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!”

(Images are clickable)

Absolutely no room for poor Wacky Dog (aka “The Selkie”) in van — things kept toppling on his head. He was happy, nonetheless.

Really tall stump.

Wacky Dog: “You have to chase the stick. Even if it means swimming three miles downstream. You must chase stick.”

Pretty, yes?

Things I never thought I’d hear my son say: “Help me take off this dress, Mama. I have to pee!”

It’s his sister’s old Christmas dress — purple taffeta skirt, velvet top with sparkles. Extremely charming on a four-year-old Wacky Boy.

Internet, hello,

How are you? We camped this weekend. (Edited to say: At Mt. Hood. Can’t say where — which river, which campground. Have been sworn to secrecy. Sorry.) It was fine until Hockey God took us on Death March from Hell single file, side-stepping dog shit all over trail, trail that had steep drop-off on one side and scared the hell out of me because MY BABIES! OH MY GOD! What if they fell over the side? I’d dive after them, but would it be Too Late?

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You know those lists, those “diet coke or diet pepsi?” “diamonds or pearls?” lists? I made up my own. Feel free to pilfer:

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What the hell — okay I’m in. This is not a commitment, Thursday Thirteen. But I’ll give it a shot.

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