Monday, August 30, 2010

Stuff I won't be doing on September 21st

Mosquitos are biting me tonight to make me feel better about summer ending. The forecast feels bad for me too, promising highs in the mid-nineties all week long. The school district must have been feeling my pain because they cancelled school Friday and Monday. My friend Estelle assures me that summer lasts through September 21st, but we both know that I won't be sitting poolside on September 21st. I'll be sitting deskside. And I'll be signing permission slips and lunch money checks and nagging children to finish up their homework and go to bed.





I won't be doing this on September 21.

Or watching my children frolic in the ocean.

I won't be watching B.B. King in an outdoor concert.

Or standing by as my offspring learns to wield a gun.

I won't be making s'mores in a giant fireplace in the Virginia mountains.

Or standing coquettishly by a gorgeous overlook.

Or following Max's sure-footed steps on a hiking trail.

I won't be hanging out at a fancy blogger party in New York with my girl Kami.

Or waiting patiently at the exit of amusement park rides.

Or snapping blurry photos of amazing moonlit beaches.

Not to mention sunlit beaches and gorgeous colorful cabanas.

I won't be loading my baby (and my baby daddy) onto a parachute and sending them 375 feet into the air.

Or escorting my other baby up into the sky, almost completely against his will.

And I definitely won't be eating at completely bizarro, delicious restaurants that have a glass case of extra special, two-headed taxidermified animals to enjoy while dining.

Well, I guess I could do that on September 21st.

I could definitely do that on September 21st.

It doesn't have to be summer to do that. The animals are stuffed--they're not going anywhere!

That place was crazy, dude. And the crab cakes were almost as life-changing as an Amish donut.

OK, I'm feeling better.

Maybe I will live through fall, winter, and spring after all.

Nose Job

A real blog post is coming soon; but in the mean time, please check out this new random talent we discovered on Max. He can collapse his nostrils at will.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

There's Just Something About Small Town America Festivals

Last Saturday we attended a local peach festival. I went in search of peach pie, peach cobbler, peach ice cream, and peach slushies, but ended up with something far more delicious--these photographic gems.

How about some captions for these gems?

Sunday, August 22, 2010

My Special "Secret" Deodorant

You can't choose your miracles. It's a hard lesson to learn, but it's true. I have requested a long slew of miracles over the years (keep dying people alive, bring dead people back, fix a loved one's depression, transport difficult people in my life to another continent or planet, keep that check from bouncing, help me drop 30 pounds in three days, make my overcooked pork roast not taste disgusting at the dinner party, etc., etc.) before I realized it doesn't work that way. You just get what you get. It's like Random Miracle Generator.

Funny thing is, I wasn't even looking for a miracle at the time, but for some reason a heavenly phenomena is occurring in my bathroom. I don't know how or why, but I've got a stick of deodorant that won't run out. About four months ago, I noticed that it was nearing the end and made a mental note to replace it. Of course, I forgot to get a new stick the first two times I hit the grocery store---panicked that I was going to have to use some of Ryan's Old Spice "Swagger" stick in the interim---but finally remembered just in time. Or so I thought.

Every day since then, when I'm getting ready, I pull out my miracle stick, give it a twist and wonder if it's going to be the last. And every day, the stick keeps producing! It's uncanny. It's bizarre. It's unreal. It's astounding. It's bewildering. It's perplexing. And it cannot be explained by modern science.

So, what does one do with a heaven-touched stick of deodorant?

I've resisted blogging about it for fear that this is just a private miracle, a special surprise God pulled out of His pocket for me, and prefers that I not mention it to His other children because then everybody will want a miracle stick of deodorant and He only had just this one that he got for free at a booth at the Miracle Convention.

I've wondered about sharing my miracle with the world. HEY, ANYBODY WANT TO USE MY SPECIAL STICK OF DEODORANT?!

{Crickets chirping.}

But then I thought that some dummy, instead of using only one twist per armpit, would probably twist and twist without using it to see if it will ever run out, which will definitely make it run out because you can't test a miracle like that.

So, I decided that only I would use the miracle deodorant.

And then I wondered if there is some kind of new Miracle Upgrade Program, like maybe I can use this miracle for a while and then trade it in along with some good deeds to get something else. (In fact, there's a few miracles that have my eye.) But then I thought about how annoyed I am when I give my kids something I think is special, like a bag of potato chips, and they say something like, "I like potato chips, but what I really wanted was a brand new PS3 video game." So, I decided not to ask about miracle upgrades after all, because I don't want Heavenly Father to have to resist the urge (or not!) to smack me.

I was finally content to keep this all to myself.

But then I read on someone's bumper sticker that you should recognize miracles or you won't get them anymore. I found myself in a real conundrum at that thought, and even though I love the word conundrum, it's not somewhere I like to be.

So, I'm risking everything by telling you about it. And I'm asking you:

What do you think it means that I have a miracle stick of deodorant?

What do you think I should do with it?

Monday, August 16, 2010

Phantom Bug II: The Sequel

It happened again.
We took another walk tonight.
A walk, no running, this time.
I had my mouth slightly agape.
I was breathing, you know.
With a slightly agape mouth.
But a bug doesn't need much room
as it turns out.
That's right.
A bug flew in.
Straight shot past the teeth.
It high-fived my dangly gagger
(otherwise known as a uvula.)
And landed in my throat.
I had no choice but to swallow.
This ain't my first rodeo, after all.
I swallowed and swallowed.
(Do you know anyone as brave as me?)
And then dry heaved.
And spat.
Guess what?
Phantom Bug strikes again.
I can still feel him
perched at the top of my throat,
calling for help from his bug friends,
hanging on for dear life,
channeling the spirit of Jonah to inspire him.
He isn't there, of course.
I swallowed him.
He's now drown among my watermelon
and cheeseburger
and other non-bug things I eat.
Somehow it doesn't matter that I know this.
He is still there.
The Phantom Bug will always be there.
There was a thirty-something woman
who swallowed a mosquito? gnat? firefly?
I think she'll die.

Friday, August 13, 2010

I Have My Hair Enlightened About Every Six Weeks

Me: It's taken a few years, but I finally have my hair where I want it.

Ryan: {groans, rolls eyes} Oh my gosh, that is so shallow.

Me: That is not shallow!

Ryan: That is so shallow.

Me: You didn't let me finish. I meant spiritually. I finally have my hair where I want it spiritually.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

I've Never Been More Serious in My Life

I'm very busy today. 
In fact, I'm so busy, I can't take time to blog. 
Because I am a very busy person with very important work to do. 
Very serious, important work. 
To be completed by very important, serious me.
Again, I cannot stress the importance or seriousness of this situation.
Not to mention the serious importantness.
Are we clear?
I do not have time to blog!
(On account of all the importantly serious work.)
Look me in the eye, so that I know we are clear about this.

You don't believe me?
That's preposterous!

Sometimes the kids meal toy really comes through for me.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

The Phantom (This One's for Heidi)

I ate a bug tonight. It was an after-dinner bug that entered my mouth during an after-dinner walk around the neighborhood with Ryan. The after-dinner walk was taken because I was on the verge of an after-dinner coma and needed a recharge, and while it makes no logical sense to me, a brisk evening walk is almost as effective as a Red Bull.

Actually, I was jogging at the time of the bug-eating incident. We were entering the homestretch of the brisk walk when Ryan said, "Want to jog for a while?"

"Not really. I'm bad at jogging." I said.
"Jogging is not a skill," he said.
"Even still, I'm bad at it," I said.

We started jogging and after twenty seconds, he said exactly what I was thinking, "All I can feel when I'm jogging is my fat."

It's true. Jogging (and its cousin Running) sends the fat sloshing around, making me painfully aware of it with each step. I feel approximately 223 pounds heavier when I'm jogging. And just in case I was unsure of the presence of any back fat on my being, it was confirmed at that point. Again and again and again.

"I guess that's the point," I said. "We're supposed to keep running until we don't feel it anymore."

We kept jogging up the steady incline, fat sloshing, arms swinging, noses inhaling, mouths eating bugs. Make that mouth eating bug. My mouth.


It's funny how your priorities can change in a matter of seconds. One minute I'm figuring out how to eliminate back fat from my life, and seconds later in that same minute, I'm figuring out if I'm going to vomit and/or die after eating a bug.

Why? My brain sent a forwarded response to my earlier memo: "Hi! I am in your mouth. From, Bug"

"I just ate a bug." I said calmly. I was saying the truth now because the truth is allegedly supposed to set you free. And I wanted freedom.

Ryan didn't react. After all, we were still jogging at this point. Perhaps he figured that there was little he could do? Perhaps he believes this is par for the course? I decided (while still jogging) that I was going to handle this calmly and rationally. I figured that I had already been through the most difficult part of the process--the sensation of the bug in my mouth. The easiest route at the point was gross, but the least taste-filled: swallowing.

So I swallowed.

I swallowed the bug.

And then I swallowed again.

And again.

And then I realized that the bug was still in my mouth.

I sent another quick memo, this time to my esophagus: "ABORT MISSION! I REPEAT, ABORT MISSION!"

New mission: SPIT! I spit. I spat. I blechted. (Guess what? Still jogging at this point, too.) But no matter how much I spat, I could still feel the bug in my mouth. It was lodged behind my upper left gum. I was left with no choice but to send in backup via my tongue. You know, just root it out and end this disaster once and for all.

Guess what? No bug. My brave little tongue (bless its heart) went searching, but found nothing. Nada. And yet, I could still feel the bug there!

Then, I remembered watching a documentary about people who've had limbs cut off and they are tortured by the sensation that they still have their limbs. I think they call the phenomenon Phantom Limb, which makes it seem like a cool, torturous phenomenon to suffer. (I bet Emo kids are really into it.) But anyway (still jogging at this point), I realized that what I was experiencing was a similar phenomenon known as Phantom Bug.

Three hours later, as I type this, I am still experiencing Phantom Bug. The bug is not there, and yet, I could swear on a chocolate chip cookie that he is. Logically, I know that the bug is about to tour my colon; but if you ask me to point to the bug, it's upper left gum all the way. It's a troubling, icky sensation. And it's the number one reason I will never jog again. Please consider this a public service announcement.

Protect yourself. Give up jogging. Back Fat Forever!

Sunday, August 8, 2010

L is for Loser

  • This morning I had a panic attack
  • Because I lost some Very Important Papers
  • Papers from a new client I am writing for
  • The last place I remembered having them was at the nail salon during my pedicure
  • Four days ago
  • I called the salon this morning in my panic
  • They didn't have them
  • I drove over to the salon in my pajamas
  • And walked all around the fairly busy place
  • Ducking under the pedicure chairs and everything
  • Everyone was looking at me
  • "I left some Very Important Papers here," I said.
  • I got several kind, knowing glances from them
  • Apparently losing Very Important Papers is a common experience
  • Which only made me feel more panicked
  • Because those knowing glances?
  • They seemed to say, "Yeah, you're screwed."
  • And all I could think about was calling the New Client and saying,
  • "I lost the Very Important Papers during a pedicure."
  • And then all I could think about was the New Client saying,
  • "You'll never work in this town again!"
  • And then throwing me out into a dark alley.
  • This is what happens to my imagination during a panic attack
  • I also kept thinking that the worst way to impress a New Client
  • Is to lose their Very Important Papers
  • In a nail salon
  • It would be better to lose them while saving babies from a fire
  • People would understand that you had to set down even the most important of papers
  • For the sake of the babies
  • I literally started crying twice
  • Because I could taste the pavement in the dark alley
  • And it tasted like self-loathing and regret and cat urine
  • I went home and began searching again
  • I found the Very Important Papers
  • They were on my desk
  • I did the double blink when I saw them
  • I was too overwhelmed to squeal in delight
  • I fell into my chair
  • Ryan was sitting nearby
  • "You found them?" he asked.
  • "I can't believe it," I said.
  • "They were right here on my desk," I said.
  • "I must have looked through this stuff 20 times already but didn't see them," I said.
  • "Now you know how I feel," he said.
  • Because I am always finding stuff he lost
  • Because it's never actually lost
  • It's actually just sitting in plain sight
  • And I am the only one who can see it
  • Because I have a special superpower that allows me to see stuff in plain sight
  • Stuff in the fridge
  • Stuff in drawers
  • Stuff on the coffee table
  • And especially stuff in the pantry
  • I think I am going to sleep with the Very Important Papers under my pillow tonight
  • I am so happy to be faux-reunited with them
  • I will probably dream about Very Important Papers and me running in slow motion toward each other in a meadow
  • On second thought, I am not going to put them under my pillow tonight
  • On the off chance that I will forget they are there
  • And tomorrow afternoon when I need them
  • The cycle will start again

    Thursday, August 5, 2010

    Things I Think About While Watching the News

    The truth is, I rarely watch the news. It's usually a big downer, with one little story about puppies at the end so that you don't dream about murders and taxes the entire night. One of the thoughts I frequently have when I do watch the news is, Do I really need to know this? Followed by another frequent thought, Do I have any chocolate stashed in the kitchen?

    Ryan is a bit of a news junkie. He reads a few papers online every day and usually catches a news cast too. I depend on him to let me know if we are getting in a war, getting out of a war, recovering from a recession, or voted one of the 100 best small towns to live in. He, on the other hand, depends on me to keep him apprised of any exciting developments on The Real Housewives of New York City. Although, in full disclosure, he hasn't asked for any updates in the last three years. But still, it's a system.

    I go through phases with the news, believing at times that it's my civic duty to know What's Going On. And then other times, I believe that watching Nick @ Nite with my boys is my familial duty, and a way to be part of What's Going On, at least in their lives. What can I say? I'm a flibbertygibbet.

    My friend Susan and I love to use the phrase, "I heard on NPR..." as often as possible, because that phrase automatically elevates your perceived IQ in most social circles. In fact, we've found that in 86% of cases, you can follow that phrase with any information, fact or fiction, and most people will believe you. Seriously, I heard that on NPR!

    But back to the news and my thoughts during the news.

    One of the things I think about is the wardrobe of the newscasters. Do they have a wardrobe budget? Did they have a wardrobe class in journalism school? Do they get a discount on bulk purchases of solid colored pantsuits? How many times, in the beginning of their careers, did they head out on the set thinking they looked pretty snazzy, only to see actual footage showing them as a hot mess? Because that phenomenon I just described? Happens to me several times per week.

    I also wonder the effects from creating a culture in which we demand to receive information about the world's atrocities from such beautiful people. Will we eventually be conditioned to expect bad news from  all attractive people? Or just attractive people in pantsuits?

    I heard on NPR that we will.

    Hey, Wanna See a Picture of Me Wielding a Gun?

    Well, there it is.

    Monday, August 2, 2010

    You Guys Are Too Predictable

    I guess I threw you a softball on that last Choose Your Own Blog Post. (You're all a bunch of ageists, too, it seems. I guess you'll never know my secrets of Senior Citizens.)

    Alright, time to vote again. Don't be so predictable this time!

    Stuff I Think About While I'm Watching the News


    My Thai Chicken Curry Recipe

    Thanks for being patient with my Blogger's Alzheimer's Disease.

    Who are you, again? What am I doing here?
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