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Role Play

    How did you meet your spouse? College? Blind-Date? The Internet? Can you imagine meeting the father of your one-day children while wearing a platinum Orphan-Annie wig? When you look like me? (see Jewess in banner above) When you’re awkwardly and frenetically tap-dancing your way through Anything Goes? Picture a younger, less-talented Carol Channing, rocketing off the Bernini’ Brothers’ stage in A Thoroughly Modern Millie. Never seen it? Never wanted to? Same with Husband. Razzzberrrries. Oh, I played it cool. Hey look at me all toy-poodle in a human dog show! Like my self-confidence? Oh, I… Read More »Role Play

    A Rant From Idiot Boy

      and no, “Idiot Boy” is not a new cruel blog pseudonym for one of my children…I started following IB after reading his hilarious post about his testosterone-fueled journey driving to work through a rare Seattle “snow storm” (an actual snow storm as experienced in Wisconsin, needs no quotes ;). A wonderfully descriptive writer, IB mixes humor and thought-provoking grit. He embraces his dark side. He makes you think. Read his post below, and then go over to his place and read my “Little Miss Perfect” Hope you enjoy our blog swap. Perfect is as Perfect… Read More »A Rant From Idiot Boy

      Conversations With My Sons

        I. Five-Year-Old: My dance is very important to me, and I need to practice every day. Me: [Breathe. Do NOT smile. Act casual. Keep at bay the preschooler shuffling-off-to-Buffalo in mini spats excitedly distracting my imagination] Really. [stay cool] Can I watch you dance? Five-Year-Old: Maybe later. Maybe after I eat breakfast. [later] Me: Umm. Can I see you dance now? I mean. Don’t you need to practice? Five-Year-Old: Well. I need the computer. It’s on the Transformer’s Website. Oh cruel, cruel world… II. Pediatrician: Do you brush you teeth twice a day?Five Year Old:… Read More »Conversations With My Sons

        Inside The Blogger’s Studio

          (Due to a conflict in both Mr. Lipton and Mr. Ferrell’s schedule, I will play the role of James Lipton. Amy from Bitchin’ Wives Club, does in fact play Amy, and has answered the interview questions accordingly) James Lipton: Mimimimi-maymaymaymay-momomomo-many mumbling mice were making midnight music in the moonlight, migh-ty-nice. Camera Man: aummm, Mr. Lipton? We’re rolling. JL: MMMMGood evening, Bloggers. Bloggeurs. Blogenstonians. [Long. Silent. Pause] Writer. [pause] Photographer [pause]. Maman de trois [wink, self-satisfied grin]. Karaoke Diva. Wife. Rapturous Bee-you-tee. As Patrick Swayze once wrote: She’s like the wind through my tree. And how.… Read More »Inside The Blogger’s Studio

          You Down With OPP?

            You down with OPP? Yeah, you know me! At least if its Other People’s Property of the thrift store variety (ahem). Staying-at-home professionally re-introduced me to the absolute joy of thrift stores. Not only do I save money and keep awesome garments out of landfills, I love the adventure. Plus, its retail therapy without the hangover. Did I set out to find a genuine rabbit fur-and-leather bomber jacket in size 3T last month? Why, no dear friends, I did not. Did it make my rock-star girlfriend in NYC cry real tears of fashion joy? Why,… Read More »You Down With OPP?

            I blame you, Benji: The Hunted!

              In fairness, the vacation traumatization of Two-Year-Old began with a commercial on Nickelodeon. Apparently the product is some candy-bar, but ten seconds of Blue-Man-Groupesque human heads drowning in technicolor mucus scared the Beyonce out of Two-Year-Old (and me for that matter, and yes, I should really write a letter) The clinging began. Well, leeching might depict the behavior more accurately. Two-Year-Old refused to let go of my body for days. Remember that construction paper silhouette your grade school teacher traced of you? I have one etched in tan-lines on my torso of Two-year-old (SPF 27… Read More »I blame you, Benji: The Hunted!

              Crib-Vaulter Title Reinstated

                Two-Year-Old, new champion portable crib-vaulter, happily repossessed his title today, after defamatory sugar-doping accusations at the Ana Maria Island tournament last week. Sources claimed to witness Two-Year-Old grossly abusing treats during his daily beach outings, casting doubt and prompting the investigation into his nightly record-setting Pack-N-Play catapults. Ann defended Two-Year-Old’s sugar intake as “vacation-appropriate,” leaving skeptics highly unsatisfied. Two-Year-old vindicated himself upon returning home, continuing his nightly vaults and reaching new heights using a standard wooden crib. He proudly reclaimed rights to his championship vaulting title, and is currently mastering his nightly “MAMA’s BED dash.”… Read More »Crib-Vaulter Title Reinstated

                Henry The Fur Bastard, Rest In Peace

                  Sweet Fuzzy GreyNow Fades Away Our Fancy Feast panaceaNo match for feline bulimia The tears wellDespite all the hell Of constant messesAnd late night stresses While vomit and peeNo more shall haunt me I lament my inabilityTo love you sufficiently But love you I didFrom afar, as you hid And occasionally atop my headWhen you slept in our bed Dexter your mateNow faithfully waits…

                  Who Are The People In Your Airplane Row?

                    Dang it! I don’t play guitar, so could I trouble you all to hum “Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood” from Sesame Street? OH Who are the people in your airplane row? In your airplane row? In your airplane ro-ow. Who are the people in your airplane row? They’re the people that you meet, when your sittin‘ in your seat, they’re the people that you meet, OyVey! Kirk : JANE! Jane! JANE, My random relative I didn’t expect to see on this flight! Now, Jane, I may over-share, and overuse your first name (and… Read More »Who Are The People In Your Airplane Row?

                    Finally…A Marinka Post You Probably Missed

                      And…now…the grand finale of my bloggy bash . Marinka of Motherhood in NYC is insanely popular because she is insanely funny. She mystifies me with her ability to articulate something I know in my soul, yet wasn’t ever really aware of. For example: Dreamy Here’s the thing: Unless you’re Martin Luther King, Jr., no one cares about your dream. And more than being apathetic, they actively hope and pray that you don’t tell them about your dream. It’s not that they don’t love you (although keep telling them your dreams and watch this factor come… Read More »Finally…A Marinka Post You Probably Missed