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Literary Chicks

Just how cheap am I? Find out in my blog over at the Literary Chicks.

Link | 27 January 2006 at 09:26 AM |

TGIF . . . Almost

Think you've had a shitty day? James Frey's was even worse.

The AP story opines that, "Frey's career will likely never recover." Yeah, well. Frey's book is currently number five on Amazon's bestseller list. Something tells me he'll pull through just fine.

Link | 26 January 2006 at 05:45 PM |

My New Weight-Loss Program

Food poisoning. Yes, that's right: food poisoning.

Just pick up a little salmonella poisoning, and throw up for twelve hours straight. Spend another twelve hours lying prone in bed, unable to move, let alone eat.

Very effective strategy . . . although not for the faint-hearted.

Link | 22 January 2006 at 09:10 AM |

Literary Chicks

Check out my weekly blog over at Literary Chicks, where I tell all about my brush with one of Satan's minions.

Link | 20 January 2006 at 08:59 AM |

Undomestic Goddess

So I was quite smugly feeling like a Mother Superior for baking homemade carrot muffins for Sam's playgroup this morning.

Yeah, well. That lasted right up until the moment when one of the little boys took a bite, then promptly spit the half-chewed muffin back into his hand.

"Gross," he said. "I don't like this."

Jesus. Everyone's a critic.

Link | 18 January 2006 at 01:02 PM |

Pinching an Inch

Speaking of diet pitfalls, it seems that there's always something around to tempt me.

Last month, it was Starbucks Peppermint Mocha Lattes. Have you tried one of these? It's like heaven in a cup. So if anyone ever starts complaining about how Starbucks is taking over the world, the homogenization of America, blah, blah, blah, all you have to say is, "Starbucks Peppermint Mocha Lattes," and that should shut them up. If they have a soul.

(By the way, while Peppermint Mocha Lattes are a holiday item, you can still get one off-season by asking your barrista to add a shot of peppermint to a Mocha Latte. Warning: they're very addictive. And not inexpensive.)

My newest temptation is the Hershey’s Peanut Butter Kiss. I hadn't even heard of those suckers until last night, when I saw a commercial for them.

kiss.jpg

"Oh. My. God. Hershey kisses with peanut butter in the middle," I marveled.

"I've had one. They're really good," George said.

"When did you have one?” I demanded. “Where? Why didn't you get one for me?"

Twenty minutes later, George returned from Walgreens with a bag of the new Kisses, which are indeed so good, I made him stash them in the trunk of his car, so that I won't go on a mad Kiss binge in the middle of the day.

Link | 17 January 2006 at 01:59 PM |

Domestic Goddess

I'm feeling very Martha-esque today. I'm the snack mom for Sam's play group tomorrow, so I just whipped up a batch of carrot muffins for the tots. Yum!

Note to self: having freshly baked muffins in the house when you have to lose 5 pounds in 10 days is counterproductive.

Link | 17 January 2006 at 01:36 PM |

Bippity Boppity Boo

In less than two weeks, I'm going to a ball. Yup, a real ball, just like Cinderella (minus the royals, and the evil stepsisters, and the fairy godmother, and the pumpkin-turning-into-a-carriage trick).

But, like Cinderella, I need a dress. And since no one is bippity-boppity-booing one up for me, I've been shopping.

A lot.

Last week, I ordered three dresses from Bluefly.com. The dresses looked pretty on the skinny headless mannequin in the photos, but then everything looks good on her. I have no idea if they'll fit me, or even if they'll arrive in time for the ball.

So, this weekend my mom and I made the pilgrimage down to that holiest of holy places -- Bloomingdales -- where I purchased two more dresses. These dresses -- one a short, tight strapless lacy number, the other an eggplant/brown halter dress with a swooping bejeweled neckline -- both looked great in the store. But then I tried them on at home, and . . . not so great.

Now the little lace one -- which I swear fit in the store -- won't zip up. And, yes, I did buy it in a size smaller than what I'm currently wearing, in the off chance that I'll be able to do in less than two weeks, what I have not done in the past two-and-a-half years: lose all of my baby weight. (Or at least five pounds of it . . . that and some tummy-sucking Bridget Jones panties should allow me to shoehorn myself into the dress.)

And the halter dress, which looked so flattering when I tried it on at the store, was anything but when I got it home.

"It just doesn't do anything for you," George said. "Especially the way it falls on your, um, hips."

Clearly, that dress now needs to be burned. Or returned. Or both.

I'm hoping that one of the dresses I bought online will work, but if they don't, I'm in trouble. In fact, there’s a very definite possibility I’ll have five dresses, and nothing to wear . . .

For all her bitching and moaning, Cinderella didn’t have that problem. Plus she had singing mice who did her housework for her.

Link | 16 January 2006 at 09:00 AM |

Life With A Toddler, Part 23

"Don't hang out with the parents of little girls," our pediatrician advised. "They'll make you think that your little boy is stupid."

Wise advice. Because while little boys are wonderful, it's true that little girls are usually more verbally advanced.

For example, yesterday I took Sam to the park. There was a little girl, Emma, there with her dad. Emma was only a few months older than Sam, and yet . . . she sounded a whole lot different.

"Daddy, I want to go higher," she told her father, as he pushed her on the swing. "But not too high. Just high enough."

"Wow," I said, impressed. "She has a great vocabulary."

"Yes," Emma's dad said proudly. "She was an early talker. Although . . . she talks a lot. All day long. She doesn't really ever stop." He sounded a bit weary. "Is Sam talking?"

"Um. No. Not that much," I said. "But he can climb up onto the kitchen table and grab onto the overhead pendant light. I’ve found him swinging there, like a little blonde monkey."

"Daddy, what kind of a bird is that? Is it a crane?" Emma asked, pointing at the elegant bird that was flying over the intracoastal waterway.

"Bird!" Sam said excitedly. "Bird! Cloud! Bird!"

I did a mental eye-roll.

"He said 'bird,'" Emma's dad said, throwing me a bone.

"Moon! Train!" Sam said happily, as I pushed him on the swing. This might have been more impressive if there were any moons or trains in sight. But, in fact, there were not. Sam is just obsessed with moons and trains.

"What did he say?" Emma's dad asked.

"Erm, nothing," I said. “Did I mention that Sam knows his alphabet? The entire alphabet?”

Link | 14 January 2006 at 05:43 PM |

Literary Chicks

I'm doing my best Carole King impression over at Literary Chicks today. Find out how I feel about prep schools, Scotsmen and the chances of my ever again appearing in public in a bikini.

Link | 13 January 2006 at 08:36 AM |

Life With A Toddler, Part 22

Sam: I love trains! I love trains!

Me: Can you say, 'I love Mama'?

Sam: I love trains!

George: Come on. Say, 'I love Mama'!

Sam:

George: I love Mama!

Sam: I love Daddy!

Link | 12 January 2006 at 07:48 PM |

Weirdness

For some unknown reason, I keep finding our pug, Talullah Bankhead, sitting on the side table next to the couch. It's just odd. Pugs don't willingly sit on hard surfaces . . . especially not when there are nice comfy sofas to stretch out on.

It's as though she's trying to impersonate a Meissen Pug.

Link | 11 January 2006 at 02:48 PM |

Happiest Place On Earth, My Ass

Our trip to Disney World? Not fun.

In fact, it was so not fun as to be almost comical.

Almost.

Like when we asked the concierge for the closest place to grab a quick dinner, and she somehow misunderstood us, thinking instead that we asked her to point us to the furthest away restaurant with the longest possible wait.

Or like when we checked into our Disney hotel room (which took over an hour, since "the computers are down . . . but, like, have a magical evening!"), and found that our room was approximately five bazillion miles away from the parking lot. This turned out to be a problem, since we had to haul all of our luggage, a cooler, Sam and a 60-pound portable crib there. Up to the second floor. Without an elevator. And, when we finally got there, the room had all the charm of a decrepit Motel 6.

“And this is the moderate resort,” I complained to George. “What happens at the so-called value resorts? Does someone slap you every time you leave your room?”

And it got worse. Like when Sam decided that sleep was overrated, and it would be a far better use of his time to scream from dusk until dawn.

(Author’s note to the person staying in the room next to ours: I’m very, very sorry that my toddler’s screams kept you up until three-thirty in the morning. But, really, we were aware of the situation. So hammering on our door didn’t help matters. In fact -- as I’m sure you quickly figured out, what with the increase in the volume of said baby screams -- it actually made things quite a bit worse.)

Or –- on a not completely unrelated note –- when Sam picked up some sort of a bug, causing us to cut our trip short. Not that we were sorry to leave the Animatronics Hell that is Disney by that point.

If anyone ever tells me to “Have a magical day!” again, so help me God, I will kick him or her in the shin.

Link | 07 January 2006 at 05:51 PM |

Life With A Toddler, Part 21

Sam has discovered his belly button, which he affectionately calls his beely button.

Given any opportunity, he'll peel up his shirt, point to his navel and shriek, "BEELY BUTTON!" at the top of his lungs.

But he isn't content to stop there. Today, while we were out shopping, he decided that it would be good fun to suddenly yank up my shirt and point out my belly button to the people shopping near by.

Thank God I was wearing a bra when this happened, or else the shoppers on Aisle 12 would have gotten a bit more of a show than they'd planned on.

Link | 05 January 2006 at 07:12 PM |

House of the Mouse

In preparation for our upcoming trip to Disney World, I'm attempting to indoctrinate Sam in all things Disney.

"Stop playing with your train set, and get in here and watch Toy Story," I tell him. "And I'm not going to read you any more stories until you watch Lilo & Stitch at least once all the way through."

Maybe it won't win me the Mother of the Year award, but, damn it, I want him to appreciate the corporate branding we're about to expose him to.

Link | 03 January 2006 at 09:16 AM |

Me, Me, Me!

Want to know who I'd most like to be most marooned with on a desert island? What DVD I'd bring with me? The answers are here.

Link | 03 January 2006 at 08:45 AM |

The Big Announcment

I'm a brand spanking new Literary Chick!

I'll be blogging over there once a week, and I can't tell you how excited I am to be joining this amazing group of writers -- Lani Diane Rich, Alesia Holliday, Michelle Cunnah, Beth Kendrick and Eileen Rendahl. If you haven't read their books, do so immediately. Each and every one of these women is so incredibly funny and talented, you'll be blown away.

Now if only I could get them to teach me the secret Literary Chicks handshake. They keep claiming there isn't one, but I'm just not buying that . . .

Also: I want a Literary Chicks raid jacket, like the kind the FBI wears when they go in and bust some bad guys. Maybe a pink one, with a big LC on the back. And I know what you're thinking: pink isn't a very authoritative color, and if you're going to go on a raid, you want something in black or maybe cammo. But I say to hell with that. Army green just isn't my color.

Link | 01 January 2006 at 10:11 AM |