Haiku of the Day

and now let's hear about your parting gifts

where's my skinny mic?
could also use a Vanna
to fold my laundry

You know the game show on NPR, Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me? I play a similar game everyday. it's called "Wait, Wait, I'm Not Done Yet." Only my version doesn't involve answering questions about funny news stories, or trying to best a panel of whip-smart people. It involves answering questions about my own sanity, and trying to best whip-smart children.

During this morning's episode of "Wait, Wait, I'm Not Done Yet" I found my face being sat on by a very full diaper. The owner of said diaper was balancing precariously on my nose and squealing "baby! baby! baby! baby! shoes! shoes! shoes! shoes!"

"Wait, wait," I said groggily, struggling against freeing myself from a wonderful dream of pie and the beach, "I'm not done yet."

Once awake, dressed and downstairs, I found myself accosted by the wee-er one once again. "Shoes!" she demanded accusingly, as if it is my goal in life to keep her from wearing shoes every moment of every day. She thrust a pair of tiny sneakers at me and proceeded to scream when I tried to get her to sit down to put them on. She wanted to stand and point her little toes at me while I struggled to act as her farrier. So she hollered when I grabbed her, sat her in my lap and tried to get her shoes on as quickly as I could.

One shoe on, the other off, she scampered away, still squealing about the injustices of not only NOT having on both shoes, but in having her plan to get the shoes on thwarted.

"Wait, wait!" I shouted after her, grasping at a dangling velcro strap. "I'm not done yet!"

Have I mentioned there are no cash prizes for this game?

Eating has the same outcome, as does napping. Though a lot of times the game switches and becomes "Wait, wait, you're not done yet." It's a wily charade.

I can see her right now, twisting and turning, trying to wake up from her nap. The games have collided: "Wait, wait, you're not done yet!" I whisper to her, hoping she'l get a few more minutes of sleep. Then I look at my cup of still warm tea and think, "Wait, Wait, I'm not done yet!" Boy it would nice to finish a whole cup of tea while it's still warm.

You know, it's fun and everything, but I don't think anyone wins this game. The NPR one is WAY better.

and this is what happens when I navel-gaze

silence not golden
silence happens to be green
green and quite happy

note to self: do not leave children unattended.

note to everyone else: sorry the video attacks the column over there. I'm too lazy harried to fix it.

one more note: if you listen carefully you can hear her delightful, crazy-making squeaky shoes.

is it the time of year?

feel introspective
some x-treme navel gazing
makes me misty-eyed

I'm not sure if it's the fact that it's almost the end of the year, or that it's cold outside, or what, but something has gotten into me. I'm feeling so reflective and emotional lately. And it's not just the past year that I'm reminiscing about - I can hardly even remember this past year. It's the middling past that's sneaking up on me.

I'm just now realizing that some of the momentous occasions in my life - things that really focused me or scared me or otherwise affected me for good or evil - didn't happen "a few years ago" like I think they did. They happened 7, 8, 10 years ago. Can I be that old? Can time be going by this fast?

It was almost 8 years ago when I had the trifecta of a tortuous job, miscarriage, and general "what am I doing with my life" breakdown. Eight years! The same amount of time you spend in high school and college, spent OUT of school, learning different kinds of lessons, failing other kinds of tests, winning new battles, finding new friends, discovering who I am and whether or not that matches who I want to be.... eight years.

I am stunned it's been that long. Eight years and I still feel fondly bitter over that horrible job and how I just walked in one day and quit, just like that. I still feel my heart race when I think of the ER trip when everything was spinning out of control and my pregnancy was lost. I still dream of the frantic maxing out of credit cards to fly to Sedona for my best friend's wedding and then Hawaii, so I could spend a month mooching, baking in the sun, eating garlic shrimp and waiting for my floundering sad feelings to morph into excitement for the future.

How could it have been that long ago when it feels so close? How can I remember it all so clearly and yet forget whether or not I shut the garage door this morning?

I blame this all on the Whataburger Christmas commercial I saw last night. Stupid heartstring tugging, early-2000-era TV commercials.

I have officially become Chevy Chase, when he's trapped in the attic during National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. All I need is a musty mink stole and something to randomly hit me on the head.

19:33

I solved the puzzle
please don't laugh at me like that
my brain is mushy

I solved the LA Times Tuesday crossword puzzle in 19 minutes and 33 seconds! (Why the LA Times? It's free. You have to pay for the NYT one. Stinkers.)

Granted, most people could probably solve it in about 3 minutes, but I don't care. I'm very proud of myself. Good job, self!

It's amazing what you can accomplish when you're procrastinating.

Answer: Phffffft Question: What sound does my empty wallet make?

went out and about
less than two hours of errands
out three hundred bucks

Man. Stuff is expensive these days, isn't it? A trip to the tax office to get my car's registration renewed, and a stop at the gas station to fill up the trusty station wagon and BAM, there goes a hundred bucks.

Then, a quick in and out visit to the grocery store so that the wee one doesn't have to use graham crackers for bread in his lunch tomorrow, grab some other staples, fill a prescription and BAM, almost $200... poof! Holy crap!

This is when it becomes of utmost importance for me to curb my online shopping habit. Two album downloads in two days - that's a 72-count box of diapers right there. (Though listening to Amy Winehouse sing "Fuck Me Pumps" is kind of worth running out of diapers.)

You think Santa will let me borrow a flying reindeer or two? It would totally save me some gas money, and as an extra added benefit I'd be the most popular mom picking her kid up from school (suck it big-boobed Barbie mom!).

rawr

you are a vixen
LA Times crossword puzzle
stop taunting me so

Is it wrong?

memorization
putting your skills to the test
while going in debt

Is it wrong that I have my credit card number memorized? I can now complete an online transaction - security code requirement fulfilled, as well - without even knowing where my wallet is.

broke. broke. broke.

But Nordstrom.com is having a sale!

WHAT?

a cacophany
dressing up for turkey day
caused complications

How is your turkey?

WHAT?

HOW IS YOUR TURKEY?

Great!

WHAT?

I SAID, GREAT!

Excellent.

I DID PAY THE RENT.

WHAT?

CAN SOMEONE TAKE THOSE DAMN SHOES OFF THE BABY?

I hope your Thanksgiving was just as peaceful as ours.

pardon me for this

WHY WON'T THE WEE-ER ONE SLEEP?

NO NIGHT TIME SLEEPING!

NO NAPPING!

I'M GOING CRAAAAAAAZZZZYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

I've taken to just puttering around the house in a mindless, exhausted funk, muttering obscenities under my breath while the wee-er screams and refuses to sleep.

[background noise] AHHHHHH! WAAAHHHHH! Shoes! Water! Baby! Shoes! AHHHHHH! WAAAHHH!
[me, in kitchen, talking to myself under my breath, like Gollum] Tea. Tea is what I need. 
[in quieter voice] Fucking tea cup, why are you so high up in the cabinet?
[regular muttering] Tea bag. Find tea bag.
[background noise] AHHHHHH! WAAAHHHHH! Shoes! Water! Baby! Shoes! AHHHHHH! WAAAHHH!
[in quieter voice] Cocksucker floor mat always tripping me.
[regular voice] How can we be out of honey? I just bought honey. Oh, here it is.
[in quieter voice] Stupid asshole honey making my fingers sticky.
[background noise] AHHHHHH! WAAAHHHHH! Shoes! Water! Baby! Shoes! AHHHHHH! WAAAHHH!
[regular voice] A clean spoon. Must stir tea.
[in quieter voice] Fucking dirty dishes.
[regular voice] Maybe some chocolate would be nice.
[background noise] AHHHHHH! WAAAHHHHH! Shoes! Water! Baby! Shoes! AHHHHHH! WAAAHHH!
[in quieter voice] Goddamned asshole wrappers so hard to open. So fucking noisy.
[regular voice] What was I doing again?
[background noise] AHHHHHH! WAAAHHHHH! Shoes! Water! Baby! Shoes! AHHHHHH! WAAAHHH!
[in quieter voice] Fucking cheap chocolate.

etc. and so forth.

Babies kind of suck sometimes.

why is my eye twitching?

thank you, officer
for highlighting irony
in my fish bowl life

Well, it wasn't really ironic. I wasn't speeding to race an asshole. I wasn't trying to out road rage another station wagon driver. I was just speeding. Like I do. And so I got a ticket.

Still, though, it feels a little suspicious, what with the blog talk recently about bad drivers and whatnot. I can't help but feel like the fates are messing with me just a little bit.

Also, my husband got a whopper of a ticket (three citations!) a few weeks ago and I was griping at him about it. I got two (stupid expired registration. stupid me for not updating it). So now I have egg on my face and we have matching court dates for Christmas. Just what I always wanted!

It also figures that this is one of the few times the wee-er one was not howling in the backseat. If she had been screaming, would I have gotten off with a warning? If I had been cleverer with my excuse (uh, was it not 70 mph right there?) would I have been blessed with a warning? Alas. We'll never know.

Is it wrong that I'm seriously thinking about doing defensive driving the old-fashioned way, instead of on the computer? That way I get out of the house for a little alone time. It's kind of like looking forward to a dentist appointment. Sad, but true. These are things they never tell you when you have a baby...

Still makes my eye twitch, though.

Urgh!

Are you awesome?

I have hustled some friends into helping me start up a zine. We're going old school - Kinko's, staples, glue sticks, the works. What we need now are submissions.

So, without further ado, please let me introduce you to:

Aprön

Aprön needs your stuff. We’re a brand-new quarterly zine searching for esoteric crap to fill our inaugural edition. Short fiction, non-fiction essays, chunks of dialogue, weird and exciting recipes, knitting ideas and instructions, photographs, collages, comics, stain removal tips… whatever you’ve got, we want to see it.

The only requirement is that your piece evokes a feeling of affection. The same kind of affection you feel for your crazy aunt and her askew lipstick. This is a quirky comfort zine with a pinch of Schadenfreude. It mixes media and metaphors all while leaving you with a pleased bloated feeling.

Email submissions to apronthezine AT gmail DOT com. If you need to mail something, let me know and I'll send you the address.

Also, we can’t pay you. Yet. We will give you free copies of the zine, though, so you can brag to your friends. Sometimes ego is more than important than groceries.

Aprön. Tie one on.

PS. If you know anyone who wants to advertise in the zine, please email me. The rates are obscenely cheap.

PPS. If you want to subscribe to the zine, or be informed when its published, or just get lovingly spammed by me and my crazy friends (kidding. kidding.) send a note to apronthezine AT gmail DOT com and we'll add you to our email list.

ka-pow!

they sure do grow fast
seedlings in science movie
with no pause button

Over the past few days, the wee-er one has had a vocabulary explosion. Forgive me while I geek out mama-style and make some notes. I don't want to forget and DAMMIT someone has run off with all my pens.

At 16.5 months, these are her newest words:

ooos or ooosh - shoes
whoa whoa - no road
eest - toast
muck - milk
ma - Sam
wa-oh - Hello
tash - trash

These are her relatively recent words:

wah - water or walk, depending on context
baybeh - baby or diaper or Tucker (the dog) depending on context
dada - Tucker
dayda - daddy

These are the old stand-bys:

oh-oh - uh-oh
Hi! - Hi!
Bah! - bye!

I think there may be a few more that I'm not remembering, but these are the most common ones. Some, like trash and toast are only every now and then, and others like baby and Tucker are all. the. time.

I tell you what, though, the past few days have been crazy. She'll study my mouth as I say a word, watching how my lips form. She's been shooting for better pronunciation, I think. That sounds a little crazy, but this gal has been working hard.

OK. Thanks for bearing with me. Geek out over.

I know the pieces fit

a six dollar beer
taste is magnified by price
even if it's Bud

Have you ever been to an MFA art show? There's always something to do with twine. And something to do with face-less/genital-less humanoid shapes. And baby doll heads. And dead flowers. Usually you can find a piece with running water imagery, and there are always blueprints of some sort. 85% of the above is done in sepia-toned mixed media.

Basically, the tool concert was like being trapped in an MFA student's video installation. It was fun, kind of trippy, noisy as hell (both visually and auditorially), and there were lots of weird slightly medical images of creepy monster-human things in sepia tones.

Also, there were big, green lasers.

As the youngsters say these days, the concert was "sick."

An added plus was that this was a very male-heavy audience so I didn't have to wait in line to go to the bathroom.

The token conservative had fun, too. He even forked over the $38 for a t-shirt. It was $43 for a baby doll t and I just couldn't do it. I know I'm going to sound like an old fogey here, so please read this part in whatever old lady voice you specialize in: I remember when I could just "borrow" $20 from my mom's wallet and grab a Pearl Jam shirt with the entire concert schedule on the back and a weird picture on the front. Now? $43? Are you kidding me? OK, you can stop talking like an old lady now.

Even sans tool t-shirt, it was a really fun night. Plus, no one tried to beat up me OR the TC.

Sometimes we can't even say that about Christmas.

So close, HEB. So close.

Dear Mr. Butts,

I totally dig your idea of handing out free, reusable grocery bags tomorrow. Lord knows I have so many HEB bags in my pantry I could melt them down and create an entire new building big enough to house another HEB.

However, it seems a little silly to replace plastic bags with other plastic bags, even if they are resuable for a little while. Now, I'm all for baby steps... I totally understand there's probably some kind of complicated psychology thing going on here. You don't want to scare away crazy Texans by having them believe you're going all soft and environmentalist-y. Even worse, you don't want them to think you're evangelizing pansy tree-hugging. I get it. Like I said, baby steps.

And yet... why not hand out some sustainable bags? I have a Longhorn shirt made out of bamboo (soft bamboo. I see you reading this, all, "what the hell kind of uncomfortable shirt is THAT). It actually holds up really well against staining and stretching (I'm a mama, in case you're now thinking other weird things about me). Bamboo is definitely worth looking into, though I understand that bags made of bamboo may be something you can't manage by tomorrow. I'm realistic. But what about canvas? I know you sell canvas bags in your stores. They're right by the checkout counters. My son swings on them like a mini Tarzan.

I know! How about letting people trade ten plastic bags for one canvas bag? You know everyone, on average, has 49,000 bags under their sink, or in their pantry, or in their car, or in the tree in their backyard. Ten bags is nothing, and yet maybe you'll feel better about handing out the fancy canvas bags for free.

What do you say?

You say "This crazy lady has a great idea, dagnabit!" that's what you say. Because I imagine you are much like Yosemite Sam, except taller, and richer, and probably more educated.

Free, sustainable grocery bags. HEBuddy can start wearing tie-dye.

Screw baby steps. Let's save the damn Earth.

Sincerely,
Kari
concerned mama

finally figured it out

a well-rounded boy
enjoys jazz, literature
and showing his butt

For weeks now, the wee one has been humming a song and begging me to play it on the stereo. It has sounded vaguely familiar, but much to his consternation I haven't been able to figure out what song it is. Until today.

He hummed it for me and suddenly I realized what it was: Blue Rondo a la Turk, from the Dave Brubeck Quartet's 1959 album Time Out.

Lest you think my boy is a musical prodigy, I should admit that this is my favorite record of all time. We listened to it a LOT when he was tiny. But lately we've been listening to more contemporary stuff. My thing right now is a mix of Spoon's radio hits and the latest Clash spinoff Carbon/Silicon (worst band name ever). We toss in a heavy sprinkling of Elvis' Vegas hits and Kanye's Stronger, just to keep it real.

So I was surprised that Dave Brubeck made such an impression. As soon as the song started, the wee one was flying around the room in a kind of dance frenzy. The dog started barking, the wee-er one squealed and clapped with glee. It was a nice moment.

Note to self: more Brubeck, less crap. It's like listening to a really strong cup of tea. Smooth, relaxing, and yet somehow invigorating.  I forget how nice it is.

Thankfully, the wee one didn't.

dashing through the polar ice melt

jingle bells
lead free bells
jingle all the way

Santa Claus
shuns Aqua Dots
but the elves just want to ra-ave

jingle bells
don't lick those bells
you don't know where they're made

the North Pole is
a snowy fake
'tis a factory in Shenyang

I see your future

many cute people
even more cute handmade things
I am way too poor

I went to STITCH today! If you imagine an indie craft show as the harbinger for trends to come, then here are a few things I learned about what Target will be selling in about the next year and a half:

1. Things with owls on them

2. Things with squid on them

3. Things with zombies on them

4. Things made of sparkly vinyl

5. Things with squid on them

6. Things with owls on them

7. Things I still can't afford

So much awesome, heart-swelling indieness. I feel like I need to find Natalie Portman, hand her an owl and tell her it will change her life.

I bought two shirts, one ring, one wallet, one hilarious greeting card with toast on it, and one tiny original artwork of a blue bean with legs and a smile (that one I gave to the wee one to begin his art collection).

I will take a picture of the ring and show you. You will fall over and weep because of its cuteness.

Also, I saw some bowling bags made of vintage automobile upholstery, with actual car emblems on them. We're talking bags that say "Charger" and "Valiant" in ACTUAL CHROME LETTERING RIPPED OFF OF AN OLD CAR. They were so amazing that I couldn't speak. They gave me heartburn because I loved them so. I had to restrain myself from kissing people on the mouth. These bags. Holy shit. $120.

I did not buy one. I guess I'll have to wait for the Target version. It won't make me want to kiss people.

I did, however, buy a wallet with a spaceship on it. So there's that.

baby pangs

sometimes nature sucks
give me time to catch my breath
and then we can talk

Dear Mother Nature,

Excuse me, but WTF?

I've had the baby pangs something fierce lately. For this, I squarely blame you. You have infiltrated my psyche and caused me, for about two weeks, to dream every single night that I am out-to-here pregnant. I wake up and feel simultaneously disappointed and relieved. This is too much for my aging brain to handle so early in the morning, Mother Nature. You of all sentient/godly beings should know that.

I also don't appreciate the fact that you've ratcheted things up a notch lately. Like how, for the past few days, I've had this feeling. This obsessive, pretending-to-be-intuitive feeling that I should get pregnant RIGHT NOW. As if the world depended on it. WTF is that, Nature? Why are you doing this to me? I have a sixteen month old who still doesn't sleep through the night. By 5 in the afternoon I often want to crawl in the bathroom and cry myself to sleep. YOU KNOW THIS, NATURE. So, why? What is your deal?

Wait. Before you go off to create a tsunami or a tiny little flower or something, I have one more thing to talk to you about. Can we talk about today for a moment? Today I've really enjoyed how you've made me have to pee about 49,000 times. You have either seen to it that I have a(n?) hysterical pregnancy or a bladder infection.

Either way?

YOU BLOW, NATURE.

I want to kick you in your ear.

sincerely,
Kari
concerned mother

any filmmakers out there?

showing your worst side
it's time for road rage rehab
challenge the devil

OK all you filmmakers out there, I have something for you. All I want in return is a "story by" credit, 5% of all merchandise, and a link to your finished product on youtube.

Here's what you need to do:

Find a bunch of people and line them up, single-file. Maybe they're in line for coffee. Or maybe they're in line for the bathroom. Suddenly, a guy runs up from out of nowhere. He chooses a random place at the front of the line and squeezes himself in. The girl behind him is, understandably, all, "Dude? What the hell?" The guy turns around, his face wild. He flips her off with both hands and screams "FUCK YOU, BITCH!"

The screen goes black. Simple white letters form: "Thank goodness we don't buy coffee like we drive." Alternately, it can be all women in line, or all men in line and the statement can read "Thank goodness we don't pee like we drive."

Use your creativity, filmmakers, to create other, similar scenes. Take people out of their cars, but continue to direct them to do the dumbass things they do when driving. Have a young man run up behind a slow-walking grandma with a cane. Have him get right up on her heels, stepping on her feet, breathing down her neck, dodging his head from one side of her to another. Have him yell, "COME ON, GRANDMA! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!"

Maybe if people can see how rude their actions are in a different context they'll try to be nicer when they drive. Or not. At least the rest of us will have something to shake our heads at. A rueful laugh can be fun sometimes.

the real life Liz Lemon

"I did not fall down"
simple, positive statement
sad state of affairs

Yesterday, I was able to take several hours and go to a cafe to work on some edits. It was nice to get out of the house and it was nice to feel like an actual writer instead of a person who just talks about writing.

But y'all? I am out of practice as far as being in public is concerned. Let me give you a rundown of what a ridiculous Liz Lemon-y mess I was:

1. Tiny jelly jars, though adorable, are hard to manage. I had a piece of toast in one hand, a knife in the other, and the tiny jelly jar in the same hand as the toast. So I was doing this acrobatic elbow dance as I tried to dig out jelly and then spread it on the toast without having jelly drip off my knife and onto my pants.

Why not set the toast down and put jelly on it, you may ask? Well, there was a lot of crap on the table - two giant stacks of paper, a laptop, a notepad, food, etc. My toast plate was behind my laptop. Very complicated.

2. As I was winding down, I stacked my manuscript into one big pile and attempted to stuff it into my laptop bag. I had had no trouble doing this to GET to the cafe, so I'm not sure why all the trouble trying to do it a second time. Anyway, I try to cram it into the bag and it seems like only half the pile is going to fit. Well, that's not right. I peer into the bag and realize the power cord is all snakey and twisted at the bottom, and is the source of my trouble. I yank it out and toss it on the table - and it lands in a pile of honey that has leaked from packet I used in my tea. "CRAP!" I yell into the quiet cafe (because I still have on my earbuds and am listening to Ruthie Foster loudly. She is fucking fantastic, by the way). Everyone turns to stare. This is when, as I'm attempting for a third time to cram the ream of paper into my bag, half of it falls out sideways, going everywhere.

Probably this happened because I reached out to grab the power cord from its tar pit of honey and I relinquished my grip on the top half of the wily paper pile. Or not. At this point there was no rhyme or reason to any of the shenanigans.

OK. So. Honey all over my power cord. Half a manuscript all over my lap and the booth. And did I forget to mention that I was sitting right by the exit door? On a windy day?

At this point I was my own Saturday Night Live skit.

Eventually, I got the manuscript back into my bag and most of the honey sucked off the power cord (I didn't have any napkins; they had blown away). I gathered everything up, stood to leave, walked to the door and yanked my keys out of my pocket (always have your keys out before you get to your car, right ladies?).

Well, this is when

3. the contents of said pocket flew into the air, slow-motion-like. A handful of hair barrettes, a couple of pony tail holders, some trash, a receipt.

I could actually hear the 30Rock music bouncing around in my head.

"NERDS!" I yelled, thinking I was being funny and meta. But then I realized you're not really being meta if no one else knows about your life. I often forget my life is not a TV show.

So I squat down by the door, grab the detritus that is leaking from me as if I am one of those hoses that sprays packing peanuts, avoid eye contact with everyone, and flee to my car.

I feel like maybe I should have at least curtsied before I left. Or asked for people to throw their change at me.

Today I'm staying home. I'm locked in my bedroom, determined to finish my edits, and equally determined to not make an ass out of myself. I think privately making an ass out of myself on a regular basis is what causes me such problems in public. I am desensitized to self-ass-i-tizing. Something needs to be done about that.

Things I have learned from the Texas Book Festival, Part I

awkwardness unite!
introverts crawl out of shells
eat jumbo corn dogs

What have I learned from the Texas Book Festival so far? I'm glad you asked!

1. Sherman Alexie is fucking hilarious. And not only that, he has such a concise, incredible way of answering questions that I just want to sit at his feet and bathe in all his glory. I wish I had written down some of the insightful five word sentences he uttered yesterday. They were amazing. My heart went pitter pat, and now I have to search out some of his poetry.

2. Rick Riordan really knows how to work that 12 and under crowd. He has this tone of voice that is definitely geared for kids, but is not condescending or simpering. He just makes his voice come alive - like if you can imagine a person's voice jumping around, that's what he accomplishes. His words are simple, and never gives away a lot about his books, but when he starts talking there's an electrical charge that fills the air and the kids just. go. crazy. It's really great to watch.

3. George Saunders is just as brilliant as everyone says he is. He's charming and awkward and probably one the smartest people I've ever heard speak. If I could grow up and write half as well as he does, I think my head would explode from sheer force of ego. He makes me want to join an MFA program, because I might get lucky enough to have someone like him teach me.

4. No one cares when you drop your jumbo corny dog on your pants and are left with a giant mustard stain. Everyone at the Bookfest has a stain of some kind on their clothing. I think you're required to have one just to get in.

5. Even if you are exhausted, you should plead with everyone you know so that you will have a date to go to a club and watch an after hours fiction vs. non-fiction smackdown. Even though the room will be 1,000 degrees and so jam-packed with people you can't lift your arm to scratch at your mustard stains, go anyway. Even though it will end with the lamest thumb-wrestling match between two writers ever, go anyway. Even though you will talk non-stop to your friends afterwards and sound like a lunatic who never gets out of the house (because you are a lunatic who never gets out of the house) go anyway. And even though, as you are leaving, you will say something completely idiotic on the stairs causing Vendela Vida (editor of Believer Magazine, founder of 826 Valencia, wife to Dave Eggers) to turn around and look at you, like, "Did you just say something idiotic to me?" GO ANYWAY. You will have fun. You will be enlightened. You will be inspired to write. You will make plans with your friends for an Annie singalong.

I am ebullient. A word I hardly ever use, can barely spell and can never pronounce.

As I told a friend of mine, a weekend filled with free chocolates, nerds talking about nerdy things, books, and an extra hour of sleep is the Best Weekend Ever.

I'm working on producing the VH1 show right now.

breaking copyright laws

lots of pussy talk
even though it's about cats
it's still way too much

In order to study up for the BookFest this weekend, I went out and bought some George Saunders books today. While I was at the store I picked up a board book for the wee-er one.

It's called The Owl and the Pussy Cat. Verse is by Edward Lear. When I bought it, the title seemed giggle-worthy, but innocent enough. Right? Well, just wait...

Oh, and before I show you what I mean, I would also like to note that the address of the publishing company is 950 Stud Road.

OK. Here is what I just read to my daughter:

"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea. In a beautiful pea green boat. They took some honey, and plenty of money, wrapped up in a five-pound note. The owl looked up at the stars above, and sang to a small guitar, Oh, lovely pussy, oh pussy my love, what a beautiful pussy you are."

Not many things make me blush, you guys, but dude.

Dude.

breakfasty food

potatoes, peppers
saute in some peanut oil
watch me go crazy

I'm having a thing. A thing wherein all I want to eat is potatoes and peppers. Maybe it's some kind of vitamin deficiency. Or, maybe I have just found a place that serves really good potatoes and peppers. Either way, I can't stop eating them. And even weirder, I can't stop thinking about them.

Sauteed potatoes and peppers are the new Johnny Depp. They are the new Tom Cruise from Top Gun. They are the new River Phoenix. If I could have a Tiger Beat poster of potatoes and peppers on my bedroom wall, I would do it.

Now, I don't want breakfast tacos to be jealous. Certainly, potatoes and peppers have not usurped breakfast tacos' place in my heart. And, in fact, potatoes and peppers mixed with some salsa and eggs make a fantastic taco all on their own. But my love of tacos and potatoes and peppers is not the same. I can't explain it.

I'm just having a thing right now. A crush on food. Maybe it's from not eating for nine days.
Or, maybe I just really, really like potatoes and peppers.

I don't know. And I don't really care.

Mmmm.

Tool!

I'm the old lady!
the one you see with a beer
and scary tank top

My brother-in-law (aka the Token Conservative) and I are going to be the oldest people at the Tool concert on November 14th.

Woo!

The last time I saw tool, it was in 1993 at Lollapallooza. I think it was 93. It was actually the first time I had a conversation with my current husband (who was then a mysterious senior who knew my boyfriend, and who had a car). We argued about whether or not tool sucked. (Just FYI, my husband's taste in music is what I like to call indie-lesbian. I blame art school.)

That was back in the day when the success of a concert was measured not just by how long your ears rang afterwards, but by how many bruises you came away with. I once got kicked square in the jaw by some steel-toed Docs just as the Butthole Surfers set the stage on fire. Mostly, though, being a tiny girl, I often found myself lifted off my feet and passed around like a prone, flailing joint. A prone, flailing, molested joint.

Good times.

The Token Conservative and I have seats well away from the pit this time, so hopefully we will avoid errant boots (and molestation). It's possible we could decide to kick each other's ass, though, in which case: BRING IT, TC. BRING IT.

I'm so excited! I haven't been to a noisy concert in about a million years. I plan to drink a beer and sing along and be positively lame. The big question is... what does an old lady wear to a noisy concert these days? Probably not a nursing top. Ah, well, I'm sure I have an ill-fitting, inappropriate shirt I can dig up. Yay!