Family Fun with Fish

We, not unlike lemmings, went to our local 500 plex theater to see the latest creation from Pixar, "Finding Nemo". Individually, here is this family's review of the newest eye candy.


Sara: I was thrilled to hear two of my favorite comedians/actors, Albert Brooks and Ellen DeGeneres, doing the voices of Marlin and Dory, the two main fishies. Definitely my favorite kid movie since "Shrek", as any adult would thoroughly enjoy it and laugh out loud (and if you are a sap like me, cry at the end); while still giving a good message for children. Everyone else at the theater got an additional treat because of my attendance, as they got to watch me force my family to move seats three times to get out of the airspace of the sick kids whose mothers clearly don't give a flying fuck about anyone else and will take their snot noses and hacking coughs out in public just so they don't actually have to STAY HOME AND TAKE CARE OF THEIR SPAWN, GOD IT MAKES ME FURIOUS AND I HOPE THEY KNEW WHY I WAS GLARING AND SPITTING AT THEM!

But it was a really good movie, and we will buy it on DVD.


Zhon: Absolutely an amazing effort from Pixar. I couldn't believe how realistic every scene was, and it blows me away to think of every little pixel that went into each one. Since this movie probably took 4 to 5 years from inception to completion, I can only imagine what will be in store for moviegoers in the future.

My favorite part of the experience, though, was shelling out 31 dollars and 75 effing cents for drinks, popcorn, and candy. Apparently Sara has not been reading those helpful tips in Parents Magazine that advise you to sneak in your own goodies; thus enabling your husband to make the mortgage payment. Since she refuses to carry a purse larger than an envelope, she has obviously chosen her priorities. I still say she could just pack an old pair of maternity undies full of contraband; but she refuses, thinking people will assume it's leftover baby weight. Zane is only four, after all; in today's cultural climate she could say she is still breastfeeding!

I hope Sara and Zane have good memories, as we will not be able to AFFORD to buy the DVD.


Zane: When my mommy and daddy asked me what my favorite part of the movie was, I said, "Everything!"

I liked the big bouncy seats and the way I could make my butt fall through the crack and have to be rescued every five minutes. I liked smacking my buttery hands over Mommy's eyes at the scary parts, and seeing how smudgy that black stuff on her eyelashes can get. I liked yelling at the top of my lungs and laughing that way too, but it was especially neat to watch Daddy's face turn the darkest shade of red I have ever seen. I didn't know you could say "SSSSHHHH" so loud that spit comes through your teeth. Cool!

Daddy hogged the Hot Tamales. I think everyone needs to know that. And the little girl down the row from me was really cute. So it was a good movie, and everyone should go see it.

I wasn't in my booster seat two seconds before I started to whine because I can't understand the concept of a movie being in theaters for months before they release it on DBD. (That's right, you heard me, it's DBD, not DVD. Sheesh.)

Hot Air


z gets so MAD when he sees hot air balloons. He just can't understand why they won't land in his yard and offer him a ride.

Medication Mediation

Eureka! I just knew it had to happen, and my prediction has been confirmed! Today I heard a commercial for a website that offers prescriptions for all those drugs we think we need, but without that pesky doctor's visit and the inherent cost.

Now, I have been aware for some time of a black market existing on the internet for products previously unobtained by any other than nefarious means. But...of all places, I heard this on a Christian radio station, and I beg you to draw your own conclusions about that. Anyway, this website allows you to pick a drug, give a brief medical history, and to then submit an order for the drug of your choice. According to the site, an MD will then review your history and reason for soliciting the medication, and if approved, submit your request to a licensed pharmacist, who will then place his or her stamp of approval on your app and ship it you, dear consumer, via Fed Ex!

Among the candy on the counter: Viagra, Prozac, muscle relaxants, birth control methods (including the patch), weight loss drugs, and Lamosil; in case that nasty yellow nail just won't go away.

I considered many of the above. Hmmm, it all just seemed so readily available and outrageously expensive too! I could erase, and at the same time, satisfy addictions in one easy credit card payment, no nosy doctor involved! I could increase my (or my partner's) sexual appetite, laugh at daily doldrums in a chemically induced haze, feel no pain, never again worry about those annoying "fertile" times of the month, be model thin, and have the clearest toenails my pedicurist has ever laid her yellow eyeballs on!

In the end and after careful consideration, I decided to order up a thousand dollar supply of Zoloft to be sent, in a plain brown wrapper, to my mother in law. I am quite sure that all of MY problems will be solved in this way, and at less expense.

I will be much more in the mood (wink) due to her lack of demands and the arguments induced thereby. I will surely feel more relaxed since she will no longer need to be catered to constantly (I imagine just one trip to Blockbuster to procure a week long supply of Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline movies, in addition to the medication, will do). I can forget about creating another grandchild; I will lose weight simply because I will be free to do other, more healthful things than answering phone calls that beseech me to review and dissect the latest tear jerk novel, and gosh, my nails will be so happy as a result of my overall physical wellness that they will naturally be pink (thus saving me trips to the nail salon; giving me a bonus of monetary savings). Oh and no, I don't have nail fungus, I am just using my imagination; but an ounce of prevention and all that, you never know.

Think she'll take the hint, and more importantly, follow the directions?

We Have Fun at an Unsuspecting Restaurant

Sara is the one hiding behind the Margarita Rock Salt.

Click to see Mommy & z...peel your eyes and z will say "Happy Muvver's Day" at the end

SlipNSlide

Doesn't this just bring back so many memories?

Click to play movie 1:

Click to play movie 2:

It's a Holiday!


I LIVE for holidays. Especially ones like Memorial Day, where you don't technically have to get together with all the assorted friends and family. Some years we do go to a body of water to celebrate or have people over for a grill fest. But this year we decided to just be us. So, the flag is flying, the ribs are smoking, the baked beans have been baked, Z and z are outside throwing Pop Pops and I am........well that's rather obvious. But I believe I will take my sweet tea outside and, perhaps fly the kite we got for a buck yesterday.

Have a fabulous holiday, whatever you do!

I Like Being Me

Do you know where you were seven years, 362 days ago? I do. I was sitting in my one bedroom girly apartment with my cat, watching a Lifetime movie and chatting with a friend who was trying to convince me to go out on the weekend and see a band. Thank God she was so persuasive, otherwise I wouldn't be here, seven years and 362 days later, doing what I am doing now.

Waiting for a gorgeous little boy and his equally gorgeous daddy to come down from the bath and hide around the corner; count to ten and then yell at the top of their lungs, "WHERE'S OUR SUUUUUGGGARRRR?"

Times like this, I don't want to be anybody else.

(No, not even Jennifer Aniston.)

HAIR


Most men seem to be obsessed with length. That speaks for itself, but for my purposes today, I will speak about length of hair. Their own, or the lack thereof. As for their tastes in women's tresses, longer seems to equate to better. My own dear Z resembles Andre Agassi so closely that he is frequently mistaken for him by taxi drivers and airport personnel. (Doesn't happen in town so much as celebs are rarely sighted in suburban grocery stores shopping for Gogurt and Tampax.) Yes, he's got the puppy dog brown eyes, the lush eyebrows, the olive skin, and the oh so sexy legs. He also has the dearth of hair, which is not widespread; just enough so that he has a pleasing to the touch quarter inch-short shaved do. Which matters not to me, not one little bitty short bit. But, after eight years of my protestations: You have the face! Your head is perfect in its proportion! You would look WEIRD with hair, I cannot imagine it, darling! I love running my hands over your pate, it gets me going! I am still met with: Yeah, RIGHT. Not to mention the inevitable: Imagine your hair going down the drain at eighteen years of age. THEN talk to me.

Well, I can sympathize even if empathy is out of my reach. After all, I have lost my board flat tum due to childbirth, my right to flirt outrageously, my crystal clear vision which now causes me to be deathly afraid of the eye test at the DMV, and my mind on several occasions.

Z recently had an epiphany about the mind games this obsession causes in men. He says, Hair=Lawn. You decide.

After the dinner hour this evening, I was looking out the window gazing upon row upon row of suburban yards in varied states of greeniosity (that's a Z word, don't blame me). As far as my little eye could see, each featured a sweaty man, every one in a state of LawnManism (my word, blame me). They were pushing mowers, utilizing weed eaters, fertilizers, and other strange forms of lawn equipment. Potting soil was hauled. Sprinklers were employed, moved, and watched over with surgeon like precision. Weeds were yanked and curse words were invented. Everywhere, the tension was as thick as pollen and inhaled by each and every man as the competition grew more fierce. Sideways, derisive glances were cast from neighbor to neighbor. Mutters were uttered under their breaths, to the tune of: Lucky MFer, your sod got laid in the spring last year. It's not my fault they had to wait to lay a sidewalk in June. You son of a bitch. Followed loudly by: Hey Bud! Lookin' GOOD over there! After which comes the inevitable: Asshole, your wife has a big butt and I bet you never get laid.

So it seems, the hair obsession has become the lawn obsession. It is not determined by genes, just by how much time your wife will allow you to spend on it, and how much testosterone you have.

By the way, our lawn looks very well, very well indeed.

Just a Quick Comment





Yes! She is REAL.

Witchy Woman

During a game of "Hide the Household Object" today (you all know I go to great lengths to devise complex games for z), z was astonished to realize that I sniffed out the hiding place of the pocket calculator he had chosen to hide in his favorite game of hide and seek, with SuperHero-Like Powers. Yes, I admit, I peeked; it was close to naptime.

He was amazed at my powers, and wide eyed, asked, "How did you KNOW?"

I seized the opportunity and informed him in a deep, portentous voice, "Mommy knows EVERYTHING YOU DO. I see everything! HAHAHAHAHA!"


Really, though, I believe that all women are witches in some ways. And I love the power that we have. Men love it too, although many will not admit it. We are so scary in the way that we just KNOW things, we are so intuitive. This got me to thinking about how the women that came before me have influenced my life, and what I am now inflicting on all fortunate enough to be near me.


SOME OF MY FAVORITE SUPERSTITIONS

These were handed down from the Italian women in my family, and the following is how I neurotically include them in my daily life:


Never put shoes on any surface, anywhere, other than the floor (strictly enforced, even on stairsteps).

Shake salt over your shoulder, spilled or not (shake five times, as for some reason five is my lucky number; no basis in reality whatsoever).

No hats on beds. (Easy these days, since no one wears hats anymore, which is a damned shame.)

If your nose itches, someone is coming over. I have been known to run around, closing all the blinds. Ears itch, and someone is talking about you. A constant malady I have learned, a la Scarlett O'Hara, to ignore quite self righteously.


NOW FOR SOMETHING THAT MAKES SOME SENSE


I have been contemplating the years I have spent on this earth lately. Never fear, it has been in a shallow, albeit perceptive way. Since you all know and love me so well, I thought I would share with you the wisdom (self deprecating laugh goes here) of my years. Now that I see my 38th year approaching with very few wrinkles (thanks to my Italian ancestors and no thanks whatsoever to my sun worship), I still feel the weight of the time that has passed. And not just in my butt.

These are some of the things I have learned along the crazy twisty turned path o life:

The first person that wants to be your friend in any group situation is the least popular. Later, this is the person you will most want to know.

You can live without any makeup tool; except an eyelash curler. (Unless you have naturally curly eyelashes. Then, it follows, I will hate you.)

Material things do not satisfy. They are fun for a certain period of time, then they become used, scratched, broken or otherwise lost. Books, music, art, and people most of all...provide continuous enjoyment and gain value as time goes on, even when they are used, scratched, broken or otherwise lost.

Honesty IS the best policy. It has never failed me. It has made me uncomfortable, made me blush, made me face myself and others; but I have never had to apologize for it. However; it is important to me to add a dose of kindness every time.

Food is a healer, a way to show love. If you don't cook, learn. Or ask someone you love to learn with you. There is no better way to turn a depressing day into a good one. If you just can't do it, order out. Sit around a table with people you care about, and stay until the food is cold and the wine is flowing; worry about the dishes later. Every day is a celebration.

Have faith. Give it up-all those every day worries. My favorite expression is, "I worried about Tomorrow; it is Today, and my worry never came."

Find a penny and pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck. It works! You will be looking for good luck all day, and it will be found.

Don't borrow trouble. It will find you soon enough. Put on your best disguise, and dodge under the nearest camouflage.

After spending amounts of money that I am afraid to tally, I learned that children really do prefer spending time with their parents, taking walks, making forts out of blankets and houses out of boxes, looking at bugs and playing hide and seek, far more than any shopping spree to Toys R Us could possibly match.

Love who, and what, you love. Never apologize for who you are. You are unique and if others think you are boring, weird, self contained, strange or whatever; you are who you are meant to be and best of all, who you are becoming. Ninety-nine percent of the time you are being criticized out of their fear, anyway.

Hey, as long as I am giving out the lub today; and it may not last according to my monthly: Thank you to Zuly ( Is it possible to love someone in an internet kind of way? Yes!), Wendy, Celia, Kelli, Gabby, Jason, and everyone else who knows why. Each of you are so amazing.

Thunder and Lightning

After an evening spent in the basement due to the overzealous Weather People (with good reason, as you all know by now, if you watch national news at all), I awoke to a beautiful day today. I will regale you with the conversation that is so typical around here, after first setting the stage. Please remember that we were hit by lightning which resulted in a one month stay at a local sleep, sit and shit last year, thus causing paranoia in this normally carefree girl.

1) Sara sees Severe Thunderstorm Warnings and Tornado Watches in the lower right hand screen of today's serving of Oprah.

2) Sends Z for emergency Diet Coke and D batteries.

3) Sara paces back and forth between windows and forces z to sit in middle of living room, as tennis ball sized hail has been sighted.

4) Z arrives home. Sara begins haranguing, based on slow movement of supplies to basement and general what, me worry? attitude of husband.

5) Realizing that if a tornado hits, they could be trapped for days; Sara fills shopping bags with liquor, Cheezits, chocolate covered raisins, a deck of playing cards, two battery powered flashlights, the new issue of Jane, an unrelated set of action figures for z, and two cans of Mendota Spring Water.

6) One hour later, coaxing dog and chasing cat down to the basement, the family settles on an old futon mattress. The conversation ensues.

S: Well, that is not emergency preparedness! Can you imagine if we had been in the path of the tornado? You really piss me off. We would all be dead by now.

Z: Growls.

S: Oh, and by the way, I heard that we need to be at the lowest level, which I WILL grant you. You know where the basement is.

Z: Growls.

S: (Looks around disdainfully) But, they said we should be at the center of the house. This doesn't look like the center to me, in fact, I don't think you have noticed that our little cubby is close to the outside of the house. Hmmm?

Z: Uh, I am not sure, but I think that applies to people that don't have basements.

S: What, you think? Why don't you KNOW? This is a dangerous situation, you are in charge of this family; why don't you KNOW?

TV: The Warning has expired for Z, S, and z, please return to your normal arguing.

S: Whew! Let's go back upstairs and I will think of something else to bitch about.

The Land of Oz

It's been a big day in Kansas City. Baseball sized hail. At last count, no less than 15 sighted tornadoes; one that cut a two block path through a suburb, leaving many homeless and terrified. Horses being rescued out of trees. Even more scary: Jacketless newscasters, ties loosened and sleeves rolled up. Continuous coverage preempting The Simpsons as I write. People flocking to the Salvation Army to partake of blankets and comforting food that will make them forget that they have lost all of their worldly goods. A free twinkie can do wonders for the human spirit, dontcha know. And before you even think it, I will be doing my part tomorrow. None of your damn bidness anyway. I choose not to advertise my charity. Here is something of which you can take part:

A young woman was being interviewed after losing her home. She was holding a puppy and smiling.

YW: (Smiling) My boyfriend and a friend of ours were outside, watching the tornado. It started to get so close, so we ran into the house, grabbed the dog, and hid under the stairs.

Reporter: Did it feel, like they say, like a vacuum?

YW: (Smiling) Yes, there was that feeling of being sucked up, but also like being beaten. (?)

R: So did you lose everything? The house, clothes, furniture, all of your possessions?

YW: (Smiling) Yep, sure did.

R: (Smiling now as it is so contagious) And yet, you can still smile!

YW: (Hugs dog, and yes, smiles) Well, the puppy is okay.


There are just so many things I like about that, I'm not even going to start.

Listfully Yours

Only after writing this list today did I realize how very strange it would seem to the random grocery shopper who finds it, discarded, in their cart. What would I be making with this accumulation of items? Egg salad on a bed of toilet paper and corn chips, festooned with flowers in the hope that my cat would be enticed by this culinary treat?

Ever since I found this in depth, waste of time website, I have been fascinated by my own lists. Of things to do. People to call. Bills to pay. Thoughts to think. Birthdays to acknowledge. Physical parts to have checked and examined; and hopefully proclaimed safe for the general public. 800, 866, and 1 plus numbers that are deemed important by the name jotted next to them: Jessica! Bitch! Or, Damon: promised refund 3/4/03!

I freely admit that I cannot live without a List. Lists are what I imagine keep me bound to this ever spinnin' Universe. The List is my friend, my guru, my psychiatrist, my priest. If I go more than one day without updating, checking or otherwise renewing it, I will be seen to exhibit an interesting eye twitch.

Yes, friends, I keep large notebooks that are emblazoned with the dates I filled them. Someday, my descendants will look through these with searching hearts; longing to get a peek into my daily life in the good ole days. And they will get the window to Great Grandma's Soul:

She loved to make lists.

Of inconsequential things.

She bought interesting things at the grocery.

She felt it was important to write down the names of telemarketers.

She felt a need to write down, step by step, how to clean the house when company comes. Each and every time.

She was, obviously, deprived in some way.


No scrapbooking for me. I shall instead leave the unknowable, the mysterious and therefore tantalizing, LIST.


(Oh, and yes, I do have a Shit List. You might be on it, so don't ask.)

Songsters


Beau's full name is "Beau Bauer", as in Eddie Bauer, the type of Explorer we drove when we first brought our puppy home and he christened the front seat with a cute little accident. Z and z wrote this song about our sweet little dog. Hopefully I am not living with and/or raising a budding rapper. Nor a traumatized Yorkie. Enjoy.

His name is BEAU! Bauer.
We call him POOP! Power.
Oh yes he's BEAU! Bauer.
He plays for many hours.
Because he's BEAU! Bauer.
He does not smell like flowers.
Because he's POOP! Power.
He stinks and he needs a shower.
Because he's BEAU! Bauer.

Beau seems to like this as he rolls his eyes and leaves the room each time he hears it.