The Ways and Means to New Orleans

Ahhh NOLA in the springtime. Nothing like the smell of urine and alcohol on a humid April morning. This year we didn't go to New Orleans and I am jonesing for it bad. Something is missing when I don't get my annual dose of raw shellfish, too much booze, and fantastic music blowing onto the street 24/7. Sure Maui was nice, but I am already plotting a way to get back to NOLA sooner rather than later. I want to be eating beignets and listening to jazz at The Maison Bourbon. Jamil Sharif and his band kick it. But mostly I want to be sucking back oysters at Acme Oyster House. We end up there on a daily basis when we visit and nothing is more satisfying than watching that pile of shells get taller and taller. Oysters on a cracker and a nice cold beer, perfection!

Free At Last

Today is the first day in roughly 22 years that I have been able to smile unabashedly. No half-smiles, hand-covering-mouth smiles, closed-mouth smiles. Today I got my braces clipped off. I never had buck teeth or crooked teeth, just 'fangs', with my canines high and pronounced. Two fangs was okay, I could scare small children and it worked well with the look I was cultivating as a Smiths-listening, black eyeliner-wearing, angst-riddled teen. Then one fang grew down into a normal position but the other one stayed where it was; now my smile really looked odd. I didn't get them fixed for the longest time, I don't know why now, but it seemed like a good reason at the time. Finally fed up, I got braces in November of 2006. You read that right, I have spent almost TWO YEARS of my life in these things.

I went to the orthodontist today, some sticks of dynamite strapped to the baby and said "Listen old man, either cut these things out of my mouth or the baby gets it!" The novelty of having a metal mouth has definitely worn off. You can only tell yourself they look like grills for so long. He started clipping them off with a pair of pliers and it was the weirdest feeling when the wire fell off my teeth in one big piece. Then came the scraping, that was like nails on a chalkboard, but on my teeth. I kept trying to go to my happy place, but the sound of the scraping kept scaring all of my unicorns out of the enchanted forest. Come back unis!

I still can't believe my good fortune that my teeth are freed from those fucking things!. I keep looking in the mirror half-expecting them to still be there. I feel like eating a caramel apple rolled in beef jerky, followed by some jawbreakers brickle.

Get Thee To A Ben and Jerry's

I woke up thinking it was an ordinary old Tuesday and come to find out it is Ben and Jerry's Annual Free Cone Day. Today is the day that office phones ring indeterminately as everyone takes an extra-long lunch to go wait in line at the ice cream shop. I'm hearing a Chunky Monkey calling my name ...

A Case for Powder

I may never again buy liquid laundry detergent. What happened in my laundry room this weekend was a travesty. I can only assume what transpired, as I don't have a surveillance video set up in there... yet. I am going with the more reasonable theory and leaving that theory about leprechauns causing mischief for the time being. I walked into the laundry room to get something and felt myself slipping. What the hell?

We have the giant Costco Kirkland brand liquid detergent, perched (not even precariously) on a shelf over the washer. That way, you open the washer lid, push the spigot and it pours right into the washer. Neato right? Well, according to my best guess, the vibration of the spin cycle caused the entire jug to fall out of the cabinet, onto the closed washer. The valve cap broke off and liquid detergent seeped down the washer and all over the floor. This was a Costco size jug remember. It coated every surface and every inch of the floor, behind the washer, behind the dryer, every-freekin-where! The amount of manpower, man hours, and scrubbing to de-detergentify this room was unbelievable. If this had been powder soap, a broom and a vacuum could have made quick work of this in about 5 minutes.

We had to TAKE THE DOOR OFF to get the washer and dryer out, unhook them, put them on furniture dollies, roll them out, and then came the sopping up that seemed to go on forever. Isn't it just a little ironic how greasy and gooey and messy detergent is? It doesn't feel clean at all. Oh, my laundry room looks really spiffy now though, so I guess it ended well.

Behold the Creamer Eater

Just a little tip for moms with babies. Next time you are in a restaurant and the chitlin is acting less than stellar, just peel the lid off a creamer (all the way off), empty it, and give it to them. A choking hazard AND entertainment, all in one convenient package, and its FREE. What more could you ask for, seriously.

My daughter has become so obsessed with them that she will track them down even on vacation and use her Darth Vader breathing to hypnotize them. This one was special, it was a Maui creamer. And yes, the humidity was giving her a bit of an Elvis pompadour, don't hate.

Where Did You Hide the Bisquik?

Life as I know it is over. The baby has learned how to crawl forward (not just backwards) and her newfound forward locomotion has been a major wakeup call. Very endearing, lots of photo ops, but holy crap we need some baby gates STAT. I guess this means no more leaving her sitting around with open bottles of tequila and uncapped cleaning supplies.

Here she is rummaging like a wild racoon through the cupboard. Note she has already gotten the maple syrup out so I can only assume she is going to be making me some waffles.

Cute Things Come to Those Who Wait

I just got back from Target, where I bought the cutest little retro summer dresses (first was the green one pictured here, the other was a simple black swing dress with lace hem). I am a total sucker for all things vintage-inspired. I saw them there a month ago and wanted to buy one but was 'good.' This time they were on the clearance rack, half off, and they had both styles in a size 4, so yay for me! I revel in the mega-squalidness that is the Target clearance-rack, almost as good as thrifting.

Merona® Shirtdress - Green Plaid : Target

Does She Own A Mirror?

I expected better from Carmen Electra than looking like the latest post on Hot Chicks with Douchebags. What is going on here? The number of gorgeous babes who end up with lame looking guys is amazing. Looks like poor Carmen has decided set up house with Rob Patterson, the former touring guitarist for Korn (yes, this is his claim to fame, don't hate). I guess once you have been married to Dennis Rodman and Dave Navarro, you want a guy who is a little more sane and wears less makeup than you. Although this one still wears guyliner so keep an eye on him Carmie.

Her Aerobic Striptease DVDs are the greatest! Rather short, each workout is only about 15 minutes, but fun and the outfits are hysterical. Did you know how pivotal putting your finger in your mouth and looking bashful could be? Didn't think so.

My New Favorite Drink

So cold, so sweet, so girly. Behold the lovely Lava Flow. At the Old Lahaina Luau I saw people knocking these back and asked my half-naked waiter about them. One sip and I was hooked. It is like a pina colada with strawberry syrupy goodness swirled in.

It became my mission to conduct thorough academic research while on the island. I would sample the Lava Flow everywhere I went, thus creating an objective data map of good/okay/sucky LFs for future reference. All for the betterment of mankind, of course. I can't help it if I make great sacrifices in the name of science, people! I'm just saintly like that.

If you are a size queen, Bubba Gump wins hands down; that thing was massive! Most restaurants did okay, but all seemed rinky-dink compared to big old Bubba; his ginormous glass of goodness was all I could think about. Worst by far was on the dinner cruise; I guess they can't make a good frozen drink on a boat. Go figure.

A Hot Tranny Mess

Watching this little movie about Christian Siriano going to Vegas for the Miss USA pageant made me wish he would adopt me. How much fun would it be to traipse around with these bitches? I would wear a vintage '80s Diane Freis, suspenders, and a pith helmet and nobody would say shit to me. It would be 'so avante garde' instead of 'so tragic.'

2 Years Down, Only the Rest of My Days To Go

Yesterday was my 2nd anniversary to my 2nd husband, the one I plan on keeping around until we both don't have any teeth or any recollection of who the other one is. Through a bizarre string of events involving the first 2 restaurants on our list of favorites being inexplicably closed because it was Tuesday (?), we ended up at a sushi joint we'd never tried before and, as usual, it turned out great. I had a lychee martini and we ate all kinds of sea creatures until we were full to bursting. Then I dragged him to Starbucks for a Venti skinny cinnamon dulce latte.

Last week on Maui we took a helicoptor tour. It was the first time I'd ever been in a helicopter. I had no interest in going and just agreed to go along because I'm agreeable like that. The initial ascent was so fast, with some hard banking to the left that it made me want to hack up a puu-puu platter's worth of vacation food. Once we were up in the air it was truly glorious though. Thanks to this man I married I tried something new and it ended up being a great ride.





This is one of the reasons I love this man. I just end up enjoying myself when we are together, no matter what we end up doing. Even when I am doing something I didn't think I would like. Except for that time he farted on my head and thought it was funny, I could get by without that part. Boring stuff, stressful stuff, new and different stuff, the same old stuff; it's all better with my husband. I can't wait for all the simple little moments of joy that the future holds. He just makes me feel all crushy inside, head farts aside.

Master Cleanse For My Face

I have to admit, I have a smidge of new-ageiness in me. Okay, more like a half-cup. I like astrology, tarot, crystals, meditation, the whole shebang. I used to work at a crystal shop and the greatest part about that job was realizing how completely middle-of-the-road I am. There are some people that are way farther out there than you will ever be, trust this. Like believing they are aliens and that they can communicate with their home planet by wearing an aluminum foil triangle hat in a circle purified with sage and sprinkled with magnetite.


So now with this predicament I was in, I had a diagnosis and I had an agenda, to find out how to fix this 'problem' on my forehead the crunchy way. Now that I had a scientific-like name for it, basal cell carcinoma (probably, not definite yet) I headed out onto the Interweb via the Google highway to drum up some cancer-be-gone recipes. Bingo. I ran across this site that talked about vitamin C destroying basal cells and a description of how to make a very simple liquid form. I ran out to The Vitamin Shoppe. No, it is really spelled Shoppe, go look for yourself if you don't believe me. Huzzah!


Let me say right now that applying vitamin C to a wound will hurt. It will hurt very, very bad. You will probably make weird noises and strike your hands against inanimate objects. You may even stamp your feet and whimper. There might be teeth gnashing involved. But if you want this fucking thing to go away you are going to do what it takes right? I became a woman obsessed. I was putting vitamin C on my forehead every few hours and going through the finger biting and the crying out and the whole bit. I still do, today, believe that vitamin C probably does work. Maybe if I hadn't had this thing for 2 YEARS it would have been a slam dunk. That is neither here nor there, but anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.


Somewhere in this time period, the dermatologist calls me back and says "Yep, I was right, it is basal cell. Let's get you scheduled for a Mohs procedure right away, yada, yada." Again, her ability to speed up the time-space continuum was kinda freaking me out a bit. So here I am, straddling this decision. Half of me is saying "Screw that, you've got vitamin C baby! As much as the Vitamin Shoppe carries, I'll keep up with this until my forehead is purer than Dakota Fanning". The other half of me is saying "Get her done already." I was never good at making decisions, darn that Libra rising (see? new-agey, shit), and when needles and cutting a large portion of my face off gets involved, it becomes even trickier for me. Would I do what was prescribed and recommended or would I continue with my half-baked facial Master Cleanse? Decisions, decisions.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Dermatologist

The day of my fateful meeting with the dermatologist I was a complete wreck, masquerading as a calm, confident, take no crap from anyone kinda gal. Everything was going very smoothly that morning, too smoothly I would soon find out. I got to the office 15 minutes early. "Let's just get this over with, she'll tell me it is some benign thus and such and prescribe me some cream and we'll be on our way."

As I am getting the baby out of her car seat, I become aware she is emanating a horrible stink. Every mother knows this smell and what it means. The odor field from a blowout poo is always extra-special. She had, of course, completely trashed her dress. No problem, I'm 15 minutes early, remember? I'll just get the extra change of clothes out .... of .... her .... diaper .... bag ..... I am saying this as I am rustling through the bag, looking, looking, looking. I had somehow not packed an extra change of clothes. No, no, no. Not today, no really, this isn't even remotely funny! The diaper bag was emptier than Posh's fridge. Holy sweet baby Jesus what do I do now?


I change her on the backseat, trying to keep me, her, and the car as poo free as possible. My only option is to leave her in just a diaper. Thankfully I had packed those at least right? So into the stroller she goes, looking as happy and carefree as a hillbilly baby in all her nakedness. I just kept reminding myself to be happy she was wearing a clean diaper at least.


The wait in the waiting room seems endless, mostly because the receptionist decided not to show up that day so all the patients were sitting there looking at each other like, am I in the right place? Did zombies attack and eat everyone who works here?


The dermatologist was an incredibly kind, capable, matter-of-fact woman. She strode in, seemed completely unphased by the fact that my baby looked like a Spears offspring, looked at my forehead for 15 seconds and stated quite simply, "Yep, that looks just like a basal cell carcinoma, I would say I'm 99% certain of it."


She asked if she could take the biopsy right then and there and whereas earlier everything seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, now everything was happening too fast for me to keep up. She numbed it with a local anesthetic and that hurt like a son of a bitch! This is how I know I'll probably never be a Botox babe, I don't have the stomach for it. The shaving a chunk of my forehead off with a razor part went by in a flash and then I was scooched out the door with instructions and the assurance that they would call me in a week with the results. Wait, does that mean it might NOT be cancer? Okay, I can subsist on a sliver of hope for a week. It is the desperation cancer-free diet.

Just A Little Spot

In April of 2006, right before my wedding, I noticed a pink spot on my forehead, about the size of a pencil eraser. Drat! That is so typical that I would get a pimple right before my wedding, must be stress. Well it didn't act like a pimple, meaning it didn't go away, ever. It would get paler, then angry looking and red, sometimes it would bleed if I accidentally brushed against it with my hairbrush. I just got used to covering it with concealer and not thinking more about it.Eventually got bangs so I wouldn't have to bother with it. How could it possibly be something nefarious? Nobody even knew it was there and when I made some crack about cancer growing on my face, my husband had to have it pointed out to him, it was so subtle.



I slap on some Neutrogena SPF 15 moisturizer every morning, so we're good right? I knew in my heart of hearts that something wasn't right but I continued to plug along optimistically. I'll just manifest it going away, that should work. What I didn't realize was that I was feeding more energy into worrying about this thing than if I had just gone ahead and gotten it checked out already.



So I finally mention it to my OB and she doesn't even seem concerned about it, but she refers me to a dermatologist. Through my insurance (Kaiser) it takes almost a YEAR for the referral to the dermatologist to go through. Then things really got interesting.



(to be continued)



duh duh duhhhhhh

Lets Rotate The Board

Do you have a giggle button? It helps if you say giggle button with a British accent, it just does. I will start to laugh about something and then can't stop, and the stupider the trigger, the worse it gets. Everyone around me looking at me with disgust at my inability to regain self-control? Even better.

Yesterday I ran across this skit on BBC America , my go-to channel, and that was it for the rest of the day. I would find myself saying "That's Numberwang!" out of the blue, inexplicably, and then dissolve into more laughter. I really haven't gone off my rocker ..... yet, but I have a feeling I'll be tittering like an insane person for a few more weeks over this one. Tomorrow, 20,000 feet above the ocean, I'll be asking the flight attendant if we can rotate the board. That's Wanganumb!

I Think I'll Call Her Bluebell

I got a new toy today: a compact digital camera to take to Maui. Our last pocket digital, a Kodak Easyshare, ended up biting the dust awhile back, and I wasn't shedding any tears over that thing. Don't even get me started on the Kodak software, don't do it, it isn't pretty. So I have just been using the Nikon D70 for all my picture-taking needs. I LOVE the Nikon, but it is rather massive. And it doesn't match my bikini, so how is that even gonna work, ya know?

Today we picked up a Casio (don't laugh!) Exilim. It is so cute, and wafer thin, and baby blue. Yes, I am a girl, so cuteness is an important feature in a camera. Look at how tiny it is, sitting next to a creamer! Cute I tell you! I must confess I got it, in part, because it boasted, right on the front with a big sticker, wait for it ....

YouTube Capture Mode (da da da dah!). That link right there is hysterical by the way. With the sound turned down she reminds me of a flight attendant showing you the exits. Anyway, my videocamera uses mini CDs and it is a major pain in the ass to have to burn through a whole 30-minute CD, then finalize the disk, then transfer the files over using a special kind of software, blah, blah, my own eyes are glazing over so I'll stop. My daughter is at that adorabe stage where everything is videoworthy, no really, it is. So I am looking forward to being able to post little videos of her cuteness without jumping through 10 hoops and wanting to slit my own throat.

I'll be posting pictures from my trip when I get back so the proof will be in the pudding with this baby.

Are You Unartig or Nett?

Next time you are completely at a loss for just the right adjective to describe someone's personality, just whip out some German on their asses. Sure you can tell your best friend she is acting more stuck-up than Paris Hilton at a Waffle House, but wouldn't calling her a hochnäsig pig be so much more rewarding? And you don't even need to wait for those martinis from lunch to wear off before you tell your boss he is boring. Just say you think he is langweilig instead; he might just think that is a good thing.

Quit Wicha RubberNeckin Y'all!

I guess it is a day for accidents. First I let the schmoopie fall off the bed and now this. Britney Spears was involved in a minor fender-bender in LA tonight. I have to admit that I would love to get sideswiped by Brit. I want to hear her talk crazy to me in that British accent and ask me to trade clothes. We could be besties forever. Are you listening Brit? Call me.

Goose Egg

You know what I learned today? Babies that can roll over and crawl need to be held onto, like, every single second, when they are on the bed. Don't even think you can reach over and grab the wipes. Just don't okay, because bad things can happen. My poor little baby took a tumble today. I got the inaugural I Am The Most Horrible Mom Ever bawl out of the way though, so there is that sense of relief. The anticipation was killing me.

Ten Quick Bikini Countdown Exercises

10 Easy Pieces to Get You Ready For Your 2 Piece

In an effort to not terrorize small children this summer when I don my bathing suit, I am trying to sneak exercise into my day, kinda like a coke addict sneaks in bathroom breaks. With a baby on my hip I usually can't spare more than a minute or two. I don't do all 10 every day, but I try to fit in a few when I think about it. Your ass, aka glueus maximus, is the biggest muscle in your body and working it will help boost your metabolism so I have several exercises that focus on your derriere. Here are my top 10 on-the-go exercises:

1. First thing in the morning, before you even get out of bed, you can do pelvis lifts in bed. They warm up your spine and it feels good to get a nice stretch to start your day. Slide your heels up towards your butt, so your knees bend, tighten your bum and raise it up off the bed. Hold for 10 and slowly come back down, repeat a few times. Don't do these while your husband is around or you'll make him late for work.


2. Heel raises are great to do while brushing your teeth. Try a few sets with your feet straight ahead, then with your toes pointing out.


3. Leg lifts and knee-ups in the shower. I like knee-ups while I shampoo, leg lifts while the conditioner soaks in. Knee-ups are kinda self explanatory, just lift your knees up one at a time, otherwise you are jumping in the shower and that is just plain crazy. You should look like you are marching in place, while shampooing. You can touch opposite elbow-knee if you are feeling frisky. Now is a good time to hope to God nobody is filming you. For the leg lifts: put all your weight on one foot and lift the other leg back behind you, toes pointing out to the side, raising it a foot or two. Your butt is probably pretty mad at you right about now and is busy plotting your death.


4. Tricep dips off the counter. Nobody wants grandma wings and this will help stave them off. While your coffee is brewing or your toast is toasting, put your back to the counter and put your hands on the edge like you are about to hop up and sit on it. Psych! Instead, bend your knees and sink down. Go for 10 and go slooooow. Try for 2 sets of 10 if you are brave. If you are doing them right ,the last few will KILL. But you are awake now, so it is all good.


5. Next time you are driving somewhere, take note of exactly how far away the farthest parking spot is. It is usually freekin FAR. Bonus points if you have someone in the car with you; the look on their face is priceless when they see that you plan on walking 3 football fields across the Target parking lot when there was that cherry spot right next to the handicapped zone.


6. If you have stairs in your house, a firm ass is in your future. Do some 'hill' sprints (I can't think of a pithy name for these: histairints?, staill sprints?) on your stairs. Basically run up and down your stairs for a few minutes. Again, this serves as great entertainment for anyone else in your house at the time. Also try going up and down sideways, which will work the muscles differently.


7. While chatting on the phone, raise one leg, point your toes, and imagine you are spelling out each letter of your name with your foot, using your whole leg like a pencil. Curse at your mother if she gave you a long-ass name. If you tighten your abs at the same time, this will help strengthen your core as well. This is also a great trick to get kids to exercise without knowing they are doing it. Yes I can be childish at times, but I am owning it okay?


8. Doesn't it seem like every day is laundry day? Well use the endless drudgery to your advantage. Dump the laundry on the floor (make sure it is a clean floor or this is all for naught). Do a squat to pick up a piece of laundry, fold it, and then do a nice forward bend or squat to put it down in a pile on the floor. Watch out for that hubby again, he will try to interrupt your forward bends.


9. Try watching TV on the floor. It will make you feel like a kid again to flop down there and roll around. The number of floor exercises you can do while staring at the idiot box is endless, sort of like those annoying OxyClean commercials with the screaming guy. One of the most convenient is crunches. You just put the remote right on your stomach and get to it. Changing channels with your obliques = extra bonus points.


10. Maybe you're saying to yourself, that's all well and good, assuming I brush my teeth, shower, or wash my clothes on a regular basis. What if I sit in front of a computer 24/7. What have you got for me now Little Miss Oh-So-Helpful? Butt squeezes! Or Butt-Crackers as I like to call them. At a desk, in a car, on a plane. Okay this is turning into a Dr. Seuss book but you get my point. If you are sitting on your ass, you can do this exercise. Simply squeeze your cheeks together, hold for 10, relax, repeat. Or remember when you were lying on the floor watching TV? Just roll over onto your stomach and do some Butt-Crackers. Watch out for that husband of yours though. If he catches you doing these, you might get ambushed.

The Fishing Is So Great, He's Gotta Wear Shades

I can't make heads or tails of this controversy (no pun intended). I'm not sure if I see a bodacious babe in Dick Cheney's sunglasses or not. It looks kinda like a giant squid? Or that is one impressive specimen of a woman right there. Although now that I ponder that sly little smirk he is giving in the page header, maybe the rumors are true? Hopefully someone will get to the bottom of this one, photoshop or Cheney Gone Wild?

One More Reason to Love the Interweb

Some places on the Internet will grab you by the throat, suck you in, and take several hours out of your day. And you will thank them, and come back for more abuse the next day, and the day after that. This is one of them. Be glad you weren't born a hundred years ago because do you think Laura Ingalls Wilder ever had fun like this? Millions of pictures of animals with clever captions? Don't think so.

Will You Be Wearing or Carrying Your 6-Pack This Summer?

I'm in the 'oh crap only 1 week until I'm in a bikini' countdown so I am making sure I get a little tit sweat going every day. That's how I tell I'm working out hard enough, if a finger in the jog bra comes out sweaty, we have success. Okay that sounded bad but its really not. It isnt! It is my own finger and my own tit. Aaaaaannnnyyyway, I have been loving these tit-sweat-inducing Podrunner podcasts on iTunes. So quit lounging here at the computer, go get your freak on, and join me in the quest to be wearing, not carrying, come summatime.

I Wish This Woman Was My Grandma Y'all

Okay I have a confession to make. I have a grandma crush on Paula Deen. Just minutes into a show I find myself saying 'bowl' instead of boil and 'cain't' and I'm filled with an overwhelming urge to add butter to stuff. How did she get so awesome? Are all the grandmas in the South like this? Because if they are, I may need to relocate. I'll find a group of grandma friends and we can spend our days making butter-chocolate-cheese pies and talkin about .... whatever people down there talk about. I'm off to rent a copy of Steel Magnolias to do some research.

Double Slug Convertible Bug!

So I'm driving along on the freeway and I see it, parked along the side of the road. I wasn't sure from a distance, could it be? For reals? I had only ever seen one, ONE, once in my whole LIFE. Yes, I am speaking of that mysterious apparition, the tow bug, and this one was a convertible.

Jeebus why did I have to be alone in the car? I'm fumbling for my cell phone to call my husband's voicemail: "Oh my god, you are never going to believe what I just saw? Slug! Slug! Slug! Slug!" I can't remember exacly how many slugs we figured a tow bug was, I think it is 16, and of course being a convertible doubles that. If it had been a Herbie bug just forget it, somewhere in the '50 slugs range. I actually considered turning around to take a picture with my cell phone. Yes I'm serious! Apparently there is a whole new variation of the game where you take a picture with your phone and play that way.

You Can't Stop Dangerbaby

Dangerbaby goes where she wants, when she wants, and she does it backwards. Just because you set her down to play in the living room doesn't mean she is going to stay there, foolish woman! She wants to go play in the hall? She'll just do it, she is dangerous like that. You think a Snap-N-Go and that bag of recycling is going to stop her? You have seriously underestimated Dangerbaby.

Back In My Day

Back in my day we had to walk to school through the snow, do all our chores, eat our veggies, get straight A's, milk the cows . And on, and on, and on. I hear people my age (cough) starting to talk like this and it scares me. We weren't angels, lets stop kidding ourselves folks.

I don't agree with the assumption that there is this 100-mile-an-hour decline into depravity and we should lock our doors in fear of the teenagers. Take off those rose-colored and glasses and actually look back at your life. Ask yourself some simple questions: Did you ever lie to your parents? Did you ever smoke or drink an alcoholic beverage before you turned 18 or 21? Did you ever get frisky with a member of the opposite sex? You hussy! But you did all this (and probably much more) and YOU turned out okay right? Lets give the kids the benefit of the doubt on this one and stop with the walk down memory lane, unless you are going to help them out and show them the correct way to roll a joint. That is advice you can use, sister.

These Taxes Are Making Me Crazy

You have to say it to yourself ala Seinfeld, 'these pretzels are making me thirsty.' It never ceases to amaze me the minutia that I have to track down, add up, and fax over to the accountant. Can't we just each decide on a nice round number and go from there? No wonder people like Wesley Snipes have trouble with the IRS. Imagine if I had several houses, 23 cars, 4 mistresses to support, and a loads of legal and illegal expenditures? See, the rich don't have it so easy. Now don't you feel better? You're welcome.

Why I Love Voice Editing

I do a combination of transcription and editing of voice recognition documents. The computer gets a lot right, there have been a lot of advances and the software is much better than it used to be. But you still have to pay very close attention. Sometimes the software gets things get misconstrued, badly. Sometimes there are gems that I wish I could keep in, like so: "Patient was unable to keep a lot down" was originally interpreted by VR as "Patient was unable to keep her LIES down." Bloody brilliant.

You Know, Da Kine

The fact that I'm going to be back in Hawai'i for the first time in 20 years is finally starting to sink in. I have been waxing nostalgic about my years there and of course a lot of my fondest memories involve, what else, food.

One of my favorite after-school snacks was manapua, a pale little steamed bun, stamped with a red Chinese symbol and filled with pork or bean paste. Like many of my favorite Hawai'i treats, they were mysterious but magnetic and once I acquired a taste for them, watch out! I am going to be stalking the manapua man when I get to Maui.

Astrology Has Some 'Splainin to Do

Let me first say that I have been into astrology as far back as I can remember. I am a product of the '70s, both of my parents had books on astrology and then I got WAY into occult studies as a teenager (the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe shit, for reals). I know all about ascendants, nodes, where your houses are, all that jazz. But this kind of made me think for a moment: K. Fed and Bach share the same birthday. You make sense of that, because Lord knows I have tried and am drawing a blank. Yes, thats right, Papazao and arguably the most important composer in history, with the same birthday. Sure there is a bit of a time span in between, but still. I want some answers.

Dog Whisperer Guilt

Here is my sweet mutton-head of a dog. She is supposedly a Rotty/Husky mix but we like to think of her as part grizzly bear/part monkey. Look into those eyes people, she is just on this side of the crazy line. She is 125 pounds and thinks she is a 7-pound lap dog.

I love the Dog Whisperer and I will always put down the remote when I run across it. There is one catch though, the pangs of guilt when he launches into his "Chu need to essercise your dog, he needs eet to stay alife" speech. I used to be such a great dog walker back when I first got her. Even with the pulling and the whining and the fact that she weighed more than me. Now, 5 years later, I have a baby and a neighborhood run amuck by gangs of angry off-leash dogs and she doesn't got out so much anymore. I need to find a way to walk her more because I really miss it, and I am sure she does too. Now that she is old and fat, maybe she'll go easy on me.

A New Earth or Utter Denial?

Our very dear friend backed into my Jaguar today. I thought he was joking at first, then he insisted, then I insisted that no, he must reaaaaaallly be joking and it so was not funny anymore and then I stopped insisting because he just kept insisting more insistently that he HAD, in fact, really and truly hit it. I still haven't looked at it because I don't want to jinx myself. Why? Because I am not even upset about it, that is why. Is it all because of this book? Could it be? I have felt really mellow, like I've been hitting the pipe with regularity, but nothing has tested me up until now. I'll update you tomorrow when I actually look at the car. Until then I'm going to relish this newfound notupsetaboutanythingness I've got going on.

Holy Crap, I Just Bought A Domain!

Welcome to thisismayjah.com, my own personal slice of the interweb. I blame it all on this video:



I actually had it open in another window and paused it, did that step, watched some more, paused it, did that step. I am THAT technically challenged. And in less than 5 minutes I got 'er done. Thanks Blogger, where is my That Was Easy button when I need it?

Ren Faire Baby

Getting my baby daughter out of the car the other day I found myself saying “Huzzah!” to her in a most annoying fashion. I made myself stop because God knows I don’t want my baby to be learning half-assed Old English words instead of real words she can use, in this century. Huzzah? Where did that come from? What the hell kind of Middle Earth shit is that? It must have been a permutation of “Huyah” which I say as I am lifting her into/out of her carseat because she weighs …. Well, she weighs as much as a malnourished 1st grader. Lets just say that in a room full of 100 babies, only 7 would be fatter than my little Butterball. She looks like she has polished off a few giant turkey drumsticks in her day. My poor Ren Faire baby.

Then I realized there must be ACTUAL Ren Faire babies out there, whose parents are intentionally talking to their kids like Knights of the Round Table and making them wear little hand-sewn bonnets and traditional baby swaddling woven made out of lingonberries and pampas grass. All handmade of course, by a historical reenactor who calls herself Lady Moonshadow, who lives in a completely authentic mud hut.

Who can save these little babies? Can you call CPS to swoop in, just on the premise that their parents have an obsession with a fictional pastime. And this may socially stunt them and prevent them from ever being ‘normal’? How is knowing the proper way to address a queen ever going to help them out IRL? Huzzah indeed!

Honk If Your'e Mormon

This message, scrawled on the back of a Honda Civic, greeted me in a parking lot the other day. This person really wrote 'your'e', I'm not even kidding. But it gets better! Underneath was "Honk If You Think I'm Cute." So now of course I am kicking myself that I did not capture this vision with my cellphone camera. I couldn't make this crap up.

First of all, I am going to assume this was written by a female, as it was done in bright pink paint with a little heart next to it. And what a sly little fox she is. Think of the possibilities: Every time someone honks at her, maybe just because they are Mormon, even if they don't think she is cute, she gets to feel like they honked because she is cute. Lets say they aren't Mormon and don't think she is cute, maybe she just cut them off in traffic, she again gets a two-fer. Brilliant! This must be a great way to go through life, thinking everyone is honking at your cuteness, and I am totally considering stealing this approach. I could write a self-help book called "Honk Your Way To Happiness" and be on Oprah and make some serious bank.

I keep hoping I will see this car again, I want to meet sassy Mormon girl and shake her hand. After I explain how to combine you and are correctly, of course.

Can't Wait To Get A Mouthful

Do you like waffles? I do. Pancakes? That's an affirmative. French toast? Again, yes. Here is my problem. I like breakfast food to the extent that I could eat it morning, noon and night. Okay, so what is the problem in that? Maui is the problem baby. Maui in 2 weeks. My body. In Maui. In 2 weeks. I need to get this song out of my head and get myself on the treadmill.

The Privileged and Those Who Cater To Them

Prada's Trembled Blossoms party, March 19, 2008



I spent the week before in a dead panic, wholy conscious of the fact that nothing in my closet nor within my means would be fabulous enough, my highlights weren't expensive enough, my skin wasn't tanned enough, my lines weren't filled. Yet I went anway. Crazy I know, right? By the end of the night I was trying hard to stand up straight beneath the weight of my buzz. I hadn't drank this much in ages and it felt naughty for some reason, to be getting hammered amidst the rich and richer.

This was the second Prada party I'd been to and I hate to say it, but I was disappointed there weren't more celebrities. I was there to people watch pure and simple. I do love the thrill of quietly observing famous people in their natural habitat but tonight was rather uneventful. And I am not the only one. People look through you at an event like this. Like fame sonar, you watch them scan you. Their head turns from left to right, like a sprinkler fanning the lawn. If you don't register, their gaze just keeps on going. I was about to be insulted and then I realized I was doing the exact same thing so I had to call bullshit on myself.

The building itself is exquisite, as rare and complicated and unapologetically expensive as a Prada bag. The aluminum floors slough off and settle on the stairs, my husband warns me not to sit there or I'll ruin my dress. There was something unnerving about all these beautiful people inhaling aluminum dust but I'm sure they've inhaled much worse. The architect was there, such a sweet and down-to-earth woman; she looked as if she should be hanging up clothes behind a farmhouse in Kansas. I think she has a crush on my husband, can I blame her? I was glad we got to talk with her because it was the first time I saw him relax that night, being able to conversate with someone about something he understood, construction.

This movie, Trembled Blossoms, was played on a loop throughout the party:

I know it is vapid and the product placement is a little obvious but I absolutely lurve it. The BUGS turn into SHOES for fuck's sake! The bugs .... turn .... into ..... shoes. I am sure the wine helped kick my enjoyment up a few notches as well.

Waiters, or as I like to call them, hot unemployed gay actors carrying trays, were passing around the hor' dourves. Tiiiiiny little wafer-thin cucumbers topped with seafood. Bitty little crackers topped with cheese. I turned up my nose in a vague attempt to appear thin and attractive. Maybe no one would notice I wasn't a model, as long as I was eating/not eating like one? Plus the wine goes to work so much faster without food. My husband was sampling the assortment of vodka drinks they had and I was sampling his samples of course. Then at the end of the night I decided I wanted a vodka with cranberry juice and then I really began to grasp the depth of my nonsoberousness.

So what about the clothes? The Prada Spring/Summer collection is one of those love it or hate it deals. Huge preposterous bellbottoms in abrasive prints. Loads of nymphs and fairies and sheer fabrics. I saw a wicked cool pair of purple velvet heels with flower-stem heels though. I loved it, but in that 'I could never pull it off' kind of way. Though I would buy those purple heels if I had the money. Even if they would just sit in my closet? Hell yes. Sometimes conspicious consumption can look fucking precious.