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!!!

Hey Son, Van Halen Called. Want to Know When You Can Tour.

Hi. I became a stage mother. To a rock star. Please to enjoy my bursting pride:

Drink Two of These and Call Me in the Morning

Boy-Child#2 begins softball season next week and Tootsie will pretend that it hasn't been two weeks since she last updated her blog the family makes a night of what will be known as Tootsie's Preparedness Awareness Program. First stop, a new restaurant in town. The Farklepants' are very excited about this new discovery because A) it isn't a chain restaurant, and B) they take reservations. Unfortunately? Everyone else in town is also very excited about this. This is the Farklepants' second visit to Sabor, and still smarting from their original visit they made without a reservation and the days long wait for a table, Tootsie called ahead to reserve a dining time of......9pm. Because it was either that or 4:30pm and at 4:30pm, Tootsie is still full from lunch.

Tootsie doesn't waste precious time getting down to business with her prescription comically huge margarita.

Which generates a heightened warm and fuzzy feeling for a certain Mr. Farklepants. She is keen on him. And asks you to ignore his mouth full of chips face.

Tootsie reiterates "comically huge".

Three baskets of chips later.... they bring a fourth - and the Farklepants aren't ones to kick it out of bed.

Dinner that's not only mouth watering delicious; it's also fancy. Tootsie's sister had the Enchiladas de Mariscos that were stuffed with crab, shrimp, and little slices of heaven.

Tootsie had the Chile Relleno stuffed with tender chicken breast. Also known as Mmm-mmm served up with a side of GOOD GOD! And Tootsie is happy to report that since she's not accustomed to eating a large meal past 7pm; the heartburn she endured was pleasurable.


**all photos by Dorothy Z.

Open Letter to Very Important People, Part Deux

Please to enjoy part one here.

Dear Honda Driver,

I realize that navigating one's way through the mammoth area reserved for parking, adjacent to a strip mall that boasts heavily trafficked stores, including but not limited to, Walmart, Old Navy, and a defunct Circuit City can be a might tricky. Those lanes reserved for actual driving? Ignore those. And while we're on the subject; stop signs are for punks. Please continue to drive through vacant parking spaces and pop out of no fecking where. I like this. It's fun. Makes driving kind of like a game of hide 'n seek. Also? My heart was due for an overdose of adrenaline. It's been too long since my hair stood on end. I now understand the Honda slogan, "the fit is go". The car fits in between parked cars and it goes. And those that follow the rules of the road be damned.

Signed,

The Lady in the Lexus with the Very Surprised Look on Her Face who Screamed Oh Shit

*******************************************

Dear Hundred Plus Junior High School Parents,

Believe me when I say that I know what a pain in the ass it is that whoever the city planner was that decided to place the junior high, high school, and one elementary school across the street from each other with one way in and out, and simultaneous dismissal times, with a combined enrollment of approximately FOUR THOUSAND; thought this was a good idea. I get it. They were stoned. It's a colossal joke. It's crowded. And makes things very trafficky and people very impatient-y. Please continue to park curbside on this heavily congested street while you wait for your child to walk down the hill to your car, partially blocking traffic in one of the three lanes offered. Oh, and those "no stopping at anytime" signs? Merely a suggestion, I'm sure.

Sincerely,

The Lady who got Hung Out to Dry when the Light Turned Red while Waiting for you to Finish Your Illegal Parallel Parking Job and who Wouldn't have Risked it if She'd Known you were Going to Throw that Bitch in Reverse

************************************

Dear Straight Up Bitch,

I was absolutely aware that I had a green arrow to turn left. Funny thing I learned in driving school way back in, ooohhhh, high school - when the driver of a vehicle has the right of way they still have to yield to traffic and/or any obstacles. For instance, like what just happened, when the light turned green and the cars in front of me turned into the circular drive in front of the junior high? Yeah, well, the reason I didn't go? Even though I had a green light? Was because there were at least two cars that were still backed up in the intersection and I had NO WHERE TO GO. Here's a little driver's ed tip for you: you aren't supposed to block the intersection. So, thanks for the honk. Always appreciated. But more especially thank you so much for driving around and pulling in front of me. I have to say I got a more than a little pleasure watching you sit there in the middle of the intersection completely hindering the flow of traffic. I laughed a little when you banged on your steering wheel.

Your Truly,

Smiley

p.s. Your car is ugly.

*******************************************

Dear Chatty Cathy,

A lot of people make the choice to not watch the news. I understand. It's been mostly reduced to sensationalism. But there was a law passed last year that makes it illegal to use your hand held cell phone and/or device here in California. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you didn't know. Or maybe it was an emergency and you just HAD to use it. Judging by your obvious laughter at whatever was said; it was a very funny emergency.

Best Wishes,

Where's a Cop When You Need One

Can You Press the Rewind Me Some of That Button? On Your Remote?

If you're a parent to a small child you're most likely subjected to the occasional Noggin viewing. One show that Girl-Child is partial to is the Upside Down Show. I'm rather fond of it as well. Not for the educational value. Or the songs. Or the interactive quality which permeates today's preschool television programming. No. It is because of David and Shane...oh Shane:


Which? Truth be told? I find...oh let's see... how do you say? Sexy. They make suffering through Yo Gabba Gabba and Wow Wow Wubbzy tolerable.

And here they are again - in an instant replay.



I know. There's something wrong with me You agree.

*photo Google Images / video YouTube

Mamas Don't Let Their Babies Grow Up to Drink Newcastle

The weather in southern California has been unusual the past couple of weeks. We're not accustomed to rain in these parts and we know that we need it, but after a few days [where few equals: one] we're all, enough already. Because there are several things that southern Californians are unable to do when there is water falling out of the sky. Some of those things include but are not limited to:

• Driving
• Scheduled field trips
• Walk
• Leave the house
• Drive
• Handle their hydroplaning car on the freeway
• Remember their umbrella (if they own one)
  
• Operate an umbrella efficiently
• Also, drive

We were to attend my sister in law's fortieth birthday party on Saturday. Two hours away from our house. In between storms. Storms that were dumping several feet of snow at the top of the Grapevine. The Grapevine is the I-5 that will take you to Canada if you head north and Mexico if you choose to venture due south. And when the snow covers the Grapevine the Grapevine comes to a screeching halt. It is closed. Out of order. Cerrado [my limited Spanish vocabulary made possible by Sesame Street and a grant from the W.M. Keck Foundation and other sponsors].

The storms were expected to hit Friday night and again Sunday afternoon. This was to be an overnight trip. If we left too early we'd never make it up there. If we made it up there and left too late, we'd never make it home. I'm happy to report that we scheduled our respective departure times accordingly and accurately. We were able to celebrate her fortieth year with a rousing game of Apples to Apples. And a three hour match of...quarters.

The Unknown Imbiber:

The last of which ended with one member puking in the kitchen sink. Because nothing says forty like high school college drinking games with so many rules, drunkards are bound to fail.

*Photo by Dorothy Z. ...rules made by various thumb masters.

And My Creative Juices got Sucked Right Down the Rabbit Hole

I know. I know. I've sorely neglected my blog. Not only am I not posting daily like the good old days but now I'm lucky if it's once a week [hold on while I check...yep...once a week]. I've over extended myself in all different directions and by the time I find a moment to write I just don't have the creative energy to put finger to keyboard. I get started and then I run out of juice and have to force myself not to write: and then she passed out on her monitor and drooled on the screen, the end.

When Girl-Child, the last of the flock to leave the nest, started kindergarten in the fall; I imagined three glorious me-time hours five days a week. Someone has an overactive imagination. Those hours are quickly scheduled with various whatnot and some of that involves the volunteering that I do at the elementary school. It's not that I don't enjoy it, it's just that sometimes? I just don't wanna. Like yesterday. It was pouring down rain and the last thing I wanted to do was spend the morning with energetic, three foot tall, clingy, grabby, can't follow multi-step instructions, sticky fingered children...that aren't mine except for one.

[Informational aside: the class is run in rotating "centers". One group is in reading, one in math, another group does "seat work" at their desks, and the other is in art center. As the volunteer, I oversee the art center group and help with the seat work while the two teachers run reading and math...now you're up to speed]

And the more time I spend in the kindergarten class the more it becomes glaringly obvious: I could never be a kindergarten teacher. I shall list the reasons:

1) I lack a certain amount of patience. Where certain amount equals: any at all.

2) I am not able to repeat warnings in a sing-songy voice. I'm more of a it's my way or the highway kind of grown-up.

3) The little girl that has made a career in keeping me informed of who isn't doing their work, and who hasn't written their name on their paper, and who didn't color their paper as instructed, and who forgot their homework folder, and who was absent yesterday, and who just blew their nose and the hue and consistency of what landed in that tissue? That little girl, bugs the everloving crap out of me. And I can barely contain myself from telling her to mind her own damn business and no one ever liked a tattle-tale. [ Hello, have we met? I'm 37 going on 10]

4) The little girl who tells people where they can sit, and who can sit with whom, and who she'll be gracing her presence with to play with that day, and who she won't, and who would like for me to read all the riddles from her yogurt container to her? Is in for a rude awakening. Tootsie is not going to read to the little girl who wouldn't let Tootsie's daughter sit next to her at the art center table. That little girl is lucky Tootsie didn't push her down.

5) The little boy who simply will not do his work but would like to distract the others' from doing theirs? Yeah, he's not ready for kindergarten. If he hasn't got with the program by now, he ain't a gettin'. Send him home and away from me. And also? I'm not motivated to encourage him. In fact, I don't give a fricken frack.

6) That boy who hums CONSTANTLY?!!? Yeah, that needs to stop.

7) My threshold for girls that CRY OVER EVER SINGLE REAL OR IMAGINED THING is excessively low. Man the hell up, Damsel in Distress. There is no sense in crying over glue on your finger. Or the lack of pink handled scissors. Or Monday.

8) Projectile Boy: crayons are not missiles. Nor are pencils. Or whateverthehellelse it is you're throwing across the room.

9) Rainy day schedule. Inside recess - need I say more?

Raise your hand if you're glad that a certain someone is not the parent volunteer in your child's classroom.

She Failed to Mention the Most Important Aspect

Friday night I joined my best girlfriends for dinner to finally exchange our Christmas gifts try a new Chinese restaurant in town. Not traditional Chinese fare, but that more modern overpriced but still pretty good, kind. Super martinis. And we've reached that age where we discuss, what else? Our health. Things like, I have this new mole I think the doctor should see. And, how long we had to wait for a referral to the dermatologist. And, decent health care coverage. Exciting things like that. I complained about how I've seemed to develop some kind of chronic dry eye and how applying 1-2 drops of Visine Tears as needed was not doing my mascara any favors every 30 minutes or so. So my girlfriend fills us in on her daily vitamin and supplement routine recommended by her doctor; part of which includes the fish and omega-3 fatty acids oil something or other. And how since she's started this, not only has it relieved HER dry eyes, but her skin as well. And I was all, sign me up!

I picked some up during my regular trip to the grocery yesterday [note to self: don't ever visit the grocery store on Super Bowl Sunday one hour before kick off ever again in your life ever because you've made it this far in life without, ya know, murdering someone - let's keep it that way...mmmmkay?] . Plus it was buy one get one free and I was set! The directions state to take one gel capsule with each meal. So after my hearty lunch of, um, Quaker Oatmeal Squares cereal, I took my first capsule.

About 45 minutes later I would have sworn I'd eaten salmon for lunch. And for the next 8 hours, ladies and gentlemen, I belched fish. And probably won't be able to eat salmon again as long as I live.

That 8 hour belch fest was in the comfort of my own home. What about when I'm in public and try to do one of those lady-like discreet, under her breath and no that wasn't me, burpettes? There's no masking that. These things have legs. They have bite.

And those two full bottles of omega-3? They are currently in my father's possession. He's a man. He can pull off a fish burp.