duuuuhhh

brain has slowed way down
too many Combos (and beers)
hunger cheesed away

Shut up. I like the official cheese food of NASCAR. That’s not what I want to talk about though.

I have a gift card for $107 to use at the Apple store. There was some drama with crappy ass software and a mouse and I managed to return both and get store credit. not optimal, but more useful than flushing the crappy ass software down the toilet and/or setting it on fire.

So.

What should I get? An ipod Shuffle? Half of an iPod Mini? A printer? An extra battery for the ibook? Dora the Explorer software (and some other software) for the wee one? What do you think?

I’ve already asked and the gift card won’t work online. Also, the Apple store does not sell movies, shoes, haircuts, gerber chicken sticks, diapers or really anything else the family actually needs.

Help me, Obi Blog Readers. You’re my only hope.

TRAIN!

best part of train ride
realizing that tunnels
do not have monsters

The wee one and I went on an adventure today – we rode the kiddie train down at Zilker Park – Austin’s huge (and beautiful) city park. It was great fun, and the discovery that train tunnels are dark, yet monster-free was quite enlightening for my youngster.

You can click the pics to make them bigger. I just want to brag on what a gorgeous city I live in:

Austinskyline

Bartonsprings

   

Townlake_1
Zilkerzephyr

huh

some kids shows suck ass
I hate simpering dinos
and whiny bear cubs

Two days in a row I’ve seen a kid’s show make an Apocalypse Now reference. Not that that’s too crazy – I mean "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" is part of our regular American lexicon now. Of course on Arthur, it’s the smell of hair gel and on Clifford it’s the smell of popcorn. But still. I kind of like it. Even if it’s sort of the muzakization of a movie script.

When the Nordstrom’s piano lady plays the Beatles, it’s weird, but possibly comforting.

When Clifford references a movie about Vietnam atrocities, it’s weird, but possibly comforting, too.

Sure, there’s an insidiousness to it. Sort of a Borg thing, you know… assimilation of everything cool into something bland and appropriate for the masses. But on the other hand, it’s a pretty high compliment to the writer to infiltrate pop culture like that.

So rock on Clifford and Arthur. I’m waiting for some Deliverance quotes now.

the F hole

what the hell was that?
I thought this PBS show
was about farmers

I’m sitting here, typing away, and all of a sudden I hear, "It’s missing an F hole!" in a very jolly voice emanating from the TV.

WTF?

I look up and a man wearing overalls and a ridiculous expression on his face says, "They use lasers to cut the F hole."

Again. WTF?

I feel confused, as if this PBS children’s show has started channeling the audio of a decidedly non-PBS show from an adjacent channel. But then I see what’s happening. The farmers are at a guitar making place. (Shop? Studio?) The guitars are having their f holes lasered into them.

I just…

There’s so many…

But it’s all inappropriate and then wee one wouldn’t get the jokes anyway.

Tara Reid Moment

So I had on my new underwear and was checking myself out in the bathroom mirror. Contorting my head around to look at my brightly striped ass, I slipped on an Entertainment Weekly haphazardly parked on the tile. One near-toilet-bowl-concussion later, I can say that not only am I hot, I’m very graceful.

so juvenile

no one is too old
to stop enjoying a good
accidental fart

I have already managed to mar my new, white ibook keyboard with dark smudges. Apparently, upon closing the back door I got some kind of grease or graphite on my finger. So I was typing and I noticed, to my horror, a mess all over the keys of my keyboard. I grabbed a paper towel to wipe the smudges off and this is what I accidentally typed while cleaning:

farttttttttttttttttttttttttttttffffffffffaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrtttttttttttttt

hahahahaha. Is that funny or what?

I am such a 14-year-old boy.

punk ass sofa

dark green was not smart
meant to camouflage messes
now just highlights them

It wasn’t that long ago. My hubby and I were DINKS (dual income, no kids) and we were out to buy some nice, grown-up furniture. We bought a fantastically comfortable dark green sofa, a love seat, one of those chair and a half things, and an ottoman. We even bought coffee tables made of black-stained Ash.

We were almost hip.

We had brightly colored vases.

Our house looked comfortable, but not "college" anymore. Little did we know that in mere months our comfortable, nearly hip furnishings would be all but obsolete. Once the wee one was born and then rapidly mobile, we were forced to treat our lovely coffee tables like works of art – ie: we "lent" them out. Technically they’re still ours, but we may never see them again. We visit them now and again, and we stand three feet back so as not to mar them with our current aura of filth, and we briefly pine for the days of a well dressed house, and then we get over ourselves.

I can deal with the lack of coffee tables.

What I’m having trouble with is the state of the sofa and chair. Don’t even ask about the ottoman. Let us never speak of it.

Turns out that dark green masks nothing – especially when everything your child eats is beige, or white, or psycho-killer red, or neon green. When these things become embedded in the fibers of the sofa, nothing gets them out. Our furnishings have been all but destroyed by frozen yogurt pops. And nothing gets that shit out. Not Oxy, not professional steam cleaners, not plain old hot water… nothing.

Not only that, but I just noticed today that the side of the sofa has a streak. A faded streak where the sun hits it everyday. I actually thought it was a sunbeam, but it’s not. It’s a sun stain. At least I think that’s what it is. it could also be nasty funk that rubs off the dog. That would be cleanable, I guess… but so. gross.

Anyway, there’s no point to this rant. Obviously, I would never trade a fabulous little kid for nice furniture. Though when said fabulous child dumps a "non-spill" sippy cup of milk all over the chair, well, I might consider a trade.

It’s official! there is no

It’s official!

there is no check yet
though first installment is spent
talk about a jinx

The deal is done!

My book is being published!

(This is the haiku book, not the novel. Though the novel has received some “editorial letters” that my agent won’t let me read until the haiku book edits are done. He is protecting me from myself, apparently, because I’ll get very excited and screw up all my haiku. Or something like that.)

The contract is in the mail, awaiting signatures!

The estimated publication date is May 2006!

The working title is Haiku Mama!

I just bought an ibook in a freak, overzealous, spendthrift celebration. I haven’t used a mac in seven years. I have officially gone crazy. But in a good way.

still sore hamstrings all stretched

still sore

hamstrings all stretched out
squatting, lifting, herding kids
backstage mom is sore

Saturday was the wee one’s first dance recital. Fearing that he might flip out, I volunteered to be a Backstage Mom, which means taking charge of all the kids in your kid’s class while everyone waits backstage for their turn to perform. (In other words, I volunteered for Insanity.)

Ever had to keep seven 2 and 3-year-olds quiet and in one place for a little over a half an hour?

This is apparently a skill only available to those with superpowers, not mere moms. Though, with some help from another mom (bless her) we managed to keep the kiddos from running themselves into walls and leaping out onto stage in the middle of other kids’ dances.

Whew.

The truly miraculous part was that even at 8 pm (if you are familiar with children of this age, you know that 8 pm is a dangerous hour for the sanity of the whole household)… even that late in the evening, the wee one’s class marched out on stage, danced their Peter Pan dance and marched off stage – all smiles. No flipping out. No crying. No messing around. It was almost scary.

So the recital was a success. My little Peter Pan was the hit of the show (I like to think). And now, thanks to being coached by his relatives – he runs around the house shouting, "I’m the star! I’m the star! Peter Pan is the star of the show!"

And he was.

Peterpan