some random haiku for you

some random haiku for you

burning, scorching pain
cutting jalapenos and
rubbing eyes: just dumb

no woobie, no bear
it’s security earlobes
for this tiny tot

dog munching on butt
all day, all night, all the time
is it like his fridge?

stealthy, in corner
baby eats toilet paper
beats eating butt, though

New Poll! New Poll! (I

New Poll! New Poll!

(I know these are just horribly dorky, but bear with me. I’ll get tired of them one day.)

The last poll was a success! You all get a gold star for participation. Here are the stats in case you give a toot:

Karl Rove’s Dr. Evil plans of world domination scared everyone the most, with 31% of the votes
Dick Cheney’s Dr. Evil smile and Donald Rumsfeld’s Dr. Evil ego tied for second with 25% of the votes
Dubya’s Dr. Evil smile came in third with 13%
And Condi’s Dr. Evil wardrobe rounded out the voting with 6%

As I sit here alternately sticking my finger in my eye, screaming, and then sticking it my nose and screaming I was inspired to create the new poll.


The Battle of Roly-Poly Resistance

The Battle of Roly-Poly Resistance continues…

evil trilobites
why can’t they just eat dog poop
and leave plants alone

The effing roly-polys have struck back with a vengeance. (If you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about you can read this , this , and this for some background.)

They’ve murdered one of my tomatillo plants – just flat out killed it – to show me who’s boss. Bastards. They ate clean through its stem and then I’m sure yelled “Tim-buuuur” in their devilish roly-poly clicks and honks or however the hell they communicate. As the poor defenseless plant clings to life the roly-polys have eaten all of its flowers and most of its leaves. It’s tomatillo compost now. Harrumph.

I guess it’s time for more cantaloupes. And possibly some kind of organic boric acid concoction. I don’t know exactly how to do the boric acid thing, though. Apparently it messes with the bugs’ exoskeletons and doesn’t poison the veggies (or the people or the dirt). More research is needed.

Anyway, the battle wages on.

Kari: 1
Roly-Polys: 1

(side note: Blogger spell check has never heard of “tomatillo” yet corrected my spelling of “harrumph.” It also tried to replace “veggies” with “Vegas”. Wouldn’t that be neat if I had a Vegas garden in the backyard? Little tiny prostitutes and blackjack dealers growing out of bushes. heh.)

Oh, and if you want to see a picture of the growing garden, click here (and please ignore the ugly half-finished brick border we started. It looks like ass). Thankfully the tomatoes are proving roly-poly resistant.

touchy stuff Today at the

touchy stuff

Today at the grocery store the wee one was happily munching a cookie whilst riding in the shopping cart. Suddenly, the cookie fell from his hand, his jaw dropped and he crooked his little finger out in front of him.

“Man not dirty!” he yelled in a screechy, loud (somewhat amazed sounding) voice. “Man! Man! Not dirty!”

His crooked finger was pointing at a very dark-skinned African-American man walking by.

Now, I guess in hindsight I’m glad the kiddo said “man NOT dirty” because calling the kind stranger dirty would have been, well… even more uncomfortable.

To his credit, the singled out man didn’t say anything, he just smiled and kept walking. I, on the other hand, was mortified. This is really the first time the wee one has noticed that people come multi-hued. Well, that’s not entirely true. He has a fisher-price “little people” toy that’s a black train conductor. Almost immediately after getting the toy he named it Pepper. This is the only toy he’s ever named. I have no idea where the name Pepper came from. Possibly, Pepper was named after the darkly colored pepper mill on the kitchen table. I don’t know. What I do know is that I guess I need to chat with my son about race.

But how do you discuss race with an almost two-year-old? I still don’t even know if it’s OK to call someone black… or is it always African-American? Or is that condescending now? And the wee one is still a baby, really. It’s so nice that he has no preconceived notions about people.

I don’t really know what to do. Obviously, I need to explain that you can’t just point at strangers and yell things at them. And maybe I should say something like, “You know, all people look different and that’s what makes us so special” But that sounds inane to me. Next time he’ll just yell, “Special man not dirty” and it will be even worse.

I just hate to even point out to him that there are different colored people in the world. I know he’s starting to notice by himself, but I want to be careful that he notices the change in skin color and then continues to see everyone as the same. Is that realistic?

I hope it is.

worst movie ever (almost) strangely

worst movie ever (almost)

strangely erotic
men in dresses or short skirts
weilding shiny swords

Just got back from seeing Troy. And, though the spectacle of seeing Brad Pitt in either a teal tie-dyed dress or leather mini-skirt was enough to keep me awake, the rest of the movie was a tough sell.

Ziggurat/Camelot set design? Sphinxes in Troy temples? Kouroi that were 10X more Egyptian than Greek? I guess the Time That Body Hair Forgot was also a time of anachronistic statuary.

And don’t get me started on the actual story line. The best thing about the movie was walking out and listening to several high school girls discuss how the film was incomparable to the real story of the Iliad. (Kids these days really are learning about stuff other than how to wear low-riding jeans without exposing their butt cracks and that silly “schizzle with a pizzle” talk.)

But I don’t want to be too snobby about it. It is a summer action flick after all. It does highlight the nude male body instead of the nude female body, which is quite a rarity in films these days. And tie-dyed teal dresses notwithstanding, it was terribly fun to see so many sweaty, fit men all snarling on screen together.

But, damn it’s a long movie. At one point there’s a conversation in the film that goes something like,
“When does it all end?”
“It never ends”
And I thought to myself, “No kidding. I’m trapped at the Tinseltown with nary a sandwich/newspaper/internet connection to help me pass the time.”

But I survived. My hubby enjoyed himself (though I’m sure he would have preferred more boobies and less six-packs), and we got to enjoy an afternoon out on the town.

Next time, though, I’m picking the movie. And it better be written by Charlie Kaufmann. Or Tina Fey.

buckling to blog pressure So

buckling to blog pressure

So John over there at Dead Aim did such a fantastic job of answering my question about snot I’ve been inspired to jump on the bandwagon.

Ask me questions, people.

Apparently this is a popular thing to do on blogs and I don’t want my blog to be all sad because it’s missing out on the action.

Anything goes. I reserve the right to make up an answer if I want to, and I also reserve the right to answer in haiku form just to be obnoxious.

mmmm. haaaammmm. small, like fresh

mmmm. haaaammmm.

small, like fresh hamsteak
get good look before it’s gone
shrinking mama butt

And since we’re on the topic of too much information, let me speak for a moment about weaning a toddler from the breast. Now that the wee one is nearly two, I’ve redoubled my efforts to wean him from his nightly nursing spree. The trouble is that he’s started begging.


time: 4:38 AM this morning
location: mommy and daddy’s bed (yes, we co-sleep, but that’s a whole different post. We didn’t know we were
hippies until we had a baby)

Wee One: MOMMY! meeee-ilk!

Me: (pretending to still be asleep, or playing possum, if you will)

WO: meeee-ilk! Mommy! (frantic grabbing at my shirt)

Me: (losing the battle of playing possum)


Me: (sleepily, grumpily) Baby, the milk’s all gone

WO: (as if I have skewered his fragile little self-esteem with one of those giant whale harpoons) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Me: Shhhh, shhhh, just go back to sleep

WO: (thrashing wildly now and whacking the back of daddy’s head with various glancing blows) Need it! NEED IT!

Me: (debating frantically in my head) do I just give in? He’ll go right back to sleep. No. I need to stand my ground. I’m reclaiming the boobs. But if he keeps thrashing he’ll wake hubby up who already has to get up for work in an hour. No. Stand firm. No more booby sharing. The boobs are mine. MINE.


Me: (uselessly trying to substitute pacifier) Here you go, little man.

WO: AAAAAAHHHHHHH! No paci! (flails arms and cries as if I have just insulted him in the meanest most base way)

Me: (lifting shirt, going against everything that will actually help wean him)


Did you see that? I gave in to the tantrum. You’re never EVER supposed to do that. Dr. Phil, Dr. Brazelton, Dr. Spock — they would all string me up by my coveted nipples if they knew what I did. I have to learn to stand my ground. Keep my shirt down. Reclaim the nipples.


Aw, shucks Guess what? Haiku

Aw, shucks

Guess what? Haiku of the Day has surpassed 1,000 page views in less in a month. I don’t know if that’s good or pathetic, but it’s seems good, so I’ll go with that.

Yay! 1,000 page views!

Other interesting things of note:

If you google “very disgusting haiku” (without the quotes) Haiku of the Day is #1! that rocks, even though I don’t have very many disgusting haikus. Unless you count snot haikus. Or haikus with “premenstrual” in them.

Also, if you google “Haiku of the Day” – without quotes, this site is number one! Well, actually it’s the blogspot site. But that’s OK. They’re sort of the same.

Haiku of the Day is also the 21st search result if you google “fauxhawk” which apparently a lot of people do, because I’ve had a ton of visitors off google and yahoo searches for fauxhawk. Interesting. Perhaps the fauxhawk is not so out of style, eh… (or maybe it is and people are just laughing at me)

Anyway, just wanted to share the news. All you visitors get a gold star. I’d give out fauxhawks, but…