A Hotbed of Awkward Situations

Now that my kid is walking we've been frequenting parks - lots and lots of parks.  Why?  Because as soon as my child wakes up in the morning, my sole mission of the day is to put her back to sleep.  So, I feed her, play with her and then make her climb up ladders, crawl through jungle gyms, trudge through sand, shovel sand and chase balls - all in the name of tiring her out so I can have two hours during the day to do meaningful work blog.  That's life as a mom.  They don't show you that on Pampers and Johnson Baby Shampoo commercials, but that's our entire mission.

Anyway, while I've been living the park life, I've began noticing these, seemingly fun filled parks, are actually hotbeds for awkward situations.  For example, you have the awkward situation of packs of children, who come from a cornucopia (always wanted to use that word in my blog) of cultures, who are all incapable of sharing the nasty sand toys scattered around the park.  I hate these moments because in one second your child will be innocently shoveling sand into a bucket, and then in the next second, some crazed, unattended kid, will come running over, yank the shovel out of her hands and run off.  As soon as this happens, I always find myself doing the following: 1. I, immediately, think of a racial slur about the particular nationality of child who just broke my daughter's heart. (I'm not proud of this, but parks bring out the worse in mothers.)  2. I scan the park for the mother, who sired such a disappointment,and when I find her, I communicate through my searing eye contact, "I want you to know, that I know, that you know, that your child sucks."  3. I then steal another shovel from a kid, who's mom is most likely working a 9-6 job, Monday through Friday, and who's nanny is currently talking and laughing with the other over worked nannies.  I figure this child is already dealing with development and abandonment issues, so really, what's another thing taken from him really going to do?

The next awkward situation is what do you do about kids, who are annoying the crap out of your kid?  For example, the other day a particular little girl was semi-terrorizing my child. First, she pushed her off her swing, then pushed her through a tunnel, that she wanted to go through, and then screamed at her for not going down a slide fast enough.  While this was going on her mother just sat underneath a pavilion talking to her friends.  Initially, I tried to be nice by saying, "Hold on a second, Avery (my child) is just about through, and then you can go."  But, then after the third incident I found myself fighting the urge to say, "Listen kid, you come within three feet of my child, I'll follow you home, hide in a closet, and then surprise attack you while you are watching Mickey Mouse Playhouse.  I will.  I'll do it."  Fortunately, I didn't go down that path, but I did "gently" grab her arm and say, "Hey!  Quit it."  Am I proud of the fact that she stayed away from me and my child for the rest of the day and even seemed a little scared?  Um, yes.

The last awkward situation comes from the fellow parents at the park.  I don't know what vibe I'm giving off but parents have said some really strange things to me.  The other day I was just watching my daughter climb up some stairs when a mother walked over to me and said, "My daughter wouldn't let me potty train her until she was four.  Can you imagine that?  Four years old and still in diapers?"  At first, I thought she was talking to someone else, until I realized I was the only one there.  And then before I could respond, she said, "But she is smart, just stubborn.  For example, she tells me I need to lose weight."  Now, I think I'm being punked.  What?  I just looked at her and said, "Kids."  That's always my go to answer with the crazy parents.  (And, sometimes I throw a shake of the head for added emphasis.)  Some parent says, "Sorry my kid always tries to bite other kids at the park."  Me: "Kids."  Another crazy: "Is this your only kid?  I have five.  Four live with their father."  Me: "Kids."

Oh, parks - how I love your child exercise equipment, and how I hate your community.

Someone Needs A Hug

I recently read of a woman in Kentucky who purchased a car for the sole purpose of ramming it into a Kroger supermarket.  Apparently, June Ann Blocker, who was a former employee of the supermarket, purchased a 2006 Lincoln and ran it into the front of the store.  Fortunately, only two people were injured, but the kicker of the story, is the fact that in 1999, she did the same freaking thing to another Kroger store in a neighboring town.

Alright points of discussion:

1. I'm way too cheap to seek this kind of revenge!  I mean, seriously, you buy a car just to destroy it?  And you've done this twice?  Man, June Ann, you are a better woman than I.  Seriously, in the past I've had a hard time buying toilet paper and eggs just to destroy someone's house.  I salute your commitment to not only making a statement, but financial ruin.

2. What in the freaking world did Kroger do to this woman?  Guys.  Seriously, did management not move her from produce after she was asked too many times, "Can I see your melons?"  Was the test of memorizing the aisles too much?  (Am I the only one who finds it amazing that grocery workers know where all the random crap is?  "Oh, you are looking for gluten free salt for cupcakes?  Aisle four, half way down." Amazing.)

3. I'm just guessing here but, after the first crash in 1999, things probably didn't go so well for sweet June Ann.  There were probably some fines, maybe a little jail time, a license revoked, town shame,and possibly some family members' disapproval.  So, what caused her to do this again?  Or I guess the more important question: What went so right the first time that she had to go down this same path again?  Was the impact perfect?  Did it just sum up all the disgruntled feelings you were keeping pent up?  Did someone from Kroger issue a statement that said, "Dear Ms. Blocker.  You got us.  You did it.  We admit it.  We suck.  Had you not rammed a car into our store we wouldn't have said this, but since you did...you win."

Listen June Ann, next time, just drive by and give the store the finger.  It might not cause as much damage or threaten the lives of enough people, but it might be a less abrasive way to go.  Just saying.

Swimming With Piranhas

In a few weeks, the husband and I are traveling to Peru for a little adventure without the little one.  Yep, 8 days of the old Inca ruins, Machu Picchu, hopefully not an intestine breakdown and a trip up the Amazon.  I'm really excited for this trip, but I'll be honest, I'm also slightly nervous.  I mean one, it's South America - so obviously, there's the threat of being kidnapped, forced to be a drug mule or sold to a drug cartel.  (I think that covers all my Tom Clancy Guidebooks of South America.)  Two, I took Spanish from seventh grade to my senior year.  Will the natives understand the love I so desperately want to express to them?  Will they be accepting of my gentle and well intentioned corrections of their grammar?  Will towns be ready to adopt my dialect?  I just don't know how to balance showing off verses speaking their language.*

And lastly, I'm scared to death slightly worried about our trip up the Amazon.  For some reason all I can picture is us floating up the river, when all of the sudden, our guide is hit by a dart gun by some crazy native, an anaconda starts to attack our boat and then piranhas eat us alive.  I know what you are thinking: Why am I doing this trip?  No, but seriously, I'm a little worried.  According to our itinerary one day on the Amazon we are going piranha fishing.  Yes, you read that right.  We are going to voluntarily attempt to catch, reel in and...who knows what...a fish that, according to wikipedia, are known for their sharp teeth and a voracious appetite for meat.  Voracious appetite for meat.   And as if that wasn't bad enough, the following day we are going SWIMMING in the Amazon with pink dolphins.  I don't know if anyone has pointed this out, but how can you one day go fishing for the devil's fish, and the next day take a nice dip with friendly Flipper?  No seriously, is their some Amazon schedule that doesn't allow piranhas to kill people on Thursdays?  If we get attacked, while swimming with the dolphins, is our guide just going to shrug his shoulders and say, "Whoops, I guess we weren't far enough away from the piranhas.  Sorry you crazy gringos!"  What's next drinking out of a cup that was recently storing a cold glass of sarin?  (Yep, just Googled: "Most Lethal Poisons."  Guess I can't kill my husband that way - thanks, internet history!)


* Please refer to this to see my skills.

Disneyland at 34

When I was five years old my parents piled my three siblings into a station wagon and drove us from Pennsylvania to California.  Though I was young, I still vividly remember this trip.  I remember sharing one walkman with my sister and brother, and listening to Genesis over and over again.  I remember the Midwest, and how it looked from sitting backwards in a station wagon. I remember Vegas and its oppressive heat, but fantastic lights, the Grand Canyon, Alcatraz, and of course, our final destination - Disneyland.  I'll never forget pulling up to the parking lot, walking through the gates and riding the teacups.  To a five year old this was the ultimate destination.

However, after this magical trip, the rest of my childhood and early adult life was spent on the east coast, and I was unable to return to the "happiest place on earth."  And then, I had a daughter, moved to Orange County, fought peer pressure for a year, and finally acquiesced, and bought an annual pass to Disney. I was returning.  Almost 30 years later, and I was returning.

So, off I went, ready to regain my adolescent sense of wonder and excitement and experience the joys of Disney with my daughter.  Unfortunately, no one told me that Disneyland is a lot different when you are now 34 years old.  First of all, why did my parents drive across the United States for this?  Back in the freaking 80's there was only Disneyland, and not a very large Disneyland, AND no California Adventure!  What in the world did we do all day?  Do I remember the teacups so well because that's all we did for the afternoon?  Did we never return because my parents cleverly showed us that Disneyland was all hype and show, and convinced us that we weren't missing anything?  Did I somehow forget this presentation and agreement?  Man, thank goodness for more rides and crazier people to watch, because there's no way I could have got an annual pass in the 80's.

Second of all, at five, all the rides were ridiculously fast and and exciting.  Now, at 34, I have to question my sanity for waiting in line for 50 minutes so we can ride along a track and watch a freaky animatronic bang on some drums and sing a well known Disney song.  Seriously, after waiting fifty minutes, I want someone to place me in a flying car, feed me space ice cream and transport me back in time.  But, then I look down at my kid, and she's loving it.  She thinks all the crocodiles, that need some serious 21st century makeovers, are completely real, is convinced the slightly creepy person, who chooses to hug kids all day, is truly Mickey Mouse and has no idea that waiting 24 minutes for a 64 second ride makes no sense in any world.  She just loves it.  And, then in 30 years, she'll return and wonder, "What in the world was my mom thinking?"

Oh, the cycle of Disney.

My Letter of Beef

Well, I suppose before I continue I should clear up some misunderstandings - I love the Olympics.  I'm not a communist.  I support all and every person, who decides to devote themselves to mastering the art of holding onto a tiny sled, while they fly down a tunnel of ice at 70 mph.  I support watching the Olympics, and even pretending to be shocked when I see an event at night, that I already know the outcome to because of the gosh darn internets.  I support it all.

Alright, with that off my chest...can we discuss how come the Russians are killing us on the ice?  Kidding.

No, actually I got to thinking, after a friend of mine passionately responded to my Olympic rant, about what things would get a passionate response out of me.  The following is what I came up:

1. I think I'm going to write a letter to the hit TV show The Bachelor or The Bachelorette informing them that the following has got to stop:  Contestants have got to stop saying, after three minutes of talking, "I really see myself falling for this person and having a future with them."  No, you don't.  You see the chance of holding on for a few more eliminations to either, see more of the world, or to possibly become the next idiot, who after three episodes into the new season, I'm going to hate.  And please stop letting these morons claim they planned the elaborate dates.  A producer rented the helicopter, found the location, hired the locals to dance and made the food.  Not Juan Pablo.  Just be honest.

2. My next letter would be to all people who take credit when they shouldn't.  Case and point: I'm out riding the other day in my Duke biking outfit when some guy pulls up next to me and says, "Ah, a Dukie.  Too bad, I'm from Florida State."  (I'm supposed to care because our schools, to which we haven't attended in almost 15 years, are in the same conference.)  So, I say, "Yep. A Dukie.  That's great you are from Florida State.  We beat you in basketball and you beat us in football - it's a wash."  Put the earphones back in and get ready to move, and then the idiot says, "We don't just win in football, but we are National Champs!"  We?  Really?  Listen, retired college football player Asian man, YOU didn't get recruited.  YOU didn't practice one second.  YOU didn't play or even attend the game.  YOU won nothing.  YOU paid for their scholarships.  YOU attended class so Florida State has a graduation rate that the team can tell future recruits about.  YOU wrote fifteen scathing critiques of games on a Florida State Message Board.  YOU were outside the stadium getting drunk at a tailgate.  That's what YOU did.  

3. Wow, that last one got me a little heated.  Moving on.  My last letter (I've got to end at three because nap time is coming to a close and I can't be a hot mess when the daughter wakes up) would be to the "one uppers."  You know who you are.  And if you don't, let's see if this describes you:  You are the one in a group, who almost wets themselves while you excitedly wait for the speaker to take a breath so you can come crashing in with a story, that totally DESTROYS the other person's story.  You are the one that hears about someone's aunt dying of a skin disease, that ate away their face and then limbs, and then says, "I once broke every bone in my body and was in a coma for ten years while a skin disease healed my bones, restored my energy and then rebuilt my face."  Slow clap one upper - you win.

Ahh...I feel much better now.

The Unpredictability of V Day

I got to admit, Valentine's Day is way more boring now that I'm married.  Don't get me wrong, it's nice to have someone, to love someone and have someone to go out with, but blah, it's boring.  Back in the day Valentine's Day was a complete wild card.  Some years it was down right depressing.  I remember one year I got a boutique of flowers, I mean a huge boutique of flowers, from a guy, who I was planning on breaking up with, but because I sucked back then, I hadn't gotten around to talking to him about it.  So, there I sat, staring at this virtual garden of flowers, and all I could think was, "Crap, now I got to kiss the guy and probably date him for another week."  In retrospect, I really wish he had just given me a check for the flowers.  That way I could have at least bought him a going away gift.

And then other Valentine's Days were down right weird. I remember a week later getting a chocolate rose in my mailbox from some anonymous admirer.  Um, thanks for the re-gift?  The "on sale" item?  The federal offense for reaching inside my parent's mailbox?  And a week later huh?  Are we now celebrating our future love, or February - Black History Month?

And then sometimes Valentine's Day was great.  I mean, remember Valentine's Day in elementary school?  All those little cards filled with terrible candy and such heartfelt notes?  Those were the days.  Or the times you had to hide notes and flowers from your parents because they would find out that the "friend" you have been "hanging out with" downstairs, by yourselves, with the lights usually off, is actually someone you've been making out with?  Again, good times.

Happy Valentine's Everyone!  Hope it's filled with a little spice!

Winter Olympics Is A Scam

So, we are a few days into the Olympics and I got to be honest, the Winter Olympics are the worst.  Honestly, it's a total scam.  Tell me any other time during the year, or during the next three years, when you would voluntarily sit down and watch the qualifying round of the ski jump, EVEN THE FINAL round of the biathlon or even ten minutes of the luge?  You wouldn't!  Shut up, you wouldn't.  And yet, because some country decides to spend twenty years worth of its GDP, we feel obligated, ONCE EVERY 4 YEARS, to sit down and ask, as if we really care, "Now, the bobsled is judged just on time, or is there some other type of scoring?"  Rip off the blinders people - you don't care about the ice skating.  You might think you care if he'll land that quad axel, but really in two weeks you won't remember the guy's name, the ridiculous athletic uniform costume he wore or even the music he chose to perform his routine.  You won't.  And if you want to fight me on this, I'll send you two tickets to Disney On Ice.  Still love ice skating?  Didn't think so.

And don't tell me about the snowboarding...listen, you Shaun White bandwagoning-good-for-nothing-lovers, name ONE more snowboarder.  Just one.  From any other country.  Male or female.  Tell me one trick.  Tell me how they are judged.  Tell me what the events are. Exactly. Get off the bandwagon.  Now.

And lastly, if you insist on religiously watching the Olympics please keep these few thoughts in mind:

Human Skeleton: This event would only be interesting if they randomly grabbed people from the crowd and threw them down the track...because let's be honest - what's the athletic skill involved here?  Holding on for dear life?  Closing your eyes and not crying out like a little girl?  Can you imagine if the announcer was like from the Price is Right, "Come on down Boris! You've been chosen to break the world's record!"

Cross Country Skiing: I would watch this event if the theme of James Bond was always playing, and masked assassins chased after the skiers.  Take away either two of these requests and I will not watch this.  Okay, if you have a boy on a bike screaming, "I want my two dollars," then yes, I would watch it. (John Cusack movie.  Look it up.)

Curling: I would only watch this if each team got sloppy drunk.  Can you imagine how excited they would get if they hit the thingy (no research on curling was involved in this post) in the bulls-eye?  Or how many falls there would be as they tried to sweep furiously behind?  It would be awesome.

Bobsled: I would follow this event if there was a weigh requirement to the participants.  250 pounds and up.  It would be fun to hear the commentators say, "Now this will be interesting.  The team from China is weighing a total of 1,303 pounds and there is still a concern about the last man even fitting into the sled...let's now go to this human interest story about how Germany trains with a diet of cheese, chocolate and beer."

Stop the scam Putin.  Stop it.

Can Anything For Our Kids Be Trusted?

I've commented in the past about idiotic children books and their pointless stories, but it's now time to discuss children videos.  (Spoiler Alert: I'm a terrible mom, who let's her 17 month old baby watch videos!  I know, I know, I'm already planning on autism, ADD and developmental issues.)  Anyway, the other day, while we were driving around judging the prices of homes listed for sale, we put on some forsaken Elmo video to occupy our child.  I don't exactly understand the attraction to Elmo, but holy moth to a flame.  As soon as the video goes on our child will go from a babbling, happy child to zombie, drugged baby.  (Oh, wait is this why they don't want you to show videos to your child?)  Anyway, on the video is some character named Mr. Noodle.  I, fortunately, have never seen what this character looks like, but I've heard from the front seat that this guy is a complete moron.  Everyone, from Elmo to the kids, who will be denying its them in an Elmo show in a few years, hate on Mr. Noodle during the entire video.  Seriously, Elmo will be like, "Hey let's read a book," and then a few minutes later you'll hear, "No, Mr. Noodle, you don't eat a book.  No, Mr. Noodle, don't sit on the book."  After listening to the video for a little while I started wondering why Sesame Street, a company that prides themselves on educating kids, would create a character that seems to be only a notch above a severely mentally damaged person, and then place him in situations, where kids and other puppets yell at him for his stupidity?  Are they trying to teach kids the very important skill of bullying?  Because if so, bravo Sesame Street - after listening to this video twice, I was ready to do some pretty terrible things to Mr. Noodle.

And now let's discuss the show Doc McStuffins.  Oh, Doc McStuffins.  Listen, I'll be honest, this one isn't that bad.  I mean, sure one day Doc will have to be admitted to some pysch ward because her parents will finally realize she's been suffering from acute hallucinations involving talking stuffed animals, but hey, isn't it cute right now?  No, my problem with this show is the character Lambie, who's whole mission in life is to offer creepy cuddles to anything that moves.  Honestly, give her a trench coat and an apartment overlooking a children's playground and she will be registered within the week.  Seriously, it's just weird.  And the timing of her cuddles are so weird.  Some toy will receive a pretty bad diagnosis from Doc, with no solution in sight, and then Lambie will saunter over and ask, "Do you need a cuddle?"  No, Lambie.  Geez, give the toy some space.  It would be like hearing you have cancer, and then some creepy male nurse coming in saying, "Hey guy, heard you got the cancer, how about a hug?"  Um, no.

So, I'm at a lost.  Books are full of ridiculous characters.  Videos are full of morons.  Are we supposed to be talking to our kids or something?

Vindication 13 Years Later

I recently read that the military is dropping its pull-up requirements for women because the majority of recruits were unable to perform the minimum requirement of three.  Listen, I'm all about strong women and equal opportunities, blah, blah, but I got to be honest, I was pretty excited to read this piece of news.  Actually, I felt deeply vindicated.  Why?  Well, to be honest, I have had a very successful athletic career, but something has always weighed heavily on me as an athlete.  Each year I was in middle school we had to participate in the President's Challenge, which was a fitness test administered during gym class.  In order to win the award, one had to score at or above the 85th percentile on flexibility, running and strength.  Each year I would find myself in the running for the award and then the test of strength would kill me.  Was I a weak child?  Um, no, I was the size of a grown woman by 12.  No, my problem was that the strength portion of the test consisted of how many pull-ups you could do in a minute.  Freaking pull-ups.

I can still remember the demoralizing walk into the back wrestling room, where the lone bar hung on the wall.  Each year my gym teacher would give me the thumbs up and then say, "Okay, Kate, your time starts now."  And then the humiliation would begin.  With a little help I would be placed on the bar and then for 60 seconds I would just hang there.  For the first few seconds I would grunt and wiggle around, hoping momentum would somehow swing me up. Then, I would go into cursing my genetic pool of weak armed ancestors, who might have had the fortitude to walk across the United States for a better home, but in my book were really just a bunch of people with weak and useless appendages.  From there I would go into denial.  Sure my deltoid muscles were about to tear, and my arms were losing blood by the second, but I just knew this year was going to be different.  It had to be different.  And then, my gym teacher would say quietly, "Time.  Sorry Kate.  At least you'll get a 'Participating Award.'"  A "participating award?"  That was the worst because you know who else got the "Participating Award?"  Yep, the fat kids, the handicap kids...and me.

So, listen up gym teacher, who's name I can't remember right now, but I'm sure you were slightly creepy, and THE PRESIDENT, pull ups are stupid.  Even women, who most likely could kill me with their bare arms, even THEY can't do pull-ups!  So, here's what we are going to do. I'm going to need three certificates awarding me the Presidential Challenge. I'm going to need a written apology and I would like the bar in the wrestling room ripped off the wall and burned.  Maybe then, we can call it even.

Incredible

Today, while I was riding my bike through the back bay of Newport, I came across a very large group of people, who were standing near the waters edge, with binocular and cameras, just staring at some birds floating in the water.  As I passed the group, I heard someone say, right before their giant camera fired off 14 consecutive shots of the swimming birds, "This is incredible."  Really?  Incredible?  I think we all need to stop a moment and clarify what definition we are using for "incredible" because I'm not sure we are all on the same page.  Incredible is: surviving a plane crash.  Incredible are: heart transplants, the amount of poo at 16 month old baby can generate, or the fact that Justin Bieber hasn't been shot.  Now, those things are incredible.  A plain looking bird floating in a feces filled bay, I got to say, is not exactly incredible.

So, I got to ask, and not the obvious question of, "Why are birds remotely interesting?" but, "How does one become an avid bird watcher?  Or what does it take to become a bird watcher?"  Seriously, I want to know.  Must you hate exciting things?  For example, if I enjoy speeding down a hill on my bike, would I be a bad candidate for bird watching?  Would it be better if I found enjoyment in sitting at the post office and watching customers buy stamps?  Am I getting in the bird running?

Secondly, is there a weekly newsletter, website or Facebook page of where one can post the thousands of pictures taken of the bird sitting in its nest?  Maybe I'm reaching here, but if I'm going to walk twenty yards into a forest, hold my breath, so as to not disturb my adoring subject, and manage (fingers crossed) to take 135 pictures of him, where and how can I share this gift with the world?  If nowhere, then bird friends, I'm not sure this gig is for me.

And lastly, to become a bird watcher, must you focus all energies just on birds?  For example, is it taboo to the hobby to become a fish watcher or a lover of different tree branches?  What if you explain that while falling in love with the birds, the branches just seemed to, unexpectedly, sneak up on you?  And you can't explain it, but there's just something you and the branches understand about one another that the birds just don't seem to get, or to be frank, try to get?

I know, I know, a lot of questions.  Maybe one day I'll get the courage to stop and interrupt the incredible magic going on in the back bay.

The Elusive Color Yellow

Last night the husband and I went exotic and ordered Chinese food.  Hmmm...MSG.  After the meal, we both cracked open our future cookies only to find we both had received the same fortune.  Pray tell, what are the chances you crazy Chinese fortune tellers?

Anyway, the fortune read: "Focus in on the color yellow tomorrow for good luck!"  Focus on the color "yellow."  Huh? So, today is tomorrow and I have to admit, no good luck yet.  For example, last night, due to the copious amounts of salt that was undoubtedly placed in our food for flavor, I drank a lot of water.  What does that mean?  Well, my urine was not so yellow.  Heck, it was basically water.  So, great little China man, no good luck there.  Then I encountered some yellow snot coming out of my baby's nose...followed by a million dollars?  Nope, just more snot.  0 for 2.

Were my dying yellow lemon trees outside, that need probably all the water I drank last night, sprouting cures to cancer, free babysitters, secrets to how to remove my back love handles?  Nope.  Do I own any yellow clothes?  No!  Is the sun even out today? No it's cloudy!  Damn you color yellow and all the good luck you promise!

Dear wise and prophetic future tellers, who work in the fortune cookie factories in San Francisco, you have got to be more specific!  We, I mean, humankind, depend on these small strips of paper for guidance and direction.  You've got to give us more...and you've got to think a little harder than offering the same fortune.  My husband has a job.  A real job.  Do you know how much legal yellow paper he's surrounded by?  He's an absolute mess today.

The Battle Cry of No

Holy sweet Moses it's been a while since I even opened this blog. I would like to state that my absence was not due to the overwhelming hate mail I received due to my last entry in regards to Michael Buble.  Sure, you haters are going to hate, but it was the Christmas season and I heard music from an angel.  'Twas the season you haters of soulful jazz and butter voices.  So, yes, I took a break...and I liked it.  But, you know what a large break means for me?  A lot of freaking sarcasm and judgmental feelings that must be expressed.  So, bring on the new year...the new day...because I'm feeling...gooood.  (I'll stop with the Michael Buble.)

So, where do we begin?  Well, let's begin in my new little world.  Lately, my child has decided to start doing some strange things.  One, she has no idea what "no" really means, and yet, that seems to be the answer for everything.  And it's not just one time saying "no," but actually hundreds of times, while vigorously shaking her head.  The husband and I, naturally, have resorted to mocking her by shaking our heads up and down like Metallica, while saying, "yes" over and over again, and my personal favorite of asking her questions like, "Does global warming really exist?"  "Did the world start with a big bang?"  "Do people really watch the show The Big Bang Theory?"  "Should I get bangs?"  "Will Obamacare ever work?"  And...out of the mouth of babes...

The other strange occurrence, and probably the MOST annoying thing in this new world of mine, is my child has decided to start waking up in the middle of the night by standing and then violently screaming.  This usually happens about twice a night and then ends with us relenting, like some beaten prisoners, at around 5:30 in the morning.  The other morning when this happened, I laid on down on the couch with my now consoled daughter, and started to reflect on the absurdity of this new practice.  First, how does one go from a soft slumber to a siren of panic? Can you imagine doing that now as an adult?  One minute you are spooning your partner and the next you are standing on your mattress screaming like you've been stabbed.  The first time it happened, I honestly expected her to be in the act of falling from her crib or being abducted.  (Got to stop watching 48 Hour Mysteries.)  And when I found her standing there, trying to hand me some forsaken stuffed animal, I got to admit, I was a little disappointed.

So, this is my new world.  Mr. Buble sing me out.

I Saw it, And I Liked it

This weekend I had the opportunity to see Michael Buble in concert.  Initially I was a little hesitant on going.  I mean, this isn't exactly a concert, someone my age, can or should be bragging about on Facebook or Instagram.  (Facebook status:  "Just got back from Michael Buble...so proud to be white, middle aged and rocking the Sinatra classics!")  Yeah, that wouldn't have worked.  (Okay Facebook status:  "Just rocked out with Imagine Dragons...so high from the residual pot...:)"  Totally cool.  

Anyway, outside of being slightly embarrassed from a social media point of view, Michael Buble was actually...well, was actually pretty awesome.  His voice was butter, the band was spot on, the stage graphics were pretty ridiculous, the crowd 99.9% white and our seats were perfect.  

Now for the negatives....well, actually there's only one and this really only goes out to the gentleman sitting next to me.

Sir, when you attend a concert of Michael Buble, who sings like an angel in a tux, please don't sing along.  If you want to sound like a patient, who recently awoke from a coma of 15 years, and who is learning to speak again by making droning noises, then please sing away at your next concert of Korn, Metallica or Nine Inch Nails.  However, if you are attending a "voice centered" concert, let's keep the moaning singing to a minimum or none at all.  Great.  

How Do You Really Feel?

On November 15, a news station out of Detroit reported on a man, who erected a 12-foot high middle finger statue outside his home, which is next door to his ex-wife and her new lover, whom she reportedly had an affair with while being married.  After reading this article I had a few thoughts:

1.  Slow clap.  This is brilliant.  The man even has lights that illuminate the massive finger at night.  Listen you cheat - you suck.  Do you deserve a middle finger looming over your house?  Absolutely.  Do you also deserve to be beaten an inch from your life?  Absolutely again.

2.  Why a statue?  Would a billboard sign on the freeway been too fleeting?  Were the "Shame On You" employees too busy picketing Laguna Fitness and Bank of America to plop down across the street?  Were radio spots too expensive?  Why?  I mean, according to the report, the man is a strip club mongol in Detroit.  You would think a true entrepreneur could think of something better.

3.  And lastly, I wondered how hard it would be to erect and place my own middle finger statues?  Say, I wanted to place one next to the fruit inspection stop outside of Baker, California?  Would that be something someone would be able to do for me?  Or on the hood of every parking meter maid in Santa Monica, who is systematically stealing every hard earned dime out of those residents.  Or lastly how about at the White House?  Yeah, NSA, I said that.  Outside the White House.  Because really this Obamacare deserves a large #1 shout out.

People I Don't Understand

A few days ago the baby and I flew home from Utah.  As I sat there, wishing a Kindle Fairy existed so the Kindle, that I forgot to recharge, could entertain my baby, I looked around and realized the two guys in my row and the people across from me were just sitting in their chairs doing nothing.  Not reading, not listening to music, not watching TV, not sleeping, but just sitting there.  For a moment I wanted to shake them and plead with them to do something - anything.  What I wouldn't have given to drink a soda in peace without a little hand grabbing my ice cubes, or the amount of money I would have paid to read a magazine - even SKY MAGAZINE!  These people were totally wasting this experience!  So, as I sat there, watching these flying zombies, and wrestling with a surprisingly strong 14 month old, I thought of this entry: "People I Just Don't Understand."  The following is what I came up with as I wished for our plane to somehow slip into Time Warp Speed.

1.  People that don't do anything on planes.  It's weird.  What do you do on Sunday afternoons?  Sit by the window and just stare out it?

2.  People that watch NASCAR.  I think they go in circles 500 times.  I think someone wins?  Be honest, do most people DVR the races and just fast forward to the last three laps?

3.  People that train, enter and win eating contests of hot dogs, and other things that shouldn't be consumed in large quantities.  Did hobbies like golf and running seem too mundane?  Was food scarce in your home and now you are making up for all those missed meals?

4.  People that let dogs lick their mouth.  I know I'll get heat for this comment, but I just wanted to point out, that 9 times out of 10, that tongue was just licking another dog's butt.  Just saying.

5.  People who break down in tears when they see famous people.  You know the idiots who go hysterical if Robert Pattinson touches their hand at a Twilight Premier, or the ridiculous Bielivers, who would kill their own parents for five minutes with Justin Bieber.  All of these people need to just calm down.  You heard me.  Calm down.  In ten years, Justin Bieber is going to be a bloated, heroin addict, and Robert Pattinson will still look like an unwashed vampire.  I speak the truth.

I was going to list more...but I'm afraid to offend.  I think #4 is going to get me in enough trouble.

The Real Story of the Zoo

Recently, the baby and I visited the zoo for the first time.  I got to say going to the zoo as an adult is a completely different experience than when I used to go as a kid.  For example, when you are a kid all you see are the animals.  Real life Elephants?!  What?  Giraffes walking around like they got no where to be?  Kill me!  A baby seal with its momma?  Just tell me where to drop down and cry myself to sleep!  It's amazing.

However, when you are adult the scene dramatically changes.  All of the sudden the only things you see are depressing looking animals, who are confined to ridiculous small spaces, surrounded by their own feces, and who probably offer daily animal prayers that the zoo will one day blow up, or at least one child will get too close to the fence so they can feel like an animal once in their lives.  Honestly, the zoo bummed me out.  At one point, Avery and I watched two rhinos eat their breakfast from some zoo workers. As I watched these "wild" animals chomp down on apples, I thought I could hear the fainest conversation coming from them.  It went something like this:

Rhino #1 (Fred): Oh, awesome, not only do these stupid humans watch me sleep, walk in my five by ten space, but now they are filming me eat these stupid apples.

Rhino #2 (Martha): Honestly!  Hey, fat kid, how would you like me coming up to your table and point as juice runs down your mouth?!

Fred: What are you going to do today?

Martha: Test that fence over there again...and maybe sniff that rock.  How about y....come on zoo worker...master of zoology....let's get the food where I can reach it.  Atta girl...freaking genius.

Fred: I'm gonna kill that elephant over there.  All night long...it's, "Hey, did you see my face on the new banner?  Hey did you see I'm the face of the zoo?"  If I was back home I would shove this sharp thing on my nose up his big, fat, as...Honestly, stop with the cameras!  I'm doing it...

Martha: What?

Fred: I'm doing it. I'm starving myself. I'm getting out of here.  I can't take it.

Martha: I'm going to go sniff that rock.

Okay, maybe they weren't talking, but those eyes were saying a lot.

Random Thought: Adult Announcements of Pooping

If you have a child you've had the following conversation:

All of the sudden your child stops playing, stands very still, makes a little grunt noise or goes a little red, maybe throws in a little squat, and then immediately, goes back to playing.  As you observe this, you find yourself asking the child, "Are you pooping?" and then you say to someone close by, "Ahh, she's pooping."

The other day I did this and then thought, what if we still did this as adults?  Picture this:

You are in a meeting with fifteen people.  All of the sudden the CEO at the head of the table goes from talking about the new project, to completely quiet and focused on something else.  As you all wait, watching him, someone says to the group, "Ahh, it's okay Tom is pooping.  Are you pooping?"

I just think a lot of cool practices get dropped once we become adults.

"Shame On You" For Hire

The other day, while riding my bike, I passed three people holding a giant sign that read "Shame on" and then had the name of a fitness company that was located across the street.  This wasn't the first time I've seen a sign like this, but as I continued to ride, I started to have some questions about this shameful strategy and I wanted to discuss them.

First of all, what's the point of the sign?  Sure it names the company, but is it really getting the point across  What about a mechanical or a giant inflated finger wagging back and forth?  Or a group of fifty people continually pointing at the building while shaking their heads?  Or a big fart machine that makes loud noises every time someone enters or leaves the building?  Now, something like that would make me stop and ask, "Hey, why the fart noises?  Oh wait, are you saying that company treats their employees like pieces of poo?  Shame on them!"  See what I'm saying?

Second of all, the slogan is awful.  "Shame on You?"  That's the best you got?  Oh, sorry Mom for lying about stealing that gum.  You are right....shame on me.  Come on, we can do better. How about: "You suck!?" "Or (Insert Company) Are A Bunch of Jack Asses?!"  Or "(Insert Company)'s Mamma is so fat/stupid that she....(Insert punchline.)"  Again, what's the goal here?  To mildly protest or make a statement?

Lastly, how should I say this?  What's with the people who are holding these signs because, I'll be honest, a lot of credibility for these bizarre protests are lost because of the "warriors" behind the signs.  For example, the other day I saw a guy asleep in a lawn chair behind the sign, another one was most likely asleep while standing against the sign, and a woman, who was actually holding onto the edge, was completely immersed in her phone. (Probably checking for more "Shame On You" gigs for next week.)  Not one of them looked like they were employees of the targeted company, and most importantly, not one looked like they gave one piece of crap on how this whole ordeal got resolved.

So, here's my final question?  Who created this "Shame On You" company and how do I hire them for my personal gigs?  For example, how much would it cost for me to get some "strong like ox" people to stand valiantly outside Costco and hold a sign that reads: "Shame On You Costco for Switching to Pepsi Products At Your Food Court?"  Or how about a group of traveling sign holders that I could use periodically for people on the road that says, "Shame On You (Insert make of car) for braking before the light turned yellow?"  I'll even take the guy asleep as long as every once in a while he jumps up, runs in front of the sign, points to my preferred target and screams, in a banshee voice, "Yeah, Shame On YOU."  Three times an hour should do it.

Too Late For Halloween? Of course NOT!

Now that Halloween is over I thought I would take a moment and review the best and worst costumes I've seen on this holiday.  (None will be included from this last Halloween because we didn't get a single trick or treater!  Not one knock on the door and not a single piece taken.  To be honest, I'm torn with the lack of festivities at our house.  Sure, I really didn't want to be handing candy out all night, but no one?  What's next?  No flags hung on Flag Day?)

Anyway, like I was saying, though I didn't see any tiny humans dressed as ghosts and superheroes the other night, I have had some good and bad Halloweens.  The following are the best and worst:

Best:

1. In college, I saw a guy take white athletic tape and wrap his entire body to be a mummy.  I think what made it so memorable was the fact that he had covered his entire body, face even, with the tape AND the fact that he wasn't really wearing much underneath the tape.  I remember someone asking him how he planned on taking it off, and then after a few moments of silence, you could tell he was realizing he was going to be ripping off a lot of arm and leg hair that night. 

Sidebar: When getting ready for Halloween remain sober.

2. I got to admit I'm a huge fan of the ironic.  One year two friends of mine dressed up as pregnant nuns.  I know as a religious folk I should have been offended, but it was funny.

Sidebar: I think for laughing at that I was sent to Mongolia for a mission. I'm not entirely sure there's a connection, but I'm also not ruling it out.

3. This year my brother-in-law went as the character "Mugatu" from Zoolander.  Was I jealous that he actually went out on Halloween and celebrated the holiday?  Yes.  Did I watch me some Scandal and feel better?  Yes.

And now for the Worst:
1. Any man dressed as a woman, I got to say, gets a red flag out of me.  I mean, I get it, you've always wanted to play with boobs all night without being swatted away by some terrified woman, but that doesn't make it the go to costume.  Sure it can be funny to see a hideous woman, but then, it gets a little weird pretty fast.

2. ALL WOMEN DRESSED AS SLUTTY/ _________(Fill in some random job...nurse, teacher, angel, ninja, princess, grocery checkout employee etc.)  I don't know who in their right mind decided that after the age of 18, all women had to dress like prostitutes, but I've had enough of it.  If you are looking for something other than candy, then fine, if not, let's class it up ladies!

3. Me from ages 6-15.  My mom, bless her sweet heart, didn't really believe in making or buying costumes.  Therefore, every Halloween sort of went down like this:
Night before Halloween Parade:
Me: Mom, I don't have a costume.
Mom: Hmmmm....Here's a plunger...why don't you be a plumber?
Me: Was that last year.
Mom: How about this Hawaiian shirt and camera.  You are a TOURIST!!
Me: Elisa, my sister, did that last year.
Mom: Okay, here's a robe and some pajamas....you are someone going to sleep.
Me: Is that even a costume?  Someone going to sleep?  Should I just carrying a fork and spoon around and say, "Don't you get it?  I'm someone about to eat."

What was the worst and best you saw?

The True Spirit of Halloween

Well, it's Halloween, and if you were wondering, I'm dressed up as a guilty mother.  Yep, no costume for my 14 month old baby.  No pumpkin.  No plans of trick or treating.  And no Halloween decorations of any kind.  I hate to admit it, but if you entered our home right now, the only terrifying thing you would see is a half eaten bag of candy, that hopefully will suffice for the "Take one" bowl I'm planning on setting outside.  Yep, you heard me, I'm going with the "Take One" bowl.  Why?  For two reasons: 1. My baby goes to bed at 7:30, and if that doorbell even goes off once, I might find myself with some Halloween decorations after all.  (I'm implying a slain body of a child and their caregiver.)  And 2. After years and years of not taking just one, but actually dumping the entire bowl - yes, the bowl too, into my bag, I feel it's my duty to give back. 

So, tonight I'm not only prepared to lose all my candy in one visit, but the bowl I will use to set it out.  Does this make me a better person?  If that's what you want to call it.  Am I righting the universe of all my childhood theft?  Again, if you are going there I'm not going to stop you.  Will I miss the bowl?  Probably, but again, I've been "given" so many bowls in the past - am I really losing anything?  And isn't the death of a bowl really the spirit of Halloween?  I mean wouldn't you say my fellow celebrators of Dia de Muertos, or Day of The Dead, for my non-Spanish readers?  (Yeah, I took some Spanish in middle school.)  Don't know what that means?  Hmmm...it's so sad to see when the original origins of holidays get lost.  Pagans.