Workin' Blue

On the way home from her preschool the other day, I asked Avery what was her favorite part of her day. She said to me, "When I told the other kiddos the one about my dog having no nose and also the one about Mickey Mouse's underwear."

I asked (after pausing to wipe away a proud tear at the realization that she had her first "set" and seemed to like performing in front of a crowd), "So you told them jokes? Did they think the jokes were funny?"

And she said, "Yes. Especially the one about the penis."

Thanks For Nothing, Dr. Drew

How it SHOULD have played out:

(Brutalism walks into a room full of friends and family members. Everyone looks very serious and as she enters, all eyes are on her. She stiffly takes a seat in the only available chair, and a person she has never seen before begins speaking very calmly.)

Stranger: We understand that you have made a very bad choice recently and we are concerned about you. We think that you might need some help. What is your take on this?

Brutalism: Is this because I had a few dozen too many glasses of wine last night? Because I've read that red wine is GOOD for you. You all need to read more. (She points accusingly at each person around the circle.)

Stranger: No. We are actually gathered here today, as people who love and care about you, for a much more serious reason. We heard that you made plans to go camping this weekend. Camping! YOU!?! We are here to ask you if you will forfeit the camp site you reserved right now. Today. Are you willing to make that change in your life?

How it ACTUALLY played out:

After driving for SEVEN hours (this should be a three hour drive) to get to Virginia Beach, we made our way to the camp site we had reserved (past a clothesline with a huge bra hanging from it and another camp site with a rebel flag displayed proudly out front), to find that the campers before us had left trash everywhere, and that our tent space was situated right next to a mosquito-infested pond full of stagnant water.

We thought about just going straight to my mom's house and giving up on this little adventure. However, because we are the best parents ever lazy, we stuck with our original plan. And after going out to dinner in a restaurant (non Zagat-rated, we were totally roughing it), we came back to sleep in the tent. Mr. Rebel flag and his friends kept us up half the night with the little "south will rise again" party they had going on across the way, and because our tent was on a bit of a slope, Avery kept rolling on top of Canetto in her sleep.

The next morning (after breakfast in another non Zagat-rated restaurant -- sheesh...how much suffering can one woman take?) we headed over to my mom's house for the best shower I have ever had in my entire life.

Happily entering a 12-step program,
Brutalism

Where Were We?

1) This past weekend, I was asked by two guys that I find ridiculously funny to be a contributor to the new humor site they're developing. More on that as it comes to fruition. (Ugh. "Fruition"? Add that to the list of words I don't like. And in case you're wondering...there are actually some words I DO like..."skillet", for one.)

2) If you haven't checked out The Dilettante Club site, do so immediately. (And mock me for wearing makeup to an early-morning exercise class. I've become that woman.)

3) Based on a reader suggestion, I'm thinking about doing a "Friday lists" kind of thing. (People seemed to like the Jeopardy! categories post.) Whaddaya think? Would you guys contribute list ideas?

4) At this very moment, I'm sitting under a heat lamp at the hair salon, a salon that now provides Internet while you are being processed. Since I am getting re-blonded, you will actually be able to experience me getting ditsier in real time.

Your humble servant,
Brutalism

DC Bloggers

Last week, I went to my first DC Blogger Meetup meeting at Madam's Organ. It was a great chance to meet and talk with people who blog about a wide variety of topics and who were more than willing to provide their insight and expertise.

If you get a chance...check out their blogs:

Leon -- Listen to Leon
Bill -- Clarendon Nights
Dave Newman -- Groovy Soup
Shevonne -- Free Agent Writer
Kier Duros -- Durosia
Mike Licht -- DC Blogs
Yali Friedman -- Biotech Blog
Margie Newman -- Flack Rabbit
Joe Logon -- Dumb Things I Have Done Lately
Marie -- Merblog
Jade -- Jadxia Live Journal
A Glenn -- Comings and Goings & Good and Green

UPDATE: Of course, it goes without saying that once I implement some of the great ideas these people are giving me to market my blog and increase readership, I will become very important and fabulous. I may not remember your name. Don't take it personally.

UPDATE 2: Apparently, I slept with an editor of the Washington Post Express in a previous life. And in spite of that, they gave my blog another mention today.

Music To My Ears

Today, I am being featured over at Music Savvy Mom.

Now, normally I'm right there with Groucho Marx in not wanting to be part of any club that would have me as a member. (You hear that, Junior League of Northern Virginia? I'd like those four months of my life back.) However, I'm feeling like being included at Music Savvy Mom is elevating my status a bit.

Ri, who writes this blog, really knows good music and has enlisted some of my very favorite bloggers to participate in providing her with their iPod play lists.

In the spirit of disclosure, I must admit that I do not own an iPod...so my list is more of a hypothetical -- the play list I would have, were I to lose the death grip on my disc man and embrace the technology that the rest of the world has.

Check it out...submit play lists...show the woman some love with comments. You're going to like what you read (and hear).

Freedom Of Expression

I had a wonderful visit with an old friend yesterday.

She and I first met when we worked together for the ORGANIZATION THAT DOES NOT HATE FREEDOM for a couple of years -- in the same small department of that large association. (We later ended up dating the same guy, who also worked with us. But not at the same time, so it is slightly less dysfunctional and incestuous than it could have been.) (She tells herself hopefully.)

Since we had not seen each other in many years, our reminiscence included going through a box of stuff that I had saved from those days. The usual stuff you accumulate when you work somewhere for five years: a crazy letter file (which, if I did not fear being sued, would be its own blog), a commemorative Charlton Heston Celebrity Shoot watch and photos with Joe Mantegna from the event, and a letter proposing marriage from a fellow exhibitor at a trade show. (Lest you think my ego might need a check -- let me remind you that the pool of single women at these events was not a large one. And that the male exhibitors stood a good chance of never being mistaken for Brad Pitt.)

We also remembered that during that time, one of our co-workers was working on developing a Hunter Safety brochure that, among other information, included details on how to handle any first aid emergencies that may arise when people were out in the field. Our co-worker had tasked the in-house graphics department with creating the illustrations for the brochure and was slightly unnerved when he received the following CPR graphic from the (approximately 90-year-old) illustrator:

Not So Easy Listening

So.

While trying to lull my night owl 3-year-old to sleep recently, I sang every song I knew. First, it was all the kid songs with which she was familiar. Then, as I got more desperate, I started singing anything that came to mind. (If you'd like to know how to lullabatize "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" e-mail me...). (And yes, I'm pretty proud of the word "lullabatize.")

This explains why I have been listening to Firefall's "You are the woman that I've always dreamed of" as sung by a 3-year-old for the past week.

Yes...good luck getting it out of your head, too.

Whoa Whoa Of My Heart,
Brutalism

Smut Peddlers

As further testament to my earlier hypothesis that children's books are filthy (which is supported by examples here and here), I recently discovered the following in a book on my innocent's book shelf:




Based on what he carries, Pig Wig, apparently, speaks very softly...








...and wonders, as any pig with his attributes would, what may happen when he comes into contact with a sweet-looking *feline*...






Fortunately for Pig Wig, his new friend belongs to a sorority, so there is a (ahem)happy ending.



Looking for Tipper Gore's phone number,
Brutalism

Well, I'm Sure They Do Need To Be Laundered Pretty Regularly

(Loyal reader JenBC provided this gem. This is her local cleaners where her husband takes his laundry. And his merkins.) Obviously.

What Is...Rockin'?

Yesterday's post was mentioned in The Washington Post Express.

Dude.

UPDATE: Do you love how I linked to yesterday's post above, even though you can read down one more line of text to see it?

UPDATE 2: Okay, so apparently, I had other mentions in the Washington Post Express on June 4 and June 9

Dear Clinton Yates -- >mwah<

What Is...Roughin' Up The Suspect?

Jeopardy Categories I Would Totally Dominate:*

--Things that taste great smothered in Nutella
--Movies I convinced my husband to add to the Netflix list before he realized they starred Leonardo DiCaprio
--Creative ways of being passive-aggressive
--Family events where I saw my grandfather in boxer shorts
--Euphemisms for masturbation
--Famous men I've touched
--Cities I've thrown up in
--E-mails I wish I hadn't sent to my boss by mistake
--Potent Potables

*[concept (and the last item) borrowed from http://freetheunicorns.wordpress.com]

No One Wants That

Isn't being the Champion of Cornholing kinda like being the Captain of Team Diarrhea or having someone say to you, "You are the second prettiest girl at this gun show"?

Jack The Stripper

My mom is getting married in October. She found a guy who has many qualities she admires: intelligence, honesty, a sense of humor...and most importantly (as her romantic history indicates) a compulsion to take his clothes off in public.

Last fall, she and Jack went to an afternoon party and they each had approximately seventeen pomegranate margaritas. After making their way back to Jack's house at the beach (walking distance...fortunately), they sat in the Adirondack chairs out front (and set back from the road) to enjoy the sunset. Jack went into the house to get a couple of (necessary) glasses of wine for them and (inexplicably) came back out totally naked. My mom claims she had a non-reaction to this development -- she simply accepted it and began drinking her wine as Jack sat back down in his chair. (I'm hoping against hope in the name of the sweet baby Jesus and all that is right and holy guessing that this had something to do with the seventeen pomegranate margaritas.)

As it grew darker, a car pulled up at the curb in front of the house. It was the young kid who rents an apartment from Jack (the apartment is on the lot next to Jack's house). Because he is friendly with Jack and my mom, he started walking up the sidewalk to say hello. And as he got closer and his eyes began to focus in the dusky light, the expression on his face showed that he was beginning to register what he was walking toward. Jack knew that if he got up to go inside it would only make things worse...so he simply lowered his glass of wine to cover up as much as he could, while the kid stammered something about needing to get to his apartment and fled next door (likely to begin downing seventeen pomegranate margaritas himself).

For Christmas a couple of months later, I gave Jack a very practical gift: a bottle of pinot noir (purposely not a much more transparent chardonnay or chablis) and a large wine glass with a pair of boxer shorts constructed out of cardboard affixed to the stem. Therefore, if he ever found himself in that (highly probable, let's be honest) situation again he could simply lower the glass with the underpants attached, cover his stuff and fool passersby into thinking he was dressed, while still enjoying all the benefits of front yard nudity. (I should really look into a patent.)

A few days after Christmas, I was checking e-mail when I opened one from my mom. It had an attachment. A photo of Jack putting the boxer shorts wine glass to use.

I suppose the upside is that he doesn't have to rent a tux for the wedding...

Coinkydink?

Oh, for chrissakes...I take one week off from blogging to go on a quiet family vacation and look what happens:

- Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson die
- Gene Weingarten takes the Post buyout
- Governor Sanford joins the growing ranks of those espousing family values while simultaneously getting a little Argentinian sumpin sumpin on the side

I shall never desert you again, gentle readers.

Mamma say Mamma sah Mamma koo sah,
Brutalism

That's Easy For You To Say

When I was in my early twenties, I was fortunate enough to have a job that kept me out of the office, traveling the country and meeting a lot of interesting people. (If by traveling the country, you mean to towns with populations of fewer than 26 people, and if by interesting, you mean terrifying...)

(Aside: Once, I called my dad from a trade show I was doing in Mississippi. He asked, "what's the time difference?" and I said, "two hours and about 40 years.")

One of the trips I took was to the Soldier of Fortune convention in Las Vegas. (You may remember Soldier of Fortune from their earlier work in "Oopsie -- we let a hit man advertise in our classifieds."). As you may imagine, the attendees at this convention fit a very specific demographic (see "terrifying" above).

On the first day of the convention, I had just finished setting up my booth with the ORGANIZATION THAT DOES NOT HATE FREEDOM materials, when I heard a weird noise at the end of the aisle. I couldn't see anything, but kept hearing an odd sort of hooting sound. As the noise got closer, I realized that the source was a massive human being -- he was about six feet of solid muscle. Also, he had a long ponytail, was albino, and had Tourette's Syndrome (I could not make this up on my best day, but thank you for thinking that I could).

As he made his way down the aisle closer to me, I silently willed him to keep walking and not stop at my booth. But of course he did. And of course he was a member. And of course he had a question about his membership that he needed to ask me. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to get the question out. I took a piece of paper, wrote a phone number on it and said, "You'll need to call this number and ask for Lance (our member specialist back at HQ) and he'll be able to help you." To which he replied, "Okay, thanks. I'll be sure to call llllAAAAAAAAnnnnncCCCEEEEEEE."

I could never refer to Lance as just "Lance" again after that. From that day forward, he was llllAAAAAAAAnnnnncCCCEEEEEEE. (I'm pretty sure that's also the day I began applying to graduate schools.)

These colors don't bleed,
Brutalism

Happy 5th Birthday, Brutalism

Dammit, I have a hobby.

Objet D'Isturbing

Avery was busy in the office tonight. I heard her playing in there and after a while went in to investigate. This is what I found: On one hand, pretty artistic. On the other hand, I'm sleeping with the bedroom door locked.

Holy Crap

On a conference call with (undisclosed government client) today, we were discussing epidemics when one participant noted that the right people have to be asking questions of those affected in order to determine if there is a trend. She then went on to say, "Team Diarrhea of Minnesota, for instance, would be able to identify a trend based on their expertise in questioning."

Which, of course, raised several questions in my mind:

1) Do the members of Team Diarrhea find that no one wants to shake their hands at networking events?
2) Is becoming a member of Team Diarrhea a promotion from another position? If so, do I want to know what it is? Worse yet...has anyone ever been demoted from Team Diarrhea?
3) How many times do you say the words Team Diarrhea before you can do it without giggling like a school girl?
4) Is it unprofessional to put the phone on mute so that I can giggle like a school girl?

People think it's pretty funny,
Brutalism

New York Part I -- Meredith

On Friday, I rode the bus to New York, armed with a jumbo bottle of hand sanitizer and many preconceived notions about bus travel. However, the bus was new and clean and the other riders seemed much less under the influence and much less aromatic than fellow riders on the last (and I thought, final) bus trip I took many years ago.

The sanitizer was a good call, however, because bus bathrooms do not have sinks. What they do have is a sign on the wall above the toilet that shows an outline of a man in a suit and fedora sitting on the toilet. Right next to that is a picture of a man in a suit and fedora standing up -- with a huge red X through him. I took this to mean that if you are dressed identically to another passenger who is using the restroom, please do not stand right next to him as he is doing so. (Frankly, even when I am not dressed the same as someone else, I tend to employ this personal space courtesy. But I suppose it is nice to provide a reminder for those who don't.)

I arrived in New York in four hours and my friend, Meredith, had taken the day off work to meet me at Penn Station. It was pouring rain, so we hopped into a cab to go to lunch. During the ride, Mer began telling me a story about her next-door neighbor and how she can hear him having (interesting) sex with his (very vocal) girlfriend at all hours of the night. (Well, until recently, when she heard a lot of banging on the wall and a plea for help and then no noises since.) We arrived at our destination about midway through her story and as we were getting out of the cab and paying the fare, the cabbie said to me, "I really wanted to hear the end of that story." She finished the story about the murderer/sex fiend over lunch, then we talked about her upcoming vacation to the Turks and Caicos, dramaturgs (look it up) and our crazy parents.

After lunch, I went with her to an audition, and we met up with her husband, John, who was also auditioning (not for the same role). (He is an Emmy-nominated writer for the Chris Rock show and a comedian and pretty much hilarious 24 hours a day.) You may understand (as I do) that probably what drew him to Meredith initially is the almost-constant comedic fodder she provides -- just by being her. (Case in point: just before her audition she walked down the hall to use the restroom and walked right into the men's room by mistake where she saw a half-naked gentleman applying deodorant. To his nether regions.)

After the auditions, we headed to their apartment on the Upper East Side. As we got into the cab, Mer noticed a sign in the cab that said, "This is a Happy Cab." Because she is Mer, she said loudly, "Hey, we're in a Happy Cab." When we arrived at our destination, the cabbie asked, "Which one of you said this was a Happy Cab?" and Mer said, "Me," so he handed her a coupon for a free cab ride and a new Dooney & Bourke wallet. (Closer investigation revealed that this was actually a Booney & Dourke wallet, but that didn't make it any less exciting.)

We freshened up, then headed to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for a Friday night thing they have where they stay open late, play music and serve wine. Or as we like to call it, "Friday Night Pretension." Because it was still pouring, the rooftop wine/music party was postponed, but we did get to tour the museum, which was amazing. We got to see the new "Model as Muse" exhibit that just opened and also spent a lot of time looking at the Impressionists and the Egyptian stuff because we know so much about art the Temple of Dendur in the Egyptian exhibit is where one of our favorite scenes in When Harry Met Sally was filmed.

John met us at Brother Jimmy's BBQ later that night, where we had a great dinner, then we went back to their apartment. The neighbor kept it down that night (double entendre intended) so it was a very restful sleep.

There is too much pepper in my paprikash,
Brutalism

(Stay tuned for New York Part II -- Dori and Jen)

50 Hours Of Mayhem

I'm back at work this morning after a long weekend in New York City. I took the bus both ways, thinking it would provide great blog fodder. What a disappointment. It was a great way to travel -- and probably the only way I will travel to NYC in the future. (And leave my fodder out of this...)

Saw about a million people from my past, went to great restaurants, did some touristy stuff, shopped, laughed, won prizes from cab drivers and yelled at my friend when I didn't want to eat a taco.

Detailed posts to come.