Swirl Girl's Pearls

The One in Which She Says "(tap, tap, tap) Is This Thing On?"

2011-08-02T18:28:00.000-07:00

I know, I know - it's been , like, for-EVER since I've posted. Hell, it's been like forever since I've even logged into Blogger. Barely remembered my password. So where've I been , you ask? HALLOO! Testing, testing - is this thing on? Okay, so all 1 of you want to know where I've been.

Well, "I been to paradise but I've never been to me."....no seriously.

Like so many of us old-timers who used this here interwebs for purposes other than trying to make a living (I know, I know - there's ~~thousands~~ nay, jillions of blogs out there and only like .00002 % of them make money at it)...I started this thing in 2008 when my wonderful Dad died and I went through my own medical nightmare. Like many of us - this blog became my catharsis. I started writing about emotion, feelings, angst.
**yawn**. Then I started reading other blogs, commenting on favorite blogs, entering contests, winning contests ((read: free stuff!)), attending a few conferences...you get it. That was the first year.

Then I tried to put myself into a cool category. Yeah, it's cool to blog. But gushing about your perfectly wonderful children, and your perfectly wonderful Hubby, and how you made perfectly wonderful this or that is ...quite frankly - perfectly dull. So I tried to spice it up a bit. I liked to think of myself as a humor blogger. Humor as in if blogging were a bus, I'd be sitting in the back with the cool kids sneaking a smoke and a shot of Jaegermeister cool. I thought I had found a way to show my imperfectly wonderful children, and my imperfectly wonderful Hubby and my imperfectly wonderful sense of humor to a community of like minded folk. Sounds perfectly wonderful, no? That was the second year.

But, then it became a job. And equally as non-paying as the non-paying one I already have. I would spend hours wracking my brain, combing through notes and the backs of receipts for ideas. 2 hours begat 4 hours begat 6 hours ...became all frickin' day. I felt guilty if I didn't leave a comment on someone's post. I found myself becoming envious of those whose stick-to-it-iveness paid off for them (yes, that .0000002%).

It became laborious rather than a labor of love.

So I up and quit it.

And now that it's summertime - and what I like to call "the Summer of No Responsibility" - I am back poking around . So don't be surprised if I stop in here once in a while to re-introduce myself to you all. They say once you've ridden a horse, it's easy to get back on. Hopefully, I am still in some your blog-rolls (which for the uneducated is a list of links to other cool internetty stuff) and you might leave me a comment, or enter me in a contest, feed me ideas, vent, rant, laugh...whatever. Please do so or else I might actually free fall off the Western Rim of the Grand Canyon like this:

I might be a Humor Blogger - but I have a very fragile ego.

The One in Which She Did Not Go Gently into that Good Night

2011-03-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

Swirl Girl, Sisterbestfriend, and Mom
December 2010

My Mom was a very simple woman. A practical, no muss, no fuss kind of gal. She was passionate to a fault about a few things:

She simply loved her games. Of all kinds. Bingo, casino games, Mah-jong, Canasta, puzzles of all kinds. You name it - she played it.

She simply loved her friends. She was fiercely loyal! She was the "do-er"; always willing to lend a hand, give a ride, balance someone's checkbook, take you to a doctor's appointment, be good company - in good times or bad.

Mom = both A & B

My mom had the proverbial Venn-Diagram of friendship - not a simple circle as many of us have. She had her old friends, her new friends, her neighborhood friends - couples and singles . Sadly, in the past few years since my wonderful Dad died, as is what happens when you live in South Florida - you have lots more single lady friends than you started with..who all share a sad but common bond. We should all be so blessed to have so many in our lives.

She simply loved planning her travel adventures: cruises, Vegas, Biloxi, visits to the left coast to visit her kids and grandkids. Even attending her local granddaughter's school events. Always just back from or on the way to another adventure.

My mom was most simply passionate about her love for her family and her grandchildren! She always had photos of them or poorly printed copies from her way-to-old-printer ready to show them off to anyone who was willing to look at them. And the house - if I had to guess there had to be over 300 frames and collages adorning the hallways and countertops. She simply loved them. Forever and forever no matter what.

Who would have thought this would be the outcome of what was a mere blip on the radar screen of her life?

It was treatable. It was beatable. I think for Mom, the hardest part was inactivity of it all--simply not her style. It wasn't the illness, so much as the stillness that broke her.

With my Daddy, we had years of mental preparation that his death was eventual outcome of an over 20 year battle with two types of cancer. And as hard and harrowing as that was for all of us, he was at peace with it.

With my Mommy, she went out literally kicking and screaming. She was scared and for me, personally - that is the hardest part of all of this. None of us - especially her - thought this was going to happen.

When she couldn't fight it anymore, she waited for my brother and I to arrive from the West Coast as sisterbestfriend had been on vigil in those last hours around the clock. And I know in some other-wordly way, she knew her children were together..and passed away. Finally at peace and pain free.

My Mom was what you'd call a black thumb. She was known to kill even artificial plants. In the backyard by the pool are a few orchids. One of them I gave her years ago, that despite being completely ignored and neglected - would always bloom when I came to visit. Mom would say "It knows you're here" The other orchid was given to her when my Daddy passed away three years ago. It hadn't bloomed since then. Well, when I arrived in Florida on Valentine's Day (which would have been my Dad's 75th birthday) there was a flower spike coming out of that orchid. And it had a few buds ready to go. I took a picture of the flower spike and took it to the hospital to show Mom. She said "It knows your here." Two weeks later , the buds bloomed into delicate pinkish flowers.

It knows your there, Mommy.

Could it have been a message from my Dad that everything was going to be okay? That Mom wouldn't be in pain anymore? That she could join him only days after what would have been their 54th wedding anniversary on what for sure is the biggest cruise of their lives?

I don't know, I like to think so.

So days after the funeral and shivas, sisterbestfriends and I worked fast and furiously to clean out the house. Now I walk around the place...staged for selling rather than furnished for living. We turned her home into a house. Ready for some other Grammy and Poppy to fill with their memories, their laughter and their tears. No longer a home. Just a house.

I love you Mom. You finally hit the jack-pot.

Dedicated to Suzanne Keller 8/14/37 - 2/26/11

The One Where She Asks " Does My Ass Look Fat in this Shower?"

2010-07-12T12:22:00.000-07:00

So for about a year, I've been without. Without a shower in the master bathroom. I know, you're all like "Hey Swirl Girl, quitcher bitchin - there are people in Africa who bathe in the same dung infested water that the hippos and wildebeasts crawl through!" All that being said - I don't live in the wilds of Africa - I live in the planned urban development in the wild suburbs of Los Angeles. And while we may have our own tribal infestations of coyotes and rabbits, we live with the promise of not having to use {ugh, perish the thought!} the downstairs bath to shower.

So after much consternation (read: nagging to Hubby) we finally bit the bullet (read: hired someone to do the job as while Hubby can put together Ikea furniture like his name should be Sven Jorgensen he is 'ethnically challenged' when faced with plumbing and flooring because everyone knows that schtick about jewish guys and how they hire someone to screw in a lightbulb) and began the work.

Now I am reminded of a commercial from years ago (yes, I am that old..back in the day before DVR, we watched commercials) for , Alka Seltzer Plus cold medicine , I think...when a couple is doing a kitchen renovation and interviewing contractors which is never fun and even worse when you have a cold...anyway - the contractor says "...so first we'll come and tear up the place and then inexplicably disappear for two, maybe three weeks at a time - and when I come back you'll be so happy to see me you'll kiss me full on the mouth..." So when faced with the prospect of having to actually find someone to do this work - this commercial keeps running through my head. I expect to be blown off about 2 hours into the first day.

But we find a guy through a guy and he's got good references - he calls to see if he can come earlier than expected {whu? first expectation avoided} and arrives bright and early to begin demolishon of old shower pan and tile work. For the next 10 days, on schedule - he arrives at 8:00 am. Does his thing - cleans up after himself, works with me on design. Done on schedule. Even comes back on Saturday to do the finish work. Fan-tastic.

I just can't wait til eveything dries and sets and I can get in there and clean the gunk and dust - take a nice hot shower and shave my legs. No more one legged flamingo stance!

So Sunday morning - I prepare. I turn on the water and let it get nice and hot. Hubby joins me in the bathroom for a ceremonial "Ahhhh". I kick his ass out of there and he heads downstairs. I soap up and lather the mohawk that has become my right calf when I hear "Swirl Girl, turn off the frickin' water!!!"

The pictorial* that follows exlpains it all.

*{artist rendering- all likenesses to actual persons are opinions only}

"Hubby, does my ass look fat in this shower?"

"Cleaning my kitchen was such a chore until I installed the Suck-tastic Shower 2010!"

I know there's a water shortage in California, but do I really want to take a shower and clean my kitchen at the same time?

I frickin' hate Murphy and his damned law.

** edited afterthoughts : Looking on the bright side, I guess it's better to hear "Uh -oh " and "Ah, shit" from your contractor than your doctor!
***totally edited afterthough: This week I am joining Angie at Seven Clown Circus for Wordful Wednesdays! Pop on over to see her!

The One In Which She is Most Certainly NOT FINE.

2010-06-18T12:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, I was FINE when the Kindergarteners' filed out of class and were introduced as 1st graders. And I was still okay when Rachel says to me "Mom, I'm not entirely comfortable being called a 1st grader. You can still call me Bubba or Dolly, please." ( and that is the actual quote) And I was still okay when Emily came out of 5th grade all "I can't believe it's over, ...Mom." But I was still FINE.

And I was FINE when I looked at the report cards with more A's on it than an Oakland baseball team and I am beaming with pride at my brilliant progeny.

And even when I saw Emily's friend Carlitos crying , no - bawling as he left the school (only later to find out that he was very upset that he did not make Honor Roll thus affirming the theory that some kids DO care about making Honor Roll even in 5th grade and that he is a really nice boy and I shouldn't be concerned when he and my 10 year old daughter hang out.) I was still FINE. Then when I took the girls on their annual celebratory let's-go-out-to-lunch-then-to-Toys-May-Be-Us-But-Customer-Service-Isn't-to-shop-for-excellent-report-card-rewards and we bumped into the entire staff of our school on their annual celebratory Yeah! Day luncheon...I was still FINE.

And even when I dropped off the medical forms at the Park and Rec department so the girls could start their camp on Monday (yes, folks...{all}daycamp starts Monday ) and started to think about what I was going to do with my summer days and the fact that I hadn't written or read a blog in practically forever and that if I actually did write something for my blog which I am surprised still even exists thus affirming the theory that the internet is, indeed, forever (as if two months was even close to forever) and that I shouldn't feel guilty about taking a few days to just loll around and maybe read a book or work on my tan and play on Facebook instead of trying to solve the Gulf Crisis(es) -and by that I mean the war and the oil... I was still FINE.

Then - I unpacked the car of the mountain of STUFF , and started thumbing through it; admiring their progress, adoring their photos and artwork it hit me. I started crying right there over the backpacks and Academic Award certificates and portfolios; tired tears rolling down my cheeks staining the achievements.

And...I was most certainly NOT FINE.

I was most certainly NOT FINE when I considered what is taking place around here. My babies aren't my babies anymore. I was never one of 'those moms' who mill their own wheat and puree their own babyfood while working on the loom. I consider myself just above 'slacker' on the Mom-O-Meter. I do try to buy organic when I can (because there has to be something that we are doing to our cows and chickens and veggies that are turning our 10 year olds into women sooner than nature intended), I schlepp and cook and {sic} clean and try to make the best of this stay at home-ness I've been both bless and cursed to 'enjoy'. I have spent the past 10 months Presidenting our PTA to the tune of an average of 25 (unpaid) hours a week (but it's for the kids, right?) and have -if I do say so myself- done a hell of a job. I don't always use politcal correctness, curse like a sailor at inappropriate times, and do way to much demanding of perfection that I am neither willing or able to achieve myself {in other words I yell as much as someone with a severed laryngeal nerve can yell}. I worry about things like money, and paying bills and all the while planning a vacation and buying lottery tickets (because if someone has to win - why can't it be me?) which in and of itself seems ironic. And the guilt---oh, the guilt that is sometimes so overwhelming I am not sure if I am experiencing a hot flash or a wave of guilt.

...and to be quite honest, the hot flashes are easier to deal with.

The One Where She Just Needs to Get Back on The Horse

2010-04-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

They say it's the thing to do after you fall off. I don't really have an explanation for my unexcused absence from the interwebs (yours and mine!). Oh, I've been ~~stalking~~ lurking and sometimes leaving a quickie here and there for some of you. But for some reason, I've had a tough time coming up with a bloggable thought. I've left myself plenty of starters - but nothing has come together in any cohesive manner of late. I need some blog-to-blog resuscitation, so before I crashed and burned and joined the average ranks of those who have perished before me (see my blog roll..some of these haven't posted in months!) I thought it best to back off for a while.

Then it happened. Something so pure and blissfully wonderful.

O' muse - thy name is laughter.

{BACKSTORY} Rocky the bearded dragon needed a new home. Suffice it to say that our pet experiment was a total failure. You see, beardies are supposed to be gentle and mellow. That is only if they are held and stroked from birth. But the girls never quite took to the whole reptile thing and carry the {{shudder and freak }} gene just like their mum and if he looked at them stink-eyed (which is how a beardie looks at everything) they shuddered and freaked leaving poor Rocky to live a fairly lonely existence. In fact, the only contact he ever got was from the crickets who would crawl on him right before they became his lunch (and the big ones crunch, by the way. Eeww.). So I thought it only fair that we find him a new home and cut our losses and move on.

So I put an add in Craig's List. We're into this thing for about $700 already, and he is kind of cool looking in a if-you're-into-leathery-looking-reptiles kind of way. I scour Craigs List and find several other postings and write mine:

Rocky The Bearded Dragon...$250 O.B.O: and I go on about how he's healthy, and comes with all the 'stuff' that beardies need. Then I write something snarky like "Go on, make an offer. Make my kid cry" 'cuz I can't resist. I add a picture ...get misty-eyed and wait.

The ad get's flagged and removed for some reason - 'for innapropriate content'. I look back and realize that I had misspelled Bearded as Beared...and maybe they thought I got my lizzard drunk or something, who knows. What do they think I'm trying to sell? Nary the mention of cock-fights or skinning. So I re-write the ad and double check the spelling. And the second time I leave off the snark, so as not to offend.

Again with the flagging and removal. I guess there is just something about selling your Bearded Dragon on that is just deemed inappropriate.

Then - it happened. Hubby was scouring ads for some equipment and found this. (check out the highlighted part)

---------------------

Date: 2010-04-15, 3:57PM PDTReply to: sale-32pc3-1694141221@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CATERING TRUCK FOR RENT
BRAND NEW WITH L.A. COUNTY PERMITS

THIS TRUCK IS FOR "MARISCOS" EQUIPMENT ON TRUCK:

1. FREEZER

1. UNDERCUNTER REFRIGERATOR

1. PREP TABLE REFRIGERATOR

1. 3 COMP SINK

1. HAND SINK

1. PREP SINK

1. ONAN GENERATOR

2. OPEN BURNERS

1. FIRE SYSTEM

YOU CAN SEE THE TRUCK AT

6901 STANFORD AVE .....
----------------------
When you do get back on that horse, make it a thorough-bred.

**if you care , Rocky has a new home right here in the hood. Our neighbor , Milo , who is 6 years old loves his new friend. The moment he saw him, he reached in the tank and picked him up with out a shudder or freak. Rocky is much happier now.

(so am I)

The One In Which Everyone Know's It's....

2010-03-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

' Windy'

I've been busy lately. I know everyone says that ...but these past two or three weeks , for me? I have been running around like the proverbial chicken with my head cut off. And that's on a good day.

It is Spring here on the left coast. And Spring means greenery and warmer weather. And wind. And that means my girls have to mainline the Zyrtec ...We are the proverbial booger factory around here. And the dry skin...oh the armadillo skin! (We are not a supple people, folks- probably from years of our ancestors walking in the dessert.)

And Spring means warmer weather and that means...shorts! I can't remember the last time I went shorts shopping. I am more of a skort girl. Or a coulotte. Whatever happened to the coulotte anyway? There was never a time when I would sport a pair of 'daisy dukes', but nowadays - I'd love to find a stylish pair of coulottes that would hide the junk in my trunk but still let my pasty white legs catch a breath. I remember when I was a girl, they were like shorts with a flap that looked like a skirt. Then came the gaucho in the 80's. At this point - I am considering going full-on burka. Modesty is not the issue. Humiliation is. Tu-Tu's are in for little girls this year. Hmmmmm, how'd I look sporting one of those?

And Spring means longer daylight hours which means the cherubs get to bed a little later. The little one says major-league adorable stuff like "I can't sleep in the daytime". And then she sneaks out of her room for one more kiss (a nightly occurrence around here which has prompted the return of the 'ole bell on the doorknob trick so she doesn't scare the beejeezus out me when she creeps up on me at the computer ~~or the liquor cabinet~~) and says wildly adorable shit like "I can't find a comfortable place to sleep. It feels like my waist doesn't belong to my tushy" - I have to flip her pillow over which causes the treasure trove of crap that she puts under her pillow to fall between the bed and the wall which means I need to contort myself like a Le Cirque-us clown to retrieve the capless Sharpie, plastic coins, tinkerbell shoes, and various and sundry flotsam and jetsam that she stores under there from being swallowed up by the Leprauchan that lives under her bed. Botton line is that puts me behind on my American I-dull or Real Harpies of New York Shitty and that makes mommy stabbier than usual.

And if chronic tired isn't enough...it seems like every time I turn around - there's another play, or PTA event, or meeting, or orientation , or softball practice, or game day or selling Daisy's Girl Scout Cookies (read: pimping my daughter out and teaching her how to say "Do-Si- Don't you wanna buy some Thin Mints?) or whatever. I am the ulitmate in Mom-Taxi. I need to put a meter on my 'dash' and start making some money at this job.

And Spring means it's time for an invitation. An invitation to a pity party. I really need a vacation. Alone. No offense to the Hubby - but I am really need a day or ~~twelve~~ two with no time frames to live by. A few hours a day just doesn't seem to cut it because it's bounded by when I have to do this or that. Alone time - where I don't have to drive, or pick-up, or prepare, or pretend, or talk or smile. And when I am done playing the world's smallest violin at my pity party - I'll put my big girl coulotte's back on and start all over again. (If you'd like, you can come to come to my pity party. Admission is one large bottle of Grey Goose, and something from the 'tos food group : chee, fri, dori or pota please and if you have pharmaceuticals, you get to pick your spot on the couch)

So I'll leave you with a little game - a sort of Caption This, if you will.

This has been making the rounds and it frickin' cracks me up! And I need to laugh or else I will explode over this whole debacle about health care reform. I voted for the guy - as the evil of two lessers. But don't get me started on that...it's not cocktail hour yet.

You know what they say. "Once Barack, never back!"

An Open Letter to the Maker of Her Ruby Slippers

2010-03-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Ruby Slippers;
Today marked the end of an era. I know, I know - as much as you'd rather be slipped on the precious tootsies of my little one, your days were numbered. You've served us well, dear Ruby Slippers. But my little one just can't have your broken -strapped , scraped - glitter, sand-filled , leather-soled goodness anymore. Sadly, you are relegated to the land-fill of Ick after years of frolicking in the land of Oz.

She clicked your heels three times and repeated the lines "I want to go home" over and over again, but you remained tattered and tired.

Gone are the days of innocence when mommy could just walk into Target and get another pair of you. And just so you know - you folks at Target ...they are RUBY slippers and are meant to be festooned with (if not actual rubies or) red sequins and have real heels that make that clicky sound when you walk down the Yellow Brick Road of life. NOT the cheezy pink glitter ballet flats with stapled elastic straps that make squishy air sounds as you run towards the combo Starbucks-Pizza Hut in the front of the super-store that you guys are trying to pass off as the real thing. If you need a copy of the movie, go to aisle 16 and you'll find it. Just sayin'.

She's crushed, but she'll muddle through. I don't know about mom, though.

For more Wordful Wednesdays. Go Visit Seven Clown Circus.

The One in Which She Has Too Much Ability

2010-02-20T15:19:00.000-08:00

When my kid had the stomach flu for two days, she didn't eat much, the poor thing. After she felt better - all she wanted was a cheeseburger. She said "It's not so much that I am craving the flavor of the cheeseburger, Mom. I can live without that. It's that I am craving the ability to eat it! That's what I can't live without!" That about sums up the past 40+ years of eating habits for me.

No will power and too much ability.

I have always craved eating. Not the food per se, or the flavors - but the action of the eating itself. I crave textures and temperatures. Sometimes I feel like eating something with my fingers. (who doesn't love licking their fingers after downing ~~an entire bag~~ a handful of processed cheese-food covered Cheetos?) Sometimes I feel like eating something with chopsticks. (sushi, really good Ramen, anyone?) Sometimes I feel like crunching, slurping, sipping my craving, while other times I feel like noshing and grazing it. And yes, I do crave a good chew now and then. Sometimes I just want to masticate on a well marbled , perfectly seasoned steak. And don't even get me going on lamb chops...Mmmm, Mmmm goooooood.

I have always said that I'd rather take 100 bites of 100 different things than 100 bites of one thing. I love the whole concept of 'small plate' dining. And don't be confused by that term 'small plate' - it has nothing to do with portion control. When one goes to a Tapas restaurant like this one and eats the entire menu...there is nothing controlled about that! You just think you are eating less because you only have a tiny little plate in front of you and maybe a little bamboo skewer to spear your teeny tiny 'papas canarias' (teeny tiny salty wrinkly potatos with a mojo verde dipping sauce) you have the air of being a dainty eater..but the ability of a Sumo wrestler carbing up before the next match. And don't even get me started on those 'philly cheese steaks' (individual salty puffs of crunchy air bread with hot, oozy cheese inside covered in a super thin slice of just seared Wagu beef). Texture and temperature - I'm salivating at the memory as I type.

But don't get me wrong - I am not a buffet lover. As it would seem that I would enjoy the options that a buffet could offer; I eat with my eyes , and there is nothing appealing about seeing globs of food splayed in even even the fanciest of chafing dishes. Not that I wouldn't eat at a buffet restaurant, but given other options, I would opt out.

It really sucks being a good cook - and even worse being married to one. Our children have grown up on 3 or 4 course meals. Their favorite foods run the gamut from hot dogs to rack of lamb. When asked "what do you want for lunch?' they have been known to shout out things like " a simple charcuterie and triple creme Brie , please!" When (and if ) they eat chicken fingers and boxed mac and cheese, they consider it a treat. And doing so is tantamount to eating out...since they don't get that stuff around here. (not that I am knocking prepared foods by any means...but my damned ability to cook has spoiled my kids)

In this , the year of me going from Flabulous to Fabulous (and so far I am living up to my end of the bargain. What about you thighs..I mean you guys?) I have managed to stave off some of those cravings. I am trying to prepare meals that satisfy my need to become physically involved with my food. In fact, it is a little known fact that if you eat directly out of the refrigerator {substitute pantry, or kid's lunchbox, or grocery store bags} you will lose weight since you are expending energy with all that bending, tearing open, and devouring; thus, burning unwanted calories and satisfying the required physical exertion required in any healthy diet and exercise plan.

*definition of overboard for a family of 4?

Part of my plan is to redefine my Abilily. Because there really is such a thing as too much for your own good.

The One Where Nothing Would Say I Love You More

2010-02-12T15:34:00.000-08:00

Bullshit holiday if there ever was one. Valentine's Day was invented in a Madison Avenue hotel room during a three way between Hershey's, Hallmark and Frederick's of Hollywood after an evening of cheap cava, stale Tipparillos and all those left over marshmellow Peeps from last Easter. Hell, even those three can't escape the afterglow of steamy hotel sex and sugar-coma. And what's worse is they manage to spread their sappy sentiment to the rest of us who feel obligated to express to their loved one's just why they are so special.

Just for today, not for everyday.

I don't want flowers. Don't want the obligatory 'love note' about being soul mates or any of that bullshit.

(even though it's true -no really, its true..while I might be a bit snarky, and I am not totally heartless and wholly unsentimental..click the link, would ya?).

You know what would tell me you loved me?

Listening to me when I talk;

really giving a shit about what you hear when you listen to me when I talk;

and responding to me when we talk so I know you're listening to me when I talk.

Follow through,

don't patronize me,

don't take me for granted,

don't take YOU for granted ,

and finishing what you start.

And not just today, but everyday.

...okay, so a little blue box from Tiffany wouldn't suck either. Just sayin'.

The One In Which There Is Such a Thing As A Free Lunch**

2010-02-09T21:13:00.000-08:00

**hassle free, that is!

I have been asked to do a product review by Mom MadeThat.com, a terrific consortium of Mom Made businesses, goods, and services, reviews, testimonials and a whole host of other good stuff. I went on the site and registered and was contacted about two days later that there was a product right up my alley.

I pack lunch every day for my two girls. I go through sandwich bags and snack baggies like crazy! And if you have a child like mine who doesn't always want a sandwich, I sometimes had 3 or 4 odd sized disposable plastic containers to contend with. And if we were lucky to get the containers back at the end of the day, I had to clean 3 or 4 lids and bottoms. Not to mention all those baggies going to baggie landfills.

I have found a solution!! The Easy Lunchbox System. Each System comes with 4 three compartment bottoms and 4 snap fitting lids. They are are big and deep enough to fit a sandwich and two sides. And the lunch bag is big enough to fit the lunch container, a freezer pack (rectangular and under the container - I found that works best) a drink and extra snack!

Their compartmentalized lunchboxes are non-toxic, food-safe, polypropylene (PP or plastic #5). These are the top-choice safe food containers if you’re looking for BPA-free lunch boxes, phthalate-free lunch boxes and non-toxic lunch boxes. They are dishwasher safe too! And because each system comes with 4 containers and 4 lids - you can use two and wash two!

Their Easy Lunch Bags are vinyl free (PVC free) & lead free, with an FDA compliant PEVA lining. They come in several colors and have a gromet on the strap to hang ID tags or clip on a hand sanitizer!

I thank MomMadeThat.com and EasyLunchboxes.com for helping make my morning a little less harried and hassle free!

The One In Which There is Too Much Crap, Crap and More Crap

2010-02-05T11:57:00.000-08:00

4 jewelry boxes containing various beads, plastic rings and (up)Chuckee Cheese chinese finger handcuffs;

feathers, 5 piggy banks with hand-drawn coins and bills so she knows what goes where; paper kitty ears; orange string; duct tape wallet; paper flowers and stickers; two soccer trophies; most of the Russian matryoshka dolls hair bow 'doggy'; barbie shoes; various and sundry Littlest Pet Shop accessories and crap, crap more crap

Pens, pencils, crayons, and tons of erasers; 2 wallets; Hannah Montana pencil case; old fashioned mechanical coin bank; note cards; Ipod speakers; papers; notes; origami cranes; polished rocks; and crap, crap and more crap

*******************

And in an the All Out Effort to live up to our goals and resolutions for 2010 - while I am killing (literally killing myself which would explain my lack of posting ) myself at the gym, and trying to eat right and go from Flabulous to Fabulous in 52 weeks..I am going to ask my kids ...no, I am going to make my kids do something with the mess that is their stuff.

Look at the pictures of their stuff. I realize that kids have their little collections of shit, but does my little one really need that half ball of orange string on her dresser and duct tape wallet?? Does my oldest really need that 7 inch cadre of stackable pencil erasers? What's worse it that when Mommy asks them to clean up their rooms, they just rearrange the clutter instead of dispersing it.

I am not saying that they need to go on Hoarders or anything that drastic. I may not always be neat and tidy...But I am organized. In fact, I pride myself on my Ability when it comes to organization. To the untrained- one might look at my desk and see momentary chaos. But I know where everything is. Over winter break I went through every drawer and cabinet in my kitchen and desk and neatened and straightened and tossed and tidied up. My motto is and always has been , if you haven't used it ,worn it, looked at it, or missed it in a year - See ya! Donate and Liberate!

Just ask my mom. When I was a kid, I would redecorate my room and rearrange my closets and drawers every few months. I can't recall ever needing to told to clean my room, because it usually was. I used to help my sisterbestfriend organize and clean her house in exchange for laundry priviledges (amongst other things...heh, heh sisterbestfriend). I worked retail at Pier One and my favorite part of the job was setting tables and folding napkins and organizing the knick-knack bins. So as much as my girls are messy - Mommy seems to be boarderline OCD in the neat freak department. Not that there is anything wrong with that mind you.

Imagine my chagrin when we had our usual Thanksgiving lavish party , and I (who prides herself on everything in it's place and a place for everything) was teased by friends for being too organized? Is there such a thing? Nobody cleans my kitchen but me for that reason. I don't need anyone making fun of where my coffee filters go (next to the coffee cups of course...makes perfect sense to me since you use both at the same time usually, don't you?) I know, that was months ago- get over it, Swirl Girl.

So join me, won't you? On my quest to rid myself and my house of Junk and Stuff. It's only February, and we still have 10 months to #2, #6, and #9. And if you can't find me ...I'll be the one buried under all the crap, crap and more crap sucking my thumb ..alone , hungry amd sore.

The One In Which She Shares What She Has Learned

2010-01-22T17:31:00.000-08:00

I have learned that a week of rain in Southern California means the following:

Never buy an umbrella from the $.99 Store. There is a reason they are selling them for under a dollar. As soon as I opened the thing, it imploded on me. Mary Poppins, I am not.
My hair looks like crap all bouffy and curly. Even though people say how great it looks - I have learned that they are just saying that because they were taught an an early age that if they didn't have anything nice to say, lie like a son-of-a-bitch.
People who drive like asshats when the sun is shining, which is most of the time around here, are even more asshatt-ier when it's pouring out. Slow the hell down, whizzy whizbanger - and, no... not that's not a right turn...that's a frickin' stone wall.
Our kitchen ceiling is indeed not a ceiling - but a floor. We have learned that what we thought was a leak in the upstairs shower is actually a leak in an eave roofline outside. Let's see if State Farm is indeed a 'good neighbor' and 'there'...
I have learned that although I still loathe (up)Chuckee Cheese..they have wine, albeit bad wine, but wine nonetheless. It does make that booger factory a bit more tolerable. I met a couple of other Mom's there this week to let the kids burn off some energy. Full body douche for each child when we got home. Funny thing is, they somehow make good pizza. And I think their salad bar has become the final resting place for cottage cheese and 'jello salad' and those little crispy chinese noodle things.
Fabreeze Fabric Spray works. My poor kid hurled all over her carpet last night. Twice. She got the crud. The hard part will be keeping it to herself. Hello quarantine and Purell.

I have learned from attempt to go from Flabulous to Fabulous

I wish I had a penis so I could pee standing up. Like seriously, at this moment that is the only thing I could think of doing with it if I had one. My legs and ass muscles hurt so much the squat is ridiculously painful.
People say there will come a time when I will look forward to going to the gym. To feel the 'burn'. Nnnnope. Don't see that happening. Working out will always be a chore for me. I hope 'People' prove me wrong.
Oatmeal with raisins is mighty tasty in the morning. I am not a breakfast eater. I have survived on coffee in the morning for many years. I literally have to force myself to eat breakfast. Oatmeal is easy and satisfying. If I keep saying that over and over again, I will start to believe it.

I have also learned that Twitter seems to have killed the Bloggio-Star.

I think Twitter is totally fun, but I miss reading up on the lives of my Bloggy friends. I admit to having what I consider not so interesting things to talk about lately....so sue me. And some of my Bloggy friends who used to post every day are slowly getting sucked into the vortex and a few (dare I say?) have disappeared altogether.
I have fallen victim to the 'instant gratification' syndrome that Twitter and Facebook seem to have spread throughout these Interwebs. We get out lives in short spurts these days. You'd think if societally we were so interested in headlines. America's newspapers wouldn't be going out of business.
I think I have figured out the whole follow me/ follow you thing. What I don't get is why some people follow me. Do most people do what I do and read a funny or catchy Tweet and click on that person's Bio and see if their interests match mine? I also seek out some Bloggy friends and follow who they follow (the same way I created my Blog Roll). Or, do they just pile on the Followings to make their numbers (read:ego) more inflated? Or are these new Followers the new wave on 'tele' marketers whose spambots find a key word in a Tweet and Follow me? If I get Followed and don't Follow back, do people get offended? I mean , if I don't know you or your blog or your friends - and I go to check you out and it's all coupons and marketing stuff -are you even a person? For all I know, you could be a prison inmate who's getting paid a penny a Follow or something and the one with the most Follows at the end of the day gets to avoid the shiv in the yard or the short end of the soap on the roap.

In any case, Follow me on Twitter and Facebook and Network Blogs and Twitter Moms and....because I need validation. Then I can share all that I have learned in multi-techno ways...because I need the insti-grat and have become too lazy to even write anything more than 140 characters long.

the one in which she thinks e.e. cummings had a personal trainer**

2010-01-12T10:17:00.000-08:00

So it's week 2 of the 52 to Fabulous challenge. And while others might be motivated by their loved ones and thoughts of being around for years to come - Swirl Girl is motivated by money and...dare I say it? Abject humiliation.

I signed up for 8 personal training sessions at my gym. I will not waste the money. Or if I do waste the money - I will mentally and physically beat myself up about it and therefore expend calories and get some exercise (the physical beating part) and lose weight, And if I beat myself up about while eating directly out of the fridge (open - bend - unwrap- bend oooh feel the burn)  the fat will really start melting away. Either way, it looks like it's a win-win for me.

I also signed up to participate in the gym's 12 challenge which is where the abject humiliation part comes in. Next Monday they are going to weigh me (got crane?) ) , take measurements of all my parts (got lots of time?) and here is the kicker >>photograph me in a bathing suit (got 20's style flapper suit?) The winner of the 12 week challenge is the person who shows the most improvement, not necessarily the most weight loss.  I think I am supposed to say that it's okay to gain muscle weight - but quite frankly - it isn't.

So I went to the gym for my first training session with the 'boss'. He worked me to the point of actual sweating and genuine hurting. Sadistic bastard. I used muscles I didn't know I had. I pulled a face muscle I contorted so hard. In fact, even my finger muscles hurt...so much so that even stretching my pinky muscle to hit the *shift* key hurts. So to that end - I will only type in lower case letters for the rest of this post. and no numbers either. ouch.. i also think i will be avoiding my trade mark parenthetical expressions where i think out loud sort of like the chorus of a greek tragedy... **i think e.e. cummings must have had a personal trainer too.

so after the ~~beating~~ work out we go into the office to schedule the rest of my sessions. at that time, he tries to match me up with a trainer who best fits my personality and will be a good motivator. and because of all my years of sitting across a desk from someone i have become quite the skilled upside-down reader. (read: paper eaves-dropper) i see he writes next to my name ' no skinny bitches' for this one. hence- my new ~~sadist~~ trainer is named matt. hope you can take it, dude. i can be mean. just ask around.

in other news - i just want to thank Jen from Jen's Voices (and for you my dear, I will use the *shift* key and the parenthetical expressions because you deserve it!) for all the wonderful awards she has bestowed upon me.   Most recently - she gave me the Feels Like Home award. Go read her. Jen just started blogging and already gets more commentors than I do. And the popular ones too. Her blog is full of snark, reality, humor, relatable flashbacks, and honesty. You rock Frog! My door is always open.

The One In Which She Vows to Go From Flab to FAB !**

2010-01-08T10:01:00.000-08:00

** alternative title could be "What I did on my winter vacation"

So we had a remarkably unremarkable winter break. Went to the movies , a few play dates, shared some holiday celebrations with friends. Slept in. Wore my uniform everyday (read: stretchy pants). Thanksfully we live in Southern California and save for two days out of 14 - our weather was play outside-able. Mighty fine.

But unlike a lot of you , other than the sleeping late part of winter vacation- I missed the routine of the routine and was excited to get my kids off to school this week.

This is the time of year when everyone is jumping on the Resolution Band Wagon - and Swirl Girl is no different. In fact as a family - we celebrated New Year's Eve by playing Resolution Pictionary . We made sort of a family contract listing things we all could do to make our family successful (read: happier, less stressed = less yelling!)

In order to be successful
We want to do the following:

1. Pay attention to your surroundings (which is a nice way of saying don't be such a klutz!)
2. Keep your room clean! (which is a nice way of saying ...mommy doesn't like the clutter!)
3. Listen to each other (which is a nice way of stop finishing other's sentences)
4. Make your bed
5. Set the table (which is a nice way of saying - help mommy out!)
6. Pick up your mess (kitchen, toys, ect.)
7. Accept responsibilities for our actions (which is a nice way of saying punishment will fit the crime)
8. Take care of our bodies (which is a nice way of saying brush your teeth without me reminding you!)
9. Put away your clothes when they are clean (which is a nice way of saying I ain't doin' it anymore)
10. Put yourself in other people’s place (= empathy!!)
11. Treat others the way you want to be treated (oh, the Golden Rule...right?)
12. Think before you speak or act (Which is a nice way of saying no more Ready, Shoot, Aim!)

We typed it all up after the doodling - and put in an 8x10 frame and it hangs proudly in the house.
So far, a whole week into it, we are doing just so-so . Mommy just has to say #12, or "Did you #4 today?"
We're all about code words here.

And I have my own personal list of Wants for this new year.

1) Exercise Daily
2) Read more for pleasure
3) Monetize her life
4) Try to fill my ubiquitous Glass Half Empty attitude (adjusting my A). In other words - I am gonna lighten the fluck UP!

I can still be funny and snarky without being so dark and gloomy all the time. (IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan.)
I want what everyone else seems to have. Or if they don't have it...they just pretend better than me. And I want to learn how to do that.

I am joining a group of like minded women on a project spearheaded by Linda Sellers of Short Pump Preppy called 52 to Fabulous. The key to this challenge is the support. I started my personal training sessions at the gym yesterday. I want to not be totally grossed out by my nekkid body. I don't expect to be sporting a bikini this summer - not that that wouldn't suck, but when your 5 year old tells you that you look like your gonna have a baby - it's time to shift gears.

I wonder what the next best thing is going to be? In this world of insti-grat (that's instant gratification for you tweeters who don't want to use up too many characters)because if I could invent it...Hhhhmmmmm that would surely help me monetize my life.

So I am giving myself a realistic 52 weeks to go from Flabulous to Fabulous!! Who's with me??
Anyone? Anyone? Buehler??

The One In Which She Adjusts Her Just A*

2009-12-26T14:02:00.001-08:00

*alternative title = what the heck does that mean? (please click through with the linky love...otherwise you'll be as jumbled as this post)

We were watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium* this week for about the 10th time. It may not be the greatest movie, but it is filled with really good messages for kids and parents alike. In one part of the movie, an accountant (played by the ever-adorable Jason Bateman who-I-have-loved-since-his-wisecracker-best-friend-of-Ricky-Shroeder-role-on-Silver-Spoons) is hired by Mr. Magorium (played by Dustin Hoffman who -looked-better-as -an-aging-soap-star-tranvestite-actor-in-Tootsie-than-a-243-year-old-magical-toy-store-owner-with-wonky-eyebrows-and- for-some-reason-that-I-am-not-sure, a-dental-appliance, causing-him-to-have-a-sibilant-'s'-as-if-all-243-year-old-magical-toy-store-owners-kind-of -lisp-and-look-like- the-Mad-Hatter-from-the-Disney-animated-version-of-Alice-in-Wonderland)....

Anyway, the accountant (or counting mutant) that the toy store owner hires to determine the value of the store is, according to Molly Mahoney, (played by the equally as adorable Natalie Portman, the -young- store- manager-who-is-sort-of-stuck-in-a-rut-and-has-beenworking -at -the-magical-toy-store-since-instead-of -pursuing-her-dreams-of -penning-a-piano-opus-which-is-what-all-23-year-old-kids-have-on-their-bucket-lists, right?)..."a Just guy". When asked by him what a Just guy is , she says "A guy just like you. Same hair, same suit, same shoes, walks around, no matter what, you think it's all just a store, it's just a bench, it's just a tree. It's just what it is, nothing more!"*

And from the rest of the evening, and still until now, the whole point of the movie was lost on me (in fact, I am not sure what the point of the movie is...but there were some visually and emotionally charming moments) I started thinking about me - and whether what I am going through lately is Just A bout of 'holiday-itis' or endemic of the fact that most of my adult life ...I have been a Just A person. I have been feeling Just Eh for many months now physically and emotionally and I think it's time for a change.

I am Just A Stay at Home Mom - and, at times, I am a pretty lame one too. I know I complain about it a lot, but I am lucky to be able to be at home with my kids while they need me. But I wonder if sometimes I am Just A Faker trying to give the impression that this is enough for me. All.Day. Everyday.

I am Just An Excuse Maker. I make excuses about everything. I Justify everything. I am Just Lazy. I am Just Impatient. Impatient with my children. Impatient with Hubby. Impatient with everyone and everything.

I am Just Resigned . Resigned to the fact that this is my life. The truth is..I am Just Scared. Scared that I am an abject failure as a mother. That my girls will grow up with the same insecurities that I have. I am supposed to lead by example, right? Shouldn't there be some kind of "I Am Woman" song playing in our proverbial background? How can I teach them to 'reach for their dreams' when, in truth, I don't 'reach' for mine (and I am not sure if I even have any that don't involve winning the lottery or being chosen to be on What Not To Wear). Combine the Just Scared with a healthy dose of Just A Bit Lazy and a few ounces of Just Hormonal you have the recipe for a not so well-balanced and what some would call a rather moody (read: Just A Bitch) mommy.

So it is almost the New Year. Wee Hoo. 2009 was a comparatively unremarkable year {{wee-hoo!}} around Swirl Girl's place. I am not one who usually goes for the ol' New Years Resolution thingy...but I think this I've got to do something really proactive for myself and my family this year.

I want to take more risks. Socially. I need to put myself out there. If my kids see me doing it, maybe they would be more likely to break out of their cacoons too.

I want to really lose this tire that has formed around my middle. I am so grossed out by my naked body..I am ashamed of myself. I have arm cellulite and armpit cleavage to boot and when I see my profile and want to cry. Can you say LifeStyle Lift?

I want to do something for my head. (and if something comes for my wallet, too - that's a bonus) but for the moment...I want - no I need to do something. Sure , I do little things in spurts.

I want to be nicer, more tolerant, better thought of. A better friend; A better wife.

I want to maximize all of this social technology with this blog and Twitter and all the on line groups I am in and what not so that I , too, may get what others are getting. And I don't expect to make Dooce money. I just think that the power of the purchase is right inside these monitors that we gaze in for countless hours each day. I'd love to be asked to review a product or service and do give-aways. Which by the way - not only did I win the ColorInc. wrapped gallery print from Scary Mommy...I also just won an Epson 3 in 1 Printer /Fax/Scanner from Hot Dads!!.

I need to learn how to make people (read: me) happy.

In other words ....(now here comes the part where it all ties together)

I really need to Adjust my Just A-tude.

*most of this stuff came from Imbd.com

The One In Which She Says "Ho-Ho-Humbug"*

2009-12-18T11:43:00.000-08:00

*alternate title : Totally Random Reasons Why Swirl Girl Can't Shake the Blues.

#1) Tonight marks the 8th night of Hanukah. My kid totally blew my Hanu-karma on night #1 by telling me she was hoping for a better gift. WTF? I worked really hard on making sure that each kid had presents to open each night. That would be 16 gifts..of random excellence not including the gifts sent from relatives ...so they each go into the Hanu-closet and select one a night. Is it my fault she picked the socks and undies for night #1?? The little one was thrilled with her Hello Kitty pens and stickers.

#2) Peeled 10 pounds of potatoes and 15 pounds of apples for 100% Homemade Latkes and THE Apple Sauce. Cooked, fried, and made a general mess in the kitchen ...but boy oh boy ...lemme just tell you - it was YUMMMMMY! So I bring the homemade goodness to Kindergarten on Monday for 'share' and give the kiddles a quick lesson on Hanukah. The practice spinning dreidles with their 'teeny tiny muscle movements' while trying not to bounce them off the table too wildly. I dish out the treats and one of the little cherubs says "I only like homemade latkes" thinking his mom's - - which come frozen from a box, mind you, were better. I make sure his apple sauce has some bits of raw skin from my shredded fingers when he asks for seconds.

#3) Hanu-cookie making with the kids in Enrichment. Epic Failure. Note to self: don't try to make cookies for 35 in a toaster oven in 30 minutes.

#4) While my hormones are on the other side of menopause... the 10 year old's are going the other way. We are getting to the stage of constant sass-mouth ...to each other. It's gonna be a looooong 8 years until she goes to college. Is Head Butting a sanctioned parenting skill? I think the real reason I feel so crappy is that She.Is.Me. Poor thing.

#5) I haven't had a lot of time to blog, read blogs, comment on blogs this week. Sorry.
What's worse is that it has taken me over a week to even come up with a topic. Am I losing my edge? Nyahhhh.

#) So I was thinking about who is having a worse holiday season than me. And I thought of Tiger Woods. Oh, he'll rebound just fine when he goes public with his 'addiction' and goes to rehab...and writes a screenplay for his bio-pic. He's just a guy. A guy who plays golf. Not a politician or elected official or member of the clergy. And guys are like dogs. Dogs who are given the whole bag of kibble and eat the whole bag of kibble in one sitting. They're just dumb like that.

But what about these women? What could they possibly have to gain by ruining his wife and children? Aside from the obvious paparazzi and proverbial '15 minutes' and a few dollars for 'their story'. (and just a few dollars - not life changing money , mind you)

I wish I could just slap these women some silly. "I didn't know he was married." "I thought I was the only one." Puh-lease. He's frickin' Tiger Woods. Maybe the doctor who gave you those implants should have given you some brains to go with your ~~balls~~ boobs. These 'broads' give a new meaning to the whole "Ho-Ho-Ho" thing.

I bet their parents are proud. I bet their moms and dads are sitting around with the Lewinksy's bragging about their daughters. "My daughter blew the President." says Mrs. L. Well, my daughter blew Tiger's marriage!" I can see them fighting over who has the biggest scandal at the local Hooter's right now. I heard there was a slight brou-haha while they were waiting for a table since the school's choir is finishing up their wings and pitchers as it was the only restaurant that was able to seat 'large parties'.

And so I leave you with this ...by far the best Holiday card I have received this year.

"In the Old Days (better known as 'yore'), it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it Christmas and went to church ; the Jews called it Hanukah and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and got drunk. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukah!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!' "

~Dave Barry, from the Christmas Shopping: A Survivor's Guide

Ho-Ho-Ho , and Bah-Humbug. Oh, and look out for that wall.

The One In Which She Has To Represent - Revisited

2009-12-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

Swirl Girl's Edit 12/7/09: While the neighborhood (real or imaginary) is swathed in Christmas Trees, twinkling lights and lawn sized sno-globes - Swirl Girl and Hubby are busy filling the 'Hanu-closet' for our 8 nights of fun, fun, FUN!! I want to be part of the SITSmas too so I am re-running an oldie but goodie from last December. So here is my SITSmas card to all of my friends (real or imaginary) and I wish you all a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous holiday season!

***************************************

Each year at some point in my life, I have had to be the one to check the calendars. The token, if you will. The wiser on the subject. The Chosen One. All eyes will look to me to whip out my handy calendar of customs and practices and see what is what and when. Whether it be a school function, a soccer practice, a PTA meeting, a meeting for work(when I actually did things and got paid for doing them) - I am the one who was the gate keeper to all things Jewish. Even here in the cyber meeting world - I have been called upon to "represent" for my peeps. And, as I am forever channeling my inner Linda Richmond - I will do so with as much seriousness as I do most things.

This was a typical conversation with me and my calendar in the days of yore...

Me: "We can't have that meeting on that Tuesday after 5:00pm in September, it's the first night day of Rosh Hashana"

n.j.. Boss* "but my calendar says it is on Wednesday.

Me: " Yes, n.j. Boss, it does - but the Jewish calendar is lunar, with each month beginning on the new moon. And the rest of the world operates by the solar calendar. This is because a Jewish "day" begins and ends at sunset, rather than at midnight. If you read the story of creation in Genesis Ch. 1, you will notice that it says, "And there was evening, and there was morning, one day." From this, we infer that a day begins with evening, that is, sunset. Holidays end at nightfall of the date specified on most calendars; that is, at the time when it becomes dark out, about an hour after sunset. And, the Jewish day begins at sunset the night before the day of the holiday. When the mathematical calendar says that a holiday starts on Wednesday, it actually means that the holiday starts on Tuesday night. So in actuality we can't have that meeting until Friday because Rosh Hashana is a two day holiday and ends Thursday night....

n.j. Boss: {{crickets}}

me: "...and don't ask me why sometimes the holidays are in September and sometimes in October...and how sometimes Christmas and Hanukah coincide and sometimes they are weeks apart. I was never very good at the Metonic system......"

n.j. Boss: oh jesus mary joseph Swirl Girl - when can we schedule the meeting?

me: ...I'll consult the Talmud and get back to you on that n.j. Bossman.

For observant Jews who work in the secular gentile world, this can be problematic in some years: if all of the non-working holidays fall on weekdays (as they sometimes do), an observant Jew would need to take 13 days off of work just to observe holidays. This is more vacation time that some people have available. But don't get me wrong - sometimes this came in handy. We got to take the regular national holidays as well as the important Jewish holidays off from work!

(Heh-heh-heh)

**********

So let's start with Hanukah, since it is coming at us faster than a bunch of jews lined up in front of the Two for One Sansibelt sale at Jacks for Slacks in Boca Del Vista .....(self-deprecating jew joke) - Contrary to popular sitcom folklore, we don't all move to Florida (a.k.a. God's Waiting Room ) when we retire, and suddenly wear polyester stretchy pants. We don't all talk like Seinfeld's parents, suddenly find orange an attractive hair color, and play mah jong. Well, some of us don't anyway. ( although I do fear it's a genetic predisposition..)

Anyway - Hanukah, also known as the Festival of Lights, is a holiday to commemorate the rededication of the Temple desecrated by the Greeks in ancient Syria a wicked long time ago. According to the story - when the Greeks , led by Antiochus and his hoard of Greek guys blew into town, they oppressed the Jews ( oy, vat else is new?) by trashing their 'hood, prevented them from practicing their religion - and even sacrificed pigs in their Temple.

Now- a Jew named Judah Maccabee didn't like those Greeks gettin' jiggy with the piggy in his house - got together with his boyz and decided it was time for the 'throwdown'! The Jew crew defeated the Greeks and it was a mitzvah.

But, when it was time for the rededication of the Temple, legend has it that there was not enough oil to light the menorah , or candelabrum, which was supposed to burn throughout the day and night. Miraculously - the little they had lasted 8 days and 8 nights. (such a deal-and you know how we jews like a good deal!) Hanukah celebrates that miracle of the lights, not the victory over the Greeks. We're a peace loving people y'all.

Most people know Hanukah, not because of its religious significance (it really isn't that religiously significant to begin with) , but because of its proximity to Christmas. In fact, the only religious ceremony is the lighting of the menorah itself. The whole gift giving thing is a relatively modern answer to the Christmas tradtion of gift giving. (can you say 'jealous much'?) And while all of you out there need additional square footage or another garage just for the boxes of ornaments, the prestrung Martha Steward artificial spruce and the inflatable Rudolph and Frosty yard snowglobe...we get to go into the cabinet over the fridge (that is reserved for stuff you don't use because you can't reach it) pull out our menorah (and we usually have two or three homemade firetraps from preschool) and a box of candles- and maybe a little dreidle ; a game whereby contestants spin a square wooden top to win some (really gross tasting) chocolate coins a.k.a. Hanukah gelt.

Sounds festive doesn't it? We might even get crazy and fry up some Latkes (potato pancakes) - and this year, because we've been very, very good...we'll serve those with applesauce and sour cream! Wheeee!

On the first night of Hanukah around here - after we've lit the 1st candle on the Menorah, opened one present ('cuz we have 8 frickin' nights of this my friends) ..my kids like to put on their jammies...watch the Burl Ive's claymation classic of...(uh, not for us) hop in the car (sans carseats and seatbelts)... pop our favorite carols into the c.d. player- (no wait, we don't have any of those.)..and drive around the 'hood checkin' out Christmas junk, er um , sorry - I mean decorations! ***

So there you have it. 2000 years of history and tradition as interpreted by your favorite (or perhaps your only) cyber Jew! If you think Hanukah was fun...just wait until springtime for the interpretive dance of the Pascal lamb and the Matzoh!

* n.j. stands for non-jew
**much of this post was stolen..er, um adapted from the site Judiasm 101. and/or wikipedia.
***and no it's not okay to have a tree or lights or decor when you don't celebrate Christmas people. Blue and white lights hanging from your eaves and mailbox do not mean Hanukah. If you put up lights and junk, how will Hanukah Joe know where the Jews live? How would he know whose sliding glass doors are open so he can sneak in and leave some gelt and a dreidle under the pillows of good little kinderlach? Huh? I guess he could wait until Christmas Eve, and just got to the local Chinese restaurant and movie theaters. Because that's what Jews do on Christmas Eve. Gotta Represent.

Oh yeah- and let's send a Chchchchchchappy (summon up all 'yer phlegm folks, we are a very phlegmy people- what , with all those years of walking in the desert and all) Hanukah to everyone no matter what your affilliation is! 'Tis the Season, right?

The One In Which Rob Petrie Ruined It For Swirl Girl

2009-12-03T09:33:00.000-08:00

Remember the opening sequence of The Dick Van Dyke Show*? When the dashing Rob Petrie comes in the front door and is greeted by the ever-loving wife Laura (my all time favorite Mary Tyler Moore, BTW) and she's wearing a fabulous A-line skirt , little apron, form fitting black top and kitten heels? If memory serves, she had oven -mitts on and was holding a casserole in one hand and a martini in the other. And Richie (Larry Mathews), their too cute for words young son, who has like his pipe and slippers and his report card in his hand...All hugs and smiles and kisses and "how was your day Dears?" Richie asks Daddy "Whatdja bring me, today?" and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something innocuous like a paper clip and Richie is all "ooh wow!" and then Rob trips over the ottoman .... {{roll opening credits }}

Well..."Oh Ro-oh-oh-ohb"...you ruined it everything for me.

Unlike my idol - Laura Petrie...I don't wake up in the morning looking all fabulous. In fact, I wake up looking more like Buddy Sorrel (Morey Amsterdam) and sounding more like Sally Rogers (Rose Marie) ...just ask my kids. In fact, I just don't wake up happy. If I don't sleep well, I wake up foul. I kind of know the rest of my day is going to suck when the first words out of my mouth aren't "Good Morning, darlings!"

Case it point: The other night at like 3:20 a.m. the phone rings and it is the Security detail in the 'hood calling to tell me the garage door was open. Of course, the phone is near my head...so I answer in a split second and it wakes me out of the 'forced-hot-air-slumber' that I so lovingly relish. I have to go downstairs and shut the garage door. Of course they call at 3:20 a.m. even though they drive around every 20 minutes and have every opportunity to call at a human hour. I guess they figure if they have to be up ...I should too.

Security Dude: "Good evening , ma'am..our security detail noticed that your garage door was open"

Me: "fuckshitgoddamgaragedoorassholeforleavingitopenagainGrrrrr"

So I get out of bed all loud and jumpy and cursy hoping to wake Hubby (and it would, were it not for our Ortho tempurpedic $3000 mattress that you can drop a bowling ball down on one side and not spill the wine glass on the other) and go down and shut the frickin' door. Sure it only took a second, but then I struggle a bit to go back to sleep just knowing I'll wake up with a dull headache or something.

6:30 a.m. rolls around and this is how I wake.

Hubby: "See ya babe"

Me: " Yourfuckingleaving?Now?" (swear to god this is an exact quote)

Oh, it's going to be a banner day here in the Swirl Girl's World...oh yeah. I do everything I have to do with a little piece of paper and a pen handy so I can record the 'shit that is today' and hopefully find time to Blog about it

Such as :

hey dental hygienist...why do you insist on asking me questions when my mouth is full of your frickin' latex gloved fists?

and

hey - it's called a drive thru teller 'cuz your supposed to frickin' DRIVE THROUGH it. Not stand there and contemplate your frickin' naval.

and

hey- dude in the car next to me at the red light ...could at least PRETEND not to drink down that Pabst Blue Effin' Ribbon in the time it takes for the light to change before getting on the freeway?

...If you're still with me - and are wondering why I blame Rob Petrie for my crappy 'tude?? Hang on there for cripes sake...I'm getting to it.

Later in the day, Hubby and I are texting (on my new toy - the Droid, the dumbest name for a phone and will henceforth be called Erma) and he texts "sorry about last night". I text "don't come in the front door". He texts "I like using the front door".

He gets all caught up in his Rob Petrie moment.

The girls hear the turn of the key and drop everything and run up to him and jump all over him and are all "Squeeeeee! Daddy's home!! "

(that was for Lee of MWOB) and of course I am NOT in wearing a fabulous A Line skirt and kitten heals . And I am NOT wearing oven mitts holding a casserole in one hand and a martini in the other. Sorry to blow your karma dude. I am in stretchy pants and a dirty tshirt. A true Domestic Goddess. Barely showered myself much less the kids. Busily making dinner and wiping the splatters off the wall. Yeah, dude - I got your slippers and pipe right here.

So I decide to make him a little note to tape by the front door. Like the one my wonderful dad used to have by the door that led from the garage to the house. In his younger days it said :

Did you remember to?

Wallet

Glasses

Keys

But later in his life it said:

Did you remember to?

turn off the engine?

keys

zip your fly

The little note I tape to the front door says:

Who do you think you are...Rob Petrie? Shut the frickin' garage door.

*thanks Imdb.com for letting me 'borrow' these images and information

The One In Which She Says "Happy Things-giving!"

2009-11-24T11:09:00.000-08:00

Happy Things-giving everyone! What say you, Swirl Girl? Things-giving?

I know this is the time of year when we should all be thankful for our bountiful feast, health, family.....yada, yada, yada. But let's be real here. Aside from those things, today many of you are probably staking out the parking lot at YourLocalBigBox store to find the best parking spot and planning your strategy for conquering the masses so you can save big money on big ticket items like ~~these frickin' things~~ Zhu Zhu Pets (please, if you love me...don't) or the stupidest gift idea of 2009 (according to Dave Barry of the Miami Herald). Quite frankly, I cringe (read: enjoy and shudder because it is not now nor will it never be me!) watching the news roundups over the weekend seeing who got trampled , robbed, wig-ripped, beaten, and ripped off waiting for the doors to open at half past still-dark-thirty in the morning. My advice is to stay home and do your shopping from the comfort of your laptop. That's what I plan to do. Stay connected and unharmed.

If you have time between the basting and gorging - I wrote this little acrostic for my favorite holiday of all Things-Giving. The day when we celebrate all the Things in our lives.

Turkey is much better when enjoyed directly from the carcass (after cooking of course) and it is also a known fact that if you eat standing up - you don't gain weight. I like to pick,pick,pick the bits of crispy skin and turkey meat off the bone before the platter hits the table. Hubby and I fight over who gets the crispiest skin off the 'tushie' of the turkey (note to self: just realized it doesn't do much for me in the class and elegance department when I just told ~~a gazillion~~ all 16.5 of you people that my Hubby and I fight over who gets more ass). I also look daintier because I don't fill my plate as much.

Having leftovers is as much fun as having 18 people for the meal. And Friday afternoon SavvySassy mom and her family are coming over to enjoy turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey hash, turkey pie, turkey ice cream (okay, just checking to see if you're still paying attention)!

I learned that I could never have been a Squaw. Schlepping babies in papooses and all that getting in and out of the tee-pee wreaks havoc on my knees. (see picture above- which was snapped right before I let out a gigantic 'Oy-Vey' and had to use two 5 year olds to pull me off the floor once again illustrating why I should not wear skinny jeans, no matter how perfect the GAP says they are. They are 'standing up pants', ladies -much in the same way we all have 'sitting down shoes' and 'out shirts'...who's with me on this?)

New phone arriving any minute. I am getting the new Droid from Motorola. It's my first smart-phone. I barely use my cell phone now because it doesn't do anything but barely ring. I'm going big time social media.

'Go My Son is a song the Kindergarteners performed this morning...sure to clear your sinus cavities and schmear your make-up. (see video below- just in case you were wondering, she's the blond-double-braided- cutey-patootie-native-American in the middle row almost center)

Stupidest name for a phone ever. Droid. Dear Motorola - if you want women to buy it...find a new name for it. (note to self: just realized that I sort of just called myself 'not a woman' by insinuating that women won't buy the Droid which I previously just told you I did. The sheer fact that I made that very run-on sentence in this very run-on post would prove that I am indeed 'very' woman)

Girls rock. 'Nuf said. Thanks for giving me them.

I am so incredibly proud of my Emily Rose who submitted a short poem in the National PTA Reflections program. She received a Certificate of Commendation (only the 10 best submissions per category receive this in our District) for her efforts and while she does not move up the ladder to the next level of judging - she congratulated the girl who did . The theme of this year's program that celebrates the woefully under- funded Arts in our public schools was Beauty Is....and my daughter is surely beautiful!

Volunteering is supposed to make you feel validated that you are contributing to your community. If that is the case, why don't I feel that way? I am wiped out without benefits.

I still miss my wonderful dad (R.I.P. Poppy) who's favorite holiday ever was Thanksgiving. I'll bawl my eyes out when I dig into that pecan pie (his favorite). I wish he were here for my kids. (mostly for me). So much has happened in the nearly two years since you passed away. Some of it crappy - but so much of it was wonderful. I think of you daily, Daddy.

Nothing beats waking up Thursday morning with the smells of Thanksgiving wafting under your bedroom door. The best part? Tuning in to the Macy's parade and getting back into your bed for a while.

Give a little something to someone else this season. Sign up at SpiritJump.org to be a jumper and lift the spirits of someone battling cancer.

The One with (Massage) Envy , Lust and Gluttony, ...and the rest 'Here on Gilligan's Isle"

2009-11-17T12:15:00.001-08:00

Forgive me ...for I have sinned. And it took me almost two weeks to committ the deadly seven.

The other day, my sisterbestfriend was in town and we went for a massage (Envy). I know it sounds decadent , but I've had a gift certificate for this for almost a year(Sloth) and haven't used it. So the guy that was 'doing' me had these beefy arms and a very firm grip. What I discovered is that I really don't like massages. I don't like people. Touching me. (purposeful puntuation) Anyway - I get all 'undressed to "my level of comfort" which to me means 'nekkid with undies, and lay down on the table under the warm blanket. Put my face in the hole and wait for him to start. I suddenly become acutely aware of the sound his arms and hands make on the cotton sheet. Then I start thinking about the mind-numbingly annoying meditative music playing in the room (when was the last time you enjoyed a good zither and the lute medley for a frickin' hour??) I can't relax. He's kneading me ...hard with his warm lotioned hands and I am abashedly a bit turned on by that (Lust) All the while I hear his arms 'swishing' on the sheets and it starts to sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then I start thinking about what is going on in his mind. And how many clients he kneads a day. Eww. Next to a Brazilian waxer - I think to myself how gross it must be a massage therapist. Touching people's privates and hairy, dry skin (not my own of course, okay- maybe the dry skin and hairy legs part ) - I can't wait for this to be over. Whew! The hour is up and I get to leave! I come home and hours later my back and neck are killing me and bruised. Note to self: give balance of gift card to Hubby and remind him he's lucky that I am so low maintanance and ~~if he really knew me - he would know that I frickin' hate massages and why did he give me that gift in the first place?~~ thank him for the thoughtful expression.

Wrath: This one is easy. I do it every day. Just ask my kids. I actually yelled at my daughter for needing to do a homework project with pictures she needed off the internet while I was Tweeting and Facebooking and Emailing and checking out new smartphones (Avarice) and Jeez! Interrupting my 'me time'. Jeez!

Today marks the end of the trimester grading period at school. My kids are terrific students . I was talking to my Aunt the other day telling her what great kids my girls are and she said something to the effect of "not like their mother" and I was all "whu? I was a great student and a goody two shoes ...don't you remember?" getting all harumphy on her. "You are obviously confusing me with sisterbestfriend" (Pride). I was actually pissed that my 79 year old Aunt forgot that I graduated High School in my junior year and am a college graduate. Which reminds me of a great line from "30 Rock" that Hubby and I are probably the only people who actually watch and laugh our assess off. Anyway, one of the characters on the show said (when given an option of something that wasn't helpful) said "That is about as useless as a Mom's college degree" which got me all pissy because there is some truth to that. (Wrath again)

The Gluttony can wait until next week ...Thanksgiving menu is planned. 17 coming over. I am looking forward to the leftovers as much as the dinner. And the ~~four bottles~~ of Pinot Noir I am going to enjoy while preparing my most favorite meal of the year.

So tell me, what does a Jewish someone do who has confessed their sins to their bloggy friends? ~~Drink~~ Say 4 ~~Bloody~~ Hail Mary's and call you in the morning?? Is Guilt a mortal sin? And if not - why? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Oh- and I am now on Twitter. Follow me @Swirlgirlspearl . (leave the 's' off for savings)
( I seriously need a Twit-torial ...something for the dim-Twit-witted. Is there a book called Tweeting for Dummies? If not, great idea for a book, right?)

The One in Which She Finally Gets Hello Kitty

2009-11-10T17:30:00.000-08:00

Two little girls sitting on a wall.
There to catch each other should the other one fall.

New friends are hard to make

when both of them are sweet and pretty...

But they found a common ground...
they both love Hello Kitty!

Thanks to Andrea of Savvy Sassy Moms for the use of her daughter in this
Wordful Wednesday post (sponsored by Angie of Seven Clown Circus! )

Have a great day!

And Now For Something Completely Different

2009-11-06T00:00:00.000-08:00

Today I am guest posting at Mom's Without Blogs...and it's not the usual sunshine and unicorn stuff I usually write about.

Here's a preview : (turn up your sound, don't skip this video...it's the shizzle)

Pretty heady shit, huh? We I need to recognize that while our kids are just kids...they hear every thing we say and do - and it does affect them.

Go over to Mom's Without Blogs and get the rest of the story....then next time I post, I promise it'll be all rainbows and lollipop lovey-dovey rubby bum-bum you're used to seeing from me. {snark, snark}

The One With the Obligatory Post- Halloween Post**

2009-11-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

I Vant To Suck Your Blood

True to form - my girls did it up. I know this because contrary to all I've griped about this past week ...we hauled in some major booty. And, after the ~~sneaking the best bites for myself~~

careful sorting - ever on patrol for the errant razor blade or open wrapper-I'm hauling around some extra booty in my booty. If anyone has found a Charleston Chew...which they won't 'cuz they don't seem to make them anymore...you can send it right over here.

And as for the band of marauding teens who smashed pumpkins and stole the entire "help yourself" bowl of candy? You just wait kids...pay back is a bitch. You too, someday, will have brats not unlike yourselves. Can't wait for that.

And as for the houses in the 'hood that dole out candy for the little ones and adult beverages for the parents! Kudo's to YOU!!!! (even though I had my own little party in the wagon)

Our school is collecting extra candy for Manna Food Bank. I brought in a Lawn and Leaf bag full of it this morning. I am not all heartless, you know.

What are you doing with yours?? Besides the obvious, that is.

***********

In other news, Emily and I went shopping yesterday for intimate apparell. For. Her. Oy vey.

Rachel asked me if I was getting 'real bubble holders' like the kind I wear or little cami's like Emily usually wears. She just about busted a seam cracking up when I told her we were getting the real deal. I promised Ray Ray, when her day comes - we'll go shopping just the two of us, too. It was a good time for Emily to have our bonding moment. And our monthly "Women's Business Time" chat.

Hormones suck. Hers. Mine. and Ours.

**edited a few hours later . Alternative title to this post is The One in Which She Knows She's Old Because Her Favorite Candy is Considered Retro. So I added a link to Wikipedia for all you youngin's to see what you've been missing.

***edited a few hours after that....I just had a flash, and not a hot one this time! Well maybe it started out as a hot flash, but something brought me here: to a memory flash of maybe just why I dislike Halloween and all things pumpkin.

4th grade...World Festival. We all had to choose a country and write up a report about it, convert our desks into a 'market' stall and display wares from that country. We also had to create a popular food or export to serve to the class and all the classes that paraded through our little United Nations of countries. I was absent for some reason on the day we chose countries. I got Venezuela, the country that nobody wanted. Sure it had Angel Falls - the world's tallest waterfall - and Simon Bolivar but other than drawing a picture of it, that was all I could find. And back in those days, we relied on our trusty Encyclopedia Britannica to get our informaiton. No Google searching. No FoodNetwork.com. No information superhighway. No instant gratification. Just me and the last volume of the encyclopedia and maybe, if I was lucky - our elementary school library had something on microfilm about Venezuela.

So picture the double classroom of desks that were turned into a wending maze of nations and little old me down at the end stuck next to Zaire and the eraser cleaning machine. By the time people got to Venezuela, they had already been treated to crepes, and salsas, and french fries, and sweet treats from around the globe. Hell, they even liked the borcht from Russia and the lutafisk from Sweden. And right before my lame desk of all things Venezuela - the students and faculty got to sample apple pie from the good ol' US of A. And they get to me...and I have this huge pot on my desk under a rather lame albeit colorful depiction of the export map of Venezuela . A huge somewhat chunky pot of ...pumpkin soup. If I started the day with a crock pot full of this junk, I ended with day with a crock pot minus about a teaspoon of this junk. Then, at the end of the day, I slunk down in my seat and managed to pull that big crock pot of this junk off my desk and onto....my lap. Ick. Just ick. Orange ick.

that explains it. stained for life.

Boo-Humbug

2009-10-30T11:06:00.000-07:00

Twas the night before Boo-day and all through the house

not a creature was stirring, 'cuz Mommy's a louse.

The costumes were chosen with the greatest of care

but Mommy refuses to spray paint their hair.

No pumpkin was carved, no decor to be found

Mommy sucks, there's no candy around!

For Kindergarten, the little ones parade around school,

and Mommy wasn't there to film it - the fool.

You see - Halloween's not my thing. Nor are most Holidays.

I show my affection in much different ways.

I buy candy just before the hour falls

icky things I don't like, like Cabbage Patch Sour Balls.

I'd just as soon give them candy - 'cuz I'm lazy

and save all the effort of door -to-door knockin - You must think I'm crazy!

Is it wrong that we'll travel with wagon behind?

Not for them, but for me - to carry the wine!!

************

Be safe !

(this is my lame effort to participate in Eat , Drink and Be Scary sponsored by Angie of Seven Clown Circus and Better in Bulk - I wanna win the FLIP video camera)

The One In Which She is The Scariest Mommy

2009-10-19T11:58:00.001-07:00

***10/22/09 A hat trick (that's hockey lingo meaning 3 of something for some reason that is beyond me. In any case, Hubby would be proud) Who woulda thought I could write one post and have it apply to so many topics! This latest edit has been brought to you by Mama Kat, of Mama's Losin It and her weekly writers workshop. This week, we were prompted to write about Motherhood. Read on.....

**edited 10/21/09 So I am doing double duty with this post- Angie of Seven Clown Circus asked us to write about Motherhood. This post is applicable ...

******

So Jill over at Scary Mommy is having this little contest...to find out just who is the Scariest Mommy of them all. I can say with all honesty that I have this one in the bag. I am proud to be a card carrying Scary Mommy and will wear that badge with honor.

What makes me scary?? If you've been here before - you probably know already. It's not that I laugh at my kids when they get hurt or fall down (which I do sometimes). It's not that I didn't breast feed because of purely selfish reasons even though it may have been the best thing for my children (yup, I sucked..but they didn't). It's not that I have used television as a babysitter for many years and still allow those airwaves to suck the brain cells from my kids one by one (if you haven't done this - you lie). It's not that when I get a call from the school nurse that one of my children isn't feeling well and threw up, the first question I ask is "Is it chunks or what??" (cuz if it's not chunks, they're fine and should stay at school). And, it's not the yelling ...(oh the yelling) While all of these these may make me a crappy mom - they don't qualify me as a Scary Mommy.

What makes me a Scary Mommy is what makes me scared. I spent the better part of my life hiding in my cacoon; afraid to approach and putting up a wall (couched in humorous observation...hhhmmmm) in order not to be approached. What scares me is that my two daughters will have to go through the same self-consciousness, and self-doubt that I experience even to this day. What scares me is that my girls will wait for happiness instead of being happy. What scares me is that they may allow their fears to color the fabric of their being instead of whipping out the crayola and going full-on into the wash.

I just spent a fabulous weekend with a group of FABULOUS strong , smart, wonderul people {air kisses you all!} who don't know the Scary me. I spent the weekend getting to know the FABULOUS strong, wonderful, smart wonderul women and listening to their stories and for a short time (okay, about 3 days) felt very validated. I learned to always be true to myself - to stay authentic. What scares me is that my children will wait until they are 45+ years old to learn that lesson. What scares me is that my gorgeous daughters have the propensity, at this point in their lives , to swing either way on that pendulum...and what scares me is that I doubt my ability to effect it's momentum.

What scares me is that they will be exactly like me. If that doesn't scare the bejeezus out of you...you're not a Scary mommy, and I am jealous.

The One In Which She Longs For Fifth Grade

2009-10-12T14:55:00.001-07:00

This is what our typical dinner banter consists of:

The little one: "I played with Angie at recess and at lunch - I ate only 1/2 of my semi healthy twisted fruit snack thingy you got at Whole Foods because I saw a rolly-polly bug on the sidewalk and tried to save it from being squished by some smelly boys. And next time? Next time - can I tell you what kind of sammich I want to have because I like bologna sammiches with cheese and lettuce. Oh, and I learned the letter of the day was Q.. Queenie Quail - - kwa, kwa, kwa. And I can't remember the rest although someone brought in a real live dead skeleton and did you know that cartiledge is not bones but not flesh? And did you know that mama whales have nipples that feed their babies from ? Had you ever seen a whale boobie , mom? "

The big one: { blink, blink}.

Me and Hubby: "So, Em - how was your day. What did you learn today?"

She should be ready for this by now. 180 days a year for the past 5 years....we've done the same thing. You can just sense her squirming to come up with something academically significant.

The big one: "Well, I went into class. I hung my backpack up on the hook. We switched desks today. And I got a jolly rancher for turning in my field trip permission slip."

Me and Hubby: {blink, blink}
********************

{{flashback to suburbia circa 1975- when a 'Nut Free' lunch table at school actually meant that just girls sat there.}}

If you asked me, 5th grade was the best. A most influential year for me education-wise, I had the best teacher I have ever had in my 17 year educational career in 5th grade. Jack Sughrue - he was a huge Beatles fan and would blast every Beatles album ever made on the reel t0 reel player. We made our own cribbage boards (out of real wood , and I mean we sanded and stained them and pounded nails into them to make the holes) and played tournaments to learn math and strategy. We wrote screenplays and made 8mm full length films. He read us the entire Chronicles of Narnia...out loud and with different voices and mood lighting. He was the most influential teacher I have ever had in my life - and I've had some great teachers. He was someone who made learning and the thirst for knowledge COOL. And on rainy days (and there were many in Massachusetts) we'd receive visits from "spirits of the great poets," who were kids under sheets reading poetry with flashlights. And the guy would 4-square your DOORS off. I loved his class.

He had the ubiquitous Mr . Rodgers' sweater with the suede elbow patches and sported a cheezy porn star moustache and had wildy crazy hippy hair. We learned so much, but we didn't know we were learning. I remember telling my {wonderful} dad that I was not going to be ready for 6th grade. We hadn't done anything in 5th grade!! Boy was I wrong. 6th grade teachers loved having Mr. Shugrue's former students. We were critical thinkers at the tender age of 12. He made us that way.

In fact, when I was a sophmore in High School, I went back to my 5th grade class and was his student teacher. And I didn't just do it for the extra credit . Okay, maybe it was a little bit for the two day a week early release - but really I went back to him to let him know how much I had learned from him. In December of 1980, I accompanied Jack Sughrue and his then 5th grade class on a museum field trip. He and I sat in first seat on the school bus. True to form, the Beatles were playing on the static-y radio station. Then we heard it. We heard from the deejay that John Lennon had been gunned down. I felt Mr. Shugrue's body tense against the naugahyde seat cover. He squeezed my hand and made no effort to hold back the tears. Wow. Since I am old, but not that old - this was my 'where were you when Kennedy was shot' moment. Indelibly engrained on my mind...not unlike when Nixon resigned, when Luke and Laura got married, when the hostages were freed from Iran, 9/11...

I don't know why I am thinking about him so much today. So much so that all these years later - I just did a Google search for him. I went to classmates.com and facebook to look for him. Maybe I'm just all nostalgic because my daughter is in 5th grade and I long for her to have a teacher who will be as memorable and important to her as Mr. Sugh rue was to me.

And maybe I am bringing this all up because I remember the conversations at my 1975 dinner table with my family. And just hoping that some tomorrow night from now...Emily will come to me to tell me that she's not ready for 6th grade because she had too much fun in 5th grade to have ever learned anything.

And I'll start humming 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' and smile.

Today's Post is Brought To You By The Number 14

2009-10-07T17:03:00.000-07:00

...because today is my 14th wedding anniversary. And while I love my Hubby loads, and all - I am too tired to write a new glowing tribute to the man. And, I am kind of bummed that I wrote this one last year at the same time while Hubby and I were on vacation. In Hawaii. Without the children. Alone. {sigh}

Hence the rerun post. Still a good one though. Happy 14th Dootie ;)

***********************

Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The One Where Sally Met Her Harry.....

* A note from Swirl Girl: While you are all no doubt reading this with baited breath - to see what little pearls of joy I am about to unleash upon all of you...Hubby and I are, no doubt, elbow deep in some frothy tropical beverage on the island of Kauai celebrating a much needed real live vacation and our 13th Anniversary. Aloha!

---------------------------------
I went to summer camp in New Hampshire for practically every summer as a kid until I was 14 years old. Overnite camp - for one or two months. That is what we did back east. That is what everyone did back east.

Anyway - back in the summer of 1972, I was a mere 6 years old and went to this sleep away camp. It was really a great experience with all the trappings that summer camp had to offer.
I met a boy named David Goldstein. He was a much older boy. Maybe 7 or 8. His older brother was named Steven and he was there to. Steven had this distinct , almost broadcaster type of voice with the ever slightest whistley sound when he said his 'esses'. Very distincive.

Well, that David was what I would call my first boyfriend. We sat together at the Saturday night movies in the rec hall, holding hands and sharing a pillow as we lay on the cold concrete floor. (they actually showed Wait Until Dark and The Birds to a bunch of kids!) I chased and caught him on Sadie Hawkins day and he danced with me all night long . He sat patiently while I auditioned for a part in the Junior dance show. We danced at Prom, and sent little paper candle boats out onto the lake on the last night of camp after the banquet. This David was from a town not too far from where I lived. All winter we would write notes to each other. He would sign his name and then write Shalom in hebrew letters , enclosing a few chocolate pennies in each wet, sloppy envelope.

That David and I were camp boyfriend and girlfriend for many summers after that. And, then I stopped going to camp. Eventually the letters stopped coming. Life went on.

Fast forward to 1984, when I was in college, I had a summer job as a plant tender for a company named Baugh Haus (don't you just love that name?). I would go from office to office on my appointed route and water, trim, shine and care for the office plants. I met a lot of interesting people. One day , in an office in Newton , MA - I heard a voice. There was ever the slightest
whistley sound when this very distinct voice was speaking. I looked at the name plate and it was him - that David's brother Steven! We spoke for a while catching up. That David had gone out west to pursue his life ...blah, blah, blah.

Fast forward to summer 1991. I had moved to Florida a few year prior. Livin' off my parents and working in a bar and having waaaay too much fun. ( and since my mom reads this and is at my home taking care of my kids - let's just leave the waaaaay too much fun part at that - 'kay?) I finally got a real job working for a wine and liquor distributor and had to call on my first account. It was a total disaster. The General Manager of this mall restaurant hated my company and the previous sales rep and my supervisor. Great first day on the job. I hated this guy and he was a total dick to me. He practically threw me out. Thank god my boss who was, BTW, also a total dick, made me go back in and get an order from this guy. I did. And it was a good thing I did. Within a few weeks, I had secured the no-name well brand liquor, the entire wine list, and had sold this guy on a series of very successful money making promotions (there was one particular promotion involving butterscotch pudding and JB scotch shooter if you can imagine- but again, my mom reads this....). We soon became fast friends. I sort of set up shop in his tiny office. In those days, we actually used telephones to patch our orders into the big computers at the distributor. I would start the week with a roll of quarters and use pay phones. It saved me time and money to use this guys little office, plus he fed me while I was there. It was just assumed by all of his employees that we were going out. It was that comfortable.

We did everything together outside of work. I met his brother Steven who lives in NYC and all of his friends. We were best friends. We each would share each other dating horror stories. He came to my parents place for all the holidays. Everyone would ask about us and our answer was 'we are just friends'. My sister even said "you're gonna marry that guy" one night while partying at his bar. I said, "no way we are just friends, best of friends."

Fast forward to summer 1992. Hurricane Andrew swept south Florida with devastating results. We camped out together. Surveyed the damage the next day. Right after the hurricane, he lost his job at the restaurant and spent several weeks borrowing on his years in the restaurant business. He gathered donations of food , ice, water, sanitary supplies and a truck and made umpteen trips to the storm territories. We had no cell phones in those days...so when he went down south of Miami , into the National Gaurd territory - it was scary. But I was so proud of his selflessness.

Fast forward a few months. He gets a job working for Kenny Rogers Roasters (remember the Sienfeld episode with the neon sign??) He was in field operations and travelled non-stop for about 3 months. Again, no cell phones. No day to day contact. I missed my best friend. When he finally came back we went to dinner and realized that we were more than just best friends. Neither of us wanted to go another day without knowing where the other one was or what the other one was doing. And, just like in the movie - we started 'dating' ...right there on my apartment couch.

Fast forward about a year... everyone of his friends told him that it was time to shit or get off the pot. We had been dating for a long time already and where was it going? "She's not going to wait around forever" "Don't let this one go, dude" "She's your best friend and can drink like a guy! How much more perfect can she be?" (adapting reality for the dramatic here) In other words, dude - take the plunge.

So- just like in the movie...he ran 14 blocks to meet me on New Year's Eve to tell me he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me...oh wait, that was the movie...

This David Goldstein (whose brother Steven does not have a whistley sound when he says his 'esses') proposed to me while I was getting my nails done with champagne and flowers and a beautiful ring! I was surprised. Nobody else was.

Everyone but the two of us knew we were kindred spirits. If you believe that some people were meant to be - that would be us. There are so many sort of 'no way' or ' you are kidding me ' moments in our lives. Here's a few:

It turns out that his stepfather and my Aunt were 'sandbox sweethearts' . They have known each other for over 60 years and speak to each other every birthday. Still.

Our grandma's were in the same sewing circle or something like that, back in New Jersey -back in the day.

His cousin was best man at my cousin's wedding. His Providence R.I. relatives are friends with my Providence R.I. relatives. Still.

- and let's not forget the whole that David Goldstein with whistley brother Steven and this David Goldstein with non-whistley brother Steven first boyfriend thing.

Call it fate, kismet, magical, mystical or spiritual - tonight marks our 13th year married.

Who said 13 was an unlucky number?

Certainly not this Sally. So I tap you on the shoulder and ask you this question:

Wanna do it again for another week, Harry?
Happy Anniversary, dude.
Aloha and I Love You.

The One In Which There is Abundance of Self-Deprecating Humor

2009-10-03T20:30:00.000-07:00

We all do it, don't we? Come on, you know you do it. And if you are sitting there saying you don't ever do it, you're lying. I can't get through a day without it. Ah, who am I kidding - I can barely get through a post without doing it.

Self -Deprecating humor {thought I was going in a completely other direction there for a moment, huh?}...and when I do it - it's okay. Making fun of myself has long been an intricate part of my psyche. I, like many, use this kind of 'poke fun at oneself' humor as an ice breaker. I use it to make people laugh. I use snarcasm and wit to deflect. I like people to think I am funny. But, sometimes I forget 'who's in the room' when I let shit fly out of my mouth. My children have become so used to hearing my little sayings and jokes (read: curse words and snark) that they have become part and parcel of what they define as Mommy.

The thing is, when they repeat this stuff -it ceases to be self-deprecating humor since it is no longer the self doing the deprecating.

Like just this past Friday, what the 10 year old said while on line at the Frozen Juice Bars at school . Someone had a coconut juice bar (just ewww) they were trying to push . I was all , "No , I'll pass on the coconut juice. But if you have a Frito flavored one back there..." trying to make a joke since what I really wanted was the whole box of Really Bad For You Fudgie Pops that was purchased accidentally and they stick in the back of the freezer. Emily says "Yeah, mom is a total grease and salt junkie. Once, when she was in Rehab -she was totally jonesing for was a bag of chips."

{crickets...from the other PTA mommies standing with their kids on the All Natural , Organic, and, Whenever Possible-Tree Nut and Gluten Free Frozen Friday Treat line}

"Ha , ha (read: totally nervous titter..) Ha, ha...What she meant to say was when I was rehabilitating from surgery ...I was given a institutional size bag of chips as a Get Well gift by a friend who was told (by my children, BTW) when asked "what does mommy like to do?" that mommy's favorite food group is the To's group ..Chee, Fri, Dori and Pota and hence the joke. Not rehab...Ha, ha. Not that there's anything wrong with that...."

{more crickets...and sensing dissolution of PTA By-Laws naming me as President of the PTA and chair person of the Just Say No to Junk in My Lunchbox program we're running )

The thing is, the other part of the joy of self-deprecating humor is that it needs no explanation. So when an explanation of the joke follows...it again ceases to be self- deprecating humor since it is no longer humorous.

I forget. My kids neeed to be reminded that what we talk about around the house is our business and shouldn't be repeated. Okay? So maybe I need to wait a few more years for that . Snark is a hard habit to break. And just now I am listening to Emily telling her friend's mom that she " is starting to look more and more like my mom as I get older. She tells everyone that I have a horseface (read: long and oval shaped- which I do . And, no, I don't describe her as a horseface - but I have been known to call myself a horseface every now and then especially when trying on sunglasses or hats which just look terrible on my big foreheaded horsey-face =-)** now that I'm going through pre-puberty." Oh crap-bloody-tastic. "C'mon Em - gotta go! The liquor store is getting their gift with purchase holiday displays delivered this week! If we hurry, I can complete that set of Jaegermeister and Red Bull snow globes I've been trying for!!"

{{ even more crickets and the sounds of ink to paper scratching out titles of positive self -image websites and parenting guides }}

That and the fact that we;re having soup and salad (read: a dry martini with extra olives) instead of dinner tonight.

When in ~~rehab~~ Rome.....

**see? It's just not funny when you have to explain.

The One In Which She Helps A Brother Out

2009-10-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

...and his daughter.

This post is Swirl Girl Lite - no snark, no cynicism. You may see this little button floating around the blogosphere today. Read on:

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

This is their story:
*************************

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at http://www.curejm.org/.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

********************
Most of us are blessed with healthy children. And while they (thankfully) may drive us batty sometimes, it is because they can - and that's a good thing.

I know I said no snark - but I just can't help myself. Kevin told me that if I didn't post this , that he would post naked pictures of me and all my bloggy friends on the internet. That would surely drive people away from his cause, not reign them in.

So I am tryin' to help a brother out.

The One In Which If One More Person Asks Me What I Do With All My Free Time, I'm Going To Seriously Hurt Them

2009-09-16T17:01:00.001-07:00

...because I am so tired of hearing that.

Forgive me Bloggy friends - it has been well over a week since my last ~~confession~~ blog post. I have been so busy with Presidenting the- underappreciated -all -volunteer- non- paying- position lately that I barely have time to visit other blogs much less actually write -something -coherent- and- mildly amusing. I know I am supposed to say something politically correct like ..."it is so rewarding" or some shit like that - but it isn't. I am wiped.

Time for a quickie here:

My kids are so damned cute it slays me. And what better way to appreciate your own children than by hanging out with other peoples' ~~animals~~ kids.

Examples of adorable-ness: The little one is quite the artist. The other day, she was drawing flowers. I said "Whatcha doin?" She says {duh} "I am drawing flowers mom. See? This one's a tulip. And this one's a threelips and a fourlips (no visual necessary - I think you get it)

We're watching some dance show on tv...she is watching the dancers go 'round and 'round slowly and she's counting "One, two, three - one,two,three ...Man, the waltz is a very dizzy dance!"

I also love the fact that my eldest unmarried daughter has to clean doo-doo from the Dragon's cage. I think that is what they call 'just desserts' or something like that' I am one sick muthuh.

"Rachel's just a smudge!" Emily shouts! We found our house on Google Earth -We found our house, and gazebo and sand box and there is a tiny pink smudge next to the sandbox...Yup, my kid is immortalized on satellite. Which makes me wonder ...if I can find a tiny speck of a smudge of a 5 year old on Google Earth, imagine what the 'bad guys' can find. Hhhmmm...discuss amongst yourselves.

And I really owe JenJen an apology - she gifted me this FAB award a few weeks ago because quite frankly a few weeks ago, I gave Good Blog. Now? It's debateable.

I am delegating ...which in my role as President of the PTA (and I love a commentor who said I was putting the T and A back into PTA!) I should do in order that I may have some free time. Go check these guys and gals out , althought they need no help from me...

Sass (truly thrilled that you are back and now you are my Facebook friend so I get you all the time and I wish we actually knew each other in real life because I think we are sisters from another mister)

The Organic Meatbag (who makes me frickin' crack up every.day and is on vacation that SOB)

BeJewell (whose blog title reflects the old addage and a favorite song around here that mentions something about a musical fruit!)

And Literal Dan (who is a word nerd like me and beats my ever -lovin' ass at Lexulous 8 tiles at a time)

Oh yeah...

And this is what I do when nobody is watching. Sssshhhh - don't tell anyone that I not-so-secretly like Rocky (a.k.a Rockmaninoff, Rocky Balboa, Puff the Magic Bearded Dragon, Not Bullwinkle)

The One With The Top Ten Alternatives for the Title of this Post

2009-09-13T17:07:00.001-07:00

Meet Rocky Balboa, The Bearded Dragon

10) Because 'James A. Beard' Is Already Taken ...

(And Beardy, Spot and Irving weren't very dignified)

9) The One With the $5 Turtle

(We were originally thinking turtle. Remember when you were a kid and you got a $5 box turtle? Well, nowadays - they carry Russian Tortoises at your local PetCo. Land Tortoise that grow to be 300 pounds and live well into their 90's. I need no part of any pet I have to Will to my grandchildren, thank you.)

8) The One in Which She is Grateful It's Not Snake

(self-explanatory thank you...)

7) The One in Which Her List of "Pet Do's and Don'ts" Just Got Longer'

(I didn't think I needed to add 'live insect eating' to my don'ts list...but apparantly simply having rules about fur, dander, saliva, poop- scooping, cloven hooves, genus rodent, beaks, feathers, noise, and smells didn't cover enough. )

6) Whatever Happened to Flushable Pets? (aaahhh, the good ole days when you could flush your carnival gold fish ...good times, good times)

5) Why Is It That I Have This Sudden Urge to Shop For Car Insurance?

4) The One In Which Her Smile Was So Bright We Don't Need the Heat Lamp

He Likes Me, He Really Likes Me!

3) Can I Turn My Bearded Dragon Into A Vegetarian?

(I am just so grossed out by the bug thing...I can't tell you. I know they need the protien, but you have to dust them with this calcium powder kind of like Shake and Bake. EEewww)

2) The One In Which She Asks "It Gets How Fucking Big?"

(Oh yeah , when the thing starts dropping turds the size of a Collie shit - I'm so moving to Vegas and will make slot machine coin by wearing a sandwich board on the Boulevard that asks people if they want to 'Touch My Lizard'. Either that, or I'm selling it on Craig's List)

And the Number One Alternative Title to This Blog Post is:

1) or ...How Much for the Bearded Clam?

(Because Hubby thought he was at a massage parlor. )

ps- yo, sisterbestfriend...you owe me for the rock and stick for the habitat. LOL

-------------------

Editor's Post Post Script: A friend with a bearded dragon that is 3 years old sent me a picture of her son with this 'thing'. It's head is the size of a clementine orange. Crap. This morning, I gave Rocky a little salad of arugula and shredded carrot. He took a few bites and pissed all over his driftwood. Double Crapper. Also , there are 5 dead fucking crickets in the tank. What do I do with the dead ones? Bloody Craptastic.

The One In Which " #@&$! Off" Was Not An Appropriate Response

2009-09-09T13:52:00.000-07:00

So I volunteered in my Kindergartener's class today. I love the little cherubs. Really I do. So full of wonder and hungry to learn. Like they are just amazed that the 'i' sound can either say 'eye' or 'ih' . Who woulda thunk it? Volunteering in kindergarten tap's my inner Martha Stewart because cutting laminated paper squares is about as crafty as I get...or can handle. And, yes- I use big scissors.

So we split up into centers and I am in charge of the Ten Table. On this table we have toothpicks and the kids have to count 10 toothpicks and make little designs with them. This challenge is also well within my purview...I can do 10 (okay, so it was hard to make little pictures with the sticks without breaking them in half, but I did my best. )

The kids see things differently ...more purely - so when one of the little 'Rainmen' dumped 246 sticks on the table ("82,82,82, 246...there are four left in the box") and made a campfire, I applauded his creative mind.

One little girl, who was staring intently at me - came up with this question: "Why come you face be's all like that? " She asked , taking her hand and sweeping it across her brow in an arch. I was a bit confused, and then I realized that this chick was dissin' my face. Crap - you'd think I was all totally-Mother-Theresa-type-unbotoxed-old lady wrinkly!

*Not me...not yet.

I said those were my eyebrow smiles. Then we all practiced raising our eyebrows up and down. (which I realized that most children can't do purposefully...) And I can even raise one up and down, and wiggle my ears, and roll my tongue and all kinds of other stupid people tricks. The children quickly stopped making stick pictures and started to count the lines on my forhead and around my eyes. Can't wait until they get home and tell their parents what they learned at school. Wear sunscreen kids - or you'll end up like this broad.

So my little one, who has heard me say this many times , says "Mommy, you are supposed to only make a design with 10 toothpicks. You're always wearing your 11!" ( this is what I refer to as the permanant lines between my eyebrows...my squint lines. a la this -> ^ ll ^ )

I had to laugh and just hugged her.**

**...because telling her to 'Fuck Off' was not the appropriate response.

The One Where It's All Good**

2009-09-01T16:52:00.000-07:00

The Starts: The little one is kind of nervous about going to school. The big one decides a spa day is called for. Mommy's all "what about me?" No, seriously - what about me? They played spa for hours. And I am so cool with that. So long as the craptastic kiddie ~~nuclear waste~~ make-up actually washes off...can't have my cuties going to school looking like totstitutes or anything (much to the chagrin of retailers everywhere who have flooded their young minds with such images in the back- to- school catalogs and who would like us to believe that just because it's all tartan -plaid, a strapless tube top is appropriate for a 9 year old)

First day of school was last Thursday. A whole week ago - and I have been busy. Not in the 'oh poor me' way of being busy. I thrive on routine and schedules. Not much of a spontaneous person as you know, so for me - this busy has been a good busy.

This kind of busy, though, has kept me away from my bloggy-goodness. Lo siento para eso. I have lots of tiny pieces of paper with all kinds of blog-worthy moments scawled on them. I just haven't had the time or motivation to string it all together into a coherent post. So you get this one. HA!

Oh sure, the starts are exciting...the start of a new school year for the 5th grader. The start of Kindergarten for the little one! The start of the age of Swirl Girl in her first term as PTA President...(shoot me now). I've been swallowed up into the vortex and have two more years before I am spit out of the Black Hole of volunteerism.

Our eldest unmarried daughter begged for an email address. So I set her up with one with major parental monitoring. I don't want her corresponding with any Nigerian princes or anything. She has a running commentary with her Grandpa and Grandma and her Uncle Steven affectionately know round these parts as Uncle Esteban. Here's a sample of the mind of a 9 and 361/365ths year old (and for those of you slow on the whole math thingy - she'll be 10 next week)

********
Uncle Esteban-
My first day of school was hot,and hard. I was wearing jeans and boots! Also, We
had a ton of homework, AND we had to write a 2 page essay! Ho do you like that
for the 5th grade worklaod?

Rachel is loving kindergarten.She says it's off the hook!

Oh, so the other day mom says "I wanna take a nap." And I'm like, "yeah, you
haven't taken naps all summer," and dad is like, "I think it's a season thing
you know what I mean? She takes naps in the winter." So I say "Yeah, so in the
winter, Mommy hibernates!" And we all start craking up!
From big bear to another,
Emily.
*********

But what's a good start without a fit or two...

The Fits :

It's 102 degrees in the shade the past week. As you have read from her email to Uncle , the big one wanted to wear her skinny jeans , layered tees and her Sketcher suede boots to school. I tell her she's nuts. She had a fit. Wears the outfit anyway (and who could blame her since we now know that skinny jeans really do look good on tweener girls with bubble butts and meat on their bones) She tells her Uncle via that email and deprives me of a worthy "I told you so" moment. I had a fit.

The little one wears leggings and tunic. I gently tell her she'd be more comfortable in shorts and a tee. I woulda told her she was nuts too but in my best 'kindergarten mommy' voice because I will until she's a little older to really start dissin' her choices. She's still in that mockingbird stage. You know what that is. Like the time (okay, just last month) when the older one repeated my own brand of self-depricating humor and told some other virtual strangers " I used to look like my dad, until I got a horsey-face like my mom". She has heard me refer to my oval facial frame as my Mr.Ed mug and I explained it as such. Or the time waaay back when Emily was in Kindergarten and it was circle time and they were asking if any of the kids had nicknames they would prefer to be called. Emily raises her hand and says loudly " My mom calls me a pain in the ass!" Oh yeah - one of my prouder moments. So I learn from experience to temper my words with the little one. Okay - not all the time, but first day of school? Uh, yeah. Sing with me now "Mock -yeah. Ing-yeah. Bird-yeah. Yeah-yeah"

So they both go to school on the 102 degrees in the shade day looking mighty fine , I must say. And peel their togs off in the car on the way home. We go for ice cream and it's all good.

It's All Good. It's All Good. My new mantra. Cuz 'leave me the fuck alone' just doesn't work.***

(if i say it over and over again, will I start believing it??)

**alternate title #1 "The One With Fits and Starts"

***alternate title #2

The One in Which She's Feeling Lucky

2009-08-26T00:48:00.000-07:00

I am going.

I am going to win.

I am going to win big.

Because that's how I roll.

Go Big or Go Home.

the Whrrl people got together with the SITStas and are offering a trip to Vegas to attend the SITScation '09. Oh I am so there.

Support Swirl Girl

2009-08-23T20:37:00.000-07:00

I don't like to ask...but I have seen this amazing community of bloggers come together for so many things...Here's mine :

Please support my Reasons To Relay. Thanks in advance.

If you feel so inclined, click on the link above which should zip you over to my personal page. Then, look on the right side for the 'thermometer' and click on Make A Gift in Support link.

You'll find out lots of juicy things about me, like why I am doing this and Swirl Girl's real name.

The One in Which She Was Not All Talk

2009-08-16T15:33:00.000-07:00

It's the new me? (notice the punctuation...full of disbelief and self-doubt as usual)

Two things specifically illustrate my new All Action, No Talk* personal strategy. I know - hold on to your shit, now. This is Swirl Girl afterall, not some alien uber-Mommy who has taken over your beloved snark-filled-glass-half-empty bloggy friend. So rest assured there is a caveat or two**

I've been doing this blogging thing for about a year and a half. Along the way, I've met some really cool people. Two of the first (and consistent) virtual visitors here were Mariah and Chris. I've been following their lives and their ups and downs (and there have been many of both). We've talked about getting together before, but to be honest - I was the one who never acted on it. Mariah had even noticed a particular beach on a few posts of mine that we love. We've talked about meeting at the beach...but never did. This time - we made a date. And I acted ...like a grown-up and we finally met at the beach!! She and Chris in tow with their 2 kids and their 4 friends. Me and my two girls. It was hard enough for me to summon up the courage to go, much less meet these guys after ~~huffing and puffing~~ hauling a chair, three towels, sand toys and a cooler the 214 miles from the parking lot to the spot by the rocks. I wish I had some real juicy story to tell...but it was just a really nice day with some really nice people. Who woulda thunk it? I don't think we all would have connected in our real lives had we all not been bloggers. We are all so different , yet we found a commonality.

{{introspective aside}}

In my own little corner (in my own little chair)*** of the internet, I can be whatever I want to be. In this - the unreality - my world is whatever I choose it to be. If I met someone live, I would have no keyboard or monitor to shield me. Thoughts like "What if they don't like me?" "What if I don't like them?" "Where's my out?" "Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose?"**** swirl through my head in most social situations. Just ask hubby. I am a chronic avoider.

{{end aside}}

Well, I am glad to report that after 4 1/2 hours of getting to know one another's real reality -there was nary the booger to be found. We chatted about blogs, life, stuff, junk, kids, relationships, backgrounds. All in all - it was a good first date. And if they ask me out again ...I'll go.

the kids set up a chat circle, climbed the rocks, boogie boarded, and played in the water for hours. Mariah's girls are gorgeous - scary gorgeous. and nice girls, too.

It's hard to get a good picture when one is all squinty and one of our boobs are hanging out. That's what my life has come to - in addition to everything else...now I have to worry about armpit cleavage.

Swirl Girl (damn, still squinty) , Tent Camper and Manic Mariah

* Because "Leave me the fuck alone" didn't fly with the other PTA ladies Which leads me to the second illustration of this new found attitude of mine. I was ~~sucked into the vortex~~ elected to be PTA President this school year which is surprising since it is a known fact that I don't like most people's kids and I am not a 'meet and greet' sort. I have to come up with a theme. I went with It's All Good but seriously passed Leave Me the Fuck Alone by the Board.

** this whole new approach in no way means yes to anything clawed or furry or remotely pet- like invading my space. Okay, so the soon-to-be 10 year old wants a turtle. She wants one (and I quote) that is "small enough to hold but too big to flush". Maybe a newt. I'll think about a newt.

And don't think I'm gonna start making those icky little play dates for my kids or anything as drastic as that. I've still got my principles.

***Leslie Anne Warren as Cinderella circa 1965...which I think only me and my sisterbestfriend ever saw and still sing (courtesy of Imdb.com and my memories).

****real or virtual - in fact that's a great metaphor , blog post or blog title

Imagination Station

2009-08-06T20:32:00.000-07:00

So I am spending a lot of time this summer listening to my girls play. And I love to hear their imaginations at work.

{cue wavy, squiggly lines and flashback music}

... I am 6 and playing Partridge Family in Barbara Nappy's garage.- I always had to be Keith. She always got to be Laurie because she had long , straight hair. We were trapped in an abandonded mining town on our way to a performance at a retirement home and we'd sing "Point Me (in the direction of Albuquerque)" and if I was lucky, I'd get to strum the broom guitar or jangle the beach-pail full-of-shells tambourine...but she always got be the cool girl and I always had to be the guy. Or worse - I'd have to be Ruben.

{end scene}

The little one has always created scenarios by which the Polly Pockets or dinasaurs or combination of both are in perilous situations; dangling over a precipice or walking a plank...She loves to construct and build and has many things like Lego's and magnet thingies and TinkerToys and Ello's. She seems oblivious to the fact that anyone is listening because she uses her regular squeaky voice and doesn't play in a whispery tone. I love that about her. And when one of the little creatures is hanging upsidedown from a string attached to a make-shift 'yardarm' held fast by a two pillows resting on a blanket covering a table surrounded by a vast network of Lego's and buildy things., she uses a particularly higher pitched squeaky voice that only dophins and dogs can hear. If I stop and look at her, she stops - no she jumps as if she was busted with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. I have tried to capture this on film ...but she is not a mugger for the camera like her big sister.

When the big one and the little one get together , it plays like a scene from any number of Disney channel tweener shows. She and the little one play Barbies or whatever and recreate the characters. When they play they always start the dialogue with "pretend you said blah,blah, blah" or "pretend you said yada, yada" and then they say whatever it is they were pretending to say. I say to them " Just say what your character is going to say...you don't have to say "pretend " first. Just do it.

Playing with Jodi in my room. We played "I Dream Of Genie" -( 'cuz we couldn't twitch our noses like Samantha and Tabitha and it's just as well, because if we did...she'd always be Samantha and I would always have to be Serena, the evil twin cousin ), because we could cross our arms and "Boiing" and jump from twin bed to twin bed and tuck our shirts up and put jewels in our bellies. Jodi had long blonde hair so naturally she was always Jeannie and I, with my dark hair had to be the evil sister, Jeaney , who was always trying to steal the 'real Master' away from her.

We didn't say 'pretend Major Nelson is trapped in the bottle by evil twin sister and Jeannie has to figure out a way to get him out. We just did it. Major Nelson was trapped in the bottle...We didn't say "pretend you say 'Oh Master and you Boi-yoi-yoing him out.' We just Boi-yoi-yoinged him out, then would make-out with our pillows and....

{{ end scene}}

I don't get what happened to imaginations. Are kids these days so overloaded with media that they can't just play without writing an entire screenplay complete with script and stage direction? Just yesterday they made their own Vlog -That they even know what the hell it is is mind boggling. But there was an episode of Suite Life (on Disney channel of course) where some one had a webcast, so it goes without saying that they is how they came up with the idea. I usually wouldn't do this because they use real names and if this winds up on some Craig's list adoption site or something I'll hunt you down- but here it is. Eat your heart out Nancy Grace.

Almost live and almost in person on the their own Imagination Station.

And they didn't say "Pretend" once. They just did it.

Dear So and So....

2009-08-01T15:40:00.000-07:00

Dear 5;

You suck. You stole my kid. What happened to my go -anywhere-and- do -anything- without any- questions- asked daughter? Now she's all "Mo-o-0hmmm" whenever we ask her to do something. Her new found little 'tude is pushing my buttons to no end. And the tears. Oh, the tears.

I blame you 5. And all those frickin' books that teach how to be all 'I'm a big girl now'. She now poops and knows Everyone else does - so enough already. Goody. I know it's hard to be you, 5, we've been telling her that for almost 6 months now. But cut the crap.

Dear Migraine;

While I do enjoy the occasional flashback, those trippy little sparkly wavy thingies around my field of vision without benefit of the Grateful Dead's 'Box of Rain' on in the background when I'm driving are a bit much. I could understand if you visiting if I had porked out on oysters , smoked meats and chocolate - but I didn't even get to do that. It's not all bad... I do appreciate you knocking me out at 8:30 last night. Thirteen hours of sleep will do a body good.

Dear Lottery;

I could use a winning ticket. Just sayin'.

Dear Interesting Things to Blog About;

Where've you been? Just askin'.

Sincerely Yours ~

PS.. I got this from Mama Cass who got it from Kat.

I'll Take Some Dumb Luck and a Side Of Eggroll

2009-07-27T14:52:00.000-07:00

O How I wish you were some dish at an exotic Chinese Restaurant.

I know there are people out there with waaaay more shit to deal with than I do. And I am just being a brat with my kvetching about stupid shit. But it's my shit and I want to kvetch.

Just my Dumb Luck illustration #1:

Our state is out of money. So our cops are out there in full force hiding behind trees writing tickets for every possible infraction they can. Sure - I took a right on red on a street that I have taken about a cajillion times (that means I have wronged -on- red about a cajillion times). And my dumb luck? Motorcycle cop hiding lying in wait busted me. "Mea Culpa, Occifer." I honestly didn't know it was a 'no right on red' from the inside turn lane. Swearz. My bad. But while you were writing my ticket...about 24 cars whizzed past us. And - of those 24 cars , about 21 of those drivers were talking on their cell phones...with phone in hand. So you coulda made quota off these guys then the measly $35 infraction that my 'wronging -on-red' racked up. Not only do I get whacked for the ticket, but I wind up having to pay $203 (for a $35 crime) because the Legislators tack on all kinds additional fees (according to the courthouse employee I spoke to today). So I'll pay my fine and promise to heed the traffic signs and do everything right as I always (try) to do and hope I don't get hit by the 21 (with my Dumb Luck uninsured) drivers talking on their cell phones

Just my Dumb Luck illustration #2:

I pay about $550 a year for Homeowner Warranty. My Dumb Luck experience tells me that the moment my warranty runs out - the shit will hit the fan. My washing machine stopped draining water. I call Warranty company...they send out a guy (total aside: why are all the contractors sent out by said company named Vlad and from Russia or the Ukraine? discuss) who replaces the pump. It works great for him. He leaves...and later I run a load of wash and guess what? You got it. Full of water. I call them back , Vlad comes back out...runs a load. It works for him. Next day...guess what my dumb luck left in the washing machine? Yup. 3 inches of water. I call the company again and they say Vlad isn't available until Wednesday. I say " Can you send someone else?" They say "No, we send the same technician because he knows what he did " I say - "well, since he's been here twice and I still have water in my washing machine, maybe he doesn't." You see, it's comments like this that don't warrant pleasantries for me. I gotta work on that. "Tell Vlad, Wednesday's good."

I have three weeks until I have to renew the Warranty. Not counting the shower (not covered )and the outdoor electrical (also not covered) how many more things can go wrong??
...hmmmm. Before I fill that half empty glass with a nice Pinot Noir, lemme whip out the checkbook. My Dumb Luck tells me it will be all the things will fall apart are those things in the 'exclusions to warranty' section of my contract anyway.

Dumb Luck Illustration #3:

Speaking of protection ...I had a virus about a year and half ago. A worm that infected my desktop and ate up all my shit. Two visits from the GeekSquad and $350 later...all is well. Then just yesterday, I was on Facebook and the screen goes all wonky and throws out words like Trojan and Worm and Infected (which I immediately chuckle because I thought Trojan's were things that are supposed to protect your 'worm' against viruses) and my personal life is compromised and ....crap. My Dumb Luck, you ask? The Spyware that my Geek who Squaded installed here expired about 3 months ago. Fargin Icehole.

Okay - so maybe I haven't always been the biggest believer in luck. I know, I know...I have always been a naysayer and a 'glass half emtpy' kind of person. When life has given me lemons what have I done? Instead of making lemonade , I have historically sucked the pulp and chewed the pits and all until I was a shrivelled puckered up sour-puss which is why I have permenant lines from wincing and pursing my Doubting Thomas (aka angry ) eyebrows. (Lovingly referred to as my 11 (picture this ^"^) until my daughter pointed out that I should call it my 111 which would make it look more like ^"'^ ) . I have seriously considered getting Botox to get rid of my 'experience lines' ...but with my Dumb Luck - I'll get the botulism kind instead of the cosmetic kind.

But I just have to say ...I have had just about enough of you lately. So next time - hold the eggroll.

The One With Honest Crap

2009-07-17T13:18:00.000-07:00

Today is an auspicious day here . First of all - I get a call from my girls' camp about an hour ago. Apparantly my oldest daughter (nicknamed Grace for which she has none in the physical deftness department) had a fall in the GaGa pit * and may have broken her elbow. Of course, like any concerned mom - I ~~quickly rush to grab my keys and dash fast as lightening to the camp to take her to the ER~~ I say "oh crap" and tell them to give her a tylenol and call me in an hour. I've got shit to do.

*The first question out of my mouth was "What the hell is a GaGa pit?" And if you are like me - and really would like to know...it is a modified ball pit. Why GaGa? Don't know. Maybe they think that calling a parent to tell them their kid hurt herself playing in balls in innapropriate. Don't know.

Seriously, I get a call a day from this camp. "Hi, this is Camp YadaYada - Emily' jaw hurts." " Is this Swirl Girl? Emily stepped on a dead bee" "Hello Swirl Girl - Emily's fine, but I just wanted to call and say Hi"

They just called, by the way, and she is indeed okay. Took off the splint and is happy as a clam revelling in all the "are you okay's?" from her friends and basking in the "you're a trooper!" from the councellors. Phew- I wasn't looking forward spending the afternoon in the ER. I've got shit to do.

Here's the shit I've got to do. I need to acknowledge a few fellow Bloggy buddies for thinking good things about me.

JenJen from Jen's Voices bestowed two awards upon me. Two- count 'em two awards. First of all - she thinks I am A Good Read. JenJen is a fairly new blogger - and I welcome her to the fold. Thanks JenJen!

Secondly - both JenJen and Dianne from Contentedly Neurotic ( i love the name of this blog) sent me the Honest Scrap Award. Which I think is totally funny 'cuz if you say it over and over again really fast sounds completely different (hence the title of this post). This one comes with rules. Shit. I am not in the rule following mood. I've got shit to do.

Here are the rules:
1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!
2. First, the recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.
3. Second, the recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.
4. Third, those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given with this award.
5. Those 10 bloggers that receive this award should link back to the blog that awarded them “The Honest Scrap’ award.

I think by the very definition of this award - if I am Honest Scrap - there are not many things you all don't know about me already.

I've mentioned peculiar quirks about myself.
I've done the 100 things about myself.
I've gotten the Q and A and A'd the Q's.
I've admitted my addictions.

I think all that shit adds up to way more than 10 honest things about me.

So now - I have to pass it on. I want to pass it on to Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka, Em over at Life Liberty and the Pursuit, Trooper Thorn over at Dogs and Jeans, C over at The Scattered Mind of A Tattooed MiniVan Mom, Kevin over at Always Home and Uncool. These guys and gals always keep me laughing and thinking. Plus - they read my honest crap fairly regularly...so they will come by and pick up their awards and probably follow the rules better than I did 'cuz they are good citizens and not a slacker like me.

This is getting to be linky hell, folks. I'm only doing 5 for now. I've got shit to do.

Swirl Girl is nothing else if not Honest. Crap.

The One with Mystery , Surprise, Illusion and Spectacle

2009-07-13T12:02:00.000-07:00

So the other night we were watching Top Chef 'The Masters" on Bravo. We are all about Top Chef because it involves food and mastery and those are two things that we live by 'round here. Anyway- in this challenge , 4 Master chefs had to create dishes for the judges , one of whom was Neil Patrick Harris (nee Doogie Howser, MD) who apparantly is really into magic and mentalist stuff. Each of the 4 Masters was given an element of the perfect magic trick on which to base their dish. The 4 elements were Mystery, Surprise, Illusion and Spectacle. And to introduce the challenge was this Wizzard-y looking guy (complete with merlin robe and widow's peak hair-do) and he did a card trick. As all of the Top Chef Master's looked on ...one in particular stood there in total amazement with this 'howdjou do that?' look on his face. He was clapping his hands together and I swear he was hopping up and down every so slightly in a very endearing little-boy-at-a magic-show kind of way. We are watching and suddenly - well, about 11 minutes into the show - I say to Hubby (who is driving the remote so we don't have to watch commercials and agrees that DVR is the greatest invention ever) "I didn't catch any of that ...can you rewind? I have absolutely no idea what's going on here."

This is where I went (and you gotta stay with this to remember that all of 'this' happened in a few clicks of a remote control)

Back in May when we went to Florida - we had all gone out to a restaurant (a local burger joint/sportsbar) that had a roving magician. He went from table to table entertaining the patrons. He approached our table and Emily was sitting on the outside so she was the perfect 'mark'. He proceeded to do a few trick that were just okay - nothing more than the little foamy balls squished in finger cleavage and when your busy watching his bling-ed arm go one way [Illusion]...he's switching the foamy ball into the other and 'Voila' there it is! [Mystery] Then he starts to do a few tricks that even I, the glass half empty naysayer, wondered how he did it. I am sitting there (while reaching into my purse for some cash, cuz that's what he will be expecting when he's done ) watching my 9-going-on-16-year-old daughter with amazement. I snap this picture of her:

Pure, Unposed, Delighted.

[Surprise]

Genuine. Innocence. Joy.
[Spectacle]

(Are you still with me?- I will now try to tie it all together)

I go from Florida in May to just the night before last when she lost another tooth. She 'helped' that tooth ...that I swear went from fully attached to a mere dangle in about 2 minutes...come out and quickly ran up to her room to put in the her special pillow for the Tooth Fairy. I think the last tooth she lost landed her $5 (blood money- we pay the 'idiot tax' for forgetting the very first time) , but the Tooth Fairy didn't come on time (my bad) and she was bummed out so this time she opened a window...wrapped the bloody tooth in tissue with a note with an arrow pointing to the crumpled up tissue containing her tooth booty. [Spectacle] Of course, Hubby and I swore the Tooth Fairy wouldn't forget her this time (stoopid tooth fairy)...and we both forgot. The next morning at 5:30 am - I woke from my deep sleep and asked Hubby if he remembered the money and he had it in his hand. She woke up before he had a chance to sneak it in there. She was so bummed out. Again. But only momentarily until she realized that she could suck yogurt up into the gaping hole that the tooth left [Illusion] and all was right in the world. Again.

"Mom, The Tooth Fairy didn't come again..." she says with tears welling up in her eyes. "I even left my window open for her" and several other boo-hoo-i-nesses ensue. I am feeling like a total ass at this point and wondering just how early is too early for chocolate or ice cream.

She goes upstairs to get dressed and "Voila" ! [Surprise]...there it was. The Tooth Fairy found her way into Emily's special Tooth Fairy pillow and deposited a crisp $5 into the little tooth pocket. She ran down to show me her prize and says..."Maybe it was the time change, that's why she was late!" (she knows that the tooth fairy lives in Boynton Beach, Florida and had been known to use the US Postal Service when gas prices were so high last summer) . I say "I don't know, sweetie - it's a Mystery!"

Does she really believe in the Tooth Fairy? Or is she playing us...thinking we believe she believes? Whatever the case may be - I tend to think it's the latter...she is too smart for her own good ...I wonder all of this out loud to my Hubby who puts the show on pause as I tell him where I was for the past 11 minutes...He rewinds the show so we can start over.

The One in Which She Just Doesn't Get It

2009-07-08T16:45:00.001-07:00

I just don't get it. Not all things, mind you. I consider myself a rational , intelligent individual (despite all evidence to the contrary) - but there are some things I just don't get.

Like this here thing called the Tornado Potato.

~~Everyone~~ ~~Some of you~~ okay...a few of you know that my most favorite food group in the world is the 'toes group (chee, fri, dori and pota) and I have been known to experience such menu delights as the $20.00 Baked Potato (which was from one of my favorite restaurants in South Florida and consisted of a gigantic baked potato wrapped in crispy bacon and topped with shaved truffles MMMmmmgooood) and I am all about finding the crispy fries in the bottom of the box (called 'wellies' round these parts and any In N' Out Burger restaurant)...but this thing I don't get. Is it a boardwalk treat or a implement of pain? And if you've heard of these things, Tornado Potato's come with toppings like a dusting of 'cheese' or 'schmutz'. Who would want to eat schmutz?? Schmutz (pronounced shmoots as in rhymes with puts not putz) is something you scrape off your shoe or something you'd find under a table at Denny's...certainly not something you'd want to defile your beloved potato with. I guess you could call this thing a potato on a 'schtick' (badump chhh)! Obviously this snack sensation that is sweeping the boardwalks of our coasts was invented by some Carni hawker ...fucking Carnies and their unstructured suede boots. I don't get them either.

And I don't get why motorcycles are allowed to drive between lanes? Also known as lane splitting. In California, motorcycles are allowed to manuever between lanes in slow traffic. The thing is...there is no slow traffic in California. Merging onto one of our heavily congested freeways at 65 miles an hour is hard enough without having dodge Dr. Liposucker and his 'moll' on their $85,000 Harley. Just once, I'd like to spy one of these motorcycles weaving in and out of lanes and just when he's approaching me (that is to assume that I can see the friggin' douchebag in the first place which most of the time I can't )- I wanna open the car door on him and **oops**! If I have to use signals, not pass on the right, keep right except to pass, drive at safe speeds ...so should everyone else.

And you know what else I don't get?? Does every gas station attendant and 7-11 employee have to take a vow that they will always be on the phone? Is it on the application? Who are they talking to anyway?? Are these guys really employees of the gas station or 7-11 or are they actually {insert name of customer service institution here } call center ? "Thank you for calling Dewey, Cheetum and Howe. This is Mujibur, how may I be of service to you today ? and that will be $20 on pump 8 , vwon Qvick pick and a curry shake? ** Not you ma'am, please hold..."

Why does it cost $51.00 to see a kids movie?? We took the girls to see Ice Age 3 the other night. Effin' Fifty One Effin dollars just for tickets. Why? It's 3-d and according to the gum snapper** behind the counter, there is a $3 up-charge for the 3-D!! I don't get it. The movie is made already. The theater has all the equipment to run the 3-d movie already. They ask for the 3-d glasses back at the end of the movie and that's fine 'cuz life is already in 3-d and the dang glasses look goofy and don't block UV rays or else everyone would want to take them home...So what is the upcharge for? The theater is gonna 'gitcha' with $25 in assorted stale popcorn and Raisinettes and water....So what's the $3 per ticket upcharge for??? I just don't get it.

And last in today's ~~rant~~ list of things I just don't get...(and mostly I don't get why I am even wasting my fingertips on this but if one more person asks me if I saw the funeral I am gonna go postal on someone) is this: The dude is dead. He was a talented entertainer for sure. He was a the butt (no pun intended) of every late night talk show joke. A troubled , tortured, acquitted (but guilty?) child molester that nobody wanted to admit knowing a few years ago, he hated himself so much that he did eveything physically that he could to change his appearance.....but a great man?? A great father?? (I wouldn't let my kid spend the night, how about you?) A role model?? A hero?? I don't think so. I just don't get it. And in a state where we are closing schools and giving IOU's to tax payers for their refunds and paychecks...the city of Los Angeles spent over $4 million on police and security thus depleting the city's overtime budget and snarling traffic and pre-empting Oprah and Ellen to televise the flower festooned gold casket. I think the Jackson Family Trust should have to foot the bill for this one, not the taxpayers. That would be the heroic thing to do. And 'we' have to find the person who administered the fatal drug?? Is it so hard to believe that Mr. Jackson (if you're nasty ) survived all these years on a cocktail of various and sundry psycho-active drugs and strong pain killers? Is it possible that he just took the wrong combination of drugs himself - whether or not intentional - as a way to further disconnect himself from his inner 'whose Bad?" Why must it be assumed that something was administered by some less than scrupulous doctor? Gotta find the evil-doer. God forbid we all just go back to thinking he was Whacko-Jacko. Why can't everyone just own up. Okay, so he was and forever will be the King of Pop. And O.J. wasn't guilty either.

But I just don't get it.

**I am in no way implying the pre-requisite for working the register at a 7-11 or a gas station is being of Indian descent, I just call it like I see it...so if I offend anyone - sorry 'bout that . I am an equal opportunity offender. I am implying , however, that every employee of the movie theater is indeed a gum snapper.

The One in Which She Gives It Away....

2009-07-06T10:59:00.000-07:00

Well - the results are in!!
I am pleased to announce the official winner of Swirl Girl's first ever give-away!
After the official ballots were officially tabulated and officially chosen in a very scientific way - And the winner is ....

Cristin of Tiptoeing Through the Tulips!!

- I can't wait to hear all about it!!

I was cracking up when I did this. Who needs Google Analytics to see what brings readers to this , my snark-fest I call a - blog. Just look at the names of the entrants !! Organic Meatball, Always Home and Uncool, Sass, Tattoed MiniVan Mom, Scary Mommy, A Different Kind of Girl, Tub O' Lard, Mental Poo....to name just a few. Are we sensing a theme here folks?

Like minds y'all, like minds. Thanks!

Phourth Of July Photo Phinish

2009-07-03T13:20:00.000-07:00

I'm joining Candid Carrie's blogging band today with something I think could pass as the New National Anthem. My girls were playing with their Tinker Toys (which used to be made of splinter-inducing wood and paper-cut causing straws , by the way...Now they are designated to being made especially for girls with pink and purple , safe to use, non-toxic machine molded plastic rendering them wholly non-American as far as I am concerned because not only are they made somewhere in Asia - but if you can't hurt yourself with 'em then what's the point - okay, sorry ...take deep cleansing breaths Swirl Girl)

Anyway...Have a Chicky-Chicky Bow-Wow of a Holiday everyone!

and come back Sunday to see who won this!!! (oh, and you still have a day to enter ...no pun intended)

The One Where Toys Will Be Toys :O

2009-06-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

**WARNING: Danger, Danger Will Robinson....
..(wave robotic accordian arms up and down)

The following post enters dangerous territory - - so step away from the keyboard if you get sqeamish or you are my mom or anyone who has seen me in a diaper or may possibly see me in a diaper in (hopefully) the distant future.

You have been warned.

*Editors Note: I have been trying to write this post for over a week now, but it is hard to write a post about sex toys when your kids are bopping around all over the place. So now they are fully entranced in the Wizard of Oz for about the billionth time and I am sitting only a few feet away so if I quickly reduce the screen to avoid burning their little retinas or suddendly have to dash - you'll understand - then I have to remember to delete these photos from the laptop since it's really not mine in the first place and Yes, honey - it was me who popped the '9' off the keyboard to retrieve the tiny bead that fell under the '9' when I was trying to write a sex toy post and simultaneously tie a tiny bead bracelet that my kid was stringing. My bad, dude.)

Bring It On or Turn It On:

So a while back I was contacted, like so many others in this sisterhood of the travelling rants, by Drew of Eden Fantasys, the online adult personal products store and magazine to write a review about a product of my choosing. Well, even after I made snarky comments (as I am wont to do ) I did just that. It turned out it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. (bad pun intended and will likely be forthcoming in the ensuing post).

I'd have to say the hardest thing about the whole thing was choosing my 'weapon of choice'. How could I do a straight up review when so many of the toys were curved for my enjoyment? What was even harder, was finding a personal pleasuring device that actually looked like a personal pleasuring device. I wanted to find something that looked like a sex toy , not a child's toy.

like these: the little wormy, and my personal favorite the B and D Duckie, and how 'bout those Care Bears??

And while I may have been the hit with some of the other mommy's at the Planned Urban Development's community pool should these little pocket rockets have made their way from my sidetable drawer to the tubby to the beach bag - I though it best not to choose one of these gizmos as my personal plaything .

I went with Papa Smurf or as they call it in the business...The Insatiable G. I want a sex toy that looks like a sex toy. You chose well, grasshopper. And while it may raise some eyebrows should the girls be snooping (which they haven't done yet and I am not looking forward to the time when they inevitably will) there is no doubt what Papa Smurf is all about.

So the question remains dearies - what would your ideal personal pleasuring device be like?

Would it be discreet , disguised as a 'massager' or all out 'in-your-face-I -am-a -vibrating - penis- damn-it' with life-like circumcised male characteristics ?

Would it "clean the house, make dinner, tell you how great you look and then give you a mind blowing orgasm"? (thanks Drew - you have a future in sex toys, oh- you're already in it!)

So now here's the thing : The folks at Eden Fantasy's will give you one if you are willing to share your Fantasy Fantasy with us. Everyone's got one...and if you don't - you're lying!! So fess up and do tell!! 'Cuz how else am I gonna be able to give one away!!

So here's how to do it:

Leave me a comment telling me what your Fantasy toy is. If you want to do that privately, leave me an email at dwgoldstein at roadrunner dot com. But if you do that, I will most likely have to share if I pick you to win, but I will not divulge the real source if you ask me not too)

Follow @DrewG78 on Twitter or drewg78 on Facebook for additional entries. Just tell me you did.

Rules of the Road:

#1= US and Canada only and #2= 1 Toy For the Winner Value $40 or less. #3= Must be 18 or older. (vee haf vays of discovering such things)

Then, I'll do something really scientific like crumbling up little pieces of paper and tossing them in a bowl and pick a winner. 'Cuz I live in the LA area, maybe I can get the dudes who keep all the Oscar winners names under wraps to pick the winner...but I think they may a little busier now that The Academy has added 5 more films in the Best Picture category.

Who knows - maybe one of you will come up with the next best thing to sliced bread! 'Cuz if you've ever tried to pleasure yourself with sliced bread, it's kinda messy and not very fullfilling if you know what I mean.

Contest will run until July 4th ...which I think is an appropriate way to celebrate my first ever bloggy contest. It' s my version of "Love American Style (truer than the red, white, and blue-woo-woo-woo!)"

Get to it!!

Because He's Number One

2009-06-20T20:45:00.000-07:00

...I am letting Hubby do this guest post. Barely unedited and 99 1/4 % pure him:

to follow along ....my edits are are in italics

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[and..scene]

So I have no original thoughts…

Being a child of the NY metropolitan area I was exposed to a wide variety of media at an early age: Leonard Bernstein, the Turtletaub produced comedies, Notre Dame football re-runs (we move to further action in the same series of downs – says the plaid coated Lindsey Nelson to the always nattily clad Mr. Hornung), All war movies (Patton, Longest Day, Battle of the Bulge, The Dirty Dozen, Kelly’s Heroes to name a few – I love Memorial Day Weekend movie-thons), All Sports Movies (Bang the Drum Slowly, Brian’s Song, Pride of the Yankees), the voices of legends Bob Murphy & Ralph Kiner in the Met’s booth, Phil “the scooter” Rizzuto in the Yankee booth, Bob Merrill the PA announcer for the Yankees and old time Giants, Marv Albert (before lingerie and cannibalism), and the voice of the Giants Marty Glickman, Great TV - too many sitcoms to mention – OK just a few: MASH, Taxi, Barney Miller, When Things Were Rotten (short lived comedy by Mel Brooks – that 9 people ever saw) . And then there have been the movies: Dirty Harry, Blazing Saddles, The Godfather & II, My Cousin Vinny, MASH (the pro’s from Dover version), Stripes and Animal House. And lastly the comedy albums: Watergate Comedy Hour, Woody Allen Live, James Blond Secret Agent 006.95 marked down from 7, Rodney Dangerfield’s No Respect and the classics like Class Clown by George Carlin, Child of the Fifties by Robert Klein and the immortal Cheech and Chong’s Big Bambu. (let's not forget that cultural classic...The Marches of John Phillips Souza as performed by the Marine Corps Band )

Why am I telling you this? It occurred to me that I have not created any new material since I was 5. I mean really new material. I have been weaving in the great lines from these geniuses above for four plus decades now. I have an idiot savants way of using them in normal conversation too. When I hear someone say something that doesn’t make any sense, I almost always utter the phrase “There was one” a line from a confused enrollee at the induction center in Stripes who thought he should enlist before he was drafted – when told there was no longer a draft he utters, you guessed it…”There was one?”

So here is my attempt to explain the Language of Hubby. These definitions are in no particular order but the first one is my most overused line, ever:

“Tuesday” – the answer to all questions…What day is it? When will we have dessert again? When will it stop raining? So why "Tuesday"? …O k here it is: Rodney Dangerfield is whipping the audience into a frenzy, they are getting very loud and raucous, and he says “Hey let’s break up the joint! No- wait ‘til Tuesday, after the fire!” I laugh at this every time knowing the context under which it is said – No one on the planet knows this but me. (especially not Swirl Girl who doesn't even laugh at the original use of the line or anything that has to do with all things Rodney Dangerfield but what does she know , she's a chick) But let me say " Tuesday " is not the answer to the question What day is it? – That answer belongs to the beautiful Appolonia Corleone in Godfather II…"Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday " (which oddly enough even though Swirl Girl is a chick she does get all things Godfather I and II and is right there with me quoting lines at sometimes wholly innapropriate moments)

“I shot the clerk” – Ralph Machio from My Cousin Vinny when the Sheriff says to him…”what did you do after you shot the clerk?” he responds “I shot the clerk?” This line is used when anyone is confused and needs something explained or repeated to them .

“Skieeeeed to Left” – said immediately following any round orb that is lifted past the infield – this is an homage to Bob Murphy – no one will understand that but my brother (clearly no one... see?)

“My kidneys were expecting orange juice, silly kidneys” – used liberally for all drinking occasions that begin before 11:00 AM - and there have been oh so many – stolen from a MASH episode when Hawkeye puts an early morning martini to his lips after a night of boozing – Tell me the image isn’t perfect

“Leave the gun take the cannolis” – use this one every time I ask someone to bring something with us – it just seems so appropriate like I want this and not that. Thank you Mario Puzo – there are no lines from the Godfather that get old!

When someone says – “Man that price is low, how do they do it?” The only answer is…”VOLUME” – a line from the Child of the Fifties (Robert Klein)

When someone asks: “How are you?” The only answer is: “Best as I can be in this price range.”

When a waiter asks: “Can I get you anything else?” I say: “ Sure, a pound of twenties, please.”

“Not ________, he owes me money!” I don’t know where this is from – but I say it anytime anyone mentions someone I don’t know. Sometimes it backfires. Like once when Swirl Girl and I were in Hawaii at a bar (where else) and the bartender was talking about some guy named Mike who had the best secret snorkeling spot on the island. I said “Not Mike, he owes me money!” to which the bartender says – “dude, Mike just died” Needless to say we had to find a new bar to drink at.

“That’ll leave a mark” said any time anyone (real or fictional) falls down, crashes, bumps an appendage…you get the picture.

[end scene]
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He may be showing his age here...but the man is a peach. Ripe and ready. Slightly soft, round and fuzzy - but he's my peach. Think I'll go make a pie. No seriously - I love the guy. And while I might not get his goofy jokes all the time - I get him. And he gets me. He lets me. Hope he won't regret me.

He's the Number One Dad around here. I love you dootie man.

Go to The Scattered Mind of Tattooed Mini Van Mom for more significant other guest posts.

...and to all you Dad's out there : Enjoy your day!
...and to all you kid's out there: Tell your dads how much they mean to you while they are still able to hear you {sob}. I love you Daddy, and miss you more than you could possibly know.

Is It Wrong That I Find This Hysterical?

2009-06-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

Am I wrong?? My kid finally learns how to ride a two wheeler and all I want to do is get her a german army helmet and little wire rimmed glasses.*

*arte johnson from Laugh In... Anyone? {{crickets}} Anyone??

School's Out For Summer

2009-06-13T11:59:00.000-07:00

Forgive me for I have sinned. It has been almost ten days since my last blog post. As my penance for this sinful action , I will recite Dr. Suess's "If I Ran the Circus" twice in a row and I will drink two, no make it three, Bloody Mary's down real fast - right before hand to make it extra tongue-twister-y. MMMmmmkay?

The reason for the lack of post-age is not for lack of fodder (oh , there has been quite a bit)...it's not because I haven't logged on to Blogger or email or Faceboook (I have been reading my roll and commenting some )...it's not because I don't want to (cuz really I do)...It's just that my mind has checked out. I've packed my wit and snark away with the colored pencils and glue sticks and thin-lined Sharpies and awards and certificates and art projects and permission slips and emergency comfort letters and PTA budgets and school plays and 'oh mom- it's your turn to bring brownie bites to the field day told to me the morning of the field day for the entire 4th grade' and all that crap that goes with it.

School's out for summer. Crap.**

**I swear as soon as I can find my wit and snark (I usually don't leave home without them) -I'll be back...Bigger and Badder than ever.

***which shouldn't be too long since I have a whole notebook of stuff just ready to roll.

****I promised a rather risque post and contest and if I don't act quickly, they'll think I don't want it and give it away to someone hornier than you guys ...and lord knows there is nobody hornier than a bunch of bloggers who's kids are on summer vacation and we really need something to "do with all of your free time" (which in and of itself has to be the most annoying question that anyone could ever ask a person who suddenly has some free time and by that I mean that she doesn't have to drive in circles anymore from one school to another or from one after school activity to another who has put like eleventybillion miles on her car in less that a year only driving a 6 mile radius over and over and over again and swears if she had a dollar for every person who asked her what she was going to do with all of her 'free time' she could afford to hire a chauffeur and limo to do the aforementioned schlepping.

*****I just wanted to see if you were still with me and just how many asterisks (aster..i?) she could put after one silly postscript.

Phriday Photo Phiesta

2009-06-05T12:36:00.000-07:00

Who's phlying this thing anyway?? We are - that's who! The pilot let us into the cockpit (after a thorough search of Phluffy, the stuphphed dog -of course) and even let Emily turn on the Fasten Seatbelt sign. And he let us take a picture, but only if Mommy came and checked it out. And me, being rather phearful of phlying in general...had to be gently coaxed into that tiny little room with the cajillion buttons with the promise of a Bloody Mary and a nap! Mission Completed!!

And what's with all the phunny spelling? Why it's Candid Carrie's Photo Phinish Phiesta! Go there phor more phun phavorites!!

The One in Which She Wonders ...Is This Thing On??

2009-06-01T13:02:00.000-07:00

...cuz I haven't had a lot of visitors these past few weeks. (read: weak posts?)

And Blogger's been sending me all kinds of warnings and Mission Aborted messages when I try to click on some of my regular reads. Maybe the same is happening when regular readers are clicking on me...so they are staying away. Certainly it can not be an indication of my crappy reads lately...Nyahhh. Must be you guys.

Anywho....you want random? You got random.

This is happening and this is big, big, bloggy BIG!

This is happening and this is big, big, bouncy BIG!!

This really happened and it was big, big, Big Bird BIG!! Early Sunday morning, we woke to a thunk. A really loud one. Kid falling out of bed? Minor earthquake? Suction cup of shower squeegie holder un-suction cupped? Nope. Bird being chased by a hawk hits our sliding glass doors followed by the hawk chasing the bird slamming himself wings first into the window. Yes! We have feathers , beak scratch and two little claw prints to prove it! I don't think the hawk got it's breakfast, though...we didn't find any 1/2 eaten bird bits around. I tried to get pictures but they didn't come out clear enough.

The girls took me to see "Up" this weekend. Love, love, loved it! A real story and message behind this film. It's a pleasure to see anything made by those Pixar geniuses. The short film at the beginning was so clever and creative. (can you smell Oscar?) My girls really enjoyed the movie as well. There was one part, though - when the little one totally freaked out. There was a scene where the villian sets the main characters' house on fire . Rachel jumps on to my lap and is wailing "oh no, his house, his memories - where's he gonna live? How's he gonna remember?" She got over it quite quickly, but I found it odd and kind of endearing that she had such compassion and empathy for this 3-D cartoon character. Such a big, big, big heart.

...and I am in the process of putting together Swirl Girl's first ever give-away which is going to be big, big, buzzing BIG ...so tell all of your friends to come visit me {sic} again

The One In Which She is Real

2009-05-12T17:56:00.000-07:00

Real *it*y Television Lover that is.

So Hubby calls to say blah, blah, blahdi-da and to be honest, I wasn't really listening. I was busy planning my attack. It was the final 3 on Americal Idol. It is also the premiere of The Real Housewives Of New York City reunion show. And then, it was the premiere episode of ~~The Sopranos~~ The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I'm too busy setting up the DVR and trying to figure out when I'm going to watch all my 'crap' to realize that wasn't a hummingbird that just hit my kitchen window. It's my little one's SuperBall being bounced against the sliding glass. doors. "Stop that now! Go play with some sharp knives and broken glass! Mama's busy!

God Help Me Please. I am addicted to Reality T.V. I am not sure if it is because there is nothing else on (since there is truly very little in the way of creative or compelling sitcoms or dramas anymore), or are these shows like a trainwreck? So gross to look at - but somehow I can't keep my eyes off of it.

Am I all 'holier than thou' when I watch Jon and Kate (and their 8) and sit back in judgement about her harping-shrewness (am I like that to Hubby? Nyahh) and his friggin' dumb-assness (dude, you got 8 kids and all the free hair plugs and those endorsements and make about $50K per episode and paparazzi and don't work anymore and you can't keep that tallywhacker in your pants or at least if you have to waggle your tallywhacker, can't you do it a bit more discreetly ??). Do I watch those vapid housewives and hate every single one of them just hoping that one of them would do something nice or are we supposed to love to hate them?

I have only admiration for the performers on Idol and So You Think You Can Dance. It's the producers and 'un-scripted' writers that I despise. They know that the viewers would rather see the trainwrecks than the really awesome ones, so that is what they waste our time with. What is it about the human psyche that we'd rather spend our time and energy on the freak show attractions than the real talent. It takes a lot of guts to get on a stage, any stage - much less one with a thousand people in the audience and millions of home viewers and sing or dance. As much as we love to see the talent, we love to the ones that suck even more.

Are we that gullible or do we just have bad taste? Jerry Springer wrecked us all lo those many years ago. Jerry, and Judge Judy and shows like COPS that brought stupid people to the forefront. And , we - the viewing public suck those shows up like Bedouins at an oasis slaking our thirst ...drinking it all in. Slurping it up and waiting for more.

If I think back, waaay back....I guess my love for all things Reality TV started back in Beantown with a show called Community Audtions. My sisterbestfriend and I would watch every Sunday. Really bad accordian players or Irish dancers or the occasional talent ("in my own little corner in my own little chair I can be whatever I want to be...." that's for you sis). Then she and I would pretend we were gymnasts and do hand springs off the upholstered chair in the den. Even at our young age, we realized that for every talented performer, there were critics. We'd rate our handsprings like Olympic judges giving high scores to handspringers named Jamie and low scores to the ones named Hilda. Additional points were even given for sticking the the bendy-arched-back-arms-up-in-the-air landing. Only the 'pretty' named gymnasts got those points.

So I think ahead, waaay ahead...to now. With this kurfluffle over the British talent Susan Boyle. The 'ugly duckling' who sings like a beautiful swan. We are so surprised that despite her somewhat bedraggled look, she can sing - really sing. What is wrong with us as a society that we make these assumptions. Being honest, would we would have rather seen her make a fool out of herself and fail miserably? I, for one, am glad she did well. But, being the realist that I am...I know her 15 minutes are almost up and I hope she makes the best of it before she goes postal on the paparrazi for exposing her nude prom photos she posted on Facebook*

*she really didn't do that , so don't go looking on Facebook or googling 'naked susan boyle' because I seriously hope that while she may have gone to her prom, there is nothing worse than seeing a doddy Brit with bad hair and bad teeth naked on YouTube....oh wait a sec , didn't Hugh Grant do something like that??

The One in Which Swirl Girl Wished She Would Have Packed Her Antlers

2009-05-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

No, I didn't fall off your monitor screens...."I've been around the world and I-yi-yi-I ...I couldn't find my suitcase." So as the 'case' is still pending with @%$&%# Airlines, as much as I want to piss and moan about it (which I have already done adnauseum, and I know that is hard for some of you to believe because Swirl Girl always is all about cotton candy and rainbows afterall)....I have crafted this little Open Letter to @%$&%# Airlines for your In-Flight entertainment.

Dear Mr. Head of Customer Relations at @%$&%# Airlines:

On May 14th, 2009 - my family and I travelled from LAX to Fort Lauderdale, Florida to celebrate the Rite of Passage (for you non-triber's, otherwise called a Bat Mitzvah) of my college room-mates' daughter. This weekend affair, for which I had to bring 3 'fancy' outfits per person for the 3 events that were to take place along with matching shoes and accessories for each of the aforementioned fancy outfits per person. Not to mention the various and sundry hair care products to tame the beast that is my head, various lotions and balms and cosmetics not available in under 3 oz. containers, as my 9 year old's entire desk at school (since she had to 'apply' for Independent Study so as not to miss any class work and homework while we were away and her absences did not count as truancies and our school would indeed receive the $32 per day per student that our near bankrupt state 'pays' our school for attendance). Additionally, we needed to haul a car seat for our 5 year old. And you can't bring it on the plane. Yes - I over packed...but that is not the point here.

All that being said, I could not stuff our lives into a carryon bag for this short trip. So we had to check our bags. I , unlike most of the passengers that travel these days, didn't try to stuff our 2500 square foot house into the overhead compartments. We bit the bullet and checked out 3 pieces of luggage onto the plane. At $15.00 per bag!!! (as an aside, the airlines made a whopping 250 cajillion dollars in profit last year by charging for checked luggage-which , while lining the pockets of the fat cat execs at the airlines , slows down the entire boarding process because most people think they can get away trying to shove their shit overhead and realizing they can't - have to check them anyway) So we paid our $30.00 - because I said the car seat is an 'assistive device' and having read and re-read the baggage policies** for the airline exclusions to the new pay to play rules...refused to pay for that and went about our merry way.

We had a connection in Dallas - as there is no longer direct non-stop flights anymore (another way the airlines are making flying so much fun) and of course, in Dallas - there was a delay of the next departing flight. According to the gate agent, there was a glitch in Chicago's Air Traffic Control system that caused all flights all around the country to be delayed (I guess a glitch before you get on a plane is better than a glitch in Air Traffic control once aboard the plane). Another gate agent told us that there were weather issues that caused the 2 1/2 hour delay. And yet another told us that there was a paperwork snafu...whatever. My point is that there was ample time to unload our crap (and the other LA to Dallas passengers' crap) from one plane to another. We had time to grab a pretzel dog (yummy, by the way) and a drink, pee 3 times, run around the terminal via the moving walkways and various and sundry escalators and sit around and commiserate with the other passengers, and make fun of the dude with actual springs (yes, you heard it right - big boingy springs) on the bottom of his sneakers. I was still calm , cool and collected thanks to the two friggin' $6.00 bloody mary's I bought on the plane ride to Dallas.

Finally - we get to Fort Lauderdale at 12:30 a.m. (an hour and half later than expected and my poor mom was there to greet us at that hour) We get off the flight and head to baggage claim. Nuthin. Oh sure, there were bags going around the conveyor... but not ours. Swirl Girl is starting to get all hot and bothered. Standing on line at the Baggage Claim Customer Service line...with everyone else who lost their bags , I storm in and demand a refund for our $30. I think my exact words were "Aren't you at least gonna buy me dinner first before you fuck me?"
Miss Minimum Wage Baggage Claim Customer Service Representative said that there was not enough time to get the bags from one plane to another. They would all be on the first available flight from Dallas in the morning and arriving in Fort Lauderdale by noon. Then , they would deliver them to our destination by 3:00 that afternoon. Hubby is handling this at this point because the threat of me 'going postal' on Shaniqua was imminent and I was asked to leave the area...yeah, it was late - I had no car seat for my kid which put us all in jeopardy of receiving a moving violation to boot. I did , however - have all the Nintendo DS and 4th grade homework assignments I could master at my disposal.

We got to my mom's at something like 2:30 and put the kids in bed - and maybe fell asleep at like 4:00am. Joy. Rapture.

Cue Friday morning - and I am off to Target to buy some bathing suits and stuff to get us through the day. Calling the airlines special lost baggage hotline to make sure our crap made it on the flight from Dallas. Hours go by...it's 3:00, it's 4:00 , it's 7:00pm and still no stuff. After many frustrating phone calls to the lost luggage department (once again, I get on the horn, 'cuz Hubby is too nice to them and I was told not to go to the airport under the threat of security hauling my frizzy haired ass out of there) and having missed the opportunity to go to the mall to go shopping for new fancy gear since we had to be at the event at 10:00 a.m. the next morning and ...no wearing yesterday's sweat pants and flip flops was not an option. At 8:00pm - our luggage arrived at my mom's house. And I'll be damned if Hubby didn't the tip the asshole who delivered it. I am sure he got paid by the hour to make these deliveries and took his dear sweet time. (grrrr).

So- we finally get our shit - and unpack it hoping it is not too wrinkled. Good thing it is so figgin' humid in Florida. Steam is a wonderul portable iron.

We go about our weekend and had a wonderful time!! Then, it is time to pack up and head back to LA. I bitched again - only this time to the right person who actually offered us $50 for the items we needed to buy while we waited for our crap. I got $50 cash money right there at the airport!! I feel slightly vindicated , but am requesting our original $30 refunded as well as all the miles (for each ticket purchased under my Hubby's frequent flyer number) for the trip as an inconvenience stipend as well as the fact that if you're going to screw this up ...you should at least make sure that all your people who are explaining why there was a screw up all tell us the same shit. Ask for forgiveness not permission for your screw up.

Oh yeah - and while I am at - next time I need to bring my antlers or javellin .(see below)..I will gladly fly @%$&%# Airlines just 'cuz I love the fact that you have been so kind to remind me to clean my skull and protect my tips.

**@%$&%">**@%$&%# Airlines Ridiculous Baggage Policies

Antlers
Must be as free of residue as possible. The skull must be wrapped and tips protected.
$100 in addition to the applicable checked baggage charge, based on the number of checked bags.
70 lbs115 inches

Hangliders
One hanglider
$100 in addition to the applicable checked baggage charge, based on the number of checked bags.
70 lbs115 inches

Javelin
One javelin
$100 in addition to the applicable checked baggage charge, based on the number of checked bags.
70 lbs115 inches
- Acceptance conditional on aircraft size and load conditions
Kayak, Boats, Sculls, Canoes
Not accepted.

Oars
One pair of oars
Charged the applicable checked bag charge for the 1st or 2nd checked bag. When in excess, each item will be subject to the baggage charge for a single piece.
50 lbs62 inches

Pole Vault
Not accepted.

The One Which Starts With Captain Crunch Encrusted French Toast

2009-05-11T11:42:00.001-07:00

...served in bed.

Homemade gifts are the best because...well because the kids are homemade too. Right?

Hope you all enjoyed your Day!! I did - I really did!

WTF Wednesday - the Friday Edition

2009-05-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

WTF Time?

It's frickin' Friday already. I thought you were only supposed to fly when you're having fun? Nope. Whoopin' it up has not occured to delay the Wednesday portion of this WTF. Just a busy Swirl Girl.

WTF Earthquakes?
Wanna know what it's like? Okay - put your arms out to the sides. Starting with the tips of your right middle finger and going through your core all the way through to the tip of your left middle finger...do "the wave".

C'mon, you know you can.

You know you want to.

That's what this one felt like. It's the 3rd or 4th one I have felt since living out here. How long did it last? As long as it takes you to put your arms out to the sides and do "the wave". It's was really loud too. Then later that night, there was another. Epicenter about 8 miles away. You have like , what - 3 seconds to think 'what to grab' and 'get out'? Oh yeah - and the kids...grab the kids, too. Them.

WTF my dentist story?
You know how when you are in college and everyone in the dorm gets their period at the same time? Well, this here sorority of a bloggy ladies seem to have all suffered dental woe. For that I am sorry. Put your big girl pants on and go get it done. While I was there there was a woman about 88 who had to have all kinds of work done. She gave me that "take care of your teeth Missy" kind of sad face.

WTF - the end of school is only 6 weeks away??
This is the time of year all the 'end ofs' occur. The end of softball season ($50.oo for coaches gifts and dinner at team party). The end of pre-school ($20 for teacher appreciation gifts, kindergarten orientation, pre-school graduation complete with cap and gown, $20.00 for obligatory graduation photo packet of pre-schooler in aforementioned cap and gown). The end of 4th grade ( book club graduation which Emily will receive her Master's degree, the 4th grade play, Open House, carnival, volunteer for this, that and the other thing).

WTF swine flu hysteria?

I get the whole concept of pandemic...but did they really think this out? Sure, one kid may have the flu - but to close an entire High School for a week? I have an idea - why not have them stay at school for a week? Sort of like an educational quarantine. Do the people in charge at the CDC that the kids are just going to stay home and study? No. They are gonna unleash on your town and spread whatever they may or may not have all over the place.

Leaving you with this...it made me laugh.

The One In Which She is Comfortably Numb

2009-05-04T12:55:00.000-07:00

So I had to go back to the dentist today because even his office is telemarketing customers these days. No, I actually had two cavitites to fill in my 45 year old pie-hole. I am amass with fear and trepidation over any doctor visit, even more so when I know that I will be receiving some kind of treatment. So Dr. Chris, who seems to have a new baby on the way everytime I visit him (or I should say his wife is having the baby) which may explain the need for his office to telemarket and troll for patients because he is starting his own little Duggar family and awaiting the call from TLC for his reality show....sorry about that! Anyway - Dr. Chris comes in and shakes my hand...explains what we are going to do .

I tell him, as I do everytime - that I need the play -by- play and he is NOT TO SHOW ME any of the instruments of 'mass dental destruction' or I am outta there. Hell, I didn't even watch the birth of my daughters or even look at them until they were well out of the zone and the nurses cleaned them up. I plug in the earbuds of my IPod and begin to channel my inner calm when he comes at me with ....and my eyes are still open, mind you, a cotton swab loaded with a topical numbing gel. I tell him - "Dude, I said wait 'til my eyes are closed" and he says "it's just a Qtip, swirl girl...Jeez."

Okay, deep breathing and Pat Metheny cued up on the Ipod...I am good now.

So he swabs me and I am all "that wasn't so bad" then he tells me what is coming next and while he is speaking he thinks he can sneak in the Novacaine needle while I'm distracted ...as he is sneaking the needle in , I inadvertantly raised my left hand and get poked by the needle in the juicy vein in my left hand. Just a little, but enough to feel some effects of the juice. Cool.

I wait for him to stop laughing...and I have squoze my eyes waaaay tight and brings the needle to my face (which sucks, cuz I have seen it already and now I have to re- psyche myself up for it) shoves it in and leaves me alone to numb up. A few minutes later, he comes back in, drill drill drill and we're done. Dr..Chris says next time he'll prescribe a valium for me to calm me down before I come in. I said "there won't be a next time". He said "there's always a next time"**

**I gotta tell you all, if I could invent anything in the world that would be a boon to people all over the world- it would be a 100% silent dentist drill. It's not the 'pain' that I hate about a dentist visit, it's that sound. Worse than nails on a chalkboard...worse than the sound of screeching tires...that sound is the stuff of nightmares.

**I also gotta tell you - that I really wonder if I had cavities at all or did I just finance the new nursery ?? You know, because I am such a trusting soul and never doubt anyone's motives.

Needless to say I am typing this with my right hand now, since not only are my tongue and lips all wonky - but so is my hand.

Let's just say I am the worst patient any doctor would never want to have.

Which reminds me, I need to have a schmear and a squish soon. (pap and boob).

Hello , Dr. Chris - would give me a valium so I can make those appointments???

WTF Wednesday

2009-04-28T11:17:00.001-07:00

WTF with the IRS? April 15th has come and gone. The source for much tension around these parts. Since giving up my paying career for my non-paying job 7 years ago...I had been relegated to the title of Taxpayer Spouse. They don't accept Domestic Goddess or Prime Minister as occupation for a SAHM. This year, in an effort to curb costs, the IRS has a way to file the Not EZ forms via the internet. I didn't see the form. I didn't sign the form. I am not even a person anymore. WTF?

WTF with my 9 year old? Two days ago she was Flatsy Patsy. Today she has real live actual little boob-nubs. When I mentioned it to her, she about jumped out of her Sketchers with tweener glee. She said she needs to start wearing push-up camisoles. She is gonna drive me to drink (earlier than usual) Oh hell, it's four o'clock somewhere. Hubby said he noticed the nubs a few days ago..but hasn't stopped shuddering since. Straight up or on the rocks, dear?

WTF miss California? Opposite marriage ? Really? I get the stink you are making. I (sort of) .. agree that if your opinion wasn't wanted, it shouldn't have been requested. You were asked a loaded question (by a loaded asker, I might add)and answered truthfully . But, dear Miss, it wasn't what you said that caused the loss of the crown...it was your delivery. If Miss America is about 'purity', then Miss USA is about 'maturity'. You're not showing a whole lot. We have already exhausted more collective energy on your bitching than the whole matter is worth. You're getting more press than the actual winner. Sour grapes only make good whine.

WTF Vegas? Last weekend in Vegas - we were staying at Planet Hollywood where the Miss USA pageant was held. I have never seen more beautiful people in my life. And moms, sisters, little nieces of the contestants? Lovely. We had a chance to talk to many of them, and their entourage of supporters ( and a large cadre of stylists , (read:gay men)) . They were really very poised and 'on' all the time. What a great time we had. But - WTF Vegas? I go but twice a year to reinvigorate my groove; to feel good about myself. We all know that a good brisk walk down Las Vegas Boulevard usually does wonders for one's ego. The Strip represents middle America. People who would pay $25 for a one ounce of alcohol blue 'drink' in a souvenier Eiffel Tower stein complete with neck strap (you know, so you can give the man a dollar to pet his lizzard- and I mean the amphibian). Vegas is one gigantic buffet of average. Not this weekend. I'm afraid it was me who was in buffet line this go around. Please don't tell me I need to vacation in Pigeon Forge next year.

Totally off subject here, but I saw Mr. Big ...yessiree, Chris Noth. On the roullette table. He's yummy. And while not tall, he is beefy where he should be beefy. I got a chance to slide over ~~and slip him my tongue~~ and mention that I was a big fan. He was gracious. Yum. I managed not to embarrass myself totally, like I did with George. Clooney. Yeah that's right. I had no chance of sharing any me-time with Mr. Big with all those gorgeous contestants and their swooning stylists roaming around.

WTF with my brother and his wife? Facebook knew my bro had shoulder surgery yesterday before his mother and sisters knew. He's fine, the whole thing was successful and all - and that is good news. But even though I usually don't 'dis' family on here, but they don't read this anyway. They probably don't even know it exists. I just don't get why they didn't tell us - their family - and post to their (her) Facebook friends ...My mom is hurt and angry and rightly so. She found out from my sister's email . This is not a case of "I didn't want to worry you" or anything...this is a case of " I don't think about you ". I love my brother, but sometimes...I don't like him very much.

WTF with my teeth? I am forty-fuckin-five years old and I have two cavities. I blame my parents for this one. Dental health is largely hereditary. Add genetics to the fact that I have no calcium production (hypocalcemia) and I'm looking at osteoporosis and rapid(lier than most) tooth decay.

Phriday's Photos...

2009-04-24T11:01:00.000-07:00

I bet you think I shorcircuited the Papa Smurf, thus burning my , um...'hands'...and that's why I haven't posted in a week. Nope!

Not so - I had my semi annual girls' weekend in Vegas last weekend! And, for once, what happened there didn't stay there (yes, folks...there was a Santa Claus). When I go to Vegas, I go for 3 nights and one day (can you say 'round the clock?) My mom and sister were winners too! I don't know, but I saw no signs of economic slowdown - it was packed! It was a great weekend and it was even better when you win. Trust me.

So I am making this one short and sweet (because some things that happen in Vegas do actually stay there) and not going to go on about my weekend. Yet.

I will, however, play along with Candid Carrie and put up some wonderful pictures of our day at the beach a few weeks ago. The sky was so blue that even Crayola couldn't reproduce it. The air was crisp and cool, so there were no other people at the beach. Just us, a kite and the camera. Then, we hit a pharmer's market and got 3 phlats of strawberries for $5.oo. I love those kinds of days!

oh, and the photos?

I just love the way the girls and Hubby look as they watch the Panda kite go forth and conquer.

The One (what? only one?) with the Frilly Blog Award

2009-04-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

I got this from ~~that stud~~ my buddy Kevin over at Always Home and Uncool. There are quite a few Daddy blogs that I read daily. Take it from me, Kevin may always be home...but he is anything but Uncool. In fact, he comments on my comments to his comments about my comments on his posts. In fact, one could almost say that I may actually 'talk' to Kevin more than own Hubby! I definitely yell at him less, and don't complain about money - or the job, or the kids, or anything. Excuse me, I don't yell. - I speak with emphasis.

And what to do with this Bloggy Bling?? I am to bestow it to other wonderful Bloggy friends... so here goes:

Nikki at Blah, Blah Blog who has exquisite taste {wink, wink}and hysterical 'I Wish Wednesday's" posts.

Brittany at Barefoot Foodie who is ready to pop out another child and quite frankly, I can't afford a real baby shower gift. Seriously, she is frickin' hysterical and gives a whole new meaning to the word Earth Mother.

Carrie of Candid Carrie who has more followers for just one of her Phriday Photo Phiesta's than I've had in over a year of blogging - total! She is also a new mom!!

Lee over at Moms Without Blogs who is a new friend. I am trying to suck up to her so she'll interview me...Subtlety has never been my strong suit, what can I say?

Cristin at Tiptoeing Through The Tulips who was one of my very first. Commentors. I know I might have met her before. Maybe even eaten that tiny piece of paper she put on my tongue at a Dead show once. ...or was it a Scarlett Begonia?

And although I could go on and on.... but you folks better read the "what to do with the Frilly Blog Award " disclaimer attached and do what you are told.

Frilly Blog Award Disclaimer:
"These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to {sic}bunches of bloggers who must choose {sic}bunches of more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

Now onto the real heart of this post. This is how I blog...I usually scroll through my daily reads and sometimes ~~steal~~ get inspiration from their posts. I have a wad of used tissues and receipts with little notes on them so when something strikes me as blogworthy fodder - I always have some ~~dried up snot~~ thing to write about. But sometimes, I get some ideas from the comments I leave on other people's blogs. I literally crack myself up! My response when Kevin bestowed the Frilly Blog Award was something to the affect of " well, it's no independent pleasuring device or a free coffee card - but it doesn't make my ass look fat in these sweat pants!" Yup- totally slayed myself on that one.

Which leads me (in a very circuitous route) to this:

WARNING: The following contains some very personal and ersatz erotica so if you are my mom or anyone who has seen me in a diaper...please just back away from the monitor and remove your fingers from the keyboard. NOW!

Without a doubt, you have all seen the myriad of pleasuring devices being 'donated', 'test driven' and 'reviewed ' on these here interwebs. Well, Swirl Girl got herself a toy - affectionately dubbed 'Papa Smurf' . Drew (as in I'm not sure if it is Drew as is Barrymore or Drew as in Cary which if it is the latter ...kinda freaks me out a little) of Eden Fantasys reached out to me via my comments on another ~~horny~~ stay at home mommy blogger's site (hello SMTMVM) and asked if I'd like to give one of these babies a whirl...so I said SURE THING! I am to write a straight up review (which I don't know if I can actually do without my own special brand of Swirly snark) and he/she may give me another one to give away . So without further adieu....

Meet The Insatiable G show. Not to be confused in any way with Da Ali G show...(cuz I gave up on that show on HBO when Borat came out cuz that just wasn't funny)

{Don't you just love how show it next to two tomatoes? It's a vibrator! No , it's a pizza sauce mixer! }

What it is - it is a " hygienically superior Silicone insatiable G™features a clitoral stimulator with pleasure nodules and a flickering tongue and a wide curved, flexible and resilient G-spot stimulator.

The easy-grip controller works with two removable bullets that can be used to vibrate the clitoral and G-spot stimulators simultaneously or independently and provides seven intense functions: the first three functions vibrate from low to very powerful, the fourth is a pattern of short and long bursts of vibration, the fifth pulsates rapidly, the sixth pulsates gently then roughly and the seventh function escalates.

With a wide range of pulsating combinations and dual motors, this toy is assuredly "designed to hit the mark with unparalleled precision."

What it did for me? First of all - just the thought of using the toy got the 'business done" in no time at all.. I really like the dual action. And I liked the different vibration intensities. There is one particular setting (number six?) that rises and falls and rises and falls and rises and falls and ........goehtoihygoljaew...oops, just fell off my chair! Sorry about that!

I also liked that it is sort of a ' insert tab A into flap B' sort of gizmo. Meaning that you don't need to maneuver Papa Smurf once it is placed in the flap B. So even those of us with Tennis Elbow can use it, and you don't have to fumble with going leftie. There is a remote control with a lengthy 'tow line' so you can literally lay back and 'get your PBS' on. (heaven forbid it should slip too far into the abyss....you can tow it out)

I did think it was kind of loud - so forget the discreet "be right back, kids" while you slip into your bathroom for a quickie. Not too loud mind you - certainly nothing that couldn't be drowned out by my pleasure giggles. And I am not sure what the 'removable bullets' are supposed to do. I couldn't get them out...nor was I planning on having an orgasm then knocking over the convenient store for an Icee when I was done - so they look nice and all shiny ...but what are they for?

And I do like the fact that it looks like a sex toy. I must say that while perusing the site Eden Fantasy for my toy of choice - there were many adorable dildos that looked like rubber duckies or cute little dolphins or ladybugs wearing an army helmet. I could see my girls finding one of those and , thinking it a bathtub toy - they'd get the shock of their young lives.

----------

So on a scale of 1 to 10...I'll give the Insatiable G a 7.5 (damned Russian judge) It's got a great beat and you can totally dance to it. Solo. And let me just add: in words immortalized by the God -father of Soul himself.

"I Feel Good" and "Papa's got a brand new bag!! "

An Open Letter to The Pilot of the Pilot

2009-04-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Honda Service Center 'Valet'

While I appreciate the way you put paper on the floor mats to keep your mechanic's greasy feet from soiling my coffe stained mommy wagon...and I love that you wrap the 'genuine leather steering wheel' in plastic to keep it clean...and that you hermetically seal the seats themselves to keep sharp objects from sliding across them and tearing the pleather....I have but one question for you , dude.

Why, oh why must you mess with the seat position for the ten seconds you are in the car?

I have the fancy Honda Pilot (which I love)..the one with the driver's side seat controls. I can adjust the seat back, the distance from the dashboard, the lumbar back support, and the height of the seat - personalize it , if you will. I can control my comfort to suit my needs on that particular day. If I'm wearing a bulky sweater and need a bit more room...no problem. If I feel the need to do 'the Gangsta Lean' I can do that too, by sliding the seat all the way back and sticking my elbow out the open window and blasting the Sly and Family Stone. If I accidentally drop my nail file, or ~~flask~~ straw in between the seat and the center console, I just move the seat back so I can shove a hanger in there and get it out.

So riddle me this Hernando, you are asked to take the car from point A to point B...why do you need to change the seat position and the radio station for the ride? Are you taking my car out for a joy ride while I am waiting patiently in the ~~coffee store with free Wi-Fi~~ waiting area catching up on current financial debacle on CNN?

I have had the car for two years and I have grown very fond of its adaptability to move and grow with my ass. If you feel that strongly about moving the seat - the least you can do is clean up the crap that has fallen in. And , it wouldn't hurt if you vacuum the damned thing out either. If memory serves you could have collected :

-one really nice pen that I used to keep in my purse
-two chuckie cheese tokens
-the 'arm' to a pair of Hanna Montana sunglasses
-a few melted crayons
-a paper clip or 7
-a partly used band-aid (and I say partly used 'cuz it wasn't bled on ...it was decorative in purpose only)
-about $3.37 change
-several receipts which had I not lost them, would have enabled me to put additional deductions on my tax returns thus enabling hubby and I to avoid certain financial ruin
...oh and the hanger that I lost the last time I tried to retrieve the really nice pen that I used to keep in my purse.

I'ts been well over a week - and I still can't get it back to where it is comfortable for me.
Dude, you could have kept the change, too.

Grrrrr

The One In Which It Sounds Like a Plan...

2009-03-29T11:02:00.000-07:00

The little one has been asking some question lately...No - not the the average questions that most 5 year olds ask their moms like :

Mom, how come I have to eat 5 servings of fruits and vegetables a day?
(doesn't your 5 year old ask you questions like that?)

My little one asks me deep and profound questions. Querries that spark philosophical debate and some that defy explanation. And I try to answer them in a way she'd understand, careful not to "lie" (overtly anyway, and notice the word lie is in bloggy air quotes) and I try to craft my words the right way as she is sure to repeat them sometime in the future (and hopefully not in an inopportune place either) like telling the cute guy at Starbuck's that coffee makes her mom farty. And not in the diversionary way some people do either: When you ask them "What time is it?" They build you a watch.

Here's a few doozie exchanges that occurred this weekend:

Rachel: Mom, what does 'get arrested' mean?
Me: Where did you hear that expression?
Rachel: Ella Enchanted (a disney movie starring Anne Hathaway)
Me: Well, when you're a bad guy and you get caught doing that bad thing by the police, it's called getting arrested.
Rachel: Do the bad guys go to jail for ever and ever?
Me: Depends on how bad the bad thing that they did was.
Rachel: Well, when I get arrested, I'll make sure the bad thing was only medium bad.
Me: Sounds like a plan, dolly.

***

Rachel: Mom, how do you get up to heaven? **
Me: When you die, your body doesn't go to heaven...but your mind, and thoughts, and spirit and heart and feelings go to heaven.
Rachel: What happens to your body?
Me: Well, say like when you eat an apple, and if you don't throw it in the trash, it sort of gets all brown and shrivelly and rotten? That's what happens to your body.
Rachel: Eeewww. So your heart goes up to heaven?
Me: Well, not really your actual heart...but the love it has in it.
Rachel: {thinking a bit} Phew, I don't want my love to get all shrively and rotten!
Me: Sounds like a plan , Dolly.

**She clearly wasn't asking what do you have to DO to get into heaven. Some kids don't get death and dying, but she does. Plus, in Judaism - everyone goes to heaven . There is no alternative place to go. So being a good person or a bad person isn't relevant. For us, heaven is where you go after you retire from God's waiting room, otherwise known as Florida.

********
In discussing the whole Passover holiday (think: Charlton Heston in The Ten Commmandments)...which she is learning in pre-K

Rachel: Pharoah and Fair start with the same letter but are opposites!

After a king sized breakfast of Captain Crunch encrusted french toast ....(thanks Dad)

Rachel: Mom, do you know what smells can do? Smells can s-l-i-t-h-e-r (said very deliberately slowly ) under the crack under your door and through the slits in your eyes and wake you up wanting syrup!

****

Rachel: Mom, do I bet you wish you were a kid.
Me: Nope, 'cuz if I was, I wouldn't have you or Sissy .
Rachel: And you wouldn't yell, or wipe boogers or bummies .
Me: That 'bout sums it up for me, Dolly .

This was all part of the plan.

Phriday's Phavorite Photo

2009-03-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

** Editor's note for today: Look over there to the left...No over there to the other left. I got some new bloggy bling today from Sassy at Are You Sassified. She is THE coolest blogger who has become one of my confidants. Sassy only gives this out to uber cool bloggers (like me?). Not only did she read my latest stuff, but she also went back and read just about every post I've ever done. Now there is a gal with good taste (or she just has too much time on her hands). She so totally ROCKS! Now I feel enormous pressure to live up to her expectations...go forth and Sassify.
*************************************************************

I just don't know what to say about this picture. Hubby took the girls on one of his 'dadventures' while mom was 'shopping' with her friend Jami (never saw a store..not even one). You know those pin sculpture thingies that Executives keep on their desks right next to their miniature Zen Gardens where you move rocks and rake sand? Well, this museum that they went to had a life size pin sculpture thingy!

The girls walked, posed, flew, jumped into it several times, and Hubby (who never brings the camera) snapped this photo with his phone. It's almost disturbing, isn't it? Emily (the bigger one) must have had her arm across her chest (I hope) because the first thing I saw on the picture was her rack! She's only 9 , and I assure you ...she is rack-less.

Leave it to snarky me to notice that....My next comment had something to do with marketing this thing as a babysitting ~~weapon~~ assistant.

For more Photo Phun---go visit Candid Carrie.

The One About No-things.

2009-03-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to say "hola" to anyone who is visiting from SITS today! Thanks for stopping by and don't think this post in indicative of what warranted the Shout Out from Tiff and Heather! I am usually much more charming and witty and snarky.

So this weekend was a lot of No. No ballet. No Softball game. No-things to do.

A few bloggable moments....

Friday was report card day in the Conejo Valley. Emily got ALL A's! (as if I expected anything less). She made honor roll again. I am really so proud of her. Even if she didn't get all A's - this kid really worries about her grades. And, granted it's only 4th grade - but I tell her (and I really mean it) that as long as she does her absolute best....whatever grades she gets - we'd be proud of her . (read: you better get all A's - I demand perfection...snark, snark)

To celebrate the achievement - we went to the movies on Saturday. We saw "Escape to Witch Mountain " or whatever it's called. We went to the new 'big-fancy- stadium -seating -marble lobbied-game room- bar" theater that just opened here. Despite what you may or may not have heard about economic downturn, apparantly these movie theater people don't buy into that. We won't pay our mortgage in April, so we can go see "Monsters v. Aliens" next weekend. We could live in the ginormous empty bag of popcorn for a while if we don't mind a few kernels intruding our nether regions.

The movie was okay. Despite getting to look at Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson (sadly with his shirt on...and I have seen him without it at my gym and it is goooooood) for almost two hours, and a cute remake of a 70's film ('cuz there really is nothing original anymore) there was an incredible amount of blowing up stuff and some mild peril that may prove too much for littler viewers. I caught a few boo-boos that their fact checkers needed to check. Like, what ATM machine spits out $100 bills? And, what slot machines in Vegas spit out wads of cash these days? Figures I focus on those things than the whole good over evil shit. Anyway - we all enjoyed the movie and the very comfy seats and the $285.oo of family fun.

Hubby and I watched "Rachel Getting Married". Not what I expected. Edgy. Not typical Anne Hathaway, I mean - it ain' t no "ella enchanted" or anything like that. I usually dig a good junkie flick, but this one slightly missed the mark. This one had- lots of scenes without backstory. Like, what's with the saris and mystic Indian cultural stuff? It all seemed a bit pedantic to have the soon-to-be-married-multi-racial-couple dress in saris and have a sitar and and a friggin' lute in the wedding band and relatives that sing Reggea and all that - and then they are moving to Hawaii? No explanation for all that. I obsess over those things throughout the whole film...so much so that I am still wondering what the connection is and why the screenwriter felt it necessary to go that way. And what is a good rehab story without a relapse or chance of relapse or even a beating down of the monkey on your back? This flick, albeit an Oscar nominated performance for Anne (who is just so doe-eyed and just darn adorable) was just okay.

You know when think you know something to be true and just live your life for years not even thinking that the fact could be disputed? Like, we know which hand is left and which is right. Just because. We know that shoes are worn over socks not the other way around. We know that George Clooney is just about the most delicious thing to grace Hollywood since , I don't know....since ever. We just know and accept these truths to be self evident.

{Okay, Swirlgirl - where are you going with this...}

Well, I've been watching E.R. , which sadly ends it 15 year run in the next few weeks. The 'where I am going with all of this' , aside from the fact that I had no life 15 years ago ...either - is that one of my favorite characters on that show is Archie Morris. He's been on for several years and although he started out to be a dick-head...he is the humanity of the show these past few years. The actor who portrays Dr. Morris is Scott Grimes. My point (in an extremely roundabout way) is that I always knew that I knew this actor from somewhere. And I KNEW that he was a contestant on Star Search (the original with Ed McMahon) in the early 80's and he was a young red headed boy who sang amazingly well. I can 'see' him on stage singing and winning something. When he first joined the cast of E.R. 5 or so years ago, I said - "I know him! He was on Star Search!" and I rattle that info off just hoping that someday I will have to answer the Million Dollar question on some trivia show....or offer a lifeline to someone on some trivia show. I would be the hero for having provided the winning answer to the question and that person would shower me with crisp greenery......{{oops, sorry . fantasy }} So...I google him. For like hours. I search every website known to man to try to find what year he was on StarSearch. And fail miserably.

I start to question everything I have come to know to be true. I check which hand I write with (yup, the right one)...I check to make sure that my socks are indeed inside my shoes (yup, okay there)...I sneak a peak at George Clooney to make sure he still makes my heart go a-flutter (yup, flutter-flutter-drool). So where do I know Scott Grimes from? Here. Anyone who is over 30 and from the Boston area knows Community Auditions. The original reality show. Scott Grimes was on this show (he is from Lowell MA) and I vividly remember him singing and winninng the lame ass trophy ...he was "star of the day, who can it be...your're vote may hold the key - it's up to you. Tell us who...will be Star of the Day" ( theme song that I still remember vividly). So I immediately have to call my sisterbestfriend and tell her. We watched that show every Sunday and even held our own versions making up contestants who did everything from set the table to hand springs off the chair in the den to full on Lord- of -Dance- in -tap -shoe routines!

I don't know why I feel it necessary to share this with you all. I guess I just want to let you know that just because you know something to be true - don't assume it is. And, when you have No-things to do....spend 4 hours googling it to make sure that No-thing is the real thing.

Phriday Photo Phiesta!

2009-03-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

I got this Sisterhood Award from Cristin at Tiptoeing Through the Tulips a while back for being her 'sister from another mister'. And if I ever go back to New England for a visit Cristin, I will so meet you so we can share a glass of wine and ~~make fun of our kids~~ and get to know each other better. So this post is dedicated to Sisters.

These two cherubs are my babies. They are sisters from the same mister. They are my chubby bubbies from the Hubby. My Boopie Lips and Bubba.

Sisters...two very different girls with one very common bond. The big one is a bit tom-boyish and the little one is all girlie-girl. They are each other's best friends. And have been that way since the little one was born and the big one had a live action dolly to play with. There was no jealousy, no "she's getting all the attention". Just pure, unadulterated love.

My own sisterbestfriend and I took years to get this way. When we were little, she scared the crap out of me. She didn't play Barbies with me...she didn't hang with me or read to me wash my hair for me. She didn't do art with me, she didn't make up plays and songs and rehearse and act them out with me. She was bigger and badder. She was tough. I was a goody-two-shoes. About the only thing we did together was gang up on our brother and try to get him in trouble (which he never got , by the way) I could tell some stories that if these things occurred today - she'd be seeing the inside of a "scared straight boot camp" . Once, she had a party and broadcast on the CB radio (remember those?) that she was having a party and our parent's were out of town for a few days. . About 200,000 kids showed up and trashed the house. I 'ran away' from home. I don't even think she knew I was missing.

But then, some time when I was in middle school ..and she drove Greg Hamilton (I still remember his name)and I to the school dance (avert your eyes now Mom) and bought us a few beers and provided other unmentionables for our enjoyment - something changed in our sister bond. Call it our "Ya-Ya Sisterhood" or our "Travelling Pants" or whatever. But she became my friend at that point. And the stories go on - most of which I can not re-tell here , since some time my kids will actually read this and I hate to shatter the image of their mommy's innocence and perfection, not to mention - that our mom reads this and we don't want her to think that we did anything worse than she actually caught us doing ....

My point is that my sister and I are best friends now. We are very different beings...but unconditionally love and accept one another. We don't always agree or have the same values - but that's why Heinz makes 57 varieties of pickles and Baskin Robbins makes 31 flavors. And, my girls are already there with a lifetime of sharing and bonding ahead.

So I dedicate this to all of you out there who are blessed to have sisters whether bonded by blood or spirit. If you don't have a sister - I know where you can get one. And it doesn't cost a thing.

For more Phriday Photo Phun - click here and visit Candid Carrie

Want These?

2009-03-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

Scary Mommy is doing a give-away. For these. Don't bother doing all the things she wants you to do to win them, because short of sending her my actual ears - I am doing what I can to win.

Now, back off Jack - Diamonds are this girl's best friend.

Pride and Pre-juiced...**

2009-03-13T11:36:00.000-07:00

** Because it is Friday - and I am looking forward to some major wine consumption ~~about 4:00~~ later on this evening whilst Hubby and I watch something from Netflix ...I finally have an hour to catch you up. So here goes: {{pulls together all the little swatches of paper and used napkins from her purse}}

**Whilst sitting at a red light a few days ago, I turned my head toward the tell tale thumping of some serious base blasting from the car next to me. In the 'car' (and it was actually an old beat up pick up in Bond-O blue) there were two high school kids. Clean cut and almost ROTC looking dudes, I might add. The music was so loud the asphalt was literally shaking. I rolled my window down to hear what they were playing. One of the kids looked at me and smiled. "It's Death Metal, Ma'am" (Did he just Ma'am me? Oh, no he di-in't) Crap - I'm old. I never heard of Death Metal. This coming from a woman who's last CD was purchased from Pottery Barn or Starbucks (can you say Hootie and the Blowfish?) - I know nothing of this Death Metal. What comes after Death Metal? Funeral Dirge Metal??

**Whilst sitting outside watching the group of little 5 year old Tu-Tu'd darlings prance about in ballet class... "which one is yours?" I am asked. I point to the (cutest) one with the almost knee- length double braid and say "that one". "Are you her grandma? " (Did she just ask me if I was her Grandma? Oh no she di-in't). Crap- I'm not THAT old! I go back to listening to my Hootie on my Ipod and flipping through my Reader's Digest as I hike up my sweat pants and tighten the orthopedic shoes. Thanks, Bitch. And, by the way - your kid is ugly.

**The 9 year old has graduated from 4th grade Book Club with a Bachellor's Degree. 8 book reports with 3 to go for her Master's. The kid is a voracious reader. And, these reports are harder than my thesis paper at B.U. We have a project time line for due dates for which Emily has committed. We factor in the "I can't do this" and the fights with mom into the time line which as we have learned from experience...come regardless of degree of difficulty on each project.

Who knew 4th grade would be so challenging? In California, the entire 4th grade throughout the state studies California history. They study the Gold Rush, the California Missions (in which a styrofoam or sugar cube mission replica must be built repleat with real adobe roof tiles -no kits allowed and in which the local craft stores profit immensly I might add while the kids and their parents pull their fucking hair out and have even more fights with the kids who would rather play with the glue gun and their daddy actually said to the child "Don't be an asshole" while she was waving the Exact-O knife around trying to cut the whispy stringy thing of molten lava glue that was flying around the garage - and I quote that 'cuz he actually said it ...not me this time) They went on an overnight field trip to live and work on board a replica sailing vessel called the Brig Pilgrim (which cost $125 and the parents were hoping the kids would come back after working like slaves hoisting sails and swabbing decks and gathering hides with a greater appreciation of how lucky they are to have what they have when in actuality they came back thinking how cool was to learn the song 'What Can We Do with the Drunken Sailor').

Emily also was tested for the G.A.T.E. program . Which stands for Gifted and Talented Education. While mom sat through a two hour lecture and parental IQ test to see if their child is indeed a GATE kid...without coffee , I might add. The last IQ test I took was on-line and I got a 137 which I think is pretty good (and anything over 140 is near genius she says as she puffs and buffs fingernails on shirtsleeves). They gave us parents some sample questions that the kids were doing - I sat there with my chin on the table and was all "duh....".

She is also participating in the Women and History program in which 5 amazing women in history are presented and represented by various 4th and 5th graders to every class over the course of a week. Funny, my name wasn't on the list. Women like Harriet Tubman, Golda Meir, and Sally Ride - and maybe when my little one is in 4th grade ...Swirl Girl.

** The 5 year old is officially a reader. We have been reading to both girls since they were in utero. And, as most kids do ...she has been memorizing the books so she can recite them along with us. But in the past few weeks, the lightbulb has switched on for her and she is starting to put the sounds together to form the actual words - and not from memory.

Whilst at Starbuck's the other day, I am jotting down simple words on a napkin . Rhyming words like : Hop, Pop, Slop. Rachel is sounding out the letters (really loudly I might add) while I am reminding her that the end sound are all the same, and the beginning sounds are different.

I write Wall.
Ball
Tall

She says " Whu - ah- uhl- uhl , Wall:"
"Buh-ah-uhl-uhl, Ball"

she gets tripped up on the last one...I help out with "It rhymes with Ball and is the opposite of short."

She says - loud and proud - "PANTS"!

Bwaaahaaaahaaaa! Near genius #2 in the making.

- and they say drinking while pregnant impairs cognitive development. Now pass the Pinot and shut the fuck up.

** And I leave you with this rare clip of mommy doing what she loves most. Enjoying her vino and some snicky snacks on a gorgeous Southern California afternoon. Turn up the volume for this.... my new favorite nickname for my kid. P.I.T.A....'cuz that's how I roll.

The One About the Edit Button

2009-03-05T11:02:00.000-08:00

Totally stole this from Em at Life, Liberty and the Pursuit. That's right ...stole it outright. Usually these kind of things are bestowed upon bloggers who somehow characterize the essential qualities of the award. But in this case - I just stole it. Maybe that is why I don't qualify for a real award. I am a 'wild card' performer...maybe my post will garner the votes of millions of adoring fans so that I may actually get to be the ~~Next Top Model~~. I mean ~~the Next American Idol~~. Oh hell, I just want to be a good mom. I never want my kids to say "my mom is such a bitch." or the dreaded 'H' word...EVER.

Here are the details of the award, and how it works:

1. Admit ONE thing you feel awful about involving being a mom. Get it off your shoulders. Once you've written it down, you are NO LONGER allowed to feel bad. It's over with, it's in the past. Remember, you're a great mom

"Ready, Shoot, Aim". That is my problem and has always been. I say things. Mean things. And, I can't take them back. I swear at my children. Not that there is anything inherently wrong with having a potty mouth - because words are just words. And, 'sticks and stones can blah, blah, blah' - but sometimes I throw some pretty hefty sticks and stones at my kids. I really need an edit button. I don't want my girls to have deflated self confidence. Sometimes I hurl completely awful boulders and spears at my kids. Then I feel horribly guitly afterwards.

I also don't like most other kids (or adults) for that matter. So because of my intolerance for others, they don't have a lot of playdates or much of a social life. It has nothing to do with their busy 'extra-curricular' lives, really...which they do have. It's because of my anti-social behavior and, to an extent, my unwillingness to change that.

2. To remind yourself that you ARE a good mom, list SEVEN things you love about your kids, you love doing with your kids, or that your kids love about you. These are the things to remind yourself of EVERY DAY that you rock!

-Everyone tells me what special kids I have. Teachers, relatives, friends, clergy. They are both amazingly creative, bright, well mannered, kind, sensitive, loving, funny . I take 50% if the credit ... even though sometimes I am the only one who doesn't see it. {{sigh}}

- I love to listen to my girls play together. Their giggles and imaginations just floor me sometimes. The other day they were in the tub together (truly the greatest way to bathe) and playing with the rubber ducky, naked barbies and other toys and I hear "Be Quiet Bitch!" I go running in and say , in a completely-not-so-shocked-cuz-they-heard-the-word-from-dear-old-mom kind of way "What did you just say?" to the 9 year old. She answers (with naked Ken who is being the king of the ocean in hand) "I said -Be quiet FISH"....because Ariel and Flounder were talking trash about my crown and trident." {mom skulks away snickering for assuming the worst}

- I love that they are good sleepers and always have been. Since about 3 weeks old ...they sleep through the night. (don't be jealous - much) If they don't get at least 12-13 hours of sleep a day, they are a mess. Yay for me!!!

- I love that they love to be with one another. They are truly best friends. My sisterbestfriend and I weren't always that way. I love that my girls are from the start.

- I love that each one of them has their own individual special talent. The 9 year old has could be the next JK Rowling. I'm telling you this kid has a pentiant for writing . She has won awards and national contests. She writes songs, poems, stories - what a gift! I never discourage this behavoir or hobby. In fact, I wish she would write things down more, and actually finish a few of these stories. (of course, instead of saying that in a nice and encouraging way- I snarkily roll my eyes and say it. See? No edit button)

The 5 year old, on the other hand, is an amazing artist. Her fine motor skills are so amazing for her age. The child will pose a still life on the table and have at it. Clearly she did not get that from me. She is a lefty...and I googled that and found that many of the world's great and famous were lefties. And, my mom and MIL are too. (of course, instead of saving everything...I make some snarky fricking comment about we should sort though the paper for recycling and rotate the fridge-worthy pictures so as to keep it fresh )

- I love that my girls have a ravenous appetite for learning. And although they watch a good amount of mind-numbing blather ...they would rather learn new things than catch up on the latest mediocrity on TV.

-I love that I have girls. I have a 48 year old penis that I am not sure what to do with...what the fuck would I do with a baby boys'? One of them is totally girly-girl and the other one is more hip and funky. I totally let them pick out their own clothes...within reason of course. I figure there will be bigger battles to fight than whether they are wearing matching colors.

- I love my girls and don't want them to grow up to be just like me. I want them to learn that using the edit button is a good thing. I just wish I could make mine bigger and easier to find.

The One Where Dr. Suess writes a blog

2009-03-02T10:08:00.000-08:00

If Theodore Giesel were to author a blog, would it sport pictures of a three legged dog?
Or maybe he'd celebrate in such a new way, that he'd blow out the virtual candles on his cake made of hay.
All the children would come to school , dressed in jammies right quick, to offer their finger for a mouse's right click.
With thousands of followers ready to rhyme and recite, and check out the animules the Dr. has created that delight.
If Dr. Suess had a blog, would it have been much like mine? Often heavy and saddled with mood swings and stuff...so much so that he'd say "Take a break, that's quite enough!"

Oh the places you'd go that good Dr. would take us - Swirl Girl's back from her bloggy hiatus!

Happy Birthday Dr. Suess!

The One in Which She Just Does't Feel Like Writing

2009-02-18T11:41:00.000-08:00

So - i just don't feel like it right now. I don't feel like anything. Except shit. For weeks now, I have been in a certain indescribable malaise. Physically and emotionally. I read these interwebs daily - and compare my crap to other people's crap and my crap isn't half as bad....but it's my crap nontheless. I know I shouldn't complain....I am thankful for so many things. Really I am .

And when I try to sit and put down my thoughts - I read my crap and think to myself...stop whining . So in an effort to inject some humor into the funkin' funk - here goes:

Last week , both girls had the flu and were home with me...all frickin' week. I picked up a homework packet for Emily, so she wouldn't get behind. While she was home sick ( and she was really sick this time) she had to: do math homework, take a math test, complete a book report, complete the required '4th grade California Mission project'* , pick at least one fight with me when it's convenient, go to the Dr. for her physical and throat culture, pick another fight with me because the first one wasn't satifsying enough, practice her softball swing, catch up on the SuiteLife of Zach and Cody mind numbing marathon - and , did I mention the fight picking thing?

The little one, who was also home sick all week had to: color, catch up on WowWow Wubzy and Little Bill (god how I love No commercials Noggin channel), practice counting to 100 for the 100th Day of School., listen to Emily and me fighting, learn that just blowing snot out of your nose without benefit of a two ply nose blowing receptacle leaves you boogery fingers, wear your pajamas all day for days, color some more, and promise me that she won't ever be 9.

They survived to every four hour doses of Tylenol, Robitussen and Pediacare. I survived too. I have lost a few braincells - but I have come to the conclusion that I would rather chew off my left arm than homeschool.

*more on the 4th Grade California Mission projects later, once the glue gun fumes have cleared

Friday Foto Fiesta ...my first Valentine

2009-02-13T12:46:00.000-08:00

Irwin Keller

2/14/36 - 1/10/08

I Love and Miss You Daddy.

You were my first Valentine.

This is one of the first pictures of my wonderful dad. He mustered up all his strength and impish energy just to 'smile' . Probably hates his mom for making him wear those girlie 'shorty shorts'.

What a poser! The original Fonzie! And the reason I know this was totally posed is because there is some farm implement in his right hand ...and it was probably the last time there was a farm implement in his right hand.

Dad's first house. What pride!!

Driving Miss Doris. Grandma is in the back seat of this car. And you can't tell, but it is turquois blue with white fins and ragtop convertible. Fuggetaboutit!

This was the last picture ever taken of my wonderful dad, on December 31st, 2007. He mustered up all of his strength and energy just to smile. I treasure this photo so much I still have it in my digital camera...and ~~can not~~ will not delete it. Ever.

visit Candid Carrie for more Friday Fotos

The One Where Debbie Does Dallas **

2009-02-11T00:00:00.000-08:00

**Well, not really and for a couple of reasons. First of all, my name is not Debbie. It is Swirlgirlsrealname. But for some odd reason, Ms. Lula (who, by the way - isn't from Dallas) has been calling me Debbie forever...so in her honor - the title. And, secondly, I am guest posting over at The R Family Diaries while Tiffany is on 'blogcation'...and in linking back to my place, I thought I would ~~steal~~ encourage some visitors from her site by enticing them with the promise of cheesy 70's porn. So to that end....

[Cue cheesy 70's porn music, black lights and lava lamps]

Here is where it goes back to being just plain little 'ol me. Lula did this really cool Q and A thing a week or so ago and she asked who wanted to be interviewed. So , immediately - and without hesitation - I emailed her back and said "Do Me". After a brief explanation as to the double entendre in that statement....(not that there is anything wrong with that) ~~I guess~~ it meant that I wanted to be interviewed.

And without further ado....

1. Everyone has been blessed with a talent, be it big or small. What's yours, and do you use it often?

I have been blessed with the truth extracting eyes. I got it from my dad. We call it the "Poppy Face" around here. Furrowed brow, chin lowered, eyes fixed - looking intensely at the the target of truth extraction. I have been known to bring a grown man to his knees and crumble little princesses.

2. Share your favorite memory from childhood.

I have so many. Thank god I can say that. One particular memory that rings clear is circa 1969ish. We lived on a cul de sac that was truly suburbia. Next door to us was the Previtts on one side and the Gilbergs on the other. Across the way was the Nappys. Down at the end was the Pauls, of Bob Pauls' Bakery fame. (fame only if you grew up in Framingham , MA ). We neighborhood kids would play outside on warm summer evenings until summoned by the Mr. Previtt full-fist-two-finger-whistle that it was time to go inside. On 4th of July we'd all have parades and block parties and Mr. Paul would give each kid in the cul de sac their own little cake wrapped a little brown box tied with twine and everything. We'd play kickball, or in one another's tree forts, and ride our bikes , and pretend we were the Partridge Family and I always had to be Keith 'cuz Barbara Nappy had long brown hair so naturally she was Laurie (beotch), and chase each other around in our pj's, and explore the pine groves between our cul de sac and the neighboring golf course and.....

3. You've been given a two week, all-expenses paid vacation. Where will you go? Whom will you take with you?

This one is easy...I have been lucky to have visited some pretty terrific places , but I would love to repeat my honeymoon to a tee. Two weeks in the finest hotels in Florence, Venice and Positano Italy. I don't think I could improve on what was perfection 13 years ago. First class all the way. To the manner born baby, to the manner born.

4. If you could have one superpower, what would you want? How would you use it?

This one is easy too. I'd be the Cancer Ass Kicker. Nuff said.

5. A movie is being made of your life story. Who will play you? Your significant other? And what song would be on the movie's soundtrack?

Why anyone would want to make a story of my life, unless I actually became the Cancer Ass Kicker and had a real story to contribute...I don't know. But if for some odd reason, the life story of Swirl Girl were to be made..it would be a feel good story along the lines of The Big Chill meets When Harry Met Sally with a little I Love You Alice B . Toklas thrown in for reality sake. Full of humor and great music.

6. If you had an entire day to spend by yourself, with plenty of money at your disposal, what would you choose to do?

Seriously - a whole day and plenty of money ?? I could say a spa or the mall - but I'm going with Vegas. Just me and 1000 of my closest drinking , smoking, swearing, flirting 'friends' hitting the tables and slots. Sad, huh?

7. Name three people, living or deceased, you'd invite to a dinner party at your house. What would you serve?

This one brought me the most joy in trying to answer. I have thinking about it for days now. At first I was going to be all clever and pithy....bordering on the sentimental. My wonderful dad truly loved the taste of food and the entire experience of eating really, really good food. So he's in for sure.

Then, last night , Hubby and I watched this. Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. Monday night's episode was titled Food Porn. You gotta check it out. I would want to eat EVERYTHING on that show ( save for the actual pig tip of the snout described as gelatinous - ewww)....and share it with whoever has shorter arms than I do. Let's just say you'd have to pry me away from that table.

8. You stumble upon a time machine that will only go back through time. Where will it take you? What will you do in that period of time?

I love the look of old technicolor movies like How to Marry A Millionaire and Funny Face and The Apartment. The clothes, the style...the fact that people dressed for dinner, and wore fur stoles and hats. And whatever happened to slippers with kitten heels and little fuzzy poofies at the toes? I'd be Lauren Bacall and be all glam and sexy. I'd be all trying to nab my advertising executive - photographer- architect - wealthy bachelor type man and drinking champagne out of coupe glasses

9. What is your all-time favorite book? Movie? Television show? Song?

All time favorites? Let's see. T.V. Show = The Mary Tyler Moore Show hands down.
Book = Are You There God It's Me Margaret, A Separate Peace,
I Know this Much Is True, A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Song = too many to list....suffice it to say that picking a favorite
song is tantamount to choosing Fritos Regular or Scoops.

10. A physician offers you $25,000 worth of plastic surgery services. Do you take him/her up on the offer? If so, what will you enhance/make bigger/make smaller?

Yes - Nip/ Tuck me all the way babay!! Take my ass and gut and give it someone less deserving than me. Pack the bags under my eyes and take a little off the nose.

Now...I would love to interview you and you and you. So here is what you do:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So come on--let's get to know each other better.

And do not fear potential questions--I promise to play very nice.

Fridays Foto Finish Fiesta

2009-02-05T21:02:00.000-08:00

Four One Day Park Hopper Tickets to Disneyland and California Adventure = $280.00
Lunch at Ariel's Grotto complete with table visits from 5 (count 'em) FIVE real live Disney Princesses = $150.00...and don't choke, that was with tax, tip and two glasses of wine for Mommy)
One Gen-u-ine Princess Ariel Costume from the Disney closeout guy = $19.99 (unbelievable, right?)
The most specialest 5th Birthday a girl could ever want = Priceless!

(they wore those ears all day and into the night, even on the drive home...)

If you want to play along - go over here, to Candid Carrie's!

The One With the Puffy Heart

2009-02-03T09:35:00.001-08:00

So I finally got it. And well before Valentine's Day. I got the Puffy Heart. No - not from Tiffany. The one I got did not come in a pretty box. It didn't come to me in the form of a gift. It will , however, be one I save forever.

My Puffy Heart came to me in the form of an apology. The oldest one called me "the worst mother in the whole world". Words that sting worse than being called the 'c' word.

Backstory: Every Monday, Emily comes home from school with what her teacher calls The Goldminer chart . Basically, this is a behavior chart filled with clever acronyms that describe the student's behavior like following directions, turning in homework, being attentive etc...Emily usually receives very good to excellent ratings on said chart. She is diligent about homework, citizenship, and all the rest. But last week, for some reason - her Goldmine was barren. Apparantly she forgot to turn in several assignments, and had some issues with talking in class during lessons. Or something like that.

When asked (by me) what homework assignments she told me she turned in (and apparantly did not ) she couldn't recollect. So she's sitting with her afterschool snack (the norm around here) and the comics (also the norm) and getting the third degree from me...my ire was growing because she was more into the latest installment of 'Leo' in the paper than she was into our conversation. And then she let 'er rip.

Me: "Em...it is really important that when you say you did something like turning in homework, that you actually do it. What assignments did you turn in late or not at all?"

Her: {chew, chew, slurp} I don't remember.

Me: "The reason you have your agenda book is to write down assignments and due dates for things - not just to doodle and get the latest joke of the day"

Her: {slurp, swallow} " I don't remember..If I knew, then I would remember!"

Me: {voice rising} "Dude, you remember everything you ate from age 2 through 9 and every episode of the 'Suite Life of Hannah Montana' and you can' t remember to write down your homework? Maybe you have too many things in your life to remember....too much soccer, softball, hip hop, huh? Maybe I won't remember to drive you to those things"

Her: {crumpling up newspaper} "Fine! You're the worst mother in the world! I don't have to be perfect all the time!"

Me: "You have no idea what a worst mother in the world is, kiddo..."

She stomps upstairs. Slams door.{sound familiar mom?} And upon my orders ...does homework and doesn't come out until about 1 1/2 hour later. With this:

{you gotta enlarge this to get the full read}
My Puffy Heart apology. In a homemade envelope with a To: mommy and a From: ??? (like I didn't know from whom it came) simply stating that I am not the worst mother in the world, I do everything for the girls, and color coded Puffy Heart mood indicator (this one is orange for 'okay'). And, my favorite line ever...." And, hey, we all are a pain in the ass sometimes"

True dat.

I Puffy Heart that kid...I am she and she is me and we are all together...

Waay back story - when I was about 9 or 10, I was really pissed at my brother and sister for something and scribbled "fuck you Robert and Stacy , I hate you" on that piece of paper and threw it away..or so I thought - My mom found it and asked if I wrote the note. I, of course, denied it..before I realized that bro and sis would not write such loathing about themselves and I was the only kid left in the house who would. I Puffy Hearted them, and had to write it 100 times on a piece of paper as part of the punishment. Thank god there was no internet or blogs back then....

2009-01-29T15:52:00.000-08:00

**UPDATE!!** Friday
I found Shauna of See My Designs - the wonder woman who designed my blog back in July. She found my header and is working to re-head my beheaded site. Phew!
And, I am not supposed to ask you to click on the ads, but if you choose to do so on your own...well, goody. And, lastly -the beast with 8 babies already has 6 at home and lives with her parents. She has gone into hiding ...or is holding out for a call from TLC. Either way, she's a freak or is starting her own cult. It's okay to drink the Kool-Aid, babe.

Thursday...
So I am so frustrated right now I could seriously hurt someone. It's been a while that I have a good bitch session so hold on to your seats for a touch of Swirl Girl's own special brand of whoop-ass:

1) I decided to follow someone's advice and put Google AdSense on here so I could make ~~tons of money~~ a $1.27 and somehow it deleted my awesome header. So while your clicking on the ad for some TubeLube and Amazondotcom and whatever else AdSense thinks is apropos for my blog (that means do it incessantly 'til your fingers hurt and the ENTER button on your keyboard falls off) - if you find my cute header in your trash somewhere, please send it home. It is amazing how attached you get to something like your cartoon image...I feel naked without it - and there is good naked and bad naked. This is the bad naked.

2) What is so difficult about making lines in the circle at school pick up? People have no problem doing it at McDonalds or Starbucks. But at a school that has 550 students whose parents all come to pick them up? Nope - we are going to drive into the ONE WAY circle and park perpendicularly against the flow of traffic. Make two lines along the curb , pick up your kids , and move along people. Think of it as a drive-thru window...only with less calories. Duh.

3) I had the pleasure of previewing the 'puberty' movie that our school district will be showing our 4th grade girls this week. Great - now after all the hard work I've done in explaining to my 9 year about the changes that will be taking place with her body - she's going to watch this video and start asking even more questions. And, the little time lapsed cartoon anatomical imagery on that video? Think 'Ch-Ch-Chia' vagina with a five o'clock shadow, perky c cup boobies and pimples. Not to mention the part where they intentionally dangle a 'pregnant' pause (pun intended, here) when they state "if the egg is not fertilized by the male sperm, it is expelled through the ..." First of all, is there another kind of sperm besides male sperm? And, my kid will raise her hand and ask how the sperm it gets in there to fertilize the egg!

4) What the fuck with this woman who just had 8 babies here in California ? At the same time! Oh sure, she was all "I'm was planning for 7, but uh-oh, surprise - the doctors pulled out 8!" And, she is planning to breast feed. How? More importantly - Why?? I guess if your going to have mulitples...then you should go big or go home. Twins, triplets or quads is pretty cool . But if your going to have 4, you may as well have 7 or 9. That qualifies you for lots of free shit like car seats, diapers for life, and probably a show on The Learning Channel. Not to mention, some plastic surgeon will offer you a tummy tuck, and your tits can go on tour in Vegas for the newest Cirque de Soleil puppet show.

I know some people who'd love one of those babies. Seriously - she probably wouldn't even know if one was missing.

I am going to bang my head against the wall now.

Manic's MeMe or The One Where She Gets The Q and A

2009-01-23T21:36:00.000-08:00

My friendthatIhavenevermetyet Manic Mariah is doing this Q&A thingy-do. She sent me a list of questions and I am to provide the answers. Here goes:

1) What's the worst gift you've ever received and ever given?

This is where I should be a really good sport and say something like 'there is no worst gift when it is given out of love...' or some shit like that - but there really are some not-so- terrific gifts. I would have to say the worst gift I ever got is the gift that I never got.

2) What song evokes the strongest memories for you?
This is actually toughie for me. There are so many songs that bring up very vivid visual images in my head...I have always loved music and it has always been a huge part of my life. When we were kids, my parents were friends with someone whose daughter worked at Bose Equipment. My brother and I had amazing Bose 360 Stereo systems with kickin' speakers, tuner, and turntable. (for those of you readers who were born in the 80's or later, a turntable is an antique piece of stereo equipment on which a moulded vinyl disc would spin at certain rpms while a diamond needle would scratch over the grooved surface and somehow music would come out of it). Anyway - I had tons of record albums (and I still have most of them...and if I go out to the garage and open the box right now, I could probably scrounge up a doobie or two from the double album sets that made for great rolling trays)...sorry to have strayed off topic here - flashbacks are a bitch.

Okay - a few songs that evoke the strongest memories for me are:

We Are Family by Sister Sledge and Celebrate by Kool and the Gang : I can see my wonderful dad's white- man's -overbite -while- he -dances expression as I write. All I need to hear is the first few notes of We are Family and I go into a blithering bawl.

Funeral For a Friend /Love Lies Bleeding - Elton John: Again, this in one of my dad's favorites ...this reminds me of long family road trips and the old 8 track in the Lincoln., each family member honing in on one instrument and singing only that instrument, stopping at Rein's deli somewhere in Connecticut for lunch. Yum.

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen: I saw Bruce at the Boston Garden in 1981. 5th row center on the floor. I even remember that I was wearing an off white velour v-neck with a collar. Why that tidbit is important other than the fact that I was ensconced in velour...I don't know. I am pretty sure , that despite the fact that I wasn't really sure what was going on at the time, when he sang that song right at me...and only for me...I experienced my first orgasm at that concert. And I wasn't touching myself at the time either. And although I was one of 15 thousand other people, the only ones who really knew what I was feeeling ...were me and Bruce. And Clarence, right?

3) What is so great about your favorite underwear and / or bra? I don't really have a favorite pair. I despise panty lines, so I've been a thong wearer for year. I figure if I am going to spend half my day pulling it out of my ass , I may as well start with it up there in the first place. So goodbye granny panties, bucket-o-undies, big uglies...whatever you call them. And, no - there are not really 'comfortable' in the true sense of the word, but I forgo comfort for no V.P.L. anyday.

4) Is justice or forgiveness more important? Would you forgive me if I said justice over forgiveness? Forgiveness is a copout. It has become as politicized and normalizing. And one gigantic excuse for everything from cheating on your spouse, to bilking investors, 'oh there just being children'. I may forgive , but I don't forget.

5) Who would you like to tradeplaces with for a month?
I don't think I'd want to change places with anyone for a month. I have come to realize that what we see and think we want is not always reality. Appearances are very deceiving, right? Not that I wouldn't mind being George Clooney's arm candy for a few weeks, and then maybe I'd like to be Oprah just long enough to ~~embezzle~~ do some good with all that green (not to mention the shopping and )...So I guess I have to say that I'd like to be me with Oprah's money and ...well, just George Clooney.

So there it is...forgive me.

**and let's send some good internet waves over to Kat's husband Michael who just suffered an aneurysm over the weekend. shit...

The One Where She Goes Trigger Happy...

2009-01-21T13:18:00.000-08:00

...or not. I begin each day with the mind set that my kids and I will not argue about anything. Most of the time they are practically perfect - but as all mothers and daughters (and sons) are bound to do - there is some discipline, direction, disagreement, or just plain yelling that occurs on a daily basis. So from now on...I am beginning my day with even lower expectations than I usually have. (and if you know me at all, that is already pretty low) That way - I will be pleasantly surprised , maybe even a little giddy when nothing tragic happens. And on the offshot that something really good happens - rainbows and lollipops may just come shooting out my ears. And- if I , say, won the lottery ...well, I think my head would implode and that would be that.

I can usually just tell the kind of day Emily had by the way she walks down the ramp from class to my car. If she is bounding , or singing to herself - with her sweatshirt tied around her waist, carrying the 40 lb. backpack, then it was a good day. If, like today, she is almost limping...expressionless, loping along deep in thought - I say to myself "oh crap...what happened today"

Me: "Hi babe, how was your day?"

Her: "Mom, I'm in a tweener crisis."

Me: "Oy. Okay - I'm ready, shoot."

Her: "Do you think you should tell a boy that you 'like-like' him or should you keep your feelings all bottled up inside?'

Me: " The mom answer is that you should not tell him. You should keep your feelings to yourself because you are 9 and too young to 'like-like' a boy. Plus, you don't want Daddy to have to hurt anyone (like he promises to do ) . The other answer is that girls mature faster than boys and if you tell a boy that you 'like-like' him, he will probably think it's gross and either be unphased by the whole conversation or make you feel goofy because he doesn't return the feelings in the way you want. Plus, once you tell him- and on the off chance that he feels the same way...then what are you going to do about it? "

Her: {crickets}

Me: "Who wants ice cream?"

~~Frozen margaritas~~Ice cream or Double Stuff Oreos are the sure fire Tweener trouble deflectors. I keep ample stock of both in my house and am seriously considering putting a small freezer in the car.

Phew! Close call.

Later that day - I pick Emily up from Hebrew school, and spy her laughing and chatting with friends. She sees me and quickly goes into loping mode.

Her: "Mom, we have to have a chat when we get home."

Me: "Oy. What now?"

Her: " I think I am having mood swings."

Me: " Mood swings, huh? Where did you learn that term?"

Her: " In that book you gave me. I know that I will have hormones and they will cause my emotions to go up and down. You know, when my uterus is sloughing cells."

Me: "Well, if you are really having mood swings, the best thing to do is to try to recognize the triggers and then try to determine those things that make you feel better and gravitate towards those things. That is the real answer. The Mom answer is - - You're playin' me, kiddo. First of all - you don't have a period yet. You don't have hormones or cells that are sloughing...You don't even have boobs yet, or 'feathers'. You can't choose when to have a mood swing. (The child remembers every frickin' thing she ever read or heard and chooses when to apply those things.)

Her: {crickets}

She was fine being 'all that and a bag of chips'...until she saw me.

Maybe I am her trigger.

Me: " You know, babe - they make Double Stuffs with chocolate cream, too!"
The sound of resounding joy eminates from the back seat...I could sense the feeling of conflict resolution overcoming the mood swing.

...that made her "trigger" happy.

Only in L.A...?

2009-01-19T20:43:00.000-08:00

We were driving to Disney the other day and caught this billboard on the '5' between a billboard for LapBand surgery and Breast Implants. I laughed so hard ...I had to call that 800 number from the car.

Only in L.A. ...?