Case of the Fridays

I am against the use of the word "flick" in place of "movie" or "film" or even "motion picture". It's just a little...man wearing cashmere sweater and skinny jeans. I don't know. I actually think that I dislike "flick" in any form. Flicka as a nickname for some perfectly good first name, such as Felicity? NO. Why? Why would you do that? Flick also makes me think of BOOGERS. And I am SORRY I felt I had to mention that.

Nearly every time I wash my face in the shower, I think I "hear something" at the precise moment the soap is applied to my face, thereby rendering me blind and helpless. Usually what I think I hear is someone slowly pulling back the shower curtain and raising his knife/clearing his throat in preparation for that REE-REE-REE noise from Psycho. So, I wash-wash-wash all quick-like, preparing to catch him in the act, and then when I open my eyes...nothing. One of these days someone will actualy BE trying to kill me in the shower and then I'll be like "I KNEW IT! VICTORY IS MINE!".

I use Yahoo Launchcast to stream music while I work. Launchcast plays songs that it thinks I will like based on my ratings of songs and genres that come up randomly. Right now, Launchcast (correctly) feels that I will enjoy Raffi's "Baby Beluga". Is this because of my Showtunes rating, which I am not prepared to divulge? Also, should I rate it "can't get enough", or merely "love it"?

AD was bitten by another kid at daycare yesterday. So, we've gotten that toddler milestone out of the way. What a relief. When I was relating this amusing antecdote to a coworker, she asked if AD "turned around and punched (the kid) in the face". Um, I didn't see that in the accident report, but maybe the teachers have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it comes to punching biters in the face. Who knows.

Do you like delicious snacks? ME TOO! Here's one that's in heavy rotation at our house (look away, meat-avoiders):

HANKY PANKY

1 lb. Hot Pork Sausage
1 lb. Lean ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
1/8 tsp. Garlic salt or powder
1 tsp. Oregano or Italian seasoning
½ lb. Velveeta, cut up
salt and pepper to taste
2 loaves cocktail rye bread

Brown the meats and onion. Drain off grease. Add the other ingredients and stir until cheese is melted completely. Spread one tablespoon or more of mixture on each slice of rye bread. Bake on a cookie sheet for 10 minutes at 350*. I like to add a slice of green olive to each one also. This freezes really well and also keeps in the fridge for a long time. I won't say how long we keep it at my house.

The End.

And, FURTHERMORE...

I am really pushing my luck on the posting this week. And yet, here I am. AGAIN. With a meme, no less! Would you like to know more about me? TOO EFFING BAD! LAST FREE EXIT!

4 jobs I’ve had:

Newspaper carrier
Barn painter
Corporate restaurant trainer (training employees of new restaurants before they open)
Graduate teaching assistant for Entrepreneurial Finance class ( I SUCK as a teacher)

4 Movies I can watch over and over:

Tommy Boy
The Breakfast Club
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
Indian Summer

4 TV shows I like to watch (4!!! HAHAHAHA!):

The Office
Scrubs
The Daily Show
Lost

4 places I have been on vacation:

Puerto Rico
The Bahamas
US Virgin Islands
New York City

4 favorite foods:

Totinos Party Pizza (Hamburger)
Lasagna
Pickled herring
Chili-cheese dogs

4 websites I visit daily:

Google Homepage/Google Reader
Television Without Pity
CNN or some other news site
Amazon.com (constant book wishlist maintenance)

4 places I’d rather be:

On my couch
George’s (holding frosty Big O)
On a cruise ship
In Minnesota

Thanks Artemisia, my aebleskiver-loving friend!

Only YOU Can Prevent Forest Fires

Every single time I meet someone around my age who smokes, I am shocked. Do people really still bother to SMOKE? I don’t know, I thought smoking was kind of …not a Generation X/Y thing. Is it back like those goddamned skinny jeans? Also, aren't cigarettes like $10 a pack these days? Can't you get, I don't know, a nice CRACK habit for that?

I'm not trying to go all Lung Police on you. My parents smoke like chimneys and I probably have enough second-hand smoke in my body to pave Route 66. We used to have to BEG them to roll down the window a crack when we were all in the car so that we would be treated to a shot of 40 degree below zero “fresh air”. So I guess I have always felt that I was All Set on smoking. No need.

I notice that some ex-hipsters have raged on, though. BR is on an “Over 30” soccer team (games range from Mildly to Strongly Hilarious), and after the last game about five of the dudes on his team lit right on up before even hitting the Gatorade. It’s no wonder they’re all praying to be knocked unconscious and begging for a sub after the first play (the BEST is when they don’t have many people show up. One of the guys will use his last remaining breath to call “SUB! For the love of god I need a sub!” weakly to the sidelines, and then look over in panic at the empty bench. You can see the will to live draining before your eyes. Me: giggle. Aww. *snort* HOW YOU FEELIN' NOW, SMOKEY SMOKERSON?). Between the smoking and the over 30 thing it’s worse than watching the 18-month-old “soccer tots” (WTF?) play.

Anyway. Over 30 Soccer=Recommended, especially if you watch instead of play. Smoking=Lacks Tessie Seal Of Approval (Oh Dear).

Speaking of Food

1. I've noticed that many of you don't eat much, if any, meat (and after yesterday, I don't blame you). That's cool, but what I want to know is: What DO you eat? Like, what is a sample of a week's worth of dinners, none of which contain any delicious, delicous, meat? I will confess that the thought of a vegetarian meal (even breakfast) rarely occurs to me, although I know there are probably some excellent ones out there. Such as...spaghetti with marinara? Peanut butter and jelly? I don't know. That's pretty much all I have. Help me out here.



2. I try not to go out to lunch too often, but when I have been pushing my luck, I like to get lunch at the grocery store near my work. That way when BR (who handles the budgety/banky/fussypants bullshit) checks our account, it appears that I have purchased some "groceries" when instead I have purchased "$10 sushi and also possibly a magazine". Just a tip, from me to you.



3. The only food that I cannot stand is the bell pepper (I assume you are writing this down for your future unauthorized biography). My main beef with bell peppers is that they not only taste bad, they also make everything else taste bad. As Gary Gulman would say, peppers get mixed in to a dish and are like, "I'm bitter...now EVERYONE'S bitter!" (he was talking about grapefruit, but I think the concept applies to our friend the pepper as well).

Fun fact about Gary Gulman: He was a CPA before becoming a comic. A hot, funny accountant. AND he's from Boston. Well, cross him right off the list!

He had to PICK ME UP to get me in the frame for this picture. BUMMER.

Caution Tape

I was reading Jess's entry today and something she said really struck home with me:

"While I am quite responsible, I'm not an overly cautious person. I don't scrub my hands every five minutes and I don't think it's necessary for us to oversee every movement our kids make."

I love the phrase "not overly cautious". That is me. I've used terms such as lazy or not fearful before, but I think "not overly cautious" really describes it best. I, too, am (usually) responsible, and go through my life performing the baseline annoying safety drills just like everyone else. What I don't do is buy into the State of Fear Life Plan we are constantly being sold. If you don't believe that we're safer than ever before in history (and so are our kids), then you're not really thinking it through. I also think that the Good Old Days are mostly nostaglic bullshit, but that's enough opinions for one day! BAH! This is obnoxious AND boring!

Let's talk about handwashing. I cannot stand washing my hands. I have nasty, dry, flaky skin on even the moistest (EWW, SORRY) of days, and handwashing, especially if I don't apply lotion immediately, makes me want to crawl out of my snake-like skin. So, I don't wash my hands unless I absolutely have to. I'll let you decide when I feel I absolutely have to. Some of you are SO GROSSED OUT right now, and for that I offer a half-assed (okay, quarter-assed) apology.

Other things that I should really not admit:

• I don't adhere to the Offical Leftover Safekeeping Timelines
• I sometimes thaw meat in hot water or even IN THE SINK
• I regularly drive 50 miles or more after my "low fuel" light comes on

Man, I am really bucky today! Oh well. If you are worried about my Eternal Salvation, you should know that I totally have one of those carbon monoxide detector thingees.

Even More Confessions of a *BARF* Lunch Worker-Outer

Am I the only one who can only get through a treadmill or elliptical workout through a combination of carefully screened i-Pod selections and elaborate fitness-related fantasies?

I am an extremely fickle song shuffler. I don't land for more than a few seconds unless I find the perfect song for that precise moment in time. Don't get on your Playlist Soapbox with me, either. I'm fickle, I told you! I never know which of my many personalities will show up for a workout! No playlist on the planet can satisfy me! I'm all "no...NO...HELL NO, GODDAMN IT! WHO PUT THE THONG SONG ON HERE?" Also, I Do Not Get all those anti-music "listen to your boooodyyyy!" people. "Music takes the focus away from yoooouuuu!". YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT IT DOES! That's the way I like it!

Once I am thoroughly bored with shuffling, I have to resort to the Fitness-Related Fantasy. Some classics include Running the Boston Marathon, Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Tryouts, Olympic Gymnastics Trials, and Displaying Six-Pack Abs on Beach Vacation. I don't know what you're laughing at, that's why they're called Fitness-Related Fantasies, not Fitness-Related Things I Will One Day No Doubt Accomplish.

I know you have some good ones, let me steal them!

Bow Wow Wow Yippee Yo Yippee YAY!

YOU GUYS. Did you know that there is now Dog Food Candy? It is CANDY. That looks just like DOG FOOD.

Is this genius, or utterly idiotic? On the one hand, cool, and on the other hand, it's like making candy glass shards or candy nails.

Okay, it's not JUST like that. I make a valiant effort to avoid more than the occasional consumption of glass shards and nails, whereas the occasional crumb of dog food...not so much. I mean, it's Science Diet (based on SCIENCE!), and it's clearly a savory taste sensation, based on her desperation to inhale every delicious morsel left behind after the dogs leave the building (she hasn't [yet] figured out that the containers behind her hold the motherload).

She wipes the bowl clean with her little paws and then LICKS THEM.

If we find any goddamned CANDY in those bowls, we shall register our STRONG DISAPPROVAL in the form of Stern Looks.

Study Hall

So, I am participating in a research study. What kind of research study, you ask? A study on the effects of 4+ cups of coffee a day on people under five feet tall? A focus group for early adopters of products such as Totinos Party Pizza? No, those studies would involve doing something FUN, whereas this study involves RUNNING. Specifically, running on this space age gadget:

Photo Credit

It's basically what it looks like, which is a treadmill encased in a bouncy-house, sealed off at the waist. The cool thing is that the bouncy-house serves to buoy the runner up so that she is not carrying her full body weight, but rather some percentage between 10 and 90% of body weight. This makes running at a given pace (DUH) easier. It also allows people with injuries (such as Idontwannaitis) or people who would not normally be able to run, to run pretty easily. Also, it allows your average Pokey to feel what it is like to run, say, A SIX MINUTE MILE (!!), and also what it feels like to run ON THE MOON (only if you're screwing around with it, which of course, I would never do. Ahem). I like to pretend that I'm Steve Prefontaine (minus 70s hair and untimely death--well, minus untimely death, anyway) while I'm on it.

One of the purposes of the study is to determine whether the workload on your body(as measured by heart rate) goes down in proportion to the percentage body weight you are "carrying."

For example, if I am carrying 100% of my body weight and the likelihood I will barf is 100%, then does carrying 70% of my body weight make the chance I will barf a mere 70%? Anecdotal evidence in the form of intense desire to murder study proctor says: NO.

Wasn't this fascinating? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? WOULD YOU LIKE TO DISCUSS IT EXHAUSTIVELY IN THE COMMENTS? Oh, fine. As you were.

How About a Little Q & A?

Type(little)a asked us to ask her to ask these questions (what? don't overthink it) for this meme deal that's all the rage these days. Yay, blog content, free of charge if not humiliation! Here we go!



1) What did you want to be when you grew up? How close/far is it from what you do now?

• The only thing I can remember really wanting to be was a dancer on Broadway or a FlyGirl. I STILL want to be these things. If money and talent were no object, of course. As for the accounting thing, that was suggested to me in high school. One of my older Mathlete teammates became an actuary, and he tried to talk me into becoming one of those freaks, which somehow morphed into accounting (more freaks!). I don't know. I enjoy being a CPA, but not for the reasons you might think. I actually have a pretty atypical personality for a CPA (I'm less into Perfect and Fussy than I am into Funny and Awesome). More on that at another time.
  
  

2) Were you popular or a nerd growing up?

• I would say that I was popular, for a nerd. I was captain of the Math Team, and in Band and Choir, but I was also the captain of the Dance Team, and I (half-assedly) ran Track. I participated in Show Choir and Junior Engineering, but also went to Senior Prom with the Homecoming King (speaking of which, BJ, do you read this? Give me a shout-out in the comments!). So I dunno. I wasn't irreversibly scarred by my high school experience, or anything. Fun fact: my high school nickname was "Eunice".

3) Childbirth? Empowering miracle, or gross experience with an awesome going away present (that poops)?

• I don't know what kind of mommyblog I'm running here, but it doesn't appear that I've discussed my birth story yet. WELL LET ME GET ON THAT. Now, this is normally the part where the mommyblogger encourages all the childless readers to LOOK AWAY. On the contrary, I would like to encourage my childless readers to stay on, because I encountered some wicked awesome Beginners Luck with AD's birth. IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU! Basically, I had an Accidental Natural Childbirth. The Cliff Notes version is that I started leaking fluid, was admitted to the hospital, they finished breaking my water around 6:55 and AD was born at 7:20. No time for any drugs, which I TOTALLY PLANNED ON HAVING. Three pushes, Done and Done. 2 hours later I was eating a Quarter Pounder Value Meal from McDonalds. Oh dear. I feel myself dropping off of half of your Google Readers even as I type this. Well, I did get mastitis three times, if that makes you feel any better.

4) What are your biggest vices/weaknesses? Alternatively is there something you can totally say no to that other people would call a vice?

• My biggest weaknesses are that I'm a conflict-avoider and a procrastinator. I'm lazy too, but I don't consider that a weakness. And if I'm being honest, I think procrastination has its merits as well. I've gotten out of TONS of annoying shit by just waiting it out. The Conflict Avoider thing is no good, though. I am getting better in my old age, especially since BR can be a wicked majah conflict-lovah. I partially blame the East Coast for this. I've noticed a certain "Whadda YOU lookin' at?" vibe there. Whereas, in the Midwest, we generally feel that if you are looking at us, it must be something WE have done.
• As for vices that I can totally say no to, I'm pretty big on vices, so the only thing I can really think of is sweets. I like some sweet stuff, but I can pretty much take them or leave them for the most part. I'm more of a pizza and burger kind of girl.

5) When are we going to see the return of the 1980s cruise lipstick?

• HAHAHAHA SHUT IT. I don't know what the hell happened with that lipstick. The lighting on a cruise ship is extremely poor, is all I can say. I thought it was a nice nude tone with the merest hint of gloss.

So, I think what's supposed to happen now is that I invite you all to be interviewed, but that gives me the Nervous Tummy, so let's do this instead: would you like to answer one or more of these questions? YOU WOULD? Then consider yourself tagged!

More Confessions of a *BARF* Lunch Worker-Outer

PSA: In track running, AS IN LIFE, stay to the goddamn right. This is because, JUST LIKE ON A ROAD OR ESCALATOR OR AIRPORT WALKWAY OR WHATEVER, someone who is going faster than you are may want to pass.

Do not position yourself and your walking partner side-by-side so that not one inch of track is left uncovered by the shadow of your chatty asses. And if you MUST walk side-by-side, realize that you may have to move at some point. I should not have to roll an ank going off road just to go around you. And if someone does dare to challenge your track author-i-TIE, you are NOT, I repeat, NOT, allowed to sigh audibly and/or roll your bitchy eyes.

DAMN. I was squirrelly to begin with today! Kick in, endorphins! SERENITY NOW!

Of course, if you think I said anything other than "on your left, please", then you are a Total Skimmer.

Random, Random, Get Your Random Here!

I feel squirrelly today (Spellcheck refuses to validate the existence of squirrelly as a word. This is unfortunate since squirrelly is actually one of my favorite "words". Hmm. Did I make this up? In my head it means "in manner of squirrel". YOU: "WHO CARES!").

I can't think of one thing on my available list of options that I actually feel like doing (what's that you say? Sometimes grown-ups have to do things they don't feel like doing? Oh, shut up, Mr. Rogers. I'm calling in squirrelly). Return vaguely passive-aggressive work email? No. Nervous tummy. Work on boring month-end TPS Reports? No. Bored tummy. Drink dregs of cold Starbucks coffee? No. Pissed off tummy. Google Reader? No New Posts. Sad tummy.

Well, here are a few stale tidbits for you, anyway:

BR calls diapers "pampers". This makes me want to punch him in the face for several reasons. One, I HATE the word pamper. Ugg, Ack, Patooie! It reminds me not of spa vacations and pedicures, but of BUTTS. Two, he cannot even SAY the word right (he says PAMPAH), and therefore has no business using it to begin with. Three, I get that this is some kind of kleenex/i-pod/TiVo thing where the brand name has become synonymous with the product, but still. IT IS GHETTO AND ANNOYING AND I SHALL FLING MYSELF UPON MY SWORD IF I HEAR IT ONE MORE TIME.

An almost laughably tardy appearance of the famous "Never Crabby" shirt. You know what would have been funny? If I'd caught her somehow pissed off and screeching (haha, Never Crabby! Get it?) JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE DID. Sigh. Instead she's happy as a little clam here. Lame. And stale.

I don't know about you, but when MY kid falls and bumps her head, I like to ease the pain with a couple of nice....pickles. WHAT? What do YOU do, Mother Theresa? This coping mechanism runs in the family as her mother may or may not also DRINK THE JUICE when she finishes a jar.

Speaking of pickles, I have an awesome snack recipe for you. You know, for when you're dangerously low on sodium following your first-place finish in some desert-based Ultramarathon.

Pickle Roll-ups

Take some whole pickles out of the jar and dry them off with a paper towel. Drink the pickle juice (optional). Spread a couple of pieces of deli roast beef or dried beef with cream cheese (I like the garlic/herb kind). Roll the pickles up in the beef (cream cheese side IN, please). Wrap and refrigerate for a couple of hours (or not) and then slice into pretty slices (or not) and eat (this part not optional).

Well, that was fun! Cross the one thing I DID feel like doing off the list! Remaining options: bleak.

A(nother) Tale From My Misspent Youth

Another hilarious Pickles & Dimes entry, another retarded story from the vaults of Tessie Has Dubious Decision-Making Skills and Should Therefore Not Be Entrusted with Stuff.


The last couple of years I was in college/grad school, I lived in a teeny little 300 square ft. "apartment" (for which I paid $300/mo in rent...FURNISHED. Oh Waco, how I miss your borderline shady charm). It basically featured two small rooms and a bathroom, which, in the grand tradition of disasters waiting to happen, locked from the inside.

One day as I left my apartment to further my pursuit of knowledge/beer pong skills, I must have inadvertently pushed the lock in before I shut the door. Because, when I returned, I found the bathroom door LOCKED. Now, my first thought was "Argg, what if I have to pee? Think, THINK! What are your Emergency Pee Options?".

Then, sometime later, it occurred to me that there could be someone in the bathroom. Like someone who was in my apartment and then locked himself in the bathroom when I came home! AHH! Didn't I see an episode of the Twilight Zone about this? Of course, at that moment my No Fear gene kicked in, and instead of panicking, I decided to just plop down on the couch, watch a little TV, and wait (the hypothetical) him out. I figured I would just keep one ear out for the PSYCHO KILLER LURKING IN MY BATHROOM THREE FEET AWAY, leaving the other ear free to take in a little Comedy Central.

Can I just stop here to say WHAT THE FUCK? Is this what you would have done? I wasn't even drunk when this happened! In my defense, I GUESS, I did live next door to a Hot Rugby Player with Possible Anger-Management Issues. So I guess I figured I could run over there in the unlikely event of a Psycho Killer Cameo.

Anyway, after what I deemed to be an acceptable waiting period, I figured the coast was clear (I mean, I had the TV turned way down. I totally would have heard him unsheathing the shank!). And so I turned my attention to unlocking the door, since we still had The Pee Situation looming. I remember my dad once telling me that the best way to deal with a locked door was to remove the doorknob. I scanned the available tools for doorknob removal and determined that (SIGH) the clear winner was: A HAMMER. I didn't have a screwdriver, okay? Those cutesy pink single-girl tool sets hadn't been invented yet, get off my historical ass!

So I pounded and whacked and beat the doorknob into the kind of meaty pulp that only a 100-lb, sub-5-foot weakling can create. And it came off! Along with half of the cheap-ass apartment door!

And shortly thereafter, I was awarded a masters degree with honors, The End.

The World's Tiniest Red Sox Fan

Speaking of Supah-fans:

Last year at this time

Boston is the Greatest Sports Town IN THE WORLD (or so I've heard)

How in the hell did I manage to miss The Emmys last night? I mean, I totally missed it, it did not appear on my radar in any way before or during. I turned on the tv this morning while I was getting ready and the newsanchor was all "blah blah upset Emmys Sopranos 30 Rock 95 degrees again today!" and I was all "HUH? DOH!" (Also, say it with me, fucking Texas. Is there a macro I can set up for that? I'm thinking Ctrl-FUTX)

Actually, I DO know how I missed it. Did you know that there was both a Red Sox AND a Patriots game on last night? Furthermore, did you know that they were both home games and both on at the exact same time? Well, I DID!

BR: Hon. We've got a wicked maj-ah dilemma tonight.
Me: Beer before liquor (never been sicker) vs. liquor before beer (we're in the clear)?
BR: No. The Sox. And the Pats. On AT THE SAME TIME. *frantic look of crazed fan*
Me: Huh. *barely looks up from book* Big night for you Superfans, eh?
BR: Motha-less Mothah! What ah we gonna doooo?
Me: Watch football. Baseball's boring.
BR: What the fuck, bro? It's the YANKEES.
Me: True, Johnny Damon is hot.
BR: *Head explodes*

So, did I miss anything good? Did anyone show up drunk and/or high? Was anyone inexplicably deemed "fat"?

So Long, Linus Diaz

Well, damn, forget I asked about the name Linus. I'm getting a distinct hell-to-the-no vibe from the majority of you. And thanks to My Buddy Mimi's comment, which informed me that the German pronunciation is in fact LEAN-us (AS IN PEN1S), I'm reluctantly Holstering Linus for Ethical Reasons. We can't have any Linus the Pinus running around here.

Anyway, I'm acting like I have a baby to name here. I don't. My incumbent baby already has a name, and it looks like we sure as hell won't be changing it to Linus. Also, I'm not pregnant or anything (OR AM I?) (I'm not) (THAT YOU KNOW OF) (Ok I'll stop), so this is all just a Pleasant (or Excruciating, depending upon the reader) Diversion.

Also, we probably wouldn't have been using Linus anyway, because *MESSING WITH TEXAS EXCLUSIVE* we have a Hispanic last name. And, I don't want to sound like a total dick here, because I actually really like our last name, but it sort of harshes my baby-naming buzz. There are only so many things that "go" with a name that is distinctly ethnic, like "Diaz" (not our last name, but you get the idea). Linus Diaz sounds Fucking Ridiculous. On the other hand, we don't want to go all "Viva Puerto Rico!" either, because...out of the three Diazes in our household, exactly ZERO of us appears to be anything more than your average Whitey.

The best thing about having a Hispanic last name, though, is that we're constantly the beneficiaries of racial profiling in advertising. We get all the English AND Spanish language Target coupons (although we can't read them; none of us read or speak Spanish), and we also get the Spanish grocery fliers and magazines and what-not. Also, there's the cheap thrill that BR gets when he shows up for an interview and sees the little frowny-face from the affirmative action panel. An Instant Classic.

Mr. and Mrs. Diaz

Also, Inaugural Appearance of BR. He's a Regulation Hottie, if not Clearly Hispanic, eh?

Things That DON'T Annoy Me And/Or Suck (Short List)

• The other day when I was dropping off AD at daycare, I saw a HUGE black guy (seriously, this dude looked like a lineman) dropping off his little girl. This isn't the funny part. I'm getting to that. The funny part is that he was wearing the little girl's pink Dora backpack. He wasn't just carrying it by the loop, or slinging it manfully over one shoulder either. He was FULLY COMMITTED, wearing it over both shoulders just like a wee little Dora-loving schoolboy. I have no idea how in the hell he got it on (or OFF). It had to involve snapping his spine and/or dislocating at least one shoulder.

• There is a little boy in AD's room named Linus. I think that is SO CUTE. What do you guys think? Still too Charlie Brown? It's not like he carries around a little blanket or anything. That I know of. His parents probably won't let him have a blankie. You know, because of the whole "Linus" thing. I'm getting carried away here, my point is: I LOVE the name Linus.

• Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks. Oh how I love them (but not as much as Gingerbread Lattes)! Today, my excuse was "AD is a cranky pile so I need to take the long way (read:the way that takes me past Starbucks) so she can sleep a few extra minutes". Although, if I'm being honest, every way is the way that takes me past Starbucks in this area. ALL ROADS LEAD TO STARBUCKS. But this one has a drive-thru. Yeah, I know about The Latte Factor. You can all SHUT IT. As soon as 7-11 builds a drive-thru, I'll haul my extravagent ass over there for coffee, okay? Also, who has tomorrow's excuse?

• It's almost time for fall TV! I hope you are picturing me cackling with glee! What new shows look good to you this year? Is anyone watching The Biggest Loser? Because I'm certainly not. No, sir. That would just be pathetic and sad. And pathetic.

In Which I Discuss "The S Word" (What an Idiot!)

This morning, I can't stop thinking about this post that Beth wrote. Beth's daughter hasn't always been the best sleeper, and so Beth has spent a lot of nights up comforting her. Plus, she's now pregnant again (YAY!), so you can imagine how it must feel to be looking down the barrel of another year or two of not sleeping through the night. Yet she writes about how it felt to see her daughter tucking in her own dolls, and when they "cried", she told them it was okay because "Mama right here. Mama always get you." DAMN. I feel verklempt just typing that.

Although there are many things about parenthood that are easier than I thought they would be (SO FAR-BACK OFF EVIL EYE), the sleep issue is one thing that is harder. I didn't realize that sleep patterns are so individual to the baby, and that it is not unusual (and in fact is common) for babies to not reliably sleep through the night for months and months AND MONTHS. I'm not saying this to scare anyone (I HATE THAT SHIT), but rather to build Realistic Expectations, which have been the foundation of my pretty much awesome parenting experience so far. And also to tell you that, if you're going through this, for the love of god it's not anything you're doing wrong. I mean, other than supplying the DNA for the little beast.

The very last thing on EARTH that I want to do is get into the whole Sleep Thing here, but suffice it to say that for my daughter and my daughter only (who builds tension, not releases tension, by crying), I agree with doing things The Beth Way. And AD started sleeping through the night reliably at 11 months, so I had my share of nights spent furiously composing my eBay ad for her.

But if my daughter even thinks to herself "mama always get me", then...YOU GUESSED IT...it has all been worth it. BARF. The most overused cliche in the history of parenting. Yet, there it is.

A Completely Biased Book Report

I just finished the book Everything Bad is Good for You by Steven Johnson, and (SURPRISE!) I really liked it. I know it's somewhat old news (I think it was published in 2005), but that's not going to stop me from blabbing on about it as if I am on the cutting edge of this kind of crap.

The premise of the book is that pop culture (in particular, video games, television, and the internet) is making us smarter, and not dumber. Now, clearly you're reading a review by someone with a raging pop culture habit, so grain of salt and all that. HOWEVER. I do think he has some excellent points. First of all, IQs have been on the rise for the past 50 years, and that is a fact, Jack. Not average IQ scores, which are normalized to create a constant 100 average, but real IQs in terms of the cognitive abilities of the average person. So, someone with a 100 IQ in 1950 might score only 80 or 90 on today's test. Now, maybe I live under some kind of Texas rock, but I didn't know this. In fact, it seems suspiciously like The Man is trying to tell us the opposite. Like how dumb and lazy and brain-dead we all are, at least according to TheWorldIsGoingToHellInAHandbasket.com. This is a separate pet peeve of mine, WHICH I WILL NO DOUBT GET INTO AT A LATER DATE, so I'll just leave it at that for now.

Without ruining the entire book for you (oh, you didn't actually want to READ it, did you?) a couple of tidbits I enjoyed:

On Video Games: a comparison of a spatial relations/reasoning type exam question and the popular (back in the day) game Tetris

On Television: a graphical representation of the complexity of a show like Hill Street Blues and a show like 24 or Lost (and this change in the span of 20 years or less!)

On the Internet: a discussion of the whole "the sky is falling because no one READS anymore" argument, which completely ignores the amount of reading done through email and the internet

There were plenty of other things in the book that made me think "hey, that's true!". Like how most of us laugh off the fact that our 4 year old nephew can program the remote control and fix our printer. Maybe WE'RE not getting dumber (well, speak for yourself, I guess), THEY are just getting smarter at stuff like technological problem solving.

So, what I am really trying to say here is that LOST RULES! And also, that I am a choir just waiting to be preached to on this topic.

Confessions of a *BARF* Lunch Worker-outer

1) The gym at my workplace has one of those "skinny mirrors" right in front of the equipment. You know the ones I'm talking about. I can't decide whether this is genius or not. Most of the time when I look at it, I don't feel all motivated to continue my Quest Towards Wellness. I feel like, "Hey, I look better than I thought. Might as well cut out a few reps. And, actually, why not stop at the vending machine on my way back to my desk?".

2) It turns out that I am not the sort of person who, when her iPod dies mere minutes into a treadmill workout, bravely carries on. Especially when the TV is stuck on MSNBC. No. Sorry. ABORT.

"Vacation" Photos

Go Twins! Plus, my mom's fall decorations. Since, you know, it's actually FALL in MN.

Oh Fall Clothes. I guess we'll see you again sometime in November.

Safety First, that's what we always say!

This is where I left her after we got off the plane. She's probably still there, or at least has been returned by the kidnappers by now.

A Toilet Story

This entry from the always hilarious Pickles & Dimes reminded me of an Unfortunate Incident we once had with one of those 2000 Flushes tablets. Wanna hear it? Here it go! (FREE YOUR MIND! AND THE REST WILL FOLLOW!)

A couple of years ago, when we had just moved into our house, I impulse-purchased a packet of the "2000 Flushes Blue" tablets. I wanted blue toilet water, okay? Who doesn't? Blue toilet water covers a multitude of toilet sins, right?

Now, as Shauna mentioned in her post, the makers of this fine product really play up the whole "2000 Flushes" thing. What they don't tell you is that each of those flushes will take approximately 20 minutes and/or a $100 trip to Home Depot. This is because the tablets can cause the toilet water to become thicker, so it's like trying to flush the Jello you've been swishing around in your mouth for the last 30 seconds (WHAT? Like you've never squished Jello out the gap in your front teeth!). Now, I actually learned this fun fact from Shauna's post, although in hindsight it makes PERFECT SENSE in light of our 2000 Flushesgate.

As it happened, we thought our toilet was flushing slowly by coincidence. Mostly because I don't really tend to overthink these kinds of things, or bring the gelatinous nature of a 2000 Flushes tablet to its natural conclusion. Toilet flushing slowly? Must be something I have done! A Consumer Product would never do me wrong!

Anyway, BR was dispatched on a reconnaissance mission to discover the nature of the problem. Now. The only thing better than a product named "2000 Flushes" that causes your toilet not to flush, is a product that causes you to be in dire need of Toilet Maintenance while also coating the parts to be maintained in PERMANENT SMURF-BLUE DYE.

Long story short, BR emerged from the bathroom an hour or so later, sweating and swearing like the fine East Coast Gentleman he is ("MOTHAH-LESS MOTHAH! THAT SHIT STAINS WICKED BAD!"), and also completely smurf-blue from elbow to fingertip. Which of course, I found hilarious ("Hey, where's the rest of the Blue Man Group?"). Until. I saw that he had also splashed smurf-blue water ALL FUCKING OVER the bathroom, which had just been remodeled right before we moved in. It looked like a gory smurf crime scene in there.

And guess what? IT STILL DOES! BECAUSE THAT BLUE SHIT DOESN'T COME OFF! Like, ever, unless it is eroded by the immortal passage of time and/or a mighty river such as the one that carved The Grand Canyon. In fact, BR was smurfy, despite scrubbing and scrubbing, until the layer of affected skin actually SLOUGHED OFF and was replaced by fresh, virgin skin which had never seen the inside of our toilet.

But, I mean, if blue toilet water is really that important to you, who am I to judge?

You Are Smart; I am...Not Intelligent: Version 1 of ??

Ok, let's just start with this: I didn't get AD her own seat on the flight. I KNOW! Do you like how I pretended to listen when you TOLD me to do it, but then completely ignored you (BR is like, "NO. I DO NOT ENJOY THAT PARTICULAR PERSONALITY QUIRK")? I think I will try it next time, just to gather comparative data, but honestly I don't know if it would have made much difference. Our Troubles were derived mostly from her inability to GET DOWN and RUN, RUN LIKE THE WIND! And, she squawked the entire ride to the airport in her carseat, so that doesn't exactly warm the cockles in terms of how she would do strapped in. But, let's log the data from this iteration, shall we?

What Worked:

• Using a backpack, AND ONLY A BACKPACK, as a carryon
• Getting an aisle seat by Any Means Necessary (on the way back I panicked as I noticed we had been seated in a middle seat. I protested, and the heartless bastards tried to charge us $15 to change seats. I told the gate agent that maybe he could tell me who my row-mates were, and I bet I could get them to pay the $15)
• Barrel of Monkeys

What Didn't:

• Bringing AD

On the return trip, after she screamed for 30 GODDAMN MINUTES as we taxied on the runway and took off, I actually started crying. People, I am not a crier. At all really, but SURE AS HELL not in public. I am from good Midwestern stock, and we prefer to suppress our emotions whenever possible. Or at least express them in a culturally acceptable way, such as drinking. Fucking crying. Can you imagine? Let's never speak of THAT again.

The good news is, she had a great time in the airport (even with 3 HOUR FLIGHT DELAY FUCK YOU NORTHWEST AND YOUR "REQUIRED CREW REST") and we had a kick-ass time in the Great White North. She slept, ate, and played like a champ the entire time we were there. So, as soon as she is old enough to Apparate without being prosecuted for Underage Use of Magic, we'll be SO MONEY.

Stay tuned for updates on the next adventure: BR's trip with AD to Red Sox Nation. SEE YA SUCKAH! WOULDN'T WANNA BE YA!

Oh, How I Adore Her

Is there anyone who reads this crap (WHEN I UPDATE, THAT IS--- JESUS!) who doesn't also read Plain-Jane?

We've been over the fact that I read an obscene number of blogs of all types: mom blogs, entertainment blogs, fitness blogs, I COULD GO ON HERE. I can honestly say that I don't read anything that's like Jane's blog. She's a mom, but it's not a mommyblog. She struggles with depression, but it's not a trainwreck blog. It's just...it's just some funny shit, is what it is:

"In response to comments about the ratty-ass shoes, bite me! I will throw away shoes if I want and I invite you to come delve through my trash if you want them. Damn! "

"And! May god damn you commenters! Always talking shit to me! I am depressed, you know! I have A MENTAL ILLNESS AND CAN PROVIDE A NOTE EXCUSING ALL OF MY BEHAVIOR IF NEEDED. It's embarrassing! Here I am, number four on the Blog...uh..whatever it is Awards, and all my commenters are telling me I'm dumb and handing me my ass!"

Now, come on. That is funny. Admit it.

Hotdish Heaven

Proof that at least one of us made it to Minnesota alive:

More than 1200 people attend the "world's largest potluck" in SW Minnesota. 882 hotidishes were represented

My grandmother would like you to know that she attended, and as such is "now in the Guinness Book of World Records".

Teaser: Trip details, featuring 3 HOUR FLIGHT DELAY, to come. Send help and/or depressants for return trip.