* we would make waffles for the kids. if we had any milk or eggs in the house, that is.

* note to self: grocery shop at least once a week.

* The Beverly Cleary Tour yesterday was bananas.

* at our house we don’t say “it’s a dangerous cycle” we say “it’s a dangerous psycho.” same thing.

happy Sunday, y’all.

— wm

1) as always, torn.

2) torn, torn, torn.

3) I want to read, put away the food from dinner, cook some more (crockpot steel-cut oats for breakfast, with apples and cinnamon), finish the laundry, go see what Steve is doing, snuggle with the kids, snuggle with Steve, listen to the new podcast he’s putting up, clean the house… (“I want to lock it/all up in my pocket/it’s my bar of chocolate/give it to me… now…” — Veruca Salt)

4) naw, I’m not manic. Or maniacal. We just got home from the beach — funny thing, no one cleaned the house while I was gone. Steve took us for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary a month late.

5) because I told him, You spending the week in Iowa with the kids, then zipping home just in time for a half-day of our anniversary, and you were jet-lagged and exhausted because you PARTIED the whole time you were gone and apparently forgot to sleep? That, my spousal equivalent, does not count as an anniversary. So there.

6) smart man. decided we should rent a house on a quiet, fairly deserted part of the beach, in a teeny-tiny town, eat vast quantities of food, drink a bottle of champagne while we watched the sun set and…

7) …watch hours and hours of Spongbog (ha! i’m leaving that typo. Spongbog it is, from this day forward) and America’s Funniest Home Videos.

8) Thas right, folks, we had 2 medium-sized blonde children with us. They had fun, too! We ate an entire bag of double-stuff Oreos between the four of us! And had hot cocoa!

9) You know who’s calling right now? Restless Housewives. Season premiere. Forget the cooking and the tidying and the reading of good literature. I have ABC to watch.

10) bye and please have a great week.

11) ps I have another blog. It’s about books. If you don’t already have the address, plz e me and I will send it to you.

12) yours, as always, stay sweet, WM

“Are they chocolate eggs?” — Veruca Salt

what’s going on? turns out that September is beautiful.

happy sunday to yins.

wm

Sign seen by the Burnside Bridge: “Perfection has its price.”

Don’t I know it.

Do you know how to play bunco? Here, let Tricia teach you. I love games. I love my girlfriends. I love food. I love winning money, aka “gambling.” Bunco gives me all of this and more. (I just got home from playing. So fun. Yes, I won in the “roll-off” for the kitty.)

This love of all things cards and dice started when I was a wee little sprout, watching my ma, pa and their friends fiendishly play cards. They liked playing Pit, poker (I coveted the chips. The different colors, the stacks, what did it all mean?), canasta, whatever they all agreed on. My dad’s parents loved playing kings’ corners, caroms, solitaire, Yahtzee, Pounce…

My cousins and I loved Pounce (aka “Nerts.” Why is it named this? I have no idea. All I know is we called it Pounce when I was a kid and Nerts once I grew up). Grade school, high school, college, we went from pitching pennies to obsessively playing (and cheating at) Monopoly to playing 600 and quarters and any other drinking games we could think of.

My friends and I, all through college, were especially crazy for Pounce. We would literally stay up til 4 in the morning playing. We’d take decks of cards to the bars with us, ignore the bands that were playing, and play hand after hand of cards. It was good clean fun. We tried to kick it, oh we did. Because the man I was dating and also one of my best girlfriends, H, hated Pounce. Hated, hated. They were slow is why. If you are slow at cards and dice you just die, okay?

So.

They made us promise we wouldn’t bring the cards out with us in public. We agreed, reluctantly.

Then, there we were at the bar again, and my roommate C asks, all casual, Did you, er, bring any cards? and I’m all, YESSSSSSSSS! and I whip not one but five decks of cards out of my purse and the game was ON and H just crashed her head right down on the table and whimpered quietly.

I did feel bad. Leeeeeeee. I felt badly! But we had to play!

I found this bunco group through church, when I was teaching Sunday school. See how it goes, once you become a Unitarian? Next thing, you find gamblers. It happens every time. Her sweet little adorable daughter was in my class and yelled at me, MY MOM PLAYED BUNCO ON FRIDAY! and I was all, I WANT TO PLAY BUNCO, TOO, TELL HER TO INVITE ME!

I’m low-key and casual like that. So she did, and now I’ve been subbing with their group for… I have no idea how long now. A while. It is so fun. We meet at a different house every month, always on the… what is this, second Friday? There is some pattern to it, I dunno. All I know is that they send me an e-mail and I try to go. Tonight one of the women asked me, Where have you been the last two months? And I thought, Hmm. “Was I not here? Was I at the beach?”

“Yes,” she said agreeably, “you must have been at the beach.” My bunco ladies are sooooooooo much easier than the PTA ladies. We put out a spread of food (another reason bunco kicks ass). Tonight it was…

* turkey, cream cheese and cranberry sauce roll-ups, with toothpicks
* veggie lasagna that was sooooo yummy
* popcorn chicken and those little cheesey bites, whatever they are
* dinner rolls with real butter
* sweet and sour chicken, lo mein and kung pao chicken
* all kinds of drinks (“There are some of those lizard ones. You know! The fancy ones — Sobe or whatever…” oh, yum.)
* bowls of candy all over the tables (our trademark)
* for dessert, my contribution was those pink and white frosted animal cookies that are like crack cocaine they’re so good
* a delicious lemon cake with lots of gooey frosting
* and… someone else brought cream puffs. Yes, they did.

We all save up our Weight Watchers points for like, the whole week, even those of us who aren’t technically on Weight Watchers. We’re sociable like that. We all pony up a little money, play like maniacs, talk and laugh and miss everyone who’s not there that month. They all work together for Large Government Agency. They’ve taken me under their wing, anyway, even though I don’t. I work for Large School District, which is similar, I suppose, in many ways. Then, goodnight. Home by 10 p.m.

Oh, I love bunco and my girls.

* You made a really nice new friend today, and her kid is nice, too. Chances are her husband is cool as well and dang, that’s the whole family, not one psycho killer in sight. Plus you have the whole Melrose Place connection and that is pretty alright. Now remember to call them.

* Try not to forget to go back to work next week.

* The kids don’t go back to school as early as you do, though, so don’t forget to put them somewhere.

* Somewhere safe.

* Not the tavern.

* Feed the cats.

* And the fish.

* Not to each other, fun as that might be.

* Cook dinner.

* Pick beans.

* Hang out the laundry.

* And maybe iron a blouse? For work? Which starts next week?

* Yeah.

OK, I’ll give it a go… Steve did his according to Thelonious Monk.

Pick an artist, try not to repeat any titles, go! Do one, if you’d like, and leave me the link in comments.

Pick your Artist:
Kelly Willis

Are you a male or female:
That’ll Be Me

Describe yourself:
Get Real

How do you feel:
Bang, Bang

Describe where you currently live:
Cradle of Love

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
That’s How I Got To Memphis

Your favorite form of transportation:
River of Love

Your best friend is:
Little Honey

You and your best friends are:
Up All Night

What’s the weather like:
Whatever Way The Wind Blows

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Heaven’s Just A Sin Away

What is life to you:
Sincerely (Too Late To Turn Back Now)

Your relationship:
Reason To Believe

Your fear:
Fading Fast

What is the best advice you have to give:
Wait Until Dark

Thought for the Day:
Wrapped

How I would like to die:
One More Night

My soul’s present condition:
Happy With That

My motto:
You Can’t Take It With You

“Because It Is Bitter And Because It Is My Coffee”

“Are You There, God? It’s Me, Wacky Mommy. Why Is There So Much Laundry?”

“Will You Take Me As I Am? Cuz This Is All I Got”

“I Feel Bad About My Weeds”

“The Absolutely True Diary Of One Wacky Mommy”

Woot. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! Second of all, my husband and I celebrated by going to Willamette Week’s big ol’ rooftop party gala extravaganza in honor of their new magazine. Why were we invited? I have no idea. It was not on the rooftop of the Hotel Deluxe (aka formerly the Mallory, where we went on our wedding night), but rather was on the rooftop of the Mallory Hotel Deluxe’s parking garage across the street. We ran into Byron and Juan (I love you Juan! OK, Byron, I love you, too, you know it. But mostly I LOVE JUAN, go Basic Rights Oregon) (ps — they could use some donations, y’all, if you have some change to spare)… Byron and my husband compared play-off beards. They both look extremely virile and handsome is my take on it.

We drank a lot of beer. In fact, we just parked it next to the keg line because that way we’d see everybody. Who did we know? No one. Because we’re old and don’t know who all these crazy 20-somethings are, rampaging around. We did see MS, and he and Steve only talked school politics for thankfully a short time. And we saw my delicious girlfriend K and her perfect, flawless boyfriend J. (Suits her, as she is perfect and flawless, too.) (Seriously.)

Also, there was the cutest woof-woof there, begging chips off of everyone. And a tiny Chi-hua-hua, too. (Say it: Chi-hoo-a-hoo-a. That is how it is pronounced.)

OK, back to Byron. He wanted to know, “Nancy, are you that Crazy Mama?” I’m all, Byron, you know I’ve had my blog for like five years now, duh. I am The Crazy Mama.

Then he wanted to know why I hate The Mayor. I don’t care what the man does in bed, just don’t be a big liar like my gay ex-boyfriend is my deal.

me: “You know why I have issues with this.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (because hello, he was my next door neighbor — he totally knows why I have issues with this.)

me: “People think I am having a certain set of issues but I am having a whole different set of issues.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (snaps my picture)

Then, we visited, ate some too-spicy mango habanero salsa which made steam come out my ears, so I had to drink all of Steve’s beer plus some of my fancy, glamorous bottled water. Then I had to pee of course. And I won’t use porta-potties because damn. Why would I? So we ran over to the Hotel Glamorous Deluxe Mallory, where I took a pee in their Deluxe Glamorous bathroom. Then I made reservations for us to stay there in September, to celebrate our whatever anniversary that will be.

A lot is what it will be.

A lot of years, Internets. Poor Steve.

Then (isn’t it just like you’re right there with me?) we had a drink at the Driftwood Bar, where I spent untold hours drinking with my favorite uncle in the world, my dear departed Uncle Chuck, my daddy’s brother, and I’m all — This is not the same bar, while I sipped at my vodka tonic.

“It used to be in the restaurant, right? Not separate like this?”

The dog from the party was there. At the bar. What? OK. Then Steve says, “The girl sitting at the table right next to us is like two years older than our daughter.”

And you know what, Internets? She really was. (OK, now I know Leslie and Zip will be all, Where were the children, Nancy? At grandma’s is where. For the night.)

So we had to leave. Our friends Peg and Mike gave us a lift home and we drank more beers. (I know, I didn’t think it was possible either.)

The End

…me. Hanging out three loads of laundry. Woo-hooooooo.

Yeah, you’re welcome.

Hoping Sunday Parkways bike ride/walk/skateboard extravaganza doesn’t get rained out this weekend…

Meanwhile, we were worried that our little Killer African Dwarf Frog was getting lonely, with no lovin’ (his friend died yesterday. or the day before. Possibly Tuesday, I have to tell you — I don’t always keep the closest eye on the frogs. They’re a little aloof.)

“He’s lonely now cuz they used to do it,” says Wacky Boy, smiling wickedly and running out of the room.

Yes, sex ed begins at home.

So we got him a little friend, and more plants so they can hide when they do it.

Like they care about modesty.