Scenes From My A Fair

Yesterday we went to the New Jersey State Fair. Ok, actually--we drove out to TARGET, and then just did the Fair as an afterthought. They say New York has everything--but a Real New Yorker knows if you want EVERYTHING you have to hit this shopping mecca on Route 3 in Joisey.

We are TARGET's ideal shoppers because we fool ourselves into thinking that just because it is in a Big Mega Store, that everything is super cheap. We're always shocked when we get to the check out--WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ENTIRE CART FULL OF THINGS WE DON'T REALLY NEED IS HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS? WHAT KIND OF SUPER STORE ARE YOU ANYWAY?!? Remorse....Shame....Guilt....-the cycle begins, and can only be stopped with ice cream.

We hit The Fair with the few dollars we had left. We had steeled ourselves for Sunday crowds and were pleasantly surprised to find the parking lot almost empty- turns out many people actually listen to/watch weather reports. Not THE VEASEYS. we see a looming storm on the horizon and we just flash back to the cheesy video we watched of The Secret and imagine those clouds blowing right past. We visualize the heavens filled with light, and the entire Brady Clan singing "Sunshine Day."

The Fair is a really great place to buy expensive straw -filled stuffed animals under the guise of playing games of skill. And a place where all that is unholy about American Cuisine is gathered together; fried twinkies shoulder to shoulder with mystery meat on a kabab. It's where it's possible to gain ten pounds in an afternoon and then get your picture photo shopped onto a fake Sports Illustrated Bikini Issue magazine cover.

The kids had fun and rode a variety of rides--including a lap around a parking lot on the back of a camel; although we had suggested they hop on the elephant instead. As the sky grew darker, we had the brilliant idea to take shelter in the adjacent petting zoo tent. The petting zoo had an antelope, a blind kangaroo, fifty hungry and aggressive goats, a few lemurs, two donkeys, a cow, and a miniature pony. All housed behind minimal fencing so that you could pet them. We waited under the tent, safe and dry, as the heaven's opened up and the torrential downpour began.

Unfortunately, the elephant & camel ride and entire petting zoo tent were situated on the bottom of a sloped parking lot with no drainage. Ten minutes into the storm, the water began to rise. It was a mini tsunami under the tent--in fifteen minutes we were all standing ankle deep in hay- filled, brackish rainwater. Everything that had been in the pens with the animals now floated around our feet. We held Bananna up as the water swirled around us. Complicatedboy had a great time watching the water level rise and noting that the log- like objects which were floating past us appeared to be Elephant poo.

We had actually received a portend of these events earlier in the day, when Sexyhusbandomine realized that he had run his entire wallet through the washing machine on a double rinse cycle. Clearly that had been a sign--a warning from our Higher Power to stay home.

We stood knee-deep in what was pretty much a giant toilet bowl used by four legged creatures for approximately 45 minutes while Complicatedboy asked helpful questions like "When Is It Going To Stopppppp Mommmy?" and Sexyhusbandomine made helpful statements like "I wish we always traveled with Purell. You should always keep some Purell in your pocketbook. Purell would be good to have right about now." THEN the rain finally abated and the Fair Workers began pulling out pumps and Sexyhusbandomine commanded us all to jump in what he called "Clean Puddles" and I was like "Honey, this is JOISEY." The smell of wet goat clung to me the rest of the day.

This morning, Sexyhusbandomine said to me: "If you blog about the fair, make sure you write about how I Drowned the Clown." Because indeed, for $6 he threw ten baseballs at the offensive Bozo in a booth and did manage to knock him off his perch, after being called a Loser in front of Complicatedboy. And I am sure his shoulder will not require surgery.

A little dysentery is a small price to pay indeed for a day filled with such fun.

I Can't Quit You

I HEART my new readers & commentators. Of course, I realize that we are in the early stages of our relationship, and that at some point down the road I could discover that you are rude to waitstaff, enjoyed the movie English Patient, or don't clip your toenails.. and it could be SOOOO OVER, but for now let's just enjoy this moment that has me singing every song I ever heard on AM radio. You are smart, funny, and KNOW THE PERFECT THING TO SAY. You are like typed Crack Cocaine, and worth every damn penny I spent to get some time with you. Should I reply to your replies? Should I go another week? Can you move in permanently next month? I know that you will tell me the truth...except when I ask if this blog makes my butt look big, which is your cue to suggest we order in Chinese Food. Just so ya know.

Let me down easy---cause I'm thinking this could lead to LINKS. Ah, *sigh* Love....

Yesterday when I went to pick up Thebananna and Complicatedboy at school on our scenic New York City block, which includes two porn shops and a Men's bar by the name of SADDLESOAP ( where all those NYC Cowboys gather), the crossing guard called upon me to act in my former role of PTA President and address complaints that one of the porn shops on the block was showing porn on the TV in their window.

Sexyhusbandomine waited outside the porn shop with the two Fruits of our Loins while I went in to speak to the manager. And for the record, if you ever want to make people in a porn shop nervous, just walk through the joint asking loudly "You work here? Hey buddy-you in charge here?" Because it was like I channeled a character from Law & Order SUV.

The Manager seemed like a nice enough fellow. He moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to another to indicate interest, as I told him that I was the former PRESIDENT OF THE PTA and that I had received complaints about porn movies playing in the front window at 8:30 a.m. as our children made their way to school. And then he took me by the arm and walked me outside of the shop to stand in front of the window beside him.

"You watch" he said. And from the corner of my eye I spied Complicatedboy beginning to freak on Sexyhusbandomine 1/2 down the block, and screaming: "What is he DOING TO MOMMMMMMY? What is that BAD MAN doing to Mommmmmmmy?" And sexyhusbandomine was all like "He's making her watch TV, ok?" But I could tell he was worried for me. And for the record--Sexyhusbandomine had originally insisted that HE go in to speak to the Porn Shop Manager, but I overruled him-which right there tells ya that I was the Gal For The Job. Because if anybody is going to put the Kibosh on the Sausage, Sexyhusbandomine knows it is me. I HAVE EXPERIENCE.

So I stood in front of the TV with the Porn Shop Manager and watched the scene on the window TV as a dark haired young man ordered pizza by phone... And then got bored waiting for the pizza to come, and so decided to pour olive oil all over the upper half of his chiseled torso... And so was glistening and well oiled when the blonde pizza boy finally did arrive...And they did not so much as embrace as kind of slip beside each other...at which point the film spooled and dark haired young man was hungry for pizza yet again...

At that, Porn Shop Manager asked me "You see any intercourse? You tell me if you see intercourse. YOU SHOW ME THE INTERCOURSE..." And while I was going to say that technically, the two actor's conversation about the pepperoni counted as such, I didn't want to spend all afternoon talking with Porn Shop Manager while my own spawn and better half waited. So I said:

"I see no intercourse. I have no problem with this video. In fact, young dark haired stallion with the olive oil on his chest is a visual treat. And I am sure olive oil is a great moisturizer. In fact, I am going to suggest Sexyhusbandomine deals with his occassional excema in this manner. HOWEVER...8:30 am is a little early for a pizza delivery, dontcha think? And while i promise you I will stop EVERY SINGLE MORNING and watch the video start to finish--I cannot promise every other parent walking by will stop to see what the content is...SO...I am thinking in order to avoid a pitch fork and lantern situation you might want to keep the TV off at arrival and dismissal times."

Porn Shop Manager paused for a moment and say "Lady, you talk a lot, huh? I feel for your husband."

And with that he returned to his position behind the counter and I went to join my family and declared VICTORY! And Complicatedboy wanted to know what the deal was and I explained that we only allow 2-3 hours of tv a day and he TOTALLY GOT IT.

Pompous and Circumstances

Today was Thebananna's graduation. It's been a crazy week-what with prom and all those keg parties-but I managed to pull it together--after all, you only graduate from Pre-Kindergarten once.

Thebananna wore sunshine yellow as the theme of Graduation was "Sunshine, Lollipops & Rainbows." (I had lobbied hard for Stairway to Heaven but the rest of the moms outvoted me.) Bananna has been counting the days for the past three weeks to this event-asking each night before bed HOW MANY DAYS IS IT UNTIL TOMORROW? And I was all like "THIS maybe the reason you did not pass that test for the Talented and Gifted Class my dear, let me introduce you to my friend The Calendar." Then we found out that they were actually singing THE SONG "Tomorrow." I await my Mother of the Year Trophy any minute now.

Bananna was dressed and ready to go half an hour before we needed to walk out the door. Complicatedboy ( who was scheduled to perform as an older sibling at the ceremony) changed outfits up until the very last minute--almost deciding to wear a nylon football jersey until I informed him that it would be totally see-through when he got in front of the bright lights. And since Complicatedboy firmly believes in Santa, The Toothfairy, and the existence of Paparazzi-he agreed to change.

Bananna, who thinks she lives in a Stephen Sondheim Musical, performed Here Comes The Sun, You are My Sunshine and Good Day Sunshine like a pro, although we can't figure out where she learned to stand on the stage with one hand on her hip and the other outstretched for money. Complicatedboy was very much himself--singing his solo in Sunrise,Sunset with vigor, then banging his fist repetitively against his forehead and in general, Acting Out-- but not enough where we could make some cash off of his behavior by sending it off to Americas Funniest Videos.

As the Graduates recessed to Walking on Sunshine, Complicatedboy broke ranks and ran to walk the aisle beside her. Because Gosh Forbid Bananna should have that attention all to Herself.

Another child might have been angry. Another child might have yelled, or tattled, or even pushed him away. But Bananna just smiled and reached for his hand. And when her eyes met mine as they walked past together; her walking slowly and seriously and him doing some goofy duck dance, I could read in them the promise that if he gew up and I allowed him to do this at her wedding, she would kill me.

Uno... Dooce....

First of all, I am not Heather B. Armstrong, and this is not her web site. If you are a fan of the GREATEST BLOG EVER WRITTEN BY A REFORMED MORMON ON PROSAC and have stumbled across my musings through the ad placed on www.dooce.com, I want to say "Welcome" and apologize for all this garish purple... and the complete lack of flicker photos... and the fact that I am a Cat Person. I am to Heather B. Armstrong what Britney Spears is to Audrey Hepburn.

Then I want to tell you to immediately LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS. Because under pressure I am about as funny as an Avocado. (See? Heather would have used something like Mango. Or CROUTON.) Frankly, I suggest to get Full Enjoyment of this blog that you do a shot EVERY TIME I TYPE IN CAPITALS.

And then, for gosh sakes, please COMMENT. Because Dooce readers are fearless about their responses, while MUD readers--such as my fellow PTA Executive Board Members-- traditionally just send me discreet private Emails that say things like "May I Respectfully Suggest that you Refrain from telling the Board of Education to SUCK IT."

Heather & I share a few similarities. We are both blonde--although I have to admit I question sometimes if her carpet matches her drapes. We have both had skin cancers removed. We both have big, dark haired lumbering husbands that fix things for us. (Jon fixes Heather's computer issues. Sexyhusbandomine fixes cocktails.)

But mostly we are a study in contrasts. She lives in a beautiful house where there are mountains and they complain about the cold all the time. I live in New York in a loft apartment that looks like someone smoked crack before hitting Ikea. Her child was born with a few special needs. I screwed mine up all by myself. She faithfully records each developmental milestone and writes beautiful tributes to her daughter every month. I may ocassionally blog about Complicatedboy or Thebananna but most of the time I am yelling at them to LOWER THE VOLUME ON THOSE G-DAMN BACKYARDIGANS FOR CRIPES SAKE MAMAS GOT A BLOG TO WRITE.

I once sent Heather B. Armstrong a mug I made. One side said DOOCE JUICE and the other said I AM HEATHER B. ARMSTRONG AND THIS IS MY MUG. Then I made myself a mug that said STOP BEING ALL CREEPY STALKERISH.

Anyway, if you found your way to me through her--again--WELCOME. If you are lucky, you can follow the breadcrumbs back.

BFFs FOREVER

The Reign of the Two Blondes ended officially last night as Boobs Mitchell and I stepped down from our respective positions as PTA Co-Presidents of our school.

BOOBS MITCHELL: You have got to stop calling me Boobs--I have no boobs.
ME: You will always be BOOBS to me.
BOOBS MITCHELL: Well I need an ironic name for you then...how about I start calling you SOBER?

And I was all like; Go Ahead, but that will only be ironic about 90% of the time.

Boobs is thinking about escaping from the rat race that is Manhattan and moving into the wild, unexplored territories of Brooklyn. Brooklyn is to New Yorkers what dryers are to socks. People go there and you NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN.

I am not a supporter of this plan; as Boobs now lives close enough that we can plunk our kids in front of a video, have an adult beverage (Boobs is a fan of Pabst), and I don't have to worry about her safety as she staggers home. I am thinking that her life plan of a move to Brooklyn is in serious conflict with my plan to consume copious amounts of Pinot Grigio. I am thinking about telling her prospective buyers that she and her husband practice Santeria Rituals on the weekends in their kitchen and that as new owners they would have to contend with some serious Voodoo Hoodoo.

I actually did this for a friend in real life during my Junior year in college. Her roommate had moved out, leaving her with a much coveted SINGLE and Student Housing kept sending prospective replacements. Prior to an interview, we used to stage Wiccan rituals in the center of the room and douse the place with patruli. She got to keep that single her whole Junior year and she was a lucky one with the boys, if you know what I mean.

New York is such a hard place to make real friends. There is a sense of the temporary at all times. You refrain from getting close because--who knows--tomorrow someone might decide to move to Greenwich so their kid can see what grass looks like without having to get on a subway and travel uptown. For this reason, We try to surround ourselves with people who have BOUGHT their Manhattan abodes. And not just because they often pick up the check. We're thinking-hey-you own a place, perhaps you're sticking around for a bit. So next thing you know you are opening up and forming bonds and it's just like a Lifetime TV movie except you never have an affair with each other's husbands.

But the bond Boobs and I have is unbreakable--forged by two years of experiences that have included heated discussions about REALLY REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT stuff: like our complicated children, our desires to be better mothers like the Mennonite Mom we know, how cute the gym teacher at our kid's school is (O My gosh he so is, and sometimes he comes to school in SOCCER SHORTS) , and how children could be traumatized if at the Holiday Fair there were TWO SANTAS instead of one. And she has taught me A LOT. Lessons like: "Don't Put It in Writing", "There Is Always a Chance They Won't Notice", and "Thou Shalt Not Volunteer." I weep at the thought of not kareoking with her again, or having her Notarize some forged document. We have plans to write books together--fabulous best sellers about our Great Adventures in the PTA or Funny Stories about People Dying.

So obviously, I must stop blogging now and get to the Green Market to try to find the live chicken I need for my plan.

Next She'll Get a Tramp Stamp

Dear Mommies Who Stuck Their Noses in The Air As I Walked Thebananna and Complicatedchild to School This Morning Looking Like This....

It's Crazy Hair Day--ok? Thus declareth Thebananna as "Principal For a Day" which she is today. She earned that title the old fashioned way--through her parent's cold, hard CASH at the last school auction. We figured it was good practice for a future Presidency. Nothing says "Work Ethic" like a little Nepotism.

Really, our goal for Thebananna is to just keep her off the pole. And make sure the piercings are in discreet places.

This Week in DALLAS

I get it, I get it. Even Worldsgreatestmotherinlaw Emailed to THANK ME for ending the 120 blogs in a row postings. I think if she could have figured out a way to enclose cash, she would have. The last time people were this effusive about me stopping something, I was singing the full length version of COUNTRY ROADS at karaoke night. It's a crying shame I never got to do my rendition of SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS because I feel confident I could have brought the house down. Especially since I had choreographed my own interpretive dance to go with it.

So let's all just get in the proverbial shower together and realize it was...just a dream.

The "experiment" did show off the great sense of humor Sexyhusbandomine has. If you read back through the comments you'll see just how lucky I am to have a man who is the Wind Beneath My Wings-even if that wind is from last night's chili supper and even if he often blames that same wind on one of our children or the cats.

Perhaps you will be lucky enough to sit beside Sexyhusbandomine on a plane this week. If not--try to stop by and see him this week in the Enesco showroom. He'll be at The World Trade Center in Suite 409 at the Dallas Giftshow. We'll be launching our brand new OUR NAME IS MUD lines including Garden and Partyware. I'll be staying home with the chilluns. Barefoot in the kitchen as usual, practicing my rendition of MUSKRAT LOVE, sans the hand motions.

Meet The Lorries

Blog post 2 of 120 in a row.

I have decided that in addition to posting 120 blog posts in a row, that I will also seek out and meet 120 Lorries on the internet.

Starting with THIS.... the number one image result on GOGGLE. Sadly, in order to communicate with her I had to provide my credit card and proof that I am over 18 years of age.

Our Name IS Blog

I was listening to Matt & Meredith this morning and they did the lead in for A COUPLE WHO DECIDED TO HAVE SEX EVERY DAY FOR 120 DAYS IN A ROW. At which point I shut off the TV...in case Sexyhusbandomine was paying attention. I just hope Sexyhusbandomine realizes that it is A) The Kids B) the Job and 3) Because I am soooo tired from the Kids and the Job, which are the primary reason he is not participating in a similar experiment like: LET'S GIVE HUSBAND A FOOT RUB FOR 120 DAYS IN A ROW or LET'S GO TO BED AND FALL ASLEEP INSTEAD OF PASSING OUT DRUNK FOR 120 DAYS IN A ROW.

Instead- I have decided to BLOG FOR 120 DAYS IN A ROW. Yes- EVERYDAY. I am taking the proverbial newspaper into the proverbial can, and I am going to do my business.

BLOG 1:

Crap.

119 Blogs to go. Writer's Block already setting in. Can this end without me doing something desperate like creating a dream sequence that ends in a shower or eating my companions?

Or writing about........the weather?

Beastly hot. Two words to describe my agony: Thigh Chafe. More tomorrow.....

Banned From Book Club.

Recently, I stumbled across a blog called The Undomestic Diva (http://www.undomesticdiva.typepad.com ) which has the promising tagline: Just Doin the Best I Can When I Feel Like It. The woman who writes it turns a great phrase and seems to have a healthy share of a little something I like to call A SENSE OF HUMOR. I was psyched to see her "NOT A BOOK CLUB BOOKCLUB," which she billed as the mullet of bookclubs: business in the front, party in the back. And then I read the book list:

THE LIST
One for the Money - Janet Evanovich
Two for the Dough - Janet Evanovich
Three to get Deadly - Janet Evanovich
Four to Score - Janet Evanovich
High Five - Janet Evanovich
Hot Six - Janet Evanovich
Seven Up - Janet Evanovich
Hard Eight - Janet Evanovich
To the Nines - Janet Evanovich
Ten Big Ones - Janet Evanovich
Eleven On Top - Janet Evanovich
Twelve Sharp - Janet Evanovich
Lean Mean Thirteen - Janet Evanovich
Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich
Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin
Something Blue - Emily Giffin
Baby Proof - Emily Giffin
Love the One You're With - Emily Giffin
Swapping Lives - Jane Green
Ask Again Later - Jill A. Davis
Remember Me - Sophie Kinsella
Good in Bed - Jennifer Weiner
Welcome to Temptation - Jennifer Cruise
Running With Scissors - Augusten Burroughs
Water for Elephants - Sara Gruen

I pride myself on being somewhat of a voracious reader: I can do PEOPLE cover to cover in one short visit to the powder room. And so I commented on the book selections and here is what I wrote:

I just stumbled across your blog and thought WHAT LUCK! Now I know what Janet Evanovich's publisher is doing with her spare time!

I had SUCH HOPES for this list. After reading your posts I thought-here is someone who will recognize the true genius of Jackie Collins. I've always wanted to explore the literary prowess of Stephen King. And if you threw in that new autobiography by Tori Selling I WOULD BE YOUR FAN FOR LIFE.

May I please spare you and your readers the agony of reading Water For Elephants (HE DIES IN THE END OK) and recommend The Final Confessions of Mabel Stark by Robert Hough? I realize the paragraph above puts my literary taste in question--but this is an awesome book about the original lion tamer for Ringling and involves escapes from mental institutions and animal maulings and DAMN I know you will love it.

For gosh sakes, wouldn't ONE Janet Evanovich be enough? Or is she like the Chinese Food of authors?

NOTE: Water For Elephants starts with a 98 year old author bemoaning that he will die soon--so in terms of spoiling it for everyone it is sort of like saying "The Mystery Gets Solved" when discussing a Nancy Drew book because it is THAT OBVIOUS.

And so it was with SUCH SURPRISE that I read the following comment:
Lorrie-
Hey thanks for ruining the ending of WFE for me.

I have been following this web site for quite a while & never have I read such a rude comment. If you don't like the book choices that we voted on months ago, please feel free to show yourself to the door.

This has been a place to go for comic relief in our day & you know what? WE ALL DIE IN THE END.

and this one in support of that one:
Sing it Beth!


Now to be honest-in between that response I had waxed a little poetic about MY OWN BOOKCLUB which my faithful readers will remember was held at a cocktail bar and involved a visit by Teen Idol Leif Garret. But really; that comment was to further endear people to me because AFTER ALL: I"M WORKING FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT HERE PEOPLE.

That said- it was a shock to find myself totally and completely BANNED from commenting on this website. I was in such denial i wrote lengthy replies TWICE; each carefully crafted to be one part snort wine out of your nose funny one part charming and endearing. BUT THOSE BITCHES WOULD NOT GIVE ME A SECOND CHANCE. Not that I really mind.

Ok, I do. Not that I am suggesting that any one of you 1600 readers (AND YES DAMN IT--BLOGGER STATS SHOW THAT WHILE I GET 1-2 COMMENTS, 1600 OF YOU READ MY INANE MUSINGS REGULARLY) not that I am suggesting that any of you go to her website and write some sort of snarky post. I mean, that would be wrong. Even though you can do it anonymously. But I'm not saying you should do that because I AM THE BIGGER PERSON and maybe, just maybe...Janet Evonovitch books are worth all this fuss.

Libra does not mean a French brassiere

Advice from my horoscope:

Don't make nasty comments about yourself behind your own back.

Do play soccer in bunny slippers at dawn in a supermarket parking lot with a gang of sadomasochistic stockbrokers who've promised to teach you the Balinese monkey chant.

Don't decorate your thigh with a sloppy tattoo of the devil pushing a lawn mower.

Do eat ripe organic strawberries that have been genetically modified and irradiated, and do chain-smoke Marlboros as you peddle your exercise bicycle, and do wander through a garbage dump while listening to Mozart on your iPod.

Don't get hooked on the fantasy that there are only two kinds of people, those who align themselves with the forces of light and those who align themselves with the forces of darkness.

Do start an organization called POMP (Proud Owners of Multiple Personalities), dedicated to erasing negative stereotypes about healthy non-schizophrenics who enjoy being a community of many different selves.

Don't lie on a floor surrounded by wine-stained poetry books, crumpled Matisse prints, abandoned underwear, and half-eaten bowls of corn flakes as you stare up at the ceiling with a mad gaze, muttering gibberish and waving your hands as if swatting away demons.

Do run along the tops of cars during a traffic jam, escaping from bad guys as you make your way to a helicopter that takes you to a spot hovering over an erupting volcano, into which you drop the Buns of Steel video.

Don't put your soul up for auction on the eBay website.

Do write a cookbook filled with recipes you've channeled from dead celebrities.

If you come upon a lamp with a genie in it, don't wish you had a magic wand.

Hmmm. Damn good thing I'm a Libra.
All predictions from www.freewillastrology.com