So Matt just emailed me a picture from V's first birthday.
The picture was adorable,
I love her "you are totally embarrassing me, take this dumb hat off of my head, where is the cake and the pony" face.
But that particular day brings up waaaay too many cringe-worthy memories for me to just say "She was so little! Time Flies!"
My memory needs no refreshing when it comes to that day,
as it is otherwise known as
Allison's First Ridiculously Absurd Overblown Child's Birthday Party Planning Disaster.
In fact, I have a whole collection of Ridiculously Absurd Overblown Child's Birthday Party Disasters.
I wish that were not the case, but there are photos proving otherwise.
(Note:
It took me approximately fifteen of my various daughters' various birthday parties before I stopped the insanity.
The first non-disaster,
when M was 7?
And her birthday party was the most lovely, peaceful, non-horror-show event?
Matt and I were looking at each other like,
when does the bloodshed start?
(Spoiler!! No blood!
Not even a scratch!
Or an evil clown!
Or animals!
Or other mayhem!)
Just a few little girls getting their nails painted and then cupcakes.
It would have been better for everyone involved if I had stopped being insane before the INDOOR PONY,
and the BAD CLOWN,
and the BALLERINA SHOW and all,
but no.)
So I am feeling like being a good citizen, a benevolent benefactor today,
and in case I am not the only one who is LUNATIC child birthday party planner,
before I was soundly defeated by my own idiocy,
I am generously sharing the following helpful advice:
Allison's Tips On How To Celebrate Your Child's Birthday Without Being Crazy Person:
I am generously sharing the following advice:
1. When organizing your first child's first birthday, pay attention to what season it is. For example, if it is still winter, an outdoor petting zoo might not work out very well. Especially if it is sleeting.
2. If it is sleeting during the supposed outdoor petting zoo for your one year old who does not know a thing about what is going on as she is one year old
(Note: No parent ever ever will believe you if you tell them this information,
that their one year old has no clue whatall is going on.
I certainly ignored sage advice from just about everyone because V was genius savant miracle child who surely would appreciate and remember the petting zoo and all details of this giant party),
do NOT bring the petting zoo inside.
(Note: I realize this is the part where you say, Allison is a total liar and cannot even tell believable lies. But everything in this whole Tips For Parties list is true. I am not exaggerating, I wish I were, but alas, I was actually lunatic enough to do all the things I say I did, and more that I do not wish to recall)
3. If the petting zoo lady says, "No, it is sleeting, I am not bringing the pony and iguana and ducks and snake and such", do NOT beg and bribe her to bring them anyway as not to disappoint your one year old who has no idea any of this is happening.
4. If the petting zoo lady shows up with the animals you begged her to bring, DO NOT bring the animals in the house.
Who would do that?
A pony?
For real?
(Spoiler!!! I totally did that.)
Ducks in a barrel? An iguana on a leash?
All in my house, for the enjoyment of my daughter who is still a baby and her baby friends who have no idea what is happening? NOT a good idea.
But, Silver Lining: All adults in attendance got a laugh and/or a "Whew, thank the heavens I am not married to her" out of it. Well, all adults except for Matt.
Pony. I have pictures.
5. Learn your lesson after Ponygate 2002. Do NOT pretend none of that happened and throw another giant party for your next one year old, this time taking weather into account but not thinking about how it would totally be horrible if you hired a BAD CLOWN to come to your house and scare the babies AND the parents.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Breaking News!!! Observing Hammock Dude, A Bizarre, Ridiculous, Ludicrous Tradition Gets Way, Way More Ludicrous! by Allison
BREAKING NEWS!!!!
In the world of random lunacy,
that becomes a tradition amongst the girls and me,
our routine of driving past House of Hammock Dude,
and noting whether he is or is not in his hammock -
(Note: Mostly that is a yes.
Almost always.
Except today)
And what, if any,
perplexing changes to Dude's Hammocking are happening?
As our route to all the places we go involve driving by Hammock Dude's house,
and Observing Hammock Dude is way better car activity than the girls squabbling over whatever ,
or pulling out phones or whatever.
Really, the car is the only time I really have them captive,
and can extract details of their day and their lives from them -
they cannot escape.
Today was a banner day in What In The World Is Up With That?
regarding Hammock Dude.
V and I were driving home after she played in the orchestra at Middle School Closing -
(Note: Different day from Lower School Closing.
I am drowning in events,
now that dance rehearsals and performances are done.
But the scent of sunblock and chlorine ,
and the dulcet tones of my girls screeching over goggles and towels,
means it is time to switch my brain into summer
(meaning swim team and swim meets) mode.)
And we are stopped at the red light on the fairly major, busy four-lane road,
the light that if we are stuck with a red light,
we have ample time to Observe Hammock Dude?
Total Nonsense.
V, who is exhausted after ten thousand events in which she has attended, performed, or both,
and is mostly a violin playing zombie, rightfully so-
is like,
"Mom? Hammock Dude is doing something weird."
Understatement of the year.
Hammock Dude has dragged a yuk brown sofa out of his home and placed it next to his chronic hammock.
Hammock itself is empty.
Yuk sofa contains Hammock Dude,
and a guitar which is totally a prop because he is not holding it right or playing it at all.
This stupid red light lasts long enough for us to assess this scene.
Worst
(Best??
If you want to add to the list of What Is Up With Hammock Dude?)
part?
He has a homemade, cardboard sign propped against the sofa thing.
It says "Will Rock For Peace."
Ug.
No.
Ew.
Why?
He seems very pleased that the two of us were Observing his (proximity to) Hammocking.
Because of course, he is smack up on a major road,
looking to see who is looking at him.
But he was lucky he could not hear the conversation in our car, which was:
Me: "Please tell me that sign does not say Will Rock For Peace."
V: "Sorry. That's what is says.
Why is he on a sofa instead of the hammock right next to him?"
Me: "Remember what I told you and your sisters about dudes with sofas in their yards?"
V: "Not to buy anything they are selling out of a box,
or marry them?"
Me: "Yes.
He is not hammocking,
he is attention-seeking, overtly,
with this sofa and guitar he doesn't know how to even play and faux Peace on Earth sign."
V: "Will Rock For Peace?
What does that even mean?"
Me: "It means he is so clueless he isn't even in his hammock,
and you can rock in a hammock,
and so his sign could have
(by generous hearts, not mine)
been seen as a play on words,
with the hammock rocking and the guitar prop which allegedly can rock,
although he is holding it like a tennis racket,
and no rocking of any kind is happening."
V: "At least he has his shirt on."
Me: "Good point.
You know what we are doing?
We are Ham Mocking.
I hate puns, you know that,
but he is pulled up to the side of a busy road,
putting on this nonsense peacock display of I do not even know what -
next to his hammock, and I can't help it.
He's an attention-seeking ham,
and we are mocking him."
V: "True."
Me" "Really, ignoring him is the best way to make this nonsense stop,
but we are stuck at this red light,
and it is a family tradition,
Observing Hammock Dude.
Isn't it so fun when we are in the car alone together?"
V: "At least you aren't talking about music."
Me: "I can, in one second, if you bait me like that.
Instead, let's vote on who gets to tell your sisters and dad about this new Observation."
V: "Mphf."
V got to tell her sisters - I am not kidding,
Observing Hammock Dude is a tradition like normal families have, like,
taco night or something.
I don't know.
We aren't normal.
(Though I am all for any night in which themed food is cooked by someone other than me,
but that is not one of our traditions so far.
We do things like dress up in costumes like the Incredibles family and surprise Matt on his birthday.)
E and M were all,
"Why wasn't he in his hammock?
Is the sofa different from the weird chair that is already in his yard?"
(Note: We are not stalkers.
When we get stuck at that red light,
Observing Hammock Dude is the only distraction until the light turns green.
I think that is why he lives there.)
And as I am writing this I realize,
I did not go into the whole backstory like I usually do.
Ooops.
I apologize for the brevity (subjective brevity but whatever).
Backstory:
Observing Hammock Dude, or Another Absurd Activity Enjoyed by Allison and her Daughters,
by Allison:
So the drive home from the gym, and also the girls' school,
and lots of other places,
involves passing this one particular house that is known in our family as Home of Hammock Dude.
We call it this inventive name,
because in this house lives a dude who is ALWAYS in his hammock,
which is placed prominently smack in the middle of his yard,
right by this main road where cars drive by all day and night.
Hammock Dude is also always shirtless.
He's not horrifying, in fact he reminds me of the character Brad Pitt played in True Romance -
(Note: and purely for informational purposes I have been google imaging Brad Pitt for quite a while just now,
but it was ONLY to further this pointless narrative,
it was not because I was plotting to make another laminated Brad Pitt wall since the one I had in law school no longer exists)
That character who is always lounging, totally high,
oblivious to the entire universe?
Here's the Brad Pitt one, and now that I think of it,
it would have been great if he had been shirtless in that movie,
since that would help the character development.
So Hammock Dude is not at Brad Pitt level, or I would know his name -
(JOKING!!! Hammock Dude is a professional lounger in hammocks,
that would not earn enough to support my tea habit)
but he gives off that same slouchy,
slightly scuzzy but not unattractive,
clueless but harmless vibe.
And he is ALWAYS in his hammock.
All the time.
No matter what, unless it is during ice storm,
and he may be in the hammock then too,
I am just not driving in ice storm to go check.
The girls keep track of Hammock Dude on their way home from school daily for update,
which is always "Hammock Dude was in his hammock."
I see him all the time, lounging away, never a shirt,
never doing a thing
(Note: Not even reading! Reading is awesome in a hammock!)
other than being in the hammock.
And now I have written hammock so much I think I am spelling it wrong so going to check on that now, whew, had it right, moving on. . .
Anyway, today is major breakthrough in Observation of Hammock Dude.
Apparently, professional hammock lounging is not earning him enough (or any) money to pay the rent or buy a shirt or weed,
because he is now Hammock Dude,
The Entrepreneur.
And I am pretty sure that he has completely baked his brain out of his head through whatever he has injested or smoked or whatever.
Or maybe just gone insane from doing nothing other than hammocking for years.
(It has been years, really,
that we have been Observing Hammock Dude).
Because his business?
Is selling warm generic soda out of a brown cardboard box,
conveniently located right next to hammock,
so he can continue to lounge while running this very thriving enterprise.
Of selling gross warm fake drinks for two dollars a can.
I know the price,
because he has very cleverly made a cardboard sign that reads "Coke 2 $."
This sad sign is also very inaccurate,
because there is not Coke in that box,
it is clearly Food Lion generic versions of random sodas.
And also?
The dollar sign should come in front of the 2 if he is going to word it like that.
And also?
Two dollars for yuk warm soda can?
All of that is absurd.
And of course the girls want to stop and check out this very booming business of NO ONE buying Hammock Dude's drinks,
plus,
to add another thing to the list of why Hammock Dude needs to rethink his business model?
He lives on a super busy road,
and you can't easily hop off of it and go buy your nasty warm drink, which you would never do anyway.
And then to get back on the road would be worse.
And I am all,"Girls, why do you want to get gross drinks that I will not let you drink from Hammock Dude?"
And they are all, "He's doing something different, it's exciting!"
And I am all,
"We are not stopping for gross yuk drinks at Hammock Dude's pretend store.
We can be fascinated by the fact that he is always in his hammock,
because that is strange,
and its constancy can amuse us,
and his dedication to hammocking can impress or confuse us,
but we are not going to go hang out with him,
because he is a stranger,
and also a shirtless Hammock Dude,
and your dad would kill me,
and to make this an educational experience?
Let's discuss his bad business plan,
and how you will never ever date any guy who has a job of professional hammock lounger."
And as further proof that I am Mother of the Year,
I also added to that list Dudes Who Sit on Sofas That Are Outside of Their Homes.
My duty is done for the day,
now can go back to google imaging
(Or not, I may go teach the girls long division, you'll never know.)
In the world of random lunacy,
that becomes a tradition amongst the girls and me,
our routine of driving past House of Hammock Dude,
and noting whether he is or is not in his hammock -
(Note: Mostly that is a yes.
Almost always.
Except today)
And what, if any,
perplexing changes to Dude's Hammocking are happening?
As our route to all the places we go involve driving by Hammock Dude's house,
and Observing Hammock Dude is way better car activity than the girls squabbling over whatever ,
or pulling out phones or whatever.
Really, the car is the only time I really have them captive,
and can extract details of their day and their lives from them -
they cannot escape.
Today was a banner day in What In The World Is Up With That?
regarding Hammock Dude.
V and I were driving home after she played in the orchestra at Middle School Closing -
(Note: Different day from Lower School Closing.
I am drowning in events,
now that dance rehearsals and performances are done.
But the scent of sunblock and chlorine ,
and the dulcet tones of my girls screeching over goggles and towels,
means it is time to switch my brain into summer
(meaning swim team and swim meets) mode.)
And we are stopped at the red light on the fairly major, busy four-lane road,
the light that if we are stuck with a red light,
we have ample time to Observe Hammock Dude?
Total Nonsense.
V, who is exhausted after ten thousand events in which she has attended, performed, or both,
and is mostly a violin playing zombie, rightfully so-
is like,
"Mom? Hammock Dude is doing something weird."
Understatement of the year.
Hammock Dude has dragged a yuk brown sofa out of his home and placed it next to his chronic hammock.
Hammock itself is empty.
Yuk sofa contains Hammock Dude,
and a guitar which is totally a prop because he is not holding it right or playing it at all.
This stupid red light lasts long enough for us to assess this scene.
Worst
(Best??
If you want to add to the list of What Is Up With Hammock Dude?)
part?
He has a homemade, cardboard sign propped against the sofa thing.
It says "Will Rock For Peace."
Ug.
No.
Ew.
Why?
He seems very pleased that the two of us were Observing his (proximity to) Hammocking.
Because of course, he is smack up on a major road,
looking to see who is looking at him.
But he was lucky he could not hear the conversation in our car, which was:
Me: "Please tell me that sign does not say Will Rock For Peace."
V: "Sorry. That's what is says.
Why is he on a sofa instead of the hammock right next to him?"
Me: "Remember what I told you and your sisters about dudes with sofas in their yards?"
V: "Not to buy anything they are selling out of a box,
or marry them?"
Me: "Yes.
He is not hammocking,
he is attention-seeking, overtly,
with this sofa and guitar he doesn't know how to even play and faux Peace on Earth sign."
V: "Will Rock For Peace?
What does that even mean?"
Me: "It means he is so clueless he isn't even in his hammock,
and you can rock in a hammock,
and so his sign could have
(by generous hearts, not mine)
been seen as a play on words,
with the hammock rocking and the guitar prop which allegedly can rock,
although he is holding it like a tennis racket,
and no rocking of any kind is happening."
V: "At least he has his shirt on."
Me: "Good point.
You know what we are doing?
We are Ham Mocking.
I hate puns, you know that,
but he is pulled up to the side of a busy road,
putting on this nonsense peacock display of I do not even know what -
next to his hammock, and I can't help it.
He's an attention-seeking ham,
and we are mocking him."
V: "True."
Me" "Really, ignoring him is the best way to make this nonsense stop,
but we are stuck at this red light,
and it is a family tradition,
Observing Hammock Dude.
Isn't it so fun when we are in the car alone together?"
V: "At least you aren't talking about music."
Me: "I can, in one second, if you bait me like that.
Instead, let's vote on who gets to tell your sisters and dad about this new Observation."
V: "Mphf."
V got to tell her sisters - I am not kidding,
Observing Hammock Dude is a tradition like normal families have, like,
taco night or something.
I don't know.
We aren't normal.
(Though I am all for any night in which themed food is cooked by someone other than me,
but that is not one of our traditions so far.
We do things like dress up in costumes like the Incredibles family and surprise Matt on his birthday.)
E and M were all,
"Why wasn't he in his hammock?
Is the sofa different from the weird chair that is already in his yard?"
(Note: We are not stalkers.
When we get stuck at that red light,
Observing Hammock Dude is the only distraction until the light turns green.
I think that is why he lives there.)
And as I am writing this I realize,
I did not go into the whole backstory like I usually do.
Ooops.
I apologize for the brevity (subjective brevity but whatever).
Backstory:
Observing Hammock Dude, or Another Absurd Activity Enjoyed by Allison and her Daughters,
by Allison:
So the drive home from the gym, and also the girls' school,
and lots of other places,
involves passing this one particular house that is known in our family as Home of Hammock Dude.
We call it this inventive name,
because in this house lives a dude who is ALWAYS in his hammock,
which is placed prominently smack in the middle of his yard,
right by this main road where cars drive by all day and night.
Hammock Dude is also always shirtless.
He's not horrifying, in fact he reminds me of the character Brad Pitt played in True Romance -
(Note: and purely for informational purposes I have been google imaging Brad Pitt for quite a while just now,
but it was ONLY to further this pointless narrative,
it was not because I was plotting to make another laminated Brad Pitt wall since the one I had in law school no longer exists)
That character who is always lounging, totally high,
oblivious to the entire universe?
Here's the Brad Pitt one, and now that I think of it,
it would have been great if he had been shirtless in that movie,
since that would help the character development.
So Hammock Dude is not at Brad Pitt level, or I would know his name -
(JOKING!!! Hammock Dude is a professional lounger in hammocks,
that would not earn enough to support my tea habit)
but he gives off that same slouchy,
slightly scuzzy but not unattractive,
clueless but harmless vibe.
And he is ALWAYS in his hammock.
All the time.
No matter what, unless it is during ice storm,
and he may be in the hammock then too,
I am just not driving in ice storm to go check.
The girls keep track of Hammock Dude on their way home from school daily for update,
which is always "Hammock Dude was in his hammock."
I see him all the time, lounging away, never a shirt,
never doing a thing
(Note: Not even reading! Reading is awesome in a hammock!)
other than being in the hammock.
And now I have written hammock so much I think I am spelling it wrong so going to check on that now, whew, had it right, moving on. . .
Anyway, today is major breakthrough in Observation of Hammock Dude.
Apparently, professional hammock lounging is not earning him enough (or any) money to pay the rent or buy a shirt or weed,
because he is now Hammock Dude,
The Entrepreneur.
And I am pretty sure that he has completely baked his brain out of his head through whatever he has injested or smoked or whatever.
Or maybe just gone insane from doing nothing other than hammocking for years.
(It has been years, really,
that we have been Observing Hammock Dude).
Because his business?
Is selling warm generic soda out of a brown cardboard box,
conveniently located right next to hammock,
so he can continue to lounge while running this very thriving enterprise.
Of selling gross warm fake drinks for two dollars a can.
I know the price,
because he has very cleverly made a cardboard sign that reads "Coke 2 $."
This sad sign is also very inaccurate,
because there is not Coke in that box,
it is clearly Food Lion generic versions of random sodas.
And also?
The dollar sign should come in front of the 2 if he is going to word it like that.
And also?
Two dollars for yuk warm soda can?
All of that is absurd.
And of course the girls want to stop and check out this very booming business of NO ONE buying Hammock Dude's drinks,
plus,
to add another thing to the list of why Hammock Dude needs to rethink his business model?
He lives on a super busy road,
and you can't easily hop off of it and go buy your nasty warm drink, which you would never do anyway.
And then to get back on the road would be worse.
And I am all,"Girls, why do you want to get gross drinks that I will not let you drink from Hammock Dude?"
And they are all, "He's doing something different, it's exciting!"
And I am all,
"We are not stopping for gross yuk drinks at Hammock Dude's pretend store.
We can be fascinated by the fact that he is always in his hammock,
because that is strange,
and its constancy can amuse us,
and his dedication to hammocking can impress or confuse us,
but we are not going to go hang out with him,
because he is a stranger,
and also a shirtless Hammock Dude,
and your dad would kill me,
and to make this an educational experience?
Let's discuss his bad business plan,
and how you will never ever date any guy who has a job of professional hammock lounger."
And as further proof that I am Mother of the Year,
I also added to that list Dudes Who Sit on Sofas That Are Outside of Their Homes.
My duty is done for the day,
now can go back to google imaging
(Or not, I may go teach the girls long division, you'll never know.)
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Rock, Paper, Scissors, Bath!! It May Be Absurd But It Worked, a Victory: by Allison
So tonight, as I am assembling dinner,
(Note: I cannot call it cooking.
It feels like I put the proper healthy things on plates,
but I derive no joy from it,
so I get an assembly line vibe)
I realize there is enough time for one of the girls to get in the bath before dinner,
thus making after-dinner bath-book-bed march less of a Byzantine dilemma.
Matt is at the hospital doing good deeds,
so there is no reasonable, rational person in this house to stop my nonsense.
There should be no need for nonsense anyway.
On a normal day, the girls squabble over who gets the first bath,
and they have rules and agreements they have made amongst themselves that I do not know because I do not want to know.
But tonight?
Bizarro World.
Nobody will take the first bath, which is all warm and fab,
and I am like,
"What is wrong with you girls? You normally fight over who gets this bath?
Stop changing all the time!
It is exhausting."
And since I am left to my own devices,
which can never be considered reasonable or rational,
I try to think of a lure, a bait,
or a way to spin the first bath into something awesome.
(Note: The bath is already awesome.
And they know that,
and bicker over that issue every other day but today.)
Since I know, kind of,
when dinner assembly stuff will be ready:
(Note: I don't wear a watch.
Proof: http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/11/no-sorry-i-dont-have-time-or-watch-and.html)
I know I have a time constraint (I HATE those) to get somebody into that bath.
Bribery to take a bath seems like a totally horrible,
I will regret that in the long term idea.
Nothing to use as blackmail.
Can't take the time to write a contract or have a dance - off.
And then I thought, what is the Cro Magnon,
easiest and quickest thing I can come up with in two seconds?
Answer: Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Only other quick thing I could think of was "pick a number between one and ten."
I can't tolerate the "pick a number between one and ten" contest.
Because there is no way to prove the person with the alleged number in their head is not totally lying and orchestrating things unfairly.
And I can't think of anything else I can do extemporaneously.
So I'm like,
"Hey girls?
Get out of wherever you are sequestered hiding from me,
we are going to do a Rock, Paper, Scissors thing."
And that is apparently siren call - they all appear in front of me in two seconds.
So I am like, "Ok. You guys are clearly deranged and nobody wants this awesome first bath.
It is now Rock, Paper, Scissors for the bath."
The following ensues:
M: "Does the winner get the bath,
or not have to take a bath,
or pick a sister to take the bath?"
V: "You can't play Rock, Paper, Scissors with three people."
E: "I vote V takes the bath."
Me:
(Internally thinking, drat.
I did not think about all these rules and how I can make this play out with three people.
I am going to have to make up some stuff fast.)
Me:
(Speaking off the top of my head, not silently lamenting):
"Ok. Here are the rules:
1. You cannot invent something like "nuclear fire bomb with spikes" or "end of the world."
2. Rock, Paper, Scissors.
No other options.
Anyone who makes up something,
or deviates from the three options is automatically disqualified,
and gets the first bath.
Which?
By the way,
is warm and foamy and you are all crazy people for not jumping in it right now.
3. No Two out of Three.
4. If one person wins,
victoriously crushes or cuts or covers or whatever?
That person goes over by me,
and the two who did not win face off.
5. If two people win,
the one person who did not win goes in the bath,
and the other two face off for second place.
6. If you all throw the same thing,
we start over.
They are all,
BRING IT ON.
I cannot believe this is working.
Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot:
V is scissors, E and M rocks.
V goes and gets in the bath, no argument,
which there shouldn't be an argument anyway,
because on any other day they all WANT the first bath.
But I am still astonished my made-up thing worked.
And get this?
E and M are now Rock, Paper, Scissoring for who gets the second bath.
Winner GETS the bath,
not avoids it.
I am a genius!
Accidental, absurd,
spontaneous contest throwing as parenting tool genius,
but I will take my tiny, random victories whenever I can.
(Note: I cannot call it cooking.
It feels like I put the proper healthy things on plates,
but I derive no joy from it,
so I get an assembly line vibe)
I realize there is enough time for one of the girls to get in the bath before dinner,
thus making after-dinner bath-book-bed march less of a Byzantine dilemma.
Matt is at the hospital doing good deeds,
so there is no reasonable, rational person in this house to stop my nonsense.
There should be no need for nonsense anyway.
On a normal day, the girls squabble over who gets the first bath,
and they have rules and agreements they have made amongst themselves that I do not know because I do not want to know.
But tonight?
Bizarro World.
Nobody will take the first bath, which is all warm and fab,
and I am like,
"What is wrong with you girls? You normally fight over who gets this bath?
Stop changing all the time!
It is exhausting."
And since I am left to my own devices,
which can never be considered reasonable or rational,
I try to think of a lure, a bait,
or a way to spin the first bath into something awesome.
(Note: The bath is already awesome.
And they know that,
and bicker over that issue every other day but today.)
Since I know, kind of,
when dinner assembly stuff will be ready:
(Note: I don't wear a watch.
Proof: http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/11/no-sorry-i-dont-have-time-or-watch-and.html)
I know I have a time constraint (I HATE those) to get somebody into that bath.
Bribery to take a bath seems like a totally horrible,
I will regret that in the long term idea.
Nothing to use as blackmail.
Can't take the time to write a contract or have a dance - off.
And then I thought, what is the Cro Magnon,
easiest and quickest thing I can come up with in two seconds?
Answer: Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Only other quick thing I could think of was "pick a number between one and ten."
I can't tolerate the "pick a number between one and ten" contest.
Because there is no way to prove the person with the alleged number in their head is not totally lying and orchestrating things unfairly.
And I can't think of anything else I can do extemporaneously.
So I'm like,
"Hey girls?
Get out of wherever you are sequestered hiding from me,
we are going to do a Rock, Paper, Scissors thing."
And that is apparently siren call - they all appear in front of me in two seconds.
So I am like, "Ok. You guys are clearly deranged and nobody wants this awesome first bath.
It is now Rock, Paper, Scissors for the bath."
The following ensues:
M: "Does the winner get the bath,
or not have to take a bath,
or pick a sister to take the bath?"
V: "You can't play Rock, Paper, Scissors with three people."
E: "I vote V takes the bath."
Me:
(Internally thinking, drat.
I did not think about all these rules and how I can make this play out with three people.
I am going to have to make up some stuff fast.)
Me:
(Speaking off the top of my head, not silently lamenting):
"Ok. Here are the rules:
1. You cannot invent something like "nuclear fire bomb with spikes" or "end of the world."
2. Rock, Paper, Scissors.
No other options.
Anyone who makes up something,
or deviates from the three options is automatically disqualified,
and gets the first bath.
Which?
By the way,
is warm and foamy and you are all crazy people for not jumping in it right now.
3. No Two out of Three.
4. If one person wins,
victoriously crushes or cuts or covers or whatever?
That person goes over by me,
and the two who did not win face off.
5. If two people win,
the one person who did not win goes in the bath,
and the other two face off for second place.
6. If you all throw the same thing,
we start over.
They are all,
BRING IT ON.
I cannot believe this is working.
Rock, Paper, Scissors, Shoot:
V is scissors, E and M rocks.
V goes and gets in the bath, no argument,
which there shouldn't be an argument anyway,
because on any other day they all WANT the first bath.
But I am still astonished my made-up thing worked.
And get this?
E and M are now Rock, Paper, Scissoring for who gets the second bath.
Winner GETS the bath,
not avoids it.
I am a genius!
Accidental, absurd,
spontaneous contest throwing as parenting tool genius,
but I will take my tiny, random victories whenever I can.
Monday, May 19, 2014
"The Ballad of Lucy Jordan," an Ode To Eight-Tracks, Shel Silverstein, Dr. Hook, and Quiet Heartbreak, by Allison
So for whatever reason,
the song "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" will not get out of my head.
And it is making me nostalgically melancholy,
but in a piercingly good way.
Actually,
I know the reason it is in my head -
I was recommending books to a friend and decided to re-read The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud,
because I loved it the first time I read it and was in the mood.
Is fabulous book.
Cleverly, disquietingly great.
But I'd forgotten the book's Nora talks about "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan."
She uses it as a definition of someone who realizes they are never,
ever going to live up to their dreams and aspirations -
The sound of settling.
I love that song,
and it can get stuck on a loop in my head,
even if I haven't heard it in a decade -
This is true of songs that were the soundtrack to my childhood.
Especially songs written by Shel Silverstein,
and sung by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show,
and played on an eight - track,
while I roller skated in our driveway.
I think my one issue with The Woman Upstairs,
which I loved and am loving again, is that "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" is credited to Marianne Faithfull.
She did cover that song, I remember that.
But my younger me brain,
and my current me brain,
has a Venn Diagram of swooping cross-section at the circles of Shel Silverstein and his poems and lyrics,
and music I heard on eight - track cassettes repeatedly.
And Shel Silverstein, beloved perfect nonsense poet whose books I adored,
then and now,
totally wrote "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan," and many other songs,
for Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show.
And we had that eight - track growing up and I know it by heart.
I kind of know every single song because they are all story-songs -
Mostly totally sad, tiny pitiful moments of heartbreak
("The Ballad of Lucy Jordan, "Sylvia's Mother")
Or totally not at all a children's poem song
("Freakin' At The Freakers Ball" and "Penicillin Penny" are not for sissies, I am just saying)-
And it didn't phase me, somehow,
as I was roller-skating and listening to Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show -
normal kids' music and lullabies freaked me out
(Proof: http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/02/hush-little-baby-im-going-to-sing-you.html)
But getting steeped in sad, ordinary defeat,
as written by Shel Silverstein,
and sung by totally bearded, sun-baked 1970's Dr. Hook -
I think that was excellent early education in the power of words and music to heart-wrenchingly explain things I didn't know I needed to understand.
Lucy Jordan, at the age of 37, realized she'd never ride through Paris, in a sports car, with the warm wind in her hair.
I am not googling to see if I got that right, because it is etched into my brain.
Young me, current me, any age me -
mourns for this woman and her endless, confused, sad, empty days,
while her husband and kids are gone,
and she could do lots of things but instead she retreats into her head.
And she's wrecked by not getting to fulfill her dream of sports cars and Paris.
And I remember thinking,
as a kid, with only the Madeline books as a primer on Paris:
"Oh, no, I think she has it wrong. I think you walk in Paris, fashionably, with scarves and dogs."
And I was even sadder for Lucy Jordan. I could hardly bear the sad.
That was good for me.
If I only roller-skated to the Xanadu soundtrack,
I don't think I would weep for Lucy Jordan.
Or the poor dude trying to get Sylvia's Mother to put Sylvia on the phone to tell her goodbye.
That kills me, that sad dude, and the operator saying forty cents more for the next three minutes . . .
I mean, Xanadu rules, but I don't know that whole soundtrack by heart.
Most of it, probably.
But I don't feel it in my bones.
And so today, since my brain can't do anything else anyway,
I'm writing an Ode.
To Shel Silverstein, RIP,
and thanks for the giggles and the tears,
and tearing up while hearing the giggles of my girls reading your poems.
And for informing me early that music can be poetry too.
To Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show,
you guys were everything weird and cool and worth retaining from the 1970's.
And I can totally cry and roller-skate at the same time,
so thanks for that too.
Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show, "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" :
the song "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" will not get out of my head.
And it is making me nostalgically melancholy,
but in a piercingly good way.
Actually,
I know the reason it is in my head -
I was recommending books to a friend and decided to re-read The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud,
because I loved it the first time I read it and was in the mood.
Is fabulous book.
Cleverly, disquietingly great.
But I'd forgotten the book's Nora talks about "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan."
She uses it as a definition of someone who realizes they are never,
ever going to live up to their dreams and aspirations -
The sound of settling.
I love that song,
and it can get stuck on a loop in my head,
even if I haven't heard it in a decade -
This is true of songs that were the soundtrack to my childhood.
Especially songs written by Shel Silverstein,
and sung by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show,
and played on an eight - track,
while I roller skated in our driveway.
I think my one issue with The Woman Upstairs,
which I loved and am loving again, is that "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" is credited to Marianne Faithfull.
She did cover that song, I remember that.
But my younger me brain,
and my current me brain,
has a Venn Diagram of swooping cross-section at the circles of Shel Silverstein and his poems and lyrics,
and music I heard on eight - track cassettes repeatedly.
And Shel Silverstein, beloved perfect nonsense poet whose books I adored,
then and now,
totally wrote "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan," and many other songs,
for Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show.
And we had that eight - track growing up and I know it by heart.
I kind of know every single song because they are all story-songs -
Mostly totally sad, tiny pitiful moments of heartbreak
("The Ballad of Lucy Jordan, "Sylvia's Mother")
Or totally not at all a children's poem song
("Freakin' At The Freakers Ball" and "Penicillin Penny" are not for sissies, I am just saying)-
And it didn't phase me, somehow,
as I was roller-skating and listening to Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show -
normal kids' music and lullabies freaked me out
(Proof: http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/02/hush-little-baby-im-going-to-sing-you.html)
But getting steeped in sad, ordinary defeat,
as written by Shel Silverstein,
and sung by totally bearded, sun-baked 1970's Dr. Hook -
I think that was excellent early education in the power of words and music to heart-wrenchingly explain things I didn't know I needed to understand.
Lucy Jordan, at the age of 37, realized she'd never ride through Paris, in a sports car, with the warm wind in her hair.
I am not googling to see if I got that right, because it is etched into my brain.
Young me, current me, any age me -
mourns for this woman and her endless, confused, sad, empty days,
while her husband and kids are gone,
and she could do lots of things but instead she retreats into her head.
And she's wrecked by not getting to fulfill her dream of sports cars and Paris.
And I remember thinking,
as a kid, with only the Madeline books as a primer on Paris:
"Oh, no, I think she has it wrong. I think you walk in Paris, fashionably, with scarves and dogs."
And I was even sadder for Lucy Jordan. I could hardly bear the sad.
That was good for me.
If I only roller-skated to the Xanadu soundtrack,
I don't think I would weep for Lucy Jordan.
Or the poor dude trying to get Sylvia's Mother to put Sylvia on the phone to tell her goodbye.
That kills me, that sad dude, and the operator saying forty cents more for the next three minutes . . .
I mean, Xanadu rules, but I don't know that whole soundtrack by heart.
Most of it, probably.
But I don't feel it in my bones.
And so today, since my brain can't do anything else anyway,
I'm writing an Ode.
To Shel Silverstein, RIP,
and thanks for the giggles and the tears,
and tearing up while hearing the giggles of my girls reading your poems.
And for informing me early that music can be poetry too.
To Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show,
you guys were everything weird and cool and worth retaining from the 1970's.
And I can totally cry and roller-skate at the same time,
so thanks for that too.
Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show, "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" :
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand . . Ways I Am An Idiot. Beverage Mismanagement, by Allison
So I am aware my toting around copious teas,
and my wreaking much havoc with my extreme beverage availability requirements -
is absurd and ridiculous.
Proof?
(http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/04/cry-me-river-of-green-tea-lattes-and.html)
But today, as I was taking a photo of my bike in spin class,
as you do -
in this case,
it was because the picture kind of did that A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words thing -
Something I have always protested,
because what if you want the thousand words instead?
But today I am meaning,
one picture is showing many ways I am a tea-toting,
mess-making fool -
(Really, really needing an intern, just saying.)
So I took a picture,
so I could send it to my friends and make them laugh,
as they have dealt with my tea thing long enough to know the many ways I wreck stuff via tea.
And then I realized,
I am way worse than I even realize.
I have THREE separate beverage photos,
of a variety of beverages,
ranging from messy to disgusting to potent but useless -
In the space of one day.
All totally embarrassing,
and if I had any sense I would delete them.
I have no sense.
At all.
So therefore, Behold The Nonsense:
A Day In The Life Of My Beverage Mismanagement, by Allison.
Exhibit A:
My spin bike in scary, hard spin class:
Upon casual glance, you see two giant teas,
towels so the tea does not pitch forward onto the floor,
and random thing hanging to the side.
But this photo is actually an indictment of me,
creating ridiculous situations,
and then suffering the consequences.
I proffer:
1. Those are the Trenta Starbucks green teas,
so like a 7-Eleven Big Gulp, but of antioxidants.
Note, there is no ice in them,
because they are from the previous day.
2. Because I can barely drag myself to the gym on time,
no way can I pull off Starbucks run.
It took me 2 years to realize this.
Because I a an idiot.
But now,
I get tea for the next day,
so I can defeat my inability to get anywhere on time.
3. The thing kind of dangling off the precipice of the bike handles is a personal mini-fan.
4. As you can see,
it is hanging down by where my feet go,
and is not at all providing the delightful breeze-blowing it is meant to provide.
Unlike the fan of my most excellent friend next to me,
her fan is blowing correctly to cool her off,
sitting very properly atop her phone and doing fan stuff.
5. Which is evidence that I have an awesome friend,
who is both so together and non-spilling stuff that she can put her phone on the spin bike.
(Note: I cannot begin to list the falls, spills,
and who knows what would happen to my phone,
if it were perched on a spin bike.
It would not work out well,
that I do know.)
6. And also evidence I have Superpowers, Bestest Friends Ever Subcategory,
because she got me my little fan that I am haplessly dangling in useless and pitiful fashion.
She knows I won't get it together to remember to order one.
7. And she is trying to help me arrange things,
so my fan doesn't dangle like it is a bungee-jumper.
But because I am irrational about my tea access,
I won't listen to her sage advice.
8. Which is?
"Allison, I think this all might work better if you had one less drink."
9. Ok, that was hilarious.
It is hard to make me laugh in spin class, but that surely did -
Because she meant, one less drink on my spin bike -
(But Note:
There are TWO drink holders on those spin bikes.
Not phone or anything else holders, identical drink holders.
I did not invent those bikes,
I hardly even want to be on one.
Two drink holders, to me, means this -
You are supposed to acquire and place two drinks on this hell contraption. )
10. But?
"Allison, I think this might work better if you have one less drink"
is wisdom I have ignored since forever.
I should probably put that on a T shirt so I can remember it,
when I am addled by one extra drink,
wherever I am,
whatever I am doing.
11. But in my defense,
I usually do drink the two teas in spin class, so there.
And after taking this ludicrous photo,
indicting me of beverage and fan-strangling crimes,
I realize the photo I took right before that was ANOTHER ridiculous beverage mismanagement committed by me before I got to the gym.
Exhibit B:
My attempt at a green smoothie that morning:
I totally made that in our blender.
It looks like toxic sludge.
It kind of was, actually.
It started out as a smoothie.
But somehow?
1. My normal protein powder and fruit smoothie turns into very unappealing green goop when I decide to go rogue and add green vegetable powder -
containing nutrients and kelp and every green leafy thing that is legal.
2. Further corrupted when I throw in handful of fresh kale and spinach.
I have no idea.
I was feeling the need for antioxidants.
3. And I know from friends and magazines or whatever -
you can hide spinach in a smoothie without it looking and tasting like nuclear waste.
4. I do not know how to make that happen, though.
5. This may be due to the fact that I won't look at, or use,
or consult recipes.
Because?
I hate recipes.
They are very listy,
and I hate lists.
Plus, they are non-negotiable.
There is no question and answer time with recipes.
Do this, use that.
Bossy and inflexible.
I would like to chat or have options.
Being told what to do,
without rebuttal time,
is like, one of my least favorite things.
6. Along with this smoothie.
It was so gross it scared off Matt and the girls -
they wouldn't even fall for the "EWWW. Smell this! It is awful" thing .
I can never believe anyone actually agrees to that but everyone usually does -
7. Except in the case of this ridiculous smoothie,
that I spent twenty minutes throwing bananas,
and coconut water,
and whatever else I could think of to make it not be horrible.
I could not salvage the smoothie.
Tragedy.
So, I am done with beverage nonsense for the day, right?
(Spoiler!!!! Totally not done with the nonsense.)
In a total sad and pathetic absurdity,
here is the next photo on my phone,
taken after the monstrous green sludge,
and the copious teas and dangling fan that took one look at my teas and jumped off the bike.
I really wish the lineup of photos for this one day included something other than me being a total beverage mismanaging idiot.
But, alas -
I am a total beverage mismanaging idiot.
And as gift to the world, everyone can now feel normal,
functional,
and less of an idiot,
when compared to the ridiculousness I manage to create in less than a day.
Exhibit C:
Oops I Froze The Wine:
This is the bottle of wine I put in our freezer
because I forgot we didn't have any chilled wine,
and it had been a long day (See above) -
And then I forgot I put it in the freezer,
and it totally froze,
cork came out like a little bad hat.
Clearly:
1. Totally not Disney version of Frozen -
although I hear they are making a sequel,
and I am happy to help.
2. But in my defense
(I always have one, it seems) -
I got distracted.
3. By a LIVE ANIMAL of some variety,
stuck in our dryer vent.
4. It was not an owl,
I know that because it did not chew out of the vent and eat my eyeballs.
My family joking about owls when the dryer vent was shaking,
and chirping,
or otherwise mysterious animal sounds,
plus scratching or clawing or flapping -
what was it?
Does it really matter?
The vent tube thing was rattling all around,
and something was in there.
5. And I am the mean person in this house.
Meaning Matt borrowed our neighbors long ladder,
because our laundry room is on the top floor,
and opened the little trap door.
or whatever you call the thing the dryer vent hooks to and normally lovely clean laundry scent perfumes our our backyard and nothing bad happens.
Except?
When something is trying to break out of the dryer vent like an alien baby.
Or small-scale grown-up alien,
I have no idea.
Matt and the girls run outside,
otherwise known as,
not in the room with the crazy scratching dryer tube thing with a LIVE ANIMAL of unknown species in it.
They all open the trap door thingy,
and coo encouragement to unknown species of LIVE ANIMAL in our dryer vent,
like it will come flying out of the vent and escape through the trapdoor.
They are expecting doves or a unicorn puppy.
They are deluded.
I know this, because I am the one who normally wrangles the gross stuff.
Such as last time I unhooked the dryer vent tube whatever,
to figure out why it was not working -
For the record, I did it myself,
like a pioneer.
Matt was at work,
and my urgent "The Dryer Keeps Not Working And I Am Going To Start Kicking It" texts,
emails, and messages were met with:
"I will be home later."
I was like,
"No, you don't understand,
I have already cycled through hissy fits and stomping and yelling,
and it has to be fixed this second."
So he was like,
"Just unhook the whatever and screw this and that,
and get duct tape just in case. "
And I was like,
"Have you met me?"
But I needed the dryer to work.
These people in this house go through laundry waaaay too much for me to use rational judgment and wait for a person learned in these things to help.
And I totally fixed the dryer!
It was really gross though.
The vent tube thing had some blockage,
nothing scratching or LIVE, that I could tell.
But when I turned the tube upside down and shook it repeatedly,
the most rancid,
putrid,
primordial ooze plopped out on my feet.
I screamed and tried to run,
but it was on my feet.
That sucked.
And all that was just lint,
some socks with ice cream cones or smiley faces on them,
and whatever made the primordial ooze component.
Yet when the LIVE ANIMAL was thrashing around,
Matt was like "We should call a critter person."
I was like, "I can fix it, if it is not an owl or alien."
Matt and the girls are like,
"NOOOO. You will kill whatever is in there."
Honestly.
In every house,
somebody has to squash the bugs.
In our house, that would be me.
Matt and the girls would build terrariums or habitats or something.
So they get on a ladder,
and encourage the LIVE ANIMAL to fly or scamper away.
Not working at all.
So when they all had sudden emergency things to do,
involving not being in this house,
I put the dryer on air fluff only -
I am not evil, really.
I did not want to cook the thing.
Anyway,
air in the vent did whatever,
the LIVE ANIMAL is gone,
I didn't kill it,
and I don't know what it even was,
which is for the best.
But?
My wine froze!!!
Boo.
LIVE ANIMAL dryer vent extraction totally distracted me,
and I froze my wine.
Wine slushie is not the same as lovely glass of wine.
In conclusion, I am a beverage mismanaging idiot.
In one day,
I mismanaged every beverage I came across.
Intern?
Please?
and my wreaking much havoc with my extreme beverage availability requirements -
is absurd and ridiculous.
Proof?
(http://www.iwantanintern.com/2013/04/cry-me-river-of-green-tea-lattes-and.html)
But today, as I was taking a photo of my bike in spin class,
as you do -
in this case,
it was because the picture kind of did that A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words thing -
Something I have always protested,
because what if you want the thousand words instead?
But today I am meaning,
one picture is showing many ways I am a tea-toting,
mess-making fool -
(Really, really needing an intern, just saying.)
So I took a picture,
so I could send it to my friends and make them laugh,
as they have dealt with my tea thing long enough to know the many ways I wreck stuff via tea.
And then I realized,
I am way worse than I even realize.
I have THREE separate beverage photos,
of a variety of beverages,
ranging from messy to disgusting to potent but useless -
In the space of one day.
All totally embarrassing,
and if I had any sense I would delete them.
I have no sense.
At all.
So therefore, Behold The Nonsense:
A Day In The Life Of My Beverage Mismanagement, by Allison.
Exhibit A:
My spin bike in scary, hard spin class:
Upon casual glance, you see two giant teas,
towels so the tea does not pitch forward onto the floor,
and random thing hanging to the side.
But this photo is actually an indictment of me,
creating ridiculous situations,
and then suffering the consequences.
I proffer:
1. Those are the Trenta Starbucks green teas,
so like a 7-Eleven Big Gulp, but of antioxidants.
Note, there is no ice in them,
because they are from the previous day.
2. Because I can barely drag myself to the gym on time,
no way can I pull off Starbucks run.
It took me 2 years to realize this.
Because I a an idiot.
But now,
I get tea for the next day,
so I can defeat my inability to get anywhere on time.
3. The thing kind of dangling off the precipice of the bike handles is a personal mini-fan.
4. As you can see,
it is hanging down by where my feet go,
and is not at all providing the delightful breeze-blowing it is meant to provide.
Unlike the fan of my most excellent friend next to me,
her fan is blowing correctly to cool her off,
sitting very properly atop her phone and doing fan stuff.
5. Which is evidence that I have an awesome friend,
who is both so together and non-spilling stuff that she can put her phone on the spin bike.
(Note: I cannot begin to list the falls, spills,
and who knows what would happen to my phone,
if it were perched on a spin bike.
It would not work out well,
that I do know.)
6. And also evidence I have Superpowers, Bestest Friends Ever Subcategory,
because she got me my little fan that I am haplessly dangling in useless and pitiful fashion.
She knows I won't get it together to remember to order one.
7. And she is trying to help me arrange things,
so my fan doesn't dangle like it is a bungee-jumper.
But because I am irrational about my tea access,
I won't listen to her sage advice.
8. Which is?
"Allison, I think this all might work better if you had one less drink."
9. Ok, that was hilarious.
It is hard to make me laugh in spin class, but that surely did -
Because she meant, one less drink on my spin bike -
(But Note:
There are TWO drink holders on those spin bikes.
Not phone or anything else holders, identical drink holders.
I did not invent those bikes,
I hardly even want to be on one.
Two drink holders, to me, means this -
You are supposed to acquire and place two drinks on this hell contraption. )
10. But?
"Allison, I think this might work better if you have one less drink"
is wisdom I have ignored since forever.
I should probably put that on a T shirt so I can remember it,
when I am addled by one extra drink,
wherever I am,
whatever I am doing.
11. But in my defense,
I usually do drink the two teas in spin class, so there.
And after taking this ludicrous photo,
indicting me of beverage and fan-strangling crimes,
I realize the photo I took right before that was ANOTHER ridiculous beverage mismanagement committed by me before I got to the gym.
Exhibit B:
My attempt at a green smoothie that morning:
I totally made that in our blender.
It looks like toxic sludge.
It kind of was, actually.
It started out as a smoothie.
But somehow?
1. My normal protein powder and fruit smoothie turns into very unappealing green goop when I decide to go rogue and add green vegetable powder -
containing nutrients and kelp and every green leafy thing that is legal.
2. Further corrupted when I throw in handful of fresh kale and spinach.
I have no idea.
I was feeling the need for antioxidants.
3. And I know from friends and magazines or whatever -
you can hide spinach in a smoothie without it looking and tasting like nuclear waste.
4. I do not know how to make that happen, though.
5. This may be due to the fact that I won't look at, or use,
or consult recipes.
Because?
I hate recipes.
They are very listy,
and I hate lists.
Plus, they are non-negotiable.
There is no question and answer time with recipes.
Do this, use that.
Bossy and inflexible.
I would like to chat or have options.
Being told what to do,
without rebuttal time,
is like, one of my least favorite things.
6. Along with this smoothie.
It was so gross it scared off Matt and the girls -
they wouldn't even fall for the "EWWW. Smell this! It is awful" thing .
I can never believe anyone actually agrees to that but everyone usually does -
7. Except in the case of this ridiculous smoothie,
that I spent twenty minutes throwing bananas,
and coconut water,
and whatever else I could think of to make it not be horrible.
I could not salvage the smoothie.
Tragedy.
So, I am done with beverage nonsense for the day, right?
(Spoiler!!!! Totally not done with the nonsense.)
In a total sad and pathetic absurdity,
here is the next photo on my phone,
taken after the monstrous green sludge,
and the copious teas and dangling fan that took one look at my teas and jumped off the bike.
I really wish the lineup of photos for this one day included something other than me being a total beverage mismanaging idiot.
But, alas -
I am a total beverage mismanaging idiot.
And as gift to the world, everyone can now feel normal,
functional,
and less of an idiot,
when compared to the ridiculousness I manage to create in less than a day.
Exhibit C:
Oops I Froze The Wine:
This is the bottle of wine I put in our freezer
because I forgot we didn't have any chilled wine,
and it had been a long day (See above) -
And then I forgot I put it in the freezer,
and it totally froze,
cork came out like a little bad hat.
Clearly:
1. Totally not Disney version of Frozen -
although I hear they are making a sequel,
and I am happy to help.
2. But in my defense
(I always have one, it seems) -
I got distracted.
3. By a LIVE ANIMAL of some variety,
stuck in our dryer vent.
4. It was not an owl,
I know that because it did not chew out of the vent and eat my eyeballs.
My family joking about owls when the dryer vent was shaking,
and chirping,
or otherwise mysterious animal sounds,
plus scratching or clawing or flapping -
what was it?
Does it really matter?
The vent tube thing was rattling all around,
and something was in there.
5. And I am the mean person in this house.
Meaning Matt borrowed our neighbors long ladder,
because our laundry room is on the top floor,
and opened the little trap door.
or whatever you call the thing the dryer vent hooks to and normally lovely clean laundry scent perfumes our our backyard and nothing bad happens.
Except?
When something is trying to break out of the dryer vent like an alien baby.
Or small-scale grown-up alien,
I have no idea.
Matt and the girls run outside,
otherwise known as,
not in the room with the crazy scratching dryer tube thing with a LIVE ANIMAL of unknown species in it.
They all open the trap door thingy,
and coo encouragement to unknown species of LIVE ANIMAL in our dryer vent,
like it will come flying out of the vent and escape through the trapdoor.
They are expecting doves or a unicorn puppy.
They are deluded.
I know this, because I am the one who normally wrangles the gross stuff.
Such as last time I unhooked the dryer vent tube whatever,
to figure out why it was not working -
For the record, I did it myself,
like a pioneer.
Matt was at work,
and my urgent "The Dryer Keeps Not Working And I Am Going To Start Kicking It" texts,
emails, and messages were met with:
"I will be home later."
I was like,
"No, you don't understand,
I have already cycled through hissy fits and stomping and yelling,
and it has to be fixed this second."
So he was like,
"Just unhook the whatever and screw this and that,
and get duct tape just in case. "
And I was like,
"Have you met me?"
But I needed the dryer to work.
These people in this house go through laundry waaaay too much for me to use rational judgment and wait for a person learned in these things to help.
And I totally fixed the dryer!
It was really gross though.
The vent tube thing had some blockage,
nothing scratching or LIVE, that I could tell.
But when I turned the tube upside down and shook it repeatedly,
the most rancid,
putrid,
primordial ooze plopped out on my feet.
I screamed and tried to run,
but it was on my feet.
That sucked.
And all that was just lint,
some socks with ice cream cones or smiley faces on them,
and whatever made the primordial ooze component.
Yet when the LIVE ANIMAL was thrashing around,
Matt was like "We should call a critter person."
I was like, "I can fix it, if it is not an owl or alien."
Matt and the girls are like,
"NOOOO. You will kill whatever is in there."
Honestly.
In every house,
somebody has to squash the bugs.
In our house, that would be me.
Matt and the girls would build terrariums or habitats or something.
So they get on a ladder,
and encourage the LIVE ANIMAL to fly or scamper away.
Not working at all.
So when they all had sudden emergency things to do,
involving not being in this house,
I put the dryer on air fluff only -
I am not evil, really.
I did not want to cook the thing.
Anyway,
air in the vent did whatever,
the LIVE ANIMAL is gone,
I didn't kill it,
and I don't know what it even was,
which is for the best.
But?
My wine froze!!!
Boo.
LIVE ANIMAL dryer vent extraction totally distracted me,
and I froze my wine.
Wine slushie is not the same as lovely glass of wine.
In conclusion, I am a beverage mismanaging idiot.
In one day,
I mismanaged every beverage I came across.
Intern?
Please?
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Beloved DisneyWorld Traditons: Laser Warfare, Hydroponic Vegetables, and The Dingo ate WHAT? Plus Starbucks!!! by Allison
So we have returned from our lovely and magical
(it is the law there, you know)
spring holiday trip to Disney World.
All of us love it there -
I think they may pump extra oxygen or maybe Tinkerbell is actually throwing something magically potent in the air -
And though this year, for the first year,
V wanted to ride the gnarliest of the roller coasters,
while Matt is still nostalgically getting us fast passes for the Winnie The Pooh ride -
(Note: That ride rules even still. There are Heffalumps in tutus.)
And height requirements don't apply to even the youngest of us,
so we mourn the loss of that being a restriction,
while also celebrating the lack of said restriction.
Bittersweet.
But we are at Disney, is happy magic place.
Proof:
Get this?
There are Starbucks there now!!!!!!!!
That was my idea years ago and I hope I get credit or stock.
I have grumped about the lack of my Starbucks tea for years,
ask anyone.
The sight of a Starbucks logo discreetly mingling in with other beverage opportunities is a joy, worthy of a parade.
Good thing we are at Disney!
They have parades, like, every half hour.
And we have family traditions we do every year at Disney,
gleeful, kind of weird traditions we love,
like taking pictures while twirling rapidly and trying not to throw up on the tea cups ride,
saying hey to Nemo,
riding this bizarre tram at Epcot that talks about hydroponic vegetable and fish
(I am not making that up, I wish I was,
I hate that stupid tram. We all hate it, I think,
but it is absurd and strange and therefore, Tradition)
And death match family throw-down on the Buzz Lightyear ride tradition.
Much to my dismay,
the entire time we were in line this year,
the girls were lobbying for the teams
(we have to divide into two teams, every year the same teams, Tradition!)
to be switched up, and be divided as such:
M and a sister and Matt, not me
E (little traitor, we always ride this together,
and totally aim the gun laser thing at each other or backwards,
it is fun! Tradition!) and a sister and Matt, not me
V and a sister and Matt, not me.
A theme emerges.
A theme of ingrates treating me like Worst Laser Or Whatever Team Member Ever.
And fine.
Maybe that's true.
It is.
But it doesn't matter,
there aren't actual weird squatty aliens or things I don't know what,
that we have to laser to save Infinity and Beyond.
And I can HEAR THEM, I remind the girls,
as they all try to foist me off onto someone who is not them.
But we are at Disney!
All gets resolved.
My team doesn't win.
I don't care, either.
That may be part of the problem -
And another grand tradition is Small World,
as many times as we can when it gets late and there is no line and nobody can overhear me say gruesome things and terrify children.
That last part has been an add-on to the original tradition of riding Small World and watching the happy robot children sing.
Because now, whoever gets to sit by me has to hear about wild dogs eating babies.
Tradition!
Because I am an idiot.
Backstory:
The Dingo ate WHAT??? How To Ruin Disney World, by Allison:
This went down last Spring.
So we had excellent trip to Disney World,
and again?
I am fairly sure it is impossible to be melancholy, or even slightly less than super happy.
They make it so.
Is magic.
However, in case you want to throw some horrifying,
inappropriate, half-remembered Meryl Streep-doing-an-accent in with the Fun,
just invite me along.
It seems I wreak havoc wherever I go.
Even on It's A Small World.
At Disney World.
Happy animatronic poppets singing about unity and world peace?
Or, "The dingo ate my baby!!!"
I was on It's A Small World boat, sitting next to E,
known Information-Seeker and Exposer of My Misdeeds.
Matt and the other two were safely seated behind us,
watching the happy robot children sing.
We all love the Small World ride and go on it repeatedly when at Disney,
since it is both insane and awesome, two of our favorite things. Traditions!!
This particular Small World scandale went down on our first night of vacation,
so maybe I was tired.
Punchy.
Something.
Anyway, as our boat of Happy took us into Australia and such,
E asked me what kind of dog is next to the boy with the boomerang.
It's a dingo, of course.
I know this, thanks to Meryl Streep.
That's all I know,
since I apparently did NOT know how to keep my big mouth shut and tell my daughter that the dog was a lab mix.
I instead mushed on with the following awful conversation:
Horrible True Crimes Committed By Dingoes And Society, By Allison.
The extent of my dingo knowledge is "The Dingo Ate My Baby" movie,
the one where Meryl Streep wears horrible black bowl cut wig,
does a very good Australian accent, and plays tormented mother of aforementioned baby.
And because I was and remain an idiot,
I chose to try to explain the true story dingo-baby movie to E,
who immediately is like "What? That dog ate a lady's baby?"
And then I decided it is important to clarify,
by saying that the dingo was a wild dog that was not as cute as that robot one,
and that the mother of the baby was falsely accused of infanticide,
partly because she did not cry enough,
she seemed mad and grumpy and not sad and weepy,
and people chose to believe she was bad and had killed her own baby. . .
And then I realized, I am a total, complete moron digging giant hole for myself,
and I cannot wriggle out of this conversation,
being held while Happy Robots From All Over The Small World sing.
I can ruin anything.
And I tried to explain to E what I took away from the movie/true story,
other than "the dingo ate my baby" pop culture reference,
was how first impressions sometimes are ruinous,
and the justice system did not work in this case,
and after a number of years the lady was proven right, and set free, . . .
but it is not a happy story, at ALL.
And we were at Disney World,
where the happy is just raining down on us,
unless I choose to put up an Umbrella Of Awful.
Which I totally did.
Big Giant Umbrella Of Ruining The Fun, Thanks Mom, Now I Will Have Nightmares.
And E was indignant, wanted to know did everything turn out OK?
She wanted to know did they just unlock the jail and say, "Sorry" to the lady when they found out the dingo did eat the baby,
and also why did the dingo eat the baby,
and also why was I watching a movie about this?
And I was all, "E look, we're in Holland, there are ducks!"
And she was all, "Not buying it.
Tell me more about the horrible terrible story involving babies and dingos and grumpy mothers in jail."
And I was all, "I am very glad that family in front of us cannot hear me right now,
or I'd get us thrown out of the Happiest Place On Earth."
But E and I did have a cool talk about not making snap judgments about people based on how you think they should act
(She tried to get in a "Sometimes a temper tantrum is OK" here, but I blocked that one, am not total amateur),
about how sometimes what seems like the right answer is not right,
and how we are never going camping in Australia.
And as we departed the ride,
I turned to Matt and was all "Could you hear what we were talking about?"
And he was all, "Nooo?"
And E was all, "Dad, do you know what a dingo is?"
And I was all, "Who wants to go to the tea cups????"
And luckily, tea cup ride is another tradition,
in which Matt takes progressively funnier photos of the girls as the tea cups whirl around,
and one ride's disaster was dodged as we rushed off to take embarrassing pictures of each other.
Fairly benign snarky silliness at tea cups,
no scary true-life crime stories at ALL.
Did not even talk about the Boston Tea Party,
or even complain about no Starbucks at Disney.
(Which? Honestly, that seemed like a win-win to me, seriously.
And Note:
I was right, it is a brilliant idea,
and now there is lovely Starbucks tea everywhere and everyone is even happier!
Is magic. Also, I am always right, really.)
Dodged a cloning debate when we got to renovated Fantasyland and there are now two Dumbo rides instead of one.
Exact same, just two, and I almost started a whole thing on cloning and whatever happened to that Dolly the cloned sheep?
But I did not!!!
Hurray! I remembered to STOP TALKING!
Is magical place, after all.
So magical that my Horrible True Crimes Committed by Dingoes and Society speech, given on Small World ride, is a new tradition!
The girls get to rotate which one of them is the lucky winner of Dingo Debate.
I am totally better at that than stupid Buzz Lightyear ride.
I wish they gave scores for Most Inappropriate Topic Please Stop We Are Happy Here Talks on the Small World ride, that would rule.
But no worries. I have my tea.
There are parades!
I am not sure if they are all centered around Starbucks and Disney finally getting their act together, but that was what I was celebrating.
There are fireworks!
And Towers of Terror I have to ride now that V is old enough to drag me along.
But that was better than the Rock and Roll roller coaster.
The whole line is worrying about whether the ride is scary or not,
and I am worrying about the music.
And whether there is an animatronic Steven Tyler.
I was crossing my fingers, "Please, no robot singing Steven Tyler.
Please, please, don't let them play that song from Armageddon."
And hurray!
No Armageddon ballads on the roller coaster!
Only a holograph of Steven Tyler.
I mean, that is not ideal, but no robots!
Is magical place, after all.
(it is the law there, you know)
spring holiday trip to Disney World.
All of us love it there -
I think they may pump extra oxygen or maybe Tinkerbell is actually throwing something magically potent in the air -
And though this year, for the first year,
V wanted to ride the gnarliest of the roller coasters,
while Matt is still nostalgically getting us fast passes for the Winnie The Pooh ride -
(Note: That ride rules even still. There are Heffalumps in tutus.)
And height requirements don't apply to even the youngest of us,
so we mourn the loss of that being a restriction,
while also celebrating the lack of said restriction.
Bittersweet.
But we are at Disney, is happy magic place.
Proof:
Get this?
There are Starbucks there now!!!!!!!!
That was my idea years ago and I hope I get credit or stock.
I have grumped about the lack of my Starbucks tea for years,
ask anyone.
The sight of a Starbucks logo discreetly mingling in with other beverage opportunities is a joy, worthy of a parade.
Good thing we are at Disney!
They have parades, like, every half hour.
And we have family traditions we do every year at Disney,
gleeful, kind of weird traditions we love,
like taking pictures while twirling rapidly and trying not to throw up on the tea cups ride,
saying hey to Nemo,
riding this bizarre tram at Epcot that talks about hydroponic vegetable and fish
(I am not making that up, I wish I was,
I hate that stupid tram. We all hate it, I think,
but it is absurd and strange and therefore, Tradition)
And death match family throw-down on the Buzz Lightyear ride tradition.
Much to my dismay,
the entire time we were in line this year,
the girls were lobbying for the teams
(we have to divide into two teams, every year the same teams, Tradition!)
to be switched up, and be divided as such:
M and a sister and Matt, not me
E (little traitor, we always ride this together,
and totally aim the gun laser thing at each other or backwards,
it is fun! Tradition!) and a sister and Matt, not me
V and a sister and Matt, not me.
A theme emerges.
A theme of ingrates treating me like Worst Laser Or Whatever Team Member Ever.
And fine.
Maybe that's true.
It is.
But it doesn't matter,
there aren't actual weird squatty aliens or things I don't know what,
that we have to laser to save Infinity and Beyond.
And I can HEAR THEM, I remind the girls,
as they all try to foist me off onto someone who is not them.
But we are at Disney!
All gets resolved.
My team doesn't win.
I don't care, either.
That may be part of the problem -
And another grand tradition is Small World,
as many times as we can when it gets late and there is no line and nobody can overhear me say gruesome things and terrify children.
That last part has been an add-on to the original tradition of riding Small World and watching the happy robot children sing.
Because now, whoever gets to sit by me has to hear about wild dogs eating babies.
Tradition!
Because I am an idiot.
Backstory:
The Dingo ate WHAT??? How To Ruin Disney World, by Allison:
This went down last Spring.
So we had excellent trip to Disney World,
and again?
I am fairly sure it is impossible to be melancholy, or even slightly less than super happy.
They make it so.
Is magic.
However, in case you want to throw some horrifying,
inappropriate, half-remembered Meryl Streep-doing-an-accent in with the Fun,
just invite me along.
It seems I wreak havoc wherever I go.
Even on It's A Small World.
At Disney World.
Happy animatronic poppets singing about unity and world peace?
Or, "The dingo ate my baby!!!"
I was on It's A Small World boat, sitting next to E,
known Information-Seeker and Exposer of My Misdeeds.
Matt and the other two were safely seated behind us,
watching the happy robot children sing.
We all love the Small World ride and go on it repeatedly when at Disney,
since it is both insane and awesome, two of our favorite things. Traditions!!
This particular Small World scandale went down on our first night of vacation,
so maybe I was tired.
Punchy.
Something.
Anyway, as our boat of Happy took us into Australia and such,
E asked me what kind of dog is next to the boy with the boomerang.
It's a dingo, of course.
I know this, thanks to Meryl Streep.
That's all I know,
since I apparently did NOT know how to keep my big mouth shut and tell my daughter that the dog was a lab mix.
I instead mushed on with the following awful conversation:
Horrible True Crimes Committed By Dingoes And Society, By Allison.
The extent of my dingo knowledge is "The Dingo Ate My Baby" movie,
the one where Meryl Streep wears horrible black bowl cut wig,
does a very good Australian accent, and plays tormented mother of aforementioned baby.
And because I was and remain an idiot,
I chose to try to explain the true story dingo-baby movie to E,
who immediately is like "What? That dog ate a lady's baby?"
And then I decided it is important to clarify,
by saying that the dingo was a wild dog that was not as cute as that robot one,
and that the mother of the baby was falsely accused of infanticide,
partly because she did not cry enough,
she seemed mad and grumpy and not sad and weepy,
and people chose to believe she was bad and had killed her own baby. . .
And then I realized, I am a total, complete moron digging giant hole for myself,
and I cannot wriggle out of this conversation,
being held while Happy Robots From All Over The Small World sing.
I can ruin anything.
And I tried to explain to E what I took away from the movie/true story,
other than "the dingo ate my baby" pop culture reference,
was how first impressions sometimes are ruinous,
and the justice system did not work in this case,
and after a number of years the lady was proven right, and set free, . . .
but it is not a happy story, at ALL.
And we were at Disney World,
where the happy is just raining down on us,
unless I choose to put up an Umbrella Of Awful.
Which I totally did.
Big Giant Umbrella Of Ruining The Fun, Thanks Mom, Now I Will Have Nightmares.
And E was indignant, wanted to know did everything turn out OK?
She wanted to know did they just unlock the jail and say, "Sorry" to the lady when they found out the dingo did eat the baby,
and also why did the dingo eat the baby,
and also why was I watching a movie about this?
And I was all, "E look, we're in Holland, there are ducks!"
And she was all, "Not buying it.
Tell me more about the horrible terrible story involving babies and dingos and grumpy mothers in jail."
And I was all, "I am very glad that family in front of us cannot hear me right now,
or I'd get us thrown out of the Happiest Place On Earth."
But E and I did have a cool talk about not making snap judgments about people based on how you think they should act
(She tried to get in a "Sometimes a temper tantrum is OK" here, but I blocked that one, am not total amateur),
about how sometimes what seems like the right answer is not right,
and how we are never going camping in Australia.
And as we departed the ride,
I turned to Matt and was all "Could you hear what we were talking about?"
And he was all, "Nooo?"
And E was all, "Dad, do you know what a dingo is?"
And I was all, "Who wants to go to the tea cups????"
And luckily, tea cup ride is another tradition,
in which Matt takes progressively funnier photos of the girls as the tea cups whirl around,
and one ride's disaster was dodged as we rushed off to take embarrassing pictures of each other.
Fairly benign snarky silliness at tea cups,
no scary true-life crime stories at ALL.
Did not even talk about the Boston Tea Party,
or even complain about no Starbucks at Disney.
(Which? Honestly, that seemed like a win-win to me, seriously.
And Note:
I was right, it is a brilliant idea,
and now there is lovely Starbucks tea everywhere and everyone is even happier!
Is magic. Also, I am always right, really.)
Dodged a cloning debate when we got to renovated Fantasyland and there are now two Dumbo rides instead of one.
Exact same, just two, and I almost started a whole thing on cloning and whatever happened to that Dolly the cloned sheep?
But I did not!!!
Hurray! I remembered to STOP TALKING!
Is magical place, after all.
So magical that my Horrible True Crimes Committed by Dingoes and Society speech, given on Small World ride, is a new tradition!
The girls get to rotate which one of them is the lucky winner of Dingo Debate.
I am totally better at that than stupid Buzz Lightyear ride.
I wish they gave scores for Most Inappropriate Topic Please Stop We Are Happy Here Talks on the Small World ride, that would rule.
But no worries. I have my tea.
There are parades!
I am not sure if they are all centered around Starbucks and Disney finally getting their act together, but that was what I was celebrating.
There are fireworks!
And Towers of Terror I have to ride now that V is old enough to drag me along.
But that was better than the Rock and Roll roller coaster.
The whole line is worrying about whether the ride is scary or not,
and I am worrying about the music.
And whether there is an animatronic Steven Tyler.
I was crossing my fingers, "Please, no robot singing Steven Tyler.
Please, please, don't let them play that song from Armageddon."
And hurray!
No Armageddon ballads on the roller coaster!
Only a holograph of Steven Tyler.
I mean, that is not ideal, but no robots!
Is magical place, after all.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Pop Quiz, Canine Kitchen Edition: Lazy or Total Genius? by Allison
Conundrum:
Is it
A. Ethically Uncool
B. Lazy
C. Ambiguously Indeterminable
D. Short-sighted
E. Ingenious
F. You Do What You Gotta Do
G. No quiz should have a G, I am terrible at multiple choice
H. Other
To discover I have kept a crock pot of black bean soup on overnight,
forming formidable task involving soaking/.scrubbing/
other things I don't want to do -
And to decide my best choice of action is to make sure it isn't scalding,
then put the whole pot on the kitchen floor,
for the good dog and the bad dog to deal with?
Does it help my case that:
1. It was organic
2. Also vegan
3. The dogs seemed pleased with this task
4. I am lazy?
For once in my life I may be glad for no essay answers for this pop quiz.
Is it
A. Ethically Uncool
B. Lazy
C. Ambiguously Indeterminable
D. Short-sighted
E. Ingenious
F. You Do What You Gotta Do
G. No quiz should have a G, I am terrible at multiple choice
H. Other
To discover I have kept a crock pot of black bean soup on overnight,
forming formidable task involving soaking/.scrubbing/
other things I don't want to do -
And to decide my best choice of action is to make sure it isn't scalding,
then put the whole pot on the kitchen floor,
for the good dog and the bad dog to deal with?
Does it help my case that:
1. It was organic
2. Also vegan
3. The dogs seemed pleased with this task
4. I am lazy?
For once in my life I may be glad for no essay answers for this pop quiz.
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