Thursday, December 29, 2011

Year in Review: So long, 2011!

2011 has been a pretty good year. In fact, no truly terrible things happened this year, and some truly unexpected wonderful things did happen, or are in the process of happening. I've just reviewed my 2011 calendar to remind myself of how I spent this year, and really nothing, besides the year-long, monumental remodeling of our house, happened.

I put on two school variety shows this year, along with some great and talented adults (and children) I frosted my mom's hair, I saw some movies, went to lunch, went to Disneyland, read lots of trashy books, and lived with my parents again after 2o or so years of not doing that. My weight has found a plateau, and I am getting older, even though I still eat the marshmallow pieces out of the box of Lucky Charms. None of my relatives or animals died, and my little Reed-man arrived on the scene, even though he was nothing but a dream just a year ago. I have drunk gallons of wine, most of it in the last three months. I haven't eaten nearly enough dungeness crab or crab related dips, but I did discover the best curry soup I've ever had in my life. I fell in love, and then out of love, with Philly cheesesteaks.

I made my television debut on the Oprah Winfrey show, and I watched enough Candice Olson design shows to make a saner person pluck out their own eyeballs. I have learned more than I ever needed to know about marmoleum and direct venting.

I took some seriously good naps.

Leila had a good year. She always has a good year. Hopefully its that way for a long, long time. She went to camp and made a dozen movies about rubber chickens. She grew about a foot. She started eating tacos. She got her ears pierced.

All in all, a non-eventful year for our family, but a very eventful year for our house, and I don't know if those are separable. Want a little sneak peek? Okay, twist my arm...

Taken from exactly the same place...



Happy 2012!!

Sunday, December 25, 2011

My Christmas Wish for you Involves Tori Spelling

I want to thank my parents for going to Tahoe today. Without their absence, I would not be able to sit in the middle of Christmas mess, with dirty dishes in the kitchen, eating McDonalds, letting my kid watch TV in her pajamas all day with her new fairy dolls, while I'm watching a Tori and Dean marathon. I have napped, I have eaten salted caramels and cold, leftover McNuggets, and I haven't burned one calorie all day. If my parents had been here, I would have had to clean up things, go for a walk, and eaten fruit. I would have not been able to be the slothlike lazy-ass that you all know I am.

God, I love Tori Spelling. She cried three times in the first five minutes of the show. This is a very Merry Christmas! Hope you have had as nice a holiday as I am having! Bring on the Chinese food! Walnut prawns for everyone!

Thursday, December 22, 2011

I really hope I didn't make a judgy Face

So the other day, I decided to take myself to breakfast. I just couldn't take the thought of sitting in this cold, dark house under the watchful eye of my mom, and I wanted some french toast. I was sitting at a table where there is a long banquette on one side, and chairs on the other. I was on the banquette side, reading a book on my kindle, stuffing my face, but when I glance to my right, the woman sitting next to me had her shoe off, and had her bare foot up on her knee. Like the way guys sometimes sit. The tables were kind of close together, so her bare foot was, like, 18 inches away from my food. This kind of grossed me out. Its 40 degrees outside, I'm eating, PUT ON YOUR SHOE.

The next time I glanced over, her foot was on the table, just resting there, like it was completely normal to have your bare foot on the table at a restaurant. I should mention that this woman was with what I presume was her husband, and they were, except for the bare foot on the table, a perfectly boring looking couple.

So I'm staring at her foot out of the corner of my eye. I'm trying not to stare, but I'm failing, and suddenly she picks up her fork with her toes and starts eating her scrambled eggs. It was at this point that I noticed that SHE HAD NO ARMS. She then put down her fork, and picked up her english muffin between her first and second toe, and brought it effortlessly to her mouth and took a bite.

I now looked away quickly, because its one thing to stare at someone's bad manners and judge them, its another thing to stare at the accommodation someone has for their disability. That's just rude. So I put my book in my right hand, and looked away, even though what I wanted to do was stare openly, with my mouth hanging open and full of french toast, and ask her 100 questions.

How long has she been doing this? What else can she do with her toes? Does she play Angry Birds with them? Does she carry anti bacterial gel or wipes to clean off her foot after she takes it out of her shoe and before she eats with it? And if she does, how does she do it? With the other foot? Does she do lots of bendy yoga, or is it just the feet?

That is just a sampling of the questions that came into my mind. There were some sex questions in there, too (of course.) But I just read my book. Correction: I looked at my book and thought of everything I wanted to ask. Eventually, I did go back to reading. I was mostly over it. Well, that's not true at all, but without being able to stare and ask questions, I had to move on.

As I was kind of congratulating myself for letting them have their breakfast in peace without me stealing glances, a hippy-ish annoying lady walked by them and stopped to tell her how "cool" and "awesome" it was that she could eat with he toes. I rolled my eyes, thinking, Yes, I'm sure she thinks its awesome that she has no arms. Did you read Tina Fey's book? To paraphrase Ms, Fey, this dipshit woman was being amazing at her. The couple just kind of stared at her, and she went away. Then they finished their breakfast, paid their check and when she got up, her husband put her bag over her shoulder, and they split.

So many questions!!!!

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

A sign of the Apocolypse

I've written about my friend, J, before. She is the one who is my eco conscience. Whenever I'm about to not recycle something, I hear her in my ear, berating me. She collects rain water, even though she lives in Seattle and there aren't enough barrels in the world to collect all that water, and she only flushes for number two. I could go on and on, but I will spare you the details of her feminine hygiene products.

Every year, we have a small, non-dramatic spat about Christmas trees. She thinks it is an abomination to cut down a tree to have in your house and decorate, only to put it out on the curb after a few weeks. Christmas lights will end up in a landfill for 10,000 years, etc. etc. I argue that by her logic, she should never by cut flowers, and we go round and round for 5 minutes and then we move on to talk about me.

J has hated Christmas since I've known her, and that's more than 20 years. She has always volunteered to work on Christmas, and with very good reasons that I wont go into here.

Over the past few years, a few things have finally fallen into place, like a having family nearby, getting hitched to her cool girlfriend, and, this spring, the piece of resistance, they adopted a baby boy. (Tangentially, I love this baby. He is the coolest, cutest baby that ever lived in the Pacific Northwest, not counting California where my baby was the coolest, cutest baby.)

Today they appeared in court, surrounded by family and friends, and it was made legally officially for realsies, that this baby is theirs and theirs alone, and can no man put asunder. (Tangentially, I really wanted to go, but there was no way. Not only could I have been there for this great event, but I could have eaten a killer carnitas burrito.)

The other day, J and I had the following text exchange:

J: Listened to xmas hits all the way to work today and loved it. Who am I?

BH: Maybe you should see a doctor. Next thing you know, you'll be putting up a xmas tree.

J: Ummmmmm, plan on doing that this year too!

BH: Greenpeace is going to have your head! The EPA will have to disband! The World Wildlife Fund will have to stop saving Panda Bears!

J: Yep, I've lost my mind. As well as my Kyoto agreement card.

Now she likes Christmas. She has ornaments. She's singing carols. She has her girl and her boy. This is a very good sign...

Thursday, December 8, 2011

It is very unfair that the posts I write about living with my mom make her sound like the most annoying person in California. She is not, in fact, that annoying, and we've had a remarkably good time living together. But who wants to read about how great it is living with my parents? First of all, I think that makes boring reading, and second of all, you all are going to want to move in with them and I GOT HERE FIRST.

I have had a bunch of very tedious, paperworky types of things to do this week, and I've been putting them off for four days now. I'm writing this post as an attempt to put them off some more, if you must know. I have learned that putting off these irritating little tasks ruins the week, because they hang over my head the whole time, and I should just knock them out Monday morning and not think about them any more. But that would take discipline, and I'm running very low on that.

I promised myself I would do the stuff this morning and get it over with, but instead I have taken a shower, cleaned up Leila's room, cleaned up my room, done some remodel business, and then I called my friend, Ann, and chatted with her on the phone for a half hour even though I'm seeing her tomorrow and we can chat then.

I feel the need to point out here that, since moving in with my parents and being overloaded with work, variety show, and remodel, I spend little to no time on the phone chatting with friends. This is compared to my regular life where I spend part of every day chatting on the phone with friends. I used to lose whole mornings to the phone, running the batteries down completely, on a regular basis. Now, I think I talk to a friend on the phone maybe once or twice a week. That's it, and its usually while one of us is in the car, so the conversation is cut short by arriving at our destination, which is usually fine because my conversational skills are in as short supply as my discipline. Its all remodel, all the time, and I'm sure this is very tiresome to the friends I have left who let me bend their ears on the phone.

This is where my mom comes in. I'm sitting on my bed, in by bathrobe, talking to Ann, and when I hang up, my mom pokes her head in and says "Boy, you can talk non-stop!"

WHY DOES SHE SAY THIS TO ME? Why do I have to have all my characteristics, annoying or charming, pointed out to me at all times? She has told me I talk too much, I talk to fast, I complain to much, I'm tired too often, I'm a slob, I don't take good enough care of my dog, etc. etc. etc. and all I can think is, "I'M 41 YEARS OLD! THIS IS ME! GOOD, BAD AND UGLY! AND MY DOG IS STILL ALIVE!" I have good friends, the best friends, awesome friends, and they seem to like me anyway regardless of how much I talk! I have had successful careers and endeavors, regardless of the fact that I talk too fast and I'm tired! My dog loves me even though I wait until 6 p.m. to feed him! I know how to park my car in the Costco parking lot!!!!!

And all these characteristics are made to seem like flaws when she points them out. Like she's not quite done molding me into the person she thinks I can be, which is more like her, or what she thinks she could be.

Its like having a 24/7 performance review of my life!

It comes from love. It comes from love. It comes from love. If I keep saying that over and over, I'll feel okay, right? Honestly, I feel pretty good, just a little irritated. I'm even more irritated that I can't blink my eyes real hard and have all this paperwork done. But you'd better believe I'm going to save my phone calls for the car...

Monday, December 5, 2011

The post is for the Birds

I had such a fun little day yesterday. I haggled! I'm a terrible haggler, but I haggled!

I went to the Alameda Antique Market with a good friend, and I was looking for an antique picture frame and a few chairs for my non-existent dining room table. I got 4 old pub-type chairs for $120 (expertly haggled down by me from $150) and a picture frame for $25 (down from the MSRP of $30.) I was told by another vendor that the frame I just bought was worth $100. She may just have been shining me on, making me feel good about myself, but I'm okay with that. And I ate a falafel sandwich (delicious) and I bought some iron birds that I will use for door stops, although I'm not sure how I feel about using the heads of little birdies to stop my doors.

This is a little extension of my love of bird Christmas ornaments. You may remember that I have a whole, complicated thing going about bird ornaments. I love them, but Rob thinks I put them on the tree as an act of hostility. I don't, I just like birds. I'm not sure we'll have a Christmas tree this year. I may not have a place to put it. Actually, even if we are back in our house by Christmas, I still don't know where I will put a Christmas tree in this place. I am so not in the Christmas mood. Shopping? Cards? Cookies? WHO HAS TIME FOR THIS???

So, I bought incredibly heavy iron birds. I didn't haggle on those. Birdies are too tender-hearted, and I didn't want them to feel bad, so I paid the full asking price. I will probably have these birds 'till I die.

What the hell am I talking about?

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


Here's the thing about nine year-old girls. They have terrible taste.

I just got Leila's letter to Santa (yes, we still have Santa in our house) and the stuff she wants makes me want to puke. Lavender unicorn things and bears made for 7 year-olds, and, just crap! I have no idea what to get this kid for Christmas. She's at that age where she doesn't want clothes, but is growing out of lots of toys, and I'm not going to shell out big bucks for electronics that I wont really let her play with because she has an unsettling relationship with screens.

She also said she wants five stuffed dogs. This would be in addition to the other 16 stuffed dogs she already has.

I remember liking unicorns and the combination of pink and purple, and all that junk, so I'm trying to understand it and just go with it.

Does anyone out there have any ideas about what to get an almost ten year-old girl for Christmas?

Tuesday, November 29, 2011


There are a number of things I want to complain about today, the first of which is that, apparently, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO COMPLAIN.

This has been a running theme with my mother my whole adult life. If she says she's tired, she's not complaining, she's just tired. If I say I'm tired, in the exact same way at the exact same time, I am complaining. I haven't said '"Oh woe is me!" I haven't said, "I hate being this tired, it totally sucks and I'm so stressed!" I've simply said, "I. Am. Tired." and that makes me a complainer. I think she gets nervous when I show any sign of weakness. I've already moved back in with her and borrowed money, what else is there to be worried about?

I have painted all day for five and a half days out of the last nine days, I even painted on Thanksgiving, and it was awesome! My husband and I had long talks about nothing, we listened to podcasts, we listened to music, we spent some time in our house getting to know it again, we had a great time. And, knowing already that I'm not ever allowed to say anything that might even sound like a complaint, I didn't say anything about my hand or my back being sore, and, frankly, even though they were sore, it felt kinda good.

One day my parents came by to check on our progress, and as she left my mom yelled, "No complaining!" for no reason in particular.

Yesterday, I was tired. One of those days where you never fully wake up, and your eyes are burning, but I kept plugging through the day, didn't take a nap. Over breakfast, my mom says, "My arm is so sore! And its from scrubbing the shower yesterday." Now, did I say, "Quit your complaining, old woman!" No, of course not, because she wasn't complaining, she was just stating a fact, not being a whiny gasbag. Then I told her an adorable story about how Leila said she couldn't go to school because she had a headache and a stomach ache and her eyes hurt, and my mom says, "She gets that from you. You're always complaining about how tired you are and how everything hurts."

W. T. F? I completely censored anything I might say that could be be construed by even a marginally rational person as a complaint, and I still got nailed!

And! I will take this opportunity to point out that one recent time when I did say, "Somethings wrong, I know it, this is not a regular cold." and my mom told me to "stop being so dramatic!" I ended up in the hospital for two weeks and almost died. Not that I'm complaining about almost dying, because that would make the world stop spinning on its axis, and the trees would all die!

But you guys never complain when I complain, so here I am. I'm tired! Except, today I'm not really tired at all, so its lost of its gusto...

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


I haven't written in a coon's age. I don't know how long a coon's age is exactly, or whether that reference is offensive, but for our purposes let's agree that it is not offensive, and that a coon's age is 11 days.

After a restful weekend, I have had laser focus on my remodel job. I am an irritant to my contractor, I am nit-picking everything to death, and I've ordered, like 400 things off the internet. I ordered a door bell, and the button that makes it ring from two different places. I ordered an enormous sink (so I can wash my dog in it) I ordered a chandelier for my dining room that I hope I like when it arrives. None of these things have actually arrived yet, but the point is that I've made decisions like decisiveness is going out of style.

I bought 13 gallons of primer and paint. You know, in HGTV, they must use really cheap paint because I always thought paint was the cheapest way to do something amazing with a room, but I've spent a small fortune on paint. Never mind the deli sandwiches we ate during our painting lunch break. Last weekend, Rob and I primed the entire interior of the house. Super Teamwork Day. Tomorrow, we will start painting the entire interior of the house, only there will be cabinet boxes everywhere and wood for floors piled up in a corner, so maybe we wont be able to paint as much as we thought.

Folks, this is my life. I am buying stuff, painting and nit picking. And soon, IT WILL BE DONE!

Its weird: I haven't lived in my house for over two months. I haven't missed a whole lot of what I have stored in my storage place (except for my tongs and my cutting board) and I'm pretty detached from the house. I've grown accustomed to folding my dad's panties watching Piers Morgan. But every now and then, when I'm inspecting my house for paint globs or floor patches, I remember, "Hey, I'm gonna get to live here!" I'm not sure its possible to be more excited! That pantry cabinet is within my grasp, and after 14 years of squeezing friends around a cramped kitchen table in my yellow kitchen, I will have a Dining Room. Is there a prettier word in the English language? Dining room...

Friday, November 11, 2011

It is a small Miracle he likes Me

I'm writing this while waiting for a Will Ferell movie to download on my computer. I'm having a Bed Day. After two back to back Variety Shows with 106 kids in 51 acts, and misbehaving parents, and a gym so over crowded and unruly that it was like the Stones at Altamont, only with little kids singing Myley Cyrus, I deserve to stay in bed for a day.

Some people would hate staying in bed all day. Like my mom. She would go completely nuts and feel awful about herself, and probably have to see a therapist about it, even though she doesn't believe in therapy because its for crazy people.

I, on the other hand, love it. The only thing that would make it better today is if I had cable in this room and could watch HGTV. Instead I've finished Mindy Kaling's book, taken two cat naps, eaten a small bag of kettle corn (the lite kind, totally unsatisfying) and now I'm going to watch a movie which I thought was a comedy, but the iTunes reviews assure me it is not.

Here's a thing about me that is totally like my mom: When I am reading, don't talk to me. I'm reading. I'm having silent reading time. But when I'm done reading, its talking time. It doesn't matter if you're still reading, even if you are at the climactic moment of your book, or if you're asleep, or if you are simply not interested in talking to me.

Rob is here with me, and he is also reading. Or he was reading, before I put the kibosh on that. He told me he was going to ignore me, so I stared at the side of his head as hard as I could, and, though he was successful in ignoring me, I started cracking myself up. He's now playing on his iPhone, a much more easily interruptable activity.

I would really like a sandwich.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Scratch Scratch

Things keep getting weirder and weirder.

The other night, at 4 a.m. I was awoken by an animal (not one of mine) scratching at the outside wall of our room, sounding like it was trying to get in.

In addition to having the half-awake fantasies about animals living in the walls, and ghosts, it was just irritating. It was 4 in the morning! Sleeping!!

It woke Rob up too, so I got his iPhone and turned on the flashlight app and I shined it out the window in the direction of the scratching, and, even though I didn't see anything, the animal shut up.

I went outside the next day to see if there were any signs of animal scratching, and there were none. There are raccoons and opossums and squirrels around here, and it was probably a raccoon, but I did not like it. Not one bit. I don't think I can sleep with the knowledge that a wild animal is trying to claw its way to my head. I wonder if it smelled the cat food. I don't want to know that they are crawling around under the floor boards either. Nope, I want those guys on the outside.

The Variety Show is tomorrow and Thursday, then I will have laser focus on my house project which is at least halfway done. Then its Thanksgiving, and painting, and Christmas shopping, and moving in, and Christmas, and Leila's birthday, and then, in about mid-January, I'll have some time to breathe.

I might breathe a little on Saturday, just to make sure I still know how.

Friday, November 4, 2011


In the process of doing laundry, I pulled the knob on the washer that starts the water flowing, and the knob came off in my hand. A little, black plastic piece came off with it, and that was, apparently, the lynch pin that was holding the whole operation together. The washer still works, but the knob is fucked.

This sounds like an annoying little inconvenience, and it would be just that to the normal person. However, that is not how this will go down.

In spite of the fact that the washer is 100 years old, it will be all my fault that the knob broke because I am a slob and a barbarian, and I don't know how to take care of things. This will be added to the long list of my transgressions and character flaws: I broke the washing machine. My mom has treated it right for the last 25 years and it hasn't given her an ounce of trouble, but the minute I got my hands on it, I broke it. She will, again, win at the game of who takes better care of their stuff so it lasts forever. Its really a wonder I have kept my pets alive for as long as I have.

Nevermind that if she had been the one doing laundry the same thing would have happened to her. If that had been the case, it still would have been my fault because I must have pulled too hard on the knob the last time I did laundry. She never had these kinds of problems before I moved in with my family and all their dirty undies.

I used her vacuum this morning. Its a really good thing I didn't break that, too...

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Freedom from Tyranny!

My parents left for Palm Desert for a week. Last night, for the first time in over a month, I had the remote control to myself. I was so excited. Turns out there was nothing on, and I ended up watching reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond" because Donald Trump was on Piers Morgan. Buzz kill.

I just don't know what to do with myself! We can have take out this week! I can wait until later to do dishes! I can read something in the middle of the day without someone saying, "Must be nice..." A whole week without being judged! Well, I'm sure I'll still be judged by someone, and probably by, you know, me, but I can move freely throughout the day and week without looking over my shoulder!

I shouldn't get too comfortable, though. I have adapted quite nicely, I think, to turning all the lights off, and wearing long underwear in the house when its 70 degrees outside. Doing dishes right away is not the worst thing in the world, and confining my regular mess to one room has not been that difficult. Next Monday, it will be back to normal.

If my mother saw her kitchen right now and knew that not only did I program her heater to go on at 6 a.m. but I left a light on all night by accident, she would have a complete cow.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Reason #43

Here is reason #43 that my parents are awesome.

Part of reason 43 is that my mom, a long time lover of opera and classical music, asked me to put some new stuff on her iPod. Her library lives on my computer. I don't even want to think about what would happen, what kind of life of silence would ensue, if I made her manage her own library. She once tried to play a DVD by putting the whole DVD box into the machine.

I told her I didn't have a lot of her kind of music, and she told me I should just put on stuff I thought she would like. I did not go for the easy laugh and put on Rob's Megadeath, but I did add 130 songs that I thought she would like, and then, when I was done, she asked me, "Did you put any Amy Winehouse on there?" Now, I'm sure she actually got the name wrong, but the point is that my 73 year-old mom wanted some Amy Winehouse on her iPod, and I just dig that in a grandma.

She was very excited when it was all done, so we blasted her new playlist in the kitchen while I gave her a manicure. While Obladi-Oblada was on (you know, the Beatles) My mom was dancing around her small kitchen with her freshly painted nails, and then my dad came in, and they were both dancing, and hugging and kissing each other and dancing some more. I wish I'd had my camera; you'd have seen that my dad was wearing a parka because he was so cold.

I just love that my parents like to dance and kiss and have a nice time together. We should all be so lucky.

And that is reason #43.

Reason #44 is that my mom pronounces 'Adirondack' 'A-dear-a-dack'.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011


So, unless you are interested in what's going on with the school variety show, or where all my electrical wires and light switches are going, or unless you want to know about the absolutely wonderful pizza that I had today for lunch, I got nothin'.

I went to the storage unit today to get my winter clothes. It is so freakin' freezing in my mom's house, and she refuses, on principal, to turn the heat on until November. Then, when the heat is finally on, all the vents in the bedroom part of the house are painted shut because, by her logic, if you're in the bedroom, your under the covers asleep, or engaging in some other heat producing activity, so why do you need the heat on?

Never mind that I have a child who is sleeping next to two single paned windows, never mind that the condensation dripping from the skylight in our room just dripped its dirty little droplets all over my duvet, and never mind that I made sure to find my husband's fingerless gloves in the storage unit because my hands freeze to death at noon when its seventy degrees outside. Just never mind all that: just don't you turn the heater on until November, and don't you expect any heat in your bedroom when you get up at dark o'clock. Don't expect your towels to dry, ever, either.

I put a sweater on my dog this morning because I was cold.

And now it is all I can do to keep my mitts off the leftover pizza in the kitchen. Its not in the refrigerator because its cold enough in the kitchen...

Friday, October 21, 2011

Your New Favorite Song

I think I've been a little hard on my mom this week. So now let me tell you why she is awesome.

I've already told you that she's in her 70s, is crazy fit, hikes at least 10 miles once a week, has traveled the world (and by "the world" I include Antarctica and Africa twice) and although she's not game to turn lights on when it starts to get dark, and she's definitely not game to have too much stuff in her refrigerator (my grocery bill has plummeted) she is game for all sorts of other things.

She also reads the local paper, and by "reads" I mean she squeezes every last word out of it, and that includes all the events calendars. A few months ago, she says to me, "K.D. Lang is coming to town, do you want to go with me?" My dad isn't game for much, so I am often her companion to things, which is fine with me, especially when its something like this. So I say, sure, and get the tickets.

It was at The Fillmore in San Francisco, a place I can't really imagine my mom going, but it was her idea, so we went on Wednesday.

Let me just say, that even if you don't think you are a fan of K.D. Lang, you should go see her if she's coming to town. Even if you've never heard of her, you should go see her. She sang Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah at the opening of the Olympic Games in Canada in 2010, and that is the only reason my mom knows who she is. I have seen and heard many versions of that song, and till now I was partial to the Jeff Buckley version, but K.D. just knocked me right outa my sneakers.

So, my mom skipped Piers Morgan in favor of rockin' out at the Fillmore, and that is reason 112 that she is awesome.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

DVR Where art Thou?

Remember when I canceled cable? That was a hoot.

I don't know if I've ever missed anything as much as I miss my TV and my DVR right now. I once had to convalesce from an illness for a long time, and I didn't miss walking as much as I miss my TV right now. You know how when you have a really bad cold and you can't breathe through your nose and you think to yourself "I will never take breathing for granted again!" I miss my TV more than breathing. God, I'm a shit head.

Tonight, after dinner, we all settled in to watch some TV. We started with the end of 60 Minutes. Fine. Then, I clicked on the guide, and scrolled through the options. There was nothing but crap. My mom kept saying, "You're going too fast!" but my feeling is, if you're driving past a steaming pile of skunk, fast is the way to go. My parents have a lot of QVC and public access channels right in the middle of their line up; there's no mystery there.

I come to rest on the second half of the Dick Van Dyke Show, which will be followed by M*A*S*H. Then my mom goes, "What's on 56?" I'd seen it in the line up: Larry King was coming back from the grave to interview Johnny Depp about his new movie, followed by... Piers Morgan. We agree, mercifully, that we don't really care what Johnny Depp has to say about anything. My dad says, "Check 32." and there's some old black and white version of Little Shop of Horrors. We go back to Dick Van Dyke. Then, after 4 seconds, my mom says, "Do we really want to watch this?" and we're all quiet, trying to ignore her, and just watch Laura Petrie do her thing. 10 seconds later, she says again, "Are we really watching this?" and my arm flies from its place at my side and I shoot her the remote and say, "clearly, you don't. So here you go, you decide."

She changes the channel to 2, and goes one by one through all the channels, the jewelry sales, the local education channel, Jersey Shore, and, lo and behold, there's nothing on. We travel to the channels beyond the Dick Van Dyke Show, and land on a channel that is playing Grumpier Old Men. There are commercials on, though, so we watch the commercials. One after the other, commercials. I am looking at my husband who is glued to his iPhone playing Words With Friends, and my dad who is watching the commercials, and no one will look at my face and confirm my disbelief that a Geico commercial is better than Dick Van Dyke.

Finally I say, "Why are we watching commercials?" and I'm informed that we are waiting for Grumpier Old Men. We couldn't wait the ten minutes through Dick Van Dyke to get to M*A*S*H*, but ten minutes of commercials are fine.

I retire to the bedroom, where I am now, writing this. I love my parents. Truly. But I do not love watching TV with them. There is only one queen of the remote, and it is I, and twas ever thus.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Oh my God. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.

Remember how I told you that I am the laziest person who ever walked the face of the earth in my mother's eyes? Forget about trust fund babies, or royalty, or children who couldn't hit a hamper with a pair of dirty undies if their lives depended on it. No, in case you ever wondered, I am the laziest person, ever. I have made peace with this, mostly. It is still irritating, and insulting, but I know it comes from love, and my mom is a great lady who I adore, and I'm living in her house, so I'm willing to let it slide.

As I am writing this, it is Sunday night. SUNDAY. Day of rest. Tomorrow, I will go back to a three hour variety show rehearsal, a meeting with my contractor, answering work emails, walking the dog, shuttling the child to and fro, and probably collapsing into bed at 8:30. I started today by reading in bed, my second favorite morning activity. Then, I had to work for a few hours. SUNDAY. Then I got a big bag of the good rolls from the place in the city, after having a delicious lunch with my husband and daughter, and we came home. I read in the backyard, and, when it got too hot, I took a nap on my bed inside.

WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, the decision was made that we would make hamburgers, and that Rob (or Poor Rob, I should call him) would go to the store and get all the stuff. I eschewed cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in favor of continuing to read* and when I went into the kitchen to help, it was too crowded in there, so I went to the family room and flipped through a magazine. We were called to dinner. My mother made it very clear to me, without needing many words at all, that I had been lounging around long enough, and I would clean up after. That's completely fine, I don't mind, but insulting because I can feel her judgment wash over me, and I know immediately the stock she's taken in my day: I neglected to walk my dog. I went to lunch again, I read for a long time and took a nap. But most of all, my husband went to the grocery store and formed patties. Fuck me, I thought it was SUNDAY.

The magic of this, is that no one can see and feel what I see and feel when it comes to my mom. If I mentioned this to my husband, he might think I was crazy, and say, "so what?" and he would be correct on both counts. Luckily, my dad plied me with red wine.

I keep telling myself over and over: It doesn't matter. You'll never, ever win. In the game of housewife, you are, and forever will be, the ultimate loser. Relax. Take a deep breath. It comes from love. It comes from love. It comes from fucking love!!!"
Serenity now...

* I'm reading Rob Lowe's autobiography. It's a little over written in some parts (he uses the word zeitgeist a little too often, but otherwise pretty good. I recommend it.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Signs of Life

I'm still here! I'm still alive! Just barely, but I am!

Did I happen to mention that I'm also in the middle of doing the school variety show again? I didn't have enough going on with my house looking like this

so I thought, "what the hell!"

My goal is to catch you up next week. I have lots of stuff to tell you. Like, I want to ask you all a question about tampons, and tell you how my mom is coaching me to be a better person, and about how the universe is toying with me.

Have a good weekend!

Friday, October 7, 2011

I just want to say, quietly and without fanfare, that it is really amazing what happens when you reach out to people and ask for help. People will totally have your back if you can just ask for help. And I hate the word 'amazing'. Its the most overused word in the English language.

Did I just jinx things?

Thursday, September 29, 2011

I'm a Lazy, Lazy Bitch

For the last two weeks, and frankly even longer than that, I've been running around like a crazy person, putting tons of miles on my car, packing, moving, shopping, running the kid back and forth, working, etc. The days of delicious naps in the middle of the day are over for a while, and I think the non-working awake hours I've spent lately can be counted on one hand. This is fine for now, its all for a good cause (that wonderful pantry cabinet that I will have when this remodel is over) but I am going to bed at around 9 every night, totally exhausted.

Rob, obviously, has a lot on his mind, too, and is adapting to living with my parents, but his day-to-day hasn't changed all that much. He still takes the bus in to work (a different numbered bus, but that's really the only difference) and he's still playing softball once a week, and he's still sitting in his climate controlled office doing contemplative work with other smart people, and getting an actual lunch break and two, quiet commute hours a day to read, or sleep or play Word with Friends on his iPhone. I don't want to diminish his contribution here, but I barely get to sit down the whole day and eat most of my meals over the sink or in the car, and I've become one of those people who actually uses my hands free device and squeezes phone calls in while driving from one location to the other.

Last night we're sitting at the dinner table, (we all eat dinner together, including my parents. Isn't that cute?) and something comes up, I don't remember what, and my dad starts making a joke about how I ask Rob to do everything for me, and how he knows why Rob is seated in the corner where he can't get up (so he doesn't have to do anything.) I look at my dad like he's crazy, and then he goes on to talk about how Rob has worked ALL DAY. Oh, and this was a day after my mom laughed at Rob while he was doing dishes; or rather, because he was doing the dishes. I thought I was going to lose it.

There's no use, though. My dad is from another generation where men got home from work and sat and read the paper while dinner was made and cleaned up, kids were bathed and put to bed and a little laundry was folded until the mom collapsed in a heap.

My parents believe I am the laziest person they have ever met. They've said this out loud to me and to their friends, so I'm not making false assumptions. They have repeatedly muttered the words "Poor Rob..." If this period of living with them while being pulled in 17 different directions does not dispel that opinion, nothing ever will. I have a feeling I could work and run around 23 hours a day, and it would make no difference; my baseboards are still filthy and I still eat out too much.

My dad is lucky he's cute...

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Julianna Margulies can Suck It

Remember how I told you I'm living with my parents right now? Well, I am. Me, Rob, Leila, the cat and the dog. Boy oh boy.

If you've been reading me for any length of time, you already know that we go on vacation with my parents every year, on their dime, for at least a week, sometimes two. My parents are in their 70s, my mom is super active, my dad is super sedate, and they are both really kind, generous people who are single-handedly (or double fistedly) keeping cocktail hour alive. We have a lot of fun together, and they're not the sort of parents I feel I have to hang out with, or that I roll my eyes at, and I don't screen their calls.

They're still my parents, however, and naturally this relationship comes with its own set of button-pushing, needling, know-me-too-well, God-my-parents-are-getting-old idiosyncrasies. I don't often write about my parents because they are very private people. In fact, I don't think they know this bog even exists, and if they found out, they would be completely flummoxed and outraged by the way I over share. Now that I've been living with them for over a week, though, I have to get some stuff off my chest:

My mom likes to watch Piers Morgan every night. She doesn't actually watch every night, she has a life, but when she's home and its nine o'clock, she watches Piers Morgan. The other night, Julianna Margulies was on there, and my mom has never heard of her, but we had to watch her for an hour and see what she had to say, which wasn't much. Then my dad comes along and says, "You know what's a good show? Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader. Now that's a good show." and he continues, "See, they have these grown people answer questions, and they have these fifth graders..." you get the idea.

Now let me tell you a story about dish towels: My mother finds great virtue in using things until they either break, disintegrate, or run screaming from her home, begging for mercy. Knowing this, I brought a few of my dish towels along when I moved in. She was confused by this: why would I feel the need to bring dish towels, her's a perfectly fine. She held one of them up to show me, and I said, "Mom, I can see the back yard through that towel." And she's all, "No, you can't!" and I'm all, "Yuh huh! there's the bird feeder!" Then I said, "I bet you've had that dish towel longer than you've had me." and she goes, "yes, but I didn't use it for a few years because it was too good." Its a dish towel, people, a 45 year-old dish towel. I know what someone is getting for Christmas...

I miss my TV. I miss my DVR. I miss HGTV and Food Network. I miss my dish rack. I miss having dinner and not doing the dishes until morning. I miss my front loading washing machine. I miss preheating the oven to the actual degrees indicated on the box instead of cutting that in half to save energy. I miss turning lights on when its dark. I miss my mail, which I forwarded to my parents' address more than a week ago, and all I've gotten is a week-old Newsweek. I miss knowing where my food is (my mom likes to rearrange and consolidate, resulting in two boxes of completely different cereal being merged into one.) I miss getting take out; whenever I've wanted take out, I've been told I have to eat a fried egg instead. 11 weeks to go...

But, here's what's awesome about living with my parents: In addition to the aforementioned cocktails, my dad will bust open a bottle of cold champagne and we'll drink it together, WHENEVER I WANT. They have good butter and cheese and liverwurst in the house at all times. I can buy these things myself, of course, but I never do because it just tastes better at my parents' house, and now I can eat it ALL THE TIME. My mom is really funny. I am living with two people who love my kid and will take care of her when I need to go do errands. My dad loves my dog. I'm sleeping like the dead in my old room. They have a Costco card. They have not gotten on my case even one time for being a slob (though I've been trying really hard not to be a slob, and you know how hard that is for me.) They are doing us the biggest favor in the world by letting us stay with them while our house gets torn apart, and I am truly grateful. We could not do this project without their hospitality, so I will watch Piers Morgan with my mom, and drink my dad's booze, and eat fried eggs all they want.

I owe them. Big.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Here I am! I'm Here!

Okay, here I am, I'm back. You were just about to give up on me weren't you? But I'm here! Always here, lurking around.

Instead of posting inane stories about my life and my hangnails and whatnot, I have done the following things:

1) Packed up my entire house, 14 years worth of crap, and stored it like this:
Just add two piles of sofa cushions, and that's almost everything I own. (I thought I had more crap. It sure felt like more when I was packing it...)

2) Taken some of my clothes to my parents' house, where I am currently living (I know! More on this later, you can bet your ass.)

3) Made approximately 500 decisions about cabinets, appliances, siding, ducting, pizza toppings, and what color my toenails should be.

4) Fallen into bed at the end of each day praying for deep, dark, dreamless sleep, only to be woken by a) the cat either scratching in the litter box with which we are sharing a room, crunching his food, or purring wildly in my ear and rubbing his face on me, or b) Leila, waking up in the middle of the night and coming in to my bed because she watched Celebrity Ghost Stories and is extra freaked out now (in addition to being a regular amount of freaked out at watching the only home she's ever known get torn apart.)

5) I've been taking pictures like this:

and saying Holy Shit! out loud to anyone who happens to be passing by.

So that's where I've been, and I have to go back to that right now...

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Simon Le Bon is in the House!

Today it starts for realsies. The packing. I haven't packed a house in 14 years. I thought I was really good at not collecting stuff, but apparently I was not as good as I thought. I packed two boxes yesterday, just to get a feel for it. This is going to suck, is how it felt. I keep thinking I will hold off on all the fragile stuff, pack all the books picture frames, start on Leila's room, but when I look around there's just STUFF everywhere. Oh look, I'm going to have to pack those dust-laden candle sticks! And over there is the old atlas that we never look at! And the artwork! And the cleaning supplies! And what exactly do I do with my TV?

Yesterday I went to my mom's to pack up some of the shit I have stored there. That was part of the deal; I can move my family and my pets into her house for three months, but in exchange I have to clean her closets. She has asked me to do this for 20 years, and it has always seemed like a monumental task. I was delighted to find out that most of the crap in those closets is her's!

I found all my Duran Duran stuff, and there is a lot of it. I have dreams about selling everything as one lot on ebay one day and making my first million. Some day, these magazine clippings of Simon Le Bon, will be worth something, I just know it! I also found a poster with kittens on it that I got as part of a Ranger Rick magazine in the third grade, and I had to wonder what I was saving it for. The kittens got shitcanned, but the Duran Duran stuff stays.

I just realized that for the next three months, I will be paying actual money to store Duran Duran memorabilia. Hm. I will also be paying real money to store cleaning supplies and God knows I have no use for those, so I guess it all evens out.

I'd better get started. I don't want to get started, I want to go get a pedicure, but I'd better get started...

Friday, September 9, 2011


Dudes, I have not worked this hard in a long, long time. I haven't watched any TV or taken a decent nap or anything in two weeks! I think I'm finally seeing the light at the end, though, and I'm hoping I get a little bit of a break next week so I can focus all my energy on my remodel that hasn't started yet.

Working just sucks, doesn't it? I mean, some people love their jobs, are fulfilled, addicted, whatever you want to call it, but I am not one of those people. The only job I've every found fulfilling is parenting, and even that has some low points. That whole potty training thing was a nightmare. Worth it, since no one wants to wipe the ass of a nine year old, but dealing with poo is just as bad as it sounds.

I have to work this weekend, too, and somehow find time to make my mother's potato salad, and she is unreliable in relaying recipes. She cooks by memory, and leaves out at least 3 key ingredients when telling you how she makes something. Then, when it doesn't come out, she says something like, "Well, did you put enough butter in?" and I'll be all, "You didn't tell me to put any butter in!" and she'll be all, "Everyone knows you have to put butter in!" and, yes, there may be butter in her potato salad recipe, anything is possible.

Last night I had a dream that I was contemplating sex with Ted Danson. The brown haired version, not the white haired version. We were at Oprah's house, which was not nearly as impressive as you'd think.

Have a good weekend!

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Viva La Nine!

I think my daughter has reached the age of reason. This morning when I woke her up, I told her to pick out some clothes and put them on. This is kind of a new thing for us, as I usually pick out what she's going to wear while she lounges in bed and chit chats with me. So she's all, "I have to pick out my clothes every day lately!" and I'm all "Me too!" and she's all, "But you're fourty and I'm nine." and I was all, "Nine is plenty old enough to pick out shorts and a T shirt."

She then picked out a totally reasonable outfit, and came into the kitchen where I was making her lunch and her breakfast. She was on the verge of tears as she said, "I don't want to grow up! I want to stay nine forever!"

My poor baby! I told her I could see that she was very serious about this and I was bummed for her because time was going to march on and she was going to have to get older whether she wanted to or not. Then I said, "and there are so many wonderful things about getting older and becoming a grown up!" And she was all, "Like what?"

uh... um... well... uh...

Gentle readers, she stumped me. I stood there staring at her with a half-hearted smile on my face and couldn't come up with one single thing about being a grown-up that was better than being nine. The seconds of silence felt like hours, and I got more and more depressed, and finally I said, "You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!" Which, of course, is only true if you want to have a liver transplant and hen drop dead of heard disease and hour later. At least that's how it would go for me, trust me.

Then I just started making shit up. "You get to go to college which is awesome, and you get to find fulfilling work, and fall in love and have a baby which is just the best thing ever!" The last part is true for me, having a baby was the best thing ever, but college was only so-so and I have yet to find fulfilling work, and being in love is fine, but it has very little to do with actual marriage.

So, for today, it sucks being a parent. My job is to prepare her for the world by making her do her homework and making her pick out her own clothes and adding more and more responsibility and independence, but I just want her to be nine forever so she doesn't have to have her heart broken by a stupid stinky boy, and pay bills, and get up early for a sucky job, and eat vegetables.

I'll let her clean toilets, though, I'm okay with that.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Please Leave a Message

What did the world ever do without voicemail? I swear, I have made six phone calls this morning to try to transact some business, and I have had to leave messages everywhere! Doesn't anyone ever pick up the phone anymore? Now I have to sit around and wait for return phone calls in order to move my day along, and they could come in five minutes, or they could come tomorrow. And, chances are, I will be at the grocery store, on the can, or otherwise engaged when they call back and they will have to leave a message and nothing will ever be accomplished!

Truthfully, there are lots of times when, while my outgoing call is ringing, I pray for voicemail. We've all said that prayer: "Please don't pick up, please don't pick up, please don't pick up." because we want to get credit for either being responsive, or taking initiative or whatever, without actually having to do anything. Whenever I hear someone say, "I have a call into so-and-so, I'm just waiting to hear back." I know what it really means; it means, "I knew you were going to ask for the status on this issue and I haven't really done anything, so I called and left a voicemail just before you asked and now I can pass the buck to the poor slob who hasn't even heard my message yet and is wondering why he hasn't heard from me, but I'll look like I'm on top of things."

Admit it! You know its true!

Luckily, I have the internet. Now I can spend time refreshing facebook and looking at Youtube while I wait for people to call me back. I know Debbie, at the last place I called, was probably having a cup of coffee and relaying the exciting story of what she did this weekend to her co -workers, who weren't really listening because they don't give two shits about what Debbie did this weekend, but they want to avoid their phones.

What a world it would be if everyone, including me, did what they were supposed to do, when they were supposed to do it. Imagine how productive we all would be! We'd have so much more time to take naps, and we wouldn't have as many nightmares, and my house remodel would probably be done by now, and there would be no war or famine. Maybe not the last part, but still!

Now I'm going to blow dry my hair, which means I wont hear the phone when it rings, and thus dwindles the day...

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

I got the Blues

You guys, I am low. I got the blues, the contractor, construction blues. I am trying to clear my head by tackling some of the other 56 things on my to-do list so I can get to the bottom of my dilemma, but its not working.

I tried to exercise my way to an answer, but after a mere 15 minutes on the elliptical, I thought I was going to barf, so I sat down on a chair in the back yard and pet my cat instead. She was very soft and silky and appreciative, but, unfortunately, not helpful.

Then I sent some goodness into the universe by helping my mom track down the owner of the iPhone that she found on a hiking trail yesterday. She actually called me from the iPhone, which is in itself completely astonishing since this is a woman who has trouble with the remote control and doesn't have an ATM card. She thinks I'm a super genius for tracking the guy down, but really the people who invented the internet are super geniuses because that's how I found him. I thought some good karma might help me with my current situation, but so far, no.

Then I took a long shower. I didn't work up much of a sweat during my 15 minute work out, but I have a hot date tonight for my anniversary (15 years, dude.) so I thought What the hell? The steam did not sort out my problem, and I doubt the blow dryer will either.

Is there anyone out there who can jail break my brain and figure this out for me?!!!?

So all I'm going to do today is slog through my list of stuff I have to get done, like buy the biggest jar of maraschino cherries I can find for the neighbor kid's 9th birthday, and then read some of the third book in the Hunger Games series, and then cover my head with my blanket and stop answering the phone. Sounds like a plan!

Monday, August 29, 2011

First Day of the Rest of my Life

I didn't mention this because I didn't want anyone to call me on it or put on any pressure, but a few weeks ago, I bought a used elliptical machine off Craigslist from a man with the sexiest Italian accent I've ever heard. I made Rob go with me to pick it up because A) I needed him to load it in the car, and B) I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't come home pregnant.

The elliptical has been set up in the garage for a couple of weeks, and Rob has been using it in lieu of going to the gym before work and showering with strangers. I hadn't used it until this morning. I am the MASTER of excuses. First, I wanted to sleep in as long as I could while we were still on summer vaycay, and last week I had that headache that wouldn't go away, but there was no excuse this morning. I needed a shower anyway, so I thought What the heck?

I did 20 minutes. It kicked my ass. I am in the worst shape EVER. Its really shameful. I set such a bad example for my kid, its not even funny. While I'm writing this, I'm resting. I can't get into the shower yet, my knees are too weak. Its like I'm 80. Jeez. I suck.

But every fat-ass has their first day, right? Those people who have lost 200 lbs. had a first day of the rest of their life, right? I'm actually not setting a weight loss goal; I just want to get in better shape so that a flight of stairs doesn't leave me winded. So I don't get a sore butt from bowling one game. So I can weed my garden without taking ibuprofin for my back.

Day one: 20 minutes: nailed it.

Thursday, August 25, 2011


Its the fourth day of school, and I'm ready for summer vacation to start. I just feel assaulted by school this year. There's so much noise and talking and people and kids and bikes and paper! It almost makes me want to home school, until I realize I'd actually have my kid around me all day and I'd have to teach her stuff. I'll teach her how to get me a coke and scratch that place on my back that I can't reach. She's on her own for the rest.

And, in addition to having elementary school standing on my neck, I have a headache, accompanied by nausea and simultaneous hunger, that wont go away. I'm on Day Three of popping advil (to no avail) and belching. Damn period. If only I weren't so afraid of menopause. But I guess it doesn't really matter if I'm afraid of it or not, right? Its clear that my hormones don't care about me, never have and probably never will. My hormones just stand there in their leather studded biker jackets and flip me the bird. I have the Bernie Madoff of hormones. They're thugs waiting to ambush me and steal my sanity and my waistline. They hold a gun to my head and make me take little blue pills. Never been on my side, those fuckers.

Where was I? Oh yeah: school. This is longest week ever, and homework hasn't even started. Neither has piano. Now Leila wants to try fencing, so I've got to get that bullshit going.

Isn't 'Bullshit' the best word ever? Its especially good when my dad says it with his German accent. Or when Leila says it. She hardly ever does, because she's a good girl and knows what language she is allowed to use and what language is only okay in song lyrics, but every now and again she'll blurt it out for no reason and I just laugh and laugh. I know I shouldn't, but its funny. Its like my friends daughter who, at the age of three, named one of her dolls Asshole. It was just too funny to correct. Isn't it nice that children exist almost entirely for our amusement?

Can you tell I have a headache and I want to throw up and eat a big sandwich?

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

The Loop

There are some changes around the campus this year, and, even though I am done caring too much about the machinations of the school administration, there is one change that is affecting me, and I'm not digging it. I could care less about the changes that affect other people, but, as the Queen, this is the current object of my bitching.

The school closed what we affectionately called The Loop, a driveway of sorts into the school that looped around where you could push your kids out of the car while it was still moving and then drive on to your other pursuits. Problems arose when parents actually did this, and in the process, bumped into other cars, drove up on sidewalks where children were walking, made their own children play human Frogger with oncoming traffic, and came to blows with other parents. You may think I am exaggerating, but I assure you I'm not. Except the throwing-your-kid-out-of-a-moving-car thing; I only suspect that that happens, but more often than not, a mother lingers in the loop smearing sunscreen on her child in the back seat while other cars wait to drop off their kids, and thus the blows. Mothers Fighting Mothers is not a reality show I want to watch.

The principals took the radical step of closing the loop and making parents drop off their children at other locations around the school. White Pants and I thought of setting up lawn chairs where the driveway was closed and taking pictures of parents having complete conniptions. Leila and I walk to school, so I don't have any particular feeling about this either way, except that now I do.

Walking my child to school in the morning was, in all seriousness, the best part of my day. We're out in the cool morning, we're talking, the dog is with us, we're holding hands, we're saying hello to friends, just delightful.


The parents who used to use The Loop are naturally looking for other places to drop off their children, so they have crowded in to the little street approaching the school. What used to be a pleasant morning walk, is now an obstacle course where car doors are opening into us, bikes and scooters are whizzing past, and it is so crowded, I fear for my life. Not really, but I do fear for the safety of my dog, and I'm seriously considering not walking him to school anymore which would be a real shame for him and all of his fans. It is seriously like trying to navigate your way through a crowded airport. Like, seriously.

The best part of my day has been ruined! Don't they care about me and my needs? DON'T THEY KNOW WHO I AM???

I'm going to wait and see if the people in their cars decide that this particular street is a bad place to drop off their kids and proceed to one of the other designated locations. I'll give it a week. If it doesn't get better, I'm throwin' down. I'll make phone calls. Don't think I wont! I'll wear a sandwich board promoting the re opening of the loop! I'll write a letter to the mayor! Go ahead and push your children out of moving vehicles and get into fist fights if you want! I have to walk my dog!!!

Monday, August 22, 2011

Fourth Grade!

First day of school! Tra la la! Fourth Grade, baby! Woo hoo!

Yes, the summer is over. School has begun. If you asked me what we did this summer, I wouldn't be able to come up with a good answer. I could say, "We watched a lot of shows on the Food Network!" and that would be true, but not the message I want to send. Leila couldn't go to sleep last night, too excited, and was ready to walk out the door a half hour early this morning. That wont happen again until this time next year. I miraculously remembered how to put a cheese sandwich together, and pile things into a lunch box, while slinging frozen waffles. My powers of recall are really impressive!

The whole family walked to school together, and I think the dog was a little confused that we were up before nine, AND he was getting walked. He hardly knew where to pee. His powers of recall are not nearly as impressive as mine. So what if I forgot to put the cookies in her lunch, I'm still awesome!

In fourth grade, the teacher doesn't want the parents to dangle around the classroom, helping their kid get settled. Conventional wisdom is that nine year-olds are perfectly capable of putting their back pack in their cubby and finding their name tag on their own, but that doesn't stop all of us parents from crowding into the room and "helping." For many of us, it will be our only social interaction with other adults for the rest of the day, so there is lots of hugging and lingering.

I thought I was pretty good. Rob and I went in, but we just stood there like dopes and let Leila take care of business, and then we said goodbye. We didn't stay and chat, we didn't introduce ourselves to the teacher, and I didn't touch Leila's back pack. Its a little weird to just leave your kid with a strange woman and a classroom full of kids, even if the strange woman is the teacher, and your kid is at an age where, in other countries, she'd be carrying water five miles or working in a factory or harvesting crops or whatever.

Here was the best part, though. One of the other mothers came to me and said she was so happy that she would have me as her head room parent again, and I said, "Nope, not this year. Someone else's turn." Look at me, saying no! Not succumbing to the adulation (even if its only in my head) that comes with being head room parent! I'm so excited to not do it this year, and was even more excited to not go to the first day welcome coffee where I can learn about all the exciting volunteer opportunities awaiting me, buy a sweatshirt with the school's logo, and donate money. Me and White Pants walked our dogs instead. What a refreshing change!

Don't get too excited. I'm already on the docket for the Variety Show and some other stuff, so I'll be bitching about that soon enough. In the meantime, I'm going to go to the supermarket and buy some good butter, some Benefiber, and a spray bottle. I suppose I should come up with something for dinner, too.

And thus it begins...

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Drip, drip...

I want to give you an update on our construction project that you may remember me talking about a few months back. Well, we are about one inch closer to our goal. I'll be meeting with contractor number 6 today, and hopefully we'll get an estimate from at least one of these guys sometime in this century. I don't think anyone told any of the contractors in my county that there's a recession on. They all seem to be either swimming in work, or too busy fishing.

This has been so frustrating, and we've waiting so long, and the project I was going to do during the summer and be done with by the time we went back to school hasn't even started and we go back to school on Monday. I'll be lucky if we are done by Christmas. Everyone told me this would happen, but I thought, "how hard can this be?" Very hard, apparently.

In lighter news, I can't stop dripping stuff on my clothes. I keep going to the movies and dripping popcorn butter on shirts, and my new shorts have a big greasy shadowy stain on them. I am trying to dress a little nicer, forgoing my standard Tshirt and jeans for slightly nicer Tshirts and jeans, but I keep ruining everything. Would it be weird if I just walked around in an apron all the time? I wear one while doing dishes, and when my black cat wants to sit on me and purr and drool, and I often put it on when I'm going to eat something in front of the TV because I inevitably drip things on myself, so maybe wearing it to restaurants or the movies wouldn't be such a big stretch?

I have heard this the a problem confined to big busted women such as myself. The rest of you, with normal boobs, drip something off your fork and it drops onto the napkin that you have delicately placed in your lap, but for the chesty girls, it never makes it to the lap. I should carry disposable lobster bibs in my purse. Or dig out some of Leila's baby bibs and just put them on every time I eat something. Or eat naked, but I don't know how that would go over at the movie theater or my local eatery.

Does anyone have a sure fire way to get greasy stains out of clothes? And don't tell me to lay off the greasy food, because we both know that wont happen...

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


Summer vacation is almost over and I can feel it. Today, Leila went to camp and I went to the movies. I was the only one in the theater, and I consumed a small popcorn, a small coke, and a whole roll of rollos. Oh, and I forgot to brush my hair or my teeth before I left the house. I am livin' the life, people! Don't be fooled by the fact that I sound like a complete loser!

I know it is time to re-enter a routine, to rev up the old engine, to volunteer my little heart out, to engage in social activities, to make nutritious meals, to walk the dog more than once a week, to start blow drying my hair again, to start getting up at 7 instead of 9, to stop watching so many decorating shows, to live my best life, to not waste a moment, blah, blah blah, blah blah. I have been somewhat hermetic this summer. Haven't seen a lot of my friends, haven't left the house too much, and I am dangerously close to embracing this lifestyle. I have been sloth-like. I've watched a lot of TV. But on the plus side, or the minus side, depending on how you look at it, I haven't cracked open a bottle of chardonnay in quite a while.

I have no idea where I'm going with this, except to say that this has to stop. The end is near, and I am gearing up by slowing down even more, so I think I'll read a magazine and take a nappy.

Yesterday, I went out on to my back deck and this hummingbird was hovering just in front of my face and just stared at me for, like, a while. More than two minutes. It just hovered in front of me, staring, making occasional chirping sounds. I moved from side to side to see if it would get scared off, but it just stared at me. It was so long that I got kind of bored and ready to move on to the next thing, but I waited it out, and eventually it buzzed away. My friend says that hummingbirds are reincarnated dinosaurs. So what does it mean that I was having a staring contest with a dinosaur soul? Are my arms about to get really short? I'm I about to go extinct? Is my skin in need of moisturizer?

I really need school to start...

Friday, July 29, 2011

Its Done

So I had a big day on Thursday. I had the sex talk with my kid, I did a couple loads of laundry, I cleaned up the house, I Roombaed stuff, I had a burrito, I finished a book. What's that you say? Yes! I did say that I had the sex talk with my kid!

I wish, for the sake of your entertainment, I could tell you all kinds of funny stuff about it, like all the funny things she assumed, or how grossed out she was, but it was too straight forward for that. Here's how it went:

She got in bed with me in the morning, and I seized my opportunity. I did my whole intro, about the Barbie Sex thing, and how I thought she should know some stuff before she ran into any more smut on the internet. I didn't use the word 'smut', but I did use the word 'boner', which I'll get to in a minute. I asked her to tell me what she already knew about sex, and at first she said, "Nothing." but then she followed that up with, "But I've heard that its when grown ups rub their parts together." Not far off. So I laid out the basics. I started with describing the male anatomy, and then describing what an erection was. I told her people call it a 'boner' sometimes (or, all the time, if you're me. Erection sounds like we're building skyscrapers.) She thought boners were "weird" and I tried not to agree, wanting to make it sound like all of this was beautiful and natural even though we all know the truth. I told her where the men put their boners and why, and she was fine with that. She was either fine, or a little traumatized. It was hard to tell. I told her that's how babies were made, and covered the sperm and egg gestalt which she found interesting, but then I told her that, most of the time, adults have sex because its fun.

I then wanted to move into a discussion about what she might see on TV and the internet, and what 'sexy' means and whatever, but on the way I got lost and started talking about arctic penguins. I think I was trying to convey that sex was natural and the urge to do it was universal, and in that moment I thought penguins were the perfect example. I got back on track, though, and I can proudly say that my daughter now knows that nothing she sees on the internet or on the TV about sex is real, and that no one is allowed to touch her body, and that she should feel free to come to me with any questions.

"So, do you have any questions?"


And that was that. Whew.

Oh! Then! I told her I had bought a book for her and she was all, "I DO NOT want to look at it... Well, okay, I'll look at it." She flipped through it, and was horrified by this picture:

and said again that it was just weird. I refrained from comment.

And then we moved on to something else, or had breakfast or whatever we did, I don't remember because I was kind of buzzed on what had just happened. We have not revisited the subject. Why doesn't she have any questions? Is it because she really isn't curious, or that she just doesn't want to ask me? My Cool Mom systems have been activated! I'm ready to answer questions!!

So if you have any questions about sex, please let me know.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Who Cares Where I Came From?

So, I did tell my friend that her daughter typed in "Barbie Sex." After I saw what I saw, and after I consulted with parents whose opinions I trust, I told her. Not surprisingly, she acted somewhat baffled that her child would do that, "She doesn't even like Barbies!" she said. I told her I didn't think the Barbies were the draw. She was very interested in finding the source of the idea because it couldn't possibly be her daughter that came up with this. Of course she responded this way. I would have, too. I would have been flummoxed and a little mortified, and wondered how on earth this could have possibly happened. Luckily for me, she ignored the part where all of this happened in my house, under my watchful eye, by which I am also a little mortified.

That afternoon, I went to Barnes and Noble and read 4 different books from the children's section about talking to kids about sex. They were books for children, with funny pictures and captions and stuff, and every one of them basically sent the following message: "The penis goes into the vagina, sperm comes out, fertilizes an egg." The second two thirds of the book is all about how a baby develops in a mother's tummy and how she nurses the baby after its born.

My parenting compass may be completely out of whack here, but I have little to no interest in including procreation in the sex talk I have with my daughter. What the books do not address is that sex is everywhere you look, women are dehumanized everywhere you look, every song ever written is about sex in some way (except for some U2 songs) and how on earth is a 9 year old girl supposed to grow up in a world like this??????!!!!!! And furthermore! How is her mother (me) supposed to guide her to into an adulthood where she respects herself and her body while her favorite singer is Rhianna and her first boyfriend will probably want to have anal sex because he saw Barbies do it ON THE INTERNET!!!???

I know I am going too far. I know I will find my way. I have to "get low" as Leila's preschool teacher used to say. When I asked Leila if she knew what "gay" meant she said , "oooh, is that when people get really old and start shrinking?" I have to remember that.

In spite of my anxiety over the issue of telling my friend, talking to my daughter, facing away from the kids in the Barnes and Noble while reading "Where did I come From?" I did have a little fun. I conned Rob into letting me read him the book I eventually chose under the guise of including him in this all-important milestone. And then I made jokes about how I wanted him to know what he was in for when he hit puberty. Then we pointed at the illustrations and laughed.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Barbie Bang Bang

After a particularly down-in-the-dumps day yesterday, fueled by marriage, children, remodel hell and the lack of anything to eat in this house, I am feeling a bit better. Leila is at camp, Rob is at work, I am alone and feeling better. Should I be concerned about this pattern?

The left side of my butt hurts from bowling. I didn't think that was possible, but when you are in as terrible shape as I am, anything is possible. Yes, I bowled. We had some family fun, I broke two nails, bowled a 58, and now my left butt cheek is sore. I also drank Dr. Pepper and I blame it for keeping me up until 1 a.m. watching Sopranos on Netflix.

Now: Here is the parenting issue that I am facing: the other day, Leila confided to me that sometimes a friend of her's types "barbie sex" into the search bar on You Tube. After I stopped laughing, I realized that this would be a great time to have the sex talk with her. She's old enough, and I'd like her to hear it from me first rather than some skanky fourth grader on the playground. The thing is, though, I chickened out. I need to think some more about this first, how to approach it, how far to go. Like, do I have to explain oral sex? Porn? Chlamydia? There's no way around mentioning a penis, but do I have to draw a picture like I did with the period talk? Do I mention that people put tongues in each others mouths? She wont even eat a freakin' gummy bear, so she'll be completely grossed out. No, further thought is definitely required.

Then, I was talking to a friend who mentioned that these barbies having sex on you tube could be in bondage gear and stuff, so I just searched on it myself and all I have to say is WHOA.

My barbies used to get up to all kinds of shenanigans and were always getting knocked up with cotton balls shoved in their dresses, but we never got up to what these barbies are getting up to. First of all, our Barbies weren't nearly as bendy. Here is a sampling of just the titles: "Slut Barbie" "Barbie Sex Tape" "Horror Movie with Barbie and Sex" "Barbies Having Full On Sex Orgy" and my personal favorite, "Barbie and Ken Rough Sex" where Ken is punching Barbie while in the missionary position. Don't you just love the internet?

Jesus Effing Christ!!!!

What's more interesting is that some of these videos are posted by children!!!
I wasn't going to tell Leila's friend's mother about this because I want to preserve the trust between me and my kid, but now I don't know. Thoughts?

p.s. I have since taken You Tube off Leila's iPod touch, so no more barbie porn for her.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Kill me part deux

This re-entry week has been really hard. I'm so irritable, I feel like I'm a cactus with thorny things all over me. It came to a head when I couldn't find the Band-aid antiseptic rinse to clean Leila's ear piercing that had gone bloody, so I took everything out from the cabinet under the sink and threw it across the bathroom while yelling, "God Dammit!!!!"

Yesterday we went to the zoo and had a good day. I really needed a day where we were out of the house, looking at interesting things, and not fighting about room cleaning and TV watching and getting dressed and all the other 1000 things that we fight about on a daily basis. It was very helpful, but now we're back in the house, the prison of our own making.

Remember when we were kids, and summer vacay would come around and we would hang out with our friends on the street, and ride our bikes all over the place and roller skate down steep hills and make our own plans with our friends and just tell our parents, "Mom! I'm going to Kelly's!" And we knew to be home somewhere around dinner time, and then maybe go back out for a while? Remember those days? Its not like that anymore.

I am in charge of all Leila's entertainment options. She is just starting to call friends on the phone herself, but most of her friends are in camp or away on trips, so there aren't so many kids around. She just walked the dog around the block by herself the other day, but that's about as much independence as she's ever had, and she doesn't feel like riding her bike. So, we're mostly stuck in the house together unless I submit to going some place like the zoo, or she submits to going to the super market. It turns out that I am really bad at summer vacation.

Do you know what makes being a stay at home parent hard? Managing the tedium. Its worth it, and I want to be here for my kid, but if she doesn't clean her freakin' room and get dressed in the next ten minutes, I may have to take a valium and its not even noon.

We are probably going to the beach later. Maybe that will calm my frizzled nerves...

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Kill Me

These people have been back for a day and they're already driving me nuts.

Yesterday was fine. Leila didn't shut up all day long. At the library, where I looked in vain for the latest Tori Spelling book, she just kept talking in spite of my saying, "Hold on." "Just a second." "Give me minute!" and finally I took her by the shoulders and told her the shut the fuck up. No, I didn't really do that, but I did have to take her by the shoulders and move her because she was so not paying attention to me that she stood right between me and the shelf I was looking at. She wasn't misbehaved or anything, just... talkative. Later, instead of cleaning her room as I had asked, she wanted to talk about nutrition and exercise and wanted me to drop what I was doing so that she could try spinach. Her room still isn't clean.

Remember how I told you about the whole dishes thing? Well last night I made Rob a lovely dinner of pork chops and zucchini gratin (with zooks from my garden!) and I cleaned everything up except for the two large pans that I have a real hard time cleaning because I have no muscles in my arms, so I asked him to clean the heavy stuff. Which he did except for one pan he was "soaking" which is another way of saying he forgot about it, but was now in bed so I could do it in the morning. And so it begins!!!

I started this morning yelling at Leila because I told her to turn off the TV and she ignored me. She doesn't think that changing channels and settling on a new show after I tell her to turn it off is ignoring me. She's a little unclear on the concept. Then I gave her a whole lecture about how I don't want to be a yeller, but that she makes me be one because she ignores what I tell her to do. Then she tells me that maybe I should ask her nicely to do things, to which I respond, "I do ask you nicely, I ask you nicely 10 times, but you ignore me and then I start yelling! You don't seem to be able to hear me unless I'm yelling!" And, frankly, I'm the mom, I don't have to ask nicely: I say jump, you jump! I say clean your room, you fucking do it! Nicely, my ass!

I am such a freakin' push over. I feel like I have to start being meaner, but I don't want to be meaner! I'm plenty mean! I yell all the time! I want to yell right now!!!!

Now she's doing yoga on the Wii fit. She wants to exercise. And try spinach. This will last about 20 minutes.

So much time left in the day...

Thursday, July 14, 2011


Day four is almost over. My kid is not interested in talking to me on the phone, and my dog is starting to realize I've all he's got.

For dinner I ate half a Chipotle burrito bowl with a coke, but I was still pretty full from the popcorn I had at the movies earlier, so I'm bursting at the seams now.

Don't know what's on the TV, but I'm about to find out.

Tomorrow night I'm going to see some guy at the symphony with my mom and I wish I could get out of it because it means I have to put on makeup and keep my pants buttoned and it cuts into my evening ass sitting.

I really hope I miss my fam' by Saturday night, otherwise it will be hard to welcome them home with a big smile...

Single White Female

So I've been alone at home for three nights, three days, and I wish I could say I miss my family, but... I don't. Is that a horrible thing to say? The first day, Rob was texting me pictures of Leila frolicking in the lake and it made me sad, but I have gotten into a groove here, and I am really liking it! I have a good friend who keeps calling me to check in on me and invite me over for dinner, and she's so sweet and well intentioned, but every day I look forward to sitting in front of my TV with whatever I've chosen for dinner that day (last night it was sushi and mildk duds with a root beer) that I don't even want to answer the phone. I thought I would be going stir crazy for company right now, and instead I keep wishing it were... quieter.

The phone is ringing all the time, my work is really busy right now, I have one remodel appointment after another, and I am craving even more solitude than I already have.

Of course, I am talking to myself all day long, because being alone for 6 days doesn't mean I'll shut up. After watching the Sarah Ferguson show on OWN the other night (really good!) I even started talking to myself in an English accent. I could say I'm talking to the dog, but who are we kidding? Speaking of the dog, he's depressed. At least someone in this house misses the family...

The best part? Okay: the best part is no dishes. When I create a dirty dish, I clean it and put it away. I know this sounds obvious, but normally, and especially when I actually cook things, there are lots of dirty dishes, and Leila uses these plastic cups that I don't put in the dishwasher, and she uses 3 or 4 of them every day, and there are constantly dishes drying in the drying rack, and that are waiting to be done and when the pile is bigger than one dish, I just turn away from it. But now the kitchen is, dare I say, clean! No dishes, no plastic cups, no grilled cheese pans on the stove, nothin'. Rob and I had an agreement that he would do the dishes on the weekends because that's the only thing I really want a break from, but its gotten to where he does the dishes on Saturday, and then leaves all the Sunday dishes all day and then I do them all on Monday morning. I think I have to put my foot down; not doing dishes is the best thing ever. And not cooking. That's pretty cool, too.

I officially highly recommend sending your husband and kids, if you have them, away for a week. Maybe two.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011


Day one of Home Alone is past, and I have to say its a little weird. I normally have a reasonable amount of time to myself, with Rob going to work and L going to school, but its always temporary and fleeting. But now, its not as temporary, and its a little weird. I've never spent this much time alone in my house! I've never lived alone! Its very quiet...

I ate Panda Express in front of the TV last night and it was awesome. I slept great (I was afraid that I would freak out a little bit) and this morning I was thinking I should get up, but then I thought, Why? Hunger has finally gotten me out of bed, though, and I'm starting to formulate a little plan for today. There's only so much TV you can watch, right? And that dog isn't going to walk himself!

Very Weird. Not sure if I like it yet...

Monday, July 11, 2011

Sunday Night

Rob and Leila are going on a trip together tomorrow, and you wanna know what's awesome? I don't have to pack anything, or prep anything! I get to sit here and eat jelly bellies and write this while Rob does all the stuff I normally have to do when we go on a trip! For the record, I did do 7 loads of laundry so all their clothes would be clean, and I packed Leila's clothes and made her clean her room, and I have offered additional help, but I have been relieved of my pre-trip duties!!

Which doesn't mean that I am not trying to exert my control over every little thing, like what Leila will wear, and whether or not they should take sleeping bags, and what kind of food Rob should bring, and where they should stop for lunch on the way. I am totally aware of this, and have called myself out, and made a blanket apology for sticking my nose in their business. In fact, earlier, when I was hearing the over-complicated machinations over their lunch plans, I said to myself, quietly, in my head, This has nothing to do with you. Don't say a word. Stay out of it. And I was able to stay that course for about an hour before I had to blurt out my opinion. Then I blurted out that I had sat on those feelings for whole hour and someone should just go ahead and give me a medal.

Maybe this is why Rob has refused my offers of help, and is happily packing away without me hanging over his shoulder telling him what socks to bring, and how to tuck them inside his shoes.

Here's another thing about Rob that made me look at him in disbelief. There is some disagreement among parents about how you are supposed to talk to your children about drugs; some say be honest about your own experiences as a stoner or an 80's coke head, others say lie, lie, lie. Today Leila asked me if I'd ever stolen anything, and before I could decide which team I'm on, truth or lies, I said "Yes," which, of course, was followed by "What did you steal?" so I told her, "Eyeliner from a drug store." Then I said, laying it on as thick as possible, "And I hated myself for it! It really ate me up inside. I never did anything like that again, I can tell you. Phew!"

So then its Rob's turn, and he says, yes, he stole a candy bar from a grocery store, (and I should point out that Leila is completely flabbergasted by the fact that we had mis-spent youths. Just wait until she asks about the drugs!) And she asks, "Did you feel bad about it?" and he's all, "Not at all! That candy bar was delicious!"

I am leaving this man in charge of my child for 6 days. He wont let me help him get ready, and he wont let me tell him what to say, and he wont let me tell him where to eat, and I just have to sit here and be okay with that. I'm not sure there is enough wine at Trader Joes...

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Being Mom Sucks

I'm now "Mom." I have been "Mommy" since Leila learned to talk, but recently she told me that she gets a little embarrassed calling me Mommy in front of her friends, like they're going to think she's babyish or something. So I told her that, if she wanted, she could call me Mom in front of her friends, and call me Mommy at home, but now she's just calling me Mom.

This started last week when we went to the fair, the veritable smorgasbord, and we met her good friend there, and Leila called to me from their first ride, "Mom!" which I didn't even hear because my brain is not trained to respond to Mom. (It is trained to ignore the words "Hey, Mommy:" which I am used to hearing 765 times a day.) So she called me Mom once, and then it was back to Mommy because she was having a good time and forgot to be cool.

I can tell that she is still forcing herself to say Mom, that its not coming naturally yet, but more and more she is not forgetting, and Mommy is getting the shaft. I should never have let her get her ears pierced. All this growing up is not okay with me. Before I had a daughter, I thought calling your father "Daddy" when you're past the age of 13 was gross. After I had a daughter, I completely reversed my position on this, and now Leila is starting to call Rob "Dad" and I hate it! The only time I called my dad "Daddy" as a grown woman was right after I gave birth and I was all sewn up and under the sheets, holding my new baby, and my dad came in the room and I said, "Hi, Daddy!" I don't know how, but it just slipped out.

So "Mom" it is. At least she's not calling me by my first name. My brother did that to my mom when he was a teenager and it drove her crazy. And she's not calling me "Lady" or "Asshole" so I've got that going for me. Next she's going to get her period and start smoking cigarettes and steeling sips of my wine. CANT THEY JUST STAY SMALL FOR A WHILE LONGER???????

My little baby is on this ride!!

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Dinner Can Eat Me

I was just at the grocery store and saw and old dude buying three bags of Werther's Originals. I always wondered who buys those and, as indicated in their advertising, its old dudes.

I was at the grocery store because a.) I am out of milk, b.) I really wanted a Twix, and c.) I had to get something for dinner. This dinner thing is such a pain in the ass. If I won the lottery, and money was no object, I'm not sure I would ever make dinner. Or I would make it, like, 5 times a year. I like to cook, and I'm a pretty good cook, but I do not like to cook at 5:30 p.m. and the worst part is not knowing what to cook, and stumbling around the house, knowing that you have to come up with something, and being totally uninspired. Its not like I have to create some gourmet feast every night or anything, but sometimes I just can't get over the hump.

I wonder, if I did win the lottery and didn't have to cook, how soon eating out or eating take out would get boring. And how much fatter I would get. I'd have a burrito one night, sushi the next, pizza the next, etc. Just dinner, though. Unless I'm having lunch with a friend, I can make a sandwich at home and I'm good.

I settled on Turkey burgers with corn for tonight. I'm hungry right now, though. I'm going to check my lottery numbers and see if I won. If I did, those turkey burgers can suck it.