I've Saved You a Stool, Come Shit Right Over Here

What a wonderful and informative world we live in.

It's Friday and I am at the spa. Having been stood up be my 10 o'clock client and my next client scheduled at 2:30, I gorged on $25 worth of Thai food(they won't deliver just one thing and I am too lazy to give up my primo parking spot) and proceeded to surf the web.

At the risk of oversharing, my colon has recently instituted a work slowdown. Maybe it's in protest to the deep fried twinkie I ate earlier in the week at the Orange County Fair but things are not right. I even programmed my Ipod for a little inspiration.

The Constipation Compilation
Stuck in the Middle With You- Beatles
Patience- Guns 'N Roses

One More Cup of Coffee- Bob Dylan

Drop It Like It's Hot- Snoop Dog
Free Falling- Tom Petty

Push It- Salt 'N Pepa

Anticipation- Carly Simon

Break My Body- Pixies

The Hardest Button to Button- The White Stripes

I'm Not Gonna Cry- Sharon Jones/Dap Kings

Stay Just a Little Bit Longer- The Zodiacs
After the Rain Has Fallen- Sting
More Than a Feeling- Sleater-Kinney
Dig Me Out- Sleater-Kinney

Wanna Be Starting Something- Michael Jackson
Waiting on a Friend- Rolling Stones
I'm Sticking With You- The Velvet Underground
Ready to Go- Republica
Are You Alright- Lucinda Williams
At the Bottom of Everything- Bright Eyes

Something in the Way She Moves- James Taylor
Peekaboo- Siouxsie & the Banshees
Hanging on Too Long- Duffy
I Say a Little Prayer- Dionne Warwick

Move You- Anya Marina
Should I Stay or Should I Go- the Clash

Today's the Day- Aimee Mann
Hallelujah- Rufus Wainwright

Take Me to the River- Talking Heads

So I decided to use my lull time at work to do a little research to set this current situation right. Of course, I contacted a trusted expert Butt Doctor Wikipedia. Now I am a simple girl, words are good butt a picture is always worth a thousand turds and affords one more time to go back for seconds on Thai takeout.

Yes, what an informative world we live in. Nearly every detail of our lives can be shatalogued and compared. Norms are measured, baselines are set. Nothing, I mean nothing, is sacred.

I just cannot imagine that someone hasn't put this on a t-shit yet. Oh, wait...
That's better.

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Return of the Crack-Loving Bebe

I recently bought a few wigs on Ebay, they are for, uh, Halloween, yep, Halloween. I thought it would be fun for me to see how the bebe would look with hair since hers is taking so long to come in. She, the girl who loves hats, did not like the fake hair. Probably because it was made in China by kids who are probably her age. I had to ply her with chocolate to get her to try one on. It stayed on as long as the mouthful of melty coco goodness remained and was then unceremoniously flung off until more chocolate was forthcoming.

Lest you think I dabble in hyperbole.

And to prove that this trading all kinds of favours for chocolate is a family-wide problem, we have Exhibit B.

Me: Hey Josh, put this wig on.

Josh: Eeew, no.

Me: Want some delicious Ritter Sport Chocolate.

Josh: Gimmee the wig.

Seriously, I am such a good mom.

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Me and My Crack-Loving Bebe

I sincerely believe that my almost two year old, Izzy, purposefully makes a grand mess of herself at dinner so that she can harangue a second bath or shower out of me. First, she loves water more than any kid I've ever known. I start the shower in the morning and she opens the door and sits down right under the icy water squealing with absolute delight while I stand safely outside the glass door waiting for the water to warm. Second, she doesn't embody the food at any other meal, just dinner. Third, she does this food performance art at the very end of the meal, my guess being that she doesn't want to have to remain in the gooey, ketchup bedazzled, yogurt-haired, jellied-nose state for too long. Likewise, when she is done rubbing the remains of pizza up her forearms and stringing linguine between her toes or letting a few pieces of chocolate(proud parent moment #52- my husband, himself a chocolate fiend, has taught the bebe to call chocolate crack) artfully melt betwixt her fingertips and finger paints herself like some pornographic, viral video I have heard about but not seen, she looks into my eyes and says baf? showa? as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Proud parent moment #53, this one my fault. Izzy used do raspberries with mouthfuls of milk. She did this while laying on her back, thus spraying milk all over her face and earning her the nickname, Bukake Bebe(Grandma, please don't google bukake). I know, I know, having her ball her little fists, get all red in the face and shout, "mo crack pop-pop, more crack pease" and giving her TripleX nicknames is not exactly an auspicious beginning. Whatever, my mom let me dress like a whore (for Halloween mostly) and pretend to smoke her cigarettes and I turned out okay, sorta.

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He Said, She Said (and the Bebe Said)

Him: You're my little ciabatta.
Me: What?
Him: I said you're my little ciabatta.
Me: I'm your bread?
Him: Well if you can call me Dagwood than I should be able to call you my little ciabatta.
Me:What you really mean is ciabutta.
Him: Fine, now I'm going to put my panini in your ciabutta?
Me: Too many carbs no thanks.


Me(speaking the militant feminist manifesto): A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Him: Well than I guess you are one bicycle riding fish.


The Bebe, as babies do, is making connections and learning a slew of new words each day. She makes generalizations so the word 'draw' becomes the word for everything related to drawing, the paper, the pencils, the crayons and the completed pictures themselves. She has finally learned the names of all of the fruit rather than call everything round 'apple.' She still, however, connects everything with long blonde hair to me. So when she holds her sisters Hanna Montana alarm clock, she points at the sixteen year old blonde and says "Mama" matter of factly. Same goes for Barbie, look "Mama" she says to her sister, pushing the Barbie in her sister's face. That's not Mom, her sister says like I'm the furthest thing from Barbie.(I know, I know, it's time for a touch up on the highlights, I'm doing the best I can). Is it a sign of my desire to conform to ideal beauty types that it makes me feel just a little bit good that my daughter think I can pass for a teen superstar and an unrealistic female archetype? Probably, but I will consider these comments like armor for the ones to come. Like when my now five year old said she hopes her butt is big like mine when she grows up. Or when she looked at my wedding pictures and said, Mom you are so skinny then. Sigh, have you been talking to your father?

Speaking of fathers, the bebe also generalizes in the Daddy department. What does Daddy get compared to? The Blues Clues guy gets called Daddy, Kai-lan's grandpa and yes, even the chocolate-skinned, orange jump suited Yo-Gabba-Gabba guy.

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