Thursday, January 29, 2009


illustration by Geoff Gibson, used without any permission whatsoever cuz that's how I roll.

Hello Chickens,

Thank you for all the Emails you sent this week--most of which said WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU, some which said I won $5 million bucks in the Nigerian Lottery (hope you got my reply with my full name and bank account info), others that were warm messages of friendship which warned if I did not forward onto ten people immediately that I would die a horrible and painful death, a few that advised me not to buy cold medicine for my children because it had all been recalled , and one that explained how Bill Gates would pay me money if I just opened up my address book and sent a few emails.

I guess I need to question wether or not this week actually happened: I mean--is it real if I didn't blog about it? And if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is around to see it: do the other trees make fun of it?

Here now: a brief summary of my week:

I had PEOPLE TO ENTERTAIN. Business people. This used to be fun: back in the day when there were these incredible things called Expense Accounts. You could actually enjoy drinks together that weren't served in a plastic cup with a straw.

I saw Sheree from She came over to my house for Chinese food and we spent much of the time talking about how much we love Thystle work. But not in THAT way.

There was big drama with the PTA. A little something called POTTERYGATE which involves a donated kiln, a budget, and a program: but the first rule of PTA is that you don't talk about PTA.

Complicated Boy's unrequited love suddenly requited, and sent a note which said "I Love You. P.S. Meet me by the slide."

I'm pretty sure one or more of The Spawn had flu at some point.

We went to a charity event with friends, met and shook hands with Robert Kennedy Jr. ,stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar with Richard Gere, petted Debbi Harry's two dogs, and stalked Matt Dillon to the bathroom. When I got home and changed into my pajamas, thinking I had such a glamorous life, I stepped in a big pile of cat vomit in my bare feet and remembered that I don't.

Is it February yet?

Monday, January 26, 2009


I have been up since 4 am on this, the third night of my insomnia.

Last time I had a run of insomnia this bad, I ended up with The Romantic 70's, a collection of 10 CDs of well loved songs from the Time Life Collection, including such unforgettable ditties as Leo Sayer's When I Need Love and David Soul's Don't Give Up on Us Baby." I think I was persuaded to make the purchase by a very gregarious Tony Orlando.

And really, I don't think you can ever have too much Peaches and Herb.

This time, I am oh so tempted by The Slanket.

If for no other reason than that I always bump a big toe or wake the small child who ended up in my bed when I rummage around looking for a sweater in the dark, so I figured if I just laid down in this to go to sleep in the first place I'd be all set when I arose in the wee hours of the morning plagued by obsessive and troubling thoughts.

A GOOGLE search of the causes and treatment of insomnia should have been enough to put me right back to sleep, but it didn't. I did, however, discover a little-known cause of sleeplessness...The Insomnia Fairy

Apparently this little sprite has been flittering around my room the past three nights. (Perhaps "flitting" isn't the right word. The poor thing is always so exhausted it trudges.)
According to the website:
Be warned, if this Fairy comes to live with you, your pillows will get lumpy, the bedroom will be too hot or too cold, and all manner of other things to stop you sleeping will begin to happen, and no amount of Dr. Caligari's Tonic for Ordered Slumber will have any effect.

But in the end.......

This too shall pass.

Thursday, January 22, 2009


Hello Chickens,
I am very very very uber busy with June's launch-which needs to be completed by Monday, but wanted to share January's OUR NAME IS MUD launch with you here. Because that's how my hamster wheel turns. So come along for a tour of just some of the items that will be making their way to fine retailers near you in about four months.

First, we have all new Halloween items.

These pumpkins come with an attached LED light so you can safely fall asleep drunk and not burn the house down. Don't you wish everything was like that? Next up we have two candy jars....

Here's a Lorrie Veasey factoid: I only eat the top part off the candy corn. I'll eat a lot of it--but only the tiny triangle at the top. And yes, you wouldn't want to put your hand in my jar as a result. We have LOTS of other great new Halloween items, but I'll save them and instead talk about some of my favorite new Christmas items.

I got a chance to work for the first time with the much beloved cast of characters from Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. They were a lovely bunch, except the short one that kept wanting to fix my teeth. Here are a few Rudolph items.

Just a little sneak peek-remember There's Always Tomorrow.....
Next a few items for pet lovers: here are some new plush pillows.

Also some change trays


And some new Judaica items like this one:

We also had all new items for BABY, MOM'S DAY and DAD'S DAY which I'll share in another post. So there you have it: just like we were together at a gift show. Except without the sore feet. Wish me luck on June launch and remember, if you have an idea for a product you'd like to see we'll pay a WHOLE FIVE DOLLARS for any ideas we use.

Monday, January 19, 2009

ODe To BaNaNa'S ODoR

Dear Banana,

You are one of the sweetest people ever put on the planet. You were born naturally good natured, with a great love of puppies and rainbows and all things pink. You wake each morning with a smile, and maintain a sunny disposition throughout the day. You entertain smaller children in line at the grocery without being asked. You offer the last piece of chocolate to your brother even if he has already had more than his share. You think Tom and Jerry is laugh-out-loud hysterical, and that the Bratz dolls wear too much makeup. You constantly offer help with the housework. You are such a Joy to us. So it pains me to have to record this fact about you for posterity, but I hope that by the time you find it in a random Google search that it will no longer be an issue.


And to make matters worse: you lie about it All The Time. It could be just me and you ALONE in a room together, and the minute I wrinkle my nose, you're all like: It Wasn't Me!! You will Deny Deny Deny, until even I begin to wonder who is responsible. It doesn't help matters that your father has taught you to say: He who smelt it, dealt it.

You are the sweetest little ray of sunshine surrounded by a noxious fog of foof fumes. I don't think it's your diet...unless turkey and cheerios do something funky in the digestive process. It may be the fact that you find the whole process of elimination somewhat distasteful, and tend to hold everything in for as long as humanly possible, until I have to send your dad out to Whole Foods at seven pm at night to try to find some prune juice.

Your "problem" is at its worst in public situations. We'll be at storytime with a group of people, and before the book is half way read, the reader is gagging and a thick sulphur cloud hangs in the air. The other children will be looking around and making faces; you'll just be smiling serenely and wondering what Clifford is going to do next.

You pollute every store we go in to together. It's like shopping sets off some sort of chain reaction in your bowels. If you ever get too constipated at least I know I can clear it up with a quick trip to Barnes and Noble.

For the record: this is just like your dad.


The winners of the Friday Giveaway are:
- SUGAR & SPICE's owner Saphyress
-SEIFER's owner Bison61
-Jazzy's owner Tiffany

Please email me at L V Mud at a o l dot com with your address.

Friday, January 16, 2009

FRiDaY MuD GiVeaWaY: CaTS!

It has been a busy, busy week, chickens! I'd like to just curl up beside a heater like this. That's Lenny. I obviously took him home because he matched the floor. If you match your cat to your linoleum, you'll never have to sweep again: shedding becomes a form of free-floating carpet.

In honor of those of you who are FeLiNe THe CaT LeRVe, today's giveaway features some of OUR NAME IS MUD's best-selling gifts for cat lovers.

* Three winners will be chosen at random on Monday. Your chances of winning are tripled, right?
* One entry per person
* We named Lenny after a character in the book OF MICE AND MEN who was one sandwich short of a picnic: because Lenny is one of the dumbest most mentally challenged cats ever to pad across the planet. In the comments section below, tell me about the name you chose for your cat. (And by cat I mean four legged feline, so please spare me the euphamisms, Thystle please.)

Here's what you can win:

Our CATfeinnated mug is purrrrrrrfect for coffee or tea. You can also win this:

Because everyone knows cats are like potatoe chips. And finally-how about this one:

Which leads me back to my original topic--which was sleep. LOTS OF IT. Happy Friday everyone!

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

ONe SeNteNCe BooK ReVieWS

WeLCoMe To BooK CLuB.
Help yourself to a few Ritz crackers, a paper cup full of Chardonnay, and get comfortable on the couch (you may need to move several of the cats.) Here are some recent reads....

THE SHACK By William P. Young
If my child were kidnapped and had been missing for years, you can bet the first question out of my mouth if I met God would not be of a theological nature.

Verdict: I want that two hours of my life I spent reading this on an airplane, back.

THE ROAD By Cormac McCarthy
Forget Soylent Green...apparently, newborn baby tastes just like chicken.

Verdict: Perfect, tight prose, thrilling can't-put-it-down read. True test of a very readable book? Sexyhusbandomine read it too.

Plucky feminist in medieval times enjoys romance and avoids getting the plague in Kingsbridge.

Verdict: Even though it was almost as thick as a phone book, I didn't want it to end.

Bunch of chicks with issues hanging out at a yarn shop.

Verdict: Boring-predictible...I wanted to jam the needles into my eyeballs.

HER LAST DEATH By Susanna Sonnenberg
Being raised by a coke head, sexually disfunctional mother sucks..but in the end, she's still your mother.

Verdict: First half of the book was excellent, but when the author grows up she continues to whine like a spoiled seven year old. Pass this one up and read THE GLASS CASTLE by Jeanette Walls instead.

How about you friends? What have you been reading?

Sunday, January 11, 2009


One of my very favorite bloggers, Jane, from Emptying The Nest turned me on to the Alphabet Super Game. You have to list Ten Favorite Things that start with certain letter-assigned to you by the blog owner. Because Jane is narcissistic nice, she gave me the letter J. Her blog is better than dooce incredibly well written and hysterical, and therefore Jane! is my first Favorite Thing That Starts With a J--here are the other nine in no particular order.

I have deep appreciation for these unsung heros of everyday life. Wouldn't it be great if someone changed the light bulbs when they burned out, emptied the trash regularly, and showed up with a bucket of sawdust every time a child vomited? Thank Goodness for the poor substitute the next best thing: HUSBANDS.

Without it: millions of people would have to eat their peanut butter plain, and children would have no alternative when their Moms got creative with dinner. Also: diaphrams would not work so well. My Personal Fave: Raspberry with a side of Vasectomy.

Most people assume I am Jewish because I make menorahs, and use words like Mensch and Chutzpah in everyday conversations. (For a long time it was also assumed I was Canadian because I used 'eh?' so much-but that was just ear wax.) I love to make Judaica pottery because there is no greater honor than to be a part of someone else's family and spiritual traditions. Plus, I like matzah.

I am actually Christian: a Congregationalist/ Methodist/Protestant of the Church Of Lazy. I have been dunked in the water, I have gone to second base on a Retreat, I have sat in a circle and sung "Jesus is Just Alright With Me." I spent summers at a religious campground that had Christian Rock Bands come perform, and at the end when they asked us to come up to the stage and Be Saved, I went Every Single Time--mostly because I was full of the Holy Spirit, but maybe a little because the lead singer was always So Cute. Big shout out to my peep Hay-zeus.

Maybe one of the problems with my exercise regime is that I'm working out to "Fire and Rain."

I'm not a big bling bling girl. I was recently given a stamped silver ring that says CREATE. It's gotten filled with clay and other stuff, and now it just says EAT. Combine this with number 4 and we come to an apropos J word: JIGGLE. I will be performing The Dance of The Cellulite nightly at Ceasar's Salad.

But why are there no Jill O Lanterns? Oh wait: empty head with the contents scooped out. Never Mind.

I used to love the special pudding glasses my mother had-and how the chocolate pudding would harden in the fridge and how good the skin on top would taste when you first attacked it with a spoon. Now I just hand my child a snack pack. Still Good Stuff.

Even though it's a schlep to get there (see number three regarding my use of Yiddish) we are very blessed to have a place to go to be with family and spend time by the ocean. Please Note: Although it is also a J word, JAWS will not be appearing on this list.

Husband-Kids-Work-Family-Volunteering-Creating-Doing-Dreaming......and an occasional bowling ball. Life would be boring any other way.

If you would like to play: leave a comment that links to you in the section below and I will assign you a letter. I will be accepting checks compliments from those of you who wish to avoid X and Q.

Friday, January 09, 2009


OK: who chipped the glass egg on the mantlepiece?

I am back, my lovelies. And while I wish I had grand tales to regale you with, I have but three little words. I. Am. Tired.

I just wanted to tell you that in an effort to counteract the whole "cut your own bangs" debaucle, I went for an eyebrow wax the night before leaving. Which was a great plan, and would have worked if I had answered "no" to the question the lady at the salon asked me, which was... "Do you want a lip wax to go with that eyebrow wax?"

You see: I have Never Had a Lip Wax. While there are other areas where the carpet and drapes don't match, I am thankfully blessed with blonde hair on my upper lip.

But lately my blonde locks have become a bit--what's the word---oh yes, BUSHY and I feared I was starting to look a bit like this guy:

So I said: YES! to the lip wax. YES! YES! YES! Confident that the red moustache would fade before my appearance in Hotlanta, and I would be able to show off my new lipstick: Palin Pink Piggie.

What I was unprepared for was a reaction a day later that involved numerous oozing postules across my upper lip. Seriously: I broke out worse than a fifteen year old who ate a bag of hershey kisses before prom night. At least six of those suckers--red, irritated, and swollen. Using concealer was like throwing a paper cup of water on the Towering Inferno.

It was so bad that at the Sales Meeting yesterday morning, I had to tell the assembled sales force that I DID NOT HAVE HERPES. They looked sympathetic-one kindly offered to get me some Neosporin--but still refused to kiss me.

Thus ended forever my experiment with waxing places never before waxed...

Sorry, Sexyhusbandomine.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

CoMe See Me In HoTLaNTa!

Well Chickens, I am off to Atlanta in the morning! I hope you will stop by The Gift Mart and have a cocktail with me on Thursday, January 8th from 4:30-8pm in Building Number Two, Enesco Showroom: Suite 819. OuR NaMe Is MuD will be launching tons of brand new and exciting items...velvet throw pillows, light up Halloween decor, and a unique and contemporary spin on a well loved classic- Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer! Come have a snort, and allow me to pressure you in to spending more money than you intended to. After that I'll talk you into dating my brother, and we can go get matching tattoos.

I realize that I should have lined up some type of blog care, but didn't. I hope it's ok if I leave you here alone for a couple of days: there's beer in the fridge, and we've got both Camp Rock and HS Musical 2 on the DVR. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone, and no nooky in my bed.

Sunday, January 04, 2009


I am a serial hair salon client.

In the past year I have bounced from chair to chair--shamelessly donned a variety of smocks and robes--and allowed several strangers to shampoo me. Along the way, there have been a couple of men that Truly Satisfied me (sometimes multiple times)... they ran their fingers through my hair and warmed me up to the cut; manhandling my roots and split ends, putting me in the mood for some highlights and a trim.

But here's the thing: I just can't stand it when they talk.

I have been with the most masterful colorists and cutters who have been sheer genius-but I have left them when they spoiled the whole thing by "making conversation." Like Alan, who felt compelled to punctuate each tin foil wrap with an anecdote about: quitting heroin, quitting smoking, quitting drinking, or quitting compulsive sex with strangers. Or Sven, who used the hour it took to make my roots match my ends to share every detail of his childhood in Bulgaria.

I so very rarely take any time for myself (it's either work work work or kids kids kids) so when I do--is it too much to ask to be left alone and in peace with my friends Angie and Brad?

So I tip hugely, and then dump them: running from salon to salon looking for the silent hairdresser who will just do my hair and leave me to find out how my friend Britney has been doing since her dad moved in. I'm just looking for a cut, not a relationship.

I live in Chelsea and have pretty much burned every salon within a fifteen block radius. So a few weeks ago I went to the one that is Always Empty. Instead of tumbleweeds, big hairballs blew across the desolate tiles. The few posters in the window showed Dorothy Hammill wedge cuts. There, I allowed Marge Simpson to highlight and cut my hair while she shared Every Single Detail of Her Holiday with me despite the fact that i was trying to seriously study the Nine Things You Should Never Say In Bed according to Cosmopolitan.

I always leave before the blow dry. Sneak them the money in an envelope, and pull on a wool cap before disappearing into the city.

When I returned home and my hair dried, I discovered it was orange. Morris the Cat Orange. Sexyhusbandomine described it as: Not THAT bad, although he agreed that if there were a way to find two and half hours in the weeks ahead that I should think about some corrective work. I have two and a half hours free February 3rd.

Marge grew tired round about the time she got to the front of my head, and consequently decided not to touch my bangs. However, I am a fan of seeing. When I realized they were getting tangled in my lower eyelashes I decided to take matters in my own hands. After all; how hard can cutting bangs really be?

Two tips if you decide to try this at home:
1) Don't use scotch tape as a guide.
2) Remember that if you cut them wet, they will shrink when dry.

Number two explains how it all went terribly wrong for me. I was no better at predicting what the end length would be with dry bangs, than I was at guessing how Sexyhusbandomine would fare the first time he jumped into ice water: both events being equally shocking.

So here I am with my orange and blonde bangs about an inch and a half above my unruly eyebrows. For some reason, they come to a kind of Count Chocula point midway--but I dare not try to make them straighter.

Hair today, goon tomorrow indeed.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

HaPPY NeW YeaR!!

Life is short, and we do not have too much time
to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us.
So be swift to love, and make haste to be kind.