More like with a vengeance… Damn. Do you watch The View? Yeah, me neither. Because why? Because when Star was on there, and Meredith, they were all getting a little grouchy with each other. And if I wanted that, I’d turn off the tube and go spend time with my family.

However. I was watching Desperate Housewives on tape, and after it was over I flipped on The View. And there were Rosie O’Donnell, Susan Lucci and Joy Behar completely taking down Elisabeth Hasselback, miss prim little Republican Dennis Miller fan. (Dennis Miller, who thinks global warming isn’t a problem. Dennis Miller, who is pro-war, yet oddly isn’t over there on the frontlines. Dennis Miller, who Elisabeth drooled over when he was on the show. She so was yearning to blow him…) I’m paraphrasing from today’s show, but here goes…

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From today’s New York Times:

“I can’t go outside, I can’t go to college. If I’m killed, it doesn’t even matter because I’m dead right now.”
— Noor, a 19-year-old Baghdad resident

My first mistake: Putting a futon in my office. (We had a couch in here, once. Can’t remember what we did with it.)

My second mistake: Putting really cushy quilts and blankies on the futon. (Which is not on a frame, mind you. It’s just sprawled out all over the floor. I fold it in half, occasionally, to vacuum.) You can probably guess third mistake, which was…

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I don’t know whether or not you follow Dooce’s monthly love letters to her daughter, Leta, but this month’s is beautiful, and intense. Hang in, Dooce. The Internet loves you, Jon and the Fair Leta.

SO GO READ IT, OKAY, PEOPLES? THEN WATCH SESAME STREET. AND DRINK SOME WATER OUT OF A BIG CUP. YOU’LL FEEL BETTER.

While you’re at it, go send some Internet lovin’ to Our Lady of Amalah, who finds herself a little muddled.

If you have some time, and haven’t yet peeked at Holly’s travel journal at Nothing But Bonfires, by all means, start reading. Sometimes I think I’m an OK writer, then I read Holly’s stuff and I just go like this, “Hugest sigh in life.”

Internet love, to these girls and guys, and to all my friends! But to you, the guys in the big trucks who almost ran us over the other day? You know who you are. One of you turned lickity-split into the parking lot on Killingsworth, trying to make the street live up to its name, apparently. And ignoring the mom with the stroller (me) and her cute little preschooler (Wacky Boy). The other of you refused to slow down, even when you saw we were halfway across the street (trying to escape Truck Guy #1, who was trying to roar back out of driveway. “Roar in, roar out, we are the world, we are the Truck Guys”). Yeah, remember us? You swerved a little bit into oncoming traffic to avoid hitting the stroller. Once you had sped up. Yeah, nice work. You both drive real good. NO INTERNET LOVE FOR YOU.

Off to eat breakfast, finally.

Adieu,

WM

Here’s what we’re doing today. Yay, walking! Yay, biking! Yay, not getting run over by cars, trucks and vans because there are so many of us.

More later…

WM

It’s later. Our walk was such a blast — Hockey God went with us, and a bunch of the neighbor kids, and there were treats and prizes for everyone once we got to school. About half the kids at school participated — coooooooooool!

I’m writing my Thursday Thirteen early because I have too much going on in the next couple of days! Just for you, I have my best excuses, followed by my best reasons, for walking the kids to school. (In honor of International Walk and Bike to School Day.)

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“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher (1844-1900)

That’s what I’m saying!

I called the city on my neighbor last week. And the county. And then (because I was on a roll, obviously) Animal Control. If she keeps being so rotten to her aged mother, I’m calling Elder Control, too. (Wait, I don’t think that’s what it’s really called.) Yee-haw, virtual high-fives to me for finally getting up the nerve to do this AFTER SIX YEARS OF HER.

As those of you who regularly read this blog know, I have two neighbors: Angel (Wacky Nekkid Neighbor) and Devil (Evil Neighbor). I am sorry to be so simplistic, but there is just no way around it. I am in Purgatory. Apparently I was really rotten as a child and this is payback. (more…)

We were at dinner. Two tables over I saw this cute family — both kids dressed in their school uniforms. Well, the parents weren’t that cute, they were kind of homely. But the kids were cute, because of the uniforms and all. I’m thinking, like I always think when I see those adorable jumpers and the sharply-creased slacks and the plain white shirts, “I love school uniforms. So practical! So not Hello Kitty and Crazy Doesn’t Even Begin to Cover It (with that stupid bunny that my daughter and all the other girls adore) and My Pretending to Listen to You Should Be Enough and Your Shirt Says ‘Princess’ But Your Face Says ‘Frog.‘” Etc.

(I have a fondness for school uniforms that is not shared by my friends who attended parochial school. Unless their kids are at parochial school, in which case they all say, “School uniforms are the best. You don’t have to hassle every day about what to wear, and it’s cheaper, and NO FIGHTS ABOUT SLUTTY CLOTHES.”)

So I’m daydreaming about uniforms, and cursing crop-tops, low-slung jeans and bitchy T-shirts and I notice that her kids have left her table. And her husband. She’s alone. She’s having a moment of “mommy me time.” And she’s… tongueing something?

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My sister decides she’s going to get a dog. I think, Good! Big dog! Big dogs good!

She says, No big dog, medium dog.

I think, Eh, medium dog OK. Maybe a 40- or 50-pounder?

She is pleased as punch with 16-pound squirrel killer, The Ratter, aka Random Pooper because, you know. These are the reasons Random Pooper has been 86ed from our house, from time to time: Random pooping, licking her own ass and then my kids’ faces, licking the cats’ asses (repeat), kicking the cats’ asses, OH! Litter boxes! MORE cat ass! Good grazing.

Me: Fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa fwaaa.

My sister: I’m sorry!

Me: Why? Did you poop on the floor?

Then the Random Pooper shows up at my door, dressed up as a dinosaur, and how can I refuse her? (Notice she stays on her leash, so she won’t commit any crimes while she’s here.)

“I won’t fuck with the cats. Or eat their poop. I promise.”

“AIIIIIIIII AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I CAN’T SEE! HELP ME!”

“Are the cats here?”

My mom: “I tried to find one in Wacky Dog’s size — they didn’t have one!”

Me: “That was sweet, Mom.”

Wacky Dog: Thank you, Jesus.

Ready for holiday shopping yet?

Look over there — on the right. Cool stuff for sale, designed by Hockey God and approved by me. All proceeds from sales benefit our writing careers and my coffee habit. Hoodies, magnets, bibs, bags, stickers and T’s. Go for it.

Love,

WM