Archive | December, 2010

Mrs. Palladia

31 Dec

I am in love with Palladia. So why don’t I marry it, you ask?

Maybe I will. Maybe I’ve been putting a little thought into our future together.

Our honeymoon would probably be in Venice, but I want to go to the Glendalough area someday, too, so we’ll just have to see. We will hold hands and skip everywhere we go whilst we sing and sing.

Our children would likely resemble Eddie Vedder, Jay-Z, two of the four members of the Kings of Leon band, Lenny Kravitz, and… well, me.

Do you even have to ask which two?

If you play your cards right I will invite you to the wedding – it will be awesome.

Wait ’til you hear about all of the bands who will be performing at the reception…


Who Has A Mullet Now, Beotch?

28 Dec

It was 6:00a.m. and I pretended to be asleep when I heard my 4-year-old sprinting toward my room. “Oopsy daisy!” said L at the top of her lungs in order to wake me up. “Oopsy daisy” is so far off from what she should have been exclaiming… it’s weak and poorly planned, not to mention misleading. The implication is that she dropped a toy or a piece of cheese, not that she has made a serious and lasting decision about her appearance – and all without consulting me, her stylist and closest confidante.

Regardless, there she was with a big smile on her face and a fistful of hair in her hand. I was convinced it was from her creepy human head hair styling toy, which is what I asked her: “Is that from your doll? The head?  You cut her hair?”

I wish I could do her expression justice by explaining it here, but it’s impossible. A rough interpretation would be that she smiled giddily at me in that guilty, holy-crap-I-can’t-believe-I-did-this way that only a 4 and 1/2 year-old can pull off, while simultaneously shaking her head. Nope. Guess again, mom.

“Shut the EFF up!!” I didn’t yell. Instead I did my dramatic gasp and began sobbing, “Are you shitting me? A friggin’ mullet? This is about me, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying enough attention to you? Or is it my cooking? Is it the hair-washing technique I’ve used at bath time? I’ve tried so hard to keep the soap out of your eyes! I have,” (here my sobbing turns in to crazed anger), “What the crap is going on around here? Doesn’t anyone care about how hard I try to make this family appear normal? Why, just yesterday you flushed your sister’s toothbrush, your own underwear, and some game pieces down the toilet. I turn my back for 3 seconds and now I have 3 feet of water in my house and an extremely unfortunate hairstyle on my child’s head.”

Nah. Actually, all of that is true except for my part of the dialogue. I just said, “What? Why? Where did you find scissors? Why do you want shorter hair? Why are you up in the middle of the night? It’s pitch black outside. Give me a minute to wake up…Jesus…”

And then I laughed (not in front of her) – because it’s FUNNY, I mean, so what? She was not trying to be naughty. She wanted shorter hair. She had some scissors. Now she has shorter hair. She is four.

On the other hand, if she does one more thing to test my patience – such as waking my ass up at 5:59a.m. for the 100th time in 100 days – I will sell her on Craigslist, unless I think I can get more money for her on e-bay.

“Feisty four-year-old female (human) – make offer.”



21 Dec

Smug? Smug.

It turns out that my physical therapist is particularly kind and unassuming resulting in a slight adjustment in my plans to get him to loosen up, but don’t fret. He has made eye contact with me numerous times and today he laughed a couple of times – he is completely shocked into laughter when I say the simplest things. He did seem kind of defensive today, though, now that I think about it.

He told me about a Christmas gift (clothing) he bought for his “beautiful and sweet” wife who “looks great in anything”. Why the “beautiful”? I mean it’s very endearing if you’re his wife, but to everyone else it comes across as if he’s trying to convince us. Who, in passing, says “My gorgeous husband who makes me laugh everyday – EVERYDAY – is perfect. We are always just so happy. And I love him. I really do. And what was I going to tell you? Oh yeah… I’m buying him some new pants for Christmas.”

Bless his sweet heart. I think. But guess what else… I taught him a new word today.

I mentioned my opinion about a woman who is smug. He said “Ma’am?” (he really did… he always does). I said:


“What does that word mean?”

“Smug? Oh. It means… ummm… that someone is self-satisfied,” which was not enough information for him and he really wanted more. Several other people were watching us and listening, in what I assume to be shock that he didn’t just pretend he knew what it meant. Some bad acting on my part followed (it’s hard to explain smug without making that face… you know, with lips half pursed/half smiling, arms crossed).

“Oh. Like ‘It’s what I say and that’s it?'”


“I have never heard that word used before.”



It makes me tired just thinking of it… yes, I could have gone on to explain it better, but to what end? His basic grasp will be just enough for him to label people. Like me, it appears from this post.

All for now… Adios.


15 Dec
From left to right: Swiper (in background), Do...

Image via Wikipedia

“In English we say clean up. In Spanish we say (something else that I can’t spell),” Dora yells at the top of her lungs. Dora is trying to teach Swiper the Fox how to live a better, more rewarding life temporarily so he can get some presents for Christmas.

Whether or not you have children, you have probably heard of Dora the Explorer. Consider yourself lucky if that is the extent of your relationship with Dora and her pals. Pals like Swiper the Fox, for example. Swiper is the poorly disguised troublemaker who steals from all the other characters. He wears a mask that does almost nothing to hide his identity and answers by name, even in the midst of robbery.

As for Dora, she clearly needs better parental supervision. She’s always lost, yet yelling at the audience in a condescending manner as if we were somehow involved. She repeats the same thing at the top of her lungs for extended periods of time (“WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? MAGIC MOUNTAIN!!”), which would be great if I had an IQ of 7 and was deaf.

Thanks to Dora, though, today my child and I are learning about how much better Swiper’s life would be if he would just stop swiping. Santa put him on the naughty list because he steals from all the other kids. Well let me tell you, Swiper learns his lesson, alright. After much loud-talking from Dora, the lesson is clear. DO NOT STEAL RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Any other time throughout the year, but not now because hello… Santa!

Swiper quickly learns to work the system… he hasn’t led a life of crime without being crafty and manipulative. He changes his ways just in time for Santa to deliver him a HUGE bag of presents.

So there’s your lesson kids. Do whatever you want in life, just try to avoid getting caught. If you do, though, no worries… tell everyone you’re sorry (Jeez. Sorry.) and a giant bag of toys is yours.

Unlike A&E’s Intervention, there is no follow-up or update at the end to indicate whether or not Swiper stayed on the straight and narrow, but really, I think not. Why would he bother? Dora and her pals are a bunch of latchkey-kid suckers who never learn to lock up their valuables. That’s the real lesson. Take better care of your toys and don’t go wandering off without your parents.

Merry Christmas!

A Meeting of The Eyes

8 Dec
Tap dancer at Tokyo Disney Sea

Image via Wikipedia

Sigh. My new physical therapist is kind of shy.

No eye contact.

Eye contact is important when you communicate with other humans… window to the soul and all that.

He also struggles to make small talk, which is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my last boyfriend… or physical therapist… you know what I meant. He would no more presume to touch my hip flexor than to break into a tap dance number.

“So, what do you do besides run?” he asked, as he gazed at the wall. I didn’t know if he meant in my free time or in addition to side-to-side squats with a band around my ankles.

I really didn’t.

“Do you mean… like… do I have a job?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I’m a stay-at-home mom and I ummm…

No. I don’t have a job.”

“Oh. That’s good. That’s good.”

It was ridiculous. I smiled over at him and laughed, but I think I embarrassed him.

Jesus. He probably thought I was laughing at him, but I swear I wasn’t. I was laughing at his pleated pants, and that is not the same thing. I think he may have loosened up a bit by the end of the hour, but he’s very formal so I can’t be sure.

One hour together… twice a week… for months.

But don’t worry, I’ll corrupt him by next Thursday… he might even say a bad word, like “hell” or “damn”, but at the very least he will look me in the eyes.

Poor guy.


6 Dec

Husband and children go to the fair in September 2010. Husband texts wife funny fair-related observations. Husband texts wife not funny fair-related update:

Husband:                       “We won some freakin goldfish”
Wife/aka Me:                “Shut up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Husband:                        “I didn’t know that’s what we were playing for…”

Excuse me, what?? Those are HUGE stakes. Huge. Goldfish! Living things. What kind of prize is a goldfish… much less SEVEN goldfish? Why not give seven threadbare, bed-bug infested Scooby-Doo stuffed animals… or seven blows to the head?

Thank God he only accepted two of them (fish, that is) – one for each kid.

Today those fish are alive and alarmingly well… alarming because for the last week they seem to be swimming at a speed never recorded in the history of goldfish. Fast fast. I was watching them today and thinking that they must have gone completely insane, when it occurred to me that Goldie is chasing Pinky. We’re talking frantic chasing… almost as if… as if…

Son of a bitch. Well, then. I guess now I should be concerned about what will transpire when he finally catches her. If he knocks her up, I will be furious. How dare he? They aren’t even old enough to take care of themselves, let alone babies! Great.

If anyone knows of a family looking to adopt one or twenty-eight goldfish, please send them my way.

Pinky & Goldie - Will they or won't they?

Broken Bones

6 Dec

So Kelly Ripa apparently showed up on the Regis and Kelly show today with crutches. She explained she had a femoral neck stress fracture and would have to hold off on exercising for 3 to 6 weeks. She also said her situation “looks much worse than it is” (read more here). This pissed me off.

I am just now in week 2 of physical therapy after experiencing the same injury, which I acquired as a result of running. I was out of the game for 4 months. FOUR MONTHS. I am now able to ride a stationary bike for 15 minutes and other random crap, like leg lifts. My orthopedic doctor told me I should be back to running by April 2011.

I wasn’t on crutches the entire 4 months – more like 8 weeks – I used to think people on crutches with no obvious injury were attention-seeking and pathetic. What a bitch I was (fine, I still am – just not about the crutches thing anymore). But that’s not the point.

The point is that a femoral neck stress fracture is much worse than it looks. It doesn’t look like anything to the casual observer… in fact there’s no cast, no boot, no nothin’. Just a breaking bone that takes a very long time to heal, due in part to the limited blood flow in that part of the body. This is the same bone that, if the stress fracture completes, people are referring to when they say “broken hip” or “that old lady broke her hip, you know what that means”. Yes. She’s circling the drain.

Actually, I didn’t really make a point, did I? Whatever. I just needed to let all 14 people who read my blog know that I’m no wimp and little miss 3-weeks-until-I-can-pound-the-pavement-again must be on crack.

Have a nice day.

Was That A Date?

3 Dec

I think I was just on a date. A second date, as a matter of fact.

I injured my leg running in August and am just now able to begin to exercise again, albeit with the help of a physical therapist.

The first appointment was kind of awkward. S., my PT, immediately skipped the b.s. and tried to get to “know me better” by asking me to let him see me walk. Yes, that’s right. “Let me see you walk,” said S.

Guess what I did? I stood right up and sashayed my ass around so he could see my gait – like a show pony… or a hooker.

“Hmmm. Yes. You have a bit of a limp” he said, and then had the nerve to write something down in a notebook – right in front of me!

“Now, come over here and lie down on this table (which is in a big open room with all the other PTs and patients  – he didn’t even have the decency to take me to a private room).” “Does it hurt when I push here?” he asked as he pushed on my hip flexor.

“No, but you best be careful. This is a bit much for a first appointment. I didn’t even know you five minutes ago.”

He talked non-stop, eventually telling me to move to the stationary bike where he stayed, leaning against the bike next to me with his arms crossed in that testosterone cool guy way. And talked. And talked. I learned about his athletic prowess, his travels to England, his upcoming trip to the moon. He never even asked me about my interests, which is how I knew it would never work between us. I need to be the center of attention at all times – just ask my husband.

My second appointment was almost worse. I mean, yes, we did have that getting to know you part out of the way, but now he really went for it. He asked me to lie down on my back on another table and he slid a band around my feet, over the knees, all the way to mid-thigh. THEN he told me to push my knees apart and push my butt off the table (a bridge).

And I totally did it, people. It was more than awkward.

He told me to hold it for 10 seconds and repeat while he stood there and tried to make small talk. Trust me, there is no way to make small talk when you’re in that position. Then he had the nerve to have me get off the table, stand on my bad leg, and catch a medicine ball he threw at my face to “work on balance”.

I meet with a different physical therapist next week who works specifically on returning to running programs – my current PT told me he had already let the guy know all about me… What does that mean? What does that mean??

I know what it means. It means:

“She’s eager to be able to run again so she’s completely gullible – or maybe she’s just stupid… wait til you see what you can get her to do.”

In that case, I’m changing it up for the next one. I’ll be ready for him. He will be the one who walks for me AND catches the medicine ball I repeatedly throw at his head.

So there.

Stay tuned.

Good Stuff

2 Dec

I’ve loved this artist for a long time – plus, you can find great hostess gifts for the Christmas season. Very funny.

Erin Smith Art

Do Not Eat

1 Dec

I have a list of things I long to do but don’t, based solely on the warning labels that accompany the objects of my temptation. Thankfully, someone out there (in legal) has repeatedly saved me from myself and my complete disregard for common sense.

When I read these warnings I automatically fill in the blank at the end of the message with “you freakin’ idiot”, as in:

Do not eat the cardboard box that contains your scalding hot pizza. Only eat the pizza. Do not eat the box. Only the pizza. Which contains dairy. And maybe came in contact with soy. Or peanuts. Eat the pizza. Not the box. You freakin’ idiot.

I mean, seriously – it’s clearly implied, as is the sneer on the face of the author.

I would prefer that evolution and survival of the fittest supersede these warnings, but what do I know (besides how to spell supersede and use it in a sentence).

My latest temptation was to eat seventeen bars of soap at  my local grocery store. Fortunately I saw the warning just in time:


Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to exercise my random act of kindness for the day and shoot an e-mail to legal at a few companies. I have some suggestions for future labels:

“This hairdryer is not a toy. If you plug it in, turn it on, and then toss it to your babbling baby who is playing nearby in the bathtub, something bad will happen. Also, the hairdryer will stop functioning and the warranty will be void.”

“This package of candy Lifesavers is NOT actually going to save your life. If you cannot swim and you choose to jump into the ocean relying solely on this candy as a flotation device, you will drown.”

“Do not attempt to wear this pillow as a hat, as it may decrease your ability to see while driving. Which reminds us, do not attempt to rest your head on this pillow while driving either, as you may fall asleep. Do not sleep while driving.”

You freakin’ idiot.

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