Reviewed today:

Wacky Mommy: Another parenting book lands on my desk. And even though I’m allegedly a “mom blogger,” I am feeling a little ‘eh’ about one more parenting book. This one is by Pennywise lead singer Jim Lindberg and it’s about his three adorable little blonde daughters and his sexy, supportive, Bunko-playing wife.

She’s not on the cover, the wife, but I’m assuming those are his kids and not models. Pink-Haired Housewife, have you ever listened to Pennywise?

Pink-Haired Housewife: First of all – no thanks to a bottle of Clairol 121A that was NOT “Dark Brown” as labeled, I am now (Joan) Jett Black-Haired Housewife. The little pot of gold at the end of my shoe polish-head rainbow is that there’a not a grey hair in sight. For now… (more…)

We miss you, Lemon. Peace, always.

WM & HG

I was the neighborhood foosball champion, growing up. Did you know that, Internet? That’s right. I even got a first-place trophy when they had a tournament because I kicked ass at foosball. At pool? Not so much. But I still played all the time. That’s because instead of going to the library, I hung out at our local underage poolhall. That’s where I was Aug. 16, 1977, when I found out Elvis Aaron Presley had just died. It was a real shocker to me, finding out the King was gone, because although I was only 13 years old, I was already a huge Elvis fan. (more…)

Sometimes going out to work with your Podmates (I have two. Both girls, and they are so cute and funny and chatty), perhaps to Baja Fresh, where they give you slices of lime for your ice tea (I love this) and 8 kinds of salsa, including this new spicy one that is so good, plus a basket of chips, just for you (you, you, you. No one is reaching their fingers in and eating them because your co-workers have their own baskets of chips…

And even if they didn’t? Unlike your family members, Your Podmates Have Manners and would not swipe your food willy-nilly. At least not this early in the Podmate Game)…

…sometimes, it leaves you energized for the afternoon and refreshed. Like an icy glass of ice tea, with lime.

And sometimes, it leaves you longing to leave work, with your Podmates, and all go for pedicures. And mimosas.

We do work for the government. Don’t government employees do things like that?

We didn’t.

Dear World Wide Web,

I’m tired. I’m working full-time the next two weeks, still waiting to hear on permanent jobs, the kids are getting out of school for the summer soon, we have swim lessons ending and starting right up again, a house torn apart from our awesome painter (no you can’t have his number, I’m keeping him just for us)… weeds to pull, laundry to hang out, fifty more dollars’ worth of gas for the car? Sure thing!

God. I remember having two measly bucks, coasting my Dodge Dart into the gas station for a drink, and praying the attendant would take pity on me and give me an extra buck’s worth. I am that old.

Speaking of — my birthday is coming up. I will be 43. My mother assures me this is not old at all and to please shut up.

A brief round-up, and then I am off to do more laundry and try to figure out where my purse is. (I mean it when I say the house is torn apart. I saw my purse yesterday and haven’t seen it since.) Also, the floors? Trashed. Cooking? Not happening. Dishes? Piled up. So what do you do when you can’t deal with your own house? Go look at the homes of Others. Others Who Can Afford Gardeners and Maids.

My mom and I went on a great tour of gardens this afternoon. My new loves: Baggesen’s Gold shrub honeysuckle, California incense cedar, honey locust, climbing hydrangea, verbena, hostas, candy hearts, clematis… I got so many ideas from the three places where we stopped, I do not know where to start. Perhaps with art. My favorite garden was stuffed full of tiny and big sculptures, pieces of blown glass, decorative stepping stones, everything. It was delightful and a little kooky. But in a genuinely kooky way, not a “Look at me, I’m so kooky!” way. I do not like the “deliberate kook” she is not my style. Wacky Girl went with us and fell in love with the bus stop-sized outdoor hangout that had benches, pillows and shade and everything she’s ever dreamed of, and was just the right size for an almost-8-year-old.

I liked the greenhouse next to it. Ahhhh…

And… in lieu of a real review… next to the DVD player and and next to the nightstand at Wacky House we have:

Punk Rock Dad, by Jim Lindberg (Pennywise lead singer) — totally hilarious read. I’ll give it a full review soon (with help from the Pink-Haired Housewife, I’m hoping) but in the meantime — go pick up a copy. Pick up two and give the extra to a friend. Perfect baby shower gift, anniversary gift or birthday present for the dads (and moms) out there. He’s such a good writer, and so funny.

When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, a Spike Lee Joint, Pick up a copy of this one, too. And please do not forget, when you’re thinking about Darfur and orphans abroad and the movie stars who love them — New Orleans and the South still desperately need our help. Do what you can and do it now.

Sunshine State, directed by John Sayles

Strictly Ballroom, directed by Baz Luhrmann

Onions in the Stew, by Betty MacDonald

Blood Diamond, directed by Edward Zwick

(Yeah, try to figure out how my brain works based on that list.)

Love,

WM

Amongst my top search terms, y’all were looking for the following:

* naked neighbors (they’re not here this weekend!)

* scarf site sex

* nasty neighbors wives

* cathy mincberg

* nekkid pool

* husband parked in front of the damn tv

* hockey wives

* hockey sluts (followed by…)

* dirty sluts (Hey! We are not!)

* i love my wild cherry tree but hate the mess (me too!)

* i rubbed cocaine on my lips will i be tested positive (me too! No, wait… that’s not true.)

* if you see your mother this weekend tell her satan satan satan

We had a combined earthquake/fire drill scheduled at work this afternoon, half an hour before my day was done. So I skipped my lunch break and left early. I’ve been in an earthquake before. Oh, wait! I’ve been in three.

They’re not that big of a deal.

Ha! Ha! I jest. They are scary and there is nowhere to run when the earth is opening up like that. And we live in a 100-year-old house and believe me — it’s shaking when it’s shaking. So this whole “hide under your desk” advice? I call bullshit on that. And if there’s a fire? Don’t use an elevator.

Prepared? Yes, I am, thanks for asking. Although we did break into our emergency preparedness kit in the basement. It now contains: One flashlight, which has no batteries in it. So we’re not so prepared there.

Here is the memo they sent out to prepare us:

During an Earthquake:

Try to be calm. Panic will endanger rather than preserve you.

Call out to remind others: “Earthquake! Drop, Cover and Hold!”

Do we need to limit this advice to office workers only? I think we can all learn a little something here.

WM

Dear Thursday Thirteeners and the Usual Suspects,

Is food an issue at your house? It isn’t here since my father-in-law taught me this neat trick: Just give them whatever they want.

13 Things My Kids Will Eat

13. Dinner out. Always. Seven nights a week would be good by them.

12. “Dino Mac!” (Annie’s Organic Mac and Cheese) “Not that other kind! Dino Mac!”

11. Cheese pizza

10. Waffles & pancakes

9. Strawberries? No. Raspberries.

8. Raspberry & strawberry breakfast bars

7. Chocolate milk & hot cocoa

6. Cheese sandwiches! And tomato soup!

5. “I like when you turn off the computer and make Dino Mac for me!” (No doing until I’ve posted. Sorry, kid.) “Dino Nuggets!” (Chicken nuggets from Costco.)

4. Bagels with cream cheese & any kind of jam. No, just raspberry.

3. Ice cream, cookies & candy

2. “And cake!”

1. Spaghetti with marinara and tons of fresh grated parmesan.

How am I supposed to keep up with my blog-reading, if this work thing continues? I don’t know what is going on out there! Amalah wrote a dynamite post about searching for faith. And I have a whole post I need to write about Rosie O’Donnell being the only celebrity in America brave enough to keep on hammering about the need to End the War and Bring Our Soldiers Home. Now. Now! Now!!! Not tomorrow — today.

Say what you will about Rosie — no, don’t, because I’m feeling more than a little protective of her right now. She’s bold, and she stands up for what she believes in. And what kind of screwed-up world do we live in where people commend you for doing the right thing, because it’s so… unusual to help someone, or to put out a fire, or just to point out, “There’s a fire. Let’s put it out.”

“Oh, my God — you, like, noticed that fire! And I didn’t even notice it! And then you put it out! You are a-maz-ing! Wow!”

I get attention and credit all the time just for doing the stuff — and it’s usually small, tiny stuff, not anything amazing, by any means — that I need to be doing. Today, for instance, I sent two dozen pencils to school with my daughter, because they’re out. Her teacher thought this was a-maz-ing. I may send in erasers tomorrow.

So, Rosie O’ — thanks for being a-maz-ing.

From the transcripts of “The View” for May 17th (this is from Rosie’s blog), wherein Rosie completely blew Elisabeth Hasselback’s mind:

O’DONNELL: …… I just want to say something. 655,000 Iraqi civilians are dead. Who are the terrorists?
HASSELBECK: Who are the terrorists?
O’DONNELL: 655,000 Iraqis — I’m saying you have to look, we invaded –
HASSELBECK: Wait, who are you calling terrorists now? Americans?
O’DONNELL: I’m saying if you were in Iraq, and the other country, the United States, the richest in the world, invaded your country and killed 655,000 of your citizens, what would you call us?
HASSELBECK: Are we killing their citizens or are their people also killing their citizens?
O’DONNELL: We’re invading a sovereign nation, occupying a country against the U.N.

(And I would like to segue this post into some lovin’ and a shout-out for Cindy Sheehan, who is exhausted and giving up. Cindy, don’t give up. Take a rest, but don’t give up.)

Pointing out that we’re terrorizing a nation — which we are, which we have been — is not the same as calling a soldier a terrorist. Killing two-thirds of a million people is called “terr-or-izing them.” It is domestic violence, to go into people’s homes and cities and back yards and kill them. It’s like I tell my kids fifty times a day — don’t hurt each other. It’s wrong to hurt someone. It’s wrong to kill.

The job ends Friday. I will be able to read more and write more after that. I won’t hear back about the interview until end of this week, beginning of next. I’ll let you know as soon as I know, savvy?

In the meantime, don’t stop fighting. And keep on, I command you on this one, keep on putting out fires.

(from April 18th, 2006… I can’t find this in the archives, so here it is again, with comments attached.)

Really, need I say more? I don’t think so. I think the hedder suffices. But if your need to know is pressing, like the concrete backer board that was pressing against my legs this morning, here you…

There was a school district/neighborhood summit over at Humboldt Elementary last night. First the mucky-mucks from the district bored the shit out of us with yet another PowerPoint demo. (What is it with the People in Charge and their love for PowerPoint?) Really, this was their first mistake. Because people are affected by PowerPoint in one of three ways 1) They assume it will give them Power! And more Power! And they ride the fucking six pack, to quote, who? Green River? Yes! (Or “Something!” as Wacky Girl would say 2) They are bored to sleep 3) They get pissed off and the tension in the room grows. 3) Is what happened last night.

So the district is all it’ll be great! Humboldt has high test scores! Ockley Green (the school where Humboldt students would transfer) has low scores! You can help! No, it’s soooooooo not because this is a poor neighborhood. No, nothing to do with race. It’ll be fantastic, just wait!

And the House said: No. Not amen. No. No, no, no. We don’t like the adult porn store right across the street from OG. We don’t like our kids having to walk a long, long ways to get to school. We don’t like having to drive them to OG when they can walk to Humboldt. We don’t like being told what to do. No, no, no. Everyone went nuts. It is an interesting night when Wacky Mommy is the calmest person in the room. And we were on the 11 o’clock news, so that was cool. Take that, school district.

My favorite speaker of the evening was the Humboldt student, a young man, who said, All I can say now is that you guys are doing something really stupid. Period. Which of course made everyone cheer and stamp their feet.

Now today, the contractor arrives. Not the one who needs to finish repairing the floor. Mister “I needed an eight-foot board and they only cut me seven-and-a-half. I’ll be back. Or someone will. I’ll call the supervisor and he can call your husband.” No, it wasn’t the floor guy. It was the tile guy, with a delivery.

He stacked boxes of tiles, bags of Versabond, plastic sheeting, caulk, all this shit in my office. But they can’t do the tile, see, until the floor guy is done. But I’m being open-minded and all. I’m thinking, The tile, she is here! But what to do with the backer board? The guy stacks it on the front porch, tells us, If it rains it’ll need to be covered with a tarp, or it’ll get ruined, then leaves.

It rains a lot here.

He left the tarp on the table on the front porch. Can you see where this is going? I’m thinking, It’s sunny — it’s not going to rain — followed by, This is Portland, Oregon. The only time it doesn’t rain here is July 15 through Sept. 22. Roughly. So I throw the tarp over the shit (nine fucking heavy ugly concrete backer boards) and am tucking it in around the edges when it topples. On my legs. Pinning me. Turns out he had them propped Way Too Vertical. Fucking asshole idiot contractor.

Yet here I am, writing. Do you believe in miracles? Yes! No, I don’t, not so much. But I do believe in Roadmaster Trikes, cuz that’s what the boards landed on, thus saving me from the life of a parapalegic. It torqued the seat but didn’t crush it. This is the power of Roadmaster. Jesus God, your life really does flash before your eyes, it’s true. I yelled for the neighbor (not the Naked One, she wasn’t home. The Nasty One on the other side, whose house is closer) and she came over and helped me extricate myself. This makes her the Not-So-Nasty-Neighbor, no?).

Then I called, in order, the contractors, You frickin’ need to finish the bathroom right now. My legs were almost crushed. And bring my kid a new trike, ya idiot; my best friend Zip, who said, Jesus, what if it had been one of the kids? which made me cry harder, because of course that thought was already going through my head over and over and over and over; and Hockey God, who said, Did they get broken? (referring to the backer boards, not my legs, thus prompting me to hang up on him).

He realized the severity of the incident when the contractors actually called him before he had a call in to them, saying something like, Guy is on his way out, sorry we almost killed your wife, or something.

Prompting him to call me, without being asked, and asking me, Are your legs OK?

They’re OK. Thanks for asking. And thank God it wasn’t one of the kids.

2 Comments
1. edj says: I wanted to say something witty, but really, I’m just so glad you’re ok! But I have to say, will you stop at nothing to get your floor finished?

2. Heather says: Dang! I am so glad you are ok! And thank God and the Baby Jesus that it was not one of the kids although I certainly would have preferred not you either! Oh, and the whole Jefferson cluster thing just makes me throw up my hands in the air *what-are-they-thinking*! — Hugs, Heather