my weekness

Allow me to give you a visual rundown of my week.

It was dominated by this guy.



You can't see it, but behind that empty bottle and that attractive forearm, my laptop has been purring nonstop. We've been working hard. For about 4 hours each day this week, Dr. Krog used his evil sorcery to make both children disappear so that I could work on his secret project.

His evil sorcery mostly included trips to the bookstore, McDonald's playground, and gas station. And lots of driving around.

And then there's my next tormentor. He's such a jerk. Seriously.


He decided that he wasn't nearly annoying and dangerous enough crawling around my house.

Instead, at the ripe old age of 7 months, he decided to do this.


And, if that wasn't bad enough, he then proceeded to do this.




That's right, people.

My tiny little baby is pulling up to stand on everything that'll hold still, and even some things that won't, like my very tender achilles tendon or my parents' chorkie. So I spent a good part of my week trying to protect his head from all the things onto which he was falling while simultaneously protecting all the things that he can now reach. Like those Onion books in that picture.

I love it when my photos capture the most trite, banal parts of our life.

And then there's this kid. First she's a princess.


A messy princess wearing my "fancy shoes".

And then she went through a brief period of hula dancing.

And then she decided to become a ballerina/hippie.


Or something. Her daddy helped her choose those hideous purple glitter shoes. I voted for some nice, entertaining Colorforms, but the disco platforms won the day.

Oh, and did I mention that this guy absolutely refuses to leave me alone??


Milk, naps, baths, prunes, diapers, smiles, laughter, attention.

It's TORTURE.

Anyway, that's about it. I had very little "me" time, up until last night's hour-long "interrupt me and I will punish you, but in a bad way" bath. Come to think of it, I could really use another one of those.

Tomorrow: I Shredded For 30 Days And All I Got Was This Awesome Necklace, And These Weird Shoes, and This Totally Rockin' Bod, And Also Some Perfume Oils That Are Currently In The Mail..

I missed you guys!

halp.

This is my first blog post since Wednesday, which is a new low for me.

But it's not my fault.

It's Dr. Krog.

He's got me chained to the computer, working on his project.

You've seen Misery, right? James Woods and Kathy Bates? The tape on the doors, and the ankle breakage, and the Kathy Bates Is Very Scary?

It's a lot like that.

My kitchen is a wreck. My house is a catastrophe. I haven't shaved my legs in a week. And I just now finished a magazine that I started last Thursday.

But I think i'll be able to sneak in an hour tomorrow to tell-- nay, show!-- you what we've been up to this week.

The secret project?

Nope. He won't let me let that cat out of the bag yet.

But if you know a good publisher and/or literary agent, hook me up, please.

Otherwise, he may never let me go.

Halp.

behold my massive cop-out

Sorry, guys. I got nothin'. No cute pictures, no funny stories, and apparently all my tales of the past are disgusting and drive away readers and comments like so much Michael Ja... No. Like so much screaming infomercial gu.... Um. Like so much OJ Simpson?

You guys just don't like that stuff.

So here's some random crap, because it's better than the story about how I spilled hot coffee on myself, broke my cookie, and was bitten by a flea at a coffee shop today.

I'll have brains again soon. Pinky swear.

50 Random Questions

1. Where were you 3 hours ago?

downstairs, shredding, wishing i was already done shredding.

2. Who are you in love with?

dr. krog. he's got really awesome forearms.

3. Have you ever eaten a crayon?

not to my knowledge-- art materials are holy.

4. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

i'm 6 feet from my underthingy drawer, 15 feet from my closet, and 8 feet from a 3 year old girl, so yes.

5. When is the last time you went to the mall?

two weeks ago to use the indoor play area. if you mean "went to the mall to actually shop and enjoy myself", we're talking several years. and cinnabon closed, too.

6. Are you wearing socks right now?

nope. who wears socks in georgia in july?

7. Do you have a car worth over $2,000?

yep. but i wish i had a carp worth that much. that would be a really awesome carp.

8. When was the last time you drove out of town?

i can't even remember. how sad is that?

9. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days?

i wish! i count the days until harry potter opens, when i can admonish noisy teens and eat popcorn.

10. Are you hot?

definitely. getting hotter every day. physically, metaphysically, and seasonally.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?

water. tepid, ant-riddled water.

12. What are you wearing right now?

glasses, yoga pants, and a tank top. and a small, blue argyle toddler barrette.

13. Do you wash your car or let the car wash do it?

car wash. we still have water restrictions. and the kids think it's as good as tv.

14. Last food that you ate?

chickfil-A. mmm. i could eat it again right now. or, in cow language, "i kud eet itt ugin riit nowz".

15. Where were you last week at this time?

probably at home. we're pretty boring around bedtime.

16. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?

i bought a necklace on etsy as my personal reward for getting below 150 pounds. i'm down to 147. if i ever hit 130, i think dr. krog has to buy me a horse.

17. When is the last time you ran?

ha ha ha ha ha.

18. What's the last sporting event you watched?

the kids' grapple-a-thon that dr. krog refereed a few months ago. nothing like watching kids push eachother around.

19. What is your favorite animal?

horses for reality. armadillos for funsies.

20. Your dream vacation?

clear blue water, snorkeling, diving, horseback riding, gourmet dinner every night. no kids. obviously.

21. Last person's house you were in?

my parents' house for my mom's 60th birthday. happy birthday, nina!

22. Worst injury you've ever had?

the broken nose was the bloodiest and required surgery. also my mom's fault.

23. Have you been in love?

only for 11 years or so.

24. Do you miss anyone right now?

dr. krog. and he took my car, too, so i miss that.

25. Last play you saw?

i stage managed macbeth in 2000. and saw cats last year, but that's more of a spectacle than a play.

26. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

brains + humor + boobs.

27. What are your plans for tonight?

convince the children to sleep, have a glass of wine, and collapse.

28. Who is the last person you sent a MySpace message or comment?

someone in 2006? srsly, who uses myspace?

29. Next trip you are going to take?

i plan a visit to funkytown soon.

30. Ever go to camp?

loads of day camps and art camps. one sleepaway camp that was desperately disappointing. it was nothing like meatballs!

31. Were you an honor roll student in school?

yep. i was the high school valedictorian. lot of good that did me, eh?

32. What do you want to know about the future?

when will air conditioning be free?

33. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne?

Nicosia by Wiggle Perfume on etsy.com. lovely, light pink pepper.

34. Are you due sometime this year for a doctor's visit?

of course. they need more blood.

35. Where is your best friend?

choking people and teaching children to choke people.

36. How is your best friend?

um... chokey?

37. Do you have a tan?

i have a naturally sort of olive tint, but i haven't been in the sun this year. dr. krog's kids are half albino.

38. What are you listening to right now?

robot puppets singing about du lac on shrek.

39. Do you collect anything?

i used to collect interesting versions of alice in wonderland. and i enjoy strange marbles. and also blog followers.

40. Who is the biggest gossiper you know?

if i knew someone who was gossipy, and i told the world on my blog, then wouldn't i be the gossipiest gossiper that ever gossiped?

41. Last time you got stopped by a cop or pulled over?

2001. driving too happily up a country road after a great trail ride.

42. Have you ever drank your soda from a straw?

not often. i hear it makes little lip wrinkles. plus, i like to look tough, and you can't look tough sipping through a straw.

43. What does your last text message say?

BFF 2GOOD2B4GOTTEN GLTS HAGS!!! or maybe that's my 5th grade yearbook.

44. Do you like hot sauce?

on thai and indian food. not as a condiment. great-- now i'm craving chicken wings.

45. Last time you took a shower?

9:30 this morning. but i'm using non-AL deodorant lately, so i have a bit of a stanky fug about me.

46. Do you need to do laundry?

always. always. but i don't wanna.

47. What is your heritage?

mutt. boring white folks, native americans, etc.

48. Are you someone's best friend?

dr. krog. and t.rex thinks of me as a sort of giant cheeseburger/electric blanket/buddy.

49. Are you rich?

rich in friendship. and family. and tomfoolery.

50. What were you doing at 12AM last night?

trying to convince dr. krog to let me watch more serenity instead of turning on dr. katz and giving me ray romano dreams.

Top Car Insurance

Top Ten List - Best Myspace Quizzes

the most beautiful thing in the world

Why can't I go to Belgium, you ask?

Because i'm too embarrassed. It's not like they have WANTED posters of me at age 17 plastered on their post office walls, my heavily-eyebrowed face surprised and mortified.

But I was firmly escorted out of the Brussels airport.

*

I had my first plane ride when I was 16 on a 3-seater Cessna owned by my mom's boss. There were 4 of us in the little dangerbox, and I whooped and laughed at the turbulence and even got to hold the joystick for about 20 seconds. They do call it a 'joystick' when you're controlling a tiny plane and holding the lives of 3 other people in your hands, right?

My next plane ride was to France, a slightly larger plane with better drink service and less turbulence. After that trip, I decided to go to Italy with a high school exchange program. Since we were trading students with an exclusively French school in Milan, I was excited to be able to visit a new country while speaking my high-school-fluent French. The fools carried about 20 alcohol-hungry, hormonally-raging teenagers over to Milan for a whirlwind trip around Italy and a week with host families.

I was never popular here in America, although I did eventually find my niche with the drama freaks. But in Italy, I was really, really popular. Not because I was pretty or witty or wise, but because as the most fluent American, I was the portal for hook-ups between the 15 French/Italian guys and les filles Americaines tres chouettes, which roughly translates to smokin' hot American sluts.

I will admit that the shyest and cutest of the French boys did eventually make a move on me, but I didn't really want to make out in the urine-stink-filled-mini-bathroom of the Ghighlione family basement before prying his hands out of my pockets and hopping on a plane the next day. Je suis vraiment desolee, Gael.

Anyway, it was our last night in Milan, and our hosts were determined to get as much American love as they could, and therefore they threw a secret, no-teacher-no-chaperone party with 897 gallons of melon vodka. There were flaming shooters and little hip flasks of gin and just generally buckets and buckets of booze. And I got extra heaping drunk and had a hell of a time trying to translate from horny masculine French to polite-like-omigod-English. It was a fabulous party, and I felt popular and well-liked and practically floated on a cloud of the aforementioned melon vodka.

The next morning, my host mother gently prodded my shoulder for 2 hours until I finally woke up with my first hangover, 5 minutes before our plan took off. She said hasty goodbyes and handed me a packed lunch of the decidedly non-American, non-hungover kind: hard, dry rolls; unsweetened chocolate; and the worst orange juice known to man. I gulped it all down in the airport, starving. And then I got on a tiny little puddle-jumper of a plane from Milan to Brussels.

I spent almost the entire flight in tiny bathroom, face pressed against the air conditioning, trying not to spontaneously vomit and explode as various Europeans cursed me in different languages because I wouldn't get out of the only WC. When we got to Belgium, I was ready to DIE.

Our tour group got lost because no one could read Belgian; at least, that's what I vaguely remember, because I was trying so hard not to DIE. I asked to go to the bathroom and was denied. Police were apparently trying to hold up some of our Asians, and to this day I wonder whether they wanted to throw them in jail or add them to the Belgian population.

In the ensuing chaos, I snuck into a large, high-ceilinged room of the airport, almost a cathedral. The walls, floor, and columns were shiny, cool marble. It was beautiful. I put my forehead against a column and drank in the coolness.

And then I barfed the largest, nastiest barf that any human being has ever barfed in the history of the world.

I tell you, it was goddamn beautiful. I have never heard a sound to rival that SPLAT. It was my chef d'ouevre, the masterpiece of my life. Well, besides my kids. But it was beautiful. I looked at that puke and I saw colors that I had never seen before.

And then some nice men in uniforms picked me up by the arms and dragged me off to my plane, saying all sorts of incomprehensible things to me in very stern voices.

And I slept the whole way home, somehow managing to eat two meals without waking up. I've loved tiramisu ever since.

And that is why I can never go to Belgium.

FIN.

spin the ketchup

Okay, mom. Here you go. It ain't what you think.

Spin the Ketchup, or Geek Story #57

I was a cute kid and an awkward teen. I was slow to catch on to trends, a little pudgy, and relatively unpopular at my middle school. But one of my two best friends went to a different school in a different town, and they didn't know that I was a total dork.

When she invited me to her first boy-girl party, I was excited and hopeful. At 13, I had never been kissed, although I had come pretty close to smoochin' on top of a houseboat once with a boy we met on vacation. Because there's nothing sexier than a houseboat. Alas, something intervened at the last moment, and to this day, I can't remember if it was someone else climbing up the ladder or me getting skittish and asking him if he liked Chips Ahoy Cookies.

What can I say? I was shy. And I liked cookies.

The party was to happen on Halloween in her basement, and her mom had promised to stay upstairs and keep her younger siblings from intruding. It was just four girls and three boys, and my friend had told them all that I was really pretty and popular at my school. I'm sure my K-Mart flowered pants, side ponytail, and fluorescent yellow mock-turtleneck clued them in that my finger was not on the pulse of fashion and coolness, but I was too naive and interpersonally oblivious to understand.

In preparation, we had hung up spooky decorations, including ghosts made of sheets, bats made of paper plates, and those smelly, stretchy spiderwebs. But it wasn't enough for my creative spirit. I convinced her to put down her curling iron and help me make a scarecrow/dead body out of her dad's old clothes and balled-up newspapers. While she did her makeup and tried on different cute outfits, I was in the basement, drawing a scary face on the pumpkin head and artfully spackling the body with ketchup blood.

Surely, that's what popular 13-year-old boys like in a girl?

Artsy spunk and dead body crafting?

When the other guests arrived, I had nervously downed half the cookies and was covered in ketchup, which didn't merge well with the Drakkar Noir wafting from their Hypercolor t-shirts. We snacked and made awkward small talk to the delightful sounds of Vanilla Ice. There was some dancing, but I sat that out, because I was scared and had never learned the Electric Slide. Then there was some slow dancing, but I sat that out, because I was the 7th person and smelled of ketchup.

And then there was spin-the-bottle.

I'm not sure how it happened. But the bottle didn't land on me a single time. I thought it did, a couple of times, but the boys quickly leaned past me to the cuter girls on either side, saying, "I think it was more towards Jennifer."

About the 4th time Jennifer had gotten kissed when I was sure it was my turn, it started to sink in: even among people who didn't know me, I was a total pariah.

I think I faked a stomachache and ran upstairs to cry before they started playing Five Minutes in the Closet, Which is Actually My Dad's Chevy, Because Our Basement Closet Is Full Of Spiders.

My friend got to 2nd base for the first time that night.

I won Ducktales on Nintendo while eating lemon-flavored sugar cookies in her room.

Things didn't really start to turn around for me until I hit 16.

But that's another story altogether.

mr. turtleclown's tidbits

My child told my husband a bedtime story today about how our house was full of boxes and boxes of clowns, and Mr. Clown is the best at jiujitsu, except he's wearing a turtle suit. Now we're not sure if he's really a creepy, demonic clown or just a turtle with a funny name. And i'm scared to look in spare boxes.

Where on earth do they get this stuff?

My 7-month-old son pulled himself up to stand today on his Jungle Party Manifest Destiny. Then he shrieked maniacally, turned on one fat little foot, and tried to walk across the room. He almost ate bookshelf, but I was luckily sitting right there, jaw dropped in amazement, to catch him as he fell. Because 7-monthers don't know how to catch themselves when they fall. Or eat Cheerios. Or play Parcheesi. He's a jerk.

We're engrossed in Season 7 of Family Guy right now, which seems tightened up from the last season and is actually making me cackle again. Sadly, i've got "The Fart Song" stuck in my head. That's what we get for putting the DVD on Play All before falling asleep. There's a lovely homage to the fax machine death scene in Office Space in which Brian and Stewie put the royal beat-down on a record of "The Bird is the Word".

And now that's in my head.

Sorry that my posts aren't as contrived as usual, folks. Most of my creative energy is being channeled into Dr. Krog's Super Secret Project of Doom, so by the time I get t.rex to sleep and floss the spinach out of my teeth, all I have left for you are anectdotes, toddler quotes, and weird stories about nearly drinking dead baby mice.

But I'd be more than happy to tell you the story about how I got thrown out of Belgium. Or maybe you'd like to hear about how I ended up covered in ketchup and crying at my first spin-the-bottle party?

Or what about the time I was behind pro wrestler Goldberg at the mall?

Well, that's the story, really. It was on the escalator. His neck was as big around as my waist.

Anybody got any questions or requests?

Dr. Mrs. the Dr. Krog

Something amazing happened today.

I got to be Dr. Krog.

Kinda.

See, he's working on a big project, and he has requested my help, but I can only help him if he removes the children from the zip code, because I can't think if I hear their little voices because their presence automatically squashes my brain into a Dixie cup.

So today, he woke up with the kids and entertained them for FIVE HOURS while I worked in a quiet, cool house. A silent house. While enjoying meals and actually tasting them and savoring a cup of coffee that only had to be reheated ONCE. And then he brought me a cheeseburger!

BEING DR. KROG IS SO FREAKIN' SWEET!!

The only way this deal could be any sweeter would be if I could literally hand him my mammary glands and take my laptop to a quiet beach with clear, blue water and good snorkeling. And then go horseback riding.

And now, to continue being Dr. Krog, I am going to crawl into bed and go to sleep before midnight. If only I had testicles. Aaaaaahhhhhh.