Thursday, January 31, 2008

The Effing Wind In My Willows And Other Unspeakable Places

You'll all be relieved to know that it stopped raining here a couple of days ago. Although, my backyard would still be considered a swamp by any hydrologist worth their salt. And the dog is still tracking more mud across my already muddy kitchen floor. Yesterday's forecast had a high of 55 degrees in my area. Which is a bit on the cold side for my taste but at least it was dry. The barometer was at 30.12 and falling; which is good(?) or bad(?). No matter. It has something to do with pressure this much I know. Humidity did check in at 33% but according to my calculations - and by that, I mean, my dry skin - I estimate it somewhere in the range of 8% and 8%. The dewpoint was at 26" which would probably please me greatly if only I knew what a dewpoint actually was. However, the wind is coming in from the north at an estimated 23mph. This is a bold faced lie. It may be coming in at that speed but it is bringing with it some wind, with more wind on top of that, mixed with a smattering of wind, and followed by wind. One more interesting factoid about me to store in the 'useless shit I'll never need to remember' file of your brain: I hate wind even more than rain. Yes! That's right. I just said that out loud. You did not misunderstand me. I hate wind. Because? Wind cannot be shielded. There is no such thing as a wind thwarting device that I'm aware of. For rain there is a plethora of rain protective apparatuses designed specifically for keeping the wet off of you as efficiently as possible. Such gear includes but is not limited too: umbrellas, hats, rain coats, slickers, boots, rubbers, galoshes, [in desperation] garbage bags, and the most effective devise: indoors. The only thing you can buy to protect yourself from wind is a house. Fortunately, I have one of those and I don't plan to leave it unless I can get from point A to point B without leaving my car*.

*Also considered handy for keeping wind off of one's person.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

It's An Honor And I'm Not Just Saying That

While checking my Sitemeter today, I was shocked to find several hits from a surprising source! *blushing* JCK at Motherscribe has nominated my blog in the 2008 Blogger's Choice Awards in the "Hottest Mommy Blogger" and "Best Humor Blog" categories! This is so exciting! So flattering! And way better than being nominated for prom queen. Because the requirements for being nominated prom queen in my high school were: 1) that you were female, and 2) a senior. So pretty much every girl in 12th grade made that list. In other words, there was no particular distinction that set me above the rest. So it is indeed an honor to be nominated. I don't anticipate a win when I'm up against stiff and superior competition such as Dooce, Mrs.G, and BOSSY for 'Best Humor'. And when BOSSY is your competition in both categories, well, you can count on receiving considerably less votes. But I'm gonna go ahead and post the links to your right and if you are at all inspired to do so; go vote! I must inform you that you do have to register to do so, but it doesn't cost a thing but a moment of your time (I totally stole that line from Lindsay Wagner and the Sleep Number bed commercial and is it just me or does she look really tired?).

Thanks! xoxo

Peasant Stew

Don't you hate it when you get home from a major grocery shopping excursion? Only to find out that you forgot one important item for the dinner you'll be preparing (thankfully) for the following evening? And when you return to the market the next day, you spend $80? WTF did I buy? I only needed vegetable oil!

Did you know that a Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte from Starbucks only has 160 calories? Did you also know that a Skinny Vanilla Latte is non-fat and sugar free? And that it tastes exactly as you would imagine? Why yes! It does taste like hot, watered down shit! I'll be sticking with the plain ol' non-fat vanilla latte and keep the sugar based syrup with the extra 90 calories, thankyouverymuch.

When your child (in my case, my daughter) asks you to help them with their food (which is code for: 'what you've placed before me is so repelling that I cannot willingly eat this myself what were you thinking woman are you insane?!') and you pierce the broccoli florette and stick it in their mouth; make sure that the broccoli does not strike their uvula on the way in. Because this will prompt an immediate response. Which is vomit. This will surely make future broccoli consumption a whole new battle of wills.

When you're busy writing entries for your blog that you're addicted too with a task at hand, do not ignore the pleas from your 4 year old child that they do, in fact, need to go potty. Telling them "just a minute" too many times will result in you cleaning pee off the bathroom floor. Giving them a bath. Not to mention the guilt. Also not to be forgotten; the anger at yourself for unnecessarily creating a tremendous amount of work.

If you wait until the last week of January 2008 to replace your 2007 wall calendar that is still hanging in your kitchen; you may find yourself on the heels of a dilemma. Your motif options will include one of the following: 1) Sports (New England Patriots are really hot right now), 2) Muscle cars, 3) Yasmine Bleeth (isn't she getting a little old for this?), 4) Kittens, or 5) Hannah Montana. Choose wisely.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

I Must Confess...It's Tuesday #1

This is a new feature. Hence the number one. I will confess something every Tuesday, however, I will not always do it while referring to myself in the 3rd person. It just worked for this particular entry. Enjoy...

Once upon a time, a six year old Tootsie went to the movies and saw Star Wars. To be more accurate; what she really saw was this:

She was too young to understand what that tremor in her force meant but she did know that she liked it. She also knew that she wanted to be this person in the worst way possible:

Because had Tootsie been her she would have made the choice between Han Solo and Luke Skywalker MUCH sooner. Like, instantly. And they would have spent the remainder of their years aboard this:

Doing things that she should not be knowing about. However, all of that would have changed dramatically had she known that this is what lurked beneath Darth Vader's helmet:

She would have joined the dark side and never looked back.

The following year she saw Grease. It was at a drive-in theater and she begrudgingly went because, at 7 years old she had no choice, she thought Grease was going to be some kind of documentary about Greece. It turned out she was wrong. Because a documentary about Greece would not have this in it:

Although, if it did, she would have watched that too. She also understood that he was the one that she wanted. Ooh, ooh, oooh, honey! And that she also wanted to be able to do this:

But she wanted to do it looking like this:

Because she looked like she knew what she was doing and knew how to do it well.

Monday, January 28, 2008

There Will Be Daniel Day Lewis

Designer tux? Impeccable. Dedicating his SAG award win to Heath Ledger? Heartfelt and super classy. His jewelry selection? Questionable. Yet fancy.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Future Event Coordinator

A continuous conversation yesterday, with brief intermissions like when I was hiding or leaving the house altogether between Girl-Child and I. Topic? Birthdays. Specifically? Hers.

In the car...
Girl-Child: I want to have my party at Chuck E. Cheese.
Me: You do?
Girl-Child: Yes.
Me: Again?
Girl-Child: Yes. Like last time. With a princess cake. And princess balloons.
Me: That's fine. We can do that.
Girl-Child: YAY!!

At the grocery store...
Girl-Child: And Chuckie will be there! And he will sing me happy burfday!
Me: Yes he will.
Girl-Child: Adjically (this means actually. And actually, she says it a lot) I don't wanna princess cake.
Me: Okay. That's fine.
Girl-Child: I just want a pink one. Can I have a pink one?
Me: Yeah, I guess so.

On the way home in the car...
Girl-Child: Adjically, I don't want it at Chuck E. Cheese.
Me: Okay.
Girl-Child: Adjically, I do. Can I have it at Chuck E. Cheese?
Girl-Child: I'm gonna be five.
Me: I know.
Girl-Child: I'm gonna be five for my burfday.
Me: Yes, Honey. In JULY!

It's going to be a long spring.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

It's Saturday! Let's Play!

For my 15th birthday I received a record player. Yes. For vinyl. And along with it, the coveted Bon Jovi Slippery When Wet album. Although, Bon Jovi himself did not inspire me to want to 'hit that'. Not that I'm dissing the Jovi; I just liked my bad boys with a little more badasserness *cough*Nikki Sixx*cough*. Anyway. As I was saying. The album. I knew every song by heart because I wore this thing out. At some point my parents gave me a set of headphones because they also knew all the songs by heart. There were many other bands whose songs I could recite. I had many other albums. There were also some that I probably liked more *ah-choo*Motley Crue*kazuntite*. But this one is special. It (and the record player) were given to me by my step-father; who was new to us at the time. And at the time, I was fifteen an insufferable asshole. He tried. Bless his heart. He tried the only way an early thirtysomething year old man who'd never had children and finds himself a father to a jerk teenage girl, knows how. With presents. And while I certainly probably didn't outwardly acknowledge my appreciation for it then; every time I hear any song from that record, it generates fond memories of my father (I've long since dropped the 'step' part). And I also wonder...all of my Captain Craptacular teenage attitude aside...if just the fact that I listened to it endlessly; was enough for him to know that I DID appreciate it. And him. Thanks Dad.

So friends and lurkers (I adore comments!), what was your favorite album? And for bonus points, why?

Friday, January 25, 2008

I Lost The Sheriff...And I Did It With The Irony

Boy-Child#1 had a minimum day today. For those who are interested, it's still raining here. Which means that everyone was picking their kids up. Which means that there were an assload of cars in the pick up lane at school. And I? Pulled into the adjacent park to wait. Because this is where I told Boy-Child#1 I would be. You're also? Not really supposed to park in the specific area I was parked. Today of all days, the sheriffs department decided to send their little parking patrol vehicle around. In the pouring rain. He rolls up next to me.

Me: (rolling down my window letting in a waterfall and blinking against the storm attacking my face, especially the eyes) What?
Sheriff: (pointing to no parking sign) This is a fire lane.
Me: (looking up at the sky) Are you serious?
Sheriff: ------

Okay, he didn't say anything else. He WAS serious. But the whole thing was kind of ironic.

And That's Sports...Back To You Tootsie

My horoscope for today from Yahoo! Astrology: January 25th


If you are too friendly too quickly, people could think you are flirting with them.
(Some of those people would be right. And some of those people would be full of themselves)
You can reconnect with almost anyone today, no matter how much bad blood has come between you in the past. It might not be the easiest thing in the world, but it could pay incredible dividends!
(Proof that therapists write horoscopes to increase couch traffic)

And in other news:

A winter storm shuts down a major artery...where? If you guessed Alaska you would be wrong. This is not far up the road from where I currently sit. And where I sit is in a suburb of Los Angeles. And things are mighty wet. I also am getting no sympathy from you, you, or you, and you. And I completely understand. However, it may interest you to know that according to the pretty boy weather man who flies around in his little helicopter when he's not being a chump and grounded by a marine layer informed us soggy Los Angelians that since January 1st we trump Seattle in rainfall. Whaattt?!?! Double take. As of midnight the record stands at Los Angeles: 3.86" - Seattle: 3.28". While it may rain every damn day in Seattle; it has rained all of 4 days in LA since January 1st. And apparently, a whole damn lot.

Scientific fact #1: Mother Nature hates Southern California
Scientific fact #2: Mother Nature sucks Southern California dry as a bone
Scientific fact #3: Mother Nature gets things nice and flammable
Scientific fact #4: Mother Nature sets Southern California on fire
Scientific fact #5: Mother Nature arrives long after she's sorry her pyrotechnic tendencies left utter devastation and tries to make up for it by dumping excessive amounts of water in the relatively small area.
Scientific fact #6: Mother Nature inadvertently causes mudslides
Scientific fact #7: Malibu disappears by sliding into the Pacific Ocean
Scientific ANOMALY: Median home price in Malibu is $1,148,105

Stay tuned for more breaking news.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Scientific Inaccuracies My Daughter Learned From Wonder Pets

The Wonder Pets is a Nick Jr. (offspring of Nickelodeon) program that features Ming-Ming Duckling (aka 'Peking' - thanks to the Yuan Dynasty- and is also referred to as 'fois gras'), Turtle Tuck ( aka 'Soup'), and Linny the Guinea Pig (more commonly known as 'Pelts' and less commonly known as 'Snacks', and secretly known as 'Javier' but only by his frat brothers). The antics on the show are scientifically inaccurate. I know. It's a cartoon. Just bear with me. From the episode The Wonder Pets Save the Dinosaur and one of their more impossible scenarios; children are learning:

1) That a boat can be manned by a duck, guinea pig, and a turtle. And? That it can fly. Also? That they can speak. Even with a speech impediment. Wearing fashionable yet functional headgear.

2) That a duck, guina pig, and turtle would be physically capable of saving a triceratops. Which they pronounce "twicewitops". Thank you Nick Jr. for the opportunity to teach my daughter the proper use of the letter "r".

3) That apparently modern ducks, guina pigs, turtles, and the extinct triceratops (triceritopsuses? triceratopti?) inhabited the earth at the same time and not millions of years apart from each other. Okay. Maybe the turtle. Although, their exact ancestry is disputed.



I Never Took No Ribbons In Math

Yesterday was my scheduled day to volunteer in Boy-Child#2's second grade class. I was extremely grateful that his teacher only needed me to grade papers because it was raining and I don't like to get wet. If I had to retrieve and prepare any construction paper, I would have to leave the classroom to go to the "work room" which is located in the main building; where they keep the reams of paper, their cutlery, molds, yarn, get the idea. The point is I didn't have to leave the classroom. Amen to that. Out of the stacks of grade-worthy piles was one that contained timed math tests. These are individually assigned to each student depending on his or her mastery. Some kids are working on subtraction and addition while others have moved on to their times tables smart little cuss...calculus division. In other words, it is a stack of math papers and almost none of them are the same content. I ask Mrs. Second Grade, "Do you have the answer keys for these?". "I believe I left them at home". She takes note of the panicked look that crosses my face. "But I have a calculator!" -and she probably thought, "oh great, a genius". She bitch slaps me across the face with it and then she and the class leave for computer lab. The "calculator" is located on the end of a ruler and would work great if you were an insect. With fingers. And opposable thumbs. It was that small. Imagine, if you will, a grown woman. In a classroom. Sitting in a chair designed for an eight year old. Counting on her fingers. And for 11x12, attempting to accurately navigate the world's smallest calculator with the tip of her fingernail. Giving up because she remembered that 12x12=144, so she subtracted. She really wishes she had paid attention while quizzing her own son with his flashcards. She is so glad no one is in the class with her. It also took her 30 minutes to grade 25 math papers. It took all of 10 minutes to grade the other various piles of the non-math variety. She is so embarrassed. *sometimes I pretend I don't know me when I'm being a giant 'tard*

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Thinking Is So Passe

When the dentist's office called me on Tuesday to confirm the boy's appointments, instead of saying "We'll be there!", I should have rescheduled. Why? It was raining when she called and the weather forecast called for more worser-colder-rainy-misery for Wednesday. Today. The day of their appointment. -And this is Southern California people. The chances of it raining on a day you have a scheduled appointment are about slim to never- But sometimes my brain does not connect properly when I'm planning my own convenience. The part that likes to keep appointments forgot to consult the area designated for my own selfish needs. But, in its defense, "selfish needs" was probably taking a nap.

What Do You See?

You're probably thinking to yourself, "it's a tunnel, stupid!". But you'd be totally right wrong. This, my friends, is my version of hell. It may be a tunnel if "tunnel" were pronounced like DEATHTRAP. It is a stretch of fear that runs UNDERNEATH a large body of water called the Chesapeake Bay. It is completely lacking in oxygen and contains 100% carbon dioxide. It is narrow and confined. Let me, for a moment, draw your attention to the narrow crevice between the large truck and the roof in the photo above in order for you to UNDERSTAND? There is no natural light. There is no escape. Did I mention it is under water? It is the Grim Reaper's playground. If there were a fiery accident or the walls gave way; you would be FECKED! If you are driving through here this is not the time to be rummaging through your purse trying to answer your phone, or applying makeup, nor is it the time to threaten your children that "you'll come back there" if they don't stop. Because sometimes there are people like me who have to visit their place of tremendous courage just to make it out alive on the other side.

*photo by Dorothy Z*

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

I'm Wearing Oscar de la Renta. You?

The Oscar nominations are in. I watched the announcements during the 7am local news recap live at 5:30am. Did I ever tell you that I LOVE the Academy Awards? No? Well. Now you know. It's an event for me even if it is one that I enjoy from my couch. Not in formals, mind you. I'm also pleased to see that this year's Best Picture category is not a runaway. Predictability sucks the fun out of the guesswork for those of us playing along at home. I love a challenge. I also love a George Clooney. I saw Michael Clayton, and while a good movie, I'm not really sure it fits in the one out of five best movies of the year. I'm not trying to dis the Clooney. If he were to suddenly declare that he wanted children and pointed to me "You! With the flaxen hair! Yes, you. The 36 year old mother of 3 children! I have seen your inventory and you make the kind I want! Come with me to my villa in Italy and we shall procreate!"; I would be at the first appointment getting a reversal of my tubal ligation. And I would meet him. Over and over and over... However, I cannot let my love bias my opinions.

Also? It is being reported that Keira Knightly was snubbed for her role in Atonement. She was not snubbed. She cannot act. I only tolerated her in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies because of Johnny Depp. Johnny Depp allows me to tolerate much.

Open Up And Say Llamahhhhhh...

I'm a born and raised city/suburb girl and don't know a thing about farm animals other than being able to identify them by name when I see them. Anything else about them is completely foreign. So of course it makes perfect sense that I want a llama. Or an alpaca. I'm not too choosy. Last night's episode of Dirty Jobs was "let's to disgusting medical procedures on llamas". And I learned some things. For instance, male llama's have upper teeth for the specific purpose of biting off the testicles of other males. Wow. Man. That is some harsh shit. I am so glad I'm not a male llama. I wouldn't want to be on either end of that deal. Another fun fact: I wasn't aware that to determine weather or not a llama is pregnant, one must shove their hand and ultra sound equipment up the animals ass. Not the first place I would look for a fetus. But then again, I'm no veterinarian. And really relieved that the vet is not my ob/gyn. Especially having to have it done while standing, staring at the wall, chained and drugged, in a corner completely shamed. Of course, if someone is going in there with a fist and equipment, drugged is probably a wise choice. (Are you all as anxious as I am to find out the kinds of hits my blog will be getting after this post? Me too!) This llama's name was Call Girl. Talk about being branded for life and born at a disadvantage! Her adolescent years must have been pure hell. And it turned out Call Girl was about 8 months pregnant. And since their gestation period is approximately 11 months (see? I learned); you'd think they would have just been able to eyeball her abdomen making the whole rectal exam kind of unnecessary. Of course, she could have been one of those llamas that doesn't realize she's pregnant and then one day out in the field, out pops a 20 pound cria (uh-huh, I was paying attention) that wobbles around and promptly spits in Call Girl's face. And Call Girl is all, "WTF??". How embarrassing. So, Mr. Farklepants and I have a quick exchange that goes something exactly like this:

Me: I think veterinarians go into this field just so they can stick they're hand up animal's asses.
Mr. Farklepants: It's why they stay.

For your work environment friendly viewing pleasure:

Monday, January 21, 2008

Yo! Starbucks! It Can Be Done!

In other words "Please keep your children from running amok, bothering other customers, and generally being a real pain in the ass. They can act-a-fool, they just can't do it here".

Shockoe Coffee in VA. My new favorite-ist place. Any coffee house that can tell its customers to, you know, supervise their own children? And do so with with subtle, witty sarcasm?...well...that's just tits.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Downgraded To Two Cans And A String

So, Mr. Farklepants finally broke down and got himself a Crackberry. In his defense, he's one of those people whose job kind of necessitates such a purchase. The problem, however, is that the service provider is not the one we're currently using which means...I have to get a new phone. Before you start shouting your 'way to go's' and 'whoo-hoo's'; just hold on. I do not like change. I am not a 'change embracer', if you will. I've grown attached to the things that I've mastered and fear learning new technology. As a 'for instance' I fought tooth and nail at this newfangled 'online bill paying system'. Why would I part with handwriting checks and mailing them in late because I keep forgetting to buy stamps? Who would do that? Once I finally took the plunge into the "things that are more convenient" pool; I don't know how I ever lived without it and I can't remember the last time I wrote a check. My experience with my soon to be former Razor cell phone was similar. It takes pictures? Why would I want to do that? It's a phone. I just want to call people and visa versa. What do you mean "ring tone"? What's a "ring tone"? Oh. I guess I just want it sound like a phone that rings. I don't need it to tell me or anyone else that you wish your girlfriend was hot like me. Or that I'm Fergalicious. I'm also? Not sixteen. So just make my damn phone sound like a ringing phone. Thanks.

After researching options and checking past bills for our minute usage; it was discovered that I use, on average, 8 minutes per month. Yep. I may look and live the life that is the epitome of a "soccer mom", but I am not doing it with a cell phone attached to my SUV driving ear. - And the world breaths a collective sigh of relief - So I meet Mr. Farklepants at the new cell phone store to see all of the inventory that...I can't have. Why? Because he's already determined that the most cost efficient plan for us is the prepaid phone, considering my complete lack of usage. Which is like dragging me down to the Mercedes dealership and pointing to the used Pinto and saying "Here's the keys!". And really. This isn't a bad analogy either because buying a new cell phone is much like buying a car. There's wheeling and dealing. Discussing options. Packages. You're there for HOURS. Talking to their manager. Storming out and head exploding. Okay. Maybe no to the storming out but yes to the head exploding. By the end of the day I will be trying to navigate the features of my new Ford Pinto:

It doesn't take pictures but I'm cool with that because IT'S A PHONE! Call me at 1-NOT-MYR-EAL#. We'll tawk.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Open Letter To A Certain Someone Who Lives In My House

Dear Light of My Life,

When important papers pertaining to your vehicle arrive in the mail, and I briefly explain to you that said documents either need to be applied to and/or stored in aforementioned vehicle; I understand that all you hear is...white noise. I also expect that you'll do these things, never. And I've so been there done that with peeling the registration sticker off of paper and applying it to the license plate. It can be a real bitch what with all of that lifting and sticking. It's all very preschool and so beneath you us. I'm also equally aware of how taxing it can be to open one's wallet and insert a proof of insurance card. I'm sympathetic to this burden that resulted in your ticket for failure to prove you do, in fact, carry car insurance. What was UNexpected, however, was the bill from the court because you were equally put out to settle the matter in any timely fashion whatsoever. A bill that is equal to, not only a new sofa, but an impromptu ticket to France BITTER MUCH?. A waste of money so great, I can only illustrate its wastefulness by mentioning that we might have purchased the sofa and plane ticket, brought them home, placed them in the driveway just so, and set them both on fire. You've left me no choice but to nag you incessantly until this matter is resolved. I thank you in advance for your lack of patience and complete misunderstanding understanding.

Not So Cordially Yours,

Mrs. Farklepants

Friday, January 18, 2008

Taken Out Of Context

There are days, as a mother, that you say things you never expected to hear yourself say. Today I uttered the phrase:

"Don't ride your brother"

Just sayin'...

I'm Still Mom's Favorite

JCK at Motherscribe asked in one of the comments sections who this Dorothy Z person is that I keep attributing 99% of the photos I use on my blog. - somehow that sentence seems grammatically incorrect. I want to add a "to" at the end but don't want to go out on a preposition - I digress. Dorothy Z. is my lil' sis. She is number 3 out of 4 siblings. I am number 1. Oh, yes I am! SNAP! That photo above is an accurate portrayal. She is never without her camera. She is the family paparazzo. I don't even bother taking my camera or pictures anymore because my pictures suck large amounts of ass a) We are almost always together when the need for a camera arises, and 2) She takes way better pictures. As proof, I will show you some of her art. Can I do that? Can I show you? Would you like to see? Here:

Flowers smell sweeter when Nikon she is around.

Music plays when Nikon she enters a room.

Impromptu parties are thrown in Nikon's honor.

Food just tastes better when Nikon she's around. (Yeah, this category get's two. Cuz. YUM!)

Bullpens are less stinky. Oh. Mah. Gah. Did it ever smell bad. BAD!

Sheep asses are bluer. WTF? Can any of you farm savvy people clue me into the purpose of painting a sheep's butt blue? Inquiring city minds would like to know. Thanks in advance.

And 'peek-a-boo' isn't just a game for toddlers anymore, with Nikon Dorothy Z. around. So there ya have it. That is who she is and this is what she does. And I love her like she were my own. Thank you for beautifying my blog. Oh. And Dorth? Mom loves me the most.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Pea Green Is My Signature Color

Gah! I just don't feel like doing ANYTHING today. Girl-Child had dance class and I considered "forgetting". I didn't. She loves it. And I've already paid for it. But still I just wanted to hang out in my jammies until I had to get dressed to pick Boy-Child#2 up from school. I know I just got back from vacation but it was filled with activities and very little down time. Even our down time consisted of board games. Which was all fun and I'm not complaining much it's just I need a vacation from my vacation. The first couple of days home required my wicked house cleaning and laundry skills. And grocery shopping. Don't forget the food. But now, the house is still cleanish and some of the food is still leftish and I don't really HAVE to do anything. Except for the things I have to do. And it's windy outside and the wind is cold and it would be a really gorgeous day if it weren't for the damn cold wind that bites, literally.

So, last night Mr. Farklepants announces that he needs to get his stuff in order to obtain a passport because he might be sent to France to meet these people and do these things, and some of that, and all of it work related and totally not me-related. In other words: He goes to France without me. In a few other words: I don't get to go. - And, while we're still on the subject of passports sort of why am I expected to know what is involved in obtaining one when I, just like Mr. Farklepants, have never needed one because I've never left the country except to go to Mexico 4 times and that was when all one needed was a birth certificate. And why, if you need a birth certificate to obtain a passport, isn't the birth certificate itself enough? Why the need for a passport then? - Did I mention I don't get to go? So while he's asking me if he needs this, that, and the other for a passport; and I'm answering "I dunno, still dunno, yes I'm sure I don't know", he stops and says "You're jealous, aren't you?". Perceptive. But I resort to lying. "No! I'm happy for you" said through a forced smile and with a little too much enthusiasm. My voice did that thing where it's out of your typical range and it sounds weird even to yourself. And really, it's not lying because I AM happy for him. It's just my extreme disappointment that I CAN'T GO far outweighs my feigned support for him, considerably. I am jealous. I'm not just jealous. I'm JEALOUS!!! So much, in fact, that it required all caps and 3 exclamation points to illustrate. I DON'T GET TO GO!!! So I say, what one only has the choice to say in a situation like this, "Someday we can go together". He says, "yeah". Which means...never. Why? Mr. Farklepants hates airplanes. To say he would rather grease himself up and swim across the Atlantic and across the English Channel is an understatement. He rarely flies willingly. It almost always has to be for his job and he must be getting paid for it. So, my friends, I need a vacation from my vacation but it won't be happening in France. Because I don't get to go.

In All Fairness, There Were 9 Of Us

*photo by Dorothy Z.*
This was our after dinner treats/ breakfast/ eat it whenever you damn well feel like it because anytime is a good time for a donut hole, pile. Disgusting, I know. Looking at it now is bringing on a gall bladder attack. Wanna know the sickest part? We replenished it about 3 times. Restraint? What restraint? I ain't got no stinkin' restraint. I <3 carbs. Speaking of less than three, Karen at the Rocking Pony awarded the following to me:

I admit that in my haste to play blog catch up upon return from my vacation; I missed that she had done so. So, Karen I apologize. And MWAH! Thanks! And, apparently because I suck at blog etiquette, I was supposed to pass along the Best Blogging Buddies Award that Madame Queen had awarded me here:

And I will now pass both awards on to the following peeps:
The Best Blogging Buddy Award goes to: JCK at Motherscribe because of her faithfulness and her linky love. And The Stay at Home Mom Going Quickly Insane for the same reasons, plus? Shoe love.
The I Less Than Three Your Blog goes to: Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor because she's hilarious! And I <3 her blog. Also Burgh Baby's Mom for her hilarity, and last but certainly not least and equally entertaining: The Madame Queen because she's so less than three-able.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Calling Tippi Hedren. Come In, Tippi Hedren

Some back story: When we arrived home from our vacation, I noticed that something had died a violent, bloody death outside and against the smallish window that sits above the shower in the kids bathroom. Now you're up to speed.

Today, all three kids are at school and I have the house to myself for 3 hours before Girl-Child needs picking up. I'm still playing catch up on all of my favorite blogs. I never realized how many I visit. Most are listed in my faves over there to your right. And there are a whole lot more that I have bookmarked and still need to be added. So, I'm doing this. And composing the previous entry when I hear a strange sound. Kind of a tap, tap, tap, bump, knock, tap, bump. I fear it is the dog trying to sneak into the trash while I'm busy up here. I dart out of the office to find her fast asleep just outside the door. I ask her, "what are you doing"? Her look says "well, I was sleeping, thanks and now I'm not". Hmmmm. Strange. And? The noise had stopped. Once again immersed in my affair with the Internets (yes, there. right there you saucy tart) the noise is back. WTH? Again I stick my head out and eye the dog. "Why do I get blamed for everything?" is the look I got. "Because you're guilty 90% of the time". Tap, tap, bump, knock, tap. Now the dog looks at me. "Does that sound like I'm in the trash?". "Well, no". "Does it sound like I'm sneaking onto your bed for a nap?". "Not really". "Do I have any remnants of your underpants stuck in my teeth that I've fished out of the hamper?". "Not today. No. And, by the way, please stop doing that."

Bump, bump, tap, THUMP! It's coming from the bathroom! I throw open the door to find a bird trying to come through the window. And in true Hitchcock form, he was tenacious, determined, and if you'll excuse me: stupid. "You can't get in". He clung to the screen, turned his head sideways and eyed me suspiciously with just the left one. The look said, "your house killed my friend and now you will all pay with your lives". Bump, bump, tap, tap, knock, THUMP! He's not even scared of me. At all. Me? A little bit afraid of his courage, thanks for asking. And? I'm not opening my windows until summer.

A Smattering of Details From Our Trip

During our trip back east, we made two visits to D.C. Por que? You ask? Because you can't do D.C. in a day. Nor can you do it in two days, but that's all the time we made for it. I have only two complaints about our nations capitol (that would be 'capitol' with an 'o' for the spelling impaired, as there was discussion and/or musings on the proper usage of 'capital' v 'capitol' and for those keeping score; I was right). My first complaint is the parking or lack of it, as it were. Be prepared for exercise because there will be much walking and fatigued feet. The three hour parking limit, and ominous towing at your own expense signs are not conducive to the four mile round trip hike. And that doesn't count taking more than 3.8 seconds to actually see some sights. But. If you approach an on-duty police officer sitting in his car that is keeping watch for ne'er-do-wells, and bat your eyelashes while flashing him the girls (if you're feeling extremely bold put 'em on the glass); ask him in a breathy voice if they would really tow your rental car if it isn't moved in three hours. And don't forget to smile. It will get you everywhere. "They don't tow on weekends", he assured me. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the sexy I brought back that elicited such a response, but I worked it anyway. Minus the flashing part. I'm not really the 'whip-a-tit-out-in-public' kinda gal. Contrary to what you may have heard.

The second complaint: Lack of eating establishments. There are none within an acceptable walking distance unless you're cool with sandwiches served in any one of the museums cafes. Cafes are big in D.C.

We visited the Lincoln Memorial and gave Abe his props for keeping the union together and abolishing slavery. Way to go Mr. President! You da man. And might I add what big boots you wear? Then the Washington Monument. We touched it and moved on. Next was the National Museum of Natural History. I love dinosaur skeletons and mammal taxidermy. The best part? The Hope Diamond was there and I gazed upon its shiny until I was dragged away. We saw the Capitol. It is big. The stairs are blocked and guards are positioned. If I'd known I couldn't actually GO to the Capitol I wouldn't have walked that far. I was disappointed. I had high expectations for the Air and Space Museum but it was...alright. One problem was the building was lacking one crucial element for human survival: oxygen. My sister? Almost died. We paid a visit to the White House, at night, lit up like a Christmas tree; with strategically placed floodlights, of course. On our first trip back from D.C. we stopped at a diner whose name escapes me at the moment. But I was able to fill up on meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and mass quantities of sweet tea. It is the south and one must consume as much comfort food as possible. We purchased two pies. Because? It's pie. And? Because our collective children are so cute; several large cookies were thrown our way. Free of charge because it was closing time and they were going to be thrown out that's what happens when our kids are all together. Cookies thrown right at them. Our second trip home we spied a sign that claimed a Denny's was at the next exit. After much driving, circling, stopping for gas, and the official search party formed; we found it. Because once one has a hankerin' for Denny's, one must find the Denny's. I had pancakes. For dinner. That is what you do at Denny's.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

What Happens When Ballerinas Play Football

**Warning: Gratuitous photos of myself to follow and not all of them attractive. Consider yourself warned**

1. They throw like a girl

2. They pirouette. That ball soared...8 feet.

3. When they kick the ball they point their toe. I give good arch.

And this? Is my game face. That's right. Don't mess with a toe pointing, pirouette performing, throwin' like a girl, football playin' ballerina. Biotch!


*all photos by Dorothy Z.*

And The Award Goes To....

Me!!! It was bestowed upon me by the hilarious Madame Queen! I would recite my rather lengthly acceptance speech, but the band is already shooing me from the stage. So I'll keep it brief and simply state: Thank you Madame Queen!!

Broken Wind In Aisle Five

A family of circus folk four shopped along side me at my local grocery store yesterday. At first glance they appeared like any other family comprised of a few boys in what appeared to be varying ages of ten to fourteen. And the mother. Perhaps this was their first time shopping in a public place. Their volume was set at maximum. In case you needed to know which part of the establishment they were located. Heed the warning signals. They were forceful (i.e. push past you in the aisle with their cart. Literally). They were oblivious to other shoppers and blocked any aisle they were in. Do not stand there and wait for them to veer left or right as a courtesy. They will not. They used colorful vocabulary. And not just the mother. They were gassy. That's right. One of them farted. Audibly. And with much bravado. Then one of them announced its arrival. Just in case you weren't within a ten mile radius to hear it clear as a bell. I took this moment to stop, smile, and ponder that the youth are our future. When it came to check out time, because I am me, I roll up behind them. We're apparently keeping the same schedule. The mother makes eye contact with me; and like I do anytime someone holds my gaze that uncomfortable fraction of a second longer than is necessary, I smiled. She did not. Not only did she not smile, she looked at me as if I had just told her that her mama is so ugly, American Express left home without her. The fifteen year old Tootsie in me said "oh no you di'n't". The practical thirty six year old Tootsie grounded the fifteen year old and reminded me that reconstructive cosmetic surgery is pricey and 'you're still waiting for that new couch, Missy!'. This woman looked like she could take me. She looked like she probably had a fight at lunch earlier. She looks like fighting is her hobby. So I averted my eyes. And let her have her moment.

And on a totally unrelated note, when did Target enact this new law that they will only allow two returns or exchanges that are not accompanied by a receipt, per year, per person? I finally get my lazy ass over there to do exactly this with the duplicate Christmas gifts my children received only to be thwarted by Miss Sassy Pants behind the counter. I had four items. And I was shit out of luck. But guess what her solution was? I could recruit, enlist, and after bootcamp humiliatingly ask a friend or relative to give up one or more of their alloted two receiptless returns/exchanges, if they were so willing. "But then they are equally shit out of luck when and if they find themselves in need of a return/exchange and sans receipt, no?" I so pointedly observe. "Correct. This is why we give everyone a gift receipt when the purchase is made and we would expect they would give it to the recipient" she confirmed. This was the end of the discussion for her and she moved on, "Which two items would you like to return?" she said with a bit of an at-tit-tude (this must be said with pursed lips and nose turned up). Oh. It's gonna be like that then. Okay, "Well how about this Hungry Hungry Hippos game that is missing 2 of the 4 pieces needed and 2 additional pieces of this part right here. This game is completely useless to me at all so lets just get rid of that one. And I guess the 'Who's Smarter Than A Fifth Grader' game because really, there is only so much Foxworthy one can take". I didn't think that there could be something about Target that I didn't like. But this is a bit much. I mean, get real. And the humdinger? When I made my purchase of some replacement towels for the set that my sister in law just received for Christmas and that my Proactiv face cleanser destroyed, I had to ASK for a gift receipt but was not offered one. So I guess Miss Sassy Pants' declaration that they give everyone a gift receipt is a loosely based random policy at best.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Proof That God Is A Man...

...Who never traveled by plane with three children. First flight out at beginning of trip? Delayed infinity. The pleasant woman at the airline counter punched some keys on her computer, spun around eight times, exclaimed the magic words 'abracadabra' and we were given an entire new itinerary and shuttled immediately onto a plane. I mean, immediately. Like, run to your plane immediately. This eliminated the planned food and potty time I had so carefully coordinated. BUT? We were en route. By the time we taxied down the runway my bladder was the size of China. I feared the cabin pressure would cause an explosion of mass urinary proportions. We reached our first stop and were met with a five hour layover. Five hours? In an airport? With three kids? Simultaneous murder and torture, thankyouverymuch. The excitement of being in a state they'd never been to before wore off in about seven minutes. After a meal that cost about as much as my first car; boredom set in. And all three were diagnosed with ants in their pants. Next flight: uneventful. Our last flight and final leg of our journey took place on an aircraft so small the passengers got out and pushed it down the runway. Not really, but it was designed for people who weigh twenty pounds and are only three feet tall. Admitting that I could not walk in an upright position on this plane is no exaggeration. Coming back home our final flight was delayed an hour because God hates me and wanted to stick it to me one more time lest I actually start to enjoy traveling with my own children.

I'm back! More to come... And to all of you who commented and stopped by: Thank you!!

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Deep In The Heart Of Texas Someone Has Boob Issues

The winner this week for the most amusing term used in their Google search engine that brought them to my blog is........ from Houston Texas with "why do my nipples hurt when its cold". Yes. I am the 4th result out of 504,000 possible choices. Yay me! And may Miss or Mr. Houston Texas find warmth to ease their aching nipples toot sweet! I'm sorry my blog didn't provide any answers to your dilemma.

Don't Cry For Meme Blogosphere!

So, tomorrow I'm leaving at dark o'thirty, getting aboard a total of three planes - not all at once. I probably didn't have to clarify that, but just in case you haven't had your coffee yet - with three kids, jumping hodgepodge across the country; and hopefully, weather permitting and if we don't get delayed at O'Hare make too many wrong turns in Albekoikie, and all that jazz: will end up in Virginia sometime before midnight. I will be gone for 10 days.'s okay. Come here. Give me some love...shhh...Mama knows. Mama knows. Dry those beautiful eyes. Better? I can't guarantee that I'll be able to update but I'll try. In the meantime, I leave you with this meme that I was tagged with by Jim at the Busy Dad Blog who admittedly is parenting without a helmet. The rebel! That is BOLD! Mine is firmly in place and I've got the hat head to prove it. Okay, so first:
The Rules:
1.Mention the person who tagged you and create a link back to them.
2.Pick your month of birth.
3.Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months (see below).
4.Highlight the traits that apply to you and if you would like write some wit or not.
5.Tag 12 people and let them know by visiting their blogs and leaving a comment for them.
6.Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve done it!

I'm an October baby, so here goes:
Loves to chat. Um. It depends on with whom I'm chatting. Some people, not so much.
Loves those who loves them. Sure. Ya, why not? Unless it's some kind of creepy stalker love, then no.
Loves to take things at the center. I don't even know what this means. What things? The center of what? What center? What?
Inner and physical beauty. Does it make me conceited if I say yes?
Lies but doesn’t pretend. WTF? Did this thing just call me a liar?
Gets angry often. At inanimate objects, yes. And things that call me a liar.
Treats friends importantly. Well, my friends are VIPs. Yes.
Always making friends. Online, yes. In real time I'm an avoider of new people. I do make many acquaintances, however.
Easily hurt but recovers easily.Boo hoo. That was MEAN! Okay I'm over it.
Daydreamer. This is an understatement.
Opinionated. You've read my blog. You tell me.
Does not care of what others think. This is usually true. Depends on who the "others" are.
Emotional. Only during certain cycles of the female persuasion.
Decisive. Are you kidding? I'm queen of coin flipping in the decision making department.
Strong clairvoyance. WTF? Did this thing just call me a psychic?
Loves to travel, the arts and literature. Yes, yes, and yes.
Touchy and easily jealous. Touchy sometimes. Jealous, not so much.
Concerned. That this meme is calling me a lying psychic.
Loves outdoors. Me? Are you serious? Let's get one thing straight: Me+Camping=Not unless I have too and there is no hotel in sight. If there is no working toilet there is no Tootsie.
Just and fair. That IS the Libra in me. Otherwise I would be totally unjust and unfair.
Spendthrift. Who's been peeking at my credit card statements? I'll have you know I HAD to have those things! HAD TOO!
Easily influenced. Baaaa! Maybe once upon a time. Now, not so much.
Easily loses confidence. I'll show this meme who's boss. I will meet it at the flagpole after school. Does this blog make me look fat?
Loves children. Especially my own. Not so keen on the unsupervised darlings that show up at my table in Starbucks. Please go find your mother.

So there you have it. I'm also not tagging 12 people. In fact, I'm tagging no one. But I will leave you with the months and their corresponding attributes that may or may not apply to you. Then, if you're feeling particularly bored adventurous, you can tag your ownself (not a word). Bon Voyage (that's Fray-uhnch)!

JANUARY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Ambitious and serious. Loves to teach and be taught. Always looking at people’s flaws and weaknesses. Likes to criticize. Hardworking and productive. Smart, neat and organized. Sensitive and has deep thoughts. Knows how to make others happy. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Rather reserved. Highly attentive. Resistant to illnesses but prone to colds. Romantic but has difficulties expressing love. Loves children. Loyal. Has great social abilities yet easily jealous. Very stubborn and money cautious.

FEBRUARY: Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizes dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH: Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

APRIL: Active and dynamic. Decisive and hasty but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people’s problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional. Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving. Motivates oneself and others. Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their lover can see.

MAY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no motivation. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts. Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children. Hardworking. High spirited. Spendthrift.

JUNE: Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.

JULY: Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people’s feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST: Loves to joke. Attractive. Suave and caring. Brave and fearless. Firm and has leadership qualities. Knows how to console others. Too generous and egoistic. Takes high pride in oneself. Thirsty for praises. Extraordinary spirit. Easily angered. Angry when provoked. Easily jealous. Observant. Careful and cautious. Thinks quickly. Independent thoughts. Loves to lead and to be led. Loves to dream. Talented in the arts, music and defense. Sensitive but not petty. Poor resistance against illnesses. Learns to relax. Hasty and trusty. Romantic. Loving and caring. Loves to make friends.

SEPTEMBER: Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to point out people’s mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding. Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves leisure and traveling. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in relationships. Systematic.

OCTOBER: Loves to chat. Loves those who loves them. Loves to take things at the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn’t pretend. Gets angry often. Treats friends importantly. Always making friends. Easily hurt but recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care of what others think. Emotional. Decisive. Strong clairvoyance. Loves to travel, the arts and literature. Touchy and easily jealous. Concerned. Loves outdoors. Just and fair. Spendthrift. Easily influenced. Easily loses confidence. Loves children.

NOVEMBER: Has a lot of ideas. Difficult to fathom. Thinks forward. Unique and brilliant. Extraordinary ideas. Sharp thinking. Fine and strong clairvoyance. Can become good doctors. Dynamic in personality. Secretive. Inquisitive. Knows how to dig secrets. Always thinking. Less talkative but amiable. Brave and generous. Patient. Stubborn and hard-hearted. If there is a will, there is a way. Determined. Never give up. Hardly becomes angry unless provoked. Loves to be alone. Thinks differently from others. Sharp-minded. Motivates oneself. Does not appreciate praises. High-spirited. Well-built and tough. Deep love and emotions. Romantic. Uncertain in relationships. Homely. Hardworking. High abilities. Trustworthy. Honest and keeps secrets. Not able to control emotions. Unpredictable.

DECEMBER: Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egotistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Proper Dog Farts

Note how the dogs, um, emissions seem to blend in with the fluffy clouds yet the daisies are all wilted in his wake. He hath dealt a right proper crop dusting.

I was informed that my nephew loves books. So I picked up this dilly: "Walter the Farting Dog". Because? What better way to let the children in your life know you love them, than with flatulence? Through the written word, of course. Not by demonstration. That would just be funny as hell gross. My sister in law may laugh politely but my brother is sure to wet himself. Yep. Tootsie is one classy lady.

I Could Use It As A Car Cover

I went to Target today to perform the simple task of picking up new skivvies and under shirts for Mr. Farklepants. I'm assuming by the mostly empty shelves in this department, that every man on earth made the resolution to buy new briefs to kick off the new year. From my local store. While I'm as much a fan of a man in clean shorts, as the next gal; it did make my mission that much more complicated. After endless searching and digging, and tossing aside; I finally found his size and bought them. Came home, tore open the package to throw them in with the laundry. And what sprang from the package (oh. mah. gah. all of the innuendos and Freudian quips that can be created by this blog post) were several pairs of the worlds largest underpants. I either think very well of Mr. Farklepants or I think he has no less than 5 asses. Because that is how many these would cover. And I still can't figure out how I went wrong.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

I Think My Heart Just Stopped

**frenzy and chaos** Is she okay? I don't know. I don't think so. Is she breathing? Doesn't seem to be. Tootsie? Tootsie, can you hear me? She can't hear you. I'm pretty sure she isn't breathing. She needs mouth to mouth. Can he do it? He's not really a doctor. He just played one on tv. Oh crap. That's right. I'll start the mouth to mouth. You get the paddles.....CLEAR! Whew. She's breathing. Tootsie? Tootsie, are you okay? She's smiling. Tootsie? She still can't hear you.

Lay Down The Boogie And Play That Funky Music Til You Die

My New Years Eve was wild! It was madness! It was insanity! Wanna know what I did? D'ya? D'ya ruuullly wanna know? I held my 10 week old niece for 5 1/2 hours. That is no exaggeration. And I tend to exaggerate for emphasis. This is not one of those times. From 4pm until 9:30pm I walked, I slung, I flung, I rocked, I swayed, I hummed, I cooed, I gooed, I patted, I cried at her cuteness because I'm a sap, I sat, she slept, she woke, she cried, we walked some more. I marveled at the size of her cheeks. All of her weight is in her face. Saying she appears to be storing nuts for the winter is an understatement. They literally block her view. I ate one. I had two fifteen minute breaks while she was firmly attached to her mother's freakishly large breastesses (It's okay to blog that, right? I mean, she's aware of their largeness) and I peed. With my infant fix adequately fulfilled, and my title of most awesomest aunt elevated; I remembered that I am past this stage with my own children and it is my time to party! I drank exactly one whole beer. And one three shots of homemade Baileys which can only be described as heavily spiked melty ice cream. It was DE-LISH! I watched my eleven year old son lead a jam session of "Play That Funky Music White Boy" on his guitar. Oh, white boy was indeed, very funky. Guests were impressed. He was given props. And every single one of my heart cockles was warm. Yes, that is my boy up there getting down with his bad self. At midnight we counted down. There was hugging, kissing, and wishes for a happy new year. Then? Everyone went home. We are old. Today it feels like I spent the entire evening lifting weights. I forgot what a workout carrying a baby is. Did I mention I'm old?