Mar
14
Dog would like to know what you’re doing this weekend.
How can you refuse? YOU MUST OBEY THE SNOUT.
Me, I will be doing much of the same, but plan to escape the house at some point for a facial. And not the “protein mask” my husband likes to gleefully offer whenever I speak of such things, but the expensive spa variety where I get to lie back and enjoy a (hopefully) poop-free environment for an hour or so. CAN’T. WAIT.
Tell me what you’ve got in the works, okay? Or the snout will touch you.
PS. Is anyone planning to go to BlogHer this year? I might be attending for business reasons and I am wondering whose pantlegs I can nervously cling to.
Mar
13
We have this swing for Dylan that has an adjustable seat, can swing either back and forth or forward and back, and has various audio settings that play music or white noise or weird outdoor sounds that include a chirping cricket. It is quite fancy, the “Nature’s Touch Cradle Swing”, except for one problem: the audio stops playing after a few minutes. I guess this is to save your batteries, and the assumption is that your sweet slumbering angel won’t notice the sudden lack of noise, but Dylan sure as shit does. This is a baby who could sleep through an M-80 going off in the living room but god forbid the tinkling little tune on his freaking swing comes to an end.
I have experienced many moments of extreme frustration over the last several weeks, but the ongoing need to lunge to the swing in order to reset the music before Dylan progresses from squirming and half-opening his eyes to wide-awake yelling trumps them all, even the 3 AM jesus-christ-kid-I-just-fed-you-at-2:30 grousefests.
Dear Fisher Price: why no ALWAYS ON button? I can always buy new batteries, you heartless fucks, but I will NEVER GET THAT AFTERNOON NAP BACK.
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Did anyone watch American Idol last night and literally cringe with pain at the Jim Carrey tie-in? JB was staring at the TV going, doesn’t that guy earn, like, millions per movie? Did his Horton Hears a Sell-Out contract stipulate a physical extraction of his dignity, or what? That whole thing was so lame I actually felt violated for having watched it.
PS. I SO want the Irish chick, Carly, to win. Although I really like Brooke, too. All of the guys can suck it.
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Last weekend while JB’s brother was visiting:
Me (as JB and I are heading off to put Riley to bed): “Hey, if the baby starts fussing just cram that little thing in his mouth.”
Joe: “Okay.”
Me: “Uh, by little thing I mean his pacifier.”
Joe: “. . .”
Me: “I . . . probably didn’t need to clarify that, did I.”
Joe: “Not really.”
:::
I started doing Tae Bo again, a video called Cardio Circuit which should really be called Like Hell You Can Kick This Fast because jesus, Billy Blanks, what are you trying to DO to me over here. I find him strangely encouraging, though, in a maniacal kind of way, like if I don’t at least try to whip my leg up and down like I’m karate-kicking away a cloud of insects he’s going to show up at my house and give me a stern lecture, probably getting little foamballs of spit all over my face while yelling COUNT IT! COUNT IT!
In the video he repeatedly draws the viewer’s attention to a woman formed entirely of sinew and muscle and informs us she’s had two c-sections, TWO! And just look at her abs! And I have to admit, they are very nice abs indeed, probably very handy for crushing walnuts and human skulls and such. I would settle for a stomach that looks less like a fallen souffle, but I suppose it’s nice to know the extent of my Tae Bo potential. Now I just have to make it through the workout without stopping to check and see what just landed on the floor during that last round of side kicks, hey look it’s my LUNGS.
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