L.A.M.E. stupid magic dudes suckered


stupid magic dudes
suckered me in and bored me
T.H.E.Y. suck

I was all excited about the magic show on NBC last night. I’m such a sucker for that kind of stuff. But seriously. A hidden camera, Allen Funk-esque street magic practical joke show? It was just too much. If only there had been a guy dressed in a tux jumping off a building while eating a maggot, holding a check for a million dollars to be given to the girl he landed on unless he wants to keep the check himself or use it to pay Donald Trump to give him a job. Well, then we would have had a good show.

I was duped by T.H.E.M. And I don’t mean the dumb magic people. I mean:

Miracles in ratings

Honchos? You suck. Why can’t you show repeats of the West WIng? Oh, wait. Cause IT SUCKED THIS SEASON TOO.

Eh, I need to read more books anyway.

oh, great tried to write

oh, great

tried to write haiku
about equal rights, hummers
but they all sucked ass

I was reading the paper today (while the wee one tossed little bits of English Muffin pizza at me from his high chair) and I read the most startling headline. It said:

Estrogen, Dementia Linked

At first I laughed. Then I felt like a traitor to my sex for laughing. Then I felt briefly frightened. Then I was glad to finally have an excuse for my impending insanity. When all of those thoughts dribbled away I was left with a sense of dread. Because if there was ever a headline created to spawn jokes on the late night TV shows, it’s this one. I can hear Jay Leno now…

“So I just saw this headline that said estrogen and dementia are linked. On behalf of all the men out there I can say, ‘duh. We’ve known this for years.'” [insert canned laughter]


“The other day the Austin American Statesman proclaimed that estrogen and dementia are linked. As I’m sure you men will agree, this comes as no shock. What worries me is the mental state of my uncle Bob. Or should I say Uncle Bobara.” [insert canned laughter]

I just wish the estrogen headline had been accompanied with something like “Testosterone, Ass-Scratching in Public Linked” or “Small Prostate, Tendency to Drive a Hummer Linked” Because if the newspaper is going to give late-night comics fodder for making fun of one sex, shouldn’t there be fodder to make fun of the other one, too? I mean, isn’t there a section of the Equal Rights Amendment that says something like “Heretofore all sexes should be stereotyped and generalized equally within all forms of media, not limited to television, radio, cigarette advertising and condom packaging.”

Maybe not.

random dialogue from Excited One

random dialogue from Excited One Liner Guy

I’m debating whether or not I should trade in my usual expression of excitedness (Awesome!) for something new. For a while I was all about “Yahtzee!” But for some reason it didn’t really catch on. Then I tried “right on!” and it was OK for a little while, but it sounded a little surfer dude-ish. So I went back to “Awesome!” Now I’m thinking of branching out again – maybe something a little more risque. Something different. Fun. My hubby suggested “Chaka Kahn!” which I thought was a wonderful idea. So I’m gonna test it out here with Excited One Liner Guy and see how it sounds in comparison to other exclamations of joy.

PERSON 1: I just found a dollar in my pocket.

EOLG: Score!

PERSON 1: Oh no, wait. It’s FIVE dollars.

EOLG: Yahtzee!

PERSON 1: And look – here’s another ten dollars in my pocket.

EOLG: Sweet!

PERSON 1: Maybe I should buy some lottery tickets.

EOLG: Right on!

PERSON 1: [buys tickets, scratches one off] I just won $50!

EOLG: Awesome!

PERSON 1: [scratches off another ticket]And another fifty!

EOLG: Chaka Khan!

Eh. I don’t know. What do you think? It seems like it’s lacking in something. Maybe it needs jazz hands or two thumbs up to really work. I don’t know if I can make that kind of commitment.

huzzah! a mole map-a-thon except


a mole map-a-thon
except without the mapping
or even the moles

Turns out you can’t map moles when you don’t have any. (According to my dermatologist.)

Apparently the hubby and I are caucasion freaks of nature. But, hey, if that means our abnormally pink and supple skin is healthy, I’m all for it.

love spontaneous love wee one


spontaneous love
wee one wakes up, smiles and says
“I lub you, Mommy”

What a nice thing to wake up to. It’s the first time he’s ever said “I lub you” all on his own. Usually, when he’s going to bed at night I’ll say, “I love you” and he’ll smile thorough his pacifier and say “Lubbies, Mommy” which is his way of saying “love you.” But this morning, he woke up, looked straight at me and professed his love – nearly pronouncing it right in the process.

I did take a little poetic license in the haiku, though. He actually said, “I love you,” and then said his name instead of “mommy” but I knew it was meant for me. He’s still not 100% clear on the whole pronoun thing.

Anyway, upon hearing his profession of love, my heart swelled, my eyes filled with tears and I probably would have given him anything he asked for at that moment.

It’s a good thing he only asked for a bowl of grits.

VBS construction paper paint, pasta,


construction paper
paint, pasta, glue that dries clear
making Jesus art

Because I live in Texas there are approximately 20 protestant churches per every three people. And every single church in town seems to be advertising vacation bible school right now. There are banners across major roads, ads in newspapers, billboards in front of churches, flyers, things taped to telephone polls, signs jammed into the ground at intersections, etc. It’s nuts. I’m surprised we haven’t been accosted by some dude dressed as a giant Bible/Golgotha skull handing out flyers in front of the grocery store. (Maybe he’s at Wal-Mart.)

Anyway, the weird thing is that I don’t actually think any of the churches charge for you to abandon drop off your kids there. So it seems funny that there’s all this competition. Maybe VBS’s are run like the reward systems for fundraisers. Ordinarily, you sell candy bars and in the end earn a free Pac Man mug or possibly a duffel bag. With VBS, if you can get at least 20 kids in each age group to show up to your church you’ll automatically be granted a place in Heaven (or at least five minutes to plead your case with Peter).

I just don’t understand why there’s so much clamoring going on. Maybe parents are expected to make donations to the church for the VBS services. Maybe churches use VBS as a recruitment drive for new members. Maybe VBS really is “the most fun your child will have all summer” so I should just shut my trap.

But I remember VBS. I used to go every summer at my tiny Methodist church. One summer I even went twice (once at my church, once at another). That was a disaster. The first time that summer was fine. It was held at my church, in the small building with green tinted windows and a noisy, humid air-conditioner. I spent all week learning songs like This Little Light of Mine and The B-I-B-L-E and I made some Jesus art with macaroni, and at the end of the week had a food fight in the kitchen while my class prepared some sort of cake or something. I sort of learned about the Bible and I enjoyed a week in a cool building instead of sweltering during tennis lessons at the Y. All was well.

The second time I went to VBS that summer I went with a friend (who, interestingly enough, became a stripper) to her Southern Baptist VBS. Before any song learning or macaroni gluing we had to sit through a devilishly long sermon, then pledge allegiance to the Baptist Flag or some crazy thing, and then admit that we were all going to Hell unless we became born again.

I went home in tears. I didn’t want to go to Hell. I was only 9 years old. I just wanted to make a macaroni cross, eat oatmeal cookies and wash them down with grape juice that doubled as Christ’s blood on Communion Sunday.

I’d like to say I was traumatized for life by this experience, but actually I got over it pretty quickly. My parents explained I wasn’t going to hell, and they didn’t let me go back to that VBS.

Still, though, I’m weary about VBS in general. It’s cool that churches offer a free baby-sitting “educational” service for parents in the summertime. And I don’t have a problem with teaching kids about religion (as long as you don’t tell them they’re going to rot in Hell). I imagine that, if you planned it out well enough, there are so many churches out here, you could probably have your kid in free daycare for most of the summer. But would you want that? Would you want to send them off to strange churches teaching things you’re not familiar with just so you could shop at Target without a screaming pile of midgets hanging off your legs? (Well, maybe…) I think we all know that each Christian church has it’s own way of preaching – some good, some not so much.

And that’s another thing. Do synagogues, mosques, Buddhist temples, etc. all have VBS’s? (I guess it wouldn’t be vacation Bible school for them all, but you know what I mean). I’m sure they must. It just doesn’t get advertised as heavily here in the Bible Belt. But that’s a whole different issue.

I’m trying to come to my point here, but I’m not sure I actually have one. I guess that as I grow older religion becomes a more and more personal matter to me. Religion itself has morphed into a kind of generalized sprituality that, to me, is a very private matter. It makes me uncomfortable to see the name “Jesus” splashed all over town as if he were the mayor. It makes me uncomfortable to think of people throwing their kids at unfamiliar churches just for the sake of free baby-sitting. It makes me uncomfortable that churches are comfortable recruiting young children this way.

I know that last remark was a very cynical thing to say. And I should throw out the disclaimer that I’m not against VBS, or churches, or Jesus, or any of that. I just think the concept of vacation bible school is a little weird. Maybe I’ll take up my concerns with Mr. Gologtha Skull over at Wal-Mart and see what he has to say on the matter.

Oh, wait. I made him up.

crisis [meltdown] I am not



I am not cool.
I am a poseur who pretends to be cool whilst saying things like “whilst”.
My hair right now is fugly.
My clothes are all from 1999, except for my underwear, which is older.
My hands are getting really wrinkly and I’m not even old.
I can’t seem to get pregnant again.
I write and I write and I write and I write but I don’t know what my niche is. And please don’t tell me it’s high-tech marketing writing. Because high-tech marketing writing is cool and everything, but it’s not a niche. It’s not The Goat or Who is Sylvia. It’s not Anastasia Krupnik. It’s not A Life Less Ordinary.
Maybe I should write plays.
Maybe I should go back to work.
Maybe I should go eat a bowl of ice cream.

Argh. I’m having another one of those angsty moments. A moment when I get this brilliant flash of something. It says things like, “Don’t miss your chance.” “you’re a good writer, but what have you done lately” “get off your butt and go to a writers conference and network so you can get your novel published” “write a play. someone will stage it.” etc.

Then when the brilliant flash fades away, I’m left with paralysis. Which way do I go? What do I do? How do I do it? And instead of acting on any of my impulses, I go and sit in a chair in the Toychest That Threw-Up (aka my living room) and I read Entertainment Weekly and drink off-brand bottled water.


I best go eat some ice cream right now.
pity party over.


cankar sore haiku to gross

cankar sore haiku to gross you out

I’d say “you suck” but
I can’t say “s” because of
you, little mouth sore

salt and vinegar
those chips do it every time
rot mouth inside out

buffalo wings, too
they tend to corrode gums, cheeks
causing pain for days

listerine it is
savior for your soft tissues
at least ones in mouth