“I’m like old wine. They don’t bring me out very often, but I’m well preserved.”

— Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy (1890 – 1995)

(i turn 43 this weekend. What??? wm)

My dear Mallory tagged me. As she knows I love memes.

Without further ado:

7 Random Facts About Me

1. I have many secret crushes — all of them innocent. Crush #1: The UPS guy.

2. Crush #2: The Fed-Ex guy.

3. Crush #3: All the blogger kids. This is infatuation, more like. Some people do aromatherapy, I go to Amalah, Mrs. Flinger, Y from the Internet (Joy Unexpected), Zoot, Rockstar Mommy’s and Dooce’s sites and admire their kids. Even when they’re older kids, looking surly, like Mallory’s kid, here. I like kid pix! (I read a ton of blogs, sorry to play favorites. But these are my comfort blogs.)

4. Speaking of RSM — She and Ty need their own reality show, doncha think?

5. That’s not really a random fact about me, that’s a random fact that speaks to what a geeb I am. I have a crush on RSM! And her husband! No, I don’t swing. That’s another fact:

6. Hockey God and I do not swing. So don’t bother asking.

7. Right now, I am having lunch (macaroni & turkey salad and an iced coffee) while the kids play in the yard. The yard which is nicely mowed. Thank you, all bow down to Wacky Mommy.

Jenny McB tagged me! Me me me me me — my favorite subject. (Just kidding. My favorite subject is Houses. As in, how do we sell This One and buy a New One Before the Summer is Over?) With no further ado, I present:

Ten Scintillating Facts About Moi

1. I am boring. You may have already guessed this. I hardly ever go out at night because I’d rather stay home with my husband and watch Jeopardy! The Simpsons! Or Star Trek! Then I get grouchy, because the player I liked on Jeopardy didn’t win, or it wasn’t the Planet of the Apes episode of the Simpsons, or it wasn’t the Way to Eden episode of Star Trek. Then I fall asleep. When I do go out, I’m all, Damn! This is so fun. Why don’t I go out more?

2. I have a little bit of a problem with being dissatisfied, and I think I’m a little ADD. Or maybe a lot. Or maybe I’m not at all. Or maybe I’m ADHD. Or maybe I just need to watch Grey’s Anatomy and grouse because they killed off Denny.

3. I do not like Dungeons & Dragons type fantasy stuff at all, or sci-fi anything, especially not Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which my husband tried to force me to watch last week. But I adore Viggo Mortensen, Orlando Bloom and Ian McKellen, thus my obsession with the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I tried to force my husband to watch it with me, but he was seeking revenge over the whole Hitchhiker’s Guide thing and refused.

4. Like Jenny McB, I, too, am 5’10”.

5. Also like her (this is getting kinda weird) I have wicked motion sickness. (I’m totally copying Jenny now, because the hockey game starts in 10 minutes. Go, Sabres!!!)

6. I love to garden. If I’m feeling low, I mow the lawn, weed for awhile, plant some flowers, drink some iced tea. Next thing you know I’m a new woman. Way cheaper than therapy, and my yard looks good.

7. I like my coffee half milk, half coffee.

8. If I had a million dollars I’d be rich.

9. I love to write down stuff my kids say. I just found this in a notebook from two summers ago: “Do you feel like we’re in a movie?” — Wacky Girl. (Yes.)

10. I get crushes on 17-year-old hockey players, but I wait until they’re 18 to talk about it.

Now, to tag ten people. Argh! OK, how about the Gallivanting Monkey, Leslie Gould, Planet Nomad, Iowadrift (who is no longer in Iowa — will she undergo a name change? If so, I say dibs on Iowadrift), Chez Musser, A Flyover Blog, One Woman Army, Vader’s Mom and Dad Gone Mad and HOCKEY GOD! (who does not even know ten people, so this will be tricky for him).

ONLY (just wait) I’M PUTTING A TWIST ON IT. Make it: Ten Interesting Things My Family and/or Friends and/or Dog Don’t Know About Me. Ha! Take that, Internet!

“Can you believe how much I vacuumed today?”
— Hockey God

People, I am telling you. If you want to feel better and stop sobbing your eyes out, either decide to sell your house or at least pretend you’re going to sell your house. It is like Mary flippin’ Poppins around here, in the nursery scene where lickety-split everything gets picked up in ten seconds flat and Michael almost gets smashed flat in the closet door.

We’ve packed away toys, books, videos and clothes. We’ve given away so much stuff that my friend C growled at me the other day, “No. More. TOYS!” a la Joan Crawford “No. Wire. Hangers. EVER!” Then she (to retaliate) brought me a huge bag of hand-me-downs from her son to mine. And then I, in turn, gave her my broken breadmaker (which miraculously works at their house but not ours. Whatever, breadmaker. This is the respect I get? After all the yeast I’ve provided for you?).

Goodwill? Four boxes and four more to drop off this week.

Breast pumps and baby gear? Off to a friend in need.

Family photos, my dad’s old rocking chair (from when he was a wee tot) and his high chair (ditto)? To my sister and mom.

Doghouse? Don’t make me cry. It went to C’s crazeee-kooky shaggy black dog, who reminds me a lot of Wacky Dog.

“Nice, with the moldy sleeping bag inside,” her husband D told me.

“It’s only been in there a few months!” I told him.

Then I packed up half the china cabinet. Recycled half (or more) of our paperwork. Hockey God decided which half of his albums he’s keeping (K-Tel, Grateful Dead and Rush, yes; Pablo Cruise or whoever it was, no.) Our attic is stuffed full; our rugs are vacuumed. Our dishes and laundry are done; we still haven’t found jobs.

But we will.

And then, Iowa City, Iowa, our family, Coralville Lake Reservoir and our friends at The Mill, here we come.

(PS — I believe this makes it five posts in one day. A new record.)

To those of you pooh-poohing this idea, this grand scheme to leave the moldy-wet, expensive and fast-paced Pacific Northwest and move to my husband’s hometown of Iowa City, I ask, do you even know what the Big Ten schools are?

Harry: Yeah, nothing from her, not even a smile. So I downshift into small talk, and I asked her where she went to school and she said, “Michigan State,” and this reminds me of Helen. All of a sudden I’m in the middle of this mess of an anxiety attack, my heart is beating like a wild man and I start sweating like a pig.
Sally: Helen went to Michigan State?
Harry: No she went to Northwestern, but they’re both Big Ten schools. I got so upset I had to leave the restaurant.
(from “When Harry Met Sally”)

And without further ado, they are:

* University Of Illinois
* Indiana University
* University of Iowa (which is IN IOWA CITY, thank you)
* University of Michigan
* Michigan State University
* University of Minnesota
* Northwestern University
* Ohio State University
* Penn State University
* Purdue University
* University of Wisconsin

I know. Penn State makes it eleven but everyone still says Big Ten. Midwesterners are generous that way.

Also, the naysayers are not the readers of this blog. Oh, no. All of you are asking me, “How can you put up with that rain? Yes, move. Damn. You cannot build a rainman, can you?” No, and I would not want to. I am saying, “We will move.” And we will. Because I am Through with this place. Through.

See? I blame it on Nora Ephron.

Harry: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally: And Ingrid Bergman is low maintenance?
Harry: An L.M. Definitely.
Sally: Which one am I?
Harry: You’re the worst kind. You’re high maintenance but you think you’re low maintenance.
Sally: I don’t see that.
Harry: You don’t see that? “Waiter, I’ll begin with the house salad, but I don’t want the regular dressing. I’ll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side, and then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side.” ‘On the side’ is a very big thing for you.
Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it.
Harry: I know, high maintenance.

Going through old boxes of cards, clippings and journals here, getting ready to move. I refuse to drag too much of the past with me, especially when it’s bad journal entries circa 1992. Haven’t found jobs yet, but we’re readying the house for sale, just in case, and getting as much packed as we can.

Turns out you can accumulate quite a few Very Important Things if you live in the same place for seven years. You look at them again, these things, and you think, “I can live without this.” So you pack it and hide it in the attic, put it in the Goodwill box, or give it to a friend. It is amazing how much we’ve gathered. And a little crazy, when you start wondering how it’s all going to fit into a moving van???

Here’s something funny from one of my old journals — I started collecting family mottos from my friends. A few of the funnier ones:

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you leave it in a public place it becomes public property.” (from my friend KC, who came from a large family)

“Better late than dead.” (From my friend CB, who came from a family of too-fast drivers.)

“It looks just fine.” (A good all-purpose motto, no?)

“Take it as it comes.”

“I didn’t do it” and “You smell like a goddamn brewery.” (ha ha — same family for both of these mottos. Denial, anyone?)

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” (EQ, another member of a large family)

“Don’t grow up too fast.” (and from the same family…) “Date an educated man — they’re more civilized.” (and, for family members who refused to get out of bed…) “OK. Be a loser.”

My family’s: “Roll with the punches” and “Men are like streetcars — there’s another one along every fifteen minutes.”

What’s yours?

I have to give you something here, because Jesus. It’s bad enough I’m miserable, and torturing myself, but I have to do the same to you? Misery loves company, or what? Nothing is making me feel better, not even making the Internet, my husband and my father-in-law cry (usually this would help, but noooooooooooo it’s not helping), but then I came across this. Which made me think of my boyfriend, circa 1989, and how he wanted to look just like Milli Vanilli. (Milli and Vanilli, I used to call them.) He even grew his hair long and had it corn-rowed (I found out later he slept with the hairdresser, a girl I worked with).

He was white. (Probably still is.)

With not that attractive of a face.

It was not such a good look for him.

Oh, what a loser.

“Honey, do you look at him now and say ‘What was I thinking?‘” my cousin asked me, in her Louisiana accent.

Yeah, and then some. He was also gay (or bi, who knows, and needed a pretty girl “cover” such as myself so no one would suspect.) Guess what? Everyone suspected. Or knew. Except me and his mother. And probably the hairdresser. So he didn’t want to just be Milli Vanilli, he wanted to be with Milli Vanilli.

I will not run his name here, but if you send me an e-mail I’ll send you his website. Where he claims to have graduated from Portland State. (He flunked out.)

Goddammit — I think this might make me feel better.

Ed. to say: Don’t get me wrong. I do not give a fig that he was queer. Be gay. Fly free, friend. Don’t worry, be happy. Just don’t be having sex with anonymous men in bathrooms hither and yon, as was the case here, I found out later, and then come home and stick it to me. Because I will not be happy with that. Also? His mother informed me awhile back, “He’s not gay anymore” and told me that he married a girl. Poor thing. Go light a candle for her, would you?

Also, if you’re asking himself, Wacky Mommy, how did the date end? I fell in love with someone else. He was 6’5″ tall (my ex was 5’6″, tops). He was a comfort to me. You know, as I rebounded.

I called my girlfriend today. Let’s call her M, because that’s her name:

me: “Was it your birthday on the fifth?”

M: “Of October. It’ll be coming up again next October.”

me: “It’s not October?”

M: “And… Anna Nicole lives on.”

me: “Seriously. It’s not October? What the hell month is this?”

M: “Hon. It’s February.”

me: “Hmmm. So Happy Valentine’s!”

M: “Thanks, babe.”

I’ve been nominated for a blog award over at Share the Love (One Woman’s World)!!!!! Yeah and allelujah! And the house said… (Amen.)

In what category, Wacky Mommy, pray tell? Best kisser! Can you believe it?

I jest. 8. Woman Power! — Best Representative of Women! Yes, that’s right. I am just, you know, so feeling the love and happy since receiving this nomination. I’d like to thank all the little people whose hair I yanked to get here. And my DOG! I love my DOG! And the kids. My husband, for never giving up on me, even when I wouldn’t let him sleep at night. Because I was bored and needed someone to talk to. And also I didn’t like my pillow, so could he please give me his? Thank you, baby. To all my readers and fans — I LOVE YOU. Here’s a latte and a cooky.

So please vote for me! While you’re over there, I would like to put in a word for two of my favorite writers and mamas, Planet Nomad and Terrible Mother. Also, I think one or both of them nominated me so I kinda owe them. Please vote for them, too. Only I just noticed they’re running against each other for “Best Writing” so I don’t really know how to advise you there. Although I did notice that Planet Nomad has been nominated in, like, four categories. Show-off. So vote accordingly.

Also, I just found out via Terrible Mother that Molly Ivins passed away. Goddammit. A Texan who would have made a rockin’ president, gone. Rest in peace, girl.

“You are the kind of bad mommy who never feeds her kids.”
— Wacky Boy

Dear Internet,

The Winter Hawks lost tonight. Also there were three fights. This upsets me. I think my partner in crime is going to write about the whole debacle, so you can go over to his place for All Things Hockey.

Now back to me. Did you know, dear readers, that I’ve been writing this blog for nearly two years? That’s right — Valentine’s Day will be my two year anniversary. But I like to celebrate everything early, so I’m taking the week off.

I leave you with:

WACKY MOMMY’S GREATEST HITS: A RETROSPECTIVE

Wacky Mommy Is Here (where it all began)

i cannot blog until the contractors leave (Yeah, reading this will make you never want to have work done on your house)

Friday Advice Column for Wacky Mothers & Others (Advice and recipes — what more could you ask for?)

All Abouts (My Illustrious Literary Career)

Thirteen Ways to Get It Up (this one needs no explanation)

I Had A Bad Year in 1997 (you will possibly cry)

No TV? Yes TV. And Tongue-Kissing (if Wacky Boy hadn’t gotten into a.m. preschool, I really would have committed murder)

An Editorial Wherein I Ain’t too Proud to Beg the Rolling Stones to Retire, Already, Before Keith Falls Out Of A Coconut Tree Again (no, I never posted this on the Stones fan club site, although several of you suggested it. Should I?)

Smooches,

WM