It's Always* Something

Avery had a hard time sleeping this weekend, what with all the parties, the steady diet of crap and the new Disney Princess cell phone.

Saturday afternoon I tried to get her to lay down and take a nap while Tim ran out to the grocery store. When it was obvious that she was not going to do that, I figured that I may as well take a shower and start to get ready for the party we were going to later that afternoon.

I brought Avery into the bathroom with me while I showered. She immediately found the basket I keep on the back of the toilet tank to store things like extra soap, TP and panty liners.

While I showered, she proceeded to open a bunch of panty liners and have some fun with them -- she stuck some on the shower door, put one on her leg like a band-aid, and fashioned a coozie out of the others for her bottle.

(Yes, she's two years and eight months old. Yes, that is probably too old to have a bottle. Yes, we are awful parents and are probably dooming her to a life of soft helmets and no friends. And no, they don't ask when your kid gave up their bottle on most college applications.)

Shortly after I finished my shower and had removed most of the panty liners from our home furnishings and our child, she climbed into bed and finally fell asleep. A little while later, Tim came home from the grocery store and went upstairs to check on her.

He came back down, helped put the groceries away, looked through the mail and then casually mentioned to me, "she has panty liners stuck on her bottle, you know."

*Please to appreciate the pun.

Overheard At Sephora

It rained last night, so we took Avery to the kid pit at the mall to let her burn off some energy. Tim stayed with her while I ran to Sephora to buy yet more beauty products. (I've spent a ton on this kind of stuff in the past month or so. Figuring, I guess, that if I take more time dolling up my hair and face, people won't focus as much on my gimpy elephantine knees and the fact that I walk like I'm 80.)

I looked all over for a Shu Uemura eyelash curler. I finally found it and was reaching for it at exactly the same time a woman who could have walked off the "Married to the Mob" set was (she had huge hair, very blue eyeshadow and a very, very loud shirt with plastic hoop earrings that matched it perfectly).

A salesperson walked by at exactly this time and mentioned, "that is the best eyelash curler made." I said, "I'm glad you said that, I've heard really good things about it."

Married to the Mob (MTTM) bellowed, "DOES THIS COME WITH EXTRA RUBBERS?"

The salesperson said, "it comes with one replacement silicone pad, if that's what you mean."

MTTM screamed, "ONE RUBBER? FOR THAT PRICE? FORGET IT. I'M GOING TO WAL-MART."

Oh, well...they probably have a better selection of blue mascara there, anyway.

(Saucer of milk, please.)

Impatience Is My Virtue

Wanna know something funny? Even though my doctor told me not to do any sort of exercise for another 4-6 weeks at my follow-up appointment on Friday, June 13th, I (ha ha) was feeling so good that I (giggle) headed off to the gym Tuesday night for a 30-minute bike workout. In my past cardio-rific life (three months ago), this would have been a waste-of-time workout, but I thought it was the (snicker) perfect way to ease back into exercise.

Thanks to my impatience, the past two days were a nightmare. I was in as much pain as I was right before surgery. Elephantitis knees, severe pain...you name it. Awful.

Today, I'm finally feeling recovered from that, though my knees are still slightly swollen.

I learned my lesson the hard way and will now respect my doctor's wishes. I have to, really -- I'm almost out of Vicodin and have no refills left. The only alternative is to get better, already.

The Order Of Things

Avery and I have a morning routine when I drop her off at school. I park, unbuckle her car seat, and she climbs into the front passenger seat of the car. She pulls the visor down and opens the mirror and puts on the pink lip gloss that I always carry in my purse for just this purpose.

I tell her she looks beautiful, then ask her if she wants to walk into school or if she wants me to carry her. (Mondays are usually carry days.)

This morning, we got to school a little bit late and her class was already outside on the playground. I went out with her. She held my hand to help her balance as she walked on the curb around the jungle gym. After a couple of laps, she found a tricycle and sat down on it. She looked up at me and said, "go to work, Mama" and gave me a kiss. I walked a couple of steps toward the door and she got off the tricycle and ran over and gave me a hug and said, "make sure my bunny and blankey are in my cubby for nap time." Then she went back to the tricycle and started to ride it.

I love that little piece of work.

Love Thy Neighbor

I think my morbid fascination with swinging began at a friend's wedding several years ago. I was a bridesmaid and had gone to the bachelorette party with the bride and many of her friends a few weeks prior to the wedding. After the bachelorette party, I showed the photos from that night to Canetto. He mentioned casually that he thought one woman in the pictures was attractive.

At the wedding, I was chatting with this woman. She said to me, "Wow, your husband it really good looking." So I said to her (in an innocent, returning-the-compliment-kind-of-way), "You know, he said the same thing about you when he saw the pictures from the bachelorette party."

Tim walked over at that moment and what happened next is kind of fuzzy, because as soon as she made a not-so-subtle reference to the fact that she and her husband were looking for another couple to "have some fun with" -- I hightailed it out of there --pretending that the bride needed some assistance that only I could provide. (Tim loves this about me...whenever things get awkward I take off and leave him to deal with it. Hi, sweetie!) Of course, her husband was a cop and she was a teacher. Not surprising, from what I've read about this "lifestyle".

A few months after the wedding, I told the bride the whole story, leaving out names so as not to incriminate anyone. The bride said, "That was Rachel, right?". Don't know what's more disturbing...that my friend was friends with a swinger, or that she didn't give me the heads-up about it.

This weekend, we're going to a housewarming party for one of the dilettantes. She and her husband just moved to Ashburn. Apparently, Ashburn has a huge swinging community. (So retro, right?) So, guess what the rest of us dilettantes are getting her for a housewarming gift? A fishbowl, a keychain, some condoms and a copy of "The Ice Storm." God, we're hilarious.

Beer Tasting With L'Amanda

Last night, Canetto and I went to the Dogfish Head beer tasting dinner with Leon and Amanda (heretofore known as L'Amanda because 1) everyone in Hollywood is doin' it and 2) who doesn't love a name with an apostrophe in it?)

L'Amanda, it turns out, were dressed identically to the authors of "She Said Wine, He Said Beer" that was passed around the tasting. They claimed it was not on purpose. We know better.

There were the usual shenanigans: someone asking if we had seen the "small wood" (a piece of the wooden vessel in which Palo Santo Marron is brewed that was being passed around). Amanda and I said simultaneously, "we haven't seen small wood since junior high." (Pause for laughter that never came...well, other than from us.) Also, Amanda had a boyfriend at the next table wearing an "I >heart< beer" button.

We also tried the 90 and 120-minute IPAs, the Immort Ale (my favorite, and not just because of the name, though it did have something to do with it) and the seasonal Festina Peche (preferred by the Indonesians).

This was all paired with about twelve tons of food. Which was nice, because the 83 pounds I gained over the weekend weren't enough. (A highlight was the portobello and sirloin soup.)

At one point in the evening when 1/2 of L'Amanda went to the ladies room, the host of the beer dinner made an announcement that he was going to wait for the "blonde in the red shirt to return from the restroom" before drawing the number for the door prize (Nationals Tickets). So, when Amanda came back from the restroom, the entire beer dinner was staring at her, and then broke into a round of applause. Now, this happens pretty often for Amanda (as she mentioned), but she was still a little surprised by it. None of us won the door prize, but Amanda did manage to convince Mr.-Beer-Dinner-Who-Noticed-Exactly-What-She-Was-Wearing that she deserved a prize for being such a good sport. With a little subtle urging from the other half of L'Amanda, she ended up with a Dogfish Head trucker hat, that she insisted on wearing the rest of the evening. (Hey, if the F-150's rockin' don't come a knockin')

Addendum 1: As hard as we tried, we never got Leon past the double-shush (our personal best is the triple)

Addendum 2: My liver needs a break.

I Really Hope That's A Gun In His Pocket...

Petro called this morning. A quick check of weather.com indicated that hell had not, in fact, frozen over, so I determined that he must need something.

And he did. He is interviewing for a job with our former employer. An employer who DOES NOT HATE FREEDOM. It is such a small world that it turns out he's interviewing with the same guy I interviewed with a couple of years ago when I was going back to work after a short stint as a stay-at-home-mom. Different position, though. Anyway, Petro needs me as a reference. Kind of hilarious when you think about it. He's using me as a reference with a guy who decided not to hire me. That should give him quite a bit of credibility. (Although, after not hiring me, this guy did hire me to do some freelance writing at a ridiculously high hourly rate, so I guess he didn't think I was a total moron.) (Stay with me here. Rationalization makes me happy.)

Petro and I worked together for this employer who is FIGHTING FOR YOUR RIGHTS for years back in the 90s, and then again in the early 2000s for an Internet start-up company. Before it was even trendy, he was totally my work husband. My work husband who CHEATED ON ME WITH SKANKY CO-WORKERS AND HAD A SECRET GAY LOVER. (I see that and raise him a Smelly Dave.)

Anyway, we're going to try and "do lunch" sometime next week to catch up. Last time we tried this, I went into labor and blew him off. (I'm inconsiderate like that.)

(There, Petro, are you happy? An entire post devoted to you.)

The Post Where I Say "Thong" Five Times

Finally...I own some hanky pankys. After hearing some of my thong-wearing friends rave about this underwear for the past year, I finally bit the bullet (thanks to my Trousseau gift certificate) and bought a pair. I cannot wait to try these on and see what makes them so different from other thongs. (For what they cost, they better make my butt look like I LIVE on the stairmaster.)

When I was pregnant with Avery, I wore (very, very LARGE) thongs. One time, I bent over to pick something up in front of my mom and she could see that I was wearing a thong. She thought it was awful that I was wearing one while I was pregnant. To which I replied, "So, at a time in my life when my ass is the largest it has ever been, I'm supposed to draw MORE attention to it with gigantic-panty lines?"

I Like vIKE

Up until the past few days, I never really understood pill addictions.

Alcoholism I can get behind: booze tastes good. It is always served in social settings. It's fun. Even pot. There is at least an action associated with it. It smells good. I can see why people do it. (Even though I don't.)

But pills? You swallow 'em down and then you're done. They're about as satisfying as eating a rice cake.

This week I became enlightened. My post-surgery knee has been giving me some pain so I tried the prescription I got for Vicodin. A couple of pills give me a little happy buzz and make the pain go away.

Right now, I'm just looking forward to them...it's not a problem until I start to need them. Right? I mean, I can quit any time I want to.

I Share DNA With This

Back in the 70s, my aunt was recently divorced and looking to find an apartment for her and her young daughter.

She was checking out a brand-new upscale apartment complex with a lot of amenities. She wanted to make a good impression, so she was wearing a nice dress and heels.

She got to the apartment a little bit early for her appointment to see a unit, so the sales representative suggested that she take a look around the property. My aunt walked into the state-of-the-art workout room which had a wall of mirrors and the following equipment:

Those "exercise" belts were all the rage back in the 70s and my aunt could not wait to try one out. So, she got on the machine, put the belt around her, faced the mirror, and turned it on.

A few minutes later, a tour group came through the workout room with the sales rep. Some people in the group looked at her in horror, others averted their eyes. She was pretty embarrassed, of course, because here she was all dressed up and shaking away on the exercise equipment.

The sales rep quickly escorted the group out of the room. It was only then that my aunt looked in the mirror and realized that the machine had shaken her underpants down around her ankles.

A Real "I D Ten T" Error

One of my favorite quotes in the world is from Dolly Parton: "Dumb blonde jokes don't offend me, because I know I'm not dumb...and I'm also not blonde."

Sadly, only part of that quote rings true with me. To wit:

(IMPORTANT FACT TO KNOW BEFORE READING STORY: All CSS e-mails follow the convention of initial(s), last name @ consolidatedsafety.com)

I was sending my first corporate newsletter out yesterday -- asked the IT Department if the "CSS All" distribution list reached everyone in the entire company (we have a million people in the field all over the country). They said, "yes". So, I sent the newsletter out to that distribution list, and within a few seconds, got a delivery failure notice from one e-mail address.

Just as I was receiving that, Damon (IT guy/friend) said to me, "I forgot that you don't have permission to mail to that list. I need to change permissions so you can do that." And I said to him, "I'm pretty sure I do, Damon, becuase my e-mail went through...as a matter of fact, I already got one delivery failure notice."

So, he says to me, whose e-mail address is it? And I say (not even kidding here and with total seriousness): "C.S. Sall"

Worst part? As it was coming out of my mouth, I realized what I was saying. Just a few seconds too late.

She Works With A Moderate Degree Of Effort For The Money (So With A Moderate Degree Of Effort For It, Honey)

I have a confession to make. I love my job. There, I said it. I love my job.

I have always been a job-hopper, figuring life was too short to stay at a job that I didn't like or work with people I didn't like. (Fortunately, I work in an area with a ton of jobs...I'm well aware that not everyone has that luxury.)

But seriously...I think this is a dream job. The work is interesting and varied enough that I don't get bored. I work 8:30 to 4:30 and not a minute more. I like and respect (and have fun with) my boss and co-workers. I can work from home whenever I want to or need to. I get paid well. They have a matching program for the 401K. My commute is short. I wear jeans to work every day. It is a rare occasion when I stress about (or even think about) work in the evenings or on the weekend.

If I had thought up an "ideal job scenario" to have when going back to work after having Avery -- this would have been it.

>ducking now to avoid rotten virtual tomatoes that Canetto is lobbing -- he's not in quite the same work situation at this moment<

Disclaimer: If I win the lottery tomorrow, you can just ignore everything I wrote above.

Sesame-Palooza

We spent Father's Day weekend at Sesame Place -- just outside Philadelphia. Below are a few special memories:

1 - Avery wanted to help pack for Sesame Place. She busied herself in her room finding things to put in her suitcase. When I surveyed her progress? She had packed a stuffed piglet, a polaroid picture of her with the Geico lizard and half a bag of sun chips.

2 - At the park, she decided that she must have her face painted. I tried to steer her toward the Mike Tyson-esque "tribal tattoo", but she opted for "pretty princess" (apologies to Gloria Steinem)

3 - The sugar content in Elmo cupcakes and "long lollipops" combined with the excitement of Sesame Place keep a toddler awake for 14 hours straight.

4 - A couple of the Harlem Globetrotters were on-site making an appearance and taking pictures. Curly Neal was there! Seriously! I was probably more excited about that than I should have been.

5 - Levittown, PA, is an armpit. One of our hotel amenities was a crazy, drunken person running around near the hotel entrance. Shirtless, of course.

6 - At the end of the first day of Sesame-Palooza, we needed beer, STAT. Of course, one does not just pop into a convenience store in PA to buy beer. We had to drive to a special beer store and pay $10 per six pack (we needed two) for the goods.

7 - Seeing the utter joy on my kid's face as she splashed through all of the water features at the park? Worth the whole experience.

8 - Oh...and Avery is now smiling for pictures, but we may have a new problem:

Pharm Party

Canetto just got a prescription for Ambien. Sometimes his work stress prevents him from sleeping and the bourbon was getting expensive, so Ambien it is.

Earlier this evening he was reading the drug information sheet from the pharmacy out loud to me. It included the following information: "Some patients taking this medicine have performed certain activities while they were not fully awake. These have included sleep-driving, making and eating food, making phone calls, and having sex. Patients often do not remember these events after they happen."

So, it does have the same side effects as the bourbon. That's reassuring.

Of course, since he told me this, I've already walked into the room while buttoning my pants telling him that he's a stallion and it was the best sex I've ever had.

Prescription drugs are a laugh riot.

And Now A Downer...

...I just read that Tim Russert died. Why is it that certain deaths really knock you for a loop and make you so sad? Only 58. Didn't know him at all...although Canetto and I saw him on the ski slopes during one of our ski vacations...

So sorry for his family. Especially on Father's Day weekend.

Walking On Sunshine

I am officially stitch-less! Hooray!

My visit to Dr. Handsome began with the PA (that's PHYSICIAN assistant, not PRODUCTION assistant, my LA friends) removing my stitches. I did not feel a thing. And...he said to me, "you don't look like you just had surgery" because I am now walking normally.

Then, Dr. Handsome showed me the before-and-after shots of the inside of my knee. I love medical technology. They did find a little pre-arthritic stuff...but cleaned it up. He said that in 85% of all cases, people don't experience symptoms again, so I'm (of course) hoping for that. There's no way to tell who will and who won't, so he said the best things to do are (in his words), "stay thin like you are" >swoon< and "resume physical activity in 7-10 days."

I asked if I could wear high heels again and he said, "I actually prefer you in them." (Maybe I'm not remembering that exactly as he said it, it may have been more along the lines of, "yes, that's fine.")

I also asked if it was okay that I traipse all over Sesame Place tomorrow and he totally lit up and said, "you'll love that -- we went a couple of years ago." (I'm hoping he has kids, otherwise, that's kinda strange.)

So...my gimpiness has hopefully come to an end. I'm so happy.

Sesame And The City

I'm seeing the Sex and the City movie tonight with two girlfriends -- both of whom were sorority sisters of mine in college. In the past year, we've gotten together for a New Year's girls' trip to Vegas, a pole dancing class, and a topless tickle fight (the last one is a fabrication, but it just seemed to fit.) (Aside: what's the difference between a circus and a sorority? One is a cunning array of stunts....)

I never watched this show when it was on TV (I'm way too cheap to pay for HBO). Although, I used to hear from a lot of people that I reminded them of Samantha. I'm hoping that's more of a physical than behavioral similarity (as does my husband, I'm sure).

This is the only grown-up event of the weekend. Tomorrow morning, Canetto, Pants and I are headed to Sesame Place near Philadelphia. We're meeting our friends there for a Father's Day weekend o' fun. Thank God Avery's school is bringing in a moon bounce for the kids today or there is no way she would have gone to school willingly. She's been begging us to leave for Sesame Place for two days now.

In addition to this fabulous, all-expenses paid trip to Sesame, part of Canetto's Father's Day gift was the picture below published in our local paper for a father's day spread they did. (Can I get a collective, "awwwwwww" here? Thanks.)

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Me: Okay...so I just peed my pants. Well, not like that, exactly. I got knee surgery last week and have a whole lot of contorting to do in the bathroom stall as a result...and I end up hovering way above the toilet. Anyway, my aim was apparently wayyyy off and there are two large, round, wet areas on the back of one of me jeans legs. And they smell like pee (mainly because they are). And I have to go chat with my boss soon and I have no idea what to do. I sent an emergency message to a friend of mine who works across the hall to see if she has perfume or lotion that I can use to mask it. I also just spent about ten minutes back in the bathroom blotting. I don't want to walk around too much to air out because it is quite obvious. Why do I feel like my first grade self when I was wearing all purple for picture day and my mom got called to bring me dry tights (ahem) and the only color that was clean was red...so in my school picture I'm in an all-purple outfit with red tights.

Scott: Cigarette lighter? Once in a rare moon I've been hammered enough to catch the side of my fly while going to the bathroom...not a big deal unless you start peeing before you whip it completely out. Nothing waving a cigarette lighter under for a minute or two won't help. Urine evaporated pretty quick. Can't speak to the smell. Just tell the boss you have kidney disease. IMPORTANT. Keep the lighter moving if you don't want to ignite your drawers.

Me: Re-read this sentence that was part of my earlier
e-mail...apparently, I'm a pants-wetting pirate: "Anyway, my aim was apparently wayyyy off and there are two large, round, wet areas on the back of one of me jeans legs" Thanks for the suggestion...I'm afraid that would raise more eyebrows if I asked someone for their lighter. I did get scented lotion and slathered about a ton of it up and down my arms...that's pretty much all you can smell right now.

Scott: Or a piss-sodden leprechaun. "Oh looky tere, she wet her fook'n pants'

Me: Incidentally, today is the first day in about a gazillion years that I am going straight out from work instead of picking my kid up and going home first. Which means I will be wearing my pee-pee pants to the hairdresser where she will be working in close proximity to me for a couple of hours as she colors my hair. This is a great day!!!

Scott: go for broke and shit yerself.

The Woman Never Met A Generic She Didn't Like

When my mom visited last weekend, she brought Avery a few little toys and things that she got from the dollar store. Sure...it's fine at this age...but (hypothetically, of course) when you're 12 and the entire world has leather Docksiders brand deck shoes to wear with their preppy ensembles and you are forced to wear vinyl Decksiders brand deck shoes, you may never be able to move on from that (hypothetically, of course).

One of the gifts she brought was "magic dough" -- the Dollar Store's answer to PlayDoh.

Like all two-year-olds, Avery loves PlayDoh and dug right in...or tried to.

After trying for a few minutes to knead the magic dough, she whined to my mom, "Grandma...it doesn't move."

Stop And Smell The Neuroses

The doctor doing my surgery tomorrow is my age and pretty attractive, albeit it a bit handsy.

I'm so shallow that I'm more worried about him seeing me with no makeup and with elephantitis knees (oh, and also under anesthesia so not able to hold my stomach in) than I am about the actual surgery.

I guess admitting it is half the battle.

Happy Baby To You

This past Saturday, I hosted a baby shower for the first time for my friend and fellow dilettante, Amy. She is due August 13th with a boy. She's doing a jungle theme in the nursery, so I did a jungle theme with the party. (You know me -- I love a good theme.)

The party was fun -- especially the part where everyone but the dilettantes, Amy's college sorority sisters and my mom went home. We all stayed and drank and shared dilettante/college stories -- all of which involved drinking.

We even did a couple of dorky games at the baby shower -- one involved freezing small plastic babies into ice cubes and seeing who could thaw their baby first and shout, "my water broke!" Amy's college friends took all the plastic babies after the shower and planted them around her house for her to find after they left. Plastic babies are funny.

Sugar And Spice And Everything Nice

When I walked into Avery's classroom to pick her up last night, she did her usual running leap into my arms. I gave her a big hug and then put her down so we could gather her things.

(It was at this point I noticed that her Crocs were on the wrong feet. This is why kids always think their moms know everything, because I said to her, "Wow. Did you put your own Crocs on?" and she very proudly said, "Yes. I'm a big girl.")

Her teacher said to me, "Do you want to hear a cute story from today?" (note to teachers: always). She said that one of the little girls in Avery's class was having a tough day (teacherspeak for a kid being a holy terror -- I know -- Avery has had a couple of "tough days"). This little girl finally laid down on her cot at the end of the day to take a nap. While she was trying to calm down and sleep, Avery and her friend, Kennedy, both sat next to this little girl and rubbed her back to soothe her.

>sniff<