At Least They Built a Tram to Get You There

I love the lackadaisical days of summer. I'm not one to put my kids into summer camps or sign them up for activities that require keeping a schedule. We're a fly by the seat of our pants summertime family. We kick it at the beach, lounge by my parents the pool, see a movie, hit an amusement park, and even get some exercise cultured at the museum.

Have you ever been to the Getty? It is an enormous structure situated at the top of the mountain off the 405 freeway and overlooks the all of Los Angeles and on a clear day the ocean is visible. When the conceptual designs were drawn and mock ups made; I envision it being something like the Kohler commercial. Where that uber dirty stinking rich couple walks into a design firm and the wife whips out a bathroom sink faucet from her designer bag - the kind that only she and Oprah can obtain - and says to the architect, "design our house around this". And the architect puts his palms together and rests his chin in a thoughtful pose atop his fingertips and is like, it will be minimalist and fierce because I'm so fabulous. He didn't have to say it out loud - I read it in his eyes.

Only in the case of the Getty, the chairman in charge of building stuff whipped out a flight of stairs and said, give the people something to climb, pull a hamstring, and that puts them closer to God.

Just getting started

It was either go down these stairs or walk my kids past a wall of full frontal nudity photos and I wasn't in the mood to explain excessive bush growth to my 5 year old, you understand.

Weren't we already here? I think we're going in circles.

Not to feel left out -even the garden features boast steps.

We pause on this bench to rest and strike a pose.

And hydrate and giggle.

*photos by Dorothy Z.

Doesn't it Seem Like Just a Year Ago We Celebrated Our Anniversary? ...Oh, Right.

Tomorrow Mr. Farklepants and I will celebrate thirteen years of marriage!

Vintage Thirty will pause for condolences kudos.

I know it's been, um, weeks since I updated my blog. And for that, I am truly sorry. I blame it on Twitter and Facebook status updates sucking up my writing mojo. Since I've neglected it this long it seems only fitting that I regurgitate a past post. An oldie but a goodie. Please to enjoy my writingzzz:

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"The only time I would ever tell a woman that I love her is when I plan to marry her"~ Mr. Farklepants circa 1994


On June 29th, 1996 a young Mr. Farklepants and his very pregnant girlfriend, Tootsie, had already been in Hawaii one week where they shared a rented estate paid for by very generous employers with their best friends two other couples. And on June 29th, just after brunch where Tootsie ate the entire buffet because she couldn't drink or smoke, enjoy the jacuzzi or do anything fun or reckless because of her delicate condition -and by the way gained twelve of her seventy pregnancy pounds on this trip alone and right now you're like, ONLY twelve?- ahem, after brunch young Mr. Farklepants declared to their friends that he would like to spend the day with just Tootsie taking a scenic drive around the big island of Hawaii.

So off they went in the little rental car that was straining heavily on the passenger side under Tootsie's considerable girth. Young Mr. Farklepants wasn't even kidding when he said drive AROUND the big island of Hawaii. Because they did exactly that. The entire perimeter. They stopped numerous times to get out and see the beauty to behold, but young Mr. Farklepants would quickly shove Tootsie back to the car and drive to the next place. When they finally made it to the deserted Kilauea visitors center, it started to rain. They parked and young Mr. Farklepants asked Tootsie to remain seated and dry while he determined if the view was worth getting wet for. He took the video camera that they had borrowed from their friends with him in the rain and all Tootsie could think was, "That is going to get all wet and then we'll have to buy them a new camera", because she is what we like to refer too as a worrywart. When young Mr. Farklepants returned he was very animated and excited and told Tootsie to go with him right now! And all Tootsie noticed was that he wasn't holding the borrowed video camera and was mentally chastising young Mr. Farklepants for leaving it unattended on a trail. See? Worrywart.

Young Mr. Farklepants guides his pregnant girlfriend to the rail that lines [what? Sorry. Was rail mentioned? Because there was no rail. Just certain death if you lost your balance] the rim of part of Kilauea. They both ooh and ahh. There is rain. There are NO OTHER tourists or anyone for that matter on the trail. They are completely alone. Tootsie turns to tell young Mr. Farklepants how she's concerned about the lack of a rail awe inspiring the view is and he impulsively takes her hands. "There is something I should have told you a long time ago" he says. Instantly Tootsie thinks oh my god he has children that he's never told me about and he's going to tell me right here. Worrywart.

But he didn't. Young Mr. Farklepants then dropped to one knee and said, "I love you" and then he proposed marriage to Tootsie who then cried like a big baby replied with an enthusiastic YES! As it turned out, young Mr. Farklepants had hidden the video camera so that he could record this event on tape (yes tape, 1996) but it didn't work. They finished their day driving the remainder of the perimeter of the island until they made it back to their rented estate. Tootsie had wanted to stop and call their friends to let them know they were going to be terribly late but young Mr. Farklepants insisted that it wasn't necessary. It turned out that everyone, their mother, and the kitchen sink were in on the days events. One of the friends had gone with him to buy the engagement and wedding rings. Rings which young Mr. Farklepants brought with him (in the body of a flashlight, no less) on their vacation.

At sunset on July 3rd, 1996, young Mr. Farklepants and his fiancee, Tootsie, eloped and were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Farklepants by a very old local reverend who spoke with a thick local accent and who Tootsie wanted to put in her pocket and take home with her.

It wasn't until yesterday while composing this entry years later, when Tootsie was a little older and [she thinks] a little wiser that she realized the symbolism of Mr. Farklepants proposing marriage to her at the edge of a cliff. A cliff that overlooked a volcanic crater that was at that very moment creating new pieces of the Earth. There they were at the edge, a proposal and a promise, to start a new life together. Although, it is possible that Mr. Farklepants may have already mentioned the symbolism in some way to her and she just forgot. Because she does that.

I love you Schmoopy! Here's to the days I want to wring your neck, the days I can't keep my hands off of you, and all those in between...Happy 12th Anniversary!

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Replace the 12th anniversary with 13th and the story remains the same. Happy 4th of July!!

Because Everyone Loves Hearing About Other People's Dreams

So the other night I have this dream. Scratch that. I have this nightmare. One in which I am pregnant and about a month shy of delivery. To a son. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to agree on a name for our last son? Honest to God, in an entire book dedicated to baby names we could agree on ONE. There weren't even any remote possibilities. Thank Haysus our last pregnancy was a girl because had it not been, that child would go around nameless for the rest of his life. Then, of course, we had to come up with a middle name and that didn't happen until 24 hours AFTER I'd given birth and the lady from the administration office came in the room and was all, so are you going to finish filling out this birth certificate or what? And I was all, or what - come back tomorrow don't mess with me the Vicodin is wearing off. As if the nine months leading up to the event just wasn't enough time and some kind of special magic was going to happen in a day.

Meanwhile back at the REM sleep... Pregnant. With a son. And pissed off. Even in sleep I was able to agrue points and deconstruct the situation. Didn't I have a tubal ligation? Didn't I have that tubal ligation so that I wouldn't find myself surprised by a pregnancy so close to forty years of age? Do you even realize how old I'll be at this child's high school graduation? His friends would be all, oh it's so nice that your grandmother could make it, and he'd be all, that's my mom speak into her good ear and also sometimes she forgets where she is - if she pulls down her pants and pees in a flower pot ignore this. I mean, isn't this why I didn't just get my tubes TIED or clamped, I got them CAUTERIZED! I was not even kidding around about this. I was as serious as a heart attack.

It was one of those dreams that was so real and vivid. The kind where emotions run high. And when I woke up, I gave Mr. Farklepants a vacectomy. With my eyebrow tweezers and stitched him up with Glide dental floss.

Badassery

*what you can't see is that Boy-Child#2 is directly on the other side of the child in this picture. And the object of the tiger's voracious appetite affection.

Do you ever have one of those moments where you're like, ohmygod this is like the coolest thing I've ever seen! And, hey! Look at the size of that animals paws, they're like, bigger than my son's head! Conflicted with...

...wait...

Perhaps I ought to get my children the hell out of here! And - just how strong IS that safety glass? And - who could I save first? And - how fast can a tiger eat my head? And - sandals aren't the best running away from ferocious animal shoes.

No one? Just me?

The Rest of Her Ear Lay Somwhere in the Dog's Lower Intestine

The puppy is a chewer.

Let the record show that Vintage Thirty states the obvious.

Fortunately, so long as we're diligent in keeping an eye on her, we can thwart any potential chewing casualties and, also fortunately, she is easily distracted by her own plush, squeaky toys. And my kitchen rug - which is now hers. Whatever, I don't care - she can have it. The few incidences where we let our guard down, weren't on our toes, had our backs turned; the AC adapter cord for the Nintendo DS was severed, one Nerf gun bullet became smithereens, one adult male dress sock lost a heel, and one flip-flop strap was mutilated and the footwear rendered useless.

Not too terrible considering a friend of mine lost one WHOLE HALF of her COUCH to an unsupervised pup. And my sister in law - several hundred dollars worth of shoes.

Enter Wednesday. And Skunky:


Skunky is Girl-Child's most beloved toy. It is from the Littlest Pet Shop collection and Girl-Child is a collector of teeny tiny toys. I retrieved Skunky from Phoebe's mouth - now with Kung Fu grip action! - Wednesday night. It began with a cute woodgie woodgie, what do you have in your mouth? And ended with SCREAMING!!! and a morphine drip when I realized what I'd pulled out.



I was then faced with a dilemma. A) Do I dispose of the evidence and feign ignorance of its whereabouts? Only to be met with the trauma of a lost Skunky? B) Do I present Skunky, in her mutilated state, to Girl-Child - do it quick like ripping off a band-aid and endure the massive FREAKOUT!!! that would surely present itself and also the possible new found hatred of the puppy? Or C) do I leave it, inconspicuously, among her other smallish belongings to be discovered at a later date? Brave Mom goes with C.

Enter Thursday. And Girl-Child's discovery of Skunky - now with holes and half of an ear!!! A very distraught young lady made her way down the stairs from her room - now with more sobbing!!! She was met with my, it's okay Honey I can Crazy Glue Skunky good as new.

Hello, have you met my irrational fear of Crazy Glue? Where "irrational fear" equals - that time I glued four fingers from my right hand together that had to be separated by a can of acetone from the garage by a laughing, mocking husband? Shut up, Mr. Farklepants. Just stop it.

Vintage Thirty is happy to report that Girl-Child is mostly pleased with the magical healing powers of the glue. And, according to Girl-Child, henceforth known as - Wild Glue.

**Vintage Thirty wishes someone had had the foresight to take before-repair pictures of Skunky considering a certain someone has a blog and said certain someone should have know better.

In This Hand I Hold a Grenade

Remember when I told you that our local McDonalds was being remodeled? And what they mean by remodel is - tear that sucker down to the ground with a bulldozer.



I'm happy to report that they lived up to their claim that they would re-open in spring of 2009.


Ever since my children caught wind of the grand opening; they've wanted to check out the indoor play area possibilities eat there. While you may be surprised to learn that I'm not a fan of A) most fast food, and B) eating inside said establishments, you should be happy to know that I sometimes oblige my children. So I promised that after Boy-Child#2's softball game we would go to the new McDonalds for dinner - because we're fancy like that.

The new McDonalds also boasts a new staff. I mean, like brand new. Like, are still learning the register, new. Which equals - slow service. Which puts a fast food establishment at a disadvantage. And where fast food becomes - how hard is it to put together a Big Mac meal and two happy meals? Apparently, pretty damn hard. Inside I was all, wth people? On the outside I was all, hey no problem take your time. I didn't bother ordering anything for myself because about the only thing I like from McDonalds is their fries. And years of experience has taught me something: when there is playground equipment within view children will not finish their fries and leaves plenty for mom to help herself. This theory, once again, proved true.

While the new play area was somewhat disappointing, with lackluster slides, and resembled a mesh three story building that had been stripped bare and lacked much of anything to do; this didn't stop the kids from enjoying it. Another thing that experience has taught me is that it does not matter how boring a play area is or how long you stay; when it is time to go, it is too soon. Girl-Child burst into tears upon my request to get her shoes. An event that was met with my immediate anger. Which led me to inform her that if she was going to cry then it would be a very long time before she was allowed to come back. Which? Didn't seem to faze her. Which? Pissed me off. Which? Led me to tell her that she'd just sealed the deal.

I'm not a fan of spoiled children and I wasn't about to have my own child act a fool. I don't know what her deal was but she clearly had done lost her mind. This behavior was not beneficial to my mood. Especially since I still had to order a meal to go for Mr. Farklepants - And don't make me revisit the new employee issue.

Once back home, and with my dander up about all of the above, I share the events of the evening with Mr. Farklepants. To which he replied, so have you started your period yet or what?

Then I pulled the pin.

ACME Kite Kit Not Included

Sunday evening Mr. Farklepants pipes up out of nowhere and asks, "So, do you wanna go for a walk"? And I was all, who are you and what have you done with my husband and p.s. do you do dishes? My shock is in reference to the fact that Mr. Farklepants rarely parts with his laptop. It's how he spends his downtime and I'm not complaining now - he could prefer to spend it elsewhere like golf, sporting events, poker, bars, or anything else that get's him away from the house. At least he's home. For those who prefer visual aides - Mr. Farklepants seen here with three laptops and a Starbucks Grande full of temporary energy... with whip:



So I was all, shhhhhuuuurrre, yeah! I suggest bringing Phoebe along [because, although she knows where her leash is located and knows that in order for that leash to be attached to her collar she needs to sit; walking on her leash is a whole other matter. There's much dragging of and giving in and carrying of the puppy. It's a work in progress - you understand]. And then I add: since we're just going around the neighborhood? Indeed, stated as a questionable fact.

Mr. Farklepants says, no I was thinking of going to Towsley Canyon. This would make it necessary for me to change out of my skirt and flip flops.

Mr. Farklepants and I differ in our definition of walk. If I have to strap on some shoes with traction then walk equals hike. Tomato/Toe-mah-toe? More like, Tomato/Willdabeast.

"Then we should leave Phoebe at home", I say. I didn't want to get a mile into treacherous terrain and have her lay down like, that's all the walking I'm about to do - carry me?


(Forgive me while I use the term "treacherous terrain" loosely. Exaggerate, who?)

The other reason for insisting that Phoebe stay home is that the vet specifically instructed that, since she isn't finished with her vaccinations, she should avoid any areas where other dogs congregate and, more importantly, coyotes roam. Parasite infested coyotes.

At the tail end of our hike, Mr. Farklepants goes into stealth mode and signals to me, "There's something in the grass". He takes aim with his camera and shoots:


Later seen failing at firing a bow and arrow with ACME dynamite strapped to it then painting a realistic tunnel onto the rock face only to be hit by the train that emerged. He was remarkably unscathed.

**photos of trail and coyote by Mr. Farklepants and his super badass camera

Now a Word from Their Sponsors

We watch a moderate amount of sports in the Farklepants house; namely Tom Brady football, Luke Walton basketball, baseball ? and Tiger Woods golf. And advertisers know their target audience; those who want to get laid and the obstacles that surround them. The winner of the middle aged to older men who suffer from either erectile dysfunction or manhood size impairment demographic goes to the golf camp. It would appear that televised golf is merely a vehicle for ED prescription drugs that you should ask your doctor about, and male enhancement which, if you suffer consult your local herbal nutritional supplement supplier and put a creepy smile on your wife's face.

Advertisers who purchase airtime during basketball broadcasts veer towards those with no problem whatsoever with getting the deed done and have no problem with the operation of their downtown business thankyouverymuch and, in fact, are riddled with sexually transmitted disease - I'm lookin' at you genital herpes. You know the one where the wife is all I banged so many dudes I have herpes, and the husband is all my wife is a big ol' slut and I don't! And the wife is like, I take once daily Valtrex to decrease the chance of infecting my partner. And the husband goes ppffff I still use a condom I'll just smile adoringly at you and your cute herpes.

Then they all frolic in the ocean or give each other that knowing look when their college bound kids make a surprise visit home and secretly curse them for their shitty timing. The part we don't see is where the dad takes the kid aside and is like, dude, next time call. Seriously. I was about to tap that.

The Power of Suggestion

I'm not going to claim to have the smartest puppy ever but, HELLA SMART! I expected to have never ending tales to weave when we welcomed Phoebe Farklepants into the family, cuz, puppies are messy. But so far the only chewing casualties have been one flip flop and a Nerf gun bullet. I've found that as long as I keep an eye on her she isn't given much chance to get into trouble. It's the luxury I have being home full time.

She loves to go for a ride in the car. When our previous dog, Baby, was a puppy I worked full time up until Boy-Child#1 was born. So I didn't have heck of a lot of time to spend with her during the day. Hence her lack of car rides. Then when Boy-Child#1 came along, then Boy-Child#2 and being straddled with a toddler and an infant and trying to wrangle the infant seat into the stroller and simultaneously keep the toddler from darting into parking lots and traffic or wandering aimlessly; I didn't have the patience or appropriate amount of appendages to corral the dog too. By the time Girl-Child came along, Baby was eight and passed her formative puppy years. And by this time, she hated car rides and leaving the house in general. Any trip we took her on was riddled with chronic heavy panting, visible shaking, and tucked tail for the entire amount of time we were away from home. To say she hated it is an understatement.

This time is different. Learn from our past, I always say. Phoebe joins me when it is time to pick the boys up from school, softball practices and games. She's learned that if she wants to go bye-bye she needs her leash. She's learned that that leash is located on the dining room table. She knows what "bye-bye" means and also knows that if she wants that leash attached to her collar, she has to sit. So she sits.

She also has learned to scratch at the back door when she needs to relive herself. Mostly. I was all set to tell you that, while she's had some setbacks in peeing on the floor, it has been since Wednesday April 18th since she last crapped on the carpet. An event that included Mr. Farklepants jumping up and grabbing her mid-evacuation in order to usher her outside; an event that activated the launch sequence and Phoebe became one who flung pooh. Which came dangerously close to my beloved couch. Which caused hyperventalating and myocardial infarction.

I was all set to tell you that. But while mentally composing this blog post, Phoebe squatted and lost half a pound on my living room carpet. Fortunately it was a firm one.

When the Picture is Worth More than Bloggy Words

The title of this book? Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

Frankly? I can't top that.

*photo by Dorothy Z. taken at the Fountain Bookstore in Richmond, Va

If I'd Stayed an Extra Week I Might Have Come Home to Hardwood Floors Too

The kids and I spent the week leading up to and including Easter, in Virginia visiting the most awesomest brother ever to have lived in the history of siblings. This left Mr. Farklepants to his own devices - where own devices equals spoiling Tootsie like the pretty pampered princess that she is. When many women describe romance they use words like: flowers, candlelit dinners, strolls on the beach at sunset, jewelry, and spooning. Meh, say I. One word that sums up the true meaning of romance for me is: consideration. So when Mr. Farklepants, in my absence, took it upon himself to replace the tires, windshield (that met the business end of a sandstorm on the drive home from out of town one sunny afternoon and was left with a severe pocking), floor mats, complete detailing inside and out, and any scuffs, dings, and scratches magically removed from my car; well, is it any wonder why I had the sudden urge to throw caution to the wind and want to strip nekkid and roll around on him right there in the Bob Hope airport parking lot? You understand what I'm saying. My car was all: sheeeeen sparkle sparkle!

But wait. There's more. David Copperfield Mr. Farklepants had another trick to pull out of his magic hat. He reached in elbow deep and pulled out one of these:



As many of you may remember, our dog and loving family member for thirteen years, Baby passed away on January 19th. It was many weeks before we were even able to discuss the possibility of adopting another and we finally decided that we would resume the conversation after our vacation, because there was no sense in bringing home a new puppy only to leave her for a week. Did you catch that? Resume conversation. Converse. Talk. Discuss. So imagine our surprise upon returning home to find that little ball of fluff, tumble, and cute sitting in the middle of the living room floor!

It turns out that Mr. Farklepants' coworker knows a guy, who knows this guy, who has an ex-wife, who has this daughter, whose daughter has this grandmother who has this dog that had a litter of black lab puppies. And this daughter of this grandmother happened to be passing through our neighborhood while we were out of town and brought the two remaining puppies with her. And Mr. Farklepants swooped up that bundle of perfection to surprise his family.

Vintage Thirty will pause for this moment of awwwwwwwwwwwe...

Now, put five people together in a room to name one puppy and oh. mah. gah. I'll spare the tales of bloodshed and woe.

You've been introduced to Phoebe Farklepants. AKA, blogfodder for years to come.

Before I Go...

Tootsie and family are leaving to visit family for the week. Speaking of family, my lovely sister in law sent me the following video from Today's Big Thing. It's funny, yo.

See more funny videos and Funny Videos at Today's Big Thing.

Have a great spring break!!!