Wii

Well, we finally found the Wii last week and so far it's been worth spending a horrifying amount on. Even Mimi has played enthusiastically--and those who know Mimi know she isn't enthusiastic about much. So far I have only injured myself slightly while playing tennis a little too enthusiastically.

That's about all that's been going on. I have been feeling crappy for over a week so hopefully now that I'm on antibiotics I'm on the mend. The only problem was this morning I took the pill when I woke up, fully intending to go eat something since the bottle said "take with food." An hour or so later we finally stopped at McDonald's to get something to eat and suddenly I felt sick and ended up on the bathroom floor with my cheek resting on the toilet seat. As sick as I felt, I think Patrick felt worse when I told him about my toilet-hugging--he is not a fan of the germs. I'm going to have to disinfect for a month before he'll touch me again.

Well, I'm distracted because Patrick and Matthew are playing Medal of Honor--I need to go kick Matthew off and grab a gun.

Sorry I'm not so interesting tonight--between feeling crappy and being distracted by the Wii I'm not in my best blogging form. If you want to read a great post, read this one by Penelope Trunk about Palin. 172 comments and counting--most of them ripping poor Penelope a new one. Then, read this one where she basically does an about-face and changes her tune entirely.

All I have to say is Palin needs to fix that hair--a grown woman shouldn't have a hairstyle that requires a ponytail holder.

Wii--WTF?

After, what, a year? two years? of thinking about it we decided to give in and buy a Wii. Matthew wanted it, then I saw they have a shooting game and I wanted it, then Patrick played it at a conference and he became obsessed with it so we finally caved and decided to just buy it.

Or so we thought it was that easy.

Never would I have imagined having to go to such great lengths to--unsuccessfully--spend $350. Since Sunday, these are the stores we attempted to buy it from:

1) Target #1 (Sunday)--sold out.

2) Target #2--sold out.

3) Toys R' Us--this store may have actually had it in stock but at that point we didn't know what a nightmare it would be to find it elsewhere and niavely thought we'd think about it and look around to see if we could find one that came as a bundle with extra controllers and games. Ha!

4) EB Games--they had the box behind locked glass so, after deciding ok, we'll just go ahead and buy it we go up to the counter and the girl basically laughed in our faces--"We don't have any!" Um, then how about taking the box with the $249 price tag out of the locked glass cabinet and not spending 10 minutes telling us which bundle to buy.

5) Game Stop--sold out.

6) Game Stop #2--sold out.

7) Target #1 (Monday)--sold out.

8) FYE--sold out.

Today, Patrick called two more stores--neither had it. I called another game store; shocker--SOLD OUT.

That makes ELEVEN stores that were sold out of a $250 (or $350 if you want the bundle with the extra controllers and the shooting game) toy. How does every single person in the world apparently have $350 to throw away on a game?

Turn That Monthly Frown Upside-down

There is a god: you can now turn your period blood into boobs.

I swear I am not making this up.

Saving the Environment by Working 10-Hour Days?

Whoops! If you were stumped by a total non-sequitur of a post earlier today, I had accidentally posted a long comment I made on an article in The Washington Post about the idea of a four 10-hour day work week. Guess I must have been using Blogger as a text editor instead of Word. Oh well--that's the beauty of having almost no readers--nobody catches mistakes like that.

Oh well, rather than have me summarize the entire article and then add my commentary you can just go read the article and see my comment (it's the last one at the top, Maggie7).

In short, no, having people work four 10-hour days--thereby ostensibly keeping them house-bound and not driving around killing the ozone layer one day a week--is not going to save the planet. Anyone knows that when you're home all day the first thing you do is drive to Target, then to the gym, then to Starbucks, then on several other errands at opposite ends of town.

Two of My Favorite Things, United

Continuing with your favorite theme of mine: "EVER"--current best book EVER: Stuff White People Like.

I don't know why I'm so obsessed with this book but I just am--I think it's hilarious. Maybe it's because I have discovered, in the course of reading the book and taking the quiz at the end that I am not, in fact, really white. I don't even score high enough to be on the scale, which starts at 15%. And--if you can believe it, despite his lily-white skin, Patrick isn't any whiter than I am. In fact, I believe he scored even lower than I did.

At any rate, the book is hilarious for more reasons than I can list, and I highly recommend you buy it. You might wonder why buy a book of a blog that I can already read online...I thought the same thing until I bought it. First of all, it has stuff that's not on the blog and, second of all, it is somehow 20 times funnier when you're reading it off a physical page. Too bad for Amazon, because I was recently toying with the idea of buying a Kindle, thinking it would be better than dealing with paper books, but Stuff White People Like made me realize that actual books might be better than books on a screen.

And no, btw, I am in no way affiliated with Christian Lander--the author of the book--in case you're thinking my glowing reviews are in any way fueled by me standing to profit from sales of the book. I wish. I'm even too lazy to figure out how to do the affiliate link correctly so if you were to buy the book by clicking on the link in this blog I would have made a cent or two.

Anyway, you'll have to read the book yourself but I will reveal one helpful tip from it: If you see a person riding a bike to work--or doing anything else that is similarly eco-friendly--go up and say "Hey--thanks. Sincerely, The Earth."

That ranks right up there with "Ding-Ding! Here comes the shit-mobile!" in terms of funny. And that's saying a lot, since that is officially the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life.

And best of all? I discovered a common thread between Twitter and Stuff White People Like.

And you thought I wasn't intellectual.

The Freakiest Show EVER

Ok, I realize two "...EVER" posts in one week is a little much, but I'm sorry, this is just too good not to share and since I'm all by my lonesome this weekend, you, readers, are the only ones I have to share it with.

The show Intervention is always a crowd-pleaser; however the episode about Allison just takes the cake. I realize it's not so nice to make light of someone's addiction story, but I'm sorry, I defy you to watch this show--or even the trailer--and not wonder if it's actually a joke. Seriously, I will bet money that Saturday Night Live does a parody of this girl.

Apparently I'm not the only one who found the show hilarious/horrifying--if you go to YouTube and do a search for "Allison Intervention" you'll see that a slew of people had the same reaction I did. Do yourself a favor and watch the whole thing--then tell me it isn't the craziest thing you've ever seen. Girl could do a PSA for why huffing is a BAD idea.

Best 20-Something Career Advice Post EVER

Forget what I said about all Gen-Y posts about career advice being identical and useless—this one is like no other job advice blog post I’ve ever read before. Somehow this guy makes a case for the interrelationship between casual sex, video games and entrepreneurship. Here is my Cliff Notes version of his salient points:

• Fun: "My third year at UCLA was one big blur where I would wake up half naked every other night not knowing where I had left my jeans, shoes, or dick.”


• Productivity: "What does it mean to be truly productive with your life? Hanging out with friends and drinking alcohol all night is fun for the moment, but I always wake up in the morning vowing to never drink again. Same with video games. You spend all of your time leveling-up your character and getting new features, only to have your hard work made completely insignificant once the new version of the game comes out.”


• How do you want to live your life? "The best way to reach the point of self-actualization is to play your life as if it were an RPG (Role Playing Game)"




• Never stop learning: "In a video game, you gain experience by slaying monsters and completing quests. Therefore in real life, you gain experience by reading, keeping up with the news, and gaining internships and a high GPA."


• Expand your network: "In a video game, the more people you talk to, the higher the chance you have of someone telling you a hint to complete a mission, giving you an item, or providing you with secret information."


• Find the perfect relationship: "A meaningful and loving relationship will make you much happier than any one-night stand. As an entrepreneur with my personality type, it is much more productive to be in a serious relationship than to be single, and here’s why: If I was single, I would be out there chasing girls left and right. I would not be able to focus on my company because all I would be thinking about is who my next piece would be."

Judging by these rules I should be a millionaire by now. Did I miss a step? Maybe because I never lost awareness of where I left my jeans, shoes or dick in college I missed out on that valuable career step? Maybe my video game play--while compulsive enough to render my hand numb for 3 months--just wasn't sufficient to build the skills necessary to become a successful entrepreneur? Maybe I'm having too much sex now--albeit in my perfect relationship--and it's preventing me from "striving for more" in terms of my career.

But here I am, 40 and still with the word “assistant” in my title; meanwhile, there he is, a year out of college and a (self professed) entrepreneur and management consultant.

My question is, when he and other the Gen-Yers' career advice bloggers say that they’re entrepreneurs and consultants, do they mean they’re actually supporting themselves in those capacities? Or are they "consultants" and "entrepreneurs" in the sense that I am a "consultant"; e.g. yes, I can write—here’s my email address if you’re ever interested in hiring me for a project…and now it's back to my cubicle where I sit for 8 hours a day so I can pay the bills and support my kids.

In theory I could brand myself as a thought leader, writer, life coach, marriage counselor, or social media expert…as in, I COULD call myself these things and, while it wouldn’t actually be lying because I could theoretically serve in any of these capacities, the reality is that I don’t currently earn a dime doing any of those things.

But that's a whole other post on personal branding, a mainstay of Gen-Y blog content.

**P.S.** Sorry but I just went to his blog and checked out his response to one reader's question "How does a student become an entrepreneur?" Hey--does step 2 sound familiar? "Move back home to save on cash."

Gee, another Gen-Y blogger endorsing that mainstay of 20-something career advice: move back in with mom and dad!

Sorry but when I think of a guy who lives with mom and dad, the image that comes to mind isn't so much entrepreneur; it's more Will Ferrel's character in Wedding Crashers, Chazz Reinhold, screaming "MA! Meatloaf! Fuck!"

My Name on Rice



Mimi bought me this necklace at Kings Dominion last week. She knows, obviously, about my fixation on tiny things and had heard me tell the "Name on Rice" tale many times.

I forget when or where but once I saw a kiosk at a mall or an amusement park (Cassie, do you remember this?) called "Name On Rice." Not only is that the best name in the world for a kiosk, but how excellent and random a concept is painting something on a grain of rice then putting it in a tiny glass vial on a necklace? Don't even get me started on the collection of tiny things with stuff painted on them at Ripley's Believe it or Not museum in Williamsburg, VA. Suffice it to say that I now own a camera capable of taking super close up photos of tiny things and will be bringing it with me next time I visit that museum.

Anyway--I once had this "name on rice" necklace but it got lost, leaving me with nothing but the fond memory and the lingering obsession with it. So last week, Mimi--who usually doesn't so much as make me a card for my birthday--returned from a camp trip to Kings Dominion excitedly clutching an envelope.

"I got you a present," she said, trying to be nonchalant but obviously excited. And there it was, a new name on rice necklace! It even has a flower painted on the other side of the grain of rice. The kiosk was called "Your Name on Grain" this time--slightly less awesome than "Name on Rice"--but still, it's my name on rice.

Anyway, I'm sure this isn't exciting for anyone but me...but I am plenty excited about it.

Then, speaking of my name on things, I feel like such a social media darling--my name was mentioned in not one but two blogs today. How knew that asking a question about Facebook would be cause for such interest and enthusiasm?

3 Out of 4 Moms are Worst Parents Ever?

So far, I'm batting 3 for 3 on the Worst Parent Ever (WPE)scale (as defined by me, of course.)

But who would have thought I'd be in such good company? According to a very BPE (best parent ever) source--the esteemed New York Times--most moms give up on breastfeeding. According to the article, here are 4 more defining criteria for WPE:

Returning to work, being a smoker or living in the Northeast decreased the likelihood of long-term breast-feeding. Notably, low-income women who participated in the subsidized Women, Infants and Children program, which provides food, milk and formula to mothers and young children, were also more likely to stop breast-feeding sooner.

Interesting--I can see how returning to work or smoking could be considered WPE characteristics--and of course it's a given that low-income women on WIC are WPE--but I'm surprised to see that "living in the Northeast" apparently makes you more likely to be a formula-feeding WPE. Strange, given that a decent number of Ivy Leage schools--BPE (oh, actually, White people--well,same thing) pillars--are located in the Northeast.

Doctor's Out

So much for MedSpa doctor--I was all geared up to go get my Botox fix at 10 am today; at 9 am the girl called to say he couldn't do it today. Bummer. Now I have to deal with tense forehead until Thursday. Maybe I'll have an epiphany between now and then and will be able to just say no to Botox. Or maybe someone will invent topical Valium before Thursday.

Strip Mall Botox

I have absolutely nothing to say but feel compelled to try to keep up some kind of momentum with this poor neglected blog. It's Friday night, Patrick has a baseball game and I'm home with the kids. We went to Burger King for dinner. Did you know that BK onion rings have less fat and calories than almost anything on the menu? Just a little nutritional tip from me to you, courtesy of the tray liner that now includes complete nutritional content information for every single item on the menu. Including ketchup packets (10 calories, 0 fat).

The highlight of my day was that the former "day spa" in Olney--e.g. glorified nail salon--is now a MedSpa. "Med" meaning that a doctor has decided to make some cash on the side so he opened an office in there. All I know is this: I went in to ask how much Botox is there and it's half what I usually pay.

I will pause here to mention that I make no bones about the fact that yes, I get Botox in my forehead. Why? Because a few years ago I had a horrible eye twitch that lasted for--no lie--8 months. It would start the minute I opened my eyes in the morning and would last all day, every day, from January until August until I finally got insurance to pay for the one available treatment for "blepharospasm": Botox. I was so psyched, thinking that the doctor would put one drop in my eyelid then generously offer to use the rest on my forehead for free. Not that I even had a ton of wrinkles--ok, I actually had no wrinkles--but did have a few lines and was just curious to see what I would look like without them.

I got so fixated on the idea that when, sadly, it turned out that the doctor charged me (luckily, my insurance paid it) $400 for ONE tiny shot in my eyelid and would have charged me $600 more if I wanted it in my forehead too, I found another doctor who charged half that and ponied up the money.

(By the way, the Botox didn't really fix the eye twitch, but it spontaneously stopped the day I moved out of my ex-husband's house. Literally--gone--just like that.)

Anyway, as I said, I shelled out the money for the Botox and loved it. Even when my first go-round rendered me totally cockeyed looking, with one eyebrow raised up WAY higher than the other, I was totally mesmerized by my smooth as an eggshell forehead and the resulting expression of perpetual tranquility. I loved it. Then, after about 4 months it started wearing off. It's like Cinderella at midnight--you watch as your blissfully lineless, relaxed forehead starts waking up and them--poof--you're back to you regular middle-aged lady forehead once again.

The thing about Botox is that you get addicted not only to the look of your line-less forehead but also to the way it feels. That is, you feel nothing--imagine the ultimate muscle relaxant--that's Botox. Ok, so it doesn't actually relax the muscles; it paralyzes them...but it's a very comfortable state regardless. Once it starts wearing off and you can once again move your forehead (you can move your eyebrows the whole time, btw) it feels very uncomfortable.

Imagine not using your legs at all for 4 straight months. Then you get up and try to walk. Your legs wouldn't feel too good, would they? They'd be so weak it would be an effort even to move them. Now apply that to your forehead. For months those muscles were basically dead; once they start waking up they are atrophied from disuse. Which means that just the effort of them not being totally dead is a strain--your forehead starts feeling they way your neck and shoulders do when you're really stressed out. I don't know how to explain it other than that it feels like the effort of just keeping your eyebrows in place is a strain and it leaves your forehead feeling weirdly exhausted and tense.

Long story short: you get addicted not only to the look of your flawlessly smooth skin but also to the physical feeling of totally relaxed muscles. It's like crack--once you start regaining feeling it gets more and more uncomfortable and you start jonesing for another shot to put them back to blissful sleep for another 4-6 months.

I was going to quit--honestly I was--I decided it was ridiculous to spend that much money on something as stupid as a smooth forehead. But my forehead is TIRED and I swear I'm craving that shot like a smoker craves cigarettes. And now I can get it for half what I used to pay--how can I resist?

So if you see me on Monday and it looks like a hive of bees went to town on my forehead (the shots leave big welts on my skin for a day or so after I get them) you know I caved.

You Want Career Advice? Ask a 20-Something

Anyone who reads my blogs knows that I’m a huge fan of Penelope Trunk. I used to read her blog—still do—but now I also read some of the featured blogs on her website Brazen Careerist. The site is geared towards Gen-Y--or the term I find funnier, Millennials-- and many of the bloggers are 20-somethings giving career advice either before they have careers or from the vantage point of their entry-level jobs. A lot of posts are arrogant dissertations about why Gen-Y is better than previous generations--smarter, more creative, more technically savvy, not willing to settle for the crappy lives every person over the age of 35 has--basically annoying and sort of hilarious.

Take this post, for example Twentysomething: Why My generation is More Productive Than Yours. Main takeaway from the post: "We’ve seen our washed up parents work shit jobs they hate, and we won’t go through the motions for the sake of job security." Hey now--give your poor hard-working parents a break: someone had to finance your lessons, sports, activities--you know, all that stuff that helped you get into the expensive college that they also had to pay for. And just when they thought it was over and you'd be getting jobs like college grads of yesteryear did, you decide you are going to do the responsible thing and move back home.

One of my favorite Brazen Careerist posts was written by a 20-something who's "working a temporary job as I actively pursue a career in the publishing industry." Actively pursuing as in working a temp job with no benefits while daydreaming about moving to France and getting a kick-ass job? Naturally, the crux of the plan is moving back in with her parents. You go girl, with the career advice. Send me a postcard from the major publishing house in France and let me know how that worked out for you.

Back to the "washed up" parents, though: maybe their "shit jobs" aren't the only culprit of their washed up lives. Maybe they're exhausted from having spent 20 years lavishing attention and praise on their youngins. The helicopter parenting that created these arrogant 20-somethings is bound to wear a person out. Think about it--20 years spent anxiously hovering over your kid, making sure he/she doesn't have to experience a moment's discomfort lest it damage their self-esteem--it's like being a stewardess or something. Not to mention a bank; sure, it's easy to be a 20-something who won't settle for just any mundane job when your parents are still supporting you. Rent? Health insurance? Not a worry for these clever Gen-Yers who will end up happier and more successful and just better in every way than previous generations because they're making their own rules and succeeding on their own terms.

Don't worry about reading all the blogs on Brazen Careerist; I'll sum them up for you: the keys to career success are:

1) Mastering MySpace and other social networking applications that the older generation just doesn't get and which are basically the only job skills required at the flexible dream jobs where there are no rules, no set hours and unlimited vacation.

and

2) Relying on your parents to support you and then hook you up with a sweet internship that will ultimately--no rush, now, since rent isn't an issue--lead to a job that pays as much as your parents' "shit job" but that is satisfying and morally superior.

Don't get me wrong--I am all for the results-only work environment (ROWE)...but I'm old and I've earned it.

Worst Parent Ever

Inspired by one of my favorite websites Best Parent Ever I got to thinking "what about worst parent ever?" Surely not all of us went in for the Bugaboo stroller; for some of us, the good ole umbrella stroller--available at any Kids R' Us or Walmart for about $20--was just fine. Light, easy to manuver, foldable with one hand, washable--what's not to like?

A few other Worst Parent Ever qualities:

1) Letting your baby sleep on its stomach

How many parents, desperate to get baby to sleep for more than 2 hours at a clip listened to our mothers, who pointed out that back in the day tummy sleeping was today's back sleeping? There probably aren't any studies out proving that babies sleep better on their stomachs; all I can say is that, from my unscientific study based on a sample of at least 5 moms who were willing to furtively admit that yes, they let their babies sleep on their stomachs, the consensus was that the babies did sleep better.

2) Formula Feeding

We all know my feelings about the whole "breast is best" thing; suffice it to say that, while I did breastfeed each of my kids for 6 weeks, I blissfully gave in to formula after that and enjoyed every convenient, no-guessing-required about how much my babies drank minute. Apparently my kids survived despite my Worst Parent Ever behavior because they have lived to the ripe old ages of 10 and 12 with no apparent ill effects.

Worst Parents Ever make no apologies for not breastfeeding--whether it's just not their cup of tea or whatever, they proudly stock up on those great big cans of formula and enjoy the beauty of being able to handle nighttime feedings by chucking a bottle into the crib and going immediately back to sleep.

Oh, and bonus Worst Parent Ever points if you scoff at the doctor's warnings that babies stomachs can't handle milk until they're 12 months old and decide that you're tired of shelling out $25 a can and switch to regular milk when your baby is only 10 months old.

3) Extended pacifier use

Yeah, I admit it--my son had a pacifier until he was 7. Not like out on the street or anything, but yes, in a little box in his room, he had one and had no shame about using it. At home, that is. I didn't qualify for the uber Worst Parent Ever: the kind who lets a kid--not a toddler or even a pre-schooler--appear in public with a pacifier. You know, the kind of parent who gives their baby Coke in a bottle or...


lets it play with cigarettes.

Happy Blogoversary to Me

Ok, that's not actually true--this is not the anniversary of my first post. It is, however, almost the anniversary of the date I started tracking visitor stats. I started using Sitemeter in August 2007; during that month I had 14 visitors. As of today--with two more days to go until the actual end of the month--I have had 327 visitors during July 2008.

Granted 327 is nothing compared to "real" bloggers; with an average of about 15 visitors a day I doubt I could ever make a dime with this blog. But such is life--and I did score a free book and (still have yet to receive it so maybe shouldn't count it) a free CherryPal computer as a result of my blogging prowess.

I can't feel too badly, though--I was heartened to read this post by the author of one of my favorite blogs, Best Parent Ever. His wife's blog--even after about 50,000 page impressions in a 3-week period--brought in only $1.87. I could probably find more than that in between the cushions of my sofa.

So why do I keep blogging? Because I don't have the discipline (I was going to say time but if J.K. Rowling can write Harry Potter on napkins at 5 am I can't really claim to have no time) to write much of anything else, I guess. A friend of mine, after hearing from her husband about my guest post in The Washington Post, asked me, incredulously "So, what--you just sit there and write? Why?"

Who knows. God knows it's not for the recognition--not that I don't appreciate my loyal readership of 15 or so a day. Not for the props either--one valuable thing I've learned through blogging is that people are 100 times meaner when commenting anonymously on blogs then they are in real life. I guess the internet gives everyone a chance to release their inner demon-like personalities--read any blog and at least 50% of the comments are usually not only negative, but scathingly so. So blogging does force you to grow a thicker skin, which is generally useful in life.

I read this post today about what defines success as a blogger. It sums it up nicely: If you enjoy it, then do it. This is another good post about not getting too wrapped up in how "successful" your blog is.

So Not PC but So Funny

I know, I know--offensive, insensitive, crude...etc.

But hirarious! Um, I mean hilarious.

I'm BAAACK!!

Did you miss me? I am so impressed with myself for (almost) going without internet for a full week. I did check email (ok--and Twitter) from my phone and I did have to go to Bethany Bytes once--but only to print and send my CherryPal Brand Angel agreement back so they can send me my free computer.

Yes, that's right, folks--granted, it's not a book deal but I have managed to secure not one but two products of actual monetary value as a result of blogging. The first was a book--Groundswell by Forrester Research--they invited bloggers to email them and the first however many would get a free copy of the book to read and blog about. Which I did.

Remember the "gigs" section of Craigslist? Ok--not those gigs--I'm talking about the writing gigs section now. Anyway, a month or so ago I answered an ad looking for bloggers who wanted to serve as "brand angels" for this new "green" computer. Get to try a cool new computer before anyone else gets it? For free? And blog about it? Hells yeah.

So I applied and got selected. Hopefully in a few days I'll have my "cloud computer" in my hands and will be able to tell all you eager readers about it.

So what did I do for 7 days without internet? Read. A lot:

A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel--I loved this book and think she's awesome...if you like Lynda Barry you'll love her. In fact, I wonder if she's not actually Lynda Barry. Oh, and she's friends with Augusten...lucky dog.

The Weight of Water by Anita Shreve (didn't she used to be called Anita Richards Shreve?)--I loved this book--finished it in one day, so I guess that qualifies it as a page-turner.

The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted by Elizabeth Berg. Augusten recommended this book and I loved it as much as he did. At first I was like "huh?" but the stories are incredible--especially Ove the Hill and into the Woods. Very Raymond Carver/John Cheever.

Shock by Robin Cook--Ok--this was an audiobook that we all listened to throughout the week. Fun and interesting but lots of stupid/ridiculous stuff...as there always is in Robin Cook's books. The kids liked it, or at least Matthew did.

Then topped off the week with two movies--The Dark Knight and, finally, Sex and the City. I can't even begin to tell you how incredible Heath Ledger was in The Dark Knight--I'm not kidding. He was as good as Jack Nicholson in The Shining or Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Sad. I would be shocked if he doesn't at least get nominated for an Oscar, and not at all shocked if he wins.

Sex and the City was good but sort of "eh?" The best girl in the movie was Carrie's assistant, Louise from St. Louis. Every time Carrie was on screen she looked thinner and thinner--I swear, if she turned sideways all you could see was her hair. Ok, and her nose...but that's not nice of me to say. Especially considering that many more than one person has told me I look like her. Maybe the "long" face (as Patrick so lovingly put it) but hopefully not the nose--and sadly not the hair or the arms or the abs. Actually, I can't even covet anything about her body--she just looked scrawny. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Maxim Magazine was on to something when they named her the unsexiest woman in the world. Angelina can barely carry being that skinny while remaining sexy; SJP just looks gaunt.

The Power of Negative Blogging

Yesterday I blogged about Penelope Trunk's post about shared parenting, which featured Marc and Amy, who are self-professed "shining pillars of excellence" (An "English as a second language" kid in Mimi's 5th grade class coined this term and I love it.) in the realm of shared parenting.

Who would have thought the object of my ridicule--Amy--would ever see the post, but she paid my blog a visit and left a scathing comment. In case you can't figure out how to get to the comment section of that post, here is her comment, followed by my response:

Maggie,
It seems important to you to find ways to ridicule our passion to share the benefits and challenges of equally shared parenting with others via our website, the article, and yes, someday, a book. No one is forcing you to adopt or even agree with anything we say, although you do sound like you are doing so in your own way anyway - both in your new marriage (if I read that right) and in your relationship with your ex-husband.

Why did Penelope give us advice on preparing to write a book? Well, because she makes a career of advising people, because she linked to US originally and we wrote to thank her, and because the few emails we exchanged over a year ago were free and encouraging. Tell me you wouldn't appreciate the same mentorship from someone for something YOU believed in. And by the way, the book we hope to write isn't about us - it is about equal parenting. A book about us would be, well, freaky to use your words! Have to agree with you there. We are far from perfect, but we're one of only a handful of people (until now) actually speaking up about the practical good and bad about equally shared parenting.

Anyway, I have no interest in engaging in your spit-fest, but wanted to reach out to suggest that you needn't give us so much power.

Take care,
Amy
Amy | Homepage | 07.08.08 - 10:20 am | #

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What's important to me is thinking of things to blog about on a semi-regular basis and, sorry, but things I find funny are easy fodder.

The thing is that I 100% agree with the concept--it's the "look at us--we're perfect!" way you present yourselves that I find funny. It's not just you guys, and it's not just me who finds stuff like your site funny--that's why sites like http://bestparentever.com/ exist.

I'm sure I, too, possess many annoying and self-promoting qualities; however, I can't see myself ever presenting myself as a shining example of anything--I figure anything I'm doing, someone else is also doing and probably doing better than I am.

But who knows--maybe I'm wrong...after all, you and your husband are living proof that nobody's going to promote you if you don't promote yourselves. After all, even though I, too, practice shared parenting, you're the ones with the book deal and I'm the one with 15 people reading my blog. And I'm not saying this facetiously--I'm serious.

And hell yes I would appreciate the same mentorship, especially from someone like Penelope. Not only is she a mentor, she has the power to make your book a success by spreading the word and promoting it. More power to you—but part of putting yourselves out there is, of course, having people who see things the way I do ridicule you. Then again, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that any press is good press and negative reactions will sell just as many books as positive ones will.

And now naturally I have to ridicule her comment, especially because she used the word "spit-fest."

A Banner Day in the Blogosphere

It's been slow going for me lately, creatively-speaking. I haven't felt like blogging but was alarmed to see my already minimal audience dwindle by the day so I've really been trying to squeeze some posts out. Not like you could tell or anything.

But I just finished reading Penelope Trunk's blog and don't even know where to begin my rant. Not about Penelope--she is my idol--did you know she makes $15,000 for one speaking engagement? Granted, she is, I'm sure--as one woman in my book group once described herself and the term became one of my favorites--a "gunner"--e.g. total type A, super competetive woman. But hey--she's a good writer and makes enough money to afford a $50k "house manager" in addition to a nanny and a housekeeper. I bow to her....but wouldn't want to be her.

Anyway, her post focused on this NY Times article about shared parenting and I couldn't help but think that the Stuff White People Like people would have a field-day with it.

Where do I even begin? Well, as Penelope did, with the "insipid photo," of course. Are there honestly people out there who see a photo like this and take it at face value, rather than laugh it off as a parody of yuppie parents? Are there really people out there so humorless that a photo like this serves only to get their competetive "best parent in universe" juices flowing?

I confess I didn't read beyond the first page of the article; I figure the title of the article, together with the term "breast milk" juxtaposed with the spooky photo, probably says it all anyway. What's up with a story that spans 10 web pages? Ten pages should be the sum total of an entire SITE--never one article.

But I digress...because after I did my three-point glance at the page and returned to Penelope's post, my eyes lit on this sentence:

A second disclaimer is that Amy and Marc, featured there as the poster children for shared care, are also people I’ve helped—about how to pitch themselves to the media so they could get some articles written about themselves and get a book deal. And they, too, were nice.

Did someone say book deal?

Seriously, though--there are people out there who think they are fascinating enough that they seek advice on how to pitch themselves to the media? I mean, regular people, fascinating--in their own eyes, at least--for just being regular people? While there are many fascinating things about me that would undoubtedly make A+ book fodder, I would be forever banished from polite company if I ever wrote it--not to mention it would probably send my mother into heart failure. My blogging in general already has her half there.

Back to Amy and Marc though--the picture on their website is even freakier than the one in the NYT article. Aren't sites that look like this usually reserved for engaged couples? At first glance I thought Amy and Marc were caterers or something--what with the chef hats and all--and figured that accounted for the desire for media coverage. But no--as you can see for yourselves, Amy and Marc are merely trying to pitch their perfectness to the media.

This post is already long enough and I still have one more thing to cover so I'll leave it at that...suffice it to say that I'm sure an upcoming topic on Stuff White People Like will be Shared Parenting.

Which brings me to the final--and probably best--link of all. ThirdPath--a favorite resource of Amy and Marc's--ranks right up there with Le Petite Paradis in terms of its "you've got to be kidding me" quotient. I'll have to write about ThirdPath another time, as it deserves its own post, but I'll just say that if my career as a Bottle Whisperer doesn't pan out I'm going to try offering "coaching calls" for $150 an hour.

Stuff White People Like (yes, again)

Yesterday our friends Jen and Chris were visiting and somehow the conversation turned to Stuff White People Like. I am so obsessed with it I had to pull out the laptop and share one of my all-time favorite things white people like: Having Black Friends.

"Since we are on the verge of electing a black president, it seems important to explain why white people want black friends. Every white person wants a black friend like Barack: good-looking, well-spoken, and non-violent. Obviously, whites want black friends so as not to appear racist (see earlier Obama post). However, if we dig deeper what we notice about white people is not if they have black friends but in fact, how many black friends they have. White people like numbers. They like to count things like stars in the sky and the death toll at Mt. Everest and the number of times they’ve seen Tori Amos and/or Phish in concert. Counting the number of black friends is then clearly a divine imperative. The number of black friends white people possess also illustrates their comfort with black culture. Here’s a handy guide to the number system:

1—The white novice. This black friend is the gateway to helping white people understand gang signs and Vietnamese beauty supply stores. This black friend is probably the only black friend for many white people and when they all hang out (because white people hang out) they bring their “mutual” black friend with them.

2—The white black club-goer. Two black friends serve as bodyguards when white people go to black clubs to see how exactly one “pops, drops and locks” it.

3 -4—The white BET-er. See Justin Timberlake/ Robin Thicke/ Jon B for more information. For old school reference, see Michael McDonald.

5 and up—Impossible."

LMAO!

Happy 4th!

July 4th just doesn't seem as fun as it used to. I don't know if it's because I'm old now or what but it's just not exciting at all. I remember it used to be my favorite holiday and I LOVED fireworks. Now I'm just too lazy to give it enough forethought to even find where they're having them.

I wish I had this thing that Mimi made when she was about 5--it was my favorite piece of kid work ever. It was a piece of paper that said:

It is omos 4 ov july.

It was awesome just as it was, but then, a year and apparently some learnin' later, she unpinned it from the bulletin board I kept it on and, imitating a teacher, she took a red pen to it and corrected it to read:

It is omosT 4 ov July.

P.S. to Summer Sucks

Ok--check out that link and tell me--how is a Smiling Malfi mimobot named Buddy Chub not actualy a vibrator? USB drive my ass; why would anyone need a dildo-shaped flash drive named Buddy Chub?



Although, in the interest of full disclosure, I do have to purchase Fairybit Fairybot--I think Cassie will agree that it's the cutest thing I've ever seen!!


Oh no--it keeps getting worse--I just saw that they have Tokidoki mimobots!



Must...stop...looking...

Summer Sucks

Damn, I'm tired. Summer is just not fun for grown-ups; or, I should say, parents of young kids. Sure it's fun--for a while--if you're not working during the summer (or at all) and have not a care in the world about packing lunches for camp or worrying about sending your kid to camp with a bee sting because you don't have any sick time to use.

I used to be a stay home mom so I know the carefree feeling of summer with kids when job worries aren't even on your radar. You get to sleep in every day (except when there's swim practice, but of course you know I'm the kind of mom who would send her kid to inferior afternoon practice to avoid having to get up at 7 am) and the world is basically stress-free.

For about two weeks; three if you're lucky. Then the kids start to get bored and you get bored and then someone gets sick then you all get sick of the pool and start hating being around each other and by the end of July you're pretty much wanting to hang yourself. Maybe that's not the case for the lucky moms who get to go away for weeks at a time to a beach house or something; but then again, it's probably twice as bad for them because there's no dad in the picture--it's all mom, all the time.

Anyway, I forget my point, because I'm so exhausted from just the second day of the work/camp/swim team routine. It's 10:20 pm and I still have yet to go down and make the lunches for tomorrow. I would gladly give each kid $20 to buy a lunch at this point--hell, $50-- but of course they want one made by me. Sigh.

I digress...guess I have to go make the lunches. But now I can't, because the 4 houseguests I've had since Sunday--my inlaws, who I love and hate to speak badly of, as well as two distant cousins of Patrick's--who, incidentally, speak only French--just got home from Patrick's baseball game. Which means the 2 hours of non-socializing or working or driving or mothering time I've had since Sunday have come to an end and I'm too tired to have to go drag out the high-school French and piece together a conversation while I make lunches.

I shouldn't complain because they're all very nice and, under less hectic circumstances it would be fun to hang out and dust off the French some more; however, right now all I want to do is turn off the lights, insert my trusty Flents, down an Ambien and wake up when everyone is gone.

Anyone want to drive by and leave some Lunchables in my driveway by 7 am tomorrow? Mimi likes pizza and Matthew likes turkey and cheddar.

Lest my rant has put you in a funk, let's take a page from my sister Cassie's blog: I defy you to look at this page and not smile. Or at least wonder "WTF?"

Apparently I'm Not an Expert in What White People Like

One of my favorite blogs--Stuff White People Like--had a contest to see who could come up with new things white people like. The five best entries would be featured on the blog and the winners would get a free copy of the new book, Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions by Christian Lander. The book is coming out July 1st and I'm going to buy it--even though I didn't win the contest--because I know it's going to be HILARIOUS.

Lest my creative efforts be wasted, this was my contest entry:

Everyone knows that "breast is best"--or at least all white people do. Breast milk is the elixir of the white gods--it's the all-natural, environmentally-friendly (no nasty plastic bottles!) way to guarantee your baby will become a gifted child and enjoy perfect health forever.

White people are naturally competitive--they like to be the best and have the best. What better way to combine being the best, giving the best and having the best than breastfeeding? Not only do the babies win by growing up with immune systems of steel and greatly increased odds of getting into an Ivy League school by virtue of their breast milk-enhanced brains, but the parents can check off the first of many things that they're doing perfectly. If, in spite of having been breast-fed, their babies turn out to be allergic to wheat or peanuts or end up with ADHD, the parents can rest assured that obviously breastfeeding was what saved the kid from being REALLY sickly. Meanwhile, if a non-breast-fed kid so much as sneezes or gets a B on a test, of course it's the parents' fault because they didn't breastfeed. And of course I mean parents' fault-- plural--rather than just moms', because white fathers see themselves as equally involved in breastfeeding even though the milk is not technically coming out of their breasts. Their support of the effort--waking up for every night feeding, changing the diaper and then getting the baby back to sleep--is obviously just as important as the actual milk.

Breastfeeding is so important to white people that they're willing to go to any length necessary to make sure they're able to give their babies "the best" for as long as possible. Lactation consultants are the beneficiaries of white people's obsession with breastfeeding--$150 an hour to come to your house to show you how to get your baby so suck on your nipple correctly.

Hey--can't blame a girl for trying--I thought my post was mighty white. And you know I never pass up an opportunity to rank on breastfeeding zealots because I'm bitter that a lactation consultant once told me my baby would die if I fed her formula.

Shameless Plug for the Toyota Matrix (and no, Toyota is not paying me)

This time last year I had a VW Passat--V6, heated leather seats--the works. I was never a car person and had no idea what a V6 even was when I bought the car (3 years old from Carmax). All I knew was that I liked the color and I'd never had leather seats before--let alone heated leather seats. Granted, back when I bought it I was still married to my first husband (that sounds so Elizabeth Taylor) and we had a minivan so the second car was strictly for whichever one of us wasn't toting the kids and their stuff.

In the divorce, he got the paid off car (the mini-van) due to circumstances that could only be explained in a novel because the whole thing was so crazy. Bottom line: Rich in-laws who hate you are not a good thing when you’re divorcing their son and they can—and probably will—make your life miserable. At any rate, I did get the Passat and the car payment that went with it—not a bad trade for getting out of that marriage.

The only problem was the gas mileage. First of all it required premium grade gas, which I initially thought was BS and continued to use regular. In care you’re wondering, when a car company says a car requires premium, they aren’t just trying to prove you for a sucker—the car actually does require the high-grade gas to function correctly. Those commercials about knocking and pinging? Those are the exact sounds your car will make if you use regular gas.

So fine, I got used to using premium. But something was wrong—there must have been a leak in the gas tank because I constantly had to get gas. On average it seemed I was getting about 19 mpg, or even closer to 17 sometimes. I had the shop look at it but nothing was wrong; little did I know but V6s guzzle gas. Who knew? It got to the point where I was fighting an ongoing battle to be able to go a full week without having to fill up—and this was when I was basically only driving to and from work.

Then this time last year I decided enough was enough—having a car payment was bad enough; having to pay almost $200 a month for gas was ridiculous. I decided to trade it in for something more fuel-efficient, not to mention with some semblance of storage space since I no longer had the minivan. I looked at hybrids first—the Explorer and the Prius. Both WAY out of my price range; I needed to maintain the same car payment after the trade-in. When I went to look at the Prius I noticed a cute car on the lot and asked what it was. It was a Matrix. Brand new, the top of the line model was about $18,000. I drove it and bought it, and it has proven to be a great decision.

It takes regular gas, which these days of course is huge. It kills me to pay $4.05 for a gallon of gas; I don’t think I could stomach paying $4.75 a gallon. I fill up every 7 days—occasionally 8. When Patrick and I went on a 250 mile car trip a few weekends ago it took 8.5 gallons of gas to get there—that’s about 33 mpg (calculations Patrick’s, not mine—math is not my thing).

So if you’re looking at hybrids thinking it’s worth the $25,000-$50,000 and up for a car that gets, on average, as low as about 25mpg and a high of maybe 50mpg (city only; highway is less (according to Real Hybrid Mileage Database). http://www.greenhybrid.com/compare/mileage/ , I strongly suggest you consider the Matrix. It’s cheap, has a ton of room (when the back seats are flipped down you can carry as much as any SUV with the back seats flipped down), gets great gas mileage and is, after all, a Toyota, so it’s reliable. Granted, it’s no V6 so the beauty of being able to go from 0-60 in no time with no sound will be a thing of the past, but the thrill of much lower gas bills each month almost compensates for it.

Comcastic

Do you live in the DC metro area? If so, you are almost surely familiar with Comcast cable, the crappiest cable company on the planet--possibly the crappiest company on the planet, period. I could go on and on and on about why they are so bad, but I read about this YouTube video today and I think it sums up Comcast's quality customer service perfectly:



BTW, I read about it in Groundswell, a book actually sent to me by Forrester Research to read and blog about. So blogging hasn't gotten me a book deal (yet)--at least now I can say it's gotten me a free book.

This Just In: Yuppie Sex is "Madcap" and "Exhausting"

I was at a swim meet last night, an activity that provides much time for social interaction because you're there for 4 hours yet your kid is in the pool a total of 90 seconds. One of the ladies was talking about this book she'd heard about--a couple had done the unthinkable: had sex for 101 nights in a row then written a book about it. Can you imagine? The ladies at the swim meet sure couldn't--nobody could keep up that pace, they insisted, and even if you could why would you want to?

So I look it up this morning: the book is called Just Do It:How One Couple Turned Off the TV and Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days (No Excuses!) and everyone is going crazy about it--talking about how "gutsy" the "radical" this couple was to do it and write about it. The reviews are both hilarious and perplexing to me:

"101 straight days of sex between any two people is an impressive feat, but add the elements of encroaching middle age, fourteen years of togetherness, a couple of demanding jobs, and two small and willful children, and that feat becomes something extraordinary."—Lauren Dockett, co-author of Facing 30 and Sex Talk

"Many of us have thought of taking this journey, but only Doug and Annie have had the guts to do it and the grace to write about it.”—Mira Kirshenbaum, author of Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay and When Good People Have Affairs

Since when is fucking that hard to do? Clearly someone needs to pay me to write a book dispelling the myth that sex is such a huge ordeal that it's just not possible to sustain having it on a regular basis if you're married and have kids. I know, I know--everyone will say "but you're a newlywed! It's not the same after you've been married for 10 years." To that I say bullshit. Fucking is fucking. I most definitely have the guts and grace to write about it--anyone want to pay me to do it?

Seriously. If being 40, having kids and a job and having frequent sex is book- worthy, then clearly I need to get on that bandwagon. (I'm sure my mom is reaching for the phone as she reads this, frantically dialing my number to tell me what a grave mistake it is for me to reveal the details of my personal life to the whole world.)

Suffice it to say that 101 times in 101 days is nothing; try at least at least 700 times in the past 2 years and no way will we be taking a month off anytime soon. Again with the newly wed comments, I'm sure--everyone will say just wait and you'll be in the once a month or less club soon enough. To that I say NEVER and find me a publisher willing to pay me to prove it.

The author and his wife--Annie and Douglas Brown--appeared on The Today Show proudly boasting about their "colorful romp" and "madcap adventures" (those phrases alone make this book a must-buy). They got the idea for the book when Doug heard about the concept of the "100 Days Club"--a club you belong to if you haven't had sex with your partner in 100 days. He told his wife about it and she had the "madcap" idea to reverse that and have sex for 100 straight days.

They did it then were so exhausted that they promptly took a month off. What I don't understand is why they are now being hailed as virtual marriage counselors. They are inviting people to write to them to find out "How to save your marriage with sex" and will be on The Today Show again on June 26 to share their new-found wisdom.

If gritting your teeth through 101 days of sex then swearing off each other out of sheer exhaustion is the way to save a marriage then I don't expect to see the national divorce rates fall anytime soon.

Countdown to 40

Just got back from birthday dinner with the moms in the burbs. It was my friend's 39th birthday today and, in case I haven't mentioned it enough times yet, my birthday tomorrow. Actually, 45 minutes from now to be exact.

Anyway--so we're all at this cute new Mexican restaurant (Tabasco in Olney, MD--you should try it!) and a woman who I hadn't seen since last summer is sitting next to me. The last time I'd been out with her and another friend about a year ago, she was basically a sobbing wreck, slurring on and on about how she wanted a divorce, hated her husband, etc, etc. We were at Clyde's and I swear she must have had 8 beers in an hour. Fast forward a year and here she is sitting at the table next to me tonight.

A bit of history: her husband is a military doctor and they've been in this area for 2 years. She has 3 kids, a nanny and spends her days playing tennis at the club. Actually, she had to fire the nanny when the girl went to Brazil and came back laden with bed bugs, which subsequently took 6 months and $5,000 to eradicate from the house. So make that 3 kids and still spends her days playing tennis at the club because they have childcare there.

When we last met she was just beside herself--granted, she was also drunk off her ass--but just going on and on about how she hated her life, her marriage, wanted out--the whole bit. So here she is tonight, fresh as a daisy and all smiles. Things are going great! They're moving back to their old house, 2 hours south of here. She's gushing about how they went through a real "bad patch" but that's just life and that's what you do if you have kids--you stick with it!

She gave quite a speech about the "stick with it" thing--no marriage is perfect, you have a history together, you have kids together, you just make it work. Yawn. Then she says to me "So what, do your kids see their dad on the weekends or something?"

Oh--wait--I forgot to mention--back there when I just said "they're" moving back to their old house? That would be she and the 3 kids are moving back there; the husband is staying here, renting a room in some old lady's house and going home on the weekends he isn't on call.

Let's see: parents divorced and live 5 minutes from each other and kids see both parents every day, or parents "happily" married, living 2 hours away from each other and kids lucky if they see their dad twice a month?

Anyway, I have to go be 30-something for another half hour.

Sick

Nothing like a ripping stomach bug to wreck your day. I woke up in the middle of the night and did something I haven't done in probably 13 years--puked. Now I'm home with that kind of flu where you're laying on the bathroom rug, whimpering. Just going downstairs almost killed me--I almost passed out. Then had to go to the car to get the Tylenol--that did me in and now I have no energy to even go lock the door behind my mother who generously came to bring me gingerale.

So here I am, stuck on the sofa with the laptop searing my thighs since I feel too crappy to either read, watch TV or sleep. Of course I can still blog, though; I'd probably have to be dead to be too sick to be on the computer.

I was about to check Craigslist for writing gigs--did you know that companies are now willing to pay freelancers to blog for them? I figure I'm doing it anyway; if someone wants to pay me I'd be all for it.

So I go to check out the "gigs" section, which is where people looking for freelancers go and notice there's a category for adult gigs. Naturally I'm curious about this section so I go check it out. It's pretty much what you'd expect--looking for nude models, nude cleaning ladies ($250 an hour! Too bad I'm not under 30), escort services--the adult services you'd figure are pretty standard. But there are a lot of random and entertaining ones too--excellent headlines like "In Search of Young Girls Interested in *Working*" (asterix their's). I guess they want to make it clear they're not looking for a typist or barrista or something. Then my favorite:

I just wanted to know if there were any gentleman out there that would like to have a dinner date with an attractive AA lady?

I am interested in having a Sushi dinner (at a place that has quality sushi) or just a trip to Panera....I'm just hungry and have a taste for one of those two things.

This is for dinner only and all that I ask is you provide a donation to have a dinner date this evening in the area (or very close to).

I would like 100 for the time spent and gas (NO FS just dinner)....If you are interested in a dinner date with classy ebony lady please drop me line

If this isn't an example of truth being more awesome than fiction, I don't know what is. First, there's the specificity: I'm definitely craving either sushi (and quality sushi, at that) or Panera. Nothing else will do. Then the "donation" for the dinner date--aren't those two things mutually exclusive? Either you're on a date, or he's giving a donation so you can take yourself to sushi or Panera. Then there's the contratictory "this is for dinner only" then "I would like 100 for the time spent." And the weirdest part--wtf is "FS"?

Basically, I'm hungry and want some stranger to not only pay for my dinner at my choice of restaurant, but pay also for my time and gas. And no FS, whatever that is. All I can do is give the girl props for trying, and tell her maybe she should aim higher than Panera if she's going to the effort to hitchike for perverts on the internet. I'm very tempted to email her just to ask if she had any takers, did they choose sushi or Panera, did the guy actually fork over the $100 time/gas surcharge and did he demand FS?

This board offered many head-scratchers, too: what is CFNM? Twink bottom? Ugh--and nasty dad looking for childcare. Come take care of my kid and be my whore for free, and I might let you live here. There's an opportunity worth considering.

Friday Night

Wouldn't you know it--I finally have time to write and my mind is blank. The air conditioner is broken so the heat is blocking my thought processes.

I just went to sign onto Facebook and, prepopulated in the email address field was my daughter's email address. I sign in and yes, there it is--she has a Facebook page. Thankfully nothing on it--yet--but a handful of friends.

Ok, kill me now--I just went to take a closer look and started checking out the friends of her friends and a) it is freaking me out that these girls (not Mimi, thankfully) describe themselves as "X high school '11." Um, they're in 6th grade--what's up with trying to pass as high school girls? And one of the girls has a photo of herself in a bikini--in the snow.

Cassie--you should be SOOO glad you don't have to deal with this yet!

Ok, well Patrick just got home and the AC is broken so I gotta go hang with the hubby.

This numb finger is killing me. Not literally--it doesn't hurt--but it's at best annoying and at worst basically crippling if all you do all day is type and use a mouse, then most of what you like to do for fun involves either typing or using a mouse. It's like being a big talker but having to sit around with a piece of tape over your mouth.

It was getting better for a few days--I thought it was almost gone since it was down to one tiny spot on the tip of my pinkie being slightly tingly, but now it's back to my entire pinkie being almost totally numb. Now that my one week of not having health insurance is over and I am once again covered, I think I'm going to have to cave and go to the doctor.

I hate having ailments that don't just go away either with the passing of time or with the help of a few pills. At least with an infection or something you can just call the doctor and he can phone in a prescription--no office visit necessary. But unfortunately it seems like stretching or not stretching or Advil or ice or heat or sleeping with an arm split on sleeping with a wrist splint are helping this nerve thing so maybe I better figure out which doctor to go to.

In the meantime, if you are suicidal because I haven't written anything entertaining lately, you can read my other, other blog where I wrote about something Patrick said that I thought was brilliant and hilarious. Nobody else seemed to think it was very hilarious, but what do they know.

Nothing's really up lately. My new job rocks. The weather is nice. The pool is open. My birthday is in 2 weeks and Patrick is taking me here. I am so excited--not only is it the fanciest place on the planet (next to my beloved Wynn) but they have shooting there. Being there will definitely take the pain of turning 40 away. Hopefully this f-ing hand is better by then; I have never shot a real gun before and don't want anything messing up my shooting ability.

Well, sadly, must go back to typing moratorium.

Readin'

Since I haven't been able to type or play computer games much I've had to resort to other recreational pursuits. I'm not much of a TV lover (although the new Denise Richardson show looks promising for trashy entertainment; that girl has a worse trash mouth than I do and it is NOT attractive) so I have mostly been reading. A lot.

I already wrote about Augusten's new book--naturally it rocked. Since then I have read the following:

Madness: A Bipolar Life by Marya Hornbacher. It was good but depressing and freaky. If you want to feel normal, read this book. Just reading it is exhausting; I can't imagine having to live it. This book could serve as a FIO DSM: if you relate to this girl and/or have experienced what she has, you're crazy; if not, you're fine. Ok--sorry--I know "crazy" is not the PC term, but since I am supposedly crazy myself I'm allowed to call it that. And I'm telling you--I am 1000% less crazy than this poor woman.

Split by Suzanne Finnamore. I read this book because Augusten recommends it; I think she's a good friend of his. Lucky cow. Anyway, while I did like it and ultimately think she's a good writer, it took a long time to warm to her style. It could have something to do with the fact that I cannot relate to women who know their husbands are cheating yet choose to live in denial and want him anyway. Her story is that one day her husband just announces he's leaving and she is devastated and desperately wants him back, even when we learn, though a series of flashbacks spanning as far back as the beginning of their relationship, that he was a serial cheater.

She describes finding a book of poetry--with a romantic inscription and "xoxo Me"--in their house and it's sure not hers. She finds a cocktail napkin with some romantic song lyrics written on it in her husband's handwriting, complete with some other woman's name written in the margins or something; not only does she find it but she finds it on the floor of the nursery when she is 8 months pregnant.

Then of course there's the blatantly obvious: he has left her for another woman who he moves in with and proceeds to have a baby with. Throughout the whole thing Finnamore just swoons about how much she loves him; she repeatedly sleeps with him and, right up till the very last paragraph, seems to revel in the fact that he still likes to be with her or spend time with her or sleep with her when the fancy strikes him. She lovingly describes how he will just show up unannounced and help himself to her food, her furniture--even her mail. The guy turns my stomach--he leaves her for this other woman, then is cheating on the other woman with her. All the while she's painting him in this romantic light; how what they had was so beautiful and special and he obviously can't live without her. Meanwhile, it's blaringly apparent that the guy is a sociopath who does what he wants, when he wants, with who he wants and doesn't give it a second thought. Scott Peterson was very charming and sincere, too--and look how that turned out.

I don't mean to cut on Augusten's friend, but I just don't understand how she can stand to look at this guy, much less continue to mourn losing him and want him back. The book is good, but I say that very reluctantly because the whole thing was almost ruined by her ridiculous longing for her dick of an ex-husband.

Ok, well my pinkie is totally numb now so that will have to suffice; I'll fill you in on the other books I've read when I regain the feeling in my finger.

Can't...Type...



Wow, I'm having blogging withdrawal, it's been so long since I've written in here. It's partly due to the fact that I have a new job where I have actual work to do--imagine that. And it's also by necessity since I'm valiantly trying to will my nerve-damaged hand to heal without having to seek medical help. I have pretty much figured out what's wrong: ulnar nerve entrapment. It's freaky because my hand is numb in the EXACT blue places on this picture, right down to the half index finger.

Guess I'll try sleeping with a huge towel wrapped around my elbow so I can't bend my arm. Not. Sadly I sleep on my side with my arm curled up in the exact "don't" way indicated on that page. I guess I could try some version of the towel thing, but it will necessitate me having to take a double-dose of Ambien to be able to sleep. (Just kidding, mom.)(My mom's suggested dose of every medication: cut the pill in half, or even in quarters. If you go by her rules you pretty much just have to think about the pill and that should be sufficient to relieve your symptoms.)

At any rate, since I have to spend my working life at the keyboard I need to spend all non-work time trying to keep my arm straight as a stick; e.g. not typing or using a mouse. Therefore blogging sadly has become as verboten as playing Luxor. I have determined that the way to avoid future game-related injuries is to buy a Wii--that way I can still waste countless hours playing video games but I won't be glued to a keyboard.

Actually, I'm sure that logic is flawed and I'd end up with some other Wii-related injury, which is just as well since I have about 100 other things I could spend the $500+ it would cost to buy the Wii, the controllers and all the other accessories necessary to have any fun with it.

Well, I'd love to stay and chat but it's time to go back to doing something that doesn't require use of my elbow or right hand.

Sigh. I hope this goes away soon.

Birthday Weekend

At this exact time 12 years ago I had just gone to McDonalds and eaten a double quarter pounder with cheese and a large fries, then walked for as long as a huge pregnant lady can walk after eating all that, then sat down to watch Victor/Victoria (it just happened to be on TV). At 10 pm I got up to go to the bathroom and--splash!--my water broke while I was on the toilet. Sorry for the sound effect but it was notably funny that it did literally sound like a water balloon had dropped into the bowl.

Anyway, here I am, 12 years later, sitting on a different sofa with a crick in my neck that I swear hurts more than labor did. (not to gloat but I actually never had any labor pains at all with Mimi--I'm not even kidding). Yesterday I took Mimi and her friend for a birthday weekend "away"--if you could being 30 minutes south of here at an Embassy Suites away. I had been dreading it--stuck with two 12 year-old girls for 24 hours--can you imagine? But I was actually pleasantly surprised--it wasn't half bad. Better yet, it was even--dare I say it?--fun.

You would think that two 12 year-old girls together would be double the surly-ness and, therefore, intolerable, but it was actually the opposite; they somehow cancelled each other's hormones out or something and were downright pleasant to be with. We went to see Baby Mama--I give it an 8, btw--went to the hotel pool, ate pizza and watched TV.

It was all good until bedtime. The friend had to leave at 9 so it was just me, Mimi and a king-sized bed. We hadn't had time to watch a movie with the friend so it was now time for the movie. There were at least 10 movies that were both suitable for a 12 year-old and fun for me to watch. But of course that would have been too easy--after much deliberation, Mimi chose the feature-length Hannah Montana concert.

I managed to read for a while with the help of earplugs, then actually fell asleep before the movie was even over. At 2 am I was woken up with an elbow jab to the eye, courtesy of Mimi who manages to take up the entire bed, no matter how big it is. So I went to sleep on the sofa and must have slept wrong because I woke up with a ripping crick in my neck.

The sad reality is that I've been totally spoiled as far as hotels go. There is a world of difference between the Frette-sheeted bed in a salon suite at the Wynn and the pullout couch bed at Embassy Suites.

But I digress...bottom line is that, come midnight, I am the mom of an official 12 year-old girl.

Go Augusten! A Wolf At The Table is a Bestseller!

I finished Augusten's new book, A Wolf At The Table, and it was fabulous. It's definitely different from his other books--for one thing, it's not light or funny or self-deprecating. It's just sad, but beautifully written. I won't say more than that because you have to read it yourself but I will say that I don't understand why people harp about whether or not his books are actually true or if he made stuff up or what. Who cares? A book is a book and he's an awesome writer and his stories are engaging whether or not they're true. I wish they weren't true--I wish he didn't have such a sad story to tell--but at least he's happy and successful now.

I hope he sells a million copies of this book so next time he does a book tour he gets to go to more stores than the one tiny one he'll be doing in DC on Tuesday, which I may well miss--much to my infinite sadness. I thought he'd be at Barnes and Noble or whatever out in the burbs, but apparently not. Actually, maybe he chooses the venues and didn't want a big store?

Anyway, to add insult to injury, when I tried to look at the website for the group that's sponsoring the signing he's doing in DC I couldn't view it because the place I work blocks gay and lesbian websites. I'm not talking porn; I'm talking the Human Rights Campaign Equality Forum website. How they don't get slapped with a discrimination lawsuit here for blatantly blocking anything having to do with gays is beyond me.

At any rate, go read it and tell me what you think. And keep your fingers crossed that I can get downtown by 6:30 pm on Tuesday to see him!

Happy Mother's Day

Mimi (who will be 12 a week from tomorrow) may be Wednesday Addams incarnate but the girl can write a fierce poem. Who needs Hallmark when you can come up with this?

You are so pretty
For all the other moms I take pity
You have the best style
Especially in your smile
You have (very) slightly jiggly buns
But you have hard rock guns
Your teeth are perfectly white
Your pretty face shines so bright

Happy Mother's Day!

UPDATE

My mom called to say that Mimi shouldn't be praised for writing a poem about my boobs. I thought everyone knew "guns" means arms. Think what's-her-name in Terminator. Except mine aren't that rock-hard. My arms, that is.

I'm Hot

Wow--today my blog is in the "What's Hot" section of myragan.com (the "All this twitter is making me crazy!" headline). If you're reading this post on a day other than today, it's probably no longer up there--alas, the fleeting nature of any spotlight.

Oh and, yes, I am that much of a loser that I have 3 blogs. That one on myragan.com was just an experiment to see how many people actually read it vs. how many people read Mizz Information. As of 1 pm today 149 people have read the myragan.com one. Average daily visits to Mizz Information? That would be zero.

Do the math on that.

Forget Blog to Book Deals--This Chick Says You Can Make $1M Blogging

Ok, forget the blog-to-book deal concept entirely; according to Jessica Santina at Yahoo! Education, one of the 10 hottest emerging careers is blogging. She claims that top bloggers can make 6-figures--or even millions!!

I guess the operative word here is "top;" presumably "top" doesn't apply to bloggers who write about stuff like how Mallory looks old or which movie rocked and which movie sucked. You never know, though...

Is Desperate Housewives That Desperate?

Ok, not to be catty, but we were watching Desperate Housewives last night and suddenly there's a new character on Wisteria Lane. Apparently Carlos and Gabby need money so badly they've resorted to renting out rooms in their house. They're interviewing this potential tenant and I keep looking at her thinking "Who IS that? She looks familiar."

The whole time I kept thinking she looked like a very weathered Mallory--you remember fresh-faced Mallory, right?



Doesn't this sort of look like her, except gaunt and, um, not attractive?


It is her.

Ok, actually she doesn't look that bad in this picture--on the show her character turns out to be a drug dealer and let's just say she looks like she's her own best customer. You'll have to watch it next week to see what mean.

If nothing else she just looked so un-hollywood. I'm so used to everyone looking like they get better and better as they get older--actresses, that is--what with fat injections and botox and eye lifts and who knows what else. Honestly--look at Courtney Cox or Katie Couric or Christy Brinkley--or almost any actress/model over the age of 40. Granted, everyone looks slightly like they've been replaced by an alien that looks ALMOST the same but something's not quite right--but they all look pretty glam.

Then look at Mallory (she's always Mallory to me, not Justine Bateman) on Desperate Housewives--you'll have to watch it next week because I can't find any links to photos bad enough to illustrate my point, and trust me, I do have a point. She just looks weird--I don't know if she attempted some kind of plastic surgery and it somehow didn't work out or what, but she looks sort of like a cross between a gaunt, stoned version of her former self and Michael Jackson. Seriously.

Forget Waiting for a Book Deal--You Can Create and Sell Your Own Book

My friend Renee is my guru of stuff like The Secret and The 4-Hour Work Week--basically all that power of positive thinking stuff that most people think is a crock but I personally buy into. She reads my blog and knows about my obsession with the book deal because she sent me this link.

Unless I'm reading it wrong it appears you can write a book and, for a cost of $3.66 per book with fewer than 108 pages (or $1.50 plus $.02 per book if it's more than 108 pages) print it and sell it on Amazon or wherever you want.

Um, how cool is that?

Now that we know there is the actual option of writing a book we all need to think of something to write and do it, if for no other reason than curiosity. If a random nobody writes a book and manages to market it successfully enough I suppose it would be possible to create your own million dollar book deal.

For instance--I have been listening to the audiobook of The Secret (also kindly given to me by Renee--thanks if you're reading this!) and Jack Canfield, the guy who wrote Chicken Soup for the Soul, tells the story of how he decided he wanted to earn $100,000 in a year and dreamed up the idea for that book and went for it. Here's his bio now:

Jack Canfield, has worked his way from being a teacher to holding a Guinness world record for having seven books simultaneously on The New York Times® Best Sellers list. As a coauthor of the Chicken Soup for the Soul® series, he's sold more than 80 million books. Canfield has traveled to over 21 countries, delivering hundreds of keynote speeches, workshops and trainings each year. Canfield has appeared on numerous television shows. Today, he shares his success strategies with companies and associations worldwide

The only problem is that, if I apply Jack Canfield's theories to myself, I can already tell you that I would never succeed at building my own million-dollar empire because the only part of it I'd want is the million dollars.

I don't actually want to be an entrepreneur or build an empire. I don't want to travel or do any public speaking. I want the structure of going to an office every day and having someone else worry about the details. So if I apply the principles of The Secret to myself I've already shot any chances of being a passive millionaire--or any kind of millionaire--because I don't actually WANT to have that life and the universe only sends you what you want.

Oh well. The universe sent me a cool new job and the link to this self publishing thing so the message is that if I ever want to publish a book I can just do it myself. The universe also probably knows I have no initiative beyond writing this blog so won't be publishing a book anytime soon, unless it's a book of short short stories. Yes, that is an actual writing genre, by the way.

Obviously, the concept of short short stories was tailor-made for me; it may as well be called FIO fiction. Read these stories and tell me you don't think they're a stroke of FIO genius.

How Do You Say Eco-Friendly in French?

I got this from my one of my favorite new blogs, Stuff White People Like.

This is truly a case of fact being funnier than fiction. Check out Le Petite Paradise Preschool's website --if you didn't know better wouldn't you think it's a joke? I personally can't see how it's NOT a joke.

Check out the eco-friendly section and you'll see what I mean. Any sales pitch that has to use the qualifier "mostly" just can't be for real, can it?

If so then I am "mostly" eco-friendly myself. I "sometimes" take my empty soda cans to the kitchen at work to put them in the recycle bin. No matter that it's maybe 1 in 10 times; I am still committed to recycling, non? And I "mostly" recycle paper and cardboard--unless I'm too lazy to walk the few extra steps to the recycle bin and must put it in the trash instead. The floors at my house "might" be made of wood from genetically enginered trees, therefore having spared hundreds of real trees. Or possibly not.

Anyway, I'm sorry but I am not thoroughly convinced that it's not a joke--I mean, school anthem on the website?