The Curse Of The Dixie Cup ... Plus A Little Bit Of Stephen Fry

We're making a stab at potty training The Boy, but overall it's not going so well.

He has made it clear that under no circumstances will he do anything in the potty, not even for an M&M, so obviously he's serious. I had been hoping that bribery would work, but this kid has an iron will. He seems to feel he's proven himself on the potty already and he's moving on to a new phase.

Unfortunately, that new phase is peeing in a cup. A Dixie Cup to be precise. And to answer your next question, no - a Dixie Cup is NOT designed to hold all the liquid a 3 year old bladder can produce. But it doesn't stop there, lord no! He has also made up his mind that his sisters should pee in Dixie Cups, too, and gets quite angry when they refuse. He is what you might call "a little bugger". So, no more Dixie Cups in the house; we are a Dixie Cup free zone now. I dread to think what his next innovation in potty training will be....
_________________________________________________________________

On a different note, I am pleased to find that Stephen Fry is blogging now. If you don't want to follow the link, he's a very famous actor, comedian and novelist in the UK and was the comedy partner of Hugh Laurie (you probably know Hugh Laurie better as Dr. House from the popular TV show 'House'). He is an extremely intelligent, witty and erudite gentleman and reading his blog is more akin to attending an hour long seminar at some highbrow joint like Cambridge. But it's well worth the effort, raising the internet essay bar very high, in my humble opinion.

So clear some time in your schedule (pronounced the British way please) and go forthwith to learn more about The Adventures Of Stephen Fry.

This Is Why I Heart David Letterman

Apologies on having been MIA on the blogging front this week; I have been helping my friend Lisa blow glass and it has been exhausting. One of the things I am required to do is squat up and down next to her bench while blowing really hard into her pipe while she works the glass (insert your own dirty joke here, I'm too tired). I reckon I do the equivalent of 50 reps of squats a day and I just want to lay down when I get home. That tells you how physically fit I am, huh? On the plus side, I only burnt myself once, which is a big improvement from the last time I was her assistant.

There was one stressful moment when I turned the wrong valve on her furnace and fire shot out of the front of it in quite an alarming fashion, but let's not go in to too much detail .... she has been known to read this blog, hehe.

But anyhoo, I did manage to catch this David Letterman interview with Paris Hilton on Friday. Gone was the mellow Letterman who did Oprah last week and happily showed off pictures of his kid; back in full force was the snarky host I grew up loving. I can't stand Paris Hilton, she is a vacuous spoiled brat with no discernible talent, which comes across loud and clear in this clip. It looked like she might cry at one point. Dave is the man!

A Jock Full Of Chiggers ...

... is apparently the gift that keeps on giving! The Husband and The Starlet went for a hike by the lake on Sunday and he somehow managed to bring most of the chigger population home in his pants.

For those of you who don't know what a chigger is, they are teeny little mites that live in the woods. They lie in wait on plants and in tress and spring on you as you pass by. They are parasitic, sucking fluid from your skin once they attach; your skin swells up around them and they keep sucking until they fall off, gorged. They are also called "no see-ums" because you can't see them with the naked eye. They tend to gravitate to the more moist areas of your body, like armpits, socks, your waistband, your ..... um, you do the math there.

The bites are intensely itchy and can cause grown men to whimper. I mean *coughs* so I've heard. Not that I've recently heard whimpering or anything unmasculine like that! No, no whimpering here! Haha, perish the thought! Anyway, here is a gross picture for you to enjoy with your morning coffee....

The bites woke him up in the wee hours of Monday morning and were still appearing on Tuesday afternoon. I've never seen someone so eat up with them, bless his heart. They were everywhere in places you really don't want chigger bites, if you know what I'm saying. The Starlet had not a single one; he must have done something bad to chiggers in a past life, as he sure is paying off bad chigger karma now.

Is there a more romantic way to spend time with your man than painting clear fingernail polish onto a multitude of big red spots thoughtfully - and quite artfully I might add, they were beauties - arranged in and around his crotch while he yelps, "it stings, good GOD, it stings!"?

I don't think so, my friends, I don't think so.

Their Crowning Glory?

This morning I was passing through the little bathroom the girls use and noticed this carelessly thrown down brush perched on the side of the sink .... and it totally stopped me in my tracks.


Why? Because if you look a little closer you will see it's a dog-grooming brush. With dog hair quite visibly still in it. How, or why - or probably more importantly - when it was added to their massive collection of hair-care products remains a mystery. It does go some way to explaining why they have all smelled a little gamey lately.

The saddest part about it is that when I saw it, my initial reaction was, "Oh well, at least we know they're brushing their hair."

Does this make me a bad mother?

Why I Live In Fear Of Becoming A Headline On The Local News

Two words: The Boy.

Yes, he is sweet and loving, yes, he is charming and cute. He is also really, really smart. And devious. And has a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and did I tell you he is smart? And devious. Did I mention that? Oh, okay, sorry.

Here is a list of things he has done in the last three days, in no particular order. He has:

*Stolen a pair of Grandma's shoes and slid them through the slats of the deck. They are unreachable by an adult and he won't go far enough back under the deck to get them, the little brat.

*Turned the water hose on the dog. And not just any dog, it was the dog that is mortally afraid of water in every form and freaks out if forced to go near it. It took two hours to cajole the poor mutt back to the house.

*Deliberately, and with malice aforethought, hurled a large plastic Thomas the Tank Engine at one of his sisters, giving her a black eye. I reluctantly stopped her from beating him to a pulp, as he deserved it.

*Figured out which direction the local park is in and makes a break for it as often as possible. This involves getting out of the back door (he nailed that skill over a year ago) getting out of the back gate (done 6 months ago) and running down the street, sometimes completely naked (he's been shedding his clothes since birth). We must be vigilant at all times, it's like having a wild animal loose in the house. I wonder if this is how Siegfried and Roy felt before their tiger snapped?

*Locked Grandma out of the house and wouldn't let her back in for a good ten minutes, despite ominous threats of death-type activities that might ensue and Mommy shouting over the phone "LET HER IN! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD I'LL TAKE YOU OUT! through the plate glass window. He just laughed.

It's really the last two that keep me awake at night. I have a bad feeling, a dread, I-hope-to-God-it's-not-a-premonition, that one day soon, when the rest of us are asleep or at work, he will sneak out of his room, lock Grandma up, steal her car keys, and drive himself to the playground. By the way, I forgot to mention that he can drive. Or at least he's sussed out how to put the key in and turn it on. And change the gears.

"They seemed like such a quiet family" said local neighbors after the police managed to catch the wild runaway driving toddler. "Except for that boy ... we'd see him running down the street naked as a jay bird, we always knew something like this would happen."

And you know what's so unfair about it? We'll be the ones in jail, not him....

Have A Nice Day

Had a job interview this morning, it went well. I can begin to think about blogging again .....

As an aside, watching this little video unfortunately shows that my backyard looks like the national headquarters for redneck trailer park trash. I am so proud.

Muffins ... Not Just For Breakfast Anymore

Right about the time that I start to think I'm still "with it", I am rudely reminded how far away from "with it" I truly am. And my using the term "with it" pretty much tells you everything you need to know about my cool factor.

Today at work, I overheard the tail-end of a conversation about muffins. "Mmmmm....muffins", I thought. I can join in, I told myself, I love muffins! But wait! What kind of muffins are we talking about here? Blueberry? Lemon? No? I guess I'll listen a bit more .... Huh. What's the big deal about the tops of muffins? The crunchy spill over is the best part! I don't get it....

Then it began to dawn on me that my colleagues weren't talking about those incredibly delicious puffs of joy in a shiny tinfoil wrapper; they were, in fact, talking about fashion. Particularly the perils of sporting the "muffin top" look.

So what exactly is a muffin top? Here's the definition from the always fascinating Wikipedia: "Muffin-top (or muffin-top girl) is a generally pejorative, slang term used for a person, usually female, whose flabby midsection spills over the waistline of his or her pants in a manner that resembles the top of a muffin spilling over its casing. This generally occurs when an individual wears low-rise or hip-hugger pants and midriff-baring tops."

And they thoughtfully provide a picture comparing an actual muffin to the "muffin-top look". Just in case your mental image was not clear.

Ooooohhhhhkay.

I ever-so-slowly tried to suck in my overhanging belly while casually joining in the raucous laughter at the silly, silly people who dress like that. Since I don't wear midriff bearing tops, I am hoping nobody noticed that I could be the walking poster girl for the muffin-top look every day. And not on purpose I hasten to add, it's totally involuntary. Too many muffins, I suppose. But I'm not sure I got away with it; because honestly, they all do have two eyes that seem to work pretty good.

Oh, and the verdict on the "muffin-top" look? It's sooooooooooo 2006.

And Now A Word From Your Friendly Internet Spelling And Grammar Nazi

"Pretard" (as in someone pretending to know something, but they really don't) is NOT a word.

The word is spelled ridiculous, NOT rediculous. For the love of baby kittens, stop spelling it that way.

It is = it's. You are = you're. It's really that simple.

Lose vs. Loose. If you lose weight, your pants are loose. If you can't tell the difference you are a loser.

Thank you is two words. TWO words!

I before E except after C.

Vagetarian - as a synonym for a lesbian - is quite amusing, but alas, still incorrect.

"L77T" speak is for twelve year olds, not adults. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank your lucky stars. If you do, you are pwned and all your base are belong to me.

Wait, What Was I Talking About?

Since I've come off the devil drug of Lexapro, I have endured the sweats, brain zaps, extreme fatigue, a general feeling of pissyness, and a MAJOR tendency to forget where I'm going and what I'm doing.

Scene: My House

Me: (wandering aimlessly into kitchen)
"Hey, why did I come into the kitchen?"

My Brain: (confused, yet irritated)
"I dunno, stop hassling me biotch! Oooh, look! Cinnamon rolls!

These episodes have thankfully abated now to levels I can handle with a tad more grace.

Bearing in mind that list of unpleasant side-effects, I was thrilled to find one that wasn't so bad; weight loss. When I got on the scales a couple of days ago, I had lost 6 pounds! That's 6 whole pounds that I had not exercised off, nor had I quit eating. In fact, I have been eating more, MUCH more, but let's not go into that right now *coughs*.

After prancing gleefully around the bathroom for a minute or so, like you do when you've suddenly lost weight for no apparent reason, I put my jeans on.

Let me rephrase that .... I attempted to put my jeans on, but they weren't all that interested in going up. I had to tug those babies hard and - you ladies out there know what I mean - in the end I was left with a serious friction burn on my left hip.

So, I can only conclude that the 6 pounds lost came directly from my brain, as it sure as hell didn't come off my fat ass.

I gotta go now, I feel like I'm losing my train of thou- mmmm........donuts.

It's Kinda Like Television

On a lighter note .....

Like Television is a nifty little place I've recently stumbled across in my endless wanderings of all things internets.

It is a little treasure trove of classic TV, films and commercials. While it's by no means a comprehensive site, it does offer up a few gems. They have old toy ads that took me waaay back; "Barbie's Camper Van"! OMG I had that! "Mystery Date!" I had that too! Awwwww, look, it's "Slinky"! I still have that!

The best bit was the collection of clips from The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. I am very curious as to how they got permission to post downloadable video, as getting video rights clearance from The Tonight Show is about as hard to get as it is from the Monty Python crew. Trust me, I used to do that kind of stuff for a living.

Anyhoo, here's a beauty - Ed McMahon is a wee bit tipsy, and a marmoset gets nervous .....

LikeTelevision Embed Movies and TV Shows

Leave Britney Alone!

Don't Click Here If You Are A Normal Person - Very Much NOT Safe For Work

I fear for future of our nation. I know, I know, I'm not helping by spreading it, but dayum!

The Swarm

The cicadas arrived a couple of weeks ago and they are driving me crazy. The little buggers appear out of nowhere about this time every summer and do their best to scare the total bejeesus out of me.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not afraid of bugs (that is me holding the one pictured to the right. You can tell it's me by the total lack of any kind of manicure.) And it's not even the incessant "songs" they sing every night that can get so loud it will drown out all normal conversation.

Nope, it's because they deliberately lie in wait just outside the door; and when I take a step through .... BAM! ... I get nailed. At least once a day, I am dive bombed by one of the damn things. They are pretty big bugs and fast, too; if they manage to smack you upside the head, you feel it. And up close and personal like that, they sound like a chain saw.

Recently I walked out onto the deck, carrying a glass of wine, and one flew straight for my eyes. This startled me into involuntarily hurling my own drink up into my face. As much as it royally entertained everyone else present, I was much less than pleased.

The one pictured above knocked himself out trying to get me last night, so I grabbed him to have a little talk, and maybe get him to pass on a few words of warning to his friends. He got a little angry, but that just made me enjoy it even more.

Right after that, I squashed him! Haha, just kidding! I only flicked him between the eyes like he meant to do to me, then I let him go free. I am expecting some sort of revenge attempt later this evening, but I'll be ready with my tennis racket, baby. Bring 'em on!

I Miss You Old Man

Six years ago a cherished friend, Jeremy Pascall, passed away. He was an accomplished music journalist, coming of age in the '60s, when England started swinging, as the saying goes. He interviewed all the big rock stars of the time (he had extremely funny stories of time spent with Mickey Dolenz of The Monkees fame; alas, they are not my stories to tell) and was an integral part of the avant guarde group Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band; I believe he's even pictured on the back of one of their albums. That would be enough for most people, but fortunately, Jeremy was NOT most people.

He also wrote several books, was a successful DJ at Capitol Radio in London, hosting the shows Vinyl Vaults and The UnEncyclopedia of Rock, before evolving into a talented radio and television comedy writer. The man was FULL of the most esoteric knowledge you had never heard of. It was impossible to win a game of Trivial Pursuit against him, or any kind of quiz for that matter; lord knows I tried.

I met him while working at the BBC on a popular UK entertainment show I had somehow talked my way onto; a show that he had devised and still wrote for, no less. I was a wet-behind-the-ears researcher, a brash young mouthy American who knew nothing about English popular culture. He was a prickly, cigar smoking, hard drinking, high-flying bon vivant who knew almost everybody important in the worlds of comedy and telly, and everything about English popular culture; and he did NOT suffer fools gladly.

I loved him from the minute I met him. For some inexplicable reason, he did not immediately savage me for the idiot that I was, but instead took pity on me and swept me under his professional wing. He helped me countless times tip-toe through the minefield that is entertainment television, for which I am forever grateful.

But he was more than a mentor; he was a good friend. When I was working in London and living in the most dismal flat, he and his beautiful wife, Susan, would insist that I spend weekends at their fabulous home in Brighton. They would wine and dine me, show me the sights, and generally treat me like a member of the family; in fact, I spent my 28th birthday weekend at their house.

Jeremy would also often travel up from Brighton to have lunch with me at what I used to call "the old man's pub" at Victoria Station; he didn't like that description, but I liked to needle him, just so he would give me his scary glare and lecture me on my lack of intelligence. "Listen Yank, let me tell you ....." was a phrase I heard often.

He was a world traveler and could count quite a few celebrities as his close friends, but he was never a snob. He was just as happy to grab a curry and eat it on his lap with those of us who weren't quite as well-to-do, as he was to dine at The Ivy. To him and Susan, it was the company they were with, not the location, that mattered.

He claimed to not care for children; when asked if he liked babies he would often reply, "Yes, I had one for breakfast this morning"**. Yet he and Susan were godparents to quite a few lucky boys and girls, and they never failed to ask how your kids were doing. When The Princess was born, he and Susan sent two adorable sweaters her mother had knitted as gift - and then pretended they never did any such thing.

In an industry renowned for its total insincerity, he was a loyal friend. Long after I had quit working in television, he would ring just to check on me; and I thought nothing of picking up the phone and disturbing him whenever I felt the need for his advice.

When he was diagnosed with throat cancer, he kept it secret for quite some time; as he explained later, you can get away with just about anything in the entertainment business except being seriously ill. I never thought for a moment that he wouldn't beat it; his lust for life was so large, it was just impossible to consider. In fact, the day before he died, I received an email from him in which he cracked two or three really politically incorrect jokes about having cancer; I'm delighted to report that he was irreverent to the very end.

I could go on and on about Jeremy; but happily for you, reader of my blog who most likely never met him, I won't. Instead, I will share with you a few things I learned from him, in no particular order:

Showbusiness - it's the business they call show. Never forget it's a business - money talks or the talent walks.

Never go to Rusholme with Jamie Goold.

Comedians who juggle are to be avoided at all costs.

When hosting a dinner party, always serve two or three bottles of really nice wine to start off with, then switch to the box you have hidden in the kitchen. Your guests will never notice.

Working with an actress is like washing a cat. Somebody is gonna get scratched and cry before it's all over and done with.

Don't eat mussels unless you're at the sea-side.

Always be nice to people on your way up the ladder of success; if you are, they might refrain from kicking you too hard on your way down.

Cheer up SleepyJean! Just cheer up and sing, dammit!

There is a beloved story attached to every one of these, and just thinking about them makes me smile. I am glad I've at last had the opportunity to publicly mourn your passing, even though it's nearly six years to the day of your funeral, and to say, I really miss you J - you were a one of a kind. And even though you are dead, I will never agree that Fred Astaire was a better dancer than Gene Kelly. Never!
____________________________________________________

(The picture was taken at the top of Beachy Head - I was too scared to walk up to the edge, so we crawled to it. I was forever tagged as a "the Yank in the big girl's blouse" after that.)

** copyright William Shakespeare.

It's Britney Ya'll!

Maybe it's another side-effect of coming off the Lexapro, but I find myself compelled to watch Britney Spears open the MTV music awards. I'm thinking I should have just gotten a prescription for Ambien instead. Okay, here she comes, shush!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wow. Okay, first impressions .....

It's a sucky song.

Oye vey! A young lady who had two children in rapid succession should not, I repeat, NOT squeeze herself into a tiny little bikini thingie unless she has been working out something other than her drinking arm. Yeesh. And please, skip the calf-high leather boots if you have calf fat. I'm just saying.

Lipsynching is hard, ya'll! It must be, as she just quit doing it towards the end of the song, and didn't even bother to pretend after that. Oh, she was moving her lips, but that was to count her "dance" steps. She looks bored/doped out of her skull, like some kind of low-end stripper from the local 'Doll House' that's WAY too close to a military base.

Pole dancers are soooo 2004.

Grabbing random dancer guy's crotch is no longer shocking; I believe it's actually her way of asking somebody on a date these days. I predict she will marry him in a couple of months.

I am relieved to see that - for once - she is not masticating a huge wad of gum like some kind of lobotomized cow.

Whew, it's over.

I don't think this is going to be the big comeback she was hoping for; I bet you a dollar to one of the dozen or so doughnuts she must have scoffed before taking the stage that she will be getting up to no good later tonight. What happens to Britney in Vegas, stays in the headlines!

Please god, let her be wearing underwear this time.

Don't Worry, We Brought A Goat!

I came across this story today; "Nepalese State Airline Sacrifices Goats To Appease Sky God"

According to Reuters, "Nepal Airlines, which has two Boeing aircraft, has had to suspend some services in recent weeks due to a problem. The goats were sacrificed in front of the troublesome aircraft Sunday at Nepal's only international airport in Kathmandu in accordance with Hindu traditions, an official said".

I wonder if they also got a qualified airline mechanic to take a little look under the hood, as well. You know, just in case the whole goat sacrifice didn't work out as planned.

As Dave Barry would say, you can't make this stuff up.

Another Baby Leaves The Nest .... Hallelujah!

Today The Boy started his first day at his new school. He has been terribly overexcited about it since he went to Open House last week. When his big sister gave him her old backpack, that was just the icing on the cake! He's been badgering us for the last three days.



The Boy (beaming with excitement)
"School today Mommy?"
Mommy
"No, not until Tuesday."
The Boy (beaming with excitement)
"School today Mommy?"
Mommy (getting more irritated)
"No! You're a broken record, stop asking the same question over and over."
The Boy (beaming with excitement)
"Yeah! I broken record! School today Mommy?"
Mommy (at wit's end)
"Go find your father!"

Repeat this conversation until you feel like you've landed in Groundhog Day.

Here he is modeling his new look. You can see by his face that he is very pleased with himself.

He and Daddy had a great time getting ready this morning; we were not worried for a minute that he would cry when he got there. No sir, he couldn't wait!

I was touched that when we arrived, he wanted Daddy and I to hold his hands on the way in; but that turned out to be just because he wanted help to make big jumps up the steps in his haste to get inside the building.

There were other parents there with crying children who didn't want their mommies and daddies to leave; The Boy gleefully skipped past them without a second look and happily waved bye-bye to us. As we left, he was cosying up to a cute little blond girl who was cooking in the play kitchen. Just like his daddy; it really is quite alarming.

However, he did eventually cry ... when it was time to go home. We must be doing something right!

Must Keep Swimming

Hope ya'll are having an enjoyable long weekend .... I had to work. So for me; meh, not so much.

I'm sure it was a novel experience for the manager to have a frantic employee begging for things to do for a change. Movement and constant action are just about the only thing that keep the brain zaps at a bearable level. I am now like a shark, I must keep swimming or die.

The Morman Rap

I know ya'll think I'm unhealthily obsessed by religion and maybe that's true.....

Oh all right, it is true, I confess. I ask you for forgiveness and you, dedicated reader, are required by most religious tenets to do so; done deal! Now let's move on, shall we?

At least today it's not about the extremist Christian whackos who get under my skin like chiggers; no, it's much more fun than those dour harbingers of doom.

(/cue M.C. Hammer's You Can't Touch This)

It's Mormon Time!

I came across this gem on good old YouTube and had to share it; it is the absolute polar opposite to anything produced by 50 Cent. Jumping Jehovah!

Just look how far "rap music" has come since Grandmaster Flash and "The Message"!


Is it just me, or do the singers on that backing track sound just like Donnie and Marie? In the interest of full disclosure, I used to lurve me some Donnie and Marie Show back in the 70's. I still own all The Osmond Brothers albums and enjoy nothing more than singing "Paper Roses", in full operatic voice, to aggravate my children.

As I've posted before, Big Love is my fave show on TV, and right now I'm all about those lovable, cheerful, perky, relentlessly upbeat in nature, really-kind-of-weird-to-the-rest-of-us Mormons! The Husband and I even watched a very dry documentary on PBS the other day about the history of the LDS church. It was pretty interesting - I had no idea it was such a "new" faith, and that they got massacred quite often in their earlier days (by the US Government no less) for being heretical polygamists. That does go some way to explaining why they still feel so persecuted as a group today, I guess.

And it had not yet sank in to my over-caffeinated skull, until watching this clip, that Mormons don't drink Coke, Pepsi, or especially, heaven forfend, the official drink of the South, Mountain Dew! Golly!