You Might Be a Maverick If. . .

I don’t know that it was always this way, but, for as long as I can remember, just as we move into the final weeks of the Presidential campaign the focus shifts to the undecided voters. “Who are they?” the news anchors ask. “And how might they determine the outcome of this election?”

Then you’ll see this man or woman— someone, I always think, who looks very happy to be on TV. “Well, Charlie,” they say, “I’ve gone back and forth on the issues and whatnot, but I just can’t seem to make up my mind!” Some insist that there’s very little difference between candidate A and candidate B. Others claim that they’re with A on defense and health care but are leaning toward B when it comes to the economy.

I look at these people and can’t quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention?

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

When doubting that anyone could not know whom they’re voting for, I inevitably think back to November, 1968. Hubert Humphrey was running against Richard Nixon, and when my mother couldn’t choose between them she had me do it for her. It was crazy. One minute I was eating potato chips in front of the TV, and the next I was at the fire station, waiting with people whose kids I went to school with. When it was our turn, we were led by a woman wearing a sash to one of a half-dozen booths, the curtain of which closed after we entered.

“Go ahead,” my mother said. “Flick a switch, any switch.”

I looked at the panel in front of me.

“Start on the judges or whatever and we’ll be here all day, so just pick a President and make it fast. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Which one do you think is best?” I asked.

“I don’t have an opinion,” she told me. “That’s why I’m letting you do it. Come on, now, vote.”

I put my finger on Hubert Humphrey and then on Richard Nixon, neither of whom meant anything to me. What I most liked about democracy, at least so far, was the booth—its quiet civility, its atmosphere of importance. “Hmm,” I said, wondering how long we could stay before someone came and kicked us out.

Ideally, my mother would have waited outside, but, as she said, there was no way an unescorted eleven-year-old would be allowed to vote, or even hang out, seeing as the lines were long and the polls were open for only one day. “Will you please hurry it up?” she hissed.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have something like this in our living room?” I asked. “Maybe we could use the same curtains we have on the windows.”

“All right, that’s it.” My mother reached for Humphrey but I beat her to it, and cast our vote for Richard Nixon, who had the same last name as a man at our church. I assumed that the two were related, and only discovered afterward that I was wrong. Richard Nixon had always been Nixon, while the man at my church had shortened his name from something funnier but considerably less poster-friendly—Nickapopapopolis, maybe.

“Oh, well,” I said.

We drove back home, and when asked by my father whom she had voted for, my mother said that it was none of his business.

“What do you mean, ‘none of my business’?” he said. “I told you to vote Republican.”

“Well, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”

“You’re not telling me you voted for Humphrey.” He said this as if she had marched through the streets with a pan on her head.

“No,” she said. “I’m not telling you that. I’m not telling you anything. It’s private—all right? My political opinions are none of your concern.”

“What political opinions?” he said. “I’m the one who took you down to register. You didn’t even know there was an election until I told you.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.”

She turned to open a can of mushroom soup. This would be poured over pork chops and noodles and served as our dinner, casserole style. Once we’d taken our seats at the table, my parents would stop fighting directly, and continue their argument through my sisters and me. Lisa might tell a story about her day at school and, if my father said it was interesting, my mother would laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he’d say.

“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I suppose everyone has a different standard. That’s all.”

When told by my father that I was holding my fork wrong, my mother would say that I was holding it right, or right in “certain circles.”

“We don’t know how people eat the world over,” she’d say, not to him but to the buffet or the picture window, as if the statement had nothing to do with any of us.

I wasn’t looking forward to that kind of evening, and so I told my father that I had voted. “She let me,” I said. “And I picked Nixon.”

“Well, at least someone in the family has some brains.” He patted me on the shoulder and as my mother turned away I understood that I had chosen the wrong person.

I didn’t vote again until 1976, when I was nineteen and legally registered. Because I was at college out of state, I sent my ballot through the mail. The choice that year was between Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford. Most of my friends were going for Carter, but, as an art major, I identified myself as a maverick. “That means an original,” I told my roommate. “Someone who lets the chips fall where they may.” Because I made my own rules and didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of them, I decided to write in the name of Jerry Brown, who, it was rumored, liked to smoke pot. This was an issue very close to my heart—too close, obviously, as it amounted to a complete waste. Still, though, it taught me a valuable lesson: calling yourself a maverick is a sure sign that you’re not one.

I wonder if, in the end, the undecideds aren’t the biggest pessimists of all. Here they could order the airline chicken, but, then again, hmm. “Isn’t that adding an extra step?” they ask themselves. “If it’s all going to be chewed up and swallowed, why not cut to the chase, and go with the platter of shit?”

Ah, though, that’s where the broken glass comes in.

- David Sedaris

Feelin' Blue in a Red State

Dear Red States,

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us.

In case you aren't aware, that includes Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches.

We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood.
We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom.
We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss.
We get 85 percent of America 's venture capital and entrepreneurs.
You get Alabama .
We get two-thirds of the tax revenue; you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families.

Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in Bush's Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80% of the country's fresh water, more than 90 % of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 % of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 %of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90% of all cheese, 90% of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools, plus Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 % of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 % of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 % of the hurricanes, 99 % of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 % of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia.

We get Hollywood and Yosemite , thank you.

Additionally, 38 % of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 % believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 % say that evolution is only a theory, 53 %that Saddam was involved in 9/11, and 61 % of you crazy b ** ***ds believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

By the way, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico .

Peace out,
Blue States

Because I'm actually 10...

This picture made me snort.

Drill, Drill, Drill!

I am having Sarah Palin nightmares. I dreamt last night that she was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice. Whatever it is, I need the polar bears.

I don't like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.

But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story -- connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.

I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country chose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.

Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God's plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin's view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, "It was a task from God."

Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist's baby or not.

She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.

Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States. She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.

Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air.


Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God's name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.

I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S., but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move to wards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.

If the Polar Bears don't move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, "Drill Drill Drill." I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.

Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?

- Eve Ensler

The most beautiful girl in the world

Please allow me to introduce. . .

Lucas Frederick
Born August 28th 2008
Weighing 7lbs 15oz
20" long

Dear Youngest Child of Mine,

Dearest Lucas,

I understand your predicament. I, myself, am a stomach sleeper. You have, however, put a serious cramp in my sleeping style. So I really do feel your pain at the thought of resting on some other body part, like say, your head, rather than your belly. It would not be my first choice either.

Having said this, dear Lucas, the time for you to come out is rapidly approaching, and you, my dear boy, just will not fit out the exit while laying on your belly. It would be an unpleasant day for both of us. If you could kindly rotate your body ever so slightly, and lay on your head for a while, I promise to get you out as soon as humanly possible.

Love,
Mommy

PS- I'm not kidding, Lucas. If you don't flip around you are like WAY grounded.

The Tale of Two Stories

I had a bunch of errands to run today. Small ones, one thing here, two things there, at a million different places - you know the type. I made Evan drive me, so I could just hop out of the car and run up to the door and not have to worry about parking, and dragging my pregnant self and my toddler across the hot parking lot. Very convenient.

My first stop was the party store, because I needed more thank you cards. I hopped out and into the store I went. In the baby aisle there was a woman who was shopping with what I assumed to be her mother. Neither was pregnant, but from overhearing bits of their conversations while looking for cute thank you cards, it sounded as though they were throwing a shower.

And this is how it happened:

I had found my cards, and was getting ready to head to the register, when I heard. "Ma'am? Are you having twins?"

Huh? Me?

I glanced over, and both women were looking at me, obviously awaiting an answer. A quick peek over my shoulder revealed no one other than the stockboy, who was clearly not pregnant, let alone with twins.

I don't know if it was the heat, or the agitation that I felt by being asked such a ridiculous question, but before I knew what was happening, I heard myself say:

"No. Are YOU having twins, you heifer?"









And this is how it really happened:

I had found my cards, and was getting ready to head to the register, when I heard. "Ma'am? Are you having twins?"

Huh? Me?

I glanced over, and both women were looking at me, obviously awaiting an answer. A quick peek over my shoulder revealed no one other than the stockboy, who was clearly not pregnant, let alone with twins.

"Huh? Me? Oh...Uh, no, there's just one...
he just sticks out really far....
it's just that it's my second baby...
and i'm really close to my due date...
so i guess....
it just....looks...
um...
bigger...
i guess...
you know....
good...uh...good luck with the shower..."

And I sniffled the whole way to the register and paid for my thank yous and ran to the car and burst into huge amount of tears




God I hate being pregnant

For your viewing pleasure

Ya. She's really effing cute :)

That's just how we roll in Jersey

Saki: I hope my new dress comes in time for the shower.
Wok: Me too.
Saki: Foofy is wearing that fluffy apricot dress from Easter, but we need to go get her shoes
Wok: Sweet, I need shoes too.
Saki: You're not wearing flip flops?
Wok: Mom said I'm not allowed to!
Saki: What?? Why??
Saki: Wait, am I allowed to wear flip flops, 'cause like, it's my party.
Wok: Because she said my dress is too fancy for flip flops
Saki: So get some with sparkles.
Wok: That's exactly what I was gonna do!!!



Hahahahaha...You know you've grown up on the beach when "dressed up" means you wear flip flops with sparkles on them

See you at the debates, Bitches!

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

On taking a two year old to the doctor

We don't have any family near us in Virginia, so we really don't have anyone to watch Cecilia for us. As a result, she schlepps pretty much wherever I do, and since i'm 35 weeks pregnant, she's gotten pretty accustomed to the OB's office. She gets excited when she recognizes the building, and immediately starts talking about how she gets a lollipop from the nurses basket when we're all done in the office. Good stuff.

Being a bright little girl, she's got the routine down, and orders me onto the scale, and then to sit and have my blood pressure taken. She informs me "squeeze a arm, mommy" and then makes the whooshwhooshwhoosh sound of an inflating cuff, complete with hand motion as if she herself is blowing it up.

From there she practically pushes me into the bathroom, because lately, the bathroom is her favorite place to play.

Anyone who has been pregnant can tell you that one of the absolute worst parts of any office visit is trying to pee in the damn cup with a huge belly in the way, without either missing the cup completely, peeing on ones hand, or spilling the cup. Messy business.

As I sat with my cup, the conversation went as such:

Cecilia: EW! EEEEEEWWWWWW! Mommy? Poopin' inna cup?
Saki: No, Celia, mommy is making peepee in the cup.
Cecilia, after considering this fact for a moment: EW! Mommy peepee inna cup? Ew, Mommy!
Saki: Ya, it is pretty ew.
Cecilia: I see? I see peepee inna cup? Mommy? Mommy? Celia sees peepee inna cup?

I sighed, and lowered the cup for her to see inside. It was met with another round of "ew" and the declaration that Mommy did, in fact, peepee in the cup. I grabbed the pen from the little shelf in the bathroom, and hastily scribbled my name on the cup.

"Mommy? Mommy drawin' onna cup? Mommy? I draw onna cup? Celia draws onna cup too?" Sigh. If you've ever gone anywhere with a two year old, you know that the volume level of their voice is grossly out of proportion with their small bodies. Two year olds are loud. And the more you'd like them to speak quietly, the louder they become, until practically yelling their inquiries.

I stuck the cup into the cubby that connects the bathroom to the nurses station and shut the little door. "Mommy? Where peepee cup go?" she asked, horrified that I actually did something with the cup. I told her that I put it in the door for the nurse to see. "Nurse sees peepee?" she squealed, rather loudly. "EWWWWWW" she finished.

I tried to wash my hands as quickly as possible, because by now, she was bordering on screaming "Mommy washa hands? Mommy washa peepee offa hands?"

Grabbing a papertowel, i opened the door to find the nurses and two of the doctors in tears on the other side of the door, laughing at our bathroom adventure. I smiled weakly at them, kind of over the whole ordeal. Just as I was about to take a step out, I heard a loud crash of the bathroom shelf falling over, and Cecilia bumped into my leg as she hightailed it down the hall, a tampon in each hand.

I can't believe I'm about to have another child. God help me. Please.

Back off, Martha.

From scratch! it's a good thing.

That's the side effects - hungry, happy, sleepy.

"Don't gimmie that shit about 'It's a drug!" it ain't no motherfuckin' drug, I dun' done the research it's just a plant. it just grows like that. And if you should happen to set it on fire, there are some effects. But that's not the same as drugs. Drugs you've got to do shit to it chemically - you gotta add baking soda, water, stir it around - I don't know, I don't got the recipe. I'm just sayin"

Put THAT in your pipe

. . .and do whatever it is you do with stuff in pipes.

We were sitting at the dinner table with my parents, and friends of theirs, Betty and Bill, and also Betty's grandson, Griffin, who is 10 or so. Somehow (though not surprising) the subject of addiction came up, and someone tossed in the comment that person could be addicted to anything, not just alcohol or drugs. The conversation continued as such:

Griffin: Ya, my sister is 13 and she's addicted to Soduko.
Yaya: Really?
Griffin: Yes. It's pretty much all she does.
Yaya: Do you smoke it?
Fuddy: Only if you roll it up real tight.


Heh.

The New Kid on the Block

Meet Tribbit. The smallest toad yet. That's a flower from the nearby impatiens, just to give you an idea about how teeny tiny he actually is.

Day 5

Dear Diary. . .

Day 5 with no car. Toddler driving me insane. Pool in the backyard deflated into hapless heap. No capri sun pouches for said toddler. There isn't enough tylenol in the free world.


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


Dear Lindsay Chevrolet,

You have had my new car since Monday night. I know that you had to wait for the insurance to come out and do their thing, but truly, would it have killed you to be slightly proactive and order some of the necessary parts; like, you know, the hood? The roof maybe? I now have to wait 15 business days for my poor car. Fifteen BUSINESS DAYS! Do you know how long that is in real people time?

Signed,
Bored, Cranky & Sore

The Car Gods Giveth..

And the Car Gods Taketh Away.

Sadface.

That's my daughter

Snow in June

"Cecilia, what are you doing?"

"Snowing."

ahhh....it's all clear to me now.

Dammit, Fuddy!

This past Sunday was my sisters' last crew race. Although it's fun to go watch, the rowers are far enough out in the water that they can't hear anything but their coxswain yelling at them.



If you know my family, you then know that this is unacceptable to us, so we set about to thinking of ways to be particularly obnoxious on race days.

I suggested the beloved bubble machine - if they can't hear us, they'd at least see us. Besides, everyone loves bubbles.

A megaphone was also suggested, as was a foghorn and airhorn. In keeping with the "horn" suggestions, I said "OH!! We should get one like the car in the Dukes of Hazzard!"

Fuddy put his arm around me and said "A dixie horn? You dun' been in the South too long, darlin'

GAH. move me hooooooome!

And the award for "best advice of the day"

Goes to Lauren and Josh.

Last Sunday was Cecilia's 2nd birthday party. It was smallish, family, close friends and neighbors, but we had a lot of fun - it was good company.

Cecilia wore the dress that she picked out herself. Personally, i think it's the ugliest dress I've ever seen...something akin to a bridesmaid horror story. Hot pink taffeta everywhere. But she loved it, and so it was.


The theme, naturally, was "Melmo," complete with elmo decorations, elmo balloons, and elmo on the cake:


Once she got the hang of it, she was all about the presents. Being two is particularly awesome, because everyone gives you cool stuff, like fun clothes, bad ass books, a bounce house, and ball pit


But her favorite of all was the bubble maker. This is where Lauren and Josh completely rocked my socks that day. After opening the presents, we decided it would be super fun to fire up the bubble machine. We had opened gifts in the dining room, as it was chilly and kind of damp outside, so I said we might as well just play bubbles inside. Lauren because slightly distraught and pointed out that outside was just a few steps away, right through the door, and if it started to really rain, we could just come back in. "It does say "Gagillion" on it" Josh chimed in. So outside we went. And thank god.


When they said "over 5,000 bubbles per minute!" they weren't kidding. Bubbles EVERYWHERE


Bet you're jealous that YOU don't have a bubble making machine!

How I spent my Sunday afternoon

It was a rainy chilly day today. Not even a brief pause in the rain to go outside resulted in quite a rammy child. She had been getting into things all day, partly because she's two, mostly because she was bored of being pent up in the house.

So this is what happened. I was making the bed, Evan was in the other room, and Cecilia was in her room playing doll house. I saw her go down the hall towards where Evan was, and figured she was going to see him, when I heard a door close and the click of the lock. She was locked into the bathroom.

It's a pushbutton lock, where if you turn the handle from the inside, it will pop open. Or you can put something slender into the hole on the outside and that will also pop it open. But it's an old house, and an equally old knob, and it just wasn't giving it up.

We pulled the face plate off, but couldn't to the guts of the knob because it didn't come out far enough, we tried sticking a skinny chisel into the hole and hitting it with a hammer, but no dice there, either.

We tried coaxing her into turning the knob herself, Evan had her convinced he'd give her chocolate if she opened the door. We spent a good 25 minutes trying to stick things into the handle, or get her to open it from her side, but we weren't getting anywhere.





Eventually, we hit the door and the knob with a hammer until the handle broke and slid out far enough for us to do something with it.


And this is what we found on the other side:


Cecilia, as The Crow:

Six

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."

That'll teach ya

Jemma: Ew. The house smells like up dog.
Saki: What?
Jemma: The house smells like up dog.
Saki: Updog?
Jemma: Yes
Saki: WTF is up dog?
Jemma: Not much homie, with you?

Where, oh where...

..Has my Lauren gone? Where, oh where can she be?


Did my giant aloe plant head eat her?


The world may never know.

The beginning of the end

Since it's getting to be fairly warm on a regular basis here in the swamp, I decided that it's about time to take Cecilia shopping for some summer sandals. Okay, okay, the buy one, get one half off coupon for stride rite had something to do with it, but i digress. I approached Cecilia on the matter this morning, as she was licking the remnants of her cinnamon bun off her fingers and watching Sesame Street.

Saki: Cecilia, how about we get cleaned up and dressed and we'll go shopping?

Cecilia, plucking a frosting coated finger from her mouth with an audible pop: Shoppin'?

Saki: Ya, we'll drive up to the mall with the merry-go-round inside, and we'll buy you some new shoes

Cecilia: Shoe SHOPPIN'?!?!

*she hops off the couch and dances in circles while making up the following song*


Shoppin' shoppin' shoppin'
shoooooooooooes
shoppin' YEAH!


Man, my husband and his wallet are in SO much trouble. Let's get some shoes.

Going Green!

Feeling a little grey in the midst of urban life? Get an EcoWall!!!


Not only are they beautiful, but they purify the air, and add a touch of life to a dull space. And the architects behind it are really, really awesome

I think I might have a situation...

..Or something.

I have this aloe plant, it's HUGE. We call it KingKong Aloe:



Ignore the mess.

Anyway, so KingKong Aloe grows at an alarming rate. To give you an idea, it's in a 16" pot, and the window behind it is a little over 5' It's a big frickin' plant. It has baby aloes all the time, they start to grow out of the roots in the pot, and look just like the big one, but smaller. I take them out and give them to neighbors, and everyone on the block has an aloe now.

So when I was watering it on Saturday, I noticed it was growing...something. Right from the middle of the stalk, it looks like...I don't know. A plant head. There, I said it, it looks like a plant head.



All i can think of is this:


Like I'm going to wake up one morning and the dog will be missing, and KingKong Aloe will have fur around the pot, and will be all like FEED ME, SAKI!

Help.

Mmmm

Dear Salt & Vinegar Potato Chips,

I love you. Let's get married.

Sincerely,
Saki in Sodium Over-load

Toddler Creed - An Ode to Cecilia

If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a carseat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, it must be hugged.
I am toddler!

Dear Saki...

Dear Spring,

I enjoy your presence in D.C. Please stick around for the next few months until summer comes. I'm a little over winter, and this winter was a particularly pathetic attempt at a season. I'm ready for flowers and sun and warmth, and I can even deal with some rain, as long as it's not mixed with ice pellets like winter sends us. If you stay, I'll give you a cookie.

Sincerely,
Hoping it stays warm

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

Dear Weirdos Who Are Googling My Childs Picture,

Enough is enough now. I can see when you search my pictures, and I find you to be creepy. I know people. Stoppit.

Sincerely,
Cecilia's (The Easter Girl's) Mom

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

Dear Childish Snapper,

I know you intended for your words to get back to me, just to get under my skin. They did. However, since it's no secret I find you to be classless and reprehensible, it ceases to bother me. The idea of a grown woman, a mother, no less, spewing sludge just to be catty is laughable, and a despicable example for your children. Truly, I pity them.

Truly,
Content In My Own Skin

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

Dear D.C. Housing Market,

Shape up! I need to sell this house and go back to Jersey where I belong.

Signed,
Disgruntled Home Owner With a Hugantic Mortgage Payment

The Impotence of Proofreading

*$

I don't know anybody who doesn't love a frappachino on a hot summer day.  In fact I heard that Starbucks is actually losing money simply because they can't make them fast enough.  People want them that badly - and they're not cheap, either.  You could feed a kid a kid in a refugee camp in Sudan for a whole week for what we spend on one grande mocha half caff no whip frappachino.

A whole week.

Seven days.

Not that anyone is going to skip their frosty treat to save a kid from starvation.  I mean, c'mon.  They're freakin' delicious.  

You know you're an over protective parent when...

This past week or so, Cecilia has taken to falling over for no apparent reason.  Inside or out, shoes, socks, barefoot; it didn't seem to matter.  She'd get truckin' and all of a sudden, she'd take a massive spill, often times clunking her head on the wall, floor, table, yadda yadda.  It kind of concerned me, because while I know and understand that toddlers fall, this was pretty new to her, and with  rather sudden onset.  Besides, this is my toddler we're talking about here.  Very different situation.  

So I made an appointment today to see her doctor, concerned that maybe there was fluid in her ears, or something was wrong with her eyes, and it was upsetting her equilibrium.  I just didn't know, but better safe than sorry, especially when it comes to my kid.

Off to the doctor we went.  Cecilia topped the scales at a whopping 24lbs, 8oz.  Quite the *chunker.  The doctor stripped her down to her pull up and socks, and gave her the good once over.  Checked eyes, ears, glands, legs, arms, joints, feet, the works.  Unconvinced by what she saw, she set Cecilia on the floor.  But the doctor made one tragic mistake. 

She left the baby on the exam table.  As the doctor was explaining to me what she was about to look for, Cecilia pushed the tiny child sized chair next to the adult chair, climbed both and scrambled onto the table, pulling the baby, and the beloved **Sippy Sips down.  

From there, she had Cecilia walk up and down the hallway, where upon reaching on end of the hall, she would spin on her heel, announce "Ready!  Set!  GO!" and promptly tear down the hall to the other end, baby and sippy sips in tow.  

Back in the exam room, the doctor said "While falling down is something that's not to be taken lightly, I think that it's related to anything bad in this case."  She went on to explain that she feels Cecilia's problem is this:  She's tiny.  She thinks she's big.  She acts accordingly.  She runs when she should walk, she flies when she should run, and in general, she's very physically advanced for her age, but just doesn't have the size to hold all of that up.  

In short, her diagnosis:  Runt.  

I also had to puff out my mom chest with pride when she said how excellent Cecilia's communication skills were, and that she sees 3 year olds who don't speak as well as she does.  I'm kinda surprised my head fit out the door.  

*By chunker i mean itty bitty.  She's in like the 5th percentile for weight

**The plastic bottle of orange juice...or some sort of creepy orange liquid that disappears into the nipple of the bottle when flipped upside down.  

iWhore

I've shamelessly stolen this from Megan.  I don't think she will mind, though, for we both revel in the mockery that is the iWhore

1 – Allow others to benefit from your iPhone

A man on the street asks you if you have the time. 

YOU: Sure.

Then you whip out your iPhone, hold it up high, waving it around so everyone can see its impressive "clock" function.

YOU: Anyone else need to know the time?!!! Because I… HAVE… AN iPHONE!!!

2 – Use your iPhone to save a life

You are on a date in a restaurant. A man is having a heart attack! 

YOU: Coming through! I'll take care of it! I'm an iPhone owner! 

Then you simultaneously call emergency services while accessing Wikipedia instructions on how to perform CPR. To keep the man's wife from panicking, you calm her down by showing her amusing videos of cats wearing silly hats.

DOCTOR: This iPhone owner is a hero! Without his amazing access to information and amusing videos of cats wearing silly hats, we'd have a dead man and a nervous wife. Instead, this couple will live happily ever after. Thank you iPhone Owner!

YOU: Oh, I was just doing what any super cool iPhone owner would do.

3 – Use your iPhone as it was meant to be used... as fashion

Why wear your iPhone on your waist when you can attach it to a headband and wear it on your forehead?

4 – Share your iPhone's information

At the bar, a guy asks you if the local sports team won today.

YOU: Hold on, I'll check that out for you on my brand new amazing iPhone... Sorry, for the delay, I just got my amazing iPhone and I'm still trying to learn all of the amazing iPhone iFeatures... where is News?... Music... Videos... Email... Phone... Crème Brulee recipes... Time Machine... darn this amazing iPhone!

5 – Use your iPhone to fight crime

WOMAN: A man is holding up the Convenience Store owner with a gun!

YOU: No worries ma'am, I am an iPhone owner. I'll simply call 9-1-1... now I'll walk into the store... and take the perpetrator's photo. And... email it to the police.

ROBBER: Stick 'em up or I'll blow you away!

YOU: I own an iPhone.

ROBBER: Really? Wow!

YOU: I know. iPhone says you are suffering from feelings of inadequacy caused by your father's constant belittling of you as a child.

ROBBER: iPhone is right!

YOU: iPhone says there is a support group for your issue approximately 2.9 miles southwest of here.

ROBBER (wiping away tears): Thank you, iPhone owner.

YOU: Of course.

ROBBER: Now I'm going to shoot you and take your iPhone!

YOU: I'm sorry, but I'm going to zap you with 50,000 volts.

ROBBER: Aaaaaaaaaaah!!! 

YOU: The iPhone has a hidden stun-gun feature.

CONVENIENCE STORE OWNER: Thank you, my friend!

YOU: It's my privilege to serve the community. While waiting for the police to arrive, would you like to listen to some U2?

There she is. Sitting there at the bar. Time to make your move. But what do  you say? You start to get a little nervous. Then you remember. "Oh yeah. I have a new iphone. And some oh so witty pick up lines." You relax. You walk up to her casually and say:

I'm no Fred Flintstone, but I can make your bed rock. Plus I have an iphone!

If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put u and iphone together.

Hey baby. iphone you tomorrow?

Hi. My friend over there bet you wouldn't let me google you on our first date. So what do you say? I'll buy you a drink. You can even google me back. My iphone battery is big and strong and fully charged up, so we could google all night.

Did you know my iphone is also a remote control? Let's go somewhere remote and you can have control.

Hi there angel. Did it hurt when you fell from heav- oh, sorry, I'm getting a call on my new iphone…. Oh, it was Saint Peter. He said have a great time on your trip to Earth, and don't worry about being good- they won't keep score up there while you are on leave.

I AM happy to see you but that's just an iphone in my pocket.

Hi there. Wanna use your fingers to enlarge my pixel size?

Is your dad a thief? Because if he is, I'll keep my new iphone hidden when you introduce him to me next Saturday.

I think I need to call Heaven- on my new iphone- because they lost one of their angels.

I forgot my phone number. Can I have yours? I'll store it in my new iphone.

Excuse me- I'm new in town. Could you give me directions to your place? Let me just open up Google maps in my iphone.

How much does my new iphone weigh? Enough to break the ice. Can I enter in your phone number?

You know, inheriting 50 million dollars doesn't mean much when you have a weak heart, even if you have a four houses, two islands and a brand new iphone like this one.

Excuse me, did you just call me on my iphone? Then I guess it wasn't my phone that was vibrating in my pocket.

When Chuck Norris goes to sleep, he checks its closet for the iphone. Too bad he didn't look under the bed.

The iphone can taser your enemies so hard that it can actually alter their DNA. Decades from now, their descendants will occasionally clutch their heads and yell "What the hell was that?"

If you can see the iphone, it can see you. If you can't see the iphone, you may be only seconds away from instant death.

When Bruce Banner gets mad, he turns into the Incredible Hulk. When the Incredible Hulk gets mad, he turns into Chuck Norris.  When Chuck Norris gets mad, he still is very, very, very polite to his iphone.

The iphone has already been to Mars; that's why there are no signs of life there.

It is believed dinosaurs are extinct due to a giant meteor. That's true, if you want to call the iphone a giant meteor.

The iphone does not follow fashion trends, they follow it. But then it turns around and tasers them. NOBODY follows the iphone.

If you ask the iphone what time it is, it always says, "Two seconds 'til." After you ask, "Two seconds 'til what?" it tasers you in the face.

Insurance companies can no longer afford to offer insurance protection against "Acts of iphone".

The iphone can win a game of Connect Four in only three moves. Before you have decided to play.

Faster than a speeding bullet … more powerful than a locomotive … able to leap tall buildings in a single bound… These are some of the iphone's subscription features.

There are no steroids in baseball. Just players that have touched an iphone.

When someone with an iphone is crossing the street, the cars have to look both ways.

The best part of waking up is not Folgers in your cup, but knowing that the iphone didn't kill you in your sleep.

The Great Wall of China was originally created to keep the iphone out. But NOTHING can keep the iphone out.If the iphone had been around, you wouldn't have heard of David or Goliath because it would have tasered both of their asses.

The iphone does not sleep. It waits.

What was going through the minds of all of the iphone's victims before they died? An iphone.

The iphone uses a language that incorporates taser shots and sudden temperature changes. So the next time the iphone is totally kicking your ass, don't be offended or hurt, it may be just trying to tell you it likes your hat.

In a recent survey it was discovered that 56% of women whose romantic partners had an iphone reported asking their lovers to bring their iphone with them to bed. And then asking them to leave.

To Whom It May Concern...

Dear Dairy Products,

Oh how I miss thee.  I count the days until we can be together again, with no one coming between us.  Only 214 more days.   

Love,

Your Beloved Saki

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

Dear Lactaid,

Fuck You.

No, really.  Fuck You.

Sincerely,

Saki

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

Dear Yoga Pants,

Don't tell Dairy Products, but you have become my new favorite thing in life.  

With Love Always,

The Very Comfortable Saki

In the land of oil

This morning, one of CNN's headliners was this story, regarding the ridiculous profiting of Exxon.  According to the report, Exxon is netting $1,300 per second.  In case you were wondering, that is the highest profit ever shown by any U.S. company.  

Nineteen years ago, due to gross negligence, one of Exxon's ships, the Valdez, was responsible for spilling eleven million gallons of crude oil into Prince William Sound.  Not only was this the largest oil spill ever to occur in U.S. waters, it is considered one of the biggest ecological disasters in the world because of the amount of coastline affected, and the massive loss of aquatic and marine life.  

Being coated with oil, the birds and other wildlife lose their ability to not only retain heat, but also to remain buoyant on the surface of the water.  In an attempt to cleanse themselves, the animals then ingested the crude oil spilled, resulting in a slow death of dehydration and starvation.  Rendered flightless, birds washed out to sea with the currents, unable to save themselves

You may have been comforted by those groups that "clean" the birds after a spill.  Or maybe you even remember those Dawn dish detergent commercials, depicting friendly faced volunteers happily scrubbing an oily duck.  Do you know what that process entails?  First, they catch the bird and then bring it to their facility.  Step two is "purging the bird," which is about as pleasant as it sounds.  A hose is shoved down it's throat and the bird is pumped full of a solution until all of the ingested oil has been shot out the other end.  Many don't make it through this process.  The survivors are then scrubbed, dried, scrubbed, dried, scrubbed, dried, until all of the oil has been removed.  This process, however, also removes the birds natural oils which help it to float and maintain body temperature.  So the clean birds are placed together in a giant temperature regulated room until their body produces enough natural oils for them to be returned to the wild. . . .Which is still covered in oil because 11 million gallons doesn't just clean itself up.

In fact, trying to remove crude oil from the shoreline has been compared to "trying to sop butter up off of a toasted english muffin."  The crevices and the pores just can not be fully cleaned and returned to their original state.  It will never be the same.  No amount of Dawn detergent, no amount of friendly faced volunteers will return it to it's natural state.  Scientists have estimated that as little as 10% of the oil spilled was actually retrieved.  

But I digress, I am getting off of my original topic.  Exxon was ordered to pay billions of dollars in punitive damages.  Now, I am not a fan of fixing mistakes with a wad of cash.  However, loss of natural beauty and wildlife aside, the Alaskan shore communities thrive on fishing.  It's their livelihood.  And it was ripped from beneath them because of Exxon.  Families were suddenly without income.  Their businesses, their boats, their homes, were oil soaked and destroyed.  

Nineteen years have passed now.  Long enough for children to have been born, grown, and graduate from high school.  Long enough for boats to have been scrapped, or replaced.  Long enough for marriages, divorces, and career changes.  Long enough for a good number of those fishermen from that maritime community to die in one of the many ways life and their chosen occupation offer. 

If you're still as angry as I am, drop Exxon a line, and tell them that this has been going on for nineteen years too long

Exxon Mobile

5959 Las Colinas Boulevard 
Irving, Texas 75039-2298 
(972) 444-1000 

And then there was one.

I've been avoiding posting this, even though I've known since Monday.

I went in for an appointment with a new doctor, because the old one was seeming to be more and more of an incompetent asshat.  

There is only one viable baby.  It was in there, heart beating away, and the other is dark, shadowy, "reabsorbing" as the doctor gently put it.  

How lonely for the other one.  

Thank you, Merriam-Webster

Electile Dysfunction: n.  The inability to become aroused over any of the choices for President put forth by any party in the 2008 election year.

Bwahahahaha.

Up close and personal with my uterus

I was right - I was measuring exactly a week behind. The new EDD is Sept 8th.

My uterus is retroverted, and the Dr. had a hard time getting a good shot of everything.  One baby is measuring perfectly 7w1d with a heart rate of 156. The other is teeeeeeeny tiny, and the Dr. couldn't locate a heartbeat. He said it's one of two things:

It's either a non-viable pregnancy that will reabsorb and will be no consequence to the first baby. He seemed to lean towards this, but refused to commit to anything. 

Or, because of the tilt of the uterus and bad angle he's getting a bad shot at it, and part of the baby is behind the other one, or it's just not a great angle for viewing the heartbeat. 

So...He offered a few courses of action. One was to come back in two weeks for an ultrasound. The other was to come back at 12 weeks for the nuchal translucency screening (which I was planning on getting anyway). i opted for the second one. I go back the last week of February for the screening, and then we'll know for sure.  I asked him "So, you don't think I'll be carrying twins to term?" and he said "I wouldn't bet the bank on it, but I've seen it happen."

I was so thrown off from the whole "Oh hey look! Two!" thing that I didn't ask for pics. Sorry guys.

How's THAT for an update?

But...It has CARBS!

People are always on the lookout for a new diet, especially this time of year when resolutions are still fresh on everyone's brain.  THe trouble with most diets is that you don't get enough to eat (The Starvation Diet), you don't get enough variation (The Liquid Diet) or you go broke (The All-Meat Diet).  Consequently, people tend to cheat on their diets, or quit after three days.

Over the years, you may have noticed that most two year olds are pretty trim.  Now the formula to their success is available to all in this new diet.  You may want to consult your doctor before embarking on this diet, otherwise, you may be seeing him afterwards.  Good luck, and I present to you:

The Toddler Miracle Diet

DAY ONE

Breakfast:  One scrambled egg, one piece of toast with grape jelly.  Eat two bites of egg, using your fingers.  Dump the rest on the floor.  Take one bite of toast, then smear jelly over your face and clothes.

Lunch:  Four crayons (any color), a handful of potato chips, and a glass of milk.  (Take only three sips of milk, then spill the rest onto the carpet.)

Dinner:  A stick, two pennies, a nickel, four sips of flat Sprite.

Bedtime Snack:  Throw a piece of toast onto the kitchen floor.

DAY TWO

Breakfast:  Pick up stale toast from kitchen floor and eat it.  Drink half bottle of vanilla extract or one vial of food coloring.

Lunch:  Half tube of "Pulsating Pink" lipstick and a handful of Purina Dog Chow (any flavor).  One ice cube, if desired.

Afternoon Snack:  Lick a lollipop until sticky, take outside, drop in dirt.  Retrieve and continue slurping until it's clean again.  Then bring inside and drop on rug.

Dinner:   A rock or uncooked bean, which should be thrust up your left nostril.  Pour grape juice over mashed potatoes and eat with a spoon.

DAY THREE

Breakfast:  Two pancakes with plenty of syrup.  Eat one with fingers after rubbing in hair.  Glass of milk.  Drink half, stuff other pancake in glass.  After breakfast, pick up yesterdays lollipop from rug, lick off fuzz, put it on the cushion of best chair.

Lunch:  Three matches, peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Spit several bites onto the floor.  Pour glass of milk on the table and then lap up like a dog.

Dinner:  Dish of ice cream, handful of potato chips, some cherry juice.  Try to laugh juice through your nose, if possible.

DAY FOUR

Breakfast:  One quarter tube of toothpaste (any flavor), bit of soap, an olive.  Pour a glass of milk over a bowl of cornflakes, add half a cup of sugar.  Once cereal is soggy, drink milk and feed cereal to the dog.

Lunch:  Eat bread crumbs off kitchen and dining room carpet.  Find that lollipop and finish eating it.

Dinner:  Drop pieces of spaghetti onto the dog's back.  Insert meatball into ear.  Dump pudding into milk and drink with a straw.  

Repeat days of diet as needed!!

A fish's dream should stay in the sea

We took Cecilia to the Baltimore Aquarium on Sunday.  I wasn't quite sure how the day would go, because when the alarm clock went off at 7am, homegirl wasn't exactly enthusiastic about getting out of bed.  Or about her bath.  Or getting dressed.  Or getting in the carseat.  You get the picture.  She perked up a little bit when she discovered breakfast was a donut with rainbow sprinkles.

After a longish and uneventfulish drive to the inner harbor, we paid the astronomical twenty two flippin dollars to get into the damn aquarium.  But it was worth it to see her reaction.

Cecilia loves fish.  We have a little 20 gallon tank here at home, with half a dozen fish, some snails and a few shrimp.  She likes to watch the fish, pointing and yelling "ISH!!!  Mama!!  Ish!!!!"

She thought the aquarium was the best place ever.  She stood at the giant plexiglass tanks, waiting for the fish to swim by.  As they approached, she'd do a little bounce.  And as they passed her by, she would wave and yell "Bye!!  bye ish!  Love you!"  

My kid is SO cute. 

Let's all go to Gullah Gullah Island

I went to the midwife** on Monday for my first prenatal, which was pretty uneventful, other than the three sticks it took for the Quest technician to draw my blood.  "It hurts me more than it hurts you," she said.  "I hate when I have to stick twice, and it kills me when I have to stick three times."  

Uh huh.  I'm pretty sure it definitely hurts me more.  

Yesterday, the nurse calls back with the results - glucose is good, HIV is negative, obviously, beta hormone levels are at 2800, which according to her is "Much too low to sustain a six week pregnancy," and i'd have to come in on Thursday for a second blood draw to ensure properly rising hormone levels.  Since I was in the waiting room at a different (and unrelated) doctors office, I cut the conversation short, and by the time I was finished with that doctor, the midwife had left the building.  Sadface.  

The midwife called bright and early this morning, and cheerfully announced that my hormone levels were 2800, but she thought I was closer to 4 weeks than 6 weeks anyway, and that I could come in the have them checked again, if I wanted.  

Excuse me?  

I spent a good portion of yesterday moping around, because as most of you know, or I guess maybe you don't, I was less than excited by the news of this pregnancy.  And by less than excited I mean threw-myself-down-on-the-bed-bemoaning-my-existence-and-swearing-my-life-is-ruined.  I've since come around, and now the new baby has a nickname - Binya Binya.  And everyone knows that once something is named it's officially part of the family.  It's become a little more real, and acceptable to me, and I suddenly felt guilty, as if I wished negative things on the baby in the midst of my pity party sob fest.  

Anyway, since I still entirely feel pregnant, and continue to get more crabby and cranky as the day goes on, I am assuming all is well.  But I'm still going to get the numbers checked - just in case ;)  

**  Haha, look at me all having a midwife instead of a doctor.  Fancy pants.  I wanted to have the baby at home with an even crunchier midwife, and completely avoid all this hoopla, but it got the swift and stern veto from everyone I brought it up to.  Boo.  

Homeslice

Wok: I'm making a list of all the reasons I'm glad you're pregnant. Wanna hear it
Saki: Ya.
Wok: 1. im gonna be a god mother
           2. you cant belly flop me in the mornign or you'll squish the baby
           3. we can eat all day and loaf cause i can be sympathy pregnant.
           4. finally there will be someone who pees as much as i do
and
           5. its a new baby to play with


.......To Be Continued...........

2008

Well, the long awaited 2008 is here.

It brought with it a dying car, which is currently being fixed to the tune of 3k. Lovely.

It also brought this:



How 'bout that shit, huh?

Stop ruining the holidays, you neo-yuppie scumbags!

Candy is Dandy, but Liquor is Quicker

With the holidays fast approaching, things are in full swing here at the Casa de Costa. Usually by this time, I'm elbow deep in flour, sugar and butter, as I make cookies to send to the neighbors, and family and friends.

This year, however. I've decided that cookies are like, SO 2006. This year is the year of candy, kids. The menu goes as follows:

Chocolate covered pretzels
Chocolate dipped oreos
Kahlua truffles
Pecan Caramel turtles
Coconut haystacks
Fudge
Chocolate covered coconut (think almond joys)
Peanut butter balls.


And thus concludes the insanity. I'll update if this half baked plan actually takes place :)

Zen

INNER PEACE Calmness in Our Lives.

I am passing this on to you because it definitely works, and we could all use a little more calmness in our lives. By following simple advice heard on the Dr. Phil show (no, seriously), you too can find inner peace.

Dr. Phil proclaimed, the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started and have never finished."

So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Vodka, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of chocolates.

You have no idea how freaking good I feel.

Paging Ms. Sasaki!

M, email me :) I know you read this. Do iiiiiiiit.

lilmissimpatient@comcast.net

In My Daughters Eyes

My kid loves to read. I mean LOVES to read. Homegirl will sit still all day if there is a welcoming lap and books to be read. Sometimes, if there's no one around to read to her, she busts out one of her books and reads to her doll, pointing out the important characters, like we do when we read to her. Eavesdropping outside her door, you can hear her telling her doll "Duck. See? Duuuuuck."

She has no shortage of books of her own. Though, I must admit...I've hidden a few of her books from time to time. One can only read "My Food: Guess what I like to eat" or "8 Silly Monkeys" so many times before one begins to grey prematurely. Despite the impressive library of cardboard books, she still finds interest in the three bookshelves that I have filled with books from college, newer books, well read books, and books on my "if I ever have an hour to myself ever again, I'd like to start to read this book" books. It's pretty comical to see her sitting with her doll, reading Dostoevsky or Alice Walker. Prime toddler reading material.

Anyway, last week, she came running up to me, holding a book, proudly announcing "DADDY!!" as she pointed to the cover of the book. I roared with laughter, because the cover of the book depicted a woman with long flowing dark hair. "Daddy!" she insisted, handing me the book. I don't even know where the book came from. I think maybe freecycle in a grab bag of books? Who knows.

Anyway, Evan was pretty peeved when I giggled the story to him. He sat down with Cecilia and the book at the table and he pointed to the woman on the cover. "Is that Daddy?" he asked her. "No. Mama." she answered. Evan smirked. Cecilia didn't think he was a woman afterall. Then, she pointed to a picture in the background that I failed to notice. "Daddy." she said, pointing to a sketchy dark haired man in the background. "Mama, Daddy" she said pointing to the two pictures.

And so, in my daughters eyes, I am...Native American? Greek? Whatever it is, I'm pretty poorly dressed.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Christmas time!!!! And with only 28 shopping days until Christmas, and black Friday behind us, you guys had better get a move on.

I dragged my sorry self (and my husbands even sorrier self...and my 18 month old) out of bed at 4:15 on Friday morning to go stand in line like an asshole at Circuit City, in hopes of electronics on sale. Not only was it 40 below, but the group of seven men in their mid twenties behind us were so drunk they could barely stand. One wore a beer cooler on his back, like a backpack, and they joined together in songs about standing in line, and mocking other people waiting in line with them. I kept hoping that at any second they would just fall over and pass out on the concrete, but no such luck.

From there it was Target, Sams, EB Games, Walmart, Pier 1, and two malls. WTF was I thinking?

Since today is Cyber Monday may I suggest that you wrap up some holiday shopping (or start holiday shopping, as the case may be) at Art From the Ashes**. You won't be disappointed.



**Yes, I am shameless :)

Damn you, spellcheck!!!

Holy crap, this website is funny :)

http://newstereotypes.blogspot.com/

Vote early, Vote often, Vote Democrat

It's election day! I know you all are busy doing the happy dance that the pre-recorded-trash-talking-phone-calls will stop, and the obnoxiously large, highly glossy, libel filled fliers will stop pouring our of your mailbox, but don't forget to take a minute to GO VOTE!

If you don't vote, you lose your right to complain about:
Taxes
Schools
Roads
Public Services
The Police Department
The President (and all of his henchmen)
The weather
The middle east
The war
Car insurance
Health insurance
..and pretty much everything else that you guys like to complain about. Voting is easy, it's fast, and it's kinda fun. GO DO IT.


Are you still sitting there reading? WTF? GO VOTE!!!

A belated Happy Halloween!!!!

Getting psyched up for the big Trick-or-Treat


"Mom, this hat is ridiculously large, and everyone will laugh at me."


"GIVE ME CANDY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOW"


"Daddy gave me candy. HE loves me."


"Soooooo tiiiiiiired..must...fill....bucket..with....candy.."

NaNo!

November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, as it is (semi) affetionately called. Its a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

So, wait, the what now? To recap:

What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.

Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.

Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.

When: Sign-ups begin October 1, 2007. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight. Once your novel has been verified by our web-based team of robotic word counters, the partying begins.

Are you up for the challenge? For the record, at 1:23 on the second day, my word count is zero. but fear not, dearest blog readers, there will be output. Oh yes. There will be output.

And for those who are slightly more faint of heart, there is also NaBloPoMo National Blog Posting Month. Not quite as drastic, but we can't ALL live on the edge, now can we? The challenge of NaBloPoMo is to make a blog post every singe day in the month of November. And so, Mike, Lauren, Lindsay, Elisabeth, Oooooohhh that's right, I'm calling out names. Sign up, and blog. Write!

Watch out, kids, creative juices will be flowing EVERYWHERE!

'Tis the season

Of scumbag politicians and all that nonsense. So, in the spirit of the season, a thought -

The next time you hear a politician use the word "billion," casually,
think about whether or not you want the politician spending your tax
money.

A billion is a difficult number to comprehend, but one advertising
agency did a good job of putting that figure into perspective in one
of its releases.

a. A billion seconds ago it was 1959.
b. A billion minutes ago Jesus was alive.
c. A billion hours ago our ancestors were living in the Stone Age.
d. A billion days ago no-one walked on two feet on earth.
e. A billion dollars ago was only 8 hours and 20 minutes, at the rate
our government spends it.

Daaaaaaaddy....

I want a pony noooooooooooooooow

Betchya didn't know...

Two names you go by:
1. Saki
2. Babe

Two things you are wearing right now:
1. Black tanktop
2. Pink yoga pants

Two of your favorite things to do:
1. spend time with family & friends
2. garden

Two things you want very badly at the moment:
1. a nap
2. To win the lotto, pay off the house, cars, etc

Two favorite pets you have had/have
1. Guido
2. Rizzo

Two people who will fill this out
1. Lauren
2. Ambah

Things you ate today:
1. Rye toast
2. 3 pieces of gum

Two people you last talked to:
1. My mom :)
2. Evan

Two things you're doing tomorrow:
1. Getting a costume for my Happy Halloweeny girl :)
2. Playing with chalk outside

Two longest car rides:
1. Mobile, AL to Cliffside, NJ
2. Northfield, NJ to Boston, MA. It wasn't THAT long, but god it felt like it

Two favorite holidays:
1. Christmas Eve
2. My BIRTHDAY :)

Two favorite beverages:
1. Green tea
2. Hot chocolate

Now, here's what you're supposed to do ... and please do not spoil the fun. Copy this, delete my answers and type in your answers. Leave the whole thing in my comments so I feel loved and adored. Because I am loved and adored....right?

This guy is my new hero

The Mima

Jemma: I think God's trying to tell me something.

Saki: ?

Jemma: this morning walking outta 7-11 i almost get backed into by a Herr's potato chip truck. so close. In gym, i was bent down, and when i stood up, i got hit in the head with a football. THEN they're doing work on franklin so my bus driver dropped me off on davis and second...which really had nothing to do with my god tryna tell me something, it was just a major inconvenience.

Saki: God's tryin' to tell you to shop at WaWa.

Jemma: Do you know how packed it is in there?

Saki: Dude, don't mess with the word of God.

Tales from the MSNBCasey Vault

Once upon a time......

In a not so distant past, Luker bought a motorcycle.


He brought the motorcycle over, in hopes that he and The Hubbin' could hoist it up onto the back of his truck, as Luker is only one man, and can not drive both a motorcycle and truck simultaneously. The back of the truck was emptied, in preparation for the bike.


Not wanting to be hasty, Luker and the Hubbin' surveyed the situation, deciding upon the best way to lift it.


"How much does that weigh?" I asked Luker. "Eh. About 400lbs or so," he answered, pulling on his gloves. But it has a full tank of gas. So maybe a little more." I just nodded, watching the menfolk. Lauren and I stood beside each other, snickering here and there as the Great Motorcycle Hoist of 2006 attracted the neighbors, but was failing to get off the ground. Lauren, not being one to stand idle, finally came forward, and showed the boys how it was done.


Victory, AT LAST!

And what would Tuesday be without a good Dubya joke?

The US Postal Service has issued a recall of a stamp they created with a
picture of President George W. Bush to honor his achievements while serving
as the president of our nation. The problem was discovered when claims had
been made that the stamp was not sticking to envelopes, and that mail which
had been sent using the "Bush" postage was not being delivered. President
Bush demanded a full investigation into the allegations. A special Postal
Service Investigation team was formed and after several months and many
dollars spent, made the following findings:

*The stamp was manufactured properly.
*There was nothing wrong with the adhesive.
*People were just spitting on the wrong side