Princess Poopypants

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...

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

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...

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

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)

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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*

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)...

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*

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...

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. Mom offers no help in lugging heavy cooler or wrangling small child, nor does she express any appreciation for my efforts.

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. Calculate 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 mother makes me feel old.

I Think I Deserve Extra Credit

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

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

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.

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: