Brütalism

Totally Brutal

2012-02-01T15:26:00.002Z

Sweet Jesus. Was January the longest month in history? I suppose not drinking will make it seem that way, particularly when the month includes a night out at an Irish bar with friends, my company's holiday party, the most stressful month at work in a loooong time, my birthday and some major challenges for close friends. (Also, what do the Dilettantes really have in common besides a love of the drink?)

It was also a long month because I was not eating sugar, processed food, dairy, or wheat. (Which, frankly, is why you have not heard from me here. I was barely conscious and not at all lucid.)

Which explains why I forgot to share my last few columns with you. Please to enjoy the one where I make lots of thinly-veiled sexual jokes, the one where I mock incorrect word usage (even though I use words incorrectly all the time and my punctuation would make my high school English teacher weep), and today's column about losing weight in a weight-loss challenge. (It was for charity. Do I get a medal?)

I'm going to keep not drinking until April. Because I want to lose all my friends. And I have forgotten my mantra that "nothing funny comes out of moderate drinking." (Even less funny with teetotalling.)

By the way, after our weigh-in last night, the other Dilettantes headed out to Dogfish Head Brewery for celebratory beers and food. I could not go because I had to head home and finish my column. But I didn't miss much, because THEY TEXTED ME PICTURES OF EVERY SINGLE BEER AND DELICIOUS FOOD ITEM THEY ORDERED AND CONSUMED while I ate a Larabar in front of the computer. Beeyoches.
Brutalism

Isn't It Ironic?

2012-01-11T16:35:00.001Z

Last night I received notification of a $50 fine I had to pay for going through a red light. (I saw the camera light flash when this happened, but was hoping it was for the person in back of me.) Oy.

The delicious irony? This happened as I was driving away from the Fairfax County Courthouse after serving on jury duty, an experience you can read about here. (It was kind of a high profile case here in Fairfax because it involved a former Redskin.)

Perhaps I have another resolution to add my list.

So, I'm breaking laws and breaking resolutions, but at least I haven't lost any weight yet on my DietBet challenge.

I'm eating really well, not drinking alcohol and the weight is not budging. I obviously need to step up the exercise. I've asked the hilariously funny and motivational Shut Up and Run to provide me some Biggest Loser-esque advice/motivation from afar (she is in Colorado). Bring it, SUAR!

Hoping to be a three-time loser,
Brutalism

My 2012 Resolution - More Gambling!

2012-01-04T05:10:00.000Z

You read that right. I'm kicking off 2012 by making a bet with myself, The Dilettantes and several other bloggers invited to participate in this challenge. DietBet is offering winners (those who lose at least 4% of their body weight in four weeks) the chance to split a $5000 pot between themselves and the charity they've selected . (In our case, DC Central Kitchen.)

Intrigued? So were we, when we heard about DietBet - a web site that lets you bet your friends (with real money, as studies prove that people lose weight faster when competing against others) to achieve your weight loss goals. For competitive people like us, this is a great way to kick off our New Year's resolutions.

The press release announcing the contest was issued today -- a release that mentions I was in the Guinness book of world records for tap dancing and identifies me as a Mommy Blogger.

(No wonder my parents have always been prouder of my Attorney sister...)

Follow my journey (and ultimate success, of course) here on Brutalism. I'll also post before, during and after photos as soon as I get past the trauma of the number I saw on the scale this evening.

Spreading the Cheer

2011-12-29T16:57:00.002Z

In addition to Brutalism, it seems that I am writing everywhere else these days. (What a tramp.)

On the Oakton Patch this week, I write about why Santa hates the poor.

At Dilettante Club, I write about our last two adventures: Power stilts and constructing a holiday-themed Peeps diorama (we did Festivus). You can vote for us to win here. (Not to name drop, but I'm totally name-dropping -- Dale McGowan at Parenting Beyond Belief voted for our diorama. And surprisingly, not the nativity scene...)

Hope everyone has had a great holiday -- based on the fact that I have turned into a tub of goo, I'd say I've enjoyed myself a lot.

Happy 2012!

All I want for Christmas is...AAAAHhhhh! Not that!

2011-12-22T15:51:00.007Z

I've been methodically unsubscribing myself from gazillions of e-mail lists this holiday season after receiving a mailbox-clogging amount of offers and specials from every retailer on the planet.

And even though Groupon inundates me, I cannot bring myself to unsubscribe from that site, because I love a good deal.

Especially good deals on completely random products and services. To wit:

And, again, as the naturally inquisitive type that I am, I have some questions:

1) Colonics? Wasn't this a "thing" for about six minutes in 2001? They still do this?

2) This was promoted as a "holiday deal" and they suggested you could not only buy one for yourself, but several others as gifts. ("Merry Christmas, Honey -- this holiday season you are so full of love and joy -- not to mention a metric ton of digested food -- so I figured this gift would be perfect...")

3) Skateboarding Cheeseburgers? How good is the stuff they're smoking at New Creation Therapy?

4) Does everyone else agree that the folks at New Creation Therapy may be enjoying their colon-flushing job a little too much? This is text from their site: The therapeutic center recommends eating a normal meal three–four hours before the treatment and using the time in between to become fluent in a new language.

5) It is things like this that make me want to actively work on my drug addiction.

Happy Holidays and best wishes for a squeaky clean colon,
Brutalism

UPDATE: Seriously, what the hell is a skateboarding cheeseburger? I figured a quick search of Urban Dictionary would answer that and it did not. (Yet it did lead me to several thousand entries under "skateboarding" -- most of which are angry rants against people who don't get skateboarding. I grew up in a beach town where skateboarding was mandatory...are there really places that give kids a hard time for doing it?)

TIs the Season to be a Complete Narcissist - fa la la la la la look at me!

2011-12-15T14:58:00.000Z

If you think this is obnoxious....please note that this is not even actual size.

Forget keeping Christ in Christmas -- I'm campaigning to keep the Christmas letter in Christmas.

And now, apparently, wall mural sized pictures of my family, to boot. Read about it here:

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

2011-12-07T15:37:00.000Z

Ahhh...the magic of the holidays. A time for dinner dates with Herman Cain, sartorial rants and plenty of elf martinis.

And that's just the first party of the season...

With apologies to Counting Crows, it appears that it will be a long December...

Soccer? I Barely Know Her.

2011-11-17T15:06:00.001Z

Last weekend, I went to my daughter's age 6-and-under soccer game. She had a whole bevy of fans there -- her grandparents, her aunt and uncle, and friends Amanda and Leon.

They play three on three (I'm referring to the girls soccer teams -- not the grandparents, aunt and uncle and Amanda and Leon -- although this really does fall into the "don't ask, don't tell" arena) so all of the girls have the opportunity to play the entire game.

My daughter did pretty well. If they kept score (WHICH THEY DON'T, BECAUSE IF THEY DID IT WOULD CAUSE IRREPARABLE HARM TO THEIR DELICATE PSYCHES), Avery would have scored all three goals on her team. And we would have been proud.

And not to put too fine a point on it, but the game was actually more like three on two, as one of the girls on my daughter's team not only did not seem to understand or be interested in soccer, but I'm not even sure she realized she was standing on a soccer field. She is one of those kids that I totally adore -- in her own world, daydreaming, seeming completely shocked whenever the ball came her way. And the one time she did kick the ball...it was into her own team's goal, something that did not not seem to register with her.

Of course, because we are such a supportive group, we spent most of the game heckling the assistant coach (Canetto) from the sidelines and then discussing what award the daydreamer may be presented with at the end-of-season soccer banquet following the game. We suggested the following:

MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED

at something else

MOST VALUABLE PLAYER

for the other team

MOST ATHLETIC

looking father

BEST ALL AROUND

obstacle to winning

MOST DISPENSABLE

Of course, the coaches had to be all "good sports" and "encouraging" so they ignored our suggestions and presented her with a trophy just like the other girls on the team received.

Communists.

[P.S. Check out my weekly Patch column (I love how dirty that sounds) here.]

Princess Poopypants

2011-10-28T18:34:00.001Z

Dramatis personae: Me, Canetto, Avery

Setting: Avery's play room, last night, playing her new "Pretty, Pretty Princess" game

Act I

Me (looking at Canetto and dying as he is decked out in earrings, a bracelet, and a crown): "You are a vision. You make a very lovely princess."

Canetto: "Oh, yeah? Would a lovely princess do this?" (lifts leg, farts)

Avery (screeching and laughing): "You are the worst princess, EVER!"

And....scene.

She works with an adequate amount of effort for the money...so adequate amount of effort for it, honey...

2011-10-19T14:58:00.002Z

The title of this post is of course referencing my day job. The one I'm going to keep until I become a breakout country star. (My friend, Amanda, and I decided this was our true calling after seeing each other with these hairdos recently:

...and coming up with the lyrics to our first hit single "Bernanner Split" over a few ~~hundred~~ Bintangs one evening.)

Until then...it's business as usual, which you can read about in today's Oakton Patch Column.

I gave her a ring and she gave me the finger,
Brutalism

Oh, and here's the front view...conveniently in a sepia tone to further convey how 1953-country-singer this is. (I got a facial the day after this as I believe the 'do made me look about 20 years older. I'm still not over it...)

Sweet Jesus.

Running On Fumes

2011-10-16T15:33:00.000Z

While driving my friend, Terri, home from a book signing* yesterday, we were chatting about work, people we both know and our families.

I confided in her that someone I knew and did not particularly care for had recently died. I was having mixed feelings about this and did not know if that made me a horrible person.

I could feel her looking over at me, and then she replied, "Sweetie, you're almost empty."

To which I said, resignedly, "God. I know. I have a tiny, black heart and am almost completely soulless."

And she said, "No, I mean your gas tank. Your light just came on."

*********************************************************************************
***SHAMELESS PLUG*** The book signing was for Bye for Now - a Wisher's Story written by my college friend, Kathleen Churchyard. It is a young adult book (written for ages 8-12, enjoyed by people of all ages -- I just finished it and highly recommend it). Makes a great holiday gift!

Terima Kasih for the Memories...

2011-10-12T01:23:00.008Z

For the last three weeks, I was traveling in Indonesia and China with my husband, now 6-year-old daughter and our friends Amanda and Leon. The trip was fantastic, and although I kept a journal detailing every aspect of the trip, it is impossible for me to translate that into a blog post because ~~I feel like it will cheapen what was a life-changing experience~~ I'm lazy. But because I am a blogger, and therefore, an over sharer, I am compelled to provide information about some of the highlights in list form:

Southeast Asia travels, what I learned:

1) Many of the toilets in Indonesia require you to add scoops of water to make them flush. The literal translation for what type of activity you'll be doing is "throw small water" (number one) and "throw big water" (number two) to explain how much water needs to be used to dispose of your deposit. One public restroom we saw charged people different amounts based on activity, and was apparently (hopefully?) based on the honor system...

Translation:
Pipis (Number One) - 1000 rupiah
Mandi (Bath) - 3000 rupiah
Buangair Besar (Throwing Big Water) - 2000 rupiah
I have no idea who would be bathing in a public restroom, but let's focus instead on "pipis" (heh).

2) When you freak out a little because the throwaway underpants you are issued at a spa are extremely tight around your waist and you are embarrassed by your girth, it is helpful to remove them, shift them 45 degrees and put the leg hole around your LEG.

3) When you are a bule (honky) at an Indonesian wedding, you get a small taste of what it is like to be Jennifer Aniston, as everyone wants to get a picture with you and the photographers will hide in the potted plants to snap photos. (This is completely true.)

4) When a wild monkey climbs your dress in the monkey forest, then reaches in your bag and grabs the entire bunch of bananas you've brought, it is best to let the monkey have his way so he does not chomp your finger angrily like he did to that poor Russian girl the day before.

5) "Balinese wood" can be dropped into conversation almost constantly when you are in Bali. Sometimes even in relation to the fantastic wood carving that is done there.

6) When you ask your tour guide how many of the Sultan's five daughters are married, she will reply, "four...and the fifth one probably will not marry because she is "sporty"...

7) In Indonesia, you may be offered many things for sale while you are sitting in a vehicle at a stop light. These things range from food items to rubber gorilla masks to blow guns. Because you never know when you may need a rubber gorilla mask on your way to an important client meeting.

8) You feel a little bit like a rock star withdrawing 1,500,000 from an ATM until you realize that equals about 170 bucks.

9) When your daughter refers to "take off" in the airplane as "blast off" you do not correct her, as you find this adorable.

10) The best part about staying in a villa is being able to toss the fact that you are staying in a villa into every sentence. I'm lying. The best part is the private pool, breakfast being made for you, massages by the pool and outdoor showers amid the scent of fresh jasmine and plumeria.

11) Jet lag can turn your first few nights with your young child into scenes reminiscent of "Weekend at Bernie's" as you cart her comatose body with you to nice restaurants.

12) For some reason, when you are that far from home and someone offers you a cup of poop, you take them up on the offer. (Mandatory joke: that was some good shit.)

13) When you see a perfectly circular rainbow in the sky and comment on how cool it is, your tour guide will become noticeably shaken and claim that the last two times there have been perfectly circular rainbows, there were devastating earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. You will then get a little nervous about getting on a flight that evening.

14) Durian fruit works in a pinch if there is not a nearby dog that you can blame for unseemly odors. (Canetto...)

15) You will make jokes constantly about getting "the 'gue" because Dengue fever is hilarious.

Temples, schmemples,
Brutalism

Makes Sense

2011-09-22T09:58:00.000Z

Do you ever feel like every single moment of your life somehow paved the way for one day writing a blog titled "Brutalism"?

Me, too.

This week's Oakton Patch column.

This Makes Me Craugh (Combination Cringe/Laugh)

2011-09-14T14:25:00.006Z

My last post took me down that best-left-repressed memory path of guys with whom I was involved in the past.

(Not that there were lots of them -- I was a champ at dating boyfriends for YEARS beyond our expiration date as a couple.)

However, during a transition time for me, I dated a guy that I had known for years. Because I had known him so long, it was kind of like dating my brother. If my brother was Jewish and I had sex with him, that is.

One night, we went to a Washington Wizards basketball game at the arena in DC, and had several beverages prior to and during the game.

So I was probably way more animated than I should have been when I spotted my friend, Simon, about twelve rows ahead of us. I jumped up and down and screamed his name and waved. I certainly had the attention of the people in the rows between us, and finally got his -- so he turned around and stood up and waved back.

Which is when I took the opportunity to scream to him (and the twelve rows of people between us):

"HEY, SIMON! THIS IS THE JEW I'M {verb for coitus that my husband found offensive}!" while pointing at my date.

Good Times

2011-09-13T00:16:00.000Z

Anyone else play the Facebook game with their spouse/partner/significant other/grandparents/priest/preschool class where you post a status update and then, when lots of people comment, you ask them, "I slept with one of the commenters...can you guess which one?"

I'm guessing the ensemble may take a little attention away from the lunch box...

2011-09-07T15:01:00.000Z

Because I love to be all subversive and offbeat, I did something completely unique yesterday...

...I posted a photo of my daughter's first day of kindergarten on my Facebook page.

I let her choose her own outfit. That would be tie-dye
leggings, a plaid wool skirt and a beadazzled peace
sign shirt.

A while later, my sister-in-law commented, "Is that a Hello Kitty lunch box? Your first lunch box sets the tone of your school career!"

Egad. Is this true? I mean, I may have noted before that my Type-A, uber-achieving, model student sister had a Jonathan Livingston Seagull lunch box (nerdo.) And I hate to think that my own Waltons lunch box set the tone for my school career (>sigh<...it totally did.)

So now I'm worried. What does the Hello Kitty lunch box say about my kid? And what lunch box did you have as a kid?

Goodnight, John Boy,
Brutalism

(Note: Read this week's Oakton Patch column about my half marathon experience. Then mock me.)

Full Moon

2011-08-31T14:13:00.000Z

I'm hoping that by now, you have all seen the infamous YouTube video of the Virginia Beach guy mooning the camera during Hurricane Irene.

As a Virginia Beach native, I have nothing but (heh) respect for this glimpse of my hometown brethren.

Or for the nonchalance the rest of my family showed in the eye of danger.

Read about it in this week's Oakton Patch Column: Crisis Mismanagement. (Includes a link to the video of the guy mooning the camera. You're welcome.)

Old School

2011-08-26T12:48:00.006Z

I don't talk about college much, because ~~it happened a zillion years ago~~ other than the semester I spent in London, it was not the happiest, most positive time of my life. I'm mortified by the things I do remember and therefore, am thankful that there are so many things I don't (e.g. sophomore year, most of my classes, and every Friday after about 5:00pm).

One bright spot, even though I was large-and-in-charge, continually inebriated and had a GPA hovering around the 1.4 mark (fat, drunk and stupid obviously was a way to go through life), was getting a bid to a pretty fun sorority. I know, I know...people have their opinions about this and trust me, my roommate and I got a lot of mileage out of doing things like mentioning our secret song in public whenever the sorority president was within earshot and threatening to sell our secret handshake to the Zetas. We figured that the silly secrets and rituals were a small price to pay for all of the parties, living in the sorority house (with the constant pillow fights and make out sessions, it was just much more convenient) and making a statement by ordering our sorority sweatshirts in black (rather than the official purple color) to demonstrate what non-conformists we were.

It was also nice to share experiences and responsibilities, like co-editing the sorority newsletter.

One especially humiliating thing required of all sororities (and fraternities) at my school was participation in an annual event called "Greek Sing." Each organization was required to sing a medley of themed songs as their entry into this contest, and would be fined if they did not. Many of the sororities (including mine) really got into it -- we even made matching glitter shirts and choreographed hand motions to go along with our song medley. We rehearsed and got stressed out and really put a lot of effort into it. Unlike the stoner fraternity, who basically gave a middle finger to the Panhellenic council for requiring this by dubbing the theme of their performance, "Songs with Os in them" and then standing there and singing "Good Love" and "Moondance" in their mismatched shirts along with a CD.

My heroes.

Anyway, now that I'm older and can reflect on my past with experience and perspective, I realize that a lot of the angst I had at the time had to do with my lack of confidence, self-esteem and the tremendous amount of self-loathing that defined who I was. In retrospect, I think that perhaps my college experience was actually kind of enjoyable. A photo from one of my sorority formals that I found recently confirmed this:

Me, seemingly happy, with my pledge class at the Sigma Sigma Sigma Violet Formal. (Click to enlarge.)

And then I flipped the page in my scrapbook:

Me about 43 seconds later. (Click to think long and hard about writing that tuition check...)

CSI: Barcelona with Detectives Membrillo & Manchego

2011-08-22T16:00:00.003Z

Let me just start out by saying that it pays to enunciate when you tell your husband that you are going to a "tapas" class with your attractive neighbor and that while you are gone, he should watch the episode of "Pawn Stars" that you saved for him.

I hate to see a grown man cry.

This class was my first solo outing with our new-ish next door neighbor -- all of our other outings have included drinking our faces off at each other's summer barbecues. It was also my first time going to our local cooking school, which is only about ten minutes from home. A couple of months ago, we signed up for the tapas class, which promised three hours of cooking instruction, dinner and wine.

What was not promised, but what we did receive, was being partnered up with Dave (aka "Senor Crankypants"). Dave was humorless, pushy, and took over cooking all of the dishes that we were most interested in making. At first it was totally annoying, then it just got funny. Even our very assertive and straightforward requests to get involved with the more interesting dishes were summarily dismissed by Dave, who would just shove ahead of us and do what he wanted. Making up for Dave was Stephanie, the hilarious instructor and Doug, the 20-something assistant who was adorable and ~~flirted with us~~ good-naturedly tolerated our flirting with him. Liz (my neighbor) mentioned that he would be the perfect kind of guy for her stepdaughter...(she is a planner, as her stepdaughter is eight.) She then asked me, "Do you think I should ask him how he feels about eight year olds?" (Meaning, would he wait several years for the right woman.) Although, that is a pretty good litmus test for any guy you'd want to introduce to your daughter.

Or any guy in your life, really.

My favorite dish we made, Membrillo & Manchego, sounds like the name of a Spanish crime drama, but is really a delicious cheese and quince paste concoction that I will be making the next time I need to bring an appetizer to a gathering. It is gorgeous and delicious and requires two ingredients and about ten minutes to construct, which pretty much meets all the necessary criteria to be included in my repertoire.
Other dishes we made were Tortilla a la Espanola, Meatballs in Almond Sauce, Roasted Red & Yellow Bell Peppers with Capers & Anchovies and Flan.

At the end of the three-hour class, we did get to sit down and have a glass of wine while we enjoyed the meal we (and by "we" I mean "Dave") made. We learned at that point that we could take all leftovers but the meatballs and that we could only have one glass of wine. All because of potential liability.

Damn lawyers. (Except you, of course, Liz...)

I've Never Known Greater Comfort

2011-08-21T17:13:00.000Z

Check out my other blog, Dilettante Club - We'll Try Anything Once. This month, our activity was a 12-mile run.

(Our very pregnant third Dilettante was excused...)

Also...don't hate me because I'm ~~beautiful~~ red, sweaty and psychotic-looking...

I Will Not Be Censored*

2011-08-17T15:04:00.000Z

A "hard eight" in Oakton is a lot more fun.

There. I said it.

If you want to know what I'm talking about -- read this.

*unless the publication that is paying me asks me to remove something potentially offensive from a column. Then I'm okay with it.

We're Number One! (+ 35)...

2011-08-16T16:33:00.000Z

Lovely Oakton, Virginia was just listed as Number 36 in Money Magazine's Top 100 places to live in the United States.

This is in spite of our poor past showing in terms of use of porn in this oak-filled burg, and in spite of my psychotic neighbors.

Though Oakton did earn some points by having a local Patch site that hired me to write a weekly column and actually pays me to come up with 27 penis euphemisms.

It was nice of Money magazine to acknowledge a city that I have come to love in the past ten years that I've lived here. And we are definitely prepared to take over the duties of "Best Place to Live" if the other 35 are unable to fulfill their duties for any reason.

TFSMIF*

2011-08-05T18:01:00.000Z

This week's Oakton Patch column discusses Dolly Parton, the Kentucky Junior Miss pageant and a Magic 8-Ball -- and not one of those things is used euphemistically.

It has been the longest week of my life. A week that has included me napping at lunch time not once but twice. (And I'm only Spanish by association, so the siesta is not ingrained...)

This weekend includes a little local getaway...and a nine mile run. FML.

*Thank Flying Spaghetti Monster It's Friday

...and I, I, I....will always love booze...

2011-08-01T14:54:00.009Z

This weekend, my mom and her husband, Jack, were in town to celebrate my mom's birthday. (It was two weeks ago, but we invited them this weekend because we wanted to take them to see Dolly Parton in concert as her gift.) During the weekend, we also threw a party for her and hosted a brunch.

Mom and Jack with another birthday gift we gave my mom.
She and Jack call their beach house the Love Shack.
And you wonder why I drink.

Here are the events as they unfolded last night at the concert. If you ever get a chance to see Dolly Parton live (especially if you have a chance to see her with my mom and Jack) I highly recommend it:

Canetto and Jack leave for sold-out concert an hour early, supplied with chips and salsa and a six pack of beer, so they can claim a territory on the lawn for us to picnic and watch the show.

Drive to Wolf Trap with Mom and Avery in tow, park car, struggle with 30-pound cooler in which I have packed dinner for five people.

Find Canetto and Jack on the lawn, sit down, mom and Jack dive thirstily into first bottle of wine.

Canetto tries to get comfortable on blanket, which he finds difficult due to the two bee stings he got on his butt the evening before.

Note that our lawn seats are fairly close to the stage, though partially obstructed. Fortunately, Canetto has staked claim on another seating option for us in case anyone wants to move (in a smaller group) to an area of the lawn with a better view. We decide to stick together, so Canetto offers secondary seating option with better view of stage to couple in front of us, one half of which is noticeably pregnant. (The girl half.)

Me (in head): He is so sweet. (And possibly trying to avoid another Boobapalooza.)

Notice that Dolly Parton has a lot of gay male fans. Wonder why I have never known this.

Enjoy the energy, talent and self-deprecation that is Dolly Parton.

Take a tired Avery to get a $6.50 ice cream at the concession stand. Determine how many more years I must work to keep child supplied with Wolf Trap ice cream.

Watch as mom and Jack crack open second bottle of wine. Realize that I will not be having wine as I am now the only one who can safely drive home. Patiently listen as mom turns around at least 63 times to ask me, "Isn't she amazing? She's amazing. Isn't she amazing?"

Agree that she is amazing.

Me (in head): WTF?

Canetto takes tired kid and bee-stung butt home around 9:30. After a short intermission in which I am asked again how amazing Dolly is, mom and husband finish second bottle of wine, which leads to Jack lying on back on the picnic blanket belting out "9 to 5" and "Here you come again" along with Dolly.

During encore, mom and Jack stand up, put arms around each other and sway while singing loudly along to "I will always love you" and staring at each other.

Pack up to leave and Jack carries empty cooler to car. Mom repeatedly asks, "Isn't he wonderful for carrying that? He is wonderful for carrying that. Can I help carry that?"

Me (in head): WTF?

See couple walk by, one half of which is dressed like Dolly Parton (the boy half) -- (well, one of the boy halves).

Me (out loud): That is fantastic.

Get home at about 11:40pm, which is when mom and Jack crack open a third bottle of wine. I head upstairs and read up on Dolly Parton on the Internet and note that she has come out publicly in support of gay rights. Immediately understand why she has so many gay fans and also forgive her all the God stuff she tossed into her concert commentary.

Note that Dolly herself once lost a Dolly Parton lookalike contest.

Me (in e-mail to mother): "Dolly Parton lost a Dolly Parton lookalike contest. Therefore, you are more awesome than Dolly Parton." (My mother once came in third in a Dolly Parton lookalike contest.)

After a fun and exhausting evening taking care of the kids, head to bed.

This morning, while getting coffee before work, notice empty wine bottle on counter.

Me (in head): My 67-year old mother makes me feel old.

I Think I Deserve Extra Credit

2011-07-28T10:13:00.002Z

Yesterday, I was ~~hard at work~~ playing games at Sporcle and came upon this quiz:

Can you name the words that end in 'cle'?

That included the following questions:

1) It gets in the way of success - (to which I correctly replied "obstacle")

2) Item in the news, or just 'the' - (to which I correctly replied "article")

3) Mr. Peanut has one - (to which I correctly replied "monocle")

4) Lance Armstrong has one - (to which I INCORRECTLY, according to Sporcle, replied - "testicle")

Sporcle automatically filled in the answer "bicycle" for me.

I liked my answer better,
Brutalism

What A Pain In The Ass

2011-07-27T15:35:00.001Z

Today's Oakton Patch column is worth reading. And I'm not just saying that because I wrote it.

(Yes I am.)

It is worth reading because I go off on a bit of a tangent, which is really not like me. And also because I discuss the serial butt stabber who is terrorizing teens and twenty-somethings at a local mall here.

Life in the suburbs is fascinating,
Brutalism

As Far As Atheist, Australian, Ginger-Haired, Musician/Comedians Go -- He's Pretty Good

2011-07-24T21:47:00.001Z

Last night, we went with our friends, Pete and Amy, to see Tim Minchin at the Warner Theater.

("My favorite atheist, Australian, ginger-haired musician/comedian!" as Amy describes him.)

I'm not so sure...though I have narrowed it down to just a few atheist, Australian, ginger-haired musician/comedians and he is definitely in the top three.

Amy turned me on to Tim Minchin a couple of years ago when she gave me one of his CDs as a Christmas gift. He would appreciate that irony.

Someone who appreciates irony. Just ask his skinny jeans.

The show was fantastic -- hilarious, thought-provoking, inspirational, and a lot of fun. Particularly the parts where Tim talks about adopting children from impoverished countries ("I'm not raising someone else's skanky kids.") and love ("Love without evidence is stalking.)

The show also marked the first time I was recognized in public because of my blog and Oakton Patch column. A fellow humor columnist (of whom I'm a big fan) walked up to our seats at the show (second row -- thanks, Amy) and asked, "Kathleen?" and then introduced herself. I don't know if I was more excited to meet her (she's a great writer) or to be recognized (I'm a great narcissist).

Praying for humility,
Brutalism

Angst. So Much Angst.

2011-07-22T14:08:00.001Z

I've shared some of my 5-year-old daughter's art pieces and installations before.

So far, I've convinced myself that this is what all 5-year-olds do. (I also assume all 5-year-olds call their moms "Sir" as she has begun doing of late. As in, "How much longer before we get to school, Sir?")

This, following a conversation we had in the car a few weeks ago. After more than a month of not drinking alcohol, I had one beer with dinner -- a 50th anniversary celebration for my in-laws. In the car on the way home, my child said to me, "I thought you weren't drinking beer." I responded, "I just had one...it was a celebration. Is that okay?

And she replied (while looking out the car window, with no small amount of disdain): "Well, I guess if you're okay with it."

But I digress. We recently purchased an iPad, which means that ~~I rock at Fruit Ninja~~ my daughter now has the ability to create and send many more art pieces, which she does...a lot. Every morning when I get to work, I find at least five new creations waiting for me in my in box. Including this one, that I will consider a little testament to the fine job of parenting I am doing:

I'm A Lucky Pierre

2011-07-20T16:16:00.000Z

I know I kid a lot about swinging.

I kid because I love.

To swing.

I'm kidding, of course. Although I do share my bed with two men.

Every night.

No wonder I'm exhausted.

Making it all seem so much more exciting than it is,
Brutalism

Kickin' It Old School

2011-07-14T20:59:00.000Z

Check out the latest post on my other blog, Dilettante Club - We'll Try Everything Once.

Last weekend, we learned DJing from a professional hip-hop DJ in Baltimore.

We also thought we were going to die, wore Minotaur heads, and urinated with an audience.

Or as we like to call it, "the usual."

Delusion Is The New Black

2011-07-13T14:45:00.002Z

Lately, I've had ~~a lot of people~~ not a single person ask me, "Brutalism? How DO you do it all? You maintain two blogs, participate in Dilettante activities, write a weekly column, work full time and have (thus far) raised a non-convict.

And I must say, it is all about ~~balance and doing no actual work at work~~ meth.

Another thing that motivates me and is slightly more legal....medals. Read about it on last week's Oakton Patch column.

Also check out this week's Oakton Patch column. The one that discusses my ~~meth~~ Groupon addiction.

Now, if only there was a meth Groupon,
Brutalism

It's The Pits

2011-07-12T14:33:00.004Z

I've shared before the horror that was bikini area laser hair removal treatments and as a result, swore that I would never again subject myself to something like that. My principles go as far as my pocketbook, however, and I changed my stance when Groupon recently offered 90% off hair removal. My husband saw this deal and forwarded it to me with the following message:

"You should get your pits done. I say this with all my love...."

Pardon me while I swoon.

He was right, though. I had talked about getting laser hair removal so I could eliminate the torturous and time-consuming chore that is shaving my armpits. I'm now about two Groupon deals away from becoming completely useless. I bought the deal, figuring that arm pit laser treatments would be nothing compared to the humiliation and pain of the bikini area.

Spoiler alert: I'm a moron.

This morning was my first treatment. There was no numbing cream (or Saran Wrap undergarments) required for this area (I specifically asked) and I only had to take my shirt off, so I was already feeling way less vulnerable than I had for the bikini area. Until the technician started the procedure and it was all I could do to not jump off the table and slap her in the face. I said, "Wow. That really hurts!" (I delivered this with as much authority as I could, while wearing bright yellow tanning salon goggles to protect my eyes from the laser.)

Lady Gaga cannot relate.

She asked, "Is it the feeling of being poked by needles that bothers you?" and I replied, "Honestly, over the searing heat that feels like Lucifer himself is shoving a branding iron in my arm pit, I cannot even feel any needles."

I begged for a numbing cream prescription as she continued with the treatment. Then, as we were almost done, something happened that obviously startled her. I asked what was wrong and the rest of the exchange went as follows:

Technician (Somewhat confusedly): "There is a window washer just outside the window."
Me (Calmly): "Surely you have some sort of film on the windows so he can't see in, as this is a medical office."
Technician (Matter of factly): "No."
Me (Helpfully) : "Well, can you just lower the blinds?"
Technician (Matter of factly): "They are broken and don't go down all the way."

>crickets<

Me (Resignedly): "How about I just hide over here in the corner as I put my shirt on?"

And once again, I find myself facing five more of these treatments over the next year.

Thank you, sir, may I have another?
Brutalism

Painfully Obvious

2011-07-11T15:54:00.002Z

Saturday, our Dilettante Activity was DJing.

The experience was completely random (as in, we each feared for our life and/or hygiene for at least a moment or two during the activity and we ended the session by taking a photo wearing Minotaur heads).

And I'm not even drinking.

My favorite part of the activity (other than living to see another day and not having to de-louse when I got home) was meeting the cat that lived at the house where we took the lesson. His name was Hubert and he was the biggest, fattest load of a cat I have ever seen. I love fat, orange cats anyway, and he was so completely lovable that I fell instantly in love. (The fact that the bone structure in his face was a little reminiscent of Barbra Streisand is just a tad bit worrisome as to what I am inclined to fall in love with, although millions of gays cannot be wrong...)

Anyway, ol' Hubert and I were fast friends and if I called his name, he would thunder the few feet across the room toward me and then just fall over on his massive rolls of fat, ready to be petted. Once when he did this, I noticed that he was wearing a heart-shaped name tag on his collar, The tag stated simply, "I AM FAT."

So not good for his self-esteem. Though definitely accurate.

I posted this picture on Facebook yesterday because every time I thought about it, it killed me. And a friend of mine from elementary school then sent a picture of her cat in response...the anti-Hubert:

Hubert's "After" photo, when he finally realizes that food is not love.

The whole "announcing exactly what you are" was rather appealing to me and I chatted with the other Dilettantes about how we could capitalize on this and start our own t-shirt line. (This began with my friend, Amanda, promising that during my wake, she would put an "I AM DEAD" t-shirt on my lifeless body in the casket.) None of us Dilettantes work in hospice care. I know you may find that shocking.

Anyway, we came up with the following additional slogan ideas for our new OBVIOUSO (patent pending) line of casual wear:

SHORT TIMER (for those with dire prognoses or those well along in their years)
MY BREATH SMELLS LIKE A COMBINATION OF BAD COFFEE AND STALE CIGARETTES
I AM A ONE-UPPER
I'M A IDIOT
I LOOK LIKE I WOKE UP IN THE HAMPER
I LOVE THE SOUND OF MY OWN VOICE

Happy to take your suggestions on slogans, too. Although,

I AM GOING TO KEEP ALL THE PROFITS,
Brutalism

Chew On This

2011-06-29T15:10:00.000Z

I've mentioned before that I'm a good friend.

And it becomes glaringly apparent at certain times.

Like yesterday, when my friend, Amanda, sent this photo from the plane on her way to Chile. It is a picture of the snow-capped Andes:

I replied, "Lovely. Or at least it will be until you crash and have to eat the other passengers to survive."

She volleyed back, "Hey, it's better than airline food."

Speaking of food (awesome segue -- pats own back) please check out this week's humor column at the Oakton Patch, where I discuss why my daughter transitioning to kindergarten has been so difficult for us. (Wow, that does sound humorous.)

Almost as funny as cannibalism.

Brutalism

I Said "Klatch"

2011-06-22T20:10:00.001Z

For the past week, I've been actively involved in my favorite hobby -- denial.

I've avoided my to-do list, my site statistics, and getting organized at work with a vigor I normally reserve for avoiding talking on the telephone.

And now, there is so much on which we need to catch up:

1. This week's column at the Oakton Patch is all about mascots. And once again, I will proclaim my love for Oakton Patch editor, Nicole, for this update e-mail she sent about trying to get the rights to use a photo of a Milwaukee Brewers sausage race from the Milwaukee Brewers organization:

Still no photo. I'm going to take a shower ('cause nope, that still hasn't happened yet ...) and if it doesn't happen by the time I get out ('cause yep, I'm that attached to the idea of running a photo of a sausage race on my home page...) I'll have to just run it without.

2. I have now been dairy-free, processed-food free, and alcohol free for about three weeks. I have also been working out harder than I have in a long time with runs, bike rides and power walks.

In related news, I am also no longer fun.

This is all in preparation for a half marathon on Labor Day weekend. However, after my long run on Saturday morning with my new running group, I sat in my car and cried because I am so far from where I was three years ago when I was really into running and I am completely discouraged. In an effort to snap out of it and lift my spirits (and because my friend Amanda reminded me that "there is no crying in distance running") I went to get evaluated for new running shoes today at a running store. Bonus -- the guy waiting on me was a college student and totally adorable. Non-bonus -- I had to run in front of him on a treadmill to see if I pronated. We then got to watch my backside together on a computer screen so he could show me what my stride looked like. Fortunately, his campus is right down the street, so he can go look at college-aged butts for a while to get that visual out of his head.

3. I was invited to a coffee klatch with the ladies in my neighborhood last night (and by coffee klatch, I mean booze klatch), and one of my neighbors shared a fantastic story. Turns out, she recently read "Still Alice" for a book club - a true story about a woman with early-onset Alzheimer's that is utterly heart-wrenching. She had just finished the book, crying through a lot of it, when she realized she needed to feed her three kids dinner before heading off to the meeting to discuss the book. As she was throwing dinner together, she realized that she needed to provide the kids with some sort of vegetable to balance their dinners. She meant to offer them carrots, but instead asked them, "Do you guys want Good & Plenty with that?" She said they had no idea what to make of her question...either that she was the coolest mom ever, for offering up candy in place of a vegetable, or that she had maybe contracted early-onset Alzheimer's via power of suggestion. She feared the latter. (Ed. - I frankly think feeding a child Good & Plenty is akin to child abuse. That is the worst excuse for a candy ever.)

4. Our daughter recently cut off her bangs and is now sporting a look we like to call "mental patient." She was so proud of herself when she did it, that I managed to stifle my laughter and applaud her efforts. And in true kid form, she managed to do this two weeks before we are scheduled to take a formal family portrait with Canetto's entire family for his parents' 50th wedding anniversary.

My little mental patient totally pulls it off, though, right?

Finally, RIP Ryan Dunn. You made putting a car toy up your ass an art form and the world becomes a place that takes itself a little too seriously without people like you in it.

Backhanded Compliments

2011-06-15T16:25:00.000Z

My Husband

This week's column that explains what all of this means.

Jerry Mathers Likes My Beaver Shot!

2011-06-13T10:26:00.005Z

Last week, I received the best reply to a tweet, EVER:

Look at me hobnobbing with the A-listers.

Air kisses,
Brutalism

Smut Peddlers Redux

2011-06-09T17:07:00.001Z

When will I learn?

At the end of a long day, when all I want to do is snuggle in with my kid and read her a few books before bedtime that are appropriate for a five-year-old, I'm occasionally blindsided by the filth that children's book authors sneak into their tales.* (Pun not intentional here, but I'm kind of loving it.)

Like last night's bedtime story, "Nate the Great." I'm not even sure where we got this book, and last night was the first time we read it. While I can appreciate that Nate has an open relationship with his mother and can share everything with her, the Puritan in me thinks that he is simply too young for this:

A few pages later, we learn that Nate the Great is forward...and also apparently, into role-playing:

But perhaps the most disturbing part of this "children's book" is the final page:

Of course you like happy endings Nate the Great. And apparently "group activities" involving people named "Fang".

No wonder "rubbers" is plural,
Brutalism

*For more about sneaking filth into tales, see Major Impact.

Letter To The Editor

2011-06-08T14:03:00.002Z

You know, since I'm relatively new to writing a weeky column, I was not aware of how much planning, forethought and carefully drafted idea outlines are required to ensure that submissions are made on schedule and provide plenty of time for editing and rewrites.

Below, I provide a little insight into how I usually implement this process for my column:

(Note: My official deadline for the column that runs Wednesday morning is Monday evening by COB).

Sunday: Begin feeling dread that I have no ideas for the column. Ask my family if anything funny happened over the weekend. My five-year-old is now conditioned to recite all our weekend activities and then ask, rhetorically, "but what's funny about that?"

Monday: Ignore the looming deadline by focusing on ~~reading blogs and playing scramble on Facebook~~ work, then run errands and hope that my Patch editor has forgotten that it is Monday and that I have a deadline.

Monday evening: Feeling sheepish, e-mail the editor telling her that I am working on some ideas, but hey...if she has any great ideas, I'm certainly open to them.

Tuesday: Send editor an e-mail like this one:

I began an article about Rep. Weiner -- it is my plan to write about how immature all of the jokes are surrounding his name considering his offense while also weaving in a bunch of words like "junk" and "nuts" and "staff." -- All in a completely innocuous way, but enough so that anyone reading it will catch on. It will be R-rated-ish, but very covertly so.

Do you think that would be okay to run or do you think it is not appropriate for Patch? I'll come up with something else if you think this is too much.

Let me know. Thanks,

K

P.S. "Weiner" (hee hee)

Tuesday night: Write like a crazy person, submit final draft to editor and before she has a chance to read the draft, re-submit two additional versions that I have edited slightly.

Late Tuesday night: Editor cracks open the Maker's Mark and begins searching job sites for nice, quiet data entry jobs. Stops responding to my follow-up e-mails.

Wednesday morning: Column runs. Check it out: Pre-packaged Jokes (FYI - my editor wrote the subhead for the column title. She is fantastic.)

Confident this is how the professionals do it,
Brutalism

Fantastic Hunt

2011-06-06T14:01:00.005Z

(Say the title a few times fast - never gets old.)

How funny is it that Leon's shirt was promoting Polygamy and he
was on a team with two women? Also funny that a random guy
asked us if we were from Utah. (One of my sister wives, pictured here, answered him.)

Yesterday marked the third year that Team Velvet Unitard (polygamists pictured above) attacked the Post Hunt. And yesterday is the closest we have ever come to solving the end game.

Two-thirds of my team live together in DC proper (since they are married, they find this arrangement rather convenient), so they took the bus to Freedom Plaza, slightly cloudy-headed from their experience at Savor the night before. I was coming in from the 'burbs so I took the metro. And upon stepping out of Metro Center Station and rounding the corner onto the street, I texted my team to let them know I was close. (Here is where you will receive a public service announcement about texting and walking: Don't. I managed to miss three steps in front of me and took a pretty spectacular tumble and landed in a painful heap.) A woman walking by (and stifling giggles) asked me if I was okay, and I told her, "No...I really hurt my ankle" and she kept walking quickly toward the Post Hunt stage. (I don't blame her. The Hunt is cut throat.)

Whore.

So, we had a bit of a rough start which convinced us that it was a good omen for our performance in the Hunt. (If I didn't play little games like this with myself, I'd have no reason to get out of bed in the morning.)

While we were getting our instructions at the Main Stage from Gene Weingarten, Dave Barry and Tom Schroeder, Amanda was following the #posthunt on Twitter. One of the especially prescient tweets she came across stated "dorks #posthunt" - a tweet she read while realizing we were surrounded by at least ten people in t-shirts emblazoned with computer coding jokes. (I know what you're thinking -- that probably every last computer-coding t-shirt wearer made it to the Hunt without falling on his face. And to that, I say, "Touche.")

Nerdo.

When the Hunt began, it was apparent that Leon ate his Wheaties (registered trademark) that morning. Within moments, he had figured out the computer keyboard puzzle, then he and Amanda quickly figured out the government agency fill-in-the-blank puzzle. Then we went to the vanity puzzle. We knew that the answer had something to do with the missing mirror, but could not get an answer that we knew was right. (The puzzle at the Post Office seems to be the tough one every year.)

At the Navy Memorial, Amanda took about ten seconds to solve the scratcher puzzle. (And at this point, I was wondering how they were going to gently let me down and tell me they "didn't have a need for my services" next year...).

I somewhat redeemed myself at the Newseum puzzle by understanding that the password we were given to text should be turned upside-down (since an acrobat had provided the puzzle). There were several more steps (literally -- we walked more than a mile to the next clue) in this answer that we solved with a great team effort.

With twenty minutes before we needed to be back at the Freedom Plaza stage to get the final clue, we filled in our grid and came up with a picture of....an outhouse. (We love the Post Hunt creators, even though for the third year in a row we got shy about asking to get a photo taken with Dave Barry.)

We were back at Freedom Plaza for the end game and this year, we split up to follow two different potential thoughts we had on the clue. Mine was a dead end, but Amanda and Leon came up with the next answer on their route, before they eventually hit a dead end (and we found out there were already winners, so they came back to meet me at the main stage).

As the Hunt creators went through the puzzles, it was encouraging to review how well we did this year, and it is always funny to see the winners being presented with a big, ceremonial check. Seeing this reminded Amanda that she owes me money from our last dilettante activity, so she told me that she would pay me with a large, ceremonial check.

Which is fine, really, as my account is at a very large bank.

Still icing and elevating my ankle,
Brutalism

UPDATE: Forgot to mention that Safe House was filming near the site of the Post Hunt. Amanda thought it may be a clue. Or that the Post Hunt staff had ordered craft services for the dedicated Hunters. Alas, neither was true.

Happy Birthday, Jerry Mathers!

2011-06-02T14:22:00.000Z

In tribute -- my Beaver shot:

Taken long enough ago that the plaid vest was in style.
No, it wasn't.

At Least I Find A Way To Use My Complaining Creatively

2011-06-01T14:12:00.000Z

For my latest Oakton Patch column, I've gone completely original and written about something no one else has ever written about before. Something no one ever even talks about -- particularly this time of year.

The heat.

Keeping it fresh and new,
Brutalism

Cannot Get The Christopher Cross Song Out Of My Head

2011-05-31T14:20:00.002Z

Check out the latest from the Dilettantes on my other blog, the Dilettante Club.

We went sailing. And learned about the Poop Deck. And winches.

Then we had lunch at a place called "Pusser's". I am not making any of this up.

Continuing to make a hobby of innuendo,
Brutalism

A Little Local Flavor

2011-05-25T14:14:00.000Z

Through the years, I've found that when I push myself to do things out of my comfort zone, it usually ends up ~~in an arrest~~ helping me grow as a person.

This weekend's attempt to hang out at a biker bar was an exception.

Read about it in this week's Oakton Patch column.

Totally in a box,
Brutalism

Is We All Really?

2011-05-24T17:44:00.003Z

I went for a run last night. This was my first run of more than a mile since my knee injury three years ago, so it was something of a feat - both physically and psychologically. My former running partner (and fellow Dilettante) Amanda was nice enough to run with me. And we did 6 miles (4 running, 2 walking) at pretty close to my old pace. (Though slower than little miss "My dad owns a running store in Colorado and it's in my blood"'s pace...)

I was scared to attempt this -- and it became even more frightening as we ran along the trail and passed a spray-painted message that read:

     I is lamp.

About 20 feet down the path, we came upon a second spray-painted message. This one read:

     U R lamp.

And a few more feet beyond that, the third message:

     We all is lamp.

That was a bit of a head scratcher. The final message a little further down though, was pretty clear. It stated simply:

      Eff your Mother

Poetry, really.

In preparation for the run on such a humid night, Amanda had drunk a ton of water prior to meeting me at the trail. She really needed to urinate, but there was nowhere to go, so she said to me, "Let's talk about dry things."

So as though she had requested I do this in the form of Jeopardy! answers, I provided the following:

What is the Gobi Desert?
What is Steven Wright's sense of humor?
What is the kind of cake that my mother-in-law does not like (This being an inside joke about me offering to bake my mother-in-law a cake one year on her birthday and asking her what kind of cake she liked, to which she had replied, "moist.")

Amanda said, "Excellent run of the category," and I replied, "Dry things for eight hundred, Alex."

Today...I actually feel okay. I kinda wish I had not worn high heeled sandals to work, but other than that...not in a lot of pain.

In other words:

I is fine.

Psychotic Acts Make Good Neighbors

2011-05-19T15:33:00.000Z

Lately, in addition to nine gazillion stink bugs and spiders (and swingers) we've been finding in our house, we have also had a couple of casualties in the yard. This week alone, we found a dead frog and a dead snake (and the dead snake was on the front sidewalk, as if to taunt me).

These gruesome discoveries prompted me to post the following on Facebook:

I received the following comments on that post:

(It also prompted me to re-visit my 6th grade science textbook as I could have sworn that "amphibian" and "reptile" meant the same thing...)

The next day, a neighbor up the street posted the following on Facebook, to which I commented:

And then, just yesterday, as I was retrieving the mail from my mailbox, I opened it and found this:

I love my neighbors.

Even With Two Lives, I Can't Come Up With 100 Things

2011-05-18T14:17:00.000Z

A lot of us bloggers lead double lives -- our real life and our blog life. My take on this duality (and my own Arnold-like admission) is detailed in this week's At Home with Brutalism column at the Oakton Patch.

Also, here is a link to last week's At Home with Brutalism column, in which I attempt to create a list of "100 things I want to do before I die" (and make it all the way to number 31). I'm an achiever.

Making you feel better by comparison since 2004,
Brutalism

She Loves Me Not

2011-05-16T15:02:00.004Z

UPDATE: DC Blogs linked to this post today. I'm hoping one of the readers is a family therapist...or a casting director...

-----------------------------------------------

My daughter and I had a little disagreement last night. I drew a picture of what her hair looked like when she was a baby (sticking up all over the place) and apparently, it upset her. (Like it's my fault she had crazy hair when she was a baby.) (Actually, since she drew from my gene pool, it actually is my fault she had crazy hair.) (Dammit. This parenting thing is hard.)

I knew this upset her, because after I drew that, she drew a picture of me with crazy hair...

...and a beard.

This is the picture. I had to go over the white crayon with ink so it would show up.
At least she drew me smiling before drawing all over my face and giving me a beard.

I'm guessing that my laughter over the beard picture is not the response she was going for, because she then took another sheet of paper and wrote, I LOVE MOMMY in huge capital letters. Then, she marched over to where I was sitting, and very deliberately drew a circle around the sentiment and then a diagonal line through it:

Which made me think the following:

a) This would be an awesome album name and cover art

b) She is five. I am not kidding you when I say I am alternately terrified and intrigued by how dramatic some of our disagreements may become in about ten years.

c) I am sometimes glad I had a child later in life, as I may be in full dementia by the time that point arrives.

d) That would also be an awesomely disturbing tattoo

e) I love that little piece of work.

Leaving Us Hung Out To Dry

2011-05-08T23:49:00.001Z

Not mine. And I'm a little sad it means I'm getting older since when I saw
this in the parking lot of my local 7-11 recently, I did not for one minute
worry that it might be.

Although, my dirty laundry is becoming more and more public thanks to my increasingly frequent trips to the local laundromat.

Hey, a girl has to socialize somewhere.

Actually, our horrible, terrible, loud, worthless, ridiculous, awful, almost-brand-new-supposed-to-be-awesome-frontloading washing machine has been an utter piece of crap since we bought it. We have had five (read it: FIVE) service calls (one of which involved the repairman doing something so unseemly in our downstairs bathroom that we have promised, for our own sanity, to never speak of it again) and the effing thing still is not fixed.

Because we don't have a reliable washing machine right now, we just go as long as we can before it gets to the point where we're in danger of having nothing but formal gowns (Canetto) and overalls (me) to wear to work, and then we pack up the car and head to the laundromat. (Which, by the way, my daughter thinks is about the most fun anyone can have and will sit and stare at the washing machines for the duration of the wash cycle.)

Note to self: Put 529 plan contributions toward something that might have a better chance of paying off. Like betamax.

This new washing machine came highly recommended by Consumer Reports and replaced a 35-year-old Kenmore that was still working. But it was old, and our dryer had just died, so we figured it was a good time to replace them both.

I think that just because something is older it does mean that it has lost its value and sometimes the newer version of something, while shiny and pretty on the surface, is not necessarily better. I feel like there is an analogy here, but I'm not quite sure what it is. (Donald Trump...)

The washer repairman and his digestive issues are scheduled to come again this Wednesday to finally resolve the problem. Looks like I'll be wearing my Flashdance sweatshirt and MC Hammer pants to a client meeting tomorrow.

The Barn Isn't The Only Thing They're Raising

2011-05-05T14:16:00.003Z

My friend, Jon, posted a link on Facebook to an Amish online dating service.

As a public service to my Amish brethren, I'm happy to provide the following list of Amish pick-up lines to help them navigate the devil's playground that is online dating:

10. Is that one of Satan's reflective devices in thouest's pocket? Because I can see myself in thouest's lace-up woollen trousers.
9. Got any Pennsylvania Dutch in thou? Want some?
8. My name is Jebediah. Remember that...thou will be screaming it later.
7. What dost thou sayest I plow thou's fields?
6. What's your hex sign?
5. What has 148 teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk? Not my zipper, as those are the work of the devil.
4. If I told thou that thou had a great body, would thouest bear eleven of my children?
3. Churn here often?
2. Let's take this courtin' buggy straight to Intercourse (Pennsylvania)

and the #1 Amish pick up line:

1. I would love some of thou's whoopie pie, if thou knowest what I mean...

Kathleen 2.0

2011-05-04T16:04:00.001Z

I saw a few minutes of Tosh.0 the other night, and it featured a clip of a gymnast whose ankle broke and therefore, left his foot at a very unnatural angle from his leg. I cannot get that image out of my head. I will never forgive you, Tosh.0.

Although, the new and improved version of me might find it in her heart to do so. I explain in this week's Oakton Patch column.

Thankful for my intact talus,
Brutalism

I Wore Paunts In Staunton

2011-05-02T16:10:00.007Z

Note: Staunton, Virginia, is pronounced how a northerner-by-birth (like me) pronounces "aunt" -- as "ant" and not as "awnt" like the Southerners who I grew up with in Virginia Beach pronounced it. As such, I already approved of the place before we got there.

We were in Staunton this weekend for no good reason. Other than the fact that this is the home of the Statler Brothers and we are Statler Brothers groupies. (That is not true. Although, my father did love the Statler Brothers and I could probably name more Statler Brothers songs and albums than I would ever care to admit. Same with my mom and Neil Sedaka. With this kind of musical influence, there was really never any danger of me joining a rock band.)

Staunton is three hours from Northern Virginia on Amtrak and we read that once we got there we would not need a car -- which is something we love. We also love to go away for the weekend often. I do not know why...as we live in a very exciting area. Probably so I can immediately decide that I want to move anywhere we visit and that is not at all annoying for Canetto.

This is us at the Amtrak station in Manassas. Our photo was taken by a man who looked
like a child molester and whose hands were shaking so badly that he immediately dropped the camera after
taking this photo. I have no idea what is going on with my boobs here.

Canetto found a place for us to stay that was a huge loft apartment on top of a couple of shops. It was decorated beautifully and is the type of place I envision myself living. I forget ~~sometimes~~ continually that I am not young, urban and fabulous.

Seriously, check this out:

The owner of the loft left a huge bunch of fresh flowers in the pottery vase on the table and a cake plate in the fridge stocked with fresh baked goods:

Immediately asked if we could come back here. We had been in town about 25 minutes.

We did a bunch of fun stuff in this sleepy little artsy town: walked to a park and fed ducks, watched a glass-blowing demonstration at a glass studio, went to a farmer's market, toured the Mary Baldwin campus, rode the trolley, went to dinner at restaurants that served locally-grown foods, shopped at funky little stores...

Today, I'm back to reality. Living in my decidedly suburban '70s split level house, working at my corporate job and missing Staunton.

Staunton -- I'm entraunced,
Brutalism

On The Road Again

2011-04-27T14:03:00.002Z

Damn you, Shut up and Run. You somehow make distance running seem like a good idea. It is your fault that I am going to attempt a half marathon in a few months. (Well, your fault and the fault of my friend, Amanda, who just got herself into pretty amazing shape training for a 10-miler.) You both suck.

My Oakton Patch article this week is all about what drove me to this decision. The last time I did something like this was back in 2008, when I was much younger and much more sleep-deprived.

Check out the Patch article. Wish me luck. And please pretend you never saw that photo of me not wearing makeup in the link to the marathon in 2008. (For chrissakes...I made a point to apply makeup before giving birth so I'd like the delivery room photos...and here I go posting a photo of me without makeup for the world to see.)

From really bad choices come really great stories,
Brutalism

Extremity Makeover

2011-04-26T14:04:00.000Z

Last night, I was reviewing our Easter pictures and thinking "Awww...my little girl will not stay young forever. Look how sweet she is in her Easter dress and holding a cute, furry little bunny rabbit, and ~~sporting a few tats,~~ smiling sweetly at the camera":

Makes my teeth ache it is so sweet...

But then....THEN....I noticed her hand:

Aaaaahhhh! WTF is going on here?

I get that it is a camera angle and that it is the bunny fur, but honestly...wouldn't the bunny's fur be BETWEEN her fingers and not sprouting up through the MIDDLE of her fingers like she is some kind of alien?

This (and the fact that our home alarm went off in the middle of the night last night because I forgot to shut the garage door all the way -- oops. And sorry, alarm company and neighbors) kept me up all night.

Granted, her gene pool kind of set the stage for this:

I guess this explains my fear of drawn butter.

So much for our hand model careers,
Brutalism

Poppin' Some Caps. Yo.

2011-04-23T11:05:00.002Z

Once again, a highlight of the month was the Dilettante Club activity (shooting), and not just because some guy in the next lane did an idiotic dance and then almost killed us. (If we had a nickel for every time that has happened...)

And I did it in a dress and heels:

In other news...this morning is my final "treatment." I feel like I should celebrate in some way -- although getting a tiny shred of my dignity back by never having to go through this again is pretty much its own reward.

Have a great weekend,

Brutalism

My CBS News Clip - Following A Story On Charlie Sheen - How Appropriate

2011-04-22T11:10:00.002Z

Some points of clarification:

1. Hillary and I really did not walk around Chicago all day holding a diorama together. (It was just for part of the day)
2. This spot ran at 10:15 on the 10 o'clock news...meaning it was the slowest news day, ever (if the fact that we followed a spot on Charlie Sheen's stage show did not tip you off)
3. I could not love any more the fact that they designate me as "Kathleen Canedo...Peep Artist"
4. I almost keep a straight face as Hillary is recalling all of the places we took our diorama. Yay, me!
5. I think Mai Martinez is mocking us a little bit at the end of the story. I respect that.

Autograph line forms to the left,
Brutalism

We're Number Two!!!

2011-04-21T06:33:00.004Z

(Perhaps I should re-phrase)...

Hillary and I are the second-place finishers in the Chicago Tribune Peeps Diorama contest 2011.

As I wrote in my Facebook status update last week when they let us know this and then asked us to keep it quiet for a whole week: Dude.

Read all the glowing things they wrote about us and our diorama here.

All I have to say is this:

...perhaps our DC to Chicago marketing campaign paid off
...perhaps the esteemed judges (movie critic Michael Phillips, visual arts reporter Lauren Viera and theater critic Chris Jones) recognize true artistic ability
...perhaps there are many fewer entries in the Chicago Tribune Contest than in the Washington Post contest

Details.

All we know is that our diorama, "Larry Peep Live on PNN interviewing Snoopy Snoopy Poop Dog" is NUMBER TWO in a major metropolitan area publication.

How much do we love Chicago? A lot, that's how much. They continue to prove just how much of a collective sense of humor they have. Big love to our Midwestern peeps for their love of our peeps.

So many people to thank:
(*digs folded-up paper containing acceptance speech out of cleavage in revealing slinky gown*)

My Peeps Partner in Crime (PPIC), Hillary, who came up with the idea for the diorama, did not allow us to crap out of doing a diorama this year even though we were both close to doing so, and immediately agreed to fly to Chicago to deliver this thing. You complete me.
My Oakton Patch editor, Nicole, who from the nanosecond I mentioned this, began plotting how to make it an event on the Patch site and was completely fun and supportive all the way. I almost feel bad about missing my column deadline every.single.week.
Our Midwest Partner in Peephood (MPIP), Lauren, who shuttled us around Chicago and took pictures and got us a television interview. I feel like we should give you 15%.
Fellow Dilettantes Amy (who was the first person to send along the article about Alan Simpson's gaffe) and Amanda who provided constant support, retweets and comments. (Affectionate noogies.)
Best friend from seventh grade Kath (for recommending LePeep restaurant and trying to recruit a Chicago flash mob). I would not have entrusted the diaper string shawl to anyone else.
All of our friends at the Peeps Store/National Harbor; Lauren from Northwestern; the fratcation boys from the University of Nebraska, the impossibly gorgeous Suzanne LeMignot and Scott from CBS; and the fine and adorable (Hi, Cullen!) staff at the Palomar Hotel. (Big thanks, also, to Rachel, for getting us a sweet deal at the Palomar -- I did not think it was possible to love Kimpton Hotels any more.)
Our crazy friends and family who forwarded along the links to our adventures and begged for votes (JenBC), blog readers (and especially commenters), Facebook friends, and Twitter followers for coming along for the ride
Canetto and Avery for reasons too numerous, mushy, and/or embarrassing to mention
And of course, the one who guides me spiritually. You know...Bronze Fonz

(Music begins playing me off-stage...)

The Gong Show

2011-04-20T14:17:00.001Z

(Aside: I actually went to a taping of The Gong Show out in LA back in the day. It was my favorite program at the time and I remember that the show I attended featured every contestant singing some version of the song "Feelings." I also remember that during a break, Chuck Barris took a bite out of an orange and then tossed the orange into the studio audience.)

I'm suddenly less clear about whether this actually happened or if it was some sort of flashback.

Anyway, the gong show I'm referring to in my Oakton Patch column today is something completely different. Check it out, or you will hurt my feelings...

...whoa, whoa, whoa...feeelllinnngssss,
Brutalism

So Is That A Yellow Card Or A Red Card?

2011-04-17T10:57:00.003Z

A couple of e-mails from my daughter's soccer coach yesterday morning:

The first one:

Parents,

The fields are open. I will see you there. We will have many teams there, so parking might be interesting. Look for the guy in the yellow shit. That is our color this season.

Coach Tom

Which was almost immediately followed up by the second one:

That earlier email was missing one very important letter. I will be wearing a yellow SHIRT. (and a very red face!)

Sorry,
Tom

Still laughing,
Brutalism

Update 1: Thanks, DC Blogs, for linking to this today. I appreciate it. I'm not sure how Coach Tom feels.
Update 2: Also...see Jeff Cockey in Atlas Shrugged (out in theaters now!)

Tomato Tomahto

2011-04-14T11:34:00.000Z

After writing so many posts and columns in the past two weeks that my hand turned into a lobster claw:

Seriously? I still don't know what is going on there...

I ~~phoned it in~~ tried something new at At Home with Brutalism. The column this week is a photo essay (captions provided by me -- see? there is some writing involved) of our Sunday in Chicago as seen through the lens of Vanessa at Violet Rose Photography.

Check it out. Comment. Delight in the fact that they are announcing winners of this thing next Thursday and that maybe I can shut up about it for another year at that point...

XOXOXO,
Brutalism

Diorama Delivery Adventure - Third and Final Part

2011-04-13T11:37:00.001Z

Thanks to a recommendation from my friend, Kath, Sunday started with breakfast at Le Peep restaurant. But of course.

On our way into the restaurant, we passed two Chicago police officers, so we asked if they would mind taking a picture with our diorama. They did not, which was great, because as Hillary distracted them with the Peeps diorama, I hot wired a nearby car.

Cops apprehending the PEEPetrator. (ha ha ha snort). They should have apprehended me for wearing the most unflattering shirt on the face of the earth.

We had breakfast and took photos of our diorama with the entire wait staff at Le Peep (their request). Toward the end of breakfast, Hillary said that she thought Harpo Studios (Oprah's place) was near by. I used the GPS on my phone and discovered it was 171 feet (yes, feet) from the restaurant. So we immediately hailed a cab.

Not really. We walked to the end of the block and found it:

As I stood across the street taking this photo of Hillary, I saw a sporty silver Mercedes drive by and I swore Oprah herself was driving it. I would imagine that she probably has a driver during the week, but it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, so it did not seem too outlandish that it could be Oprah. That's all I had to say to Hillary to prompt her to take off running down the street after "Oprah" with the diorama in her hand. She did not catch up to the car, which is unfortunate, because we probably could have taken another round of photos with our police officer friends.

Not one to give up easily, Hillary then marched into the front door of Harpo Studios and tried to convince the security guard on duty that we needed to see Oprah. The guard listened to our diorama story, smirked and then told us that Oprah was not there that day. (Note: Liar, liar, pants on fire.)

Dejected, we headed back to the hotel to meet up with Lauren and with Vanessa -- a professional photographer that my Oakton Patch editor hired to document everything we did on Sunday leading up to and during the diorama delivery at the Chicago Tribune. (Vanessa brought her husband, Kyle, and daughter, Violet, along for the shenanigans. Which we loved, because just like our children, Violet will now grow up with "Peeps diorama" as part of her vernacular.) Indoctrinate 'em while they're young -- that's what we say.

We strolled along the Chicago River, took photos in front of Chicago Tribune Building, pretended we were kissing the Silver Guy (we had to pay for this privilege -- awful flashbacks to high school), and slowly made our way to the Tribune.

At the Tribune, we started trying to rally people walking by to be in our "diorama delivery" photo with the lure of foam Peeps visors. We got a few people interested...and with our small group assembled, we phoned Leo upstairs at the Tribune to let him know we were there for the drop off.

Could our group of supporters look any less interested? Somehow fantastic.

Please let me set this up properly (as if the flight to Milwaukee, drive to Chicago and tour of the city with our diorama didn't already do that for you). We envisioned quite the photo opportunity here, as this was the defining moment of our trip -- what everything so far had led up to -- the denouement, if you will.

The reality? Leo came out, posed uncomfortably for one photo, then fled -- almost ran -- back into the safety of the Tribune building. This all happened so fast, we really did not have time to react, or say goodbye to our diorama. It was a downer for about three seconds, then we realized that it was kind of the perfect ending to the adventure.

For the rest of the afternoon, we hung out at our hotel for a while (with new friends Vanessa, Kyle and Violet ) and tried to get over our feeling of emptiness and going from being the focus of people's attention as we walked down the street with a diorama to barely getting a passing glance. (Now we know what it is like to be Winona Ryder post Reality Bites). (Minus the shoplifting conviction.) (At least for Kathleen...)

Now...we just wait and see who wins this thing. Though, as my friend, Amy, noted on Facebook, "Haven't you already won?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

We mentioned that we were doing a giveaway to whoever (whomever?) left the funniest comment/question on the Oakton Patch Q&A article that ran over the weekend. And the winner of the fabulous At Home with Brutalism prize pack is...

Trucking Tumbleweed

For her comment/question:

I think y'all did a great job on the diorama. I'm a big fan of ear hair portrayed artistically, and am keeping my fingers crossed that you win. Regarding the theme of your vignette, did you consider having Enema Man on the stage also? And if so how would you have done that exactly?

that made us laugh and also showed a knowledge of the subject matter. (Bonus that the subject matter was "enema.")

Trucking T - Please provide me with an address where you'd like this sent (you can send through FB e-mail) and I'll get that out to you.

(Aside: Will this get you off my back, Trout Almondine?)

Diorama Delivery Adventure Part 2 - Chicago

2011-04-12T14:29:00.007Z

(Aside: Twice during the weekend someone mentioned that our diorama reminded them of the movie Dinner for Schmucks. I guess some guy in the movie makes tiny vignettes starring taxidermied mice or something...which apparently reminds people of our Peeps diorama. Interestingly, it reminds me of Jeffrey Dahmer.)

(Bonus aside: My first-ever post on this blog (June 15, 2004) is entitled "Chicago" and is about a trip I took there. The trip included an architecture tour of the river, which is when I first learned about the Brutalist architecture style and is the reason I subsequently named this blog Brutalism. Full circle, my brothers and sisters, full circle...)

Almost immediately after checking into our hotel on Saturday, Hillary's friend, Lauren (who lives in the Chicago area) met us there and the day o' photo opportunities began. A brief note about Lauren: everyone needs a Lauren. She was a combination chauffeur, photographer, negotiator, motivator, agent, planner, friend and mom (she packed snacks). She is the reason we covered as much ground in Chicago as we did during the two days we were there. She is also the reason we were on television (did I mention we were on television?). We'll get to that in a moment...

Me, Lauren and Hillary and our reflection in the Bean.

Our goal was to take as many photos as we could with our diorama in front of recognizable Chicago landmarks, and in one day, we covered the following: Wrigley Field, Lou Malnati's (for deep dish pizza and buckets of diet coke), Willis Tower (formerly the Sears Tower), Chicago Theatre, Chicago Symphony, Art Institute of Chicago, an El Station, Marshall Fields department store and Millennium Park. And all of that was before 5:00pm. At Millennium Park, we spent a lot of time taking photos at the Bean, which is where we met lots of new friends:

A group of fraternity boys from the University of Nebraska who were adorable and cool enough to put on Peeps visors and take photos with us (and even edified us about Nebraska being the home of Kool-Aid -- who knew?). True, they did mention on Twitter that they were on a "fratcation" which would normally be completely unacceptable, but they were fun, so we had to give them a pass. (Also, I believe we may have used the word "peeptastic" during the weekend, so we really were in no position to point fingers.)

Yes. They are about 12. And yes, I'm holding my purse like a grandma holds her pocketbook. Thanks for noticing.

A woman named Lauren (different Lauren) who is a Northwestern grad student in journalism who had stationed herself at the Bean for a 24-hour period with the intent of writing a story about interesting people she came across during that time. When she saw us with a large group of guys wearing Peeps visors and holding a Peeps diorama, she came over to talk. She was hilariously funny and interviewed us and we will be in the story she writes about this experience. (Sadly, she was booted from the park at 11:00pm, so she was not there 24 hours as planned, but she did get a number of fascinating stories in the hours that she was.)
The CBS 2 folks -- Suzanne Le Mignot (who I will heretofore refer to as the "impossibly gorgeous Suzanne Le Mignot") and her cameraman, Scott. They were by Lake Michigan near Millennium Park to do a follow-up story on a woman in a wheelchair who had fallen into the lake the day before (the woman was fine). Well, the indispensable Lauren marched right up to the news truck and told them that they needed to do a story on our trip from the DC area to Chicago to deliver our diorama. She was very persuasive, because a couple of minutes later, they both got out of the truck and started setting up shots and asking us about the trip. (And shooting b-roll to use as part of the story. B-roll that included Hillary and I walking down a sidewalk holding the diorama TOGETHER. As though we had walked around the city all day doing that. Ridiculous. We took TURNS holding the diorama and walking through the city.) The impossibly gorgeous Suzanne said that she could not promise the story would run, but took our contact information in case it did.

Scott the cameraman getting an excellent shot of the diorama.

Us, with the impossibly gorgeous Suzanne Le Mignot. We are squinting because we had to look into the sun. I have no explanation for my lobster-claw hand.

It is here that I would like to remind you all that we did not make it back to the hotel in time for their complimentary wine hour. That, my friends, is dedication to a mission.
We made it back to the hotel at 6:30 and collapsed for about an hour. (Hillary and I had been up and going for about 15 hours at this point.) I was suffering from a bucket of diet coke-induced stomach ache, so around 8:00pm when Hillary and Lauren rallied for dinner in Greektown with flaming cheese, I stayed in and took a bath. During dinner, Hillary received a call from the impossibly gorgeous Suzanne letting her know that our spot was going to run at 10:15 during the evening news.
Hillary and Lauren came back to the hotel in time to see our story (which had a teaser leading up to it, and which focused on the diorama a lot and happily included some of the ridiculous b-roll). We are currently trying to get a copy of this, which I will gladly share on this blog. (The best part? As a lead-in to the story, the impossibly gorgeous Suzanne's narration says that "they saw us and had to do a story". Which is slightly different and much kinder than the truth -- that Lauren strong-armed them into doing a story.)

I'll be doing one more installment from this trip tomorrow, which will culminate in the ultimate delivery of our diorama to the Chicago Tribune. Did I mention that you can vote for our diorama until Thursday at noon? www.chicagotribune.com/features/peeps (Larry Peep Live -- but you already knew that, didn't you?)

Also, if you'd like to see the complete photo album from this weekend, you can visit our community page on Facebook.

Diorama Delivery Adventure Part 1 - Milwaukee

2011-04-11T19:03:00.003Z

On Saturday morning, my friend, Hillary, and I left National Airport in DC at ridiculous o'clock. We flew direct to Milwaukee, as airfare to Milwaukee was $300 less than airfare to Chicago. (And Peeps/JustBorn did not end up sponsoring our airfare. So...don't buy Peeps. They suck. Unless they are still considering paying our airfare. In which case...Peeps -- yum! You are the ~~only bunny and chick shaped slightly stale tasting marshmallow~~ best Easter candy out there.)

The plan was to drive from Milwaukee to Chicago (about 1.5 hours) after spending a little time driving around Milwaukee to take some photos with our Peeps diorama:

We asked three different Milwaukeeans (what are people from Milwaukee called?) what we should see in the hour we had to explore their fine city...and all three (independently of one another) said, "well, the Bronze Fonz is about it."

I beg to differ...I think another interesting thing to see in the area is exit 340 from Rte. 94. Is it home to both the Bong Recreation Area (completely true) and the Mars Cheese Castle (also completely true). That city planner is a genius.

It was gray and overcast in Milwaukee, and there were very few people out and about. We made our way to the Harley-Davidson plant, the Miller Brewing Company, and ultimately the Bronze Fonz:

Bronze Fonz should be a band name. Or my first tattoo.

We then headed south to Chicago....Chi-town...the Windy City...and drove straight to our hotel...the fabulous Palomar on State Street. I love Kimpton Hotels, anyway, but this particular Kimpton was especially gorgeous, not to mention reserved for us by Hillary's sister-in-law who works for Kimpton and therefore secured us an employee rate. We were checked in by John, who asked as he pulled up our reservation, "You're here for the Peeps contest, right?" as though he had checked in many other finalists already.

John.

Over the next two days, we got photos of us and our diorama with every doorman, porter, front desk staff person and manager at the Palomar. (One of whom was a man that I handcuffed myself to for the photo. Hillary immediately sent that photo to Canetto without explanation. You know, so he knew I missed him.)

More tomorrow on our adventures around Chicago, including all of the landmarks we visited and our unintentional media blitz that got us a spot on the CBS evening news in Chicago (really!).

In the meantime, please vote for our Larry Peep Live diorama: www.chicagotribune.com/features/peeps

Totally missing being followed by paparazzi,
Brutalism

To read about the Diorama Delivery Adventure Part 2 click here. And for the 3rd and final part, click here.

I Give...And I Give...And I Give...

2011-04-08T13:42:00.007Z

Today, the Oakton Patch will be posting a Q&A (at 3:00pm EST) about our journey to Chicago to deliver our diorama. As part of this interactive feature, we are asking readers to provide questions or comments (in the comments section on the Patch site) that my Peeps partner, Hillary, and I will respond to from the road, in real-time, over the next two days.

Hillary and me at my Oktoberfest party in 2009. She is pregnant. She is also Jewish and dressed as a fraulein at an Oktoberfest party. This is one of the many reasons I love Hillary. I am not pregnant. Perhaps the giant Spaten in my hand gave that away.

Ask or comment on anything relating to our journey (within reason, I do have to live here) -- we'll respond. But wait...there's more! If your question or comment is deemed the funniest one we receive throughout the weekend (based on our very detailed criteria of "what makes us laugh"), we will send you the following exclusive "At Home with Brutalism" prize pack:

That's right! You will receive a Peeps hat (direct from the only Peeps store in the entire world), a Spy vs. Spy action figure with many violent accessories (you will understand the significance when you read the article), and a "Back Door Guests are Best" sign (because -- hilarious). (Thanks for the idea, Sarah of So...what else?)

All of this for just being funny, something you all do effortlessly every time you leave a comment on this blog. (While I don't know the exact value of this prize pack, I can say with confidence that it is more than what me and 799,999 of my closest government friends will earn all next week.)

The link to the Q&A is here. (You will be considered extra-funny in the stringent judging criteria if you also follow me on Twitter @BrutalismBlog, friend me on Facebook: Kathleen Canedo, and become a follower on this blog.)

Transitive Property

2011-04-07T17:59:00.000Z

a) I work for a government contractor.

b) The government may be shutting down all next week.

c) Therefore, I may be on vacation all next week.

Which would be nice if I could make plans to go somewhere, but the status could change at any time and I don't want to be called back early from Tahiti, you know?

It would also be nice if I could visit some museums or the National Zoo, but alas, they will also be closed.

So, I will likely be stuck at home cleaning out ~~the liquor cabinet~~ closets and finally vacuuming up all of the dead ants in the sun room. Funny how long I can tolerate living with dead bodies. In a house with no cellar, especially.

I'm not good with no structure in my life. Next week could get ugly. Wish me luck.

We Can Almost Taste It

2011-04-06T14:27:00.000Z

Only a few more days until we drop our Peeps diorama off at the Chicago Tribune. Then, we can go back to potty jokes and dirty-sounding euphemisms around here, because Peeps is serious business.

Seriously, since we found out we were finalists, all of the writing, marketing, phone calls, tweeting and planning that @hillaryberman and I have done seems like a second job. A second fun job, but still a second job.

Peeps diorama marketing burnout = first-world problem, I am well aware.

Anyway, this week's column is up at the Oakton Patch. Check it out. Recommend it. Leave comments

Etc.

2011-04-05T11:32:00.002Z

Some items on my to-do list today:

hand off shirts to stranger in Oakton so that he can fly them back to Indonesia where our friend can use them to size the wedding wear she is having made for us
mail handcuffs to our contact in Chicago so that I don't have to try and get those through airport security on Saturday along with our diorama (we're flying out at some god-awful-early hour and, while I know the handcuffs-and-diorama-through-security story would probably be a good one...I'm not a morning person and prefer to not deal). Raise your hand if you are completely disappointed in me and think I should not be allowed to have a blog named Brutalism.
provide background information about Hillary and I to the Chicago Tribune for their story on us, while conspicuously leaving out any mention of age (one of us may be ten years older than the other and I don't want to embarrass someone of a certain age who should not be spending her time on such undignified shenanigans...)

Because of our trip to Chicago this weekend, my husband has to take over at home...which means that he is responsible for taking Avery to one of her friend's birthday parties on Saturday. I'm a little sad to miss it -- not just because she is one of Avery's best friends and we really like her parents, but also because something quirky happens at every birthday party involving this child.

At her swim party a couple of years ago, Canetto was standing in the pool talking to the little girl's dad, while also throwing a swim mask to our daughter in the shallow end so she could retrieve it and bring it back to him to throw again. (In re-reading that, it sounds an awful lot like fetch. We're terrible parents.) On one throw, Canetto overshot and the mask hit the birthday girl squarely on the head and she burst into tears. In his characteristically dry delivery, Canetto turned to the little girl's dad (who had obviously witnessed the whole thing since he was standing right there) and said:

"Wow. I'm glad her father didn't see that."

Last year, this little girl and her mom showed up for Avery's undersea-themed birthday party at the appointed time on a Sunday.

Only problem was...the party had been on Saturday.

Fortunately, all the decorations were still up, so we re-enacted the party games and had leftover cake and took pictures and Avery got to celebrate her birthday twice. (Hmmm...wonder if this was somehow premeditated payback for all of the fetch games...)

Did I mention you should follow me on Twitter @BrutalismBlog? You should also friend me on Facebook -- Kathleen Canedo. And if you live in the Chicago area and want to participate in our diorama drop-off this coming Sunday, April 10th...let me know -- we'd love to see you.

Photo Essay

2011-04-04T12:29:00.001Z

Yesterday was all about the photos -- at the National Harbor in Maryland:

With Peeps progeny. Hillary is sitting in a nostril.

In Washington, DC:

Our diorama is very happy to see you.

And here in my little town of Oakton, Virginia.

As I mentioned, there really is not a lot in Oakton proper, but I did manage to get a few landmarks captured on film. (This will be important when the Smithsonian contacts us one day to display our Peeps diorama.)

I got another photo -- and accosted by a volunteer who bent my ear for about ten full minutes about how I needed to volunteer at the Vale School House -- which I looked into a couple of years ago and would be happy to do if the membership meetings were not held at 10:00 AM ON TUESDAYS. Ahem:

Uncropped version of the original below, which also included a soundtrack that went something like this: "Don't go near the street. Don't you dare climb over that fence. Just hold it together for about two more minutes. Come back here. Stop it. No, you cannot go to the bathroom behind the schoolhouse." Thankfully, Canetto did hold it together for a few more minutes...

If you are not following me on Twitter -- why? For the love of God...why? (Convenient, one-click button below...because I aim to please...)

And So It Begins...

2011-04-03T21:25:00.002Z

This weekend, my Peeps Partner in Crime (PPIC) and I took our diorama all over the DC metro area for photo ops, as we are now documenting our journey from DC to Chicago next Saturday, April 9th, to hand-deliver our diorama to the Chicago Tribune offices. This means that we ventured into DC this morning in the midst of all the insane cherry blossom crowds to get photos in front of some monuments, and then we each took photos of significant landmarks in our towns of Bethesda and Oakton. (Oakton, while lovely, has a bit of a dearth of significant landmarks. I got creative.)

See what I mean?

We also stopped by the Peeps store at the National Harbor and they set us up with a ton of swag. (Thanks so much, Dave and Eric -- you guys totally get it.)

I have a real chick on my shoulder. >groan<

In case I did not mention it, this journey will be covered by the Chicago Tribune and the Oakton Patch. We will also be tweeting about it and updating Brutalism along the way. If you are not already following me on twitter, please do -- @BrutalismBlog.

Power to the Peeps (with fist pump),
Brutalism

Chicago Is Fueling The Nerd Fire

2011-04-01T05:10:00.006Z

In all of my excitement yesterday, I realized that I forgot to post the diorama pictures. So...here they are, along with the description of our diorama for the judges:

Our diorama pays homage to the recently-retired Larry King and the recently-blundering Alan Simpson. Focusing on the iconic aspects of the show -- the instantly-recognizable backdrop, old-fashioned microphone (made from a Tylenol caplet), and, of course, Larry's signature tie and suspenders -- this vignette portrays Snoop Dogg's response to Simpson's gaffe. (And Snoop is shown with his signature braids and sunglasses.) (ed. - nerd alert)

What do you think? Are we winning Chicago? (Click to see our entries from prior years: Blue Man Group in 2010, Whac-a-Peep in 2009 and the WGA Writer's Strike in 2008.)

PEEPS-RELATED UPDATE 1: We are definitely going to Chicago next weekend to hand-deliver this thing - we just finalized our reservations. We plan to take photos and provide blog and twitter updates during our journey.

PEEPS-RELATED UPDATE 2: Look what Canetto sent to my office today as a congratulations on being a Peeps finalist. I don't know what was better. The sentiment (he totally gets me) or explaining to my co-workers why I got flowers today...

It's Like The Oscars - For Peeps

2011-03-31T10:12:00.003Z

Yesterday, I received notification that the Peeps diorama Hillary and I submitted was chosen as a finalist in the Chicago Tribune Peeps diorama contest. (The Tribune person that notified us is named Darcel Rockett, which may be the coolest name I have ever heard -- and not just because she notified us that we were finalists...)

I will now (uncharacteristically) use about a billion exclamation points:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And you, my savvy readers, will note that I mentioned we were participating in the Washington Post contest. Well, we learned long ago that the Post (our hometown paper) does not seem to recognize our talents. So this year, we diversified...and entered our diorama into a few contests across the country.

We are so ~~unbelievably ridiculous~~ smart.

Hillary and I are now faced with needing to deliver our diorama to the Chicago Tribune offices for judging/photographing. As it is our baby, we do not want to trust this to FedEx or UPS, but want to hand-deliver it. Which had us looking up plane fare in our excitement last night.

And you thought I was kidding about needing to get a life...

GILF Dearest

2011-03-30T16:39:00.001Z

The weeks, they pass so quickly.

My Oakton Patch column is up -- this week, I make reference to private parts, the f-word, my mom and urine.

Again.

The column was fun while it lasted,
Brutalism

UPDATE: Great interview with Kady from A Lady Reveals Nothing at So...What Else? I loved her and her traveling lifestyle even before I got to the part where she listed me as one of her favorite bloggers. Loved her more after. Check it out!

More From The Disturbing Preschool Art Collection

2011-03-25T11:13:00.000Z

He certainly did.

Keys To My Happiness

2011-03-23T15:00:00.000Z

This week's Oakton Patch column is up and it is a milestone of sorts. It is the second column I've written for the Patch that references swinging.

(Brutalism has a much better track record. There are posts about swinging throughout this puppy: here and here and here and here and here and here and even here.) Even my FAQs reference swinging, for the love of God.

But perhaps the greater milestone is that I have now been writing a weekly column for six months -- today, my 26th column was posted. I'm proud that I have been able to keep it up (TWSS) and am enjoying it a lot.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some new neighbors to meet,
(*licks thumb and pinky on right hand and smooths down eyebrows*)
Brutalism

It Is An Honor Not To Be Nominated...

2011-03-18T19:49:00.034Z

One of my friends just sent the following, noting that several people in her office had received this "award" today:

How proud they must be. "Accomplishments." Can you imagine learning that you were in line to receive a professional commendation and this is what it turned out to be? I'd trade in the fancy celebratory dinner I had planned for a six-pack of Pabst (hipster product placement alert).

It just screams "lack of enthusiasm" doesn't it? "Yeah, you had some accomplishments...but we're too tired to name them specifically. Keep up the perfectly competent and satisfactory work, though, ~~tiger~~ lap dog."

Can you think of anything more vague? No, really -- can you? What could be less motivating than this wording on a commendation plaque?

Let's see what you come up with, you perfectly competent commenters,

Brutalism

UPDATE: Rodney at Mental Poo linked to this post in his weekly wrap up. No. You make me laugh, you sexy bitch, you.

Life Is Great. I Ought To Get One.

2011-03-16T14:06:00.000Z

Someone found Brutalism last night by googling "Calvin peeing on mixed races." (Brutalism is the number two result that pops up.) I'm guessing it is because of this and this?

This blog is an education every day.

In other, less racist, news my latest Oakton Patch column is up here. I hope you like it. And if you don't -- at least I hope you don't google "Calvin peeing on Brutalism's Oakton Patch column."

TMI On So Many Levels

2011-03-15T14:56:00.002Z

This past weekend, my partner in crime and I spent an ungodly amount of hours constructing our Peeps diorama for this year's Washington Post contest.

In the wee hours of the morning on Saturday, I bolted upright in bed, knowing that I must do a Snoop Dogg figure -- and not knowing how I would be able to construct his realistic-looking braids. (As realism is paramount when using Peeps as your art medium.)

Then, I remembered the doll heads.

You see, last year, when we did the Blue Man Group as our Peeps diorama, I bought three dolls from the dollar store to use as the Blue Men. We used the bodies but had no use for their heads (insert analogy for Charlie Sheen's "girlfriends" here). However, I've been in the diorama game long enough now to understand that I may need them for a diorama in the future, so I kept them. And in the past year, Canetto, Avery and I have enjoyed playing the doll head game. We take turns leaving the three creepy doll heads on each other's pillows, in each other's underwear drawers, in cereal boxes...so that the other members of our family will come upon them unexpectedly and have a heart attack. Oh -- the hi jinks that ensue!

As it turns out, I found them in the second underwear drawer in which I looked and promptly scalped one and made tiny little Snoop Dogg braids from her hair.

And then I spent the rest of the day questioning my existence.

Duh - Drinking!

2011-03-09T15:36:00.002Z

This week's Patch column is up. It's about how my husband and I have stayed married for almost twelve years even though we are very different people. (You read it here first -- my husband and I are not conjoined twins.)

How have we achieved this? One word: Beer.

I kid because I love.

Beer.

Check it out.

UPDATE: My Oakton Patch editor (Hi, Nicole!) just e-mailed me to let me know that someone found my column about traveling to Indonesia by doing a search for "diaper fetish." I feel legitimized as a writer.

UPDATE 2: My friend, Jeff, told me last night that he is currently filming a movie with Leo DiCaprio and is in a scene where he speaks to him. I, of course, asked that he please lick Leo for me. He wrote back, "Well, the film is about J. Edgar Hoover, so that action is probably written into the script already."

So....what else? Indeed

2011-03-07T19:30:00.000Z

Please visit my other blog, The Dilettante Club, to hear about my latest adventure: learning about gargoyles and grotesques. (Which is pretty much what all the Dilettantes looked like after a one-hour walking tour in the middle of a monsoon.)

Also, please visit So...what else? by Sarah Lindahl. She is brilliant, gorgeous, and very, very funny. (I'm not just saying that because she talks about how funny she thinks I am in her FAQs. Though I am ~~egotistical~~ ~~self-centered~~ ~~shallow~~ honest enough to admit that it is at least part of the reason.)

She's funny. She's worth following. Check her out.

Brutalism vs. Stack o' Crap - Worst WWE Event, Ever

2011-03-05T14:33:00.003Z

While attacking the stack 'o crap in my kitchen this morning, I came upon my notes from BlogHer 2010, written during the humor panel featuring Lizz Winstead, Jessica Bern and Jennifer, which included nuggets of wisdom like the following:

How can I do this [promotions/advertising on my blog] without being a whore? (Blogging...and life in general?)

Yeah, I really wrote that. Gawd, my handwriting is terrible.

Idea for sponsorship: Dilettante Chocolates
Lizz Winstead is funny -- she said she has written a new self-help book called "Fuck you"
Follow these humorists: Molly Ivins, Tina Fey, Lynda Barry, David Sedaris, Amy Sedaris (but not too closely...this has gotten you into trouble before...coff coff...Padma Lakshmi)
Lizz Winstead is funny again -- "I'm not an economist, but I'm not a dipshit."

With note-taking skills like that, my solid 1.95 average in college is beginning to make some sense, isn't it?

If you haven't already, read this week's Oakton Patch column. It is my recap of the Oscars. (And has me wishing I had not edited out my favorite line, "even the usually reliable sartorial insanity of Helena Bonham-Carter was absent -- she was wearing basic black.") So please pretend that is still in there.

Revisionist historian,
Brutalism

Indonesia or Bust?

2011-02-23T17:39:00.000Z

My latest Oakton Patch column is up today.

It is about (inadvertently) taking our daughter to a fetish festival when she was an infant.

(Which I have noticed is a glaring omission in most baby books under the "milestones" heading.)

Hope you enjoy it as much as Canetto enjoyed the women wearing nothing but body paint,
Brutalism

Where's The FCC When You Need Them?

2011-02-16T16:19:00.001Z

Last night, I got to meet the people behind some of my favorite blogs in the DC area at a little gathering at Vapiano's in Chinatown. People like:

Lacochran's Bloggery
The Southified Masshole
Always a Drunk, Never a Bride

...and several other bloggers and twitterers.

You never know how something like that will go, but all of them were just as funny and fun in person. (As was Lacochran's husband who shared that his family lives in a small town named Gray, Georgia, and that the fine folks of Gray have let their hometown pride get in the way of smart marketing. To wit: Gray Flowers and Gray Meat Company. Fantastic, no?) Thanks again to Lacochran for organizing this and for inviting me. (For the record, she looks nothing like Bette Midler.)

On my way home from happy hour, I was busy texting with my friend and ended up on the wrong train. This was moments after I jokingly told my husband that if I didn't call him from the Vienna metro by 9:00, it meant that I had been stabbed to death in the parking lot. (I'm hilarious like that.) Of course, the train mix-up meant that I did not get to Vienna until about 9:20. He was so concerned that he was busy reading our kid some books and hadn't even noticed the time. He is totally getting a dryer lint card next Valentine's Day.

In other news, this week's Oakton Patch column is up. My editor asked for a Valentine's-themed column about my husband. Instead, I wrote about words that I hate. Like "lover" and "luscious" and "pustule."

I'm such a romantic.

Check it out, you luscious pustule lovers,
Brutalism

Love In Any Schizophrenic Language

2011-02-15T18:30:00.005Z

Text conversation between me and my neighbor, Lisa, last night:

Me: My daughter is dropping valentines off in your mailbox for your daughters. One is decorated with a twig, dryer lint, a small plastic wine bottle and a puzzle piece. I have no explanation.

Lisa: No explanation necessary. I totally get it.

UPDATE: Perhaps this is an improvement over last year's valentine or her very first art installation.

Old School

2011-02-04T16:41:00.004Z

You know how you look back through old school photos and remember a time of innocence? A time of all-American wholesomeness?

Yeah, my parents don't either.

Recently, I was looking through pictures taken of milestone events in my young life -- you know, ring dance, graduation, and that very special night that holds so much promise, requires so much planning and is the subject of all too many teen romcoms -- the night you use your fake ID for the first time at the Jewish Mother when you're on a date and order a carafe of red wine and then complain to the waiter because it is (and I quote) "warm."

Actually, I'm talking about prom.

Back in high school, I was such a wannabe thrift-store-clothes-wearing, punk rock-loving, weird-guy dating chick. Instead, I was the irregular-Levi's-wearing, new wave-loving, normal-guy dating chick.

Fortunately, I was friends with some of the people I wanted to be like, so I figured I would prove just how "punk" I was by inviting one of these friends to the Bayside prom as my date. (Fun fact: I really did go to Bayside High School. Just like those mischievous imps on Saved by the Bell.)

This, gentle readers, is my prom photo from that night:

I guess this was just a rebellious phase. I'm not really sure what I was rebelling against, but that was kind of beside the point. I was a rebel! And I proved it by attending a school-sanctioned dance wearing the same Gunne Sax Jessica McClintock dress that no less than four other girls in my class were wearing.

Talk about sticking it to the man.

My parents did not really understand, and my mother suggested that one day I would regret this choice.

And guess what? She was totally wrong. It may have been a little unorthodox, but at least I had a completely memorable prom experience that is still fun to reflect upon. As a matter of fact, during the discussion in a book club I was in several years ago, our chat turned to first loves due to a theme in the book we were reading. A woman in the group was talking about how she had dated the same guy all through high school and how they had gone to prom and how it was such a quintessential high school romance.

And to that, I got to reply: "Really? Because I went to prom with a bisexual Robert Smith lookalike."

So all these years later, I don't regret a thing. Except perhaps looking my prom date up on Facebook recently:

(And only because he looks wwwwaaaayyyyy better than I do.)

Lip syncing for my life,

Brutalism

I Will Never Look At This Town The Same Way Again

2011-01-27T16:54:00.005Z

If I've learned anything in the 32 years that I've been alive...

...it is that I do not know how to count.

Today is my birthday. Which means that, as a gift, one of my best friends sent the following line from a work e-mail she received:

"Yesterday the vibrator convoy entered the inner town of [name of European town redacted]."

Which, as far as I know, was not a euphemism. But it will be from now on.

She totally gets me.

We got crushed with snow in the DC area last night and were without power from about 6:00pm on. So, I'm at the office with my 5-year-old today because it is freezing at our house and her school was closed.

As you can imagine, I'm being extra productive.

Leaving early to go home and open all of the fabulous gifts you've surely sent,
Brutalism

Eat Your Heart Out, Gene Simmons

2011-01-20T18:27:00.002Z

You know, I was thinking I should maybe explain this photo of me from my friend, Simon's, wedding in Santa Barbara.

Then I thought, does this really require an explanation?

It was just really, really good to see my brother...

A Three-Way

2011-01-15T14:39:00.004Z

While I was talking to my mom on the phone last night, she mentioned that she and her husband just bought a new thermometer. (It's a shame I've never been wanted by the FBI, because the amount of fascinating information they could pick up by bugging my telephone is astounding.)

She further explained that it was a three-way thermometer -- it could take your temperature orally, in your armpit and rectally.

Which, of course, made me think, "Wow. I don't remember eating that."

And, as always, I have some questions:

Whereas I can appreciate efficiencies, have you really ever wanted to save a buck that badly?
Is this just a ploy by the three-way thermometer lobby and the label lobby to get you to buy (and aggressively label) one for each purpose just so there is NOT EVEN THE REMOTEST POSSIBILITY that someone else would use a thermometer in more than one bodily location?
Does anyone use a rectal thermometer once they stop counting their age in months? (Rhetorical!)
If you lived with even one other person do you trust them enough to always use the properly labeled thermometer? (In my opinion, this trust issue has catapulted to the top of the list of things to discuss prior to marriage. Ahead of how you spend money, whether or not you want kids and religion.)
Is it insulting that I always pack my own (one-way) thermometer in my suitcase when I visit my mom on the slight chance I develop a fever during the visit?

Appalled to the utmost degree,
Brutalism

Me Me Me ME ME Me Me

2011-01-09T17:34:00.002Z

I have finally included an About Me tab on Brutalism. Because after seven years of writing about myself, I figured it was the next step toward complete self-absorption.

UPDATE: DC Blogs linked to my post today -- I heart DC Blogs...almost as much as I loved the spray tan in the late 90s.

Girl Talk

2011-01-04T21:52:00.000Z

Early in December, I met the Dilettantes out for our monthly activity and annual Christmas gift exchange.

I was very excited to give the Dilettantes the gifts that I had carefully selected -- gifts that I knew were perfect from the moment I saw them.

You see, the month before I had met them out right after one of my laser hair removal appointments. I am now four treatments into this process, and while easily one of the more humiliating and painful experiences I have ever had, I am certainly pleased with the results. Because I had some discomfort that day, I mentioned it to the Dilettantes, who then proceeded to pepper me with questions. Not about how I was feeling, of course...but about which design I had selected.

Amy thought I may have gone for the "Frida Kahlo" (which, honestly, has not really had its day -- so many people go for a more vertical aesthetic.)

Amanda figured that I was going more for a pattern -- plaid or houndstooth, she surmised.

So, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I began my Christmas shopping not long after and found the Woody-Willy-esque "Designer Beaver (registered trademark)."

During the Christmas gift exchange, I presented the gifts to the Dilettantes, with the smug confidence one has when they know that they selected exactly the right present.

A few days later, I got an e-mail from Amy. The body of the e-mail was blank, but it included the following attachment:

It's like looking in a mirror, really.

A few days after that, I also received an e-mail from Amanda. Worth a thousand words, so they say:

It's neither the houndstooth nor the Kahlo,

Brutalism

Bucking Tradition

2010-12-29T17:51:00.001Z

The Oakton Patch editor e-mailed last night to clarify how I wanted to punctuate "Underpants" (written as a pronouncement, so we decided upon an exclamation point) in my article that was published today.

I love my Oakton Patch editor.

Let me know what you think of my latest: Traditionally Untraditional, and if you think the exclamation point was the way to go.

As the cool kids say, I'm a Herb,
Brutalism

A Christmas Gift

2010-12-21T19:21:00.001Z

My friend, Lisa, and I were talking about our iPhone auto-correct recently, when a "true, dat" comment I meant for her to receive turned into a head scratching "true far."

I think by now, everyone has seen the list of best-of auto-corrects that was making its way around the Internet -- which is unfortunate, because the one that Lisa shared with me today is better than any of those.

She told me that last week, after her teenage son missed his ride, she texted him and said "walk to your friend's house and I will pik u up later."

Innocuous, right?

Or at least it was until the iPhone auto-correct changed it to:

"I will oil u up later."

It's a slippery slope,
Brutalism

Having Some Decor...um...

2010-12-20T16:08:00.002Z

One of my favorite parts of the holiday season, other than making sure my mimosa-to-relative ratio is mathematically accurate, is pulling out the boxes of Christmas decor.

Opening these boxes is a little trip down memory lane that I enjoy as I gingerly unwrap and carefully hang all of my tree ornaments -- a collection that was comprised of about eleven ornaments before my Christmas-loving friends took pity on me and began presenting me with these every year so that my tree would be somewhat respectable.

With that, and so that you can share with me this special time of year, I thought I'd take you on a little tour of my Christmas tree. Here, dear friends, is a very Brutalism Christmas:

Of course, there are some traditional ornaments such as these:

Didn't realize he was "The King" of Israel...

There are also themed sections on my tree, like the homage to my childhood in Virginia Beach...

Although, if this accurately depicted my childhood, there would be an
ornament representing cripplingly low self esteem.

...and ornaments that capture the fun memories of the Oktoberfest party we've hosted for the past several years:

Just needs an ornament of my mom's husband in his underpants to be complete.

There are ornaments from a fellow Dilettante commemorating our years in the Dilettante Club...

...or possibly her bra size...

...and an area dedicated to my two orange cats:

The one of me stepping in cat vomit and screaming four-letter words while threatening
to call the pound is just out of the frame.

There is also a special section of the tree for my daughter. Someone suggested that I start a tradition of buying her an ornament every Christmas that reflects something she likes or does that year. Which is generally a great idea, though it was kind of difficult to come up with something the first year, when she was only two months old. Let's face it, at that point, the only real love she had was this:

And she was apparently two months old in 1894.

(I do get concerned that when she reaches sixteen, something that reflects "what she likes and does" will be an ornament of a tattooed alt-rocker named "Damage.")

And of course, there are ornaments from my days working for the gun lobby:

If trees are ornamented then only ornaments will have trees. Or something...

And possibly my most cherished Christmas piece, from a Jewish friend and via the Dollar Store is this:

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

In The Holiday Spirits

2010-12-15T15:20:00.000Z

This photo makes a lot more sense after you read my weekly Oakton Patch humor column here.

No, it doesn't.

My Life Now Has Porpoise (Groan)

2010-12-04T02:09:00.007Z

A highlight of our recent vacation was the "shallow water interaction" with the dolphins my daughter and I did on our second day there. (Another was when Canetto tried to access Brutalism from our hotel's business office and got denied with a message saying the web site included explicit material.)

Our adventure began in an area of the resort called Dolphin Cay. After getting suited up in wet suits, we got briefed on meeting the dolphins so that we'd know how close we could get to them, where we should and should not touch them and what we could expect from the whole experience.

It reminded me a lot of the time I scored a 'meet and greet' with Harry Connick, Jr.

Harry...awed by the silver-tongued devil that is Brutalism.

It was unbelievably cool to be that close to ~~Harry~~ ~~the dolphin~~ the hairy dolphin. (That makes no sense.)
The best part was probably when our hip, young Bahamian trainers prepared our lily-white group to high-five the dolphin. One trainer said, "You need to say, 'Wha-CHA!' and the dolphin will hold his flipper up to give you five.”

Hip, young trainers with the whities. And me with scoliosis. WTF?

We all practiced saying “Wha-CHA!” as a group a few times (and no, I have never felt cooler...thanks for asking), then one woman from the group walked up for her turn and said meekly, "What's up?"

The trainer said, "Come on...you can do better than that...it's more of a Wha-CHA!"

So the woman tried again, and if possible, it came out even more stilted. A barely audible, "What’s up?"

Even the dolphin looked embarrassed for her.

The next person was even more hopeless...he walked up and asked, "What is up with you, Mr. Dolphin?"

I burst out laughing and said loudly what (I thought) everyone else was thinking, which was: "Wow. These are the whitest ‘Wha-CHAs’ I have ever heard."

I will take the complete and utter silence and palpable disdain from both the white group and the black trainers as me single-handedly promoting racial unity in the Dolphin Cay.

Werd,
Brutalism

Getting Schooled

2010-12-01T15:58:00.002Z

Do you remember how great preschool was? When you got to spend every day surrounded by friends while wearing comfortable clothes, playing fun games, creating craft projects and enjoying nap time and catered snacks?

It's just like when I worked for an Internet start up company in the late nineties.

It is also the subject of my latest Oakton Patch article, which you can read here.

Off to eat some paste,
Brutalism

Fantasy Island

2010-11-29T16:03:00.000Z

We were in the Bahamas for Thanksgiving.

I was very excited about the whole trip except for the flights, since all I've been hearing in the news is that ~~Bristol Palin better not win Dancing with the Stars, girlfriend~~ I could probably look forward to getting a full body scan.

Apparently, I am not TSA's type, because there were no experiences with full body scanners, although on the way home, I was selected for a random screening. (Which was presented by the security agent with such enthusiasm, that at first I misunderstood and thought that I had won something.)

And I had...a chance to get felt up by a "woman" in front of every single other passenger in the tiny three-gate airport. I mean, sure. I may have envisioned that my first experience with girl-on-girl action would take place with a woman in uniform somewhere tropical like the Bahamas, and perhaps I even pictured her making me take my shoes off and barking orders at me while my husband watched...maybe I had even spent a few moments over the years thinking about how she would rifle through my purse before I left...and how I would feel a mixture of embarrassment, shame and exhilaration unlike anything else I had ever known...

But what I did not anticipate was the part where an obviously grieving woman shuffled by clutching her rosary beads and mouthing a prayer.

Thus ended my adventure on Paradise Island. So to speak,
Brutalism

Just Like The Pilgrims

2010-11-24T16:42:00.001Z

I've been on vacation...so be prepared for a recap that involves a gentleman not getting into the hot tub with me after he declared it a "tepid urine pool," swimming with one-eyed dolphins, and losing my engagement ring. Good times, folks...good times...

In the meantime, my latest humor column about my first non-Traditional Thanksgiving is up at the Oakton Patch.

Check it out here.

Can't wait to share the adventures soon. Have a great Thanksgiving!
Brutalism

What A Trip

2010-11-17T17:49:00.007Z

UPDATE: Hippest Snippets linked to my post today. Thanks, Hippest Snippets, for now including links to my posts about lap dances -- I'm really classing it up...

In other news...

My latest humor column about a recent trip to New York City is up at the Oakton Patch. Check it out here.

And here's the rest of the (not quite as family-friendly) story that did not make the Patch:

I spent last weekend in New York City with my mom and my five-year-old daughter. And several bottles of wine that our hotel kept giving us in an attempt to keep us in our room so that their complimentary wine hour would remain child-free. Now that I know this, I may reverse my decision to stop at one (child that is...not bottle of wine.)

I organized a get-together Friday night so that we could get a quick visit with friends and family who live in the area, which is how we ended up with a party that included my cousin, a friend who did a semester in London with me during college, one of my husband's friends from high school, and a kid I used to babysit who is now married with children of his own. In retrospect, I probably should have also invited a rabbi and a priest, just to round out the joke in the re-telling of this story.

During dinner, I asked what everyone had planned for the rest of the weekend. My friend, Dori, mentioned that she was taking her seven-year-old daughter and her daughter's friend, Ben to the movies and would therefore be chaperoning their "date." I said, "Oh...that is so cute...or at least it would be if Ben wasn't 42." As I was worrying that I may have crossed a line, my friend, Rob, jumped in and added, "Yeah...but he has great candy." And then we all had a hearty laugh about pedophilia, the way good friends who don't get to see each other often will do.

On Saturday, we met my friend, Meredith, for breakfast. Somehow, this happened as we were waiting in line for the restroom at the restaurant:

which caused the woman standing in line behind us to ask, "you're not from around here, are you?"

Afterwards, we strolled around Rockefeller Center, and the NBC Studio store, where Meredith and I yelled loudly to each other across the store, "Here's that Biggest Loser Team Bob Christmas ornament you've been looking for" and "Here's that Dunder Mifflin snow globe you've had your eye on."

After twenty years of friendship, it really never gets old.

During all of this, my daughter found a combination fan/candy thing (a battery-operated fan that held Skittles in the handle, WTF?) that I promptly named "Fandy!" She asked if she could have it, so I agreed because Hey! We were on vacation. I got into the 40-person line behind people who actually were buying the Team Bob Christmas ornaments, and finally got up to the register where they rung up my purchase, and I realized that Fandy! cost $7.99.

Sheesh. For eight bucks, I could have gone one block over and received a lap dance from an aging Rockette.

It was a non-stop weekend and a truly memorable one.

At least everything that happened before all of the free wine.

Psycho-phant

2010-11-04T23:23:00.007Z

This past weekend, I got a very small taste of what it must be like to be in the popular clique, to be in with the in crowd, to be too sexy for my shirt, to be down with OPP...

In other words, I totally glommed onto my friends' coolness in a watching-from-the-sidelines-kinda-way. (It's exactly like "dating up" but with friends. And without the romance. That may be the worst analogy I've ever used.)

On Friday night, my friend John Marshall was in DC from NYC to perform at a comedy showcase in Adams Morgan organized and emceed by the hilarious and very good-looking (I'm not just saying that because he handed me a beer from the stage halfway through the show, though that did have something to do with it) Jeff Kreisler, which featured about 10 other comedians including Lizz Winstead (co-creator of a little program called The Daily Show). This event was at a very small and funky arts space. I know John because he is married to Meredith, who has been one of my best friends since we met when our then-boyfriends lived together in a row house in DC in a section of the city where hookers were regularly arrested in their front yard and homeless squatters used their basement as a porta-potty. They also lived with a drug dealer named Winky. But that is a story for another day.

After getting home at 2:00am, I was up at the butt crack of dawn to get ready to go to the Rally to Restore Sanity on the National Mall. Prior to the Rally, I met up with friends at a bar in the District to celebrate my friend, Amy's, birthday. Because nothing says, "I'm celebrating sanity" more than a couple of beers at 10:30am.

God Bless America.

(I have no idea who American-flag-thong-guy is. No matter how many times my husband asks me.)

After several hours spent in the gorgeous weather and enjoying the creative signs of rally-goers (and hearing absolutely nothing), I decided to further restore sanity by dressing like a cartoon character and heading to our friends' party. Everyone at the party really put effort into their costumes (with the exception of one woman who said that she wanted to go as "tic tac toe" and tape a container of Tic Tacs to the toe of her shoe, but sadly "ran out of time" and thus, had no costume). Ponder that for a moment.

As we were driving to the party, our friend, Rob, called. Rob is an actor/musician who lives in NYC who was in the DC area to play a gig for which he had been flown in, and was calling to invite us to it. He was very excited about the party and was telling us how big it was going to be (that's what she said) and that it was going to have great food and an open bar and the live band (obviously). As soon as he described where it was, I grabbed the phone from Tim and said to Rob, "Oh my God. I know the person throwing that party." Because I do. She is the woman who owns the company I work for who was throwing a huge bash to raise money for charity.

From what I hear, he blows a mean horn and was the hit of the party. Which means that I shamelessly informed everyone I work with on Monday that we are friends. (And that we found a lace thong in our guest bed one time after he and his girlfriend spent the weekend with us.)

Also a story for another day,
Brutalism

...Which I Am Now Singing To The Tune Of "Police And Thieves", Incidentally

2010-11-04T14:57:00.002Z

Today, one of my personal favorite posts is up at Laugh out Loud. It is, of course, about poop.

Yesterday, my weekly humor column ran at the Oakton Patch. This one is about me being a big, fat liar.

We've got it all.

If by "all" you mean "feces and lies,"
Brutalism