Man Smell

My friend FINALLY used one of the purfume samples out of a Real Simple, because of my last post. Unfortunately, it happened to be the new Ralph Lauren For Men, and it spawned an argument between she and her husband about 'who she'd been spending time with.' On top of that, she'll be getting shit from me, because now I'm using SECOND HAND perfume samples, waxy paper all sucked dry of it's lovely man scent, already rubbed against a foreign wrist like a dirty whore. AND she neglected to buy a pack of Pull Ups at CVS that were on sale, down to the ultra low clearance price of 4 cents a Pull Up. It's the kind of sale that only happens once in a lifetime, and she passed it up. Having two toddlers potty training, few events are more devistating than passing up Pull Ups at 90% off, diapers that normally sell at prices similar to cotton filled gold. Of course, it's only Wednesday. Perhaps her week will make a turn for the better before Friday!

Now With Extra Gluttony and Sloth!

Businesses that haven't yet devised Dollar Menus, but should: Liquor Stores Strip Clubs Therapists Pharmacies Falafel Kings (I'm sure I'm missing some here) I'm thinking the Dollar Menu would be an especially wise business choice for the above locales if they'd be willing to institute a drive through as well, like any of my neighborhood liquor stores. I'd be saving time AND money if I could drive through the Spot Stop and get a couple to go shots of vodka and a dollar-sized club soda! And really, why do the grease soaked fast food chains have such an edge on this market? I'd way prefer a drive through hummus and pita dish than chicken nuggets! And think of all of the people who'd be working through their problems if they could sit in the comfort of their own cars and get a mini-therapy session. Afterwards they could drive through the pharmacy and get their prescribed meds off the dollar menu! And if all that failed they could go to the drive through strip club and get a value lap dance. Through the car window. I'm sure there's some way that could be worked out... I have some details to work out, but I think I'm onto something here...

It's All About Me

A friend gave me a few magazines the other day, which is great, because she always hands them over in near perfect condition with all of the perfume samples and coupons still intact. The first thing I do when she hands over her still current Real Simples is ravage them like a starving man would a microwave burrito: I tear into all the little samples and shiny pages and wrinkle them and bask in the glow of the $4 purchase I would have never been able to bring myself to make. Sometimes I even read the articles. This month there was one about narcissism. I love the little human interest bits so I devoured it carefully, taking note of each trait a person might posses if they were, in fact, a narcissist. A few hours after my reading was complete I began to wonder: what if I was a narcissist? What if that was, in fact, why my friend gave me this stack of literature in the first place? Was she gently trying to imply that I needed to deal with my personal ego problems? I went over the article again, filling in the blanks with my own personality. I DID like to talk, all the time, mostly about myself. Aren't I the one who had to start a blog? So I could have another place to ramble on about what else?? MYSELF? This really had me worried. Not because I was potentially a narcissist, but because SOMEONE KNEW. And when I realized that little gem, well that made it all clear. The problem is really that I am WAY too concerned about what people think of me. If a stupid magazine article could send me reeling into self-doubt and worry then I clearly didn't have a problem, at least not with narcissism. Isn't a narcissist one who thinks the world of them self? My real problem materialized before my eyes: I am INSANE and I spend too much time analyzing everything, AND I don't give my friends enough credit. Because really, I know they would come directly to me if they had a problem with me, or at least they'd find a more creative way to deal with it than sending me secret messages through Every Day With Rachel Ray, ones that I would need a decoder ring to understand and 3-D glasses to appreciate. And if I was THAT big of a bitch they wouldn't hang out with me anyway. Or they might. Just because I'm so cool. It's hard not to want to be around someone as kick ass as ME! Right? RIGHT???

Artichoke Hearts

Last night a friend of mine, who happens to be an interior designer, came over to bask in the glow of my pumpkin walls and drink some wine. Needless to say, by the time she left we had all new paint colors picked out, colors like 'gold field' and 'artichoke heart.' It's exciting to think that my house might not look like something out of a Halloween special soon! The thrill ride never stops around here, I tell you.

Despite The Warm Drink

I almost wasn't able to sit down and write today because when I went to mix my drink there WAS NO ICE. Is the strenuous three foot jog over to the sink from the fridge really too much for anyone in this house, save me, to bear??? It's terribly obvious which one of us was looked over in the government's search for new CIA operatives. The one willing to risk life and limb crossing the kitchen to refill the ice cube trays, that's who. Anywho, we spent a lovely weekend up north at our friend's cabin on a lake, sitting around campfires and hiking through 'the woods.' I am the only person over five this weekend who might refer to the tiny wooded area behind the cabin as 'the woods' or, Kendra's favorite, 'the forest', but it was the perfect size for a bunch of hyperactive toddlers to tear around in. I'm sure it felt like they were roaming through uncharted territory like a group of little Magellans. For me it was a weekend of pure debauchery, and I have an empty case of Silver Bullets and a near empty jar of Blue Cheese salad dressing, which I bought specifically to dip celery in, to prove it. For the nutrition. It's fair, if you only do it once a year, to finish an entire jar in one weekend. Right? (Besides, I ate most of it standing over the kitchen sink.) It was a little damp and rainy on our first morning but the weekend ended up being beautiful. On Saturday we trucked the kids to the beach in sweat shirts so they could play in the sand, but before too long it was sunny enough that they were stripped nearly naked to allow for swimming. It went from this: To this: Rosie had a love affair with that statue up there, Gus. She hugged and kissed him and whispered into his ear so that no one could hear her sweet nothings. And if she noticed him while playing she'd truck back up the steps to where he awaited her, only to give him a pat or two before fumbling down the wood back to the beach. Sometimes she'd shoot him a stern look, like he'd been up to something while she was busy filling her buckets, but in the end she always forgave him. Have I taught her nothing? "Gus, I found lipstick on your shirt and a matchbook with a number in it. We need to talk." "Oh Gus, you know I can't stay mad at you! Hold me!" Their summer romance will have to wait until next year to rekindle, unfortunately, because a mid-September visit up north was pushing it. Maybe a year's worth of time passing will find them grown apart. Poor girl.

Mr. Stewart Speaks

I wish I'd seen this on Monday, but better late than never. It's worth watching. Click here to see John Stewart's first show after 9/11.

Why Eddie Rocks, Part 2

On the news today the newscaster introduced the next story with this teaser: "Who lives longer: women with children or women without?" I had to chuckle under my breath. Me: Gee, let me guess. Ed: Women with children, of course. Me: You think so? Why? Ed: Well, because if the kids are good kids they'll take care of their moms so they can live longer. Right? Me: Of course. You are totally right. (And by the way, according to this study women with kids DO live longer, as long as they don't have over five. Who knew?)

I Know It's Only September

The weather's really cooled around here over the past week, and the tips of the leaves on our maple tree are starting to orange, enough that it's obviously turning into fall. Which means.... Halloween is almost here! As far as holidays go this one's always been my favorite, the holiday I anticipate more than my birthday or Christmas or even Pulaski Days. All that candy! All the costumes! And, now that I'm an adult, I can indulge in the best Halloween pastime ever: scaring the crap out of 12 year old pumpkin smashers who should be at home where they belong and not out running the streets like a bunch of punks. The pumpkin smashers belong in the same group as the kids who steal other kids' candy, along with the little weenies who take more than their share out of the buckets people leave on their porches when they get sick of having to look surprised at every Cinderella and Spiderman. I march around every year trying to catch those kids. It's the fear in their eyes that I love to see, the look of horror you get indicating what they're sure of: that this crazy woman in front of them with the kid on her hip is going to call the police and they're not only not getting any candy, but they're going to spend the rest of their life in prison, too. I really aim for that level of terror. You know, so they won't do it again. Consider it a public service. Halloween is for little kids. There should be a participation age limit, and those kids should be over it. Anyway, last year Eddie was The Human Torch and Rosie was a bee: Click for more. Ed was a trooper. He ended up with a nearly full pillowcase of goodies, most of which Clint and I ended up eating after Eddie passed out from exhaustion at the tail end of a serious sugar buzz. The bag he's holding in that picture was full within 20 minutes; the pillocase was in addition to that bag. Rosie, on the other hand, was NOT into it. I don't understand why. Being out two hours past bedtime in the freezing cold dark, plodding around dressed in something bulky and uncomfortable doesn't sound like fun? What if you were accompanied by a bunch of people you don't know wearing scary costumes? Or what about the flaming, evil eyed pumpkins? Or the scary sound tapes? I can't imagine what she was fussing about. This year, though, I'm hoping she'll get the costume = candy thing and will be a little more willing to participate. I'm going to start prepping her now. After dark tonight we're hitting the neighbors' houses. I hope they have candy stocked already. If she's still not buying it, there's no reason she can't help me bust the pumpkin smashers. She gives a damn good evil eye. I think the glare of a toddler might take their fear to a whole new level, actually. It works for her around here.

Saturday Morning

Me: Why can't it ever just be a cuddle without becoming molestation? Him: Why can't it ever just be a boob grab without becoming a Federal case?

V for Vendetta

Remember remember the Fifth of November the gunpowder treason and plot; I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot. "November 5, 1605, a solitary figure is arrested in the cellars of Parliament House. Although he first gives his name as John Johnson, a startling series of events begins to unfold under torture. Guy Fawkes, as he is really called, is one of thirteen who have conspired to blow up the parliament, the King, and his Lords, thereby throwing the whole country into turmoil, out of which these traitors hoped to raise a new monarch sympathetic to their cause, and return England to its Catholic past." Guy Fawkes (or Guido, as his homies apparently called him) and these other 12 are remembered as freedom fighters, and were armed with a butt-load of gunpowder and a spiffy little plot. There were Catholics in that Parliament House, too, their own guys, and it was still worth blowing them all up to overthrow the Protestant Government. I hear some people call that kind of thing terrorism... 'V' was so close to where my mind has been lately, to see this story, to have someone explain so beautifully such a terrifying thing. I can't get over the enormity of trying to overthrow a government, of taking my rights in my hand and declaring I am entitled to them. 'An idea is bulletproof,' he says. The ideas of personal freedoms and liberties, those things enabling us to put tacky bumper stickers about what an idiot the President is all over our Suburbans, we cannot take for granted. How many North Koreans will have to die from starvation and destitution before someone will take that nutbag Kim Jong-il out? What if I was living in some bull shit country where I couldn't go to church (or had to) or had all of my Internet content censored? Could I deal with life without Dooce? And how could I think of all of this without considering all the little ways we allow ourselves to be separated from even our neighbors: television, computers... Lord, I don't even want to talk to the lady next door if my hair doesn't look okay, and all that separation breaks us down, I think. If we're not close, we're not unified, and it just seems like we're all sticking our noses into our little lives and not paying attention to the trends in the world around us, like stories about the terrorist 'freedom fighters' we keep hearing in the news... Just a minute ago on the news they were discussing a 9:00 curfew put in place in Western India because of a series of explosions in a Muslim majority town. I simply can't imagine being attacked because of my religion, or attacking because of it. I also can't imagine having a curfew keeping me off the streets... How long can a country remain such a peaceful place to live as the US is? Was 9/11 a taste of things to come? Is this forever? Am I really naive for even wondering?

Brunch

In this order: Multi-Vitamin Two cups of coffee, black Leftover lemon Chicken in puddle of soy sauce One crust of half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich Small glass cheap merlot, left over from last week And my mother wonders why I need Nexium. (Most items were consumed standing, though, so they at least didn't count calorically. (And yes, I'm making that a word.))

Fighting the Chicken Gene

Eddie had his first day of Kindergarten today. He attends in the morning and we're down to one car, so we were all violently dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to ensure enough time to bring Daddy to work before making our way to school. He confidently marched in at 7:55, having gone to a pre-K program last year in the same building, but after about a half an hour of the teacher trying to make them dance and sing and do other ridiculous things Ed refuses to do in front of anyone other than his sister, he became wary of this 'teacher' dictator and her little fascist regime. He squeezed my hand and dove under a nearby table, the 'safe zone,' and sat hiding behind a blanket, trying not to cry. He was one of the brave ones, though, because at least four of the other kids were breaking under the pressure, blurting out national secrets and begging for mercy when they were asked to sit Indian style on the alphabet carpet. One boy wouldn't keep his shoes on and repeatedly asked for juice out of his backpack (which he couldn't have; that's why there's a drinking fountain, punk!). Each time the teacher told him no he would nod, looking satisfied that he'd been given a thoughtful answer to his question, but not 30 seconds would pass and he'd interrupt whatever she was speaking about to ask again. With his socked feed. So Eddie was all right, comparatively. I took off about nine, secure with the knowledge that he was safe under the table, and he let me go without a fight. When I picked him up he was smiling and happy, like I think he knew he would be. He already has a couple of comrades and is looking forward to tomorrow. Truth be told, I'm more worried about Rosie than Ed, as he usually keeps her occupied all morning. Today went smoothly enough because she had a play date with her buddies Tucker and Mason, but tomorrow. Tomorrow we have to face a morning with just the two of us. Maybe we'll kick off our girlie time alone with breakfast mimosas and manicures. That ought to take her mind off of brother.

The List

Eleven Things I Know About Food: 1. I am never on a diet. 2. Self-hypnotyzing myself into not wanting to eat is a life change, not a diet. 3. It never works. 4. Your children's leftovers contain no calories. 5. If you eat alone and there's no proof that any food was actually consumed, you haven't eaten. You might still be hungry. 6. If you take a diet pill with your meal it cuts the calories by a third. 7. If you work out before you eat it cuts the meal's calories in half. 8. If you do both you can eat two meals. And desert. 9. Abandoned chicken nuggets are still game, as long as they haven't been under the car seat for more than a day. Fries last a week. 10. Beer contains no calories. If it did, the caloric content would be listed on the label along with all the other nutritional information. And lastly: A shot of whiskey and some good music allows for the proper digestion of all food, especially that which is fried.