Nerdy Bits

I stumbled across this post over at The Park Bench the other day, and it really made me feel like maybe my nerd-girl credentials are a little dusty. Mostly because I don't know who the fuck Liz Lemon is. But I have been slacking off a little lately in the nerd department. I mean - what if I got all NORMAL? The shame.

So, here's what's going on in my Nerd World lately.


Champions Online, the next big superhero MMO, is now in open beta (that means anyone can give it a go)(if they're willing to sit through a several-hour download, that is). So far, I give it a resounding 'meh'. I really, reeeeaaallly wanted to love this game, because superheros and MMOs are my 'thing', and I'm getting a tad jaded about my beloved City of Heroes, after a mere 4 years of playing it.

I know! I'm so fickle. Anyway, there are lots of clever things you can do in Champions (burrowing under the earth as a travel power? Okay, that's pretty cool), but most of the missions seem like a grind (kill X amount of X) and my artsy brain just can't get past the fact that it requires some video-card-on-steroids to render a game that's essentially in 2D. We get that it's a comic book game, you don't have to put a thick black line around everything. Honest.

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Season 3 of The Guild came out on Tuesday. For XBox Live subscribers, anyway. Which I am not. So if you ARE, please shutthefuckup until it's available to the rest of us, m'kay?

(If you're unaware, which I was until recently, The Guild is a web-based series about a group of MMO players. Each episode is 3-5 minutes long. Even if you don't play MMOs, it's a freakin' hilarious look at the weirdness that has evolved out of relationships over the internet. Like, say, BLOGGERS. Ahem.)

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Dollhouse, Season 1. Yeah, I know it came out on DVD a little while ago, but I just got around to watching it now. I wasn't super pumped about it. The plot sounded like an excuse for a lot of scantily clad women, and I always considered Eliza Dushku to be one of the few weak links in the Buffy series. I mean, anyone can play "bad girl with a vulnerable side", and she didn't even do the 'vulnerable' part that well in my opinion. But Dollhouse? Rocks. Eliza Dushku has totally upped her game, and the storyline so far is fan-fucking-tastic.

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Faunasphere, that strangely addictive little web-based gem of a game that I wrote about a while back, is now live. Anybody can sign up and play for free, and they've added a spooky new world: The Swamp.

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The first in Kevin Smith's new Batman series, The Widening Gyre, came out on Wednesday. The story has definite potential, though not so much the art.

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Apparently Frank Cho and Doug Murray want ME to draw their upcoming comic, 50 Girls 50. ME! Well, okay, not me specifically. If you're a comic book artist, they want you to take a shot at illustrating the first 6 pages of the script, and they'll pick a winner.

Hey, I draw comics.

Fancy that.

Non sequiturs, or, Evolutionary U-Turns Sometimes Make the Best Conversationalists

Overheard in the grocery store line-up:

Dude 1: "Yeah, so, it's when the guy just, whoop! Flicks his hockey stick between your legs. Like, lifts your sack and smacks you underneath. Man, that hurts."

Dude 2: "Yeah."

Dude 1: "Just, y'know, a quick hit. Fuck that hurts. You have no idea how much that hurts."

Dude 2: "Yeah I do."

Dude 1: "Oh, yeah, right. I guess you would know, huh?"

Dude 2 (reading newspaper headline): "'One Million Kenyans Face Starvation'. Poor Kenyans."

Dude 1: "Enh. Kenyans. Whatever. They're all reincarnated, over and over. The entire population of Kenya."

Dude 2 (sings, loudly and tunelessly): "The llliiiiooons...in Keennnyaaaa...come to Keennnyyaaaa...we have llliiioooonss...."


Me (thinking): So...which aisle of the grocery store do they sell recreational narcotics? Because I somehow overlooked it.

Poor building planning (aka as the Most Popular Concession EVAH)

(This is in our local stadium. They added seating and suddenly realized they needed a structural pillar.)

(It used to say POPCORN.)

Now, if AC/DC were underwater, they might sound better: Random Tuesday Thoughts

It's my favorite weekday! Well, okay, not really. My favorite weekday is FRIDAY, duh. But Tuesdays are a close second. So grab the button and get your random on!

AC/DC is playing here tonight. Well, not HERE, they'd have a hard time fitting into the basement, but at the stadium in town. I can hear it, even though it's 2 miles away. And guess what? They sound just as shitty as if I were RIGHT THERE! I think I just saved myself a hundred bucks, or something.

Once when I was a teenager my friend and I were partying with this Australian guy, and my friend was the designated driver. When we got in the car to drive home, the Aussie requested some music for the ride, the name of which he pronounced "Acca Dacca". What with the accent and the pronunciation, my friend had not a single friggin' clue what he was talking about, until I piped up from the back seat, "That's how they pronounce AC/DC in Australia."

Ah! Communication success, tape in the tape deck, everybody happy. My friend brought it up the next day, but I had no idea what she was talking about. I didn't remember saying that, and I had no fucking idea I even possessed that knowledge.

That's right. I was a drunken teenage psychic, y'all.

I think I'm getting a cold, and my ears are plugged. All day, everything has sounded like it was underwater. It was really irritating, until I started picturing everything actually BEING underwater. Then it was more entertaining.

When my keyboard floated away I decided I'd probably taken too many cold meds.

It occurs to me, as I sit here in my schlumpy pajamas and glasses with my extra rolls of tummy and my hair in a ponytail, drinking extra calories that I don't really need, that I'll never be considered "a hottie" again. But that's okay, because I'm smart and funny and talented, and I've already procreated, so my worth as a human being is intact, right?

RIGHT??

Actually, that thought has occurred to me before. But don't worry, someone came along before the garage could really fill up with carbon monoxide.

My boss is out of town this week. It's been really nice to just plow through my massive workload without constant interruptions. I do like my job, just sometimes the environment sucks. This week has me thinking that I should just open my own pretzel stand six months out of the year, or maybe a gelato shop.

Um. Okay, that one even surprised ME with it's randomness. Considering I'm a graphic designer.

Sso if you're just standing around, these are called Squinters?

And...that's all folks. Do join us, won't you?

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What I did over the weekend, by Keely, age 9 (at least in my head)

I think I'm actually nervous about it

For Christmas, my parents gave me this cute little handmade gift certificate that entitled the bearer (me, duh) to one day's babysitting each month, provided I used that day to do something creative. In other words, I can't use it to nap or clean the house or watch the second season of Battlestar Galactica. I have to Be An Artist.

It's August, and I've only managed to claim 2 of those days so far (Apparently they don't stack. I should have read the fine print, I was totally psyched for dropping my kid off for a week). So, riding the wave of creative mental energy from my holiday, I corralled my father into supervising my spawn tomorrow while I Draw Some Comics. I'm just going to sit, and draw.

Now...if only I had any idea what to draw.

Love, Hate, and Lethargy

In case I didn't mention it, last week I packed up the fam and took them on holiday to Vancouver. I used to live there, and I love it. I love the mountains, I love the ocean, and I love the vibe of a city full of community-minded hippies. I love that independent retailers thrive, that there are always a ton of amazing (and free) community events, that you can get a decent job with a tattoo on your face. That I don't have to argue with people over whether feeding my kid organic milk is going to lower the chances that he'll be hitting puberty at the age of nine.

(And that organic milk is actually readily available, and not by appointment-only in some sketchy alley in the bowels of the city.)

But I also hate Vancouver. I hate the expense, the ridiculous commutes, the obscene crowds. Sometimes I even hate the hippies, or at least their lack of deoderant. And I hate the rain.

The rain, the rain, omigodthefuckingRAIN. It rains there, incessantly, oppressively, from October to March. I spent two winters there, and if I hadn't been a drunken 20-year-old theatre student in love with the world, I probably would have stabbed myself in the eye with a number 8 Phillips screwdriver. It rains, it keeps raining, and rains some more, and you're chilled to the bone and damp, constantly, because nobody who lives there actually uses an umbrella. It's like some great unspoken community effort to NOT use umbrellas. Possibly to lessen the loss of eyeballs, I don't know, but as a result you live your life as a drowned terrier for 6 months out of the year. Or be the social pariah with the umbrella. Your choice.

I have to remind myself of all this every time I visit Vancouver, because unsurprisingly, I always visit in the SUMMER. And it's pretty and sunny and all the hippies are feelin' the love, and I think, "Oh! I love Vancouver. I miss Vancouver. WE SHOULD MOVE TO VANCOUVER".

We're not, in fact, going to move to Vancouver, because I made myself promise (the LAST time I moved back) that I ever got that urge again, I'd spend a couple of weeks there during January to disabuse myself of the notion. So there's that.

But my workplace greeting on Monday really made me notice the stark contrast between the happy, positive, go-with-the-flow type of people that we were hanging with in Vancouver, and the fucking cesspool of negativity that I wade through every day. To keep myself sane there, I'm obligated to be relentlessly cheerful. One might even say obnoxiously cheerful.

I probably don't need to tell you that this is not, in fact, a state that comes naturally to me. I'm not a fucking cheerleader, I'm the bitter girl making sarcastic comments in the back of the classroom, thank you very much. I like it, I'm comfortable with it, and I'm good at it. But I'm a firm believer in "fake it til you make it", and in my current work environment, I need to do that to offset the whiners/complainers/bitchies/bullies.

Something needs to change, clearly. Location, job, number of children, my underwear more than twice a week, SOMETHING.

But then, there's lethargy.

I'd write more about that, but I can't be bothered.

Inappropriate product placement ftw!

(This was in the Kids Only Market on Granville Island, Vancouver.)

I'm baaaaack, and some other cliches: Random Tuesday Thoughts

So! Here I am. Back. After a week's holidays. Do I feel refreshed? Um...not really. But I missed you guys! So let's just jump right in there, okay?

I did miss you guys but to be honest, I don't really feel like blogging. Or very random. Mostly my thoughts consist of "I want to be back on holiday. I want to be back on holiday. I want to win the lottery so I can be back on holiday. I want to be back on holiday."

FoN said I didn't have to blog if I didn't want to, because I don't have a bloggy boss. See? YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME.

(Yes you are.)

On an unrelated note, my actual boss didn't even say 'hi' when I got into the office today. He eyeballed me and growled, "You are never allowed to take holidays EVER AGAIN."

Then he dumped two weeks worth of work on my desk.

Oh, yay! Welcome home.

My toddler rolled with the punches on holiday beyond my wildest expectations. He was awesome, and had a total blast. Mostly because there was a small kitten there for him to torture. The kitten was used to toddler torment, since it already lived in a house with an 18-month old, but I realized we may have let him get away with a bit too much in that department when we arrived home and he tried to pick up our 70-lb dog by her skin.

Yeah, she's really thrilled we're home.

We had a house-sitter/dog walker here while we were gone. When I was putting stuff away I wondered if she'd gone through our medicine cabinet. Not that I really care, but it made me hatch a new social experiment: I want to fill our medicine cabinet with really weird and cool things, like antique medical equipment or jars of exotic candy or dozens of gold dentures. And then have a party, and watch to see if you can tell who rifled through there when they were using the toilet. Who's confident enough to admit they opened it up? Who just looks shifty-eyed as they exit? Who manages to look completely guileless?

I probably should have been an anthropologist with this kind of in depth thinking.

Did I mention I love holidays?

A loving shout-out to Captain Dumbass, Casey, Jenni, Churchpunkmom, Frogmama, Michele, and Sprite's Keeper for holding down the fort while I was gone. They did it with style, panache, and a remarkable lack of clothing. Also thanks to Julie for conducting her own social experiment by giving me a post that was just thismuch over the top, and then watching me squirm while I agonized over whether to post it or not. Let me know when it gets published in Penthouse, won't ya Julie?

And that's about it for me today, kids. What? I'm easing back into it.

Grab the button and make the magic happen!

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Toddlers - Worlds Worst Travelling Companions

Today's guest poster is non other than Sprite's Keeper. She took the high road and didn't post about booze or nudity, but now I'm officially stressed that my kid won't fit INTO the Pack n' Play. Thanks, Jen! I owe you one. Really. Ahem, so, when's your next flight?



Huh. The blogosphere in Canada looks surprisingly similar to the blogosphere in Florida. Except they say things like "eh" and "ya" and "God save the queen." (Who saves the king? What's his safety net?) Anyway, I'm sure you've gathered by now that Keely took the kid and the husband and traipsed across the Canadian provinces for some well deserved quiet time and asked a few of us to handle her site for the day. Of course, I am always happy to do so, but I do believe in equality among the posting masses so she'll owe me one. In fact, we're going on our own holiday come Labor Day so I may ask for some payback that Monday. (Ooh, wait. That's also the first Monday of the month, a HASAY day. That may work. If she loses weight, and she's been running so she should be losing, then I can reap the benefits. If she gains weight, I can just say, "Hey, that was Keely writing on my site! I'm being good!" I like this plan..

Wow, that tangent took up a lot of space.

Last week, when Keely was stressing over the trip and carting a Pack'n'Play across planes, trains, and possibly buses, I expressed sympathy (and maybe an LOL) (and those of you who read my comments, I do NOT LOL) and found my topic for my guest post. (Which I thought was more in taste than booze and nudity.) (If you were in the same email thread that I was, you'll know what I mean.) I miss our Pack'n'Play. Badly. It really was the best baby item we had for Sprite. Anywhere we went, she was set for a place to sleep. Spending the weekend at my parents as often as we do when visiting the East Coast, it took less than a minute to set her up for a nap or the night. She was comfortable, she was content, she was CONTAINED. (Can I stress the contained part any more? It really does bear a second emphasis. CONTAINED!!)

When we were planning our registry and all the crap we would have to bring into our home to keep a kid happy, the Pack'n'Play was the first thing we zeroed that scanning gun on. In fact, the only pause in our decision was whether we wanted to "girly" It up or go with a neutral tone in case the next child was a boy. We went neutral. (We're realists.) (And frugal. Do you realize how much those things cost?) We used the Pack'n'Play (later redubbed the Hose'n'Go after a particularly bad blowout as performed by Sprite and an easy clean up with wet wipes. Seriously, no stains! Is there any wonder why I love the damn thing so much?) for almost everything during Sprite's first two years. It served as a bassinet for the first three months when Sprite needed to be close by during those nighttime nursing sessions. Only when she started sleeping through the night (right around that third month) did it stop becoming a major character and resort to guest starring roles when we traveled.

When we vacationed anywhere, that Pack'n'Play had reserved space in our van. We used it everywhere whenever Sprite needed a place to rest her head (or her tushy when we were in places not quite baby friendly). Until..

(You knew this part was coming.)

She outgrew the Pack'n'Play. (Sob!) It just happened so suddenly. Granted, she had already transitioned to a toddler bed since I had caught her with a foot over the crib railing a few months prior and John had decided she could sleep on her Elmo couch one night and she did well, so I knew the day was fast approaching when we would actually have to WATCH her while out of town instead of slamming out a quick lullaby and re-joining the grown ups when her bedtime came knowing she would be safe because, hello? CONTAINED.

So, one night last fall, when we were planning on going out with some friends and my parents were going to "watch her" (quoted because the plan was that she would already be asleep when we left therefore their part of it was to go on about their night since the only thing the toddler was actively doing was drooling) and John and I gave Sprite her abbreviated bedtime routine and left her in the Pack'n'Play. Our friends showed up, we sat in my parents' living room and talked for a few minutes, and I quickly excused myself to check on Sprite one last time before we left.

(Yeah, this is the part. Right here.)

I opened the door to the darkened room and heard her breathing heavily. Huh? Flipping the switch, I found out why. She had climbed out of the Pack'n'Play and was enjoying a late night jump on our aerobed. She saw me see her and immediately crouched down as if that would erase the jumping I had witnessed. Somehow her reasoning was skewed because, um, she was still outside the Pack'n'Play. How would she erase that?

"Hi, Mommy," she panted.

There went my plans. My parents were already in bed, our friends were gearing to go out, and I still had an active toddler on my hands. I brought Sprite out to bestow some good night kisses on everyone and retreated to our room to make sure she fell asleep while John and our friends went out. (I told him to go. One of the people was his best friend who lives in California and this would mark the second time they'd seen each other in five years. Would I make him miss out on bonding with his buddy? Hell no! Would he owe me? Hell yes.)

Since then, we decided it was time to put the Pack'n'Play out to pasture. At least until the next baby comes. Sprite now sleeps on an extra toddler mattress we were given and we stow that one at my parents' since it cannot dismantle for easy traveling the way our Pack'n'Play does (or did). (Sob!) And of course, her journey to the Land of Nod must be supervised now since a toddler can get into a lot of trouble when left alone in any room that hasn't seen a child's intentions in decades. I can only imagine what the nights will be like when we head to Orlando on Labor Day weekend and she has an entire bed to herself. (John and I refuse to share a bed with her. She kicks. A lot.)

So, Keely, here's hoping your vacation brings a lot of happy memories and a lot of restful nights. And here's hoping Xander stays put in his Pack'n'Play and any aspirations for being an Olympic pole vaulter wait until you're back home and not worried about other people's possessions.

Librarians never forget. Or maybe that's elephants.

Today we're hosting everyone's favorite librarian, Michele from It's a Dog's Life. I thought I'd post this on a Sunday, because nothing says 'wholesome Sunday' like librarians, tequila, and table dancing...



Keely was looking for people to guest blog while she went on vacation. By asking me and several others to provide content for her blog she really must need that vacation; BAD! I mean really, with the crazy emails going back and forth between all of us she really had to have been at her last resort to contemplate using any of us. Silly, silly girl! *shakes head slowly*

Somehow it transpired that the theme of this party was going to be clothing optional. I’m pretty much sure this idea started with Captain Dumbass, but don’t me quote in on it. I’m totally disavowing any knowledge of the whole thing. I’m so much older than the rest of the group I’ve decided that I’m going to claim dignity because of age. The rest of you can bite me.

So firing myself up with that plucky Pinot Noir that I have been laying down for a special occasion (Hey, this is special. It’s the first time I’ve been asked to guest blog. It qualifies). I girded my loins (no easy task) to write about a rather interesting, typical embarrassing moment in my budding career as mail order phone representative for Recreational Equipment Incorporated (REI). Read it and weep.

In 1990 I worked as a mail order operator for REI. We took orders from recreational enthusiasts from all over the world. In the fast paced high stress world of recreational equipment the mail order division of REI was world class. Our sales figures were astronomical. I like to think that my contribution was undisputable (I think that this is a pretty safe statement since it was like a hundred years ago).

Our sales were so high the upper level never to be seen or heard from management decided to give us a party. A party that would be held on a large boat that cruised around Lake Washington, Lake Union and the Ship Canal area of Seattle. A party that happened to fall on my 31st birthday. You can see the problem in this.

We had the party. We had a really good time. We drank too much. I drank way too much. My friends at REI thought it would be fun to toast my birthday way too much. I drank way too much. Have I said that? Yes? Well, it bears repeating. My friends decided to dance too much. I danced too much. Then I drank too much. Do you see the theme here?

As the night went on I drank, danced, and partied too much. JR got my back on this one. He’s good at that and it’s a damn good thing because obviously I have no sense of decorum. And tequila and I don’t play well together.

When the boat docked JR and I made our way home from the party. Don’t ask me how. JR probably remembers. Or maybe not, we’re old. Memory is the first to go, don’t you know. We did make it, poured ourselves into bed then suffered a 2 day hangover. Try that with 2 small children at home. I defy anyone to tell me something worse. That’s not a challenge people!

While I was busy recovering REI was buzzing about how the party went. I had no clue what stories were being bandied about but it seemed that I was featured prominently.

When I showed up for work I endured the usual light hearted bantering that co-workers give each other. Then Wally (the CEO of REI and EVERYONES boss) shows up. This is not typical. He would have had to make a special trip over from his rarified offices 10 miles south of our building. The brand new building with the climbing wall and fitness center.

Wally wanders his way through the computer work stations until he gets to me. I’m pretty much speechless (very rare). Our quick exchange went something like this:

Wally: Hi Michele

Me: Ahhhh Hi Wally

Wally: Hey, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.

Me: Thanks

Wally: Did you ever find the shirt you stripped off and tossed into the lake on Saturday night?

Me: ………..crickets

The whole call center was cracking up with laughter. Seems it got around that I had stripped my shirt off and was dancing on the tables. I contend this is a pack of lies. JR would never have allowed me to do something like that. He is totally responsible for my clothing or lack thereof when I’ve been drinking tequila. He knows this.

Love,

M

Titles are for suckers

Today one of my very favorite bloggers, Frogmama from Frogs in My Formula, is venting some crap she can't post on her own blog. Isn't that always the best material?



My younger brother armpit farts entire songs—usually at restaurants.
He can also belch the National Anthem. His Facebook updates make me
cringe (e.g., “Just fingered a neighbor’s poodle), and he constantly
pretends to make passes at my husband.

Let's call him "a."

When I first came along, my husband Chuck’s best friend referred to me
as the nameless “Chuck’s girlfriend”—for almost a year. If he wanted
to hang out but Chuck was hanging out with me, he’d have a tantrum. He
told me flat out that he liked Chuck’s ex better. He owns a potato
gun.

Let's call him "b."

Knowing the subzero standards of maturity we’re dealing with here, who
do you think told my two-year-old parrot (and by parrot, I mean
toddler) to say, “My mommy’s a lush,” not once but seven times over
dinner last weekend?

If you chose a or b, you’re wrong.

It was our married, Master’s degree-holding, polite and cultured
friends, Eric and Anne. The ones who enjoy wine and tequila just as
much as the Mullets and who hope to be parents soon themselves. The
ones who recycle and shop at Whole Foods and have careers in child
development and healthcare.

Child development.

People, man. They never fucking cease to surprise me.

(For the record, Mommy is not a lush. And Eric and Anne? We can’t wait
to meet your little parrot.)

Don't forget your hammer pants

Today's guest poster is our favorite Churchpunkmom from Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction. It takes real skill to weave zombies, ninjas, AND nudity into one story, and I'm in awe. For realz. This woman is going places. Hopefully she always takes her dayglo hammer pants.


Hello, this is ChurchPunkMom from Embellished Truth and Polite fiction. Keely asked me to guest post for her and after doing a happy dance all over my rather large house, I sat down, caught my breath, and came up with this story for all you fine readers of the UnMom. She requested something along the lines of "zombies.. and ninjas.. oh! and nudity!" and this is what I came up with.. Enjoy.

For more Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction, feel free to visit my blog.
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Whoosh..

Keely startled and looked up. What on earth?? she wondered. She peered around the small cabin living room in the early morning darkness. She cupped the mug of hot dark liquid with both hands and let it saturate her face with it's warmth as she huddled close to the glow of the flames in the brick fireplace.

She saw nothing.
She heard nothing.

Keely wriggled deeper into the well-worn leather arm chair, a fleece blanket wrapped tightly around her. It was strangely cold for an early October morning. Not that it was never chilly at this time of year, being so far north, that wasn't strange at all. But this particular morning just felt.. odd. The air was cold, the kind of cold that made your eyes hurt and your fingers stiff. It was cold and still, and oddly damp, giving the pre-dawn dark a heaviness she'd never felt before.

Shoomp..

This time Keely felt the air around her shift. Moving with it, she turned just in time to see the swinging door of the kitchen move ever so slightly.. Her heart jumped into her throat and her breath quickened. She jumped just enough to slosh some coffee onto her lap.

"Shit." she muttered under her breath as she did her best to set down the mug without making a sound.

Keely turned, eyes trained on the kitchen door, and rose silently from her chair, gathering her blanket tightly around her as she padded softly across the wooden floor. Her eyes never left the door and she thanked every last start in the sky for her feet not making a sound as she stepped.

She wished she wasn't there alone.

Suddenly the need for a break was not nearly so overwhelming and she wished she hadn't come a couple of days ahead of her husband. She wished he was here.

Keely reached the door and softly pushed it open. much to her surprise, she was greeted through the darkness by a rather white set of cheeks. Ass cheeks, to be precise.

"What the hell!?" she exclaimed oddly enough that the sound of her voice mad her jump. The stranger, however, was un-fazed by her shock. He merely glance over his shoulder at her with an amused grin as he stirred his coffee. It was then that she noticed what appeared to be a sheathed samurai sword tied to his back with a strip of black cloth that cross-crossed around and across his body like some bizarre combination of a greco-roman sandal and papasan. It was just enough to hold the weapon firmly in place while also covering his.. well.. his man bits.

Keely stood there, unmoving, and drooling just a little, as the stranger turned to face her. He leaned against the counter, crossing one leg in front of the other and said, "Shhhh.." as he raised his mug to his lips, his dark eyes examining her from under a black mask.

"Who the hell are you?" Keely hissed at him in a whisper.
"I'm a ninja."
"Um.. yeah. What the hell are you doing in my cabin at 5 in the morning?"
"Zombies." he replied rather succinctly. "But don't worry, I already killed most of them. " he added, taking another sip of coffee.

"Oh my god.. You've got to be shitting me!" Keely blurted out as she held onto the door frame for fear of falling over.

He just stared at her.

"Oh. You're not. Crap." Keely wanted to pinch herself but was too afraid of not waking up to do so. "Wait.. did you say 'most of them' are dead?"

"Yeah.." he replied casually, swirling the coffee in his cup and taking another swig. "No big. I'm sure they'll all be here shortly with all the ruckus you've made."

"Damn." Keely said quietly , turning a lovely shade of beet red, and biting her lip. "So... um.. Why are you naked?"

"Because I'm a ninja."

"Dude.. Last I checked ninjas wear clothes." she said.
"Lady. Clothing causes friction. Friction causes sound. Skin is stealthy... and sexy." he added with a wink.

Keely rolled her eyes. "But to fight zombies?? Can't they... you know.. smell you??"

"No." Ninja answered letting out hearty chuckle. "Like I said I'm a ninja. Besides, zombies are slow. By the time they catch wind of me, it's to late for them." he explained, making a slicing motion across his neck with one hand.

Just then they heard a loud crash in the living room. Keely spun around, dropping her blanket on the floor and revealing her hyper-color t-shirt and fluorescent orange and black Hammer pants. Three of the zombies that had entered her cabin dropped dead from the horror of her hideous early 90s fashion. She looked back over her shoulder but the ninja was already gone - coffee cup already washed and set carefully in the dish drying rack.

Turning back to the living room, Keely watched the ninja work - or rather watched the effects of his work, as he was merely a blur of skin and sword - as he flipped ans pun through the small cabin, slaying zombies and tossing the now twice-dead carcasses out onto the lawn.

As the final undead villains were vanquished, he slid his sword back in it's sheath and turned to her once more.

"Well, all finished!" he announced.
"That's it then?" she asked, a little taken aback at his brevity.
"Yep. Thanks for the coffee.. and your.. uh.. help," he added as he examined her outfit and wrinkled his nose.

"You're welcome." she answered, folding her arms across her chest. "Never underestimate the power of comfy clothes."
"Um.. yeah. Well, I guess I'll be going then!"
"But... but what if they come back??" she asked, sounding a little uneasy and maybe a tad desperate.
"Don't worry." he answered. "Just.. uh.. don't change."
"Alright." Keely answered. "But please.. get your shit off my lawn."

The Best Day I Can't Remember with No Pants

Our guest poster today is Jenni from Oscarelli. She's witty, she's engaging, she has two small boys so she's probably certifiable. Also, she has no pants (at least in this story).

Somehow today I'm bending the laws of physics and guest posting over at Life and Times of a Wicked Step Mom. So I'm not here, but I'm not really THERE, either. Maybe it's the laws of light I'm bending. Whatever. You should probably go read it after you're done reading Jenni's post here.

The fabulous and amazing Unmom has invited me over to blog-sit while she vacations. I'm basically going to raid the liquor cabinet and trash the joint. I'm also going to switch out all her centigrade thermometers for Fahrenheit ones, so when she comes home she'll be all "WHAT?? It's 90 degrees? How come we aren't boiling in our skin?" It'll be hilarious. Americans make terrible house guests. We also make bad thermometer jokes.

So, the best day I can't remember (apologies to Julie and Captain Dumbass, but no blowjobs or Canadians are involved. That I can remember.) Well, to start, in my AHEM younger days, I liked to drink. To excess. Frequently. So, this story takes place almost exactly ten years ago, when my BFF turned 21.

My best friend was the last of all of us girls from high school to turn 21. My friend Sue and I decided we'd rent a hotel room and get her (and ourselves) filthy drunk and into all kinds of mischief. We come from a pretty small area (we call it "the County") and at that time the only place good times were to be had was in a town we called "the Island." Not that there was anything remotely tropical or islandly about it. It was more of a tourist trap, for anyone dumb enough to think the County was a good vacation spot.

We started our night at the Tiki Bar with $10 Mai Tais, but moved on from there pretty quickly because, well $10 Mai Tais. We went to two other bars. I don't remember what happened there but this is more because I am old than because I was drunk or anything. I mean, we got drunk - we drank a few pitchers of beer, took some shots, smoked 100 cigarettes, got loud. The usual.

So at maybe 10pm, we get to the FINAL BAR. We had been avoiding FINAL BAR because we just knew it would be full of people from our high school. Except it wasn't. It was full of tourists and stuff. And, as drunk 21-year-old girls, we were hugely popular. I don't think we paid for one drink at that last bar. Actually, I don't think we paid for any drinks all night.

Anyways, there was a jukebox and we played Van Halen which for some reason we though was HILARIOUS. And then we did some shots that were ON FIRE. And then the next thing I remember is waking up in our hotel room on the floor without any pants. (I totally found them later.)

Things I was Told Happened But I Completely Forgot:

*BFF was hit on by some British guy (or some guy pretending to be British)
*I somehow convinced British guy that if he really liked BFF he'd jump up on one of the tables strip for us
*British guy jumped up on a table and stripped down to his underwear
*We were ejected from the bar
*I fell down the stairs
*I found $20
*I fell in the road like ten times, and kept saying, "I don't understand why I keep falling." (Methinks flaming shots may have had something to do with this?)
*I was nearly hit by a car
*I peed in someone's front yard (WTF, this is so not my style - I'm totally a back yard pee-er)
*I vomited, possibly in public

The next day Sue had gotten up early because she had to work (she ended up leaving because she was so hungover), so BFF and I checked out of the hotel and headed to the BK for some greasy breakfast with my found $20. BFF was driving, and she was telling me the story of my awesome (awful?) night while we were in the drive thru and I started to feel...not right.

So, I got out of the car, went into BK and vomited in the toilet for about ten years. While I was in the restroom, a woman and her daughter came and and the daughter was like, "Mommy, that lady is sick and she smells funny." I felt profoundly lame. At this point I also noticed that I was filthy. From the falling, I assume.

After my display of smelly, hurling awesomeness we headed back up to my house. We were at a stop light and some burly bald guy started waving and gesticulating at us. At first we thought he was a pervert, but I felt like I KNEW him. I mean, I did happen to know a lot perverts so it wouldn't have been totally out of the question.

I rolled down my window and the guy is like, "Hey, you chicks are AWESOME!" and I was all, "???" Yes, we were awesome, but how did this guy know about it? I figured he couldn't be hitting on us because calling women "AWESOME" (or chicks, for that matter) isn't the best way to pick them up. Our hair was pretty matted and our make up was significantly smudged, that was kind of the "look" back then. Anyways, then my BFF is like, "OH MY GOD. That is the bouncer that threw us out of the bar last night! And the bartender!"

And it so was. Then he yells, "Wow, I bet you guys feel almost as bad as you look," and at that point I was pretty certain he wasn't hitting on us. And then he said, "See you tonight?" so maybe he was hitting on us?

Whatever, because the light turned green and my BFF floored it so we could just get away from him and the non-memory of the night I choose to remember as the best night I can't remember with no pants. I think actually remembering the truth would be too painful. And humiliating. And AWESOME?

Naked Lunch, mmmm, lunch: Random Tuesday Thoughts

Still on vacay, y'all. Right about now I'm probably dealing with a toddler that's been awake for 36 hours, AREN'T YOU JEALOUS? I recruited the lovely Casey from Half As Good As You to make you feel at home on this random, random Tuesday. Yes, there is still a naked theme around here, but you guys aren't obliged to follow it. And remember! You can't spell RANDOM without BADGER SEQUINS BRATWURST UNICORN!

I was completely honoured to be hosting this week’s RTT until I heard that there was a required naked theme. Usually someone has to buy me at least one drink to get me naked but Keely didn’t even offer. Since I’m a sucker for all things Canadian, I’ll get naked and start typing.


My kid and I were at the store yesterday when my stomach started churning. I instantly regretted having that second cup of coffee and had to act quickly to get to home base in time. I didn’t think I was gonna make it so I used my phone-a-friend and called the husband for backup. He met me in the garage and unloaded the kid while I ran in the house and pulled off one of the most impressive (naked from the waste down) photo finishes to date.


Sometimes I wonder why I share such stories with you guys and then I remember it’s why you (naked, admit it) people keep coming back.


I find (naked) rotisserie chicken to be both delicious and disgusting. You know that little hole where they skewered it? I can’t get past it. I KNOW it’s not a (naked) chicken butthole but every time I come across it, my subconscious takes over and I can’t eat any more.


I’ve been watching Sex and the City reruns lately since there’s nothing else on. I find it fascinating that (naked or clothed) Sarah Jessica Parker can go from being butt ugly to insanely hot in a split second. It’s like a hidden super power and I want it.


Our household recently embarked on project Matching Sippy Cup. We gathered every single fucking cup and lid in the residence and threw all of the mismatched ones away. Then we bought several more of the matching kind to replace the pitched ones. I’m not sure which part makes me more of a loser, the fact that I spent an afternoon on sippy cup maintenance or the fact that not having to rifle through a drawer of mismatched lids is the highlight of my life (even more so than being naked).


I recently became immune to two different kinds of chap stick. I finally got so frustrated with licking my insanely (naked) dry lips that I broke out the leftover nipple cream from when I was nursing. Now my lips are soft-like-(naked)boob.


Blowjob. Anal. Porn. I just wanted to leave Keely with some interesting Google search terms while she’s away. Don't say I never gave you anything, Keely.


That’s all the nakedness I can conjure up for now. I can’t suck my (naked) gut in any longer. Thanks to Keely for letting me stop by, hopefully she’s enjoying her water skiing trip at the local nudy resort. I expect lots of (naked) pictures when she returns.

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Yeah, screw you, Rob

As I may have mentioned, I'm away on vacation this week. But it's okay! Don't cry! I've lined up some amazing people to tell you stories while I'm gone. I'm not really sure how this happened, but the theme for the guests this week ended up being teh naked. So if you're easily offended, first off, I have no fucking idea what you're doing here. And secondly, you may want to avert your sensitive eyes.

First guest blogger on the chopping block is Captain Dumbass, of Us and Them. Coincidentally to this story, it's his anniversary today! So head on over there when you're done here and wish him lots of happy anniversary nookie.



So a week or so ago, Keely sent out this email asking for some guest posts while she's off on holiday. I'm not sure how many of us were on that list, but we were obviously the wrong group of people to ask and leave unsupervised. Somehow the theme ended up as nudity/and or nude blogging. There may have been another subject as well, but I'm not touching that one. Ok.

Picture, if you will...

*cheesy tv special effects*

It's November of 1996, and a young Supreme Leader and Captain Dumbass have finally saved up enough money after their August wedding to fly off to Maui for their honeymoon. (And in hindsight, that worked out well, 'cause Maui in August? What's the point?) Ah...? Where was I going with this? Sorry, left to get some ice cream and now I've kinda lost my train of thought. Actually, that's not it at all. I reread what I'd done and decided I really didn't want to tell it from the third person but I'm also too lazy to go back and rewrite it. Are you a regular at the Un-Mom's and don't know me? Ya, it's not going to get any better.

Anyway, things did not get off to a smooth start. I got to the airport and realized I'd forgotten my passport at home and only had my drivers license for ID. Lucky for me, the US Customs guys took pity on me and let me board the plane anyway, though that may have had more to do with wanting to avoid the paper work and court appearances that would have resulted in my wife murdering me in front of them. So ya, they let me board the plane with only my drivers license. The world was a different place then. After that it was all good. The flight was great and we sat beside an interesting guy, Rob, who was flying over for a wedding. And another aside here, who the hell gets flown to exotic islands for other peoples weddings? Bastards.

So yadda yadda, island paradise, blah blah blah. Our first full day there we find this beach called 'Big Beach.' It's beautiful. Right beside it though, nestled between two old lava outflows is 'Little Beach,' which is even more beautiful, secluded and nude. When in Rome, right? I convince my young bride that we should check it out, after all, not like we're going to run into anybody we know.



Ah... there's nothing like warm sunshine on your bits where the 'sun don't shine' and everyone should swim in warm ocean water naked at least once in their lives and holy shit, is that Rob from the plane? Of course it is! Heh heh, ya, what a coincidence, Rob. Yep, sure is beautiful. I mean, aside from the millions of tiny daggers been fired into my back right now. Hurt? They sure do, probably not as much as they will later. What? Oh no, I put LOTS of sun tan lotion on. Thanks.

But then he left and the sun was still warm and so was the ocean and we were still on our honeymoon so whatever. Until the next day. We stop by a grocery store to pick up some food when we hear a voice yell out from behind us, "hey! It's the nudies!" Oh yes, it's our old friend Rob from the plane again, only this time he's with his aunt and uncle whom he proceeds to remind that this is the couple he'd been talking about the night before. You know, the ones from the plane who were on the nude beach? Yes, Rob, that was us. The Nudies. Ha. Ya, funny. Still. Um, your aunt is starting to creep me out a little. Inappropriate.

So, the moral of the story (moral? Ahahahah) if you find yourself thinking 'what the hell? It's not like anybody knows us here,' keep doing whatever you were going to do. Hell, you only live once. Screw you, Rob.

What people are googling RIGHT THIS MINUTE

(And they're all clearly feeling more creative than me, because I have to steal their genius to phone in a blog post)

1. "jealous" "i want to be her" (who doesn't?)

2. "Can I rent Universal Studios for my birthday?" (The bigger question is, can you rent it for MINE?)

3. "do baby spiders die if you kill their mom" (I fucking hope so)

4. "how to spell connoisseur" (uh...you just did)

5. "i dropped a plastic lid down my drain" (Holy crap! SO DID I!)

6. "I'm afraid to take my pants off" (Do you think google is going to do it for you? Can you be more specific as to the nature of your conundrum? Really, we need deets if we're going to help you.)

7. "Is it normal for mom to leave toddler and go to rock concert" (Yes, it is, okay? I bet this was my fucking MIL)

8. "regret threesome" (Perhaps you should have thought of that earlier. Whore.)

9. "to my neighbour, I saw you this morning take a shit in the backyard" (I think you have the wrong blog. You probably want Kat's Dear So and So)

10. "twilight - something smells like fish" (Uh, I said it stunk. I don't think I was that specific)

11. "truth about pinecone extract" (I...don't even know what you're looking for. Is there some pinecone conspiracy I'm unaware of?)

12. "what is space time continuum explanation for kids" (...y'all are taking that 'Baby Einstein' thing WAY too literally)

13. "whoever is reading this, there is a fly that is bothering the heck out of me right now..."


I'm sorry to hear that. And next time, if you want to get on this blog, you should probably swear more.


Also, in other news, the winner of the Must Have Mom Manual book giveaway is the lovely Ane Fallarme from Life According to Me. Yay, Ane! Take a bow!

Thank you so much to Maternal Spark for hosting this little get-together, and to the authors Sara and Stephanie for just being all round awesome. Let's do it again sometime!

I swear there was a time I could travel without even having to check any luggage

I had a lovely little phoned in "Google Analytics" post all scheduled and ready to go, but suddenly I find myself unable to sleep. Wide fucking awake. And then I remember, oh, hey! I guzzled an entire Coke slurpee less than an hour ago. So not only am I wide awake, but excessively flatulent as well. You're welcome.

Anyway, when caffeine-induced insomnia strikes, brain will wander. And right now my brain is wandering forward a week to our upcoming vacation. And then brain is freaking out a little. Okay, a lot.

See, we're terrible parents and we don't really take our child anywhere. He's never been on a plane, let alone one that will be TAKING OFF, and one that will be DEPARTING RIGHT AT NAP TIME. So really, that has enormous potential to go badly, don't you think?

And the primary reason we're going to Vancouver is to visit some friends, with whom we intended to stay. When I called to confirm that the invitation was still standing, my friend said "Of course!" and then added casually, "But my inlaws will be here as well so as long as you don't mind sleeping in the living room."

Which, of course, we don't, except that I did a quick mental calculation and came to the conclusion that six adults and three children (and a dog and 3 cats) in a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom house ALSO has the potential to go badly.

We'll be getting a hotel room. (Which mostly only has the potential to end expensively.)

A hotel room means we have to bring a Pack n' Play, which brings the toddler accessories up to, oh, about a metric tonne, and means we can't rent a car so we'll be bussing it with a toddler that likes to dart into traffic and OMG WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T WE JUST STAY HOME.

Sob.

So, um...yeah. That wasn't much of a post either. Don't worry, I'll still post the whacky google searches. Probably tomorrow, along with the winner of the Must Have Mom Manual giveaway. Because nothing says "parenting resource book" like baby spiders and threesomes.

Depth Perception

What is the world coming to? I really need this vacation: Random Tuesday Thoughts

This is where I usually write my witty Tuesday intro, but I'm feeling kind ofOH HOLY CRAP DID YOU SEE THAT??

What? You missed it?

Well, you blinked and missed the witty Tuesday intro, too. So we're just going to launch right in.

I bought a skirt today. I have no idea why. I'm not a skirt person. I don't like to show my legs, I don't feel comfortable in skirts, someone might mistake me for a GIRL. But, every so often, I am suddenly enamoured of the thought of being a "skirt person". Even though I know I'll probably only wear it once, and then shove it to the back of the closet, and literally have to dust it off when I need to go to the wedding of someone I don't know or out for dinner 2 weeks after giving birth when I'm unable to fit into anything resembling actual pants.

Plus, it was seven dollars. SEVEN DOLLARS. It would be a crime not to buy it.

Check back next week. I'll be hosting a giveaway for a skirt.

No, not really. Next week I'm on vacation. We're heading out to the land of milk and honey and Captain Dumbass. For a whole week! I know, I totally don't deserve it. Especially since I'm far too lazy to prepare posts in advance to entertain y'all, and I called in some favours. You don't need to know details, but let's just say it will still be entertaining and Jenni gets to keep her kneecaps, after all.

I think I gave the guest bloggers a theme, but I may have been drinking at the time. So if nudity offends you, maybe you should take a vacation too.

Paper towel. Maple syrup.

What? I need to get groceries. And no, that isn't some bizarre Canadian reference. I had waffles for dinner and used up all the damn syrup, okay?

I haven't heard a peep out of the alleged Firefly MMO in development but now there's this? JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW.

My thoughts are really short today.

Have you entered my book giveaway yet? What, you think you know everything about parenting or something?

Really? Can you clue me in? Because my kid is a fucking savage.

I AM OUT OF WINE HOW IN THE HELL COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED? Seriously, who's in charge here??

Well this is clearly an emergency, so I have to go. Make yourself at home. Grab that button there. Entertain everyone else with your own random thoughts, and make sure you say hi to Mr. Linky!

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Book Review & Giveaway: The Must-Have Mom Manual

I don't talk about 'mom' stuff much on this blog - hence the name. But books? Books I can get into. Even parenting books.

I'm sure most of you moms and dads have had them. Those moments when you're on your last nerve, there's a pile of laundry that appears to be multiplying, and for some reason your kids are refusing to eat their chicken nuggets? When you just want to scream, "FOR THE LUVVA ALL THAT IS HOLY, IF ONLY THERE WERE A FREAKIN' MANUAL!"

Well, now there is! Sort of. (They're more like guidelines, really.)

The Must-Have Mom Manual by Sara Ellington and Stephanie Triplett is, well, just that. It covers everything from breast vs. bottle feeding, to teaching your kids good values, to organizing your closets, to what to tell the kids when the family dog dies. It's all presented from both points of view, and the two authors couldn't be more different: one is super organized, the other is messy; one left her career to stay home, the other went back to work; one breast fed her children and the other bottle fed them. And yet they remain great friends, primarily because they believe in the theme of this book: that there are plenty of ways to be a good parent. No one choice is good for all families, and it's about time people started respecting that.

A lot of this book is just good, solid, practical information. Secrets to make your hospital delivery more tolerable, tips for new dads, what to pack in your diaper bag, how to organize your car. And some of it is advice: take time for yourself, don't try to be perfect, keep the home fires burning. It's all delivered with spark and wit, and you get the benefit of at least two different perspectives (Sara: "Key rack! Shoe rack! Purge your clutter! Label it! Color-coded calendars!" Stephanie: "I'm gonna go have a cocktail while you alphabetize your daughter's Barbie collection."). Above all, it's very, very readable. At the end of each chapter is a short list of resources to make it easier for you to find more information.

Sara and Stephanie offer up products they've found work the best, and cut to the meat of all the other popular parenting advice books out there, giving a fast little summary of what the book is advocating, so you can get an idea of whether it's "for you". It makes the overwhelming amount of conflicting information available to parents a little more manageable.

Some of the chapters in this book don't really apply to me at the moment. I don't think my toddler cares where babies come from. And some of them may never apply to me (A whole chapter on going to Disney World? Really?). I was a little disappointed that certain things were never addressed (home births? Co sleeping? Where's the love for us hippie moms?), but generally, there's something for everybody in this book.

Obviously not all of the advice in this book is going to work for you ("Become an Early Riser"? Uh, hell, no). And that's kind of the point. There are lots of ways to be a good parent. There are lots of great suggestions, and if even a few of them are something you hadn't thought of yet, or saves you endless googling, then it's worth it.

So, do you guys think you know it all? Or could you (or someone you know) use this book? I have one to give away. All you have to do is have a look at the book's chapter list and leave a comment telling me which chapter looks the most interesting or useful to you. For an extra entry, tweet about this giveaway. Be sure to leave me a comment with the link to your tweet (or include my twitter handle - @superkeely - in the tweet).

And then, head on over to Nic at My Bottle's Up to read her review and enter her giveaway, too! We're all about the multiple perspectives around here. Uh, and the wine.

(PS - I shouldn't post things when I'm so, um, tired. I totally forgot to tell you to check out the mastermind behind this book review carnival, Heather from Maternal Spark! Also, I'll be picking a winner by random integer on Friday, so git yer entries in before then!)

Ain't nothin gonna break-a my stride

Wondering where the hell my HASAY updates have been for the past while? That's okay. I haven't given up. Our fearless leader has just taken the pressure off us a little by only demanding an update once a month. I know, I'd think she's getting soft too, but the leather whip and military gear say otherwise.

(Wondering what the hell HASAY even is? That's okay too. It's an online diet & fitness group spearheaded by the indomitable Casey at Half as Good as You.)

So. Update. Well, my last update was that I had started running (!) in an attempt to get into good enough shape to run a relay marathon (!!). The relay marathon seems to have fallen by the wayside, as it was led by FoN's Trainer Lady, who has apparently fallen off the face of the planet. We've sent out a search and rescue team, but it's not looking hopeful.

But I'm still running.

I run slow. I regularly choke on the dust as lithe 20-somethings pass me by, but I'm running. I'm not up to the distance I expected to be if I were still training for the marathon - I seem to have plateaued at about 4.5k - but, still. Did I mention I was running?

In order to facilitate this whole 'running' thing, because at the advanced age of 35 my body is now apparently made from eggshells overlaid with paper mache and dried flowers, this is what I have to do:

1. Hydrate. Hydrate. Keep hydrating. Preferably for up to 4 hours before actually considering running. This means I have to pee halfway through, every single time. Sometimes twice.

2. Stretch. Stretch. Stretch more. Stretch before running, after running, first thing in the morning, and before I go to bed at night. Oh! And if there happens to be a lull in activity at any other point in the day, you'd best be dropping to the floor and stretching.

3. Warm up. Walk to warm up for a ridiculous amount of time, like for long enough that any other normal person would consider it a pretty decent walk, they're good, they've exercised for the day.

4. End up visiting the chiropractor at least once a week anyway.

5. Possibly more stretching.


So, generally, I feel healthy, because I'm running every second day or so. Unfortunately I seem to have translated that into "eat whatever the hell I want because hey! I'm running aren't I?", so I've gained a few pounds. Okay, 6. But I don't really care.

I guess that's the "runner's high"?