If my computer could talk it would say:
"You have absolutely no idea what the hell you are doing, do you?"
At which point I would kick it.
Monday, May 21, 2007
More FALL PREVIEW
If my computer could talk it would say:
"You have absolutely no idea what the hell you are doing, do you?"
At which point I would kick it.
More FALL PREVIEW
I did not make the counterpart to this tile. It would have said something like: "Keep it simple. Ignore everybody except when they are reading or typing on the computer--then stick your ass in their face over and over again. -Advice from the cat."
More FALL PREVIEW
I would tell you the inspiration for this, but I am still trying to pretend I come from a nice, NORMAL family.
Friday, May 18, 2007
FALL PREVIEW
Our Fall '07 line will premiere this weekend at The Stationary Show in NYC, but I will give all 8 of my faithful readers (the numbers just keep going UP!) a sneak peek at NEVER BEFORE SEEN items and reveal the inspiration for them. Starting with this one: our new FRIEND FOR LIFE mug.
I am fortunate enough to know a lot of wonderful people, but two girlfriends in particular came to mind when designing this mug.
The first is my friend Cary-whom I have known since I was 8 years old--who has the distinction of being the friend whose parents SENT HER TO BOARDING SCHOOL TO REMOVE HER FROM MY SPHERE OF INFLUENCE. All because I taught her to smoke cigarettes at age 15 in the woods, and we happened to do it in a patch of poison ivy. I should mention that I am not at all allergic to poison ivy and can, in fact, handle it like a bouquet of flowers--it is one of my many superpowers. Cary, on the other hand, developed poison ivy over 95 percent of her body. Including inside her ears--which is supposed to be all kinds of painful, and her entire ass, since we were bright enough to actually SIT in the stuff in shorts. Her dad went to where she said she thought she may have had contact with the plant in order to destroy its rampant growth, and discovered the 30 or so half smoked Marlborough Reds we had scattered carelessly on the ground. Next thing you know they shipped her off to a swanky campus upstate, and we could only be together vacations and summers, which left me little time to teach her to DRINK WHILE UNDERAGE and SNEAK BOYS INTO THE HOUSE WHILE HER PARENTS WERE SLEEPING. But somehow I managed.
The second is my friend Karen, who now lives such a different life than I: having signed some sort of pact with the devil and remaining a size two, beautiful and graceful, and always carrying the latest pocketbook. She jet sets all over the world, has homes in New York and Vancouver, and recently christened a ship. K and I are like old buddies bound together eternally because we survived great hardships together--in our case, it was DATING IN OUR THIRTIES. Oh the stories we could tell about married Russian men and ex-models. But that's another blog.
Both of these gals are a FRIEND FOR LIFE which means that we will still be best buds when we are blue haired and stooped (even though Karen will most likely still be brunette and a size two, damn her.)
By the way, some friends are not Friends for Life; Some are just "Friends For While You are Renting the Summer House" or "Friends For The Duration of This Birthday Party Until Next Year's Birthday Party." But a FRIEND FOR LIFE is a No-Matter-What Friend. Send one you know an email today. Then take her out and encourage her to get a tattoo.
A portion of the proceeds of the sale of this item will go to a great organization called The Creative Center, which brings art to people with cancer. You can find more info at www.thecreativecenter.org. Because when you are blessed, pass it on.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
A Rose by Any Other Name....
My son decided two and a half hours ago that he will no longer respond to his birth name "Jesse." Instead, he has asked that we refer to him by his chosen name--the name he feels his father and I were remiss in not using on his birth certificate....
Blaster.
The problem is compounded by the fact that Annie is actually complying. She is having a grand old time playing with her brother, "Blaster."
And when I asked him why he was so insistent about changing it--"Jesse" having been a perfectly good name for the past six years--he grabbed my shirt at the sleeve and pulled my ear to his mouth and whispered; "The girls think it's cute, Mom."
Blaster.
The problem is compounded by the fact that Annie is actually complying. She is having a grand old time playing with her brother, "Blaster."
And when I asked him why he was so insistent about changing it--"Jesse" having been a perfectly good name for the past six years--he grabbed my shirt at the sleeve and pulled my ear to his mouth and whispered; "The girls think it's cute, Mom."
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Spun Sugah
If you do not believe that awesome incredible works of art (including a shark attack and a roasted chicken) can be made from yarn...click on this link (or-ok, paste it into your bowser) to rock your world:
http://www.patriciawaller.com/en/images.html
My personal fave is the crocheted pair of dentures in water. I want that for Christmas. How about you?
http://www.patriciawaller.com/en/images.html
My personal fave is the crocheted pair of dentures in water. I want that for Christmas. How about you?
Jesseism
JESSE: Mom-what is that thing called when you sell stuff?
ME: A salesperson?
JESSE: No--what Daddy is.
ME: A businessman?
JESSE: No, an on-tray....on-tray...
ME: Entrepreneur?
JESSE: Kind of--he's an entreprenerd.
ME: A salesperson?
JESSE: No--what Daddy is.
ME: A businessman?
JESSE: No, an on-tray....on-tray...
ME: Entrepreneur?
JESSE: Kind of--he's an entreprenerd.
Monday, May 14, 2007
How I Spent Mother's Day 5/13/07
Let me just start by saying that Kip returned from a business trip at midnight Friday, and Jesse stayed up waiting for him until 11:45. Because it was CAMP MOMMY--where there are no rules! So heck, let's blow up some aerobeds in the living room and watch a SpongeBob marathon. You guys get the bag of Doritos, I will get the bottle of Pinot, let's hunker down and hope Daddy's flight is on time. And all would have been well if the the next day I could have stuck to my original plan of foisting the tired buggers onto my tired husand, and running away to Mexico.
But as luck would have it, there was a birthday party. A small intimate affair with a few of THE COOLEST PARENTS AT THE SCHOOL. A picnic in Central Park.
And it would have been a wonderful, awesome, amazing time IF I COULD HAVE LEFT MY CHILDREN AT HOME.
To be fair-Annie (who made it to 11 pm by the way) was passed out for the entire thing-so while she wasn't great company, she definately did not detract from the party atmosphere. All the good parties I've ever been to have had someone sleeping it off in a corner.
But Jesse. *Sigh* Jesse. I lost count of how many times he dramatically stormed away from an activity to sulk behind a tree. He refused to be in the group photo. Refused to play soccer. Wanted ice cream when there was only cake. If another child was hit in the face with a ball, Jesse would start crying about his injured arm. While five other faces were filled with sunshine, Jesse was a big, dark storm cloud just raining all over everybody's parade. To the point that even I was thinking: Who the hell invited this kid?
I must have said at least ten times "He's tired-he was up all night--THIS IS ALL KIP'S FAULT" to the other parents who were there. And while they nibbled on the turkey sandwiches with basil, and nodded sympathetically, I still felt deep, deep Mommy Shame.
I will never be a Sophie Mom--who has very smart children who do not watch television--she is able to do impossible things: like get her son to wear a sweater. I will never be a Tara Mom--she with the laid back mop tops, who signs the boys up for classes that they miraculously attend after she has paid for them. I will never be an Allessandra Mom--who has managed to raise two kind and gentle sons who shrug their shoulders and sit out if hit at dodge ball, instead of halting the game for ten minutes as Jesse does, while he argues and insists that: "THE BALL JUST BRUSHED MY PANTS-IT DOESN'T COUNT-IT DIDN'T HIT ME-IT HIT MY PANTS-I AM NOT OUT--DO OVER--DO OVER!"
And so I foisted the kids onto Kip for Mother's Day and got my butt down to Barnes and Noble to stand for an hour in front of the parenting section. To read titles like: "How to Turn Your Impossibly Difficult Child into A Well Behaved Kid in Five Easy Lessons" and " How To Get Your Child To Do What You Want Him To Do Without Bursting A Blood Vessel." I made my purchases and headed home.
To find my children playing quietly together in the living room. Play acting with tiny figures around a plastic castle. And when Annie cries out in falsetto "Help me , Help me--the dragon is going to eat me," Jesse answers back in a deep voice "Don't worry--I will save you!" At which point, she says "Oh Thank You My Bestest Brother" And they both look up and see me and say "HI MOM! Wanna play castle with us?" And for a moment, I believe the depth of my love for them might be enough.
But as luck would have it, there was a birthday party. A small intimate affair with a few of THE COOLEST PARENTS AT THE SCHOOL. A picnic in Central Park.
And it would have been a wonderful, awesome, amazing time IF I COULD HAVE LEFT MY CHILDREN AT HOME.
To be fair-Annie (who made it to 11 pm by the way) was passed out for the entire thing-so while she wasn't great company, she definately did not detract from the party atmosphere. All the good parties I've ever been to have had someone sleeping it off in a corner.
But Jesse. *Sigh* Jesse. I lost count of how many times he dramatically stormed away from an activity to sulk behind a tree. He refused to be in the group photo. Refused to play soccer. Wanted ice cream when there was only cake. If another child was hit in the face with a ball, Jesse would start crying about his injured arm. While five other faces were filled with sunshine, Jesse was a big, dark storm cloud just raining all over everybody's parade. To the point that even I was thinking: Who the hell invited this kid?
I must have said at least ten times "He's tired-he was up all night--THIS IS ALL KIP'S FAULT" to the other parents who were there. And while they nibbled on the turkey sandwiches with basil, and nodded sympathetically, I still felt deep, deep Mommy Shame.
I will never be a Sophie Mom--who has very smart children who do not watch television--she is able to do impossible things: like get her son to wear a sweater. I will never be a Tara Mom--she with the laid back mop tops, who signs the boys up for classes that they miraculously attend after she has paid for them. I will never be an Allessandra Mom--who has managed to raise two kind and gentle sons who shrug their shoulders and sit out if hit at dodge ball, instead of halting the game for ten minutes as Jesse does, while he argues and insists that: "THE BALL JUST BRUSHED MY PANTS-IT DOESN'T COUNT-IT DIDN'T HIT ME-IT HIT MY PANTS-I AM NOT OUT--DO OVER--DO OVER!"
And so I foisted the kids onto Kip for Mother's Day and got my butt down to Barnes and Noble to stand for an hour in front of the parenting section. To read titles like: "How to Turn Your Impossibly Difficult Child into A Well Behaved Kid in Five Easy Lessons" and " How To Get Your Child To Do What You Want Him To Do Without Bursting A Blood Vessel." I made my purchases and headed home.
To find my children playing quietly together in the living room. Play acting with tiny figures around a plastic castle. And when Annie cries out in falsetto "Help me , Help me--the dragon is going to eat me," Jesse answers back in a deep voice "Don't worry--I will save you!" At which point, she says "Oh Thank You My Bestest Brother" And they both look up and see me and say "HI MOM! Wanna play castle with us?" And for a moment, I believe the depth of my love for them might be enough.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Random things on my Desktop
This is my Uncle Joe. Some say a sense of style is genetic...DO YA THINK? Joe has a penchant for plaid. My mom made him that sweater a gazillion years ago..I am pretty sure it is itchy.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Make like a tree and Leif
So, the other night we held our first gathering of the PS 11 Book Swap Club. In a bar, of course. Because everyone knows that books are just something to keep around the house for those nights when you don't pass out.
The highlight of the evening was spotting a faded green bandanna at a nearby table and realizing O MY GOD THAT'S SEAN CASSIDY! NO WAIT!! THAT'S LEIF GARRETT! The boy who was; "Made for dancing a-a-a-alllll night lo-o-o-ng."
So, because I had had drinks prior to meeting the girls for drinks and therefore had the liquid courage coursing through my veins, I called the man over to our table as he passed on his way back from the restroom. Which amused Susan and Tara because they were also avid readers of TIGER BEAT--but did not do much for Sophie, because she is English, and had absolutely no history of hormonal surges brought about by this boy when he was in his prime: *sigh* his head full of golden curly hair, and clad in those ridiculously tight spandex pants.
Leif was kind enough to take pictures with us (Tara used her cell and hasn't figured out how to get them out of her phone and into the computer so I can post them here) and to stay awhile and chat with Susan--who in addition to still being a blonde hottie, is a Criminal Defense Lawyer. It may be that he was talking to her because she's a blonde hottie, or perhaps because if you've seen VH1's BEHIND THE MUSIC, you'll know Leif can use any free legal advice he can get.
Leif had Tara take pictures of us with his camera too-which he promised to post on his website. Because nothing screams COMEBACK more than canoodeling with a group of 40 year old women exchanging books.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
The Cat in the Sweater
This is Lenny. And this is the black sweater Lenny has been having sex with, pretty much daily, for the past several weeks. I have no idea if the sex is consensual. I only know it is embarrassing when you call someone into your office and a cat is humping an acrylic polyester blend nearby.
Lenny seems to enjoy it. I can't tell about the sweater.
Here is Lenny, basking in the afterglow. At some point I am going to have to send that girlfriend of his off to the dry cleaners.
Monday, April 30, 2007
The Bully
While I know this may SHOCK you, my faithful readers (all seven of you- now that someone googled the word 'herpes' and landed on my glitter post. See Comments... She included her picture-Hi Angela!) my highstrung, overly sensitive, delicate, show tune loving son is occassionally picked on. Sometimes it's a matter of: "MOM-SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, MAKE HER STOP LOOKING AT ME." Othertimes it involves a certain child whom we will refer to as "Elliott" so that if he googles himself years from now this post will not exist in cyberspace as an eternal moment of shame for someone to blow up life size and post on a wall at his engagement party.
We have known Elliott a loooooooooong time. We were there when he ate his first bag of gumballs (yes, they make BAGS of gumballs--apparently the things are like potato chips if you are into swallowing the gum) at the age of two. (The same year I was teaching Jesse to say "No thanks; choke hazard" to a variety of hard candies.) Elliott grew a long rat tail of hair from the back of his mullet at age three, was the first to begin jumping off the top of the playground equipment at four, and had a perpetual stream of neon colored mucus oozing from his nose for the entire fifth year of his life. He is feisty and often dirty and is quick to punch or kick or hit, always moving- rarely listening... if you spot a cloud of dust and bodies he will be at the center of it; and usually will have started the altercation by wiping boogers on another child's shirt. He has taught my son words like "weiner" and "suckah."
Elliott and Jesse have had a love-hate relationship for years. Kip and I often pictured Elliott as a little devil perched on Jesse's shoulder, intoning: "GO AHEAD-LET'S KICK THAT SAND IN YOUR SISTER'S FACE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!" or "WOULDN"T IT BE SUPER FUN TO SNEAK OUT OF THE PARK AND RUN FAR AWAY AND WATCH THE BABYSITTERS FREAK OUT???" There were many incidents that involved hitting or punching or shoving. We stopped having playdates when I received a phone call at work from Jesse that went like this:
JESSE: SOB WAIL SOB WAIL
ME: Jesse? What's wrong honey?
JESSE: SOB WAIL HYSTERIA SOB
ME: So, how was your playdate with Elliott, honey?
JESSE: HE PUNCHED ME IN THE PENIS. MY PENIS IS BROKKKKKKKKKKENNNNNNNNNNN.
At which point I told Kip that if this kid was going to infllict bodily injury on my kid in a way that couldn't be easily addressed with a little Bactine and a bandaid I was OUT. And Jesse was relieved because the pressure had been keeping him up at night, causing bad dreams in which Eliott appeared and BROKE HIS PENIS.
And while we stopped having playdates and encouraged Jesse to develop other friendships ("Can't you play more with that nice Martin? He has a collection of bow ties!") there was still THE PARK which meant they still had contact admist the sand and black top and playground equipment. And many a day there would be tears, and a story, and some injury that would become a scab to be picked again and again and again.
As bruise after bruise appeared, my anger grew. And so I wrote Elliott's Mommy. A sweet little Email about how we could all work together to help the boys learn to deal with conflict, and grow and flourish etc, etc. etc. Elliott's Mommy wrote me back and told me the problems were due to "lack of supervision" which was code for "my nanny sucks". Which is bull, because MY NANNY COULD KICK HER NANNY'S ASS.
Fast forward to today-when I am back at work. A phone call from Jesse:
JESSE: SOB WAIL HYSTERICAL CRYING
ME: Hi Honey-how is your day going?
JESSE: SOB CRY WAIL SOB
ME: What's the matter honey?
JESSE: HE SAID HE WOULD KICK ME IN THE JEWELS!! HE SAID HE WOULD KICK ME IN THE JEWELS! IT SCARED ME! HELP ME MOMMY!
(ok-so he didn't really say "help me mommy" but I knew THAT WAS WHAT HE MEANT.)
And like a character in a LIfetime movie-I just snapped. I just lost all reason and became all Mommy Lion.
So I called Kip and I said
"DROP EVERYTHING-YOUR SON NEEDS YOU NOW"
(ok-that's not really what I said, but is kind of the general gist of it)
And together WE WENT TO THE PLAYGROUND.And I had had enough, and I was gonna fix things right then and there and I was gonna cook Elliott's goose with the steam that was coming out of my ears. And I marched in there, and I had red circles on both of my cheeks, and I marched right up to that little snot nosed Elliott and I said "ELLIOTT!!" in my ubermommy voice which is wayyyyyyy scary--and he left his posse and came over, brown eyes aimed at the ground and I said "ELLIOTT! I HEARD THAT YOU SAID YOU WOULD KICK JESSE IN HIS JEWELS AND I AM HERE TO TELL YOU MISTER..."
At which point Jesse says; "uhhh, Mom? It wasn't him" and points at anther kid who is grinning over on the swingset and I say "ALLRIGHT THEN. I AM GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER." And I take Kip's arm, and we tell Jesse he can have an Italian Ice, and he smiles from ear to ear, and we leave the park.
Because after all, children have to learn to fight their own battles.
We have known Elliott a loooooooooong time. We were there when he ate his first bag of gumballs (yes, they make BAGS of gumballs--apparently the things are like potato chips if you are into swallowing the gum) at the age of two. (The same year I was teaching Jesse to say "No thanks; choke hazard" to a variety of hard candies.) Elliott grew a long rat tail of hair from the back of his mullet at age three, was the first to begin jumping off the top of the playground equipment at four, and had a perpetual stream of neon colored mucus oozing from his nose for the entire fifth year of his life. He is feisty and often dirty and is quick to punch or kick or hit, always moving- rarely listening... if you spot a cloud of dust and bodies he will be at the center of it; and usually will have started the altercation by wiping boogers on another child's shirt. He has taught my son words like "weiner" and "suckah."
Elliott and Jesse have had a love-hate relationship for years. Kip and I often pictured Elliott as a little devil perched on Jesse's shoulder, intoning: "GO AHEAD-LET'S KICK THAT SAND IN YOUR SISTER'S FACE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!" or "WOULDN"T IT BE SUPER FUN TO SNEAK OUT OF THE PARK AND RUN FAR AWAY AND WATCH THE BABYSITTERS FREAK OUT???" There were many incidents that involved hitting or punching or shoving. We stopped having playdates when I received a phone call at work from Jesse that went like this:
JESSE: SOB WAIL SOB WAIL
ME: Jesse? What's wrong honey?
JESSE: SOB WAIL HYSTERIA SOB
ME: So, how was your playdate with Elliott, honey?
JESSE: HE PUNCHED ME IN THE PENIS. MY PENIS IS BROKKKKKKKKKKENNNNNNNNNNN.
At which point I told Kip that if this kid was going to infllict bodily injury on my kid in a way that couldn't be easily addressed with a little Bactine and a bandaid I was OUT. And Jesse was relieved because the pressure had been keeping him up at night, causing bad dreams in which Eliott appeared and BROKE HIS PENIS.
And while we stopped having playdates and encouraged Jesse to develop other friendships ("Can't you play more with that nice Martin? He has a collection of bow ties!") there was still THE PARK which meant they still had contact admist the sand and black top and playground equipment. And many a day there would be tears, and a story, and some injury that would become a scab to be picked again and again and again.
As bruise after bruise appeared, my anger grew. And so I wrote Elliott's Mommy. A sweet little Email about how we could all work together to help the boys learn to deal with conflict, and grow and flourish etc, etc. etc. Elliott's Mommy wrote me back and told me the problems were due to "lack of supervision" which was code for "my nanny sucks". Which is bull, because MY NANNY COULD KICK HER NANNY'S ASS.
Fast forward to today-when I am back at work. A phone call from Jesse:
JESSE: SOB WAIL HYSTERICAL CRYING
ME: Hi Honey-how is your day going?
JESSE: SOB CRY WAIL SOB
ME: What's the matter honey?
JESSE: HE SAID HE WOULD KICK ME IN THE JEWELS!! HE SAID HE WOULD KICK ME IN THE JEWELS! IT SCARED ME! HELP ME MOMMY!
(ok-so he didn't really say "help me mommy" but I knew THAT WAS WHAT HE MEANT.)
And like a character in a LIfetime movie-I just snapped. I just lost all reason and became all Mommy Lion.
So I called Kip and I said
"DROP EVERYTHING-YOUR SON NEEDS YOU NOW"
(ok-that's not really what I said, but is kind of the general gist of it)
And together WE WENT TO THE PLAYGROUND.And I had had enough, and I was gonna fix things right then and there and I was gonna cook Elliott's goose with the steam that was coming out of my ears. And I marched in there, and I had red circles on both of my cheeks, and I marched right up to that little snot nosed Elliott and I said "ELLIOTT!!" in my ubermommy voice which is wayyyyyyy scary--and he left his posse and came over, brown eyes aimed at the ground and I said "ELLIOTT! I HEARD THAT YOU SAID YOU WOULD KICK JESSE IN HIS JEWELS AND I AM HERE TO TELL YOU MISTER..."
At which point Jesse says; "uhhh, Mom? It wasn't him" and points at anther kid who is grinning over on the swingset and I say "ALLRIGHT THEN. I AM GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER." And I take Kip's arm, and we tell Jesse he can have an Italian Ice, and he smiles from ear to ear, and we leave the park.
Because after all, children have to learn to fight their own battles.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Annieism
We are driving in a car.
ME: THis has been the best vacation so far. And my favorite part has been being with you all! I love Daddy and Jesse and Annie!
KIP: And I love Mommy and Jesse and Annie!
JESSE: And I love Daddy and Mommy and Annie!
ANNIE: And I love bacon and sausage and make up!
ME: THis has been the best vacation so far. And my favorite part has been being with you all! I love Daddy and Jesse and Annie!
KIP: And I love Mommy and Jesse and Annie!
JESSE: And I love Daddy and Mommy and Annie!
ANNIE: And I love bacon and sausage and make up!
Monday, April 23, 2007
Vacation-all I ever Wanted, Vacation Happy to Get Away
So, since Jesse has a gazillion absences--enough to possibly keep him back next year and force him to repeat Kindergarten, we are taking a few more "mental health days" and going on vacation. How bad can truancy really be if it has the word TRU in it--for me--that means if I TELL them we are taking a vacation then those nice women in the office really aren't going to do anything bad. (Ok-so I lied about Disney in September and God punished me by smiting the children with coxackie which caused them to miss an additional week of school but WE HAVE THE MEMORIES). At the end of the day, I'll be proud to split a beer with my high school dropouts and regale them with "The Time Mommy told the Principal you had Strep Throat but we Really Went to Charleston Because Mommy Said if she didn't go Someplace with a Pool she wasn't going to be Responsible for What she did to Daddy."
I am looking forward to the trip. I kind of know the routine by now:
-I will spend five days packing but will forget something essential. One year it was bottles. The next it was underwear for everyone. The highlight of every vacation is when Kip turns to me and says: "You didn't forget to pack the (fill in essential here) did you?" And I will shoot him a look that says "I'll show you something REALLY ESSENTIAL if you continue looking at me that way- as if I am not perfect- and if you thought the kids needed bathing suits to swim then maybe you should have helped with the packing Mister" and then we both load the kids into the car and go find a TARGET anywhere we happen to be. We will spend an obscene amount of money on a bunch of stuff we obviously need and a bunch more that we needed but didn't know we needed. Everyone leaves happy-with VACATION MEMORIES. And stuff. Lots of stuff.
- I will look at my children with adoration for the first few hours after we arrive at our destination. Then I will start looking for the playdates that will keep them from tugging at my skirted swimsuit bottom and asking me to do stuff, like pretend to be Boots on an Adventure with Dora. If I can't find a strange child in the vicinity to play with my children, I start looking for people to pay. If I can't find either, I hit the sauce hard. I'm told I do a mean Spongebob when I'm half in the bag-and the children look so nice when they are a bit fuzzy around the edges.
- The spray on tan which looks SO GREAT four hours after I get it at the salon will start to fade within hours of arrival at our destination. I will attempt to prolong its life by refusing to swim, bath or shower for as long as possible. This will make family members avoid me. Except the children, still tugging at the bottom of my skirted swimsuit...
-I will be relieved to be away from the office for about 12 hours. After that, I will have Kip set up the lap top. I will keep my Email open and every half hour walk by it and if nothing new appears, will keep desperately clicking the "mail" icon--as if all it needs is to be refreshed and the missives will pour in. I will devour spam. Then I will start drunk Emailing people and Googeling odd aquaintances. I will hit bottom when I actually Google myself.
- Did I actually say that I spent 5 days packing? Because in reality--it will be that I spent 5 days THINKING ABOUT packing. Over a chilled glass of pinot. I have aplan for vacation, oh yes, I do.
Off to CHARLESTON tomorrow.
I am looking forward to the trip. I kind of know the routine by now:
-I will spend five days packing but will forget something essential. One year it was bottles. The next it was underwear for everyone. The highlight of every vacation is when Kip turns to me and says: "You didn't forget to pack the (fill in essential here) did you?" And I will shoot him a look that says "I'll show you something REALLY ESSENTIAL if you continue looking at me that way- as if I am not perfect- and if you thought the kids needed bathing suits to swim then maybe you should have helped with the packing Mister" and then we both load the kids into the car and go find a TARGET anywhere we happen to be. We will spend an obscene amount of money on a bunch of stuff we obviously need and a bunch more that we needed but didn't know we needed. Everyone leaves happy-with VACATION MEMORIES. And stuff. Lots of stuff.
- I will look at my children with adoration for the first few hours after we arrive at our destination. Then I will start looking for the playdates that will keep them from tugging at my skirted swimsuit bottom and asking me to do stuff, like pretend to be Boots on an Adventure with Dora. If I can't find a strange child in the vicinity to play with my children, I start looking for people to pay. If I can't find either, I hit the sauce hard. I'm told I do a mean Spongebob when I'm half in the bag-and the children look so nice when they are a bit fuzzy around the edges.
- The spray on tan which looks SO GREAT four hours after I get it at the salon will start to fade within hours of arrival at our destination. I will attempt to prolong its life by refusing to swim, bath or shower for as long as possible. This will make family members avoid me. Except the children, still tugging at the bottom of my skirted swimsuit...
-I will be relieved to be away from the office for about 12 hours. After that, I will have Kip set up the lap top. I will keep my Email open and every half hour walk by it and if nothing new appears, will keep desperately clicking the "mail" icon--as if all it needs is to be refreshed and the missives will pour in. I will devour spam. Then I will start drunk Emailing people and Googeling odd aquaintances. I will hit bottom when I actually Google myself.
- Did I actually say that I spent 5 days packing? Because in reality--it will be that I spent 5 days THINKING ABOUT packing. Over a chilled glass of pinot. I have aplan for vacation, oh yes, I do.
Off to CHARLESTON tomorrow.
Teach the children well
I received this Email today. I have deleted the names from it even though I felt pretty certain that if I blogged about it-the senders would not be aware. Perhaps it was the spelling of my name as "Laurie Vefferey" whatever; I knew if it wasn't on My Space they most likely wouldn't read it--so here it is:
Dear Laurie Vefferey,
During the Fall of 2005, we, (name deleted) and (name deleted), worked as
interns at the ?Our Name is Mud? warehouse on 29th street in
Manhattan. It was through our high school, School of the Future, that
we acquired the internship. We loved the work we did there and felt
that we really helped out, even without professional training( what
you taught us was enough to produce quality results). The work
environment, was just as pleasant. Both of us would very much like to
work during this coming summer starting in late May. We would also
love to include our good friend, (name deleted), who graduated with us
last June from School of the Future. Please e-mail us back or call us
at (cell phone number with my humps ringtone deleted) to let us know whether there will be any work
opportunities this summer.
Thank you very much and we look forward to your response,
(three names deleted).
Dear Darling Interns,
I don't fault you for forgetting my name after spending eight months with me. Frankly, when I try to recall your names, an image of a thong appearing everytime you sat down is all that comes to mind. Perhaps we should both start taking some ginko balobao or St. John's Wort. So forgive me if the facts of our association are a bit hazy. Did you say I had you work in the warehouse? Because usually we just move our stolen merchandise through the warehouse. Or hang sides of beef to cure. I'm surprised I put interns into the warehouse--perhaps I meant to sell you on ebay at some point and just forgot.
I'm glad that you realize what I had to offer over the course of eight months was not "professional training"! Most of the time people don't realize that I am just pulling stuff out of my butt--so kudos to you, dear interns, for seeing through the smoke and mirrors and realizing that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING! But man-that "quality results" thing--it gets me every time. People are so dern gullible. Just throw some of that clay stuff onto that round thing and paint it with some of those glazey things then throw it into that oven thing and presto--people are impressed. And to think I honed all of my skills on a playdough fuzzy pumper.
About the work environment: an image of you all comes to mind--throwing your hands over your ears and begging me not to play the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack for the third time. Did you really mean to use the word "pleasant?" Or did you really mean "peasant"-- because I also have a memory of where I called you all indentured servants and made you call me Lord Lorrie and we discussed the fact that you were serfs--which you thought meant surfs--and you thought we were going to the beach-- so I had to lock you up in the warehouse again.
I guess my biggest question is-who drew the short straw? Did it go something like this:
"You Email her."
"No-YOU Email her."
"I'm not gonna Email her. YOU Email her."
"Bitch-I will beat your ass if you don't Email her."
"Listen Bitch-Road Rules 15 is on right now. You Email her."
"Fine, I will Email her, but since you are making me do all the work I'm gonna include (name deleted) because he is fine."
Because what I really, really want is a POTTERY POSSE!! It's true girls! Can I just tell you that when I advertize and collect applications for an actual vacancy, and some of you come along with your friend and I say "Who's this" and you say "It's my friend, he just wanted to come while I apply" and then later he asks if he can borrow a pen because what the heck he's here so why not fill in an application-I AM ALL OVER THAT GIRLS. And later, when I look and see that he has placed his gum underneath the table at which you were sitting, I think; hmmm. I can see this person in my WAREHOUSE. But I digress...
You are our future, gals. I believe that children are our future. ( I also believe Whitney is better off without Bobby and she will make a great COME BACK.) Sadly, I do not think I will ask the two of you plus your friend to COME BACK. Nothing personal: we had some great times and all. You were awesome. I mean, from what I can remember.
Yours truly,
Laurie Veffery.
Dear Laurie Vefferey,
During the Fall of 2005, we, (name deleted) and (name deleted), worked as
interns at the ?Our Name is Mud? warehouse on 29th street in
Manhattan. It was through our high school, School of the Future, that
we acquired the internship. We loved the work we did there and felt
that we really helped out, even without professional training( what
you taught us was enough to produce quality results). The work
environment, was just as pleasant. Both of us would very much like to
work during this coming summer starting in late May. We would also
love to include our good friend, (name deleted), who graduated with us
last June from School of the Future. Please e-mail us back or call us
at (cell phone number with my humps ringtone deleted) to let us know whether there will be any work
opportunities this summer.
Thank you very much and we look forward to your response,
(three names deleted).
Dear Darling Interns,
I don't fault you for forgetting my name after spending eight months with me. Frankly, when I try to recall your names, an image of a thong appearing everytime you sat down is all that comes to mind. Perhaps we should both start taking some ginko balobao or St. John's Wort. So forgive me if the facts of our association are a bit hazy. Did you say I had you work in the warehouse? Because usually we just move our stolen merchandise through the warehouse. Or hang sides of beef to cure. I'm surprised I put interns into the warehouse--perhaps I meant to sell you on ebay at some point and just forgot.
I'm glad that you realize what I had to offer over the course of eight months was not "professional training"! Most of the time people don't realize that I am just pulling stuff out of my butt--so kudos to you, dear interns, for seeing through the smoke and mirrors and realizing that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING! But man-that "quality results" thing--it gets me every time. People are so dern gullible. Just throw some of that clay stuff onto that round thing and paint it with some of those glazey things then throw it into that oven thing and presto--people are impressed. And to think I honed all of my skills on a playdough fuzzy pumper.
About the work environment: an image of you all comes to mind--throwing your hands over your ears and begging me not to play the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack for the third time. Did you really mean to use the word "pleasant?" Or did you really mean "peasant"-- because I also have a memory of where I called you all indentured servants and made you call me Lord Lorrie and we discussed the fact that you were serfs--which you thought meant surfs--and you thought we were going to the beach-- so I had to lock you up in the warehouse again.
I guess my biggest question is-who drew the short straw? Did it go something like this:
"You Email her."
"No-YOU Email her."
"I'm not gonna Email her. YOU Email her."
"Bitch-I will beat your ass if you don't Email her."
"Listen Bitch-Road Rules 15 is on right now. You Email her."
"Fine, I will Email her, but since you are making me do all the work I'm gonna include (name deleted) because he is fine."
Because what I really, really want is a POTTERY POSSE!! It's true girls! Can I just tell you that when I advertize and collect applications for an actual vacancy, and some of you come along with your friend and I say "Who's this" and you say "It's my friend, he just wanted to come while I apply" and then later he asks if he can borrow a pen because what the heck he's here so why not fill in an application-I AM ALL OVER THAT GIRLS. And later, when I look and see that he has placed his gum underneath the table at which you were sitting, I think; hmmm. I can see this person in my WAREHOUSE. But I digress...
You are our future, gals. I believe that children are our future. ( I also believe Whitney is better off without Bobby and she will make a great COME BACK.) Sadly, I do not think I will ask the two of you plus your friend to COME BACK. Nothing personal: we had some great times and all. You were awesome. I mean, from what I can remember.
Yours truly,
Laurie Veffery.
Get your blog on
I know that all 5 of you---well 6, now that Diamond Diva lady reads me regularly too-----have come to be entertained.
I got................nuttin for you today. While I go seek out my mojo, please cut and paste this into your browser and remember: glitter is the herpes of the craft world.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=puzFWDPy3i0&mode=related&search=
I got................nuttin for you today. While I go seek out my mojo, please cut and paste this into your browser and remember: glitter is the herpes of the craft world.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=puzFWDPy3i0&mode=related&search=
Friday, April 20, 2007
Jesse art
"Last time she came to my house for a playdate, she cried when her Mother dropped her off. It made me think maybe we shouldn't have any more playdates."
Jesse Veasey 2007
Marker on paper.
Monday, April 16, 2007
GO MARLINS
JESSE: Check it out Dad. This is how I'm gonna pose for my rap album cover.
KIP: Cough-cough--I am too worn out from trying to recover from my trachea infection and your Mother's complete insensitivity to my illness to ask you to step back in line with the rest of the boys. It's all I can do to proudly hold up this banner and let the world know that it's my first gig as Coach--and that our team is sponsored by an OB-GYN. association. But that doesn't mean we are pussies, Jesse.
JESSE: Do you think this color blue suits me?
KIP: I have always dreamed of this day. Me, my son, and a team. The five of you that bother to show up any given Sunday--we are going to kick some t-ball ass.
JESSE: I'm thinking these pants make my butt look big.
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