread - that's all good, but when you get anywhere close to an artificial fruit flavor, I am probably not going to touch it. And if you put anything near me along the lines of a Marshmallow Peep, a Circus Peanut, those pink wafer cookies with the vile cream-like substance in the middle, or a Banana Moon Pie, then you will likely be wearing them.

• Nine days out of ten, when I am peering in the mirror in the morning, I silently curse whoever it was that told me that I'd grow out of having zits when I wasn't a teenage anymore.

• I just threw some pills out of my medicine cabinet that expired ten years ago. So, the official transformation into my mother is apparently underway. (And, I was still looking at the 2002 Midol, going, "Well, at least it's within this century, it's probably OK, isn't it?

Awesome Bit of Awesomeness

I'm just loving the newest gay Republican story.

Seems this Bob Allen, a Florida State Representative, was arrested after he offered an undercover officer $20 to blow him in a public bathroom. No surprises there, right? I'm starting to think that being gay is a prerequisite to being a Republican. (What's that you say, Denney Hastert? Oh, yes, I did go there!)

But, get this...his excuse - for paying a man to receive a blow job from him - is that the cop was a big black guy, and there were other big black guys around, so he felt intimidated!

Soooo. In a nutshell, this guy would rather look like a racist than a faggot. AND A WIMPY RACIST AT THAT, who'd give a guy a blow job rather than say "No, thanks."

Seriously. I know some of you are Republicans out there. Are you the constituency that this man represents? Do you feel better about having racists than queers in our government? Do you sleep well at night, knowing that these people, up there in Washington or down here in Texas or wherever you might be, stand up and endorse measures of intolerance that effectively remove the civil rights of American citizens - all in the name of "family values," - when they're secretly sucking cock in public bathrooms, screwing hookers, soliciting underage boys, cheating on their wives, and happily co-habitating with their aides instead of their wives?
AND, does it register to you that these self-same lying, hypocritical assfaces made me listen to the gory details of ONE DEMOCRAT'S marital infidelity for a fucking YEAR? (I wonder if the right wing's going to be a bit more forgiving about all those little bits on the side this year, what with Rudy, John, and Newt all being front-runners?)

Again, having trouble with the "why do I even get up in the morning" thing.
---------------------------
I had an MRI tonight. Wheee! That radiologist guy, boy, he and I had tons of laughs.

Dr. Hunkalicious says he's pretty sure it's Meniere's, but he needs to rule out tumors and whatnot. So, in the tube I went.

I was initially regretting not lying about being claustrophobic - so they'd give me the Valium, right? - but it wasn't that bad. It was an open MRI, so I was only in the tube up until like my ribcage, and the opening in the machine was as lot bigger than the one I had about 10 years ago (which was kind of freaky, and made me wish I were on Valium, not because I'm claustrophobic, but really just for something to do.)
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To bed, now. I must begin keeping normal work hours again. Fuck, I hate the end of summer vacation. I want to stay up all night long watching cable TV and web-surfing on the topic of Republican fuck-ups.

Furshunslinger wombat

Shramish. Haargh. Dirigible?

This is the best approximation of my speech patterns right this second, due to the after-effects of the Second Annual Long Beach Weekend in Port Aransas.

SOMEONE - either The Man, Bookhart, Pod, Clark, or Milena - convinced me to have WAAAAY too much to drink, for THREE NIGHTS STRAIGHT. And, I tell you, they OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED of themselves.

The Reader's Digest summary:

• In a happy coincidence, the Perseid meteors were peaking this weekend. They were incredible over the ocean, like roman candles, streaking from one end of the sky to the other.
  
• There were board games.
• And pitchers of pina coladas.
• And margaritas.
  
• And a whole motherfucking lot of beer and wine.
• We caught crabs.
• The good kind. (I'm speaking for myself only, of course.)
  
• Six kids ran around like shrieking little heathens, and it was OK.
• My friends react overly harshly when I force them to sing along to "Sister Christian."
• I didn't find my fucking camera until 1:30 A.M. last night, when God knows the last thing in the world that any of us wanted was to have our picture taken in the godawful state we were in.
• I wasn't dizzy at all, until the drive home today, and there were probably 10 good reasons for that besides nystagmus.

OK, that was exhausting. I have to go to bed now.

Nystagmograms, et al

I had my inner ear testing done yesterday, after three days of no meds, alcohol, caffeine, and a half-day fast. So, I was clearly in a joyous mood to begin with.

First of all, the lady (stylish, nice, a bit older than me) stuck some electrodes all over my face. (I had been directed not to wear makeup, and as this is summertime, in which I don't work and let myself go to sloth, this was not even remotely possible.) Next, the lady asked me to sit on the table and focus my eyes on a neon side with a dot of red light, which moved around to various positions. I did this with no prob. Even a bit of flair, if I do say so myself.

Next, she asked me me to lie down on the table and turn my head in varying positions, and count by twos, starting with random numbers. I rocked at this. I tell you, I can count by twos, people, even when you tell me to start at sixty. That college education really comes in handy sometimes. I'm thinking, hey, I'm passing this test by leaps and bounds; nothing is wrong with me, as my ability to count by twos and look at a dot is completely unimpaired.

But, not so fast! She looks at me and says, "Wow. You're a really dizzy person."

Turns out I have nystagmus - lots of jiggly eye movements - which the little electrodes were measuring when I was concentrating on counting by twos. (Sneaky!)

She then did a horrible little test in which she shot cold and then warm water into my ears, altertating left and right. During this odd and uncomfortable little bit of weirdness, she asked me to name things...e.g. names of women, in alphabetical order, names of men, names of geographic locations, and names of animals. And - people, this is so freaky - when she filled up my left ear with water, so I only had my right ear to work with, I COULD NOT name animals. AT ALL. And that room was spinning like I was on a centrifuge.

Totally wild. She says there's something really wrong with the balance system in my right ear. Could be a virus that's trapped in there, or it could very well be this Meneire's Disease, or it could be something totally different.

I'm guessing a consult with Dr. Hunkalicious, ENT, will be next. Yay!
-----------------------------------
I shall take time out from moaning about my inner ear dysfunction to share with you a hilarious phone interchange I had with Trish the other day.

She called to ask how I was doing, and I yammered on and on about - well, the same stuff I've been yammering on about here - for a while.

Then, she graciously interjects, "Well, I'm so sorry I haven't called earlier to see how you were doing." I'm all magnanimous, and I'm like, "Oh, no, that's fine. No big deal." She then continues, "See, I've been laid up because I had to have emergency gall bladder surgery."

That bitch ALWAYS has to do one better than me. Honestly.

(Just kiddin', Trish. I love you dearly. Glad you're better. I hope your bile is dripping happily from its new venue.)

Read this story from the Nation...

and be very, very afraid.

Last year, I wrote a post mocking the "Left Behind" videogame....you know, the one in which you get to play evangelist Christian warriors blowing away the non-believers? Or, in the height of Strangelovian absurdity, you can switch sides over to the Antichrist, and mow down the Christians instead?

The fact that this crap - denounced by everyone from the Anti-Defamation League to the author of Bush's "compassionate conservatism," Marvin fucking Olasky - exists in Bush's world does not faze me; but, get this: It's about to become part of a sanctioned Department of Defense initiative in Iraq, which encourages playing this game as part of its PROSELYTIZING movement towards the evangelical Christianization of the fighting forces. (See, it helps making all that murder of Muslims more fun! 'Cause you get a high score! And it says "Praise the Lord!" every time you blow one of their heathen fucking heads off!)

We - yes, you, and me - are sending our taxes for an "entertainment force" - so that fucking Billy Baldwin and Evander Holyfeld can go to Iraq and go on...their words, and the words of their psychotic founder...a "crusade."

OK, let this sink in. Our government. Is supporting. A CRUSADE. IN THE MIDDLE EAST.

God, why do I even get up anymore?

Portland recap

I am reasonably well enough now to recap the vacation...though I am at present not allowed to not take any of my meds for THREE WHOLE DAYS whilst I wait for this inner ear test that I'm going to have on Wednesday.

(This made for a rather funny interlude with a neighbor lady down the street that I was just having a conversation with. Right in the middle of it, I just kind of fell backwards and staggered to keep my balance, and I had to utter some lame-ass statement like "No, I'm not drunk, I just have vertigo. Really." But I digress.)

(Actually, that whole conversation was kind of funny, because, I was looking for my cat Hank, who has been missing for three weeks, presumed lost forever, and I just happened to mention this to this woman, who was, like, "Hmm...do you mean the little brown tabby that's been coming over here forever, and we've been feeding for some time?" And I'm all, like, erm, "YEAH, THAT ONE." What a disloyal little shit! She just couldn't stand the puppy, and got a better gig! But, no, she doesn't get to stay there. I'm forcing the bitch home, and I'm going to let the damn dog lick her all over as punishment. But, I'm still digressing.)

1) YG in the blueberry patch.


2) Blackberries.

3. The MotherLode.
OMFG, people, these were the most fantastic FUCKING berries I have ever had in my LIFE. (All that, by the way? Twelve bucks.) I ate them plain, in my cereal, in a rather amazing cobbler...any way they serve them, I'll put them into my body somehow. I am still having sex dreams about them.)

4) Some drunk-ass motherfucker at the Portland Brewer's Festival:

5) More of the same, but with our dear friends Todd and Bill, whom were gracious enough to haul our drunk (in his case) and dizzy (in mine) asses around town for a week:

6) The cutest damn kid ever who isn't related to my children, but damn well could be, couldn't he?
(Yeah, there's mine, in the background, trying to take the balloon away from the baby. I raise 'em right, don't I?)

7) YG, eating some fair food heretofore unknown to me - and how could this be, I'm not sure - called an "Elephant Ear." It's a ginormous slab of dough that is fried, and then dusted in sugar and cinnamon. And then it is shoved into our mouths. A lot.

8) OG on the Oregon coast.

It's beautiful. And it's really really really cold. That's as far as any of us got into the ocean, by a long shot. (And she doesn't have any nerve endings, so that's saying something.)

9) A starfish.

I don't think I've ever seen a live one. And now, I have. And really cool, bright-green anemones.

10) A view from Mt. Hood, of Mt. Ranier and Mt. St. Helens in the waaaay back background, with the lovely daughters of our friends, with the added benefit of my older child being rather pissy:


11) Just for Karla, a Big Head OG from Mt. Hood, with Mt. Ranier in the background:


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We did tons of other stuff, too...we went to the beautiful Rose Garden, rode the cable car up the big hospital hill, went to Stumptown Roasters and attended the bizarre "cupping" service (and got a little snobbiness, but, damn if the coffee doesn't back it up. It totally rocks!) The Man went on a bicycle brewery tour, which I'm sure he'll be raving about over at his blog any day now.

Oh, and we went to the Body Worlds exhibit - where they have all the plasticized dead bodies splayed out in funky poses- which was super-cool, and really not even the slightest bit disturbing. (Except having to listen to the OG exclaim "Look, I see his PENIS!" several times, LOUDLY.)

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And now? Off to bed with my Valium-less, mildly-dizzy-but-not-sick self. Jeebus, it's been a long two weeks. (I think my husband is also now shopping for a new sister-wife, if you get my meaning.)

I...

am upright again.

I still stagger a little when I walk, but it's improved greatly. Now, it's more like a tipsy Vegas maven havin' a watered-down cocktail at the slots. Previously, it resembled a spring break co-ed sloshed on Coco Locos headed for a wet t-shirt contest in Cancun.

Praise be to ye trio of gods: Antivert (prescription,) the motion sickness patch placed stylishly behind my ear, and the almighty Zeus of prescription drugs, Lord Valium (of which my hunky ENT increased my dosage, because it simply weren't workin' before tonight. Have I mentioned that I love him?)

Sadly, I can't access the big computer - where my pictures are stored - to show you our lovely Portland vacation, as The Man has commandeered it to watch some damn track meet. But I shall, in good time, do so.

Lord Valium says for me to tell you "Peace out" now. Because everything? Is O.K.

Back from Portland

I'm back from a lovely, week-long visit to Portland, wherein we - the whole fam damily - visited two sets of very dear friends and saw all of the sights.

Our hosts and hostesses provided an impeccable good time. The weather was gorgeous - warm and sunny during the day, window-open cool at night (with no screens, because they don't have any bugs! Not even mosquitos!) We drove to the coast one day, up to the top of Mount Hood another day, visited many many many brew pubs for The Man (all in the name of research, you know,) and even got to attend the big annual beer festival.

And - oh, god - the berry picking day - now THAT was incredible. I have never, EVER, in my life, had fruit that good. Blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries...we went absolutely insane. (OG was on a mission to denude the entire orchard. YG was very like the little girl in Blueberries for Sal. Pick one, eat three, pick another, then eat the two in her bucket. So damn cute.)

The only drawback to the whole weekend was me, sadly. I've still got whatever it is that I have, and even medicated to the hilt, I was still really dizzy and sick to my stomach. (I felt like some Victorian woman, having to take to the couch because I had the vapors.)

I'm also still experiencing this odd blurry vision. Though I have been blessed with perfect vision - and yes, I know that I'm very lucky, but you may check out my ass and thighs if you want to know where my comeuppance lies - I now know what it must feel like to need glasses, because I have to squint to make out print, both near and far.

Sadly, I'm too wiped to post the pictures tonight - 6:00 A.M. flight this morning, whee! - and I'm, predictably, nauseated and can't focus on the typing...so I'm off to bed tonight. I'll try to get some up tomorrow.

(Oh, and by the way, thanks for all the notes and phone calls. I'm very touched! I'll keep you posted as the puzzle comes together more...)