Random Tuesday Thoughts: the one where I sit this one out



I'm going to bench myself this week due to hormonal issues.  My real-life BFF is stepping in, as she usually does, because she's way more together than me, and also she has 3 children so she doesn't have time to suffer from mental crises.  I'll be back soon with the 'good' kind of crazy, in the meantime, enjoy!

Hello Everybody!  It’s me!  FoN!  You have no idea who I am?  That’s because I normally live here.  I’m just a temp this week because Keely has finally made good on her threat to call in sick and has bestowed upon me the awesome responsibility of hosting RTT today.  And I appreciate that because I have really sucked lately and I needed an assignment.

I bet you all have the goods on this already, but if you’re new around these parts here are your instructions – just write down the first random stuff that pops in your head.  It’s like the Rorschach test of blogging. 

But no one will be able to use it against you at any impending commitment hearings.

Shall we?

It’s Halloween this weekend and with three kids that is a big deal in my house.  I have always loved Halloween and usually celebrate it with gusto.  Gusto this year means working the refreshment table at my children’s elementary school Halloween dance.  Twenty years ago I would have honoured Halloween by dressing up as a kitty/nurse/bunny and getting shitfaced while trying desperately to win the limbo contest at the bar.  I was really just secretly happy to have an excuse to go out in public looking like a pre-op transsexual prostitute (who had whiskers/stethoscope/ears). 

A few years after my dress-like-a-whore phase ended I did rock a pretty awesome Bride of Frankenstein costume.   I found an old wedding dress at the thrift store and covered it in fake blood and then found a beauty school student willing to give me the hair.  I spent 8 hours at the salon while she took my long, thick, curly hair and wove it around a basket, teased the living shit out of and then used an entire bottle of hairspray and about six hundred thousand bobby pins to keep it standing straight up.  It looked awesome.  The part I didn’t quite think through?  Getting all that shit out of my hair at 3:00 am while drunk and puking.  Trust me when I say it’s not easy vomiting up tequila and hotdog with three feet high Bride of Frankenstein hair. 

I remember vividly sitting on the toilet with my head between my knees crying and swearing  while trying to figure out how I would explain to my coworkers on Monday why there was a basket on my head.

It’s cooling off here at an alarming rate and it is inevitable that winter is just around the corner.  I hate winter.  Winter only has two redeeming qualities – the fact I will have no reason to wear shorts, tank-tops or bathing suits for at least eight months and I can use that time to convince myself that This Year! I will finally stick to that whole diet and exercise thing and then by the time summer rolls around next year I will be able to wear those shorts, tank-tops and bathing-suits with pleasure because I will  be super thin and fabulous… and Christmas.

I’ve been so swamped at work lately I have finally talked the powers-that-be into letting me hire an assistant.  I’m really grateful for the help, but I’ll be working with this person extremely closely and I need to not wish them dead.  I can make most ‘work’ relationships positive, but this person will be with me the whole day every day and I need to actually like them.  It’s super important, but I can’t tell if someone is cool by their resume.  And If I hire someone who annoys the shit out of me I will be in a worse position than I am now.  I want to ask them questions in the interview like, “Do others frequently tell you to shut the fuck up?”  and “What do you think of Katy Perry songs?”  and “If you had to have sex with either Glenn Beck or Satan, who would you choose?”

That last one is kind of a trick question because Glenn Beck IS Satan.  Anyone who gets that question right I will hire immediately.  I could train them up on the rest.

Alright…. I’ve probably outstayed my welcome now.  I’m like that karaoke host who keeps getting up to sing his own songs even though he has had my request to sing Sister Christian for over an hour.

He’s an asshole.

I don’t want to be an asshole, so shuffle up and deal folks!


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.



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

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.)

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.

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.