And I mean it. Unless you are my daughter or my son, don’t call me mommy.

ie — the pediatrician, “So, Mom, how have things been?”

ie — people mimicking my kids, “Mommy! Can I have…”

ie — anyone who calls me a Mommy Blogger. My bad: Yeah, it says “Mommy” right there after “Wacky,” sure ‘nuf. That is me, Being Ironic. Sense the irony? No? Yes you do. Because I said so.

Now comes Miss Zoot, fresh off a plane from BlogHer. They had no Diet Coke in the hotel for Miss Zoot. Do they not read her blog out there in San Jose? Maybe next year, Zoot.

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Wacky Boy: “My pet slug is the best pet I’ve ever had.”

me: “What about your dog?”

WB: “Yeah, he is even gooder.”

No, said Nanny, an echo in Melena’s mind (and editorializing as usual). No, no, you pretty little pampered hussy. We don’t go on having babies, that’s quite apparent. We only have babies when we’re young enough not to know how grim life turns out. Once we really get the full measure of it — we’re slow learners, we women — we dry up in disgust and sensibly halt production.

from Wicked by Gregory Maguire

This whole vacation-from-blogging thing? Yeah, it went OK. But I have a lot to say and dammit, this is the place to do it. Like the quote? I frickin’ love that quote. Thank you L for sending it to me.

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Oh, Thursday Thirteen, you are cool.

THIRTEEN THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WACKY DOG

1. His name isn’t really Wacky Dog. But he’s in a sort of Witness Protection Program and I cannot give his real name.

2. I stole him.

3. Make that “I liberated him.” He was chained up, freaked out, no food, no water.

4. I meant to take him back.

5. Really. But then we fell in love.

6. He’s an 85-pound black Lab, who has weighed as much as 100 pounds. You should know that no one in our neighborhood, at any time, posted “Lost Dog” signs for him. And no ads ran in the paper. “Finders keepers!” Wacky Boy would say about all this.

7. He really likes to eat. When people ask if he’s full-blooded, we say, “Yeah, full-blooded Fat Lab.”

8. Oddly, he goes on hunger strikes and sometimes refuses to eat for two days or more.

9. This doesn’t seem to affect his weight. His vet’s evaluation: “Doesn’t look like he’s missing many meals.”

10. He’s on anti-anxiety medicine and thyroid medicine cuz he’s teched. Not touched, teched. He freaks out when left alone, eats the woodwork, eats books, eats magazines, chews down fences. Sort of goat-like behavior. He loses his frickin’ mind when fireworks go off. Or gunshots. Or bubble wrap. Or anything that sounds like bubble wrap or a gunshot. Or a door slamming loudly. He’s jumpy, in a large dog sort of way.

11. He is the most loyal, best dog in the world. When he chews through the fence when we leave him alone out back, he waits on the porch for us to come home. I will never be even half the person my dog thinks I am.

12. He loves swimming in the river and will chase a tennis ball all day long. Refuses to look at a Frisbee.

13. Bays like a bloodhound as soon as we walk in the door. Then we all sing together. We have, I dunno, 12 or 15 songs dedicated to our dog. A sampling: “Wacky potato chips/are the chippiest chips aroooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuund!” (I did not say they were good songs); “Wacky Dog/Wacky Dog/running through/the fog/Wacky Dog” (and a refrain) “Wacky Dog/whoa-oh-oh/Wacky Dog/whoa-oh-oh”; “I got my dog right here/his name is Paul Revere/and a man that says when the weather’s clear/can-do/can-do/the man said my dog can-do”; “Where is Wacky Dog/where is Wacky Dog? Aroooooooooooooooooo!” (That one he loves the most.)

Still not blogging. Sob. It’s weird, not blogging. Cuz I love you, Internet. Naw, it’s been alright. The kids and I are having fun. And fewer headaches since I’m not transfixed by the monitor. Ommm, ommm.

Here’s a list put together by the inimitable Portlander, Rebecca McVicker, so she’s the guest blogger today… Who knew there was so much fun stuff to do in Portland? (Some offerings are not limited to PDX.)

Stay cool.

WM

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I am not blogging this week. Or next. But Thursday Thirteen beckons, and I’m superstitious. The number 13 and all. So we have, from the world-famous home of Wacky Mommy…

THIRTEEN REASONS I’M NOT BLOGGING THIS WEEK

13. Eyestrain

12. Neck hurts from hunching over the keyboard, spazztically typing

11. Kids seem to think I spend too much time on computer, and it’s… summer?

10. Apparently you’re supposed to be outside in the summer.

9. Yet once the kids got me off the computer, they then dominated it themselves (ie — watching movies on it, visiting the Big Crunchy Site o’ Fun, yelling at me to find their I Spy Fantasy game)… so who’s spending too much time on the computer, huh?

8. In spite of their yelling, feeling waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too mellow to blog with my usual furor.

7. Can’t deal with writing about the dog piss on my neighbor’s patio, which reeks to high heaven and has been an olfactory irritant since the summer we moved in here.

6. Have come up with a new plan: Take the kids to the outdoor pool. Not their wading pool, the real pool. Have yet to implement this plan. (Items needed: Cash for admission, sunscreen, swimsuits, sunglasses, goggles, arm floaty things.) Much easier to go to the indoor center where we take lessons and turn them over to someone while I go to water aerobics. Is this wrong?

5. Need to find a floral swimcap for water aerobics, so I fit in better with the 70 year olds. Large pink flowers with white centers would be best.

4. Or, figure out a way to stylishly wrap a scarf around my head and lower myself gracefully into pool, fully accessorized (earrings, necklaces, large rings) in manner of said 70 year olds.

3. Need to recall conversation starters that do not include, “No, we’re not going to the outdoor pool” or “Stop choking your father.”

2. Am unable to think up clever sex tricks to publish on Internet. Except this one: It’s kind of sexy sometimes to try to be really super-quiet during sex. Like, sneaky teenager quiet. Also, it’s awesome to pitch a tent in the yard and get it on under the stars. Also, the best, coolest thing you can do to your partner after sex is give them something I call a Worship Caress. Not like a full body massage — more like a… OK, this is tough to describe. Kind of stretch out over them, like Cat’s Pose in yoga (this website I just linked to is a little kinky, if you ask me. What’s up with the huge carved wooden skull looking thing? Would find it hard to relax looking at that…) Next, start at the top, caress and kind of just run your hands down your partner’s body, all the way to the feet. It feels great, just try it. Only don’t say “Namaste” afterward, ‘k? (Ah-ha! Three! All is not lost.)

1. Really need to find an agent and get one of my manuscripts published. The blog is just not getting the bills paid.

Hello, my name is Wacky Mommy and I’m a frickin’ blogging addict. Yes, it’s true. I need to make amends to all of you, oh, wait, NO I DON’T.

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That’s right. Hockey God is featured newbie of the week on Thursday Thirteen. Like he wasn’t already stuck on himself. (I’m kidding — he’s extremely humble, that guy. Unlike me.) I called to tell him but he’s out hitting pucks.

Here we go with the Thursday Thirteen… and it’s a good one. If I do say so myself.

Thirteen Best Ways to Get It Up!
(Cuz sometimes we all need a little help with that)

1) Clean up your bedroom because, damn. Who would want to screw in there?

2) Take a shower

3) Kill your television

4) Skip the drinks

5) Play backwards cowgirl because, damn. Who wouldn’t love that?

6) Pets. Out. Of. Bedroom.

7) Kids. Out. Of. Bedroom.

8) Alternately, get yourselves out of the bedroom and try a different spot.

9) Yeah, that spot works.

10) Massage oil, candles, music.

11) No, not Ice-T, “LGBNAF.” No, no, no. Wacky Mommy says: “Al Green should work.”

12) You could try changing the sheets. In the words of Lyle Lovett (“What Do You Do/The Glory of Love”):

“you could put on some makeup/
and you could pile up your hair/
and at least try to do something/
with what you’ve got there”

13) Let it loose

A Joke, from Zip:

A woman goes to the doctor for her yearly physical. The nurse starts with certain basic items.

“How much do you weigh?” she asks.

“115,” she says. The nurse puts her on the scale. It turns out her weight is 140.

The nurse asks, “Your height?”

“5 foot 8,” she says.

The nurse checks and sees that she only measures 5′ 5″. She then takes her blood pressure and tells the woman it is very high.

“Of course it’s high!” she screams, “When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I’m short and fat!”