YouR QueSTioNS AnSWeReD

Happy Thursday, Chickens!

It's time to start chipping away at the blog topics you suggested because you wanted free stuff because you are so sincerely interested.

Among her other 143 submissions, Kristin wanted to know:
WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MALE & FEMALE BLOGGERS.

Well Kristin, for one thing, women bloggers will ask for help when they are lost on the internet.

Women bloggers remember EVERYTHING. Male bloggers forget the details. That's why men need Instant Replays in sports.

Women bloggers tend to be introspective: Am I a Good Mom and Wife? Am I Emotionally and Creatively Fulfilled?
Men bloggers are outrospective: Did My Team Win? Let's Talk About My Car.

If a single female blogger breaks up with a man she has been dating, she will cry, eat a pint of ice cream, call a girlfriend, and post a poem on her blog entitled "Why All Men are Idiots."
If a single male blogger breaks up with a girl he has been dating, he will say nothing, get drunk a week later and post a blog in which he calls her a floozy and says she ruined his life. Then he will contact her through Facebook to see if they can get back together.

Women bloggers love cats.
Male Bloggers say they love cats, but when nobody's looking, male bloggers kick cats.

BUT THE BIGGEST DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MALE AND FEMALE BLOGGERS IS....

Male bloggers can blog standing up.

YoU TaLKiN To Me? YoU TaLKin To Me?

in which CBoy clones himself, re-enacts scenes from classic movies, and pinches non existent belly fat.

CLeaRiNG THe DeSKToP

Good Morning, Chickens.

Very random things today, in an effort to clear some of my back logged mail.

1. Alex the Multi Millionaire (see post below) emailed me! For reals! I wrote him back and told him all about my single friend BJ and how she is a Dallas Working Mom, with three dogs, and describes herself as a Chardonnay drinking Democrat, loves Cozumel, who hates the song "The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald" , Would only buy sushi to fish with and she doesn't fish, Is a pretty great cook, and has a glass which is always more than half full. She doesn't have much time for people with half empty leaky glasses. Her favorite saying is "Be a fountain, not a drain.

Then, for good measure, I put a picture of the Thystle's rack. Because I thought it sweetened the deal, and because there were so many fine choices to pick from on Google Images.

Then, I asked for his address.

He hasn't replied.

What's Up With That?

2. Caption this photo for a chance to win a $5.00 Starbucks gift card. Thanks to Tracey for submitting it.
ref="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKrCqiY6m5liEDtOMhDT49-b8OGJ91X-zet78efGzzicJChjAxyNg0UQalFtFpDq1xJCGDZ4eJwGkNF1BNte2nARumGGvCLqJMvAcgAl4R19u0wKgg_1nb1iEcu0OogjeXpn6qQ/s1600-h/100_4689.jpg">

3. Some of the funniest captions will probably come from KREG. Who is this man with the sharp wit and potty mouth? Here is a video of him singing a little ditty he wrote. That's a beer stein I made sitting on his keyboard. It says "Drink Up, There's People In China Who are Sober." He says he drinks water out of it. Same way I use a wine glass for applejuice.


4. After you watch the video and write your caption, head over to Thystle's place and tell her HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! She is an AGELESS BEAUTY. At least, that's her story and she's sticking to it.

5. What's up with the anonymous commentors leaving comments like this:

a片

av女優

洪爺

OBVIOUSLY I AM A BIG DEAL IN JAPAN. Me and Hillary Duff. You should see them go crazy for us bothwhen we land in Tokyo.



6. The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.
Some PEOPLE don't know a MASTERPIECE OF STAGGERING GENIUS when they hear one on AM radio.

A MiLLioNaiRe PuTS HiS LiPS On Me (oK, My MuG)

I was watching Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo last night because it is television crack I am personally so concerned with the Plight of The Millionaire Male. Chickens, wake up and get involved! These poor unloved Richie Riches could end up in Really Expensive Nursing Homes with only 3 or 4 private nurses dressed in candystriper outfits--I think this is a cause we can ALL get behind.

One of the episodes I watched last night featured Millionaire Alex Edelstein. There I was, thinking how freeking loaded nice and smart and worthy of True Love he was, when what do I spot on his desk but THIS:


I made that mug about a bazillion years ago, Chickens! What a thrill to know that a man like Alex, who can have the finest of the fine, drinks from a mug I made EVEN THOUGH IT HAS A HONKING CHIP IN IT.

I immediately emailed him and asked for a loan told him I would repair his mug, but what I really want to do is fix him up with my sister. If I had a sister who was single, that is. And I offered that out of the hope he would give me something from Tiffanys goodness of my heart. Those poor, poor Millionaires: can't find love and have to drink out of chipped mugs. I think we will need to start a For Profit. Who's with me?

Note: Everyone who commented in the post below and suggested blog topics gets a little sumpin sumpin. Because the coffee man was feeling very generous this morning and I have LOTS of stuff. You are all winners! Email me your mailing address at l v mud at a o l dot c o m.

BLoG BaiLouT

Hola Chickens!

Look at these beautiful Easter cards that Stephanie sent me from A Paper Buffet!

I love their playful patterns & colors. To see her other wonderful and whimsical work, please visit her Etsy shop. Please tell her I sent you, and for gosh sakes wipe your feet and mind your manners.

AND NOW YOU KNOW: I will accept free stuff. SOMEONE (besides Kristin) has to be willing to take one for the team, and open themselves up to mana from the blogosphere. (Are You Listening Bank of America?) I am just putting it out there that I am currently R E C E P T I V E. And I'm not just saying that because someone left a copy of The Secret in the bathroom. I'll pretty much accept anything except used undergarments; and I can make an exception for even those if you are a close personal friend of Keanu Reeves.

See Chickens? Wednesday is better already, isn't it?

And speaking of Sending Me Free Stuff, David from Where Is This Guy has made a puzzle of Best Blogs Evah-and I am to the right of DOOCE! Find Me. Check it out here. and tell David what a clever little bugger he is.

Finally- I am doing some serious Spring Cleaning. Which means lots of PRIZES & GIVE AWAYS for YOU!!! Many winners chosen at random by the guy who works at the coffee cart on the corner, on Friday 4/3. Enter as many times as you wish--one comment at a time, suggest A BLOG TOPIC FOR ME TO WRITE ABOUT. I promise I will try to raise interest rates as a result of your contributions. Vive La Blogocracy!

STeaL THiS MeMe

Happy Friday Chickens!

Thystle created her own meme, which you may steal on her blog, or from here if your Mother in Law reads your blog too, and you need to edit all the porn references.

1. Three items you would take to a desert island and why. Don't be a loser and say "a boat" either, ok?
* Maryanne's recipe for Coconut Cream Pie, preferably tucked into the back pocket of the Professor's chinos.
* Time-Life's DO IT YOURSELF library including: Do It Yourself Dentistry and Do It Yourself Raft Building.
*A sweater. I've heard it gets cold there at night.

2. If you could only save three people from zombies who they would be?
*I have three people in my immediate family, so duh, of course I would save Johnny Depp.
* I would NOT save Anne Coulter, Howard Stern or Lindsay Lohan. I know many would be grateful.
* I don't care if that was not the question.


3. If you had to smell like a food, which three foods would you prefer?
* I get a migraine smelling strong smells, so I'm gonna have to go with blue food coloring. Currently I smell like some type of super secret dog food that only canines can smell, and for some reason it seems to gather in my lap.

4. Three books you wish you'd never read?
* American Psycho. Good Lord that man is twisted.
* Map of the World, Jane Hamilton. Several hundred pages of misery and sadness, I don't need a book for that.
* The Shack-I've said this before: if your young daughter goes missing and you had an opportunity to meet and speak to God how many days would you spend discussing theology instead of asking where she is?

5. Three biggest lies your parents told you?
* I don't think my parents ever really lied to me about much, so I will change this to the three biggest lies we are currently telling our Spawn:
* That nice camp in Upstate New York was full and had no spots left.
* Chirpie died of natural causes
* We are holding your allowance in a special account somewhere.

6. Three favorite band names (real, or "If we had a band we should call it...")?
*Above Average Weight Band
*The Band Formerly Known as Sausage
* Are These My Pants?

7. Three things that make you go "ew"?
* slugs. Especially if you step on them at night time in your bare feet while you are walking around the beach house and they squoosh up between your naked toes and....omg I need to go vomit.

8. What are your three biggest addictions?
* Tea with Milk and Sweet and Low made with deli water. About 16 cups a day.
* Black cardigans. Once wore one everyday for three years in a row. This season, broke out into sage green.
* Google Analytics.

9. Chicken and waffles are ever so tasty; three food combos so wrong they're right?
* Peanut butter and jelly sandwich with crushed freetos.
* Saltines and green grapes
* Burger King Whopper and a Chocolate Slim Fast.

10. Three bloggers you would make out with?
In deference to Nonnee, and despite the fact that I know Ashton Kutcher twitters a lot, I'm gonna change this to Three Things Bloggers do that sometimes Annoy Me.
* Answer their commentors in their comments section MULTIPLE TIMES. So it looks like they have gotten 68 responses to a post, but it's really because they write a response to Every Single Comment.
* Write monthly newsletters to their daughters
* Fill in memes. Ooops: that would be me. Maybe I should have just said I would do Thystle.

WoRDLeSS WeDNeSDaY WiTH SoMe WoRDS

So this is how the week started out for me on Monday:


Then, here's Tuesday


And finally--here's how today went:


But I am not complaining-o no-not me


BECAUSE


And I'm not just saying that because they give me dental, either.

ADViCe FoR My FeLLoW BLoGGeSSeS

Hello Chickens! I am sorry I have not been around lately: it is very hard to type on a keyboard and run on the hamster wheel at the same time. I PROMISE I will be by Your blog to visit soon and catch up, but in the meantime wanted to make sure you were not getting into trouble. So here are some friendly reminders of ...

THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER WRITE ON YOUR BLOG

Sorry I haven’t blogged for a few days I had to hide the murder weapon and body down at the old cabin by the lake.

I changed my Paypal password to my birthday so it’s easy to remember.

I think most of the people who work for Homeland Security are lilly livered pansies.

Does anyone know how to set up emails for future delivery in AOL? I’ll be leaving work early, but want to send a few emails to make it look like I’m still there.

The girl we hired last week to work the receptionist desk has a really large Adams apple.

My broker just called me with a great insider tip to buy some stock. I'll post it in a sec.

I think the marijuana should be out of my blood system by next Tuesday for my drug test.

I love reading spam comments in my blog. They are fascinating: sometimes I even visit the sites and I am always looking for a cheap source for viagra.

My company's year end financial statments will be out next week, I’ll post them on my blog tommorow.

Here’s how to get a fake social security number for your cat so you can claim it as a dependent on your taxes. I've done this for the past six years: those IRS guys are such dummies.

The user name and password to my blog are …

Your turn, chickens...

EnD O THe WeeK

Image: The Mountain Swallows Sadness

It's Friday, Chickens.

This week brought such sadness with the news of Natasha Richardson's untimely and sudden death. My heart breaks for her two young sons, and for her husband & family, who so obviously adored her.

It is interesting to me how the deaths of celebrities can effect us so deeply. I know exactly where I was when I learned of Princess Diana's death, have friends that could not function after John Lennon was killed, and others who still tear up when they see reruns of SNL with Phil Hartman, or old footage of JFK Jr. In today's age of media madness, strangers can feel like family.

This is yet another reminder of how fleeting life can be: we must value each moment.

"And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings."
William Shakespeare

BoTToM O THe MoRNiN To Ya

As you all know, St. Patrick's Day was yesterday. Go here to find out your leprechaun name: mine is Greenie Bottlesipper.



St. Patrick's Day in NYC can be quite loverly. The air is filled with the sound of bagpipes and jolly people in funny hats stand outside of Irish pubs drinking green beer. It is magically delicious.



Once upon a time, we lived on the Upper East Side. (For those of you unfamiliar with Manhattan, that is where George and Wheezy mooo-ooved on up to.) The Upper East Side is traditionally where many of New York's finest police and firemen gather after the big St. Patty's parade to get their drunk on and sing Danny Boy. One St. Pat's, some time ago, Sexyhusbandomine and I were returning from work in our car and turned a corner, nearly colliding with a drunken man who had stumbled into the crosswalk against the light. He looked at us for a moment, reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun, and aimed it right at our windshield. He then continued to stumble across the street, made it to a corner mailbox and threw up in it.


Ah, St. Patty's Day in The Citay: almost as good as New Year's Eve.

ON THe SeVeNTH DaY

BANANNA SAYS:

Today is Sunday and the WHOLE WORLD does not have to work! Everybody is off work! Except for Chinese People. Because they have to cook dinner.

Happy Birthday Complicated Boy!

Eight Years of Jesse

THRee WiNNeRS

Good Afternoon Chickens. I've got some Winners to announce:

Now, I'll bet you all thought Kreg had every CAPTION THIS contest in the bag. That man is so talented & uber creative with the one liners--he's like the Darren Stevens of the Blogosphere. But Kreg HATES Starbucks, chickens-so last time he won I had to give his gift card to a homeless man who was standing outside the store. What Kreg really wants to win is a Swedish Hooker, and I just don't have any spares to give away. So, with his kind permission, we will enjoy his biting wit but he will not be eligible for prizes he has no interest in winning. (At some point maybe we can all take up a collection and buy him five minutes on the phone with a gal named Inga.)

So without The Master in the running, the winner of the previous CAPTION THIS contest is:


LITTLE JACK HAS TO DO EVERYTHING BASS ACKWARDS, By Rachel @ Just Another Day in Paradise.

The winner of the YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME CLOCK

Chosen at random by Just Some Guy is.... MAMBINKI from Mambinki.blogspot

And the winner of this week's CAPTION THIS contest is...

And this is when we realized we shouldn't have read Twilight to little Billy. Submitted by Deb from Suburb Sanity

Hot Diggity Dog--Congratulations to the weiners. Eme with your addresses so I can stalk send you your prizes.

And remember, the rest of you: you are allllllllll winners in my book.

BaBieS aND KiTTeNS

When I was six, I went over to Kimberly Johnson's house to see her NEW KITTENS. Mr. Johnson popped his head in while I was visiting, and told me that house rules required that I take a kitten home with me when I left. I was six and had not yet mastered the fine art of sarcasm. Kimberly helped me smuggle the brown striped one out in my pink windbreaker.

My mother was not a happy camper when she discovered the reason our dog had been barking for half an hour at the shoe box hidden in my closet. I told her Mr. Johnson MADE me take the kitten home, and she gave him the cold shoulder at the next annual neighborhood block party. But she let me keep it, and I named it Tigger, and loved it for the next twelve years until my mother called me between classes in college to tell me that she had had to put her down, and I wept like a baby through all of American History and Existential Literature.

That's today's story Chickens. Just a friendly reminder that next time a neighborhood kid comes over for a visit that you should watch what you say. Cause one smart ass remark can change the course of history.

Caption this photo to win a $5.00 Starbucks Gift Card! (Photo sent in by Carrie at Pearls Of Something.)

WHaT SaViNGS?

Good Morning, Chickens!

Traditionally, this is the blog where each year I write how very much I Hate Really Really Hate Absolutely Cannot Stand dislike "Spring Ahead" Daylight Savings Time, and you comment en masse about how great it is to have an extra hour of sunshine at the end of the day, and tell me to "Lighten Up" (that one really gets me because blondes have more puns) ,

So I am going to spare you my usual diatribe and try to put all my energy into turning back The Spawn's internal clocks so that they are less aware that as a result of this time change, they have to go to bed an hour earlier and wake up an hour earlier. Time, time, time...see what's become of me....


So: laughing as I build sandcastles in the old Hour Glass of Time, may i present a Daylight Savings Giveaway:



From the OUR NAME IS MUD clock collection, it's the THIS CLOCK IS NOT THE BOSS OF ME desk clock, hand painted and made from the finest dolomite around. Yours for the having if you follow these simple rules:

-Enter by blogging about Daylight Savings Time on your own blog and linking back to this one. It can be a simple sentence at the end of another blog post, or a whole essay about how we play with fire when we mess with the whole time-space continumum.
-Leave me a comment below with a link to your post.
-Winner picked at random from entries Wednesday night and announced here Thursday morning.

Have a great day chickens.

THiS ONe'S FoR NoNNee

So my Fabulousmotherinlaw, Nonnee, thinks my blog postings as of late have been a wee bit bitter whiney gloomy lacking in the usual sunshine department-so I thought I'd Build You Up, Buttercups, with a different kind of post for today.

I'm going to talk about how very Happy & Grateful I am for five random things. Not the big, obvious things-like my wonderful family, friends, job, health, etc. etc. etc (did I mention my Wonderful Mother in Law?) but here's a tribute to some little Under Appreciated Things.

I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR THINSULATE
I love the genius who invented the stuff that could keep you warm without making you look like The Michelin Man.


Now I can only hope that this particular Einstein would consider lending his/her talents to the redesign of the skirted swimsuit.

I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR RUBBER BANDS
Did you know you could hook these beauties around the top button of your jeans and thread them through the button hole and gain a whole inch? Not that, erm, I've ever actually had to do that; but still, nice to know that thanks to these little elastic wonders that YOU CAN.

I am also so grateful that the memories of the time when I had rubber bands connecting my upper and lower jaws have dimmed to the point where I no longer wince when I recall the image of leaning in for a kiss with Jimmy Johnson behind the bleachers after school and having one of those suckers pop right out and hit him in the eye. That night I cried myself to sleep and rusted my headgear.



I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR ZICAM

It's helped me fight off many a potential cold. Course, my Sister in Law, who is a doctor, says it's gonna give me Alzheimers when I am older, but that doesn't stop me from swabbing the old nasal passages with this wonder drug. I also swab the passages of my children. And I am grateful that I have never had the pleasure of administering medicine to my children into any orifice that wasn't located above the neck.



I also heart the person who invented these beauties--because now, even I take my vitamins. (But only the grape ones. Cuz that's how I roll.)


I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR MILEY CYRUS
Because not only will typing her name like I just did move my blog up four pages in Google, but because she offers an alternative to The Jonas Brothers. Miley's also got Billy "Achey Brakey Heart" Ray to take a mind off of any unintentional suffering her Disney show may cause a parent who is forced to watch along with their children. The Joe Bros, on the other hand, always sound like they are really not getting enough roughage in their diets when they sing.


I AM VERY GRATEFUL FOR YOU INTERWEB PEEPS
I have been very busy on the hamster wheel of late and have not been by for a visit, but hope to come and see you soon. Thanks for sticking with me while I was on vacation and for continuing to leave comments that are often WAY funnier than my posts. I am coming up to my 500th Blog post very soon and have been discussing possibly stopping blogging. You know-the whole go out while you're on top thing:

But then I was like WHO AM I KIDDING? I can't stop blogging any more than Tina Turner can stop touring. She'll be 95 and still singing Thunderdome, and this will be me one day...


Except I might soak my dentures in a glass of Chard.

THiS I SNoW

Yesterday was the first SNOW DAY in five years for New York City. I think we had a whole six inches, but The Winter Warlock could have been lying, and it might have just been four.

This was my walk to work yesterday.



The Spawn took their sleds to a parking lot and sat on them, wearing snow boots from last year that no longer fit. Today, the city is one big pool of grey slush.

Officially Spring begins in 18 days. Someone please send a memo to Mother Nature.

DoeS JiMMy BuFFeT eaT aT BuFFeTS?

Meals on our vacation were served in a large dining hall, buffet style.

I love a good breakfast buffet while I am traveling for business (I call them mouth-brothels. No reason to leave your pants zipped). But buffet style eating three times a day when you have small children is a whole different swedish meatball. This is how it works:

First you take the small hand of your offspring and lead them from station to station.
"Look!" you say enthusiastically, "Smoked Salmon! Fresh lamb with Rosemary! Veal Piscata!" Every time you exclaim with delight over some new delicacy, your small child will turn to you and say:
"I want Chicken Nuggets."

Then HALLELUJAH you figure out there are PLAIN NOODLES that you can make with butter and salt! Except the butter is on the other side of the room and it takes you two tries until you figure out how to get it to melt to the satisfaction of your child. After you plop the child down at the table, she will look at the plate and burst into tears because the noodles are curly and she wanted straight spaghetti. You end up agreeing to let her eat a single dinner roll for supper. Then you go in search of your own meal, remembering you had spotted Beef Wellington at one of the stations.

You return to the table with plate and refreshing beverage in hand, only to find that she is finished with her dinner and wants to hit THE DESSERT BAR. You tell her she has to wait until everyone is done with their dinner, which is hardly enjoyable because every two seconds a small voice asks "ARE YA DONE YET? CAN WE GET DESSERT YET?"

So finally you and your spouse put your forks down and go with the children to the dessert bar where they spend fifteen minutes deciding that they really don't want peach cobbler and that they will have the ice cream from the softee machine which THEY MUST OPERATE ALL BY THEMSELVES.

You return to the table only to find that an over zealous service person has cleared your plate.

This was how it went for us breakfast, lunch and dinner for seven days with the exception of the second night of our vacation:
In search of this elusive thing called dinner, Bananna in tow, just as we passed the bread bar, it happened...

She only had time to gasp the words "THE CHEESE...THE CHEESE!!!!" before she vomited in the middle of the dining hall. I looked around, desperate for help, and finding none, left her to guard her own small pool of puke while I sought napkins. Then I tried to mop up the mess while avoiding being trampled to death by a group of Aussies on their way to the shrimp station.

(Banana spent the night curled around an ice bucket-and the whole next day inside the hotel room. Because we pack stomach bugs like other people pack underwear.)

The problem after her recovery was an abnormal FEAR OF CHEESE. For the rest of our vacation, she would tremble at the mere sight of cheddar, fall to pieces as the whiff of a rouquefort, ask to leave the room if she spotted some Jarlsberg. We spent the next week trying to avoid ALL THINGS CHEESE.

We thought she would recover when our trip was over-but it looks like we won't be visiting Wisconsin anytime soon. Every night she makes us check under her bed for Muenster.

SMaLL WoRLD

Fact: three "followers" abruptly stopped "following" after yesterday's vacation story. AND I DIDN'T EVEN START THE SLIDE SHOW YET, PEOPLE. I gotta warn you-I'm gonna be writing about my trip all week. I mean Chickens, one of the very best things about a vacation is even if you don't come home with a suntan, you can come home with Blog Material. (Or-if you are REALLY LUCKY you can come home with Blog Material AND a small child who has impetigo--but I'll save that story for later.)

Manhattan is a small island: it is only 22.96 square miles. (Think Gilligan's Island with some really tall buildings.) As small as it is, we can waltz about town For Years without bumping into old friends. Apparently, to run into into former acquaintances and fellow New Yawkers, it is best to leave the state and head towards a vacation destination.

We ran into someone from our past on our vacation.

Oh, but not just Anyone. Not an old dear friend or despised enemy. We bumped into...

A FITNESS MODEL.





A Fitness Model, newly remarried, on vacation with twins from her first marriage, who carried her swimsuit portfolio on her blackberry, which she showed to Sexyhusbandomine while making small talk in the bar as he was getting us an afternoon cocktail.

When you are trying to enjoy a week at an all-enclusive all you can eat/drink while your children are being watched by stangers--the last person you want to bump into is a person who makes their living showing off their six pack posing in sports bras and skimpy bike shorts. Suddenly, all the outfits you packed-none of which lacks for an X in the sizing, feel particularly frumpy and volumnous. Not to mention the swimsuit with a skirt--and that clever little swish of fabric at the waist that in the dressing room had you feeling positively svelte--which now makes you feel like you are dressed for professional squaredancing when standing beside her in her teeny tiny polka dotted bikini.

And no: I did not want to meet for yoga at 9 am or do water aerobics at 11. I did not want to eat melon for breakfast or learn from her how to make a sugar free margharita by squeezing lime juice into some tequila. I wanted to do what comes naturally to someone like me. And by "naturally' I mean I took tips on how to enjoy my vacation directly from NATURE:


What made matters worse is that ComplicatedBoy became BEST FRIENDS with Fitness Model Mom's son. So that in the Middle of the Cocktail Hour--say 1:20 in the afternoon-- CBoy would come running up to us in our lounge chairs and ask us to sign him out of camp because his friend's stepfather was going to take them to archery. Being rather perpetually drunk the entire week and therefore very vulnerable to CBoy's masterful manipulation techniques, we would give in to Cboy's whining, and sign him out of camp. Then Stepdad's tennis lesson would get changed, and before you knew it we were stuck not only watching Our Own Kid, but Someone Else's Kid too.

So next time YOU have to Come With, Interwebs! Someone has to babysit.

But you better bulk up beforehand. Because real women don't have to read their beach books with two hands. Just sayin.

LiVe To TeLL

I'm back, Chickens! With a tiny bit of color in my cheeks, all four volumes of the Twilight series devoured whilst in a beach chair, and a liver that is completely pickled. OH..and stories to tell all week! Starting with this one,which happened at the beginning of our trip to Port St. Lucie, Florida:

Despite some minor difficulties getting out of the house (including asking ComplicatedBoy to put his shoes on a total of Twenty Three Times- almost breaking his usual Monday Morning record) , we made it to the airport about forty minutes before our plane was scheduled to take off. Plenty of time, we thought, to move through security and get to the gate.

We handed the man at the first security checkpoint Sexyhusabandomine's license and my Only form of ID because I don't know how to drive passport.

EXCEPT IT WASN'T MY PASSPORT.

In my haste to leave the house, I had grabbed SHOM's passport. The only other ID I had on me was an American Express Card and a MasterCard. I gave up carrying a purse for Lent last year, and I have never gone back.

"YOU ARE F@!?!ing KIDDING ME" I said when Joe Security pointed out the error.

The tension escalated as CBoy, who suddenly appointed himself El Capitain of The Swear Word Police, interrupted the ensuing hysteria-laced conversation with "MOM-You Said The F word!" every two minutes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you through" said Joe Security after much back and forth, shaking his head and reaching for the ID held out by the impatient person behind me.
"You Shouldn't Swear, Mom." added Cboy.

So I did what anyone in my position with two small children who hasn't had a proper vacation in eight years would have done: I CRIED.

I SOBBED.

I BEAT MY CHEST IN ANGUISH. It helped that at the sign of my tears, CBoy ande Bananna both became completely undone, and also began to wail, pleading with the man to "Just Let Mommy Come With Us."

(I should note here, for those of you who may ask--that SHOM was struck mute. He later admitted that he was dumbstruck not at my stupidity for taking the wrong passport, but at the fact that I was not blaming him for my mistake.)

And Chickens, just FYI: IT WORKED. We could have crossed the freeking border into Iran for the collective show we Veaseys put on. Joe Security spoke into a walkie talkie, and instantly a nice woman from Homeland Security appeared.,

What's a little strip search when faced with the possibility of missing your flight to Florida?-I always say.

But that's not what happened. Instead, she sent the Spawn and SHOM ahead to the gate and had me wait in a special room while she called some Top Secret Government Agency that exists JUST FOR THIS REASON. Apparently, (and this is comforting to know,) I am not the only Mommy who has ever left her ID sitting in the right hand drawer of her bureau. I'm not even sure that I am allowed to TELL YOU about what happened next. But it involved very personal questions about my life.

Things that ONLY BIG BROTHER could know. Very Personal Things.

I answered their questions correctly. Remember this was pre-vacation--I had double the brain cells.

Then (can I get a Hallelujiah) I was personally escorted through security and to my gate where I was reunited with my family and CBoy finally forgave me for using the F word.

Totally relived to be on the plane, and also slightly flattered...

because who knew someone at the government was reading my blog?!?

BLoGaTioN

Hello Chickens:
I will be TOTALLY UNPLUGGING (and that means no email, no cell phone no blog) through February 23rd. I will be re-aquainting myself with The Spawn and Sexyhusbandomine in a place that serves buffet breakfast and where you must wear sunscreen. I lerves you internets, but you cannot come with.

If you have come here because you are bored, allow me to suggest some other blogs for your reading pleasure until my return:

Shindig Zak enjoys lip balm, ginger lotion, my children, my husband, wine, reality television, BBQ, celebrities, soy chai lattes and pedicures...not necessarily in that order.

Miss Thystle Is. The. Bomb. My all-time favorite blog evah, don't ask me why.

Give me a minute I'll Come Up with something Where in Heck is the Bloggy Box of Goodness?

BJ Started out as my own personal stalker, now has a blog of her own, I am *sniff* so proud.

Racie Lover Stay tuned for more adventures with Sunshine Wheatgrass, yoga instructor.

The Lovely Le Throw another shrimp on the barbie-it's a blog from down under. I don't understand half of what she writes sometimes, but i love when she uses the word wee.

JenX Is a fabulous Jenx blogger and her secret ingredient is the X, which is for excellent (like Bill & Ted would say.)

Spatula An artist. In the basement of her mother's house. In Canada.

Scrappin Jen A Great Gal--and i say that with a Boston accent.

Debbie Angel Mom Captures great beauty in her photographs and moments with her four angel daughters.

TJ Makes me laugh always with a minimum of sentences.

Deb from Suburb Sanity has so many followers and commenters that soon it will be like "Dooce who?" She is the perfect blogger. If she weren't so dern nice I would be jaylous.

David Kramer I used to drink with this man. Now I drink, and he has seltzer with lime.

Kraigg This man is divorced? You're kidding me.

Jane! One of THE BEST written blogs in the blogosphere- I lervesme some Jane!

OK: I am totally getting tired and I am still not packed. Please visit ALL my regular visitors to my blog (some more quick links withy no descriptions are below) because I lerves you all. Don't forget to come back here Feb. 23rd-I will have stuff to say--like "O the sun was hot, the suntan lotion smelled like coconuts, and my goodness that buffet breakfast was quite filling..."

Quick other links

Sheree
The Smartini girls
Carrie
Tracey
Shonda
Natasha
Libby
Amy
OHN
Dana
Hugs-Tiffany
Lucky Me!
The Kitchen
Evil Twins Wife
Nadine Hightower
KAS
Wonderfully Random

I'm sorry that I left a ton of you off (including God. God has a blog. He doesn't get that many comments though.) Forgive me for my omissions and poor typing. See you in a week!

THuRSDaY SWeeT TreaT

The key question isn't "What fosters creativity?" But it is why, in God's name, isn't EVERYONE creative?
Where was the human potential lost? How was it crippled?
I think therefore, a good question might be not "WHY do people create" But, " Why Do People NOT create or innovate?" We have got to abandon that sense of amazement in the face of creativity, as if it were a miracle if anybody created anything.-Abraham Maslow

My beliefs:
- We are ALL artists.
-We were born naturally creative and artistic.
-We were taught to censor our creativity, to judge our processes, to critique our creations. As naturally as the majority of children know how to skip and hop, you were born knowing how to draw, sculpt, build and imagine: it is only the adult voices of judgement that taught you to be self conscious and to believe that there are "rules" to invention.
- You were born limitless; you were taught by adults that trees could not be purple and that the sky should not be black. You were taught that your creations could evoke responses such as "good" or "bad."
-You valued your own processes more than the product when you were a child-it was only in watching your products compared to those created by others, that you felt something was lacking.

But I am preaching to the choir here: because you bloggers all do something creative every time you click the publish button or leave a comment. The blogosphere has become a brain gym where we can all have the opportunity to flex our creative muscles. Like real muscles that grow stronger with each use, the part of our brain responsible for being creative function better when we challenge it to work harder.

That is why I participate in a blog called Thursday Sweet Treat. This is a blog created by my friend Natasha which challenges people to create things around an announced theme. Creations are shown every Thursday, new topics given on Friday.

Many of the people currently participating are Etsy artists, but ANYONE can participate. You could write a poem, do a doodle, make a scrapbook page, or shoot a photograph: it is all about the process of creating.

Come Play.

CaPTioN THiS PHoTo

Here's this week's CAPTION THIS PHOTO contest. The winner will be selected this week by a random guy who works at our office named Jack. Winner receives a $5.00 Starbucks gift certificate. Enter as many times as you like, but keep it clean people.





THANK YOU to everyone who sent pictures for future Wednesdays! You are all fairly strange, but I lerves you anyway. You can continue to send naked pictures of Johnny Depp (watch how I soar in Google keywords on that one!) and fully clothed pictures of anyone else to me at L V Mud at aol dot com. Now, here's Last week's winner:




WINNER: DAD ALWAYS LOCKED THE BATHROOM DOOR AFTER THAT. By Kreg.
RUNNER UP: EVEN CHILDREN OF THE CORN FEARED THE STEELY GAZE OF THE DANDYLION DUO. By Life Spatula.

POST YOUR CAPTION FOR THE TOP PHOTO IN COMMENTS BELOW.

WHaTS LoVe GoT To Do WiTH iT?

Thank you, blog peeps, for your support of CBoy in the wake of his broken heart. I can only tell you that this weekend he broke one of the cardinal rules of post-breakup behavior. He went to the barber with his father where he decided to cut his hair. ALL OF IT. OFF. It now looks like I gave birth to a mini-Marine. I believe I did this myself once while in college. I don't know where I got the idea (between renting my garments and keening) that chopping at my locks would show that boy who done me wrong a thing or too; because it didn't. All I ended up with was a broken heart and really bad hair. Ah well: hearts will heal, hair will grow.

Speaking of hearts on the mend: my friend Gina recently separated from her husband and in a moment of weakness that involved a full bottle of Chardonnay, signed up for Match dot com. She said that after a short bio and 35 bucks, her mailbox began to fill with messages from all over the country--many with subject lines such as "Willing to Relocate For Love" or "God Sent Me To You" or "Satisfy You Long Time." (I keep telling her that the last one is Spam but she says she's been trying to wink at its author anyway.)

One of her more recent meetings online went fairly well. He was a journalism professor, very nice & funny. After an enjoyable session of IMing back and forth, he asked her to text him, and when she did, he asked if she wanted to see a 'goodnight photo' of him. She replied: "Sure, if I can also show it to my mother, who is here visiting." He texted back just two words: NEVER MIND, and was never heard from again.

She had an actual date with another "match" named Jeff-who won her over by including a glass of wine in his profile picture. She met him at a bar and spent the first two hours talking to the side of his face: the man would not turn to look at her the entire time, just sat beside her chain smoking and slamming draft beer. Three margaritas later, she asked him if he had eaten, because she was starving. "Nope," he replied, "I eat just one meal a day and then I drink beer for dinner." WHAT A CATCH.

On another note: please send pictures for this week's Caption This Photo contest to me at L V Mud at a o l dot com, but please make sure the people in the pictures are wearing clothes. Unless you have a candid of Johnny Depp. I will announce last week's winner on Wednesday and feature a photo sent in by a reader. So get those pictures out of the camera and send them my way: my children are refusing to do anything funny like sit in a garbage can or wear underwear on their heads: I need help.

THe FiRST CuT iS THe DeePeST

ComplicatedBoy has carried a torch for G- since September. And by torch I mean a smoldering obsession and single minded fixation. He has loved her the way most of America's 12 year old girls love Nick Jonas: with an aching desire tempered with the knowledge that the object of their affections is most likely unobtainable-or in CBoy's case- just way out of his league.

G- meanwhile, carried a torch for J-, CBoy's best friend since nursery school. And by torch I mean a stick that she would chase J- around the playground with, in an attempt to get his attention. But J- had eyes only for his soccer ball.

Then one day, everything changed. G- sent CBoy a note. The note read: "I am kinda over J-. But act normal. Don't tell anyone. Not even your Mom or Dad. Lift this flap when you get home." And under the flap it read: "I Love You. P.S. Meet me by the slide."

It was Christmas in January for CBoy. His sneakers did did not touch the ground for almost two blissful weeks, during which time G- proclaimed that he was Her Best Friend, and allowed him to sit with her at lunchtime. She came over for a well-supervised playdate during which CBoy presented her with his Best Rock from his collection--a rose quartz, which she took and shoved in the pocket of her jeans.

The following week, she invited him to her house for an afternoon, and together they ground potpourri into oil and poured it into an empty spice bottle and labeled it COLOGNE. CBoy dutifully dabbed it behind his ears daily, and went to school smelling like rose petals and basil.

Then the wind changed. Despite the fact that another playdate was scheduled for today, CBoy sensed a cooling of G-'s affections at the beginning of this week. He was exiled from the lunch table, and ostracized at recess.

"Ignore her," Sexyhusbandomine advised.
"Confront her" I countered, "Ask her why she isn't being friendly anymore."
"Give her space-make her come to you" Sexyhusbandomine insisted.
"Go right up to her and tell her she is hurting your feelings" I said.

In the end, he did neither. Just continued to follow her around like a beaten puppy dog until she turned to him yesterday and told him she was "Back together with his best friend, J-."

"She hates me." He said tearfully last night before dinner.

"Don't worry" I said, "You still have a playdate with her Friday and we can talk through the whole thing and everyone can still be friends and it will all be fine."

"Women." Said Sexyhusbandomine in a disgusted tone.

I sent CBoy off to school with the promise that everything would work out this afternoon.

This morning, I received an email from G-s mother, who wrote that G- had decided she would rather have some "family time" this afternoon instead of coming over to our house.

I am meeting CBoy at the door to school with a pint of Hagen Daz and a copy of the Sleepless in Seattle video.

Women.

CaPTioN THiS PHoTo

Submit as many captions as you'd like. Sexyhusbandomine will select what he thinks is the best caption Friday, February 6th. Winner gets a $5.00 Starbucks gift certificate. Have Fun!

PuPPY LoVe CaN Be A BiTCH.

Dear Complicated Boy,

Last night you asked me for some romantic advice, and after we chatted for a bit about the complex nature of the relationship with your seven year old girlfriend friend who happens to be a girl, I ended by saying what I always say when I am speaking authoritatively about something of which I know nothing, which is: GO ASK YOUR FATHER.

Your sage father gave the standard advice he pulls out in the face of questions about troublesome bullies, imagined slights in the classroom, and odd skin rashes: Just Ignore It and Things Will Work Out.

I wish you had thought to ask Dad how many dates the old "ignore them and make them come to you" strategy landed him in High School and College. I think he has forgotten that he spent most Friday nights in the company of a pizza.

So this morning I decided to take your problems right to The Experts. ( And by Experts I don't mean that I planned to get on my cell phone and call Dad and have him pretend to be someone named Dr, Ruth, the way we used to do when you wouldn't eat and I would call The Wiggles to get you to try the broccoli.) These are Actual Romantic Authorities. These Love Gurus saw me through many a heartbreak in my youth, and I think their wisdom still rings true today.

I am, of course, talking about Pop Songs.

In my day. all manner of ills could be cured by turning on a little AM Radio; but none more so than the broken heart. If you needed to learn the ABCs and 123s of Love--all you had to do was give a little listen. So here is what I know, grasshopper:

LOVE STINKS
yeah yeah.

Also...

You can't hurry love, because girls just wanna have fun. Some guys have all the luck, and you might wish that you had your best friend's girl. Love is a battlefield that way, but it is also oxygen and The Answer. It's a crazy little thing, this love. It can be a groovy kind of love, or you can be addicted to love, but either way, you'll see the power of love. You'll realize soon that money can't buy you love, and you need to be careful not to give love a bad name. When you love someone, set them free. Love bites, love hurts, but all you need is love. Endless love.

I hope that helps: if not, take Dad's advice and give her the cold shoulder for a couple of days.

Love,
Mom
PS: Have I told you lately that I love you?

BeST BLoG PoST eVaH!

Here at OuR NaMe iS BLoG, we don't give virtual awards. We give REAL TROPHIES--like these two babies.


To date, the only other winner of the Best Freakin Blog Post Evah award has been Thystle for The Hamster Story. Now we have TWO NEW winners! Jane! from Emptying the Nest and BJ from Don't Overthink It.

Jane! wrote a fabulous post about the inauguration, but alas, I did not repost it here in a timely manner--but she is ALWAYS funny, so go visit her site and then check her archives for her take on President Obama bein in da house.

Here is the post which BJ wins for, reprinted without any permission whatsoever.



ASK THE MONKEY

God, do you people have some strange problems. You made me start smokin the Banana flavored Swisher Sweets again, and I had just grown the hair back on my right arm where I had used a Nicotine patch to quit! But I promised, and you're needy, so I'll try to help you out.

Megan wrote how long can I claim I just moved in when people come over and there are boxes everywhere??

Meg, when you think you've exhausted that one, throw the door open and start screaming 'WE'VE BEEN ROBBED' and that usually works. I've used it for 15 years and so far, so good.....


Miss Thystle,aka Thystlicious, wanted to know how do I cure my husband from tossing his underwear NEXT to the hamper, not in it.......

Well, strap one of these contraptions on him in his sleep, hide the key, and HANG the worst pair you can find from the stick thingey in the front. Once he walks around with those demonic wares dangling in his face, he may just start putting them where you ask him to put them. Or not. But at least take his picture for all of us to see!!


Racie Lover wants to know how do I cure my boss....from pretty much breathing.....

Well RL, since you can't off him or you'd end up in prison with Thystle and LV, go ahead and copy this little picture and put it on all correspondence you have with him. At least you'll feel better. Oh, and get your resume together. And what the hell, take some pictures...


Daddio and Sheila had issues with a certain football matchup and sadly, not the outcome they wanted.

I do have an idea when confronted with the situation of too much
PRE-GAME SMACK talk and then suffering a loss. Wear this to work the next day, mumble alot, and make sure they know you are goin commando underneath and they will most likely leave you alone. Oh, and send pictures.


Last but not least, KWR offered some very good advice for the 'willing to try pretty much anything for beauty' group. You know, most of you. Its a website called bettybeauty.com, which helps you ladies match the 'drapes to the carpet' if you know what I mean. My familly does not have that problem as we are naturally the same color all over, so you are on your own on that one. Good luck. And don't send pictures.