when ugly attacks

today i'm going to share with you a story about one of the more frustrating situations i've experienced as a parent. if you know anything about how i write, i think you'll know not to expect any 'we went here, my baby cried about this, i changed a poopie diaper in the middle of a crowded store and it was so embarrassing but her cuteness made up for it' kind of crap.

it all began with the fuss's first birthday party last weekend. after receiving mostly really great mix and match clothing pieces for her, i called my cousin laura to ask what the rule was on returning the ugly stuff. i felt a familiar twinge of jewish guilt that my nana has instilled deep within my being rise up and bully me into a corner, smacking me in the face with a blunt 'how dare you! those clothes were picked out lovingly as gifts for your kid from her relatives who adore her. you need to get over yourself and be happy that she's as fortunate as she is to have those things.'

but then i remembered that i can exchange just about anything nowadays and that really isn't so bad. no one has to be the wiser. a few encouraging words from laura, who explains that it's better to get something you like than to have your kid look like a dumpster diver, and i was off to the mall, gift receipts in hand.

what i wasn't prepared for was being outsmarted by the reigning queen of ugliness.


this hideous creation has magical powers the likes of which i've never seen before and hope to never experience again for the rest of my life.

in the children's department at macy's, surrounded by endless aisles of pink and lace, i pulled the dress out and laid it on the customer service counter hoping for a quick and easy exchange. instead, the air around us turned black and foul. mysterious clouds formed overhead. spiders and worms came out of no where and began to make their way towards the evil dress-queen. i pressed my child's bear-head blankie into her hands and guarded her, trembling.

before my mouth could even start to warn the helpless cashier, snakes arose from the hypnotic leopard print and made an unearthly screeching. the cashier was instantly turned to stone, petrified and completely devoid of any remnant of human behavior. sounds emanated from within her rock-hard facade, 'we. cannot. take. this. dress. back.'

the cashier was trapped, held fast by the grips of the dress's evil powers. to save her i had to wrestle the monstrosity back into the gift box from whence it came. i closed the cardboard lid and broke the spell. the cashier awoke, free from the devilish hold, and gave me a blank stare as if the whole encounter had never happened.

i sullenly took the gift box back, knowing i'd never be rid of its terrible contents.

my feet were heavy as i walked away, stealing glances at the cute, normal looking dresses on the racks. they seemed to feel my pain, the various sleeves and price tags rustling with sympathy as i passed.

perhaps i should get used to losing. i am a parent, after all, and things can't always go the way i want them to anymore. but that doesn't mean my kid is going to wear the medusa dress. no, the best place for that mess is the garbage, so that no other child can be subject to the bad taste of a loving relative.

the time has come and its name is giveaway

the results are in! i had an adorable assistant help me draw the names for my giveaway winners today.


and kristine helped too by baking these amazing cupcakes for my impending birthday this saturday.


maybe that didn't have much to do with drawing names but yes it does say 'happy 30th dirt!'. she can work wonders with some icing and pink cake.

little miss managed to pull three names out of the bowl before she started to eat the small pieces of paper, which i consider a huge success. paper can be so irresistible for a nearly one year old who's perpetually teething.

and now, the winners!!!!

the lovely sally sal of you. me. no adult supervision... is the winner of the handmade scarf!!


sally, i know you'll use it to accessorize your good looks and great charm like only you can.

next, the winner of the mystery gift is none other than vic at what were you thinking? !!


i'm sorry to disappoint, but i still can't show you what the mystery is yet. i think you might just have to wait until vic gets it and posts about how much she loves it or how lame it is. although i can give you a hint. the idea came to me after i wrote this post.

and finally, the winner for the last item, the pet treats, is cal of cal's canadian cave of coolness! now, i must say that i was surprised that the homemade goodies for our four-legged friends weren't a bigger hit. perhaps that was for the better. you see, when i checked the jar of cat treats i saw this:


oh yes, moldy, fuzzy, rotten cat treats. yum.

since i had set aside some treats for kristine and her obnoxious cats anyway, and because she also requested a poisonous flavor, i gave her the extras instead of throwing them out. and today when her cat fluffy shit almost scratched little miss, i threatened to force feed them to the vicious feline.

but not to stiff cal on his prize, i have arranged to wash out the treat jar and send it to him with some nice, store-bought kittie snacks.

that's probably going to be the last time i bake for a while.

as it turned out, not one person wanted the doggie treats. so i'm going to keep them to give to monster. and also so i don't risk peta hitting me with attempted pet murder charges.

i hope you all enjoyed my blogoversary/birthday/100th post celebration! it was, after all, inspired by you, dear readers. the fun shall continue next week with my star studded line-up of guest bloggers. i'll be back monday the 28th, don't miss me too much!!

sharing is caring, and i care about you (in that non-threatening, semi-anonymous internet way)

it has arrived, today marks the beginning of a celebration.

as we now find ourselves in the month of september, nine months after the holidays, there are many glorious events about to take place worthy of at least an obligatory nod on these here pages. it's not only my birthday season, but this month will also mark my six month blogoversary as well as my 100th post.

now, i usually don't make a big deal about my own birthday, but this year i'm turning thirty, and i think that's reason enough to party. oh, yeah, and this will also be the first year for family birthday week. that's right, myself, the fuss, and b all have our birthdays in the same week at the end of september. and there's also the big get-together for my nana's eightieth birthday. yes, the same nana responsible for my header pic.

while us yankee/mets loving folk will descend upon the land of the green monster to visit the fam in the cape cod area, there may be some things going on here at my pearl hiding spot.

i still can't believe i haven't quit blogging yet. there have been so many times that i questioned my ability to tell an entertaining story, or doubted that i would ever reach an audience that understood my point of view, yet i still kept going. and mostly to show my appreciation for that momentum from you dear readers, i want to do a little something special.

and also because i never win any bloggy contests so it feels a lot better to give things away than to be sad about being a loser.

so you guessed it, there's a giveaway coming up here soon! unfortunately i don't have the pics ready yet to get you really, officially amped up for it. so this is more of a teaser post about a giveaway than the real thing. but trust me, it will not be crap from my closet or chewed up dog toys, despite the fact that monster's headless blue dino cracks me the fuck up and i can't see how anyone else wouldn't laugh at it:


oh, and i'm not done yet kiddies. i'm working on arranging my all-star lineup of guest bloggers to thrill you with amazingly hilarious and well crafted masterpieces while i'm off getting drunk. i have no idea what they intend to write about, but i do know that they are probably going to be at the very least slightly more fun than me talking to inanimate objects or inventing different personas to talk shit to.

if that isn't enough to entertain you, then you're shit out of luck, because that's the best i could come up with for my fantastic birthday/blogoversary/100th post extravaganza. and if you are intrigued, or even shivering with anticipation about what exactly my fabulous 'thank you for reading my words' gifty gifts are going to be, then i can tell you to relax. take a deep breath. details will be coming soon, with pics to prove i'm not entirely full of it.

and the winner is... (there's nothing to win, but nothing to lose either)

i was watching this tv show the other day about a loser. this man is broke, divorced, and lives in a tent in his own backyard. so naturally he attends a seminar on how to employ his natural talents in a profitable way. except that the only innate 'winning tool' this guy could come up with about himself was the fact that he's hung.

right. because the only direction this show can go is for him to become a hooker.

so it got me thinking about what my winning tool was and how i could put it to work for me, without involving prostitution in any way.

the first thing that came to mind is that i'm a decent cook. but then i realized that a million other people can also do that as well. not to mention that i'm lacking both the massive start-up capital and spare hundred hours or so a week needed to ensure that your culinary skills will ultimately become profitable.

i can also knit pretty well. but again, a trillion other people can do that. and i'm way too lazy to maintain an etsy account. besides, i'm also learning that yes, you can have too many throw blankets. and then, maybe i can't knit so well because i can only make things that are square or rectangular. this is what happened when i tried to make a hat for the fuss:



it was a little big.

so what the fuck else am i good at? (besides throwing unnecessary sweary words into sentences)

my moment of clarity has arrived.

i am an awesome negotiator. or i guess you could say i make good bribes. but i like negotiator better, it just sounds slightly more badass.

this is a skill i've had to hone over the years. it wasn't always so sublimely refined as it is today. when i was in college, the power of my skills used to even blow my own mind. like, for example, when i would go out to the bar with a fiver in my pocket and come home wasted and with about thirteen bucks stuffed into my pack of marlboro reds.

there was also the time that my piece of shit nissan sentra exploded on a major interstate, at 11:00 at night, on my birthday, in those dark days before cell phones. somehow i managed to convince the state trooper, who found me crying in a ball fifty feet from my smoldering vehicle, to drive me the forty plus miles to my house instead of following his orders to drop me at the place where they were going to tow my car to. he even let me use the radar thing to clock speeders. it looked like a tv remote from the eighties.

as i matured, so did my ability to reign in my power.

just this morning i successfully convinced the fuss that playing with the maraca i made out of plastic cups, hot pink duct tape, and quinoa is way more entertaining than chewing the nest of wires underneath the desk.



as anyone who's ever had the pleasure of a teething nine-month-old's company can tell you, this is not an easy thing to accomplish.

and if you wanted even more evidence of my winning tool at work, i will now predict that i will become, literally, a winning tool over at yo mama's blog. i'm pretty sure i can convince miss yvonne to send me a care package of insult gum, a handmade card, and maybe some cookies by spreading linky love for all you out there in blogland. i know you want to be a winner too, and you just may be if you head over and check out her contest.

whew. all this talking about myself has tired me out. what about you, dear reader, what's your winning tool*? i ask in part because i care about you and want to get to know you a little better, but also because i want to get some ideas for different ways i can exploit things to make bags of money. alright then, let's hear it.



*please don't creep me out by being perverted. i may be using a dirty pun, but i'm hoping for clean answers.

there's no segue good enough for this mess

i'm back blog, did you miss me?! whatever, not like i have anything earth shattering to talk about, just a few random stories of weirdness. but before i get started, i have to send a huge thanks to kristine for hooking me up with a funny and nostalgic post and reminding me that my shoulders used to be real bony. and also a hello and thanks for stopping by(!) to the new readers that she may have lured over here with promises of who knows what.

after my much needed mini vaca to cape cod, i returned home to jump right back into my routine of work and more work. saturday night i was catering a wedding for about 300 people. the decor looked strikingly similar to the wedding scene in beetleguese, but the blood red calla lilies and black lamps on the tables wasn't the weird part. what struck me as being a little over the top, not to mention an unnecessary mixing of genres, was the troupe of midgets dressed up as oompa loompas.

those little guys were lingering in the kitchen, watching us plate up 300 pain-in-the-ass tiny little plates of a dessert sampler, in full costume. when i first saw them i almost giggled and clapped, but then i realized just how out of place they were. they didn't talk much. in fact, they all looked extremely bored and put out. maybe that was their defense against the question we were all dying to ask, 'what exactly are you guys going to be doing here?'

i never found out. by the time my boss said 'aqui, chula, take some chickens for your husband' their act had yet to start.

maybe that's for the better anyway, those fuckers always scared the shit out of me in the movie.



as i related the story of my night to b, he reminded me about another uncomfortable food-related situation. it must have been last summer, because i was in that 'i'm so pregnant my baby might come out if i fart too loudly' condition, and also because we were at the hospital for the baby classes. being unable to waddle too far, we ate lunch at the hospital cafeteria. b ordered two hot dogs, thinking that that was a reasonable request.

what he got looked like this:



i know that's a piss poor job of photoshopping two hot dogs into one bun, but it really was the best i could find. no, what b got was actually worse. it was two sorry looking naked dogs nestled into one bun, but they gave him two. so on his plate were two buns and four dogs. the chick behind the counter looked at him like he had three heads when he asked for two more buns.

the real humor was the fact that he ate the weird dogs out of desperate hunger.

he felt so dirty afterwards, like as if someone had made him watch a bad porn or something else comparably naughty.

he made me promise not to tell anyone that he really ate the weird dogs.

sorry b.

even more bizarre than the double dog incident was the first time i met bill murray.



bill is a good friend of the restaurateur i used to work for. he was in and out of the different kitchens of the restaurants my former boss owned, and he even showed up to our summer picnic one year and played on our softball team.

as you can imagine, he's a total wacko in person. not only does he look about thirty years older than he really is, but he dresses in those old polyester blazers and shirts that look like the stereotypical garb an old, bumbling geezer would wear. i don't know if it's a deliberate effort or not, but it only adds to his oddball persona that he's developed over the years.

so the first time i met him i was working at my station, getting ready for dinner service. i was so intent on chopping scallions or whatever the fuck it was that i didn't even see him until he was about four inches from my face on the other side of the pass line (the shelf where you put plates for pick up). my boss introduced me to him and he mumbled something indiscernible and stuck two fingers at me through the pass, at about chin height.

two fingers for me to shake in some weird alternate version of a handshake.

i didn't even want to touch him, i almost yelled out loud 'what the fuck?!'

but i saw my boss nod subtly at the fingers and i just took a deep breath and did it. i shook his fingers and said some 'nice to meet you' crap, all the while wondering if this was something he did with everyone, or did he think that i couldn't handle exposure to all five digits on his right hand.

not that i dislike the man, but come on. two fingers?!

i still feel like scowling and shifting my weight uncomfortably when i think about it.

and now, some cuteness for a little balance:



little miss was way too annoyed about not being able to crawl after the dead jellyfish washed up on the beach to co-operate for a nice photo shoot. but these two in their tankinis was worth me stepping on a little dirty jelly and slimey seaweed.


of course, getting trapped by a rapidly rising tide with a stroller laden like a packing mule might have been a little too much. thanks miss, for at least not protesting to being carted over an acre of beach rocks while mommy scrambled for saftey.

i forget what sunshine looks like

tomorrow i will be on my way to the beach. except that i probably won't spend much time at the beach with all this never ending rain and unsummery cold air.

little miss and i are road-tripping it to visit some fam out by cape cod. i may yet still parade her around in her new pink and white polka dot tankini, because i don't foresee another beach trip before she outgrows that piece. and also because my cousin bought her daughter the same one so of course we've been talking about them playing together in matching tankinis for about two months now.

suck it up girlies, parents are allowed to make you uncomfortable for their own entertainment, that's what you're here for. and besides, playing in the rain is almost like swimming in the ocean, right? close enough.

oh, and let's not forget about the concert i will subject my kid to on the three plus hour drive. i never could carry a tune, but i sure can have fun car singing. at least she'll sleep through half of it, and when she is awake for my singing, she can't talk yet so i don't have to worry about any verbal objections.

my set list might include some of the following, in no particular order:

- the entire we are scientists album, starting with this one



- weezer, circa the blue album. i can never have too much of a good thing.

- anything by ryan adams.

- the shout out louds, playing this one no less than four times




of course once we get to the lovely land of the green monster, i will promptly turn off the music, roll down my windows (no matter what the weather) and blast the yankees game on the radio. unless they're losing, then i'll just mutter about it to myself.

and that's basically all i need for a good road trip. luckily i have an ipod full of 90s rock so i'm sure i'll find plenty of soundgarden, smashing pumpkins, and toadies thrown into my lineup as well.

as for little miss, how could she not enjoy that? actually, the way i see it, i'm doing her a favor by not playing boring classical or dreadfully repetitive children's music in the car. i think she's only pretending to like 'i've been working on the railroad' anyway.

one thing i know little miss does love, is kristine and her masterful paint skills (and also my segue skills), so it only felt natural that she should guest blog here at the pearl hiding spot while i'm away. i personally think k is hilarious, and i think most of you already read her blog, but for those of you who don't, you should. go here. but also, come back here, please.

i can't vouch for content, but i'm pretty sure there will be words and there may or may not be a picture posted in my absence sometime this week.

i shall return, hopefully with some interestingness this weekend, perhaps with an update on hook-up chef. happy first week of summer y'all!!

no gun show today folks

i used to get embarrassed easily, now i just get annoyed and cry.

this morning i had a meltdown in my car. i sat there, annoyed at myself for getting all worked up again. i knew that if i bothered b at work i'd hear 'why can't you pretend you're linda hamilton and you're going to kick some machine ass?! you need to be a little tougher sometimes and not so high-strung.'


instead i called the toyota dealership and cried to the service manager. and now i've come full circle because i'm extremely embarrassed about it.

i don't know about where anyone else lives, but here in the good ol' hudson valley we've had about five straight days of rain. normally, i find the rain to be refreshing, even comforting, as the sound of water drumming the leaves outside my window will often lull me to sleep.

rain takes a turn for the meaner side of irony, however, when your overpriced, gas-guzzling suv has a busted sunroof.

for the past three days i have been battling mother nature to spare the interior of my spacious vehicle. at three am last night i was convinced that my plastic wrap + garbage bag + towel contraption was the most brilliant idea i'd ever had.

and then i saw things in the light (greyness) of day.

i used to love that sunroof. its wide expanse provided me with a fresh, invigorating breeze after spending twelve hours working in a hot kitchen with nothing more than a pair of ceiling vents circulating the recycled air. there was always the issue of the bitchin' rectangle of arm-tan i'd have to work hard to avoid, constantly remembering to wear tank tops for a drive longer than 15 minutes, but aside from that no major complaints.

so now karma is having her fun with me. not only did my ass get sopping wet (through a towel) on the drive to the dealership, but i've been given a death-trap to drive for a week while they exorcise the demons controlling the sunroof positioning. the flashy yaris sport is eerily similar to the smartshitcar that i have bemoaned in the past.

when i installed the infant car seat, i noticed it was wiggling to and fro as if it were on roller skates and the backseat were a slick, polished surface instead of pleathery upholstery. luckily, little miss didn't seem to mind in the least. babies can be so accommodating sometimes.

returning home to find no viable parking and having to lug a twenty pound infant and all of her crap up an enormous hill to my front door was the icing on my day. i gave in and called b, if only to have him keep me from crying again.

he promptly told me that if i wanted a handicapped parking spot right in front of our door he'd be happy to take the yaris and run over my legs, hopefully rendering me a parapalegic and so in need of special treatment. b's always been good at giving me a little perspective on things.

on the plus side, i plan on falling asleep to the sound of the rain tonight.

friday fiver

here's a fiver for you. things i can say to my awesome kid:

1. yes honey, mommy can eat brownies for breakfast because i was so good at not cleaning
(i also just told miss yvonne this one over at her awesome super special place yo mama's blog, the best place on the internet for wolverine claw action.)

2. no, monster's butthole is not where our fingers go

3. stop looking so cute when the asshole neighbor walks by, the last thing mommy wants to do is be fake nice any more than she has to

4. yay for blasting some muse instead of napping! (loudloudloud!!)



5. when i get old i'm so going to shit my pants and smile at you and clap while you wipe my ass



finis.

my work is never done

this weekend i actually worked two shifts. that's a huge step for me, my usual being about one shift every two weeks. i have to say, it definitely is hard work, but sometimes a girl just needs to get out of the house and in front of a hot oven or deep fryer to really appreciate all that life has to offer.

the burning pain in my legs that i've been experiencing since yesterday morning leads me to believe that i've actually been using some muscles, to walk around and stuff, which can never be a bad thing. i've also begun to collect more of the horizontal burn lines on the middle of the inner forearm from hot sheet pans. these lines are almost like the rings of a tree trunk, the amount you have indicates the length of time you've been working. up until this weekend, i only had two.

working for an enormous catering company when i'm not pregnant also means that my appetite will return to that of a normal cook, i.e., nonexistent. spending ten-twelve hours a day handling food, even if it's the most gourmet shit i've ever seen, makes me want to ingest nothing more than an ice cold sam adams summer ale. which, of course, the bartenders are way too stingy with so i have to settle for a few gallons of coffee. so hopefully i'll shed the last 25 pounds of baby weight in no time with my new diet of caffeine and air.

another fun thing about working more is that i get to come home and see what random goings-on b has managed to capture on camera. i don't know about all of you, but this weekend we had another one of those obnoxiously loud thunderstorms that should have lasted only an hour but stuck around for about two days. oh and just a warning for future reference, flip flops plus flooding rains is not a safe combination. right, so i was trying to introduce this lovely photographic evidence of monster's new favorite hiding spot during a thunderstorm. it used to be here, but it seems that sometimes a dog just needs a little more security, and nothing says 'you're safe here buddy' like a bathtub.

(i don't know how to make that writing not blurry so you're just going to have to deal with it)

on that note, i before i go scrub the shit out of my tub, i really would like some input on a question i had not too long ago. i never really got a second opinion about this, and i'm still very curious. if a bathroom cleaner is so strong that it makes me headachy, and the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat burn for about five hours after using it, does that mean that i shouldn't give my baby a bath in a tub that i just cleaned with that cleaner, or does it just work really, really well?

i'm going to use it anyway, i guess i just wanted someone to tell me that it's ok and that little miss won't develop a skin condition from chemical exposure.

try, try again

i'm going to try really hard here to not look like i'm trying really hard to not sound like a mommy blogger. the point is this, yes i have a kid and yes i spend most days with her as opposed to adult company, but as much as i am immersed in kiddie culture at home i do like to think that i have other things to talk about.

right, so that's when i re-read some of the things i've written and upon realizing that they're about my kid's toys or poop or cute faces, or about my dog's toys or poop because he may as well be a mentally challenged toddler (is that pc?), i got annoyed with myself.

but then the other day i was reading sally's blog and she had some pictures of these fabulous 'alternative lifestyle' barbies. i don't know why but transgender barbie really struck a chord with me (NOT sarcasm, i swear!), heshe looked so pure and happy expressing hisher true self. i was torn between thinking that i must procure one immediately for little miss, and also that i must keep it for myself and let her play with something a little more baby speed and less adult humor-ish. ah well, she's a smart gal, i'm sure she'll let me know which type of barbie (or any other doll, not necessarily that doll) she prefers.

i, one the other hand, have never owned a barbie. not one. ever. i was way more into my little ponies. their flowing manes and tails were so fun to comb, and they all had cute pictures of stuff on their butts. my brother had an endless stash of he-man figurines that he let me play with to ride the ponies, as long as i lent him my ponies to be the cavalry in a massive battle sequence taking place on the stairwell.

so now as i'm sitting here remembering that i never had a barbie, i also remember the smell of the my little pony. each was the same. it was that powdery, rubbery, faintly floral smell that was unique to plastic horse hair and bodies. do they even still make those things? because if they do and someone were to open a brand new one within about 20 feet of my nose, i'd be a little kid again, giving my cousin a funny look when she pulled out a big box of nudie barbies suggesting we dress them for a party.

i definately did work with a guy once who had a really, really long ponytail that actually smelled JUST like my little pony. if he weren't such an asshole i would have asked about his shampoo and explained my dear affection for the plastic horse hair smell. but alas, it wasn't meant to be.

maybe i'll buy some for the fuss just so i can sniff them first before she proceeds to chew them and get them all slimey and gross. she won't mind, cheery little thing, she's always happy to let me play with her toys.

i need to get out more. help...

who, me?

i'm really awkward in person. if you met me, spent half a day with me, and then had a minute to reflect, you'd think i was in need of some chemically induced stability.

i often make jokes when others are serious, and become intensely focused when others are lighthearted. sometimes it takes days for me to even realize the emotional discrepancy, but i do eventually see it. i've never been good at reading people, so i'm usually left playing catch-up.

i've come to accept this, but that doesn't mean that it never bothers me occasionally.

recently, at work, i had an experience where someone said to another co-worker 'i'm scared of her, she NEVER smiles' referring to me, in that jokey-i'm-kinda-serious way. the other co-worker replied 'who, HER? she's always laughing, what are you talking about?'

since both of these people are people that i would consider friendly acquaintances, i was a little surprised at the opposite opinions. now, i've been known to say that i could care less what people think of me and that i just 'do my own thing.' but we all know that everybody cares. even if it's just a little bit, only once every few weeks or so, there comes a time when you do actually care.

today is that day for me. so instead of talking about how nice and sunny it is outside, or how cute monster looks curled up into a ball with his tail around his nose, i'll just leave you with one last tidbit from my sometimes irrational logic:

sometimes i feel the more friends i have the more lonely i am. i'll take my three or four good ones, hold them close, and feel comfortable knowing that i don't have to pretend to make sense to them.

i guess that's not all that irrational, maybe i'm too morose for witticisms today.



ps. i can't stop laughing at the fact that i haven't changed the batteries on one of fuss's singy toys and every five minutes or so i now hear 'if you're happy and you know it clap your hands' in that drawn out, demonic, warble voice.

that's it, i can't take anymore!

little miss pulled out her cuteness reserves for this pic as my mother's day present.

sneaky little thing. i thought i had seen all of her tricks and she comes up with this. where does she keep all that cuteness in that tiny body? i don't think i'll ever know.

karma IS a bitch

alright, here it is. this is my 'i need some balance post'. talking shit about my creepy neighbors, no matter how much they might deserve it, has left a nasty taste in my mouth. so i'm back to send a little positive energy out and feel a little more at ease.

fuss and i had a nice afternoon out visiting friends and i'd like to share some randoms that made me smile:

1. i have officially renewed my crush on the shuffle feature on my ipod.

2. little miss is the best kid ever for not letting my blasting the shit out of whatever song shuffle picked for me stop her from having a little car nap.

3. i love that the trees have actual leaves on them again.

4. i want to write a cookbook on how to incorporate herbs into everyday cooking because i love herbs and i think they make everything taste better (NOT referring to that other herb, but i do have an amazing rosemary hot nuts recipe if anyone's interested).

5. i love how my gay guy friends always say how much they can't stand kids and then shower the fuss with the sweetest affection every time they see her.


ok, i feel a little better now. not to be all spiritual or whatever, but i've always felt that you get what you give, and that applies to your mindset as well as your actions. hope you all enjoy the rest of your day as much as i will mine.

this is for you, punk!

in our house, punk is a term of endearment. just like the phrase 'do you need a beating?' which translates to 'stop being so cute or i'll have to beat you up'. angry fist shaking is never, EVER angry, it's always about 'how can you be SO CUTE?! i don't understand!!'

with that setting the tone, today is the two year anniversary of b and i getting married (even though it wasn't 100% legal the first time, we like to use this date because it's nicer) so i thought i'd share some of the highlights of our years together. i know i've alluded to that awesome pick-up line that started it all, and i think it's only fitting to begin there.

i'm 24, bartending at a local sports bar, annoyed that i have to make small talk to earn money, although flaunting my enormous tatas helped to reduce the amount of necessary small talk with certain customers. i've heard every line you could ever imagine, and was pretty proficient at the old 'fake smile, that's so funny! i'm rolling my eyes on the inside' move. and then b came in one night, gave me a few smiles for about an hour, and by the time he was sufficiently wasted, he blew my mind with 'hey, so, um, what do think about the property taxes over in sullivan county?'

this was pretty earth shattering because he was absolutely serious. he actually wanted to have a conversation. it was an instant connection, i answered him and then asked how long it took him to come up with a gem like that (which i already knew the answer to because it was on the front cover of the local paper sitting on the bar right next to him). we talked the whole rest of the night, and before he left he drew two stick figures on a scrap of paper, one with a word bubble that had his phone number in it, and gave it to me saying 'we should talk some more.'

i think it was maybe about ten days later, after spending every spare minute with him, that i knew i wanted to talk to him for the rest of my life. without getting all sappy, as i can easily do, i will say that we both feel lucky to have found someone we each love a little bit more every day.

we enjoyed ourselves, we went out partying a lot, and we made some wonderful friends.

we dressed up in costumes.



(b just looked over my shoulder and proclaimed, 'you're lucky it's our anniversary because there's no other way i would let you put that mess online.')

it wasn't long before we got an apartment together and i convinced b that we needed a dog. at first he wasn't so sure. but we went anyway and picked up our little monster at a shelter, putting him in a cardboard box in the back of my car. when he took a massive dump in the box, stepped all in the dump, and then put his shit paws all over b's shoulder, we knew we made the right choice.



then not long after monster showed up, we looked at each other one morning and decided to get married. a few months later we were in antigua, just us. no friends or family, it was perfect. we've never been the most romantic people, and this just felt so right to both of us.



i think it may have been the second that our plane landed back in new york that i became obsessed with having a baby. b was too, he was much more easily persuaded than with the whole 'let's get a dog' issue, as if he only had to fake putting up a fight this time because he thought that's how it was supposed to happen.



i'm so hardcore that i walked myself into the operating room for my c-section. no wheelchairs or gurneys here, thank you very much.



allow me to introduce little miss, also known as 'the fuss'.



she's been known to smile sometimes.

and here we are today, just two people being secretly mushy and in love on the inside, bitter and sarcastic on the outside just so that people don't think we're freaks because who could ever really be that happy, right?

happy anniversary babysnakes!!

*note: for those of you who may not already know, this is my b. that means don't get any ideas ladies, i once punched a chick in the throat... but do feel free to check it out and comment on how hilarious he is.

name games, part two

so here's my secret (which isn't really a secret because i'll tell anyone who'll listen): i want to have another baby, like right now. little miss is seven months old, and i always knew i wanted to pop out the kiddies really closely together for several reasons. not the least of which being that i can finally get the boob job i've always wanted when my body is done incubating my offspring, and by boob job i mean reduction. i want those bad boys downsized, lifted, and tightened so that no matter what i'm doing they always stay in the same place, and also so that i can wear a regular shirt/bathing suit/dress without looking like a porn star/hooker on her way to work.

right, so b's all for this plan (and what husband wouldn't be) except for one thing, we still live in a one bedroom apartment. yes, me, b, little miss, and monster all in one little tiny apartment. adding a new fetus to the mix might make b's head explode. and since i'm not ready to be a single mother i have to just give it some time. although i make it a point to talk to b about babies at least once a day so he doesn't think it was all a phase and i got over it.

moving along, since i can't really talk about baby name stories with b unless i'm currently knocked up, i talk with my cousin who happens to be equally as babybrained as i am. since i'm so intrigued by the fine line between an unusual name and a ridiculous name, i thought i'd share some of the more, um, unique ones we've heard. not to be a hypocrite, because i know i've said before that it's really hard to judge parents for what they name their kids, but sometimes i think that pointing out some of these examples is really just a motivator to help keep myself in check. but i want to say, in all fairness, that i sincerely do feel bad for these kids, and some of the parents.

1. this one came to me courtesy of my mother, a first grade teacher. it's the story of a young, immigrant couple who had a baby girl. the hospital promptly labeled the plastic crib with a pink card that said 'female.' the naive parents thought that in america, the hospitals name your baby for you. so female (pronounced fe-Mal-ay) became the child's legal name.

2. then there's the poor kid who's mom has an awful sense of humor. his real name is something like benjamin mark but she's only taught him that his name is 'beema.' yes, beema, as in short for beemer, as in BMW. so apparently the kid is five years old and doesn't know his real name, and mom insists on using beema. in my opinion, she should have just named him that from the jump and it might not be so bad if there weren't an ordinary name to fall back on.

3. oh yes, my list would not be complete without little 'trezir', as in 'mom doesn't know how/doesn't care how to spell treasure correctly.' trezir seems to be the only one in his (yes, HIS) family who lost the name game, he has two older sisters, nicole and annette.

with all that fresh in my mind, i asked my cousin what she thought about the name barnaby, not barny, just barnaby, for a boy. sure it's not the most common, but it's not like a total joke either, right? i guess i have plenty of time before i really have to go there. my point is that i hope my attraction to different sounding names isn't going to be scarring my kids forever and ever. or at least that they end up in a school where only the adults talk about their weird names and that the other kids don't beat them up because they all have weird names too.

to pop or not to pop

b and i were recently musing about how annoying the pop performers of today are. and we know all about them of course because we are thirty and still occasionally will tune in for an ep of mtv's real world/road rules challenge. i mean, come on, these people are so trashtastic and narcissistic that it makes for great trainwreck tv. needless to say, the commercials for the new hannah montana movie/soundtrack/concert and other such acts that air during these programs have been subjected to our cries of 'does anyone listen to good music anymore?'

then we realized that they were perfect for their target audience, which no longer includes us. and i'm fine with that. i'd rather clean my house while blasting some mgmt or muse. but i'd sweat the shit out of hannah montana for little miss when she's 12 because that's still better than her smoking up with the rebellious 17 year old boy down the street.

another notable mention here is this kid asher roth. every time i hear his retarded voice claiming 'i'm the champ-I-ON of beer PONG' it makes me want to kill myself. but after i quickly change the channel and my anger subsides, i see that he's just talking about those silly college days that we've all had. except that he's still allowed to talk about them because he's living them. if he actually were my age and singing this crap, then he'd deserve the severe beating i so badly want him to get (just not from me, i'm kind of weak).

this in turn brings me to a conversation i had with b's sister bridget, who was born way after the new kids on the block phenomenon (the original movement, not this lame reunion bullshit). i was explaining to her how when i was in fifth grade, you had to have those over sized buttons of your favorite new kid, the ones that had the little eisel on the back so you could stand it up like a picture frame. and you would bring these buttons into school each day and arrange them on your desk to show your undying devotion to joey or jordan or whoever it was.

my point with this is that if i can evolve from a time where i practiced the oh-oh-AHH-o-oh dance to a song called 'the right stuff' in my backyard to my more refined musical taste of today, then maybe the pop was a necessary right of passage. although, i did also smoke weed out of a dented foster's keg can (my mom actually drank that shit) out my bedroom window when i was 15, with my 13 year old brother, so who am i to judge.

name games

when i was pregnant i was constantly berated with 'what's the baby's name?' all day, every day. sometimes i would answer with a few of the possible choices b and i were currently favoring, but as soon as i saw the forced smiles and heard 'oh. that's different' i stopped. worse yet was the droning on and on of every possible association a person has to that particular name.

i became so sensitive to the whole name issue that i just stopped talking about it altogether and simply said 'we don't know, we'll name her when we see her' even though we had her name picked out by the time i was five months along. i know people have varying ways of expressing their curiosity and are often just trying to connect with you. this tempered my frustration but also led me to vow that i would never ask a pregnant woman about the name of her baby as long as i lived.

this vow, however, does not preclude my asking of grown adults 'why did your parents name you THAT?!' as anyone who's ever spent a few hours watching major league baseball can tell you, there are some strange names out there.

i've compiled a list of mlb's choicest examples:

1. razor shines. yes, you're reading that correctly. this one is hands down the leader of the pack, mostly because every time i hear it i have all-too-vivid images of that creepy movie 'monkey shines.' i could go on all day, but i'll spare you.

2. coco crisp. can i get a synchronized 'what the fuck' here please? this one has been irking me for some time now, and i know his real given name is covelli loyce crisp, but that doesn't make me stop thinking about chocolate rice crispy treats.

3. milton bradley. two names, ordinary enough in their own right, but put them together and you have and infinite selection of circus and toy-related images haunting your brain for at least five-ten minutes.

4. kosuke fukudome. ok, ok. japanese is a completely different language, with sound combinations nothing like what we americans are used to, but the little kid in me can't help but hear 'go-suck-it fuck-you-do-me' in my head whenever i see this guy's name.

5. boof bonser. for serious. i don't even feel bad ragging on this clown for that awful name because he sucks and was dead weight on b's fantasy baseball team last year.

i only hope my little girl won't grow up hating her name. now that i think about it, i grew up hating my name. i was probably in college by the time i realised that i actually liked having my name. it was hard though, being a child of the 80's and hating my mom for not naming me 'tiffany' or 'jem'.

aaaannnnd, now i'm over it. that's why they made it legal to change your name. so little miss, if you're 25 and hate your name, come talk to me first and i'll pick out a new name for you.

when blogger's block attacks

i've been in a slump lately. somewhere between returning to work for exactly nine hours and then finding out i'm not working again for another two weeks, and making mass quantities of baby food for little miss, i began to think that i've actually run out of interesting things to say.

in the past three days i've had several rejected posts. some have made it almost to the publish button, only to be deleted at the very last second. rather than over think the shit of out every little detail, as is my normal custom, this time i decided to just throw out some of my ideas in list form and see if there are any bites:

1. discuss why people who want to live 'off the grid' really annoy me

2. explain my extreme aversion to 'weird money'

3. share my experience of sheer terror when i thought that i had an old pair of contacts actually fused to my eyeballs

4. talk about how addicted i am to specialty beer and how i've always wanted to brew my own yet most likely never will

5. tell someone (anonymously, of course) about how i can't be friends with her anymore because she makes me into a hypocrite

i completely understand if the consensus is to wait for me to be struck with some other miraculous inspiration. hopefully i'll be back to my true form soon. in the meantime, i won't beg, but i'll ask nicely, don't give up on me yet.

you sure you don't want to change first?

as a nod to the many incongruities we experience every day, i offer you the following discussion about family portraits.

it all began this morning when my husband, who happens to be the funniest human being alive, showed me his corporate weekly rag with a huge photo of the newest new york regional director front and center. now i must say that this was interesting to me because the old big boss left in somewhat of a flurry of drama and mystique, as much as can be expected in the financial world anyway, and they found a new guy really, really quickly.

back to the photo. it's clearly professionally done. husband on the left, big toothy smile, one arm wrapped around wifey, the other lovingly resting on boy child's lap. oh yeah, and let's not leave out the most important detail, they all matched. mom and pop in pale blue button-downs, mom's collar open wide enough for you to see her glorious string of pearls. little boy, maybe only 18 months old, in his blue pinstriped polo shirt, complete with the little polo player logo shouting from his chest 'hey! hey you! we have more money than you!'

they look like the typical lexus-driving, golf club membership-holding, run-of-the-mill yuppies. when i pointed out the matching garb to my husband, hoping for a 'let's burn them up for being so lame' session, he surprised me with 'oh yeah, they all do that. you know, it's what you're supposed to DO for family portraits.'

to which i replied 'um, not OUR family portrait. ever. period. never ever. ok? you clear on that one? NEVER.'

b comes back at me with 'but they do that so you don't look like a douchebag in the picture.'

natural response, 'funny, because the end result is actually that you look like a douchebag in the picture.'

now this is the absolute last thing i would have expected from b. he continually spends his days dressing the part at his office, keeping his real personality under wraps. he then comes home in an explosion of hilarity, finally letting his true self emerge from the confinements of his job.

i won't mention the name of his company, for fear that the evil compliance officer (who won't even let b have a facebook account) will come running in here screaming about how many rules b's breaking for being human and not a drone. but suffice it to say that the b i know loves to come home and tell me about how bad he wants to tell big huge corporate land to suck it.

so maybe now that the shock of the portrait controversy is starting to hit you, i ask who's right here? as i ponder my own gut instinct to not falsify my family with an image that could cost a pretty penny and then lurk in our house for years and years to come, i wonder, am i being too quick to judge?

then just as i was sinking into a foggy gloom of doubt, b bends over to kiss the baby goodbye and says to me, 'fuck it, let's just all match her pink and brown flowery pajamas in our family portrait, 'cause that's a picture i'd hang in our living room.'

i almost teared up a little. that's the b i know and love.

i'm sorry if this offends you, but i'm going to say it anyway

why am i being bombarded with questions about my 6-month-old watching baby einstein? and more importantly, why do i get that stifled expression when i say that i don't think she needs to watch tv at her age, no matter what the program is?

if i'm going to be subjected to the outlandish behavior of other parents A) telling me what to do with my child and B) telling me that tv is the answer, then shouldn't i be allowed to respond as i really want to? no, it's more pc for me to smile and say something like 'oh yeah, i've heard about that, we haven't tried it yet.'

i'm all for general politeness, and believe me, i love the diversity that each family can impart upon their own children. but please people, why do you assume to know what's best for ALL children?

for example, my laundry room buddy. she's a mother to a four-year-old girl and lives in the next building over from me. we generally stick to safe topics, such as commiserating about how much we hate where we live and listing the many faults of our complex and management. but yesterday, she took it too far.

laundry lady: 'how's the baby? getting big huh?'

me: 'yeah, sitting up on her own now! it's great because she enjoys her toys in a whole new way.'

laundry lady: 'does she like baby einstein? my daughter started at 3 months, she loved it.'
(mimicking a baby watching tv, face still, eyes wide open, in a trance.)

me: 'oh yeah, i haven't really tried that. she likes her toys a lot.'

laundry lady: 'oh my gosh!! you HAVE to try it! get her started early so she'll be able to sit and watch on her own. you should do all those educational types of videos, give her a head start.'

me: 'uh, yeah, maybe.'
(turning my back to remove clothes from the dryer, setting the stage for my quick exit from this odious dialogue)

laundry lady: (another face, this time clearly biting her tongue about how my kid's going to grow up a dummy because she didn't learn to count by 9 months old) ' well, i guess you don't have to if you're not ready...'

um, i don't know if i'll ever be ready for that.

i understand that tv is real and it's a part of every household, and that sometimes you need a half hour to make dinner, or something for a sick kid to veg out to, or even just for some time to yourself. you can't be your child's sole source of entertainment. and i can absolutely understand why videos would be better than regular tv programs, but the sense of urgency that i MUST train my baby to regularly watch videos is astonishing to me.

i'm sure the old argument 'einstein himself didn't watch baby einstein' has been applied here many times before i entered the picture, but i still think it's valid. if i play with my child, teach her to play independently, take her out to experience things outside of our home, read to her, talk to her, love her, how is that deficient?

am i committing a fatal flaw in my child's development? is there something to baby einstein that i don't know about? (real question, not sarcasm)

i can only hope that as i navigate the many crossroads of parenthood, that i can become accustomed to constantly evolving. i know my daughter won't be that cute babbling baby forever, and i'll have to grow with her.



ps. i always welcome other parent's advice about what worked for them, but when it's phrased as 'DO this' that's when i get upset.