August 29 '06

The Emmy Awards show last Sunday night was the lowest rated in a long time, I guess, but I watched it, of course I did, and I thought it was actually pretty good. Conan O’Brien was really funny, if you like his brand of goofy, frat boy humor, which I do. NBC is apologizing for his “Lost” spoof, because it seems some folks thought it was insensitive coming on the heels of a real life plane crash, but dang I laughed when his “South Park” alter ego tried to hide in the closet but couldn’t because Tom Cruise was already in there. HAW!

Apparently purple is the new pregnant in Hollywood; 90 percent of the actresses were wearing purple gowns. It was weird, frankly, do the stylists not communicate with each other at all?  My favorite purple dress was Meagan Mullaly’s, it was the perfect combination of pretty but tasteful and comfortable looking and it allowed her to stand up straight, unlike all the other purple clad ladies who all looked slouchy and quite frankly, exactly the same. Oh, except for Cheryl Hines, whose purple dress had one of Tonya Harding's old figure skating costumes glued to the back of it. Notables who bucked the purple trend:

Kyra Sedgwick: I think Kyra is beautiful. That said, the last red carpet event she attended, she was wearing some ugly old curtains from her grandma’s living room, and Sunday night she wore ugly old curtains fromm her grandma’s dining room. I suppose you have to admire her ability to keep people guessing… I can hardly wait to see what part of grandma’s house she’ll wear next.

Virginia Madsen:…oy…

Virginia Madsen: “Hi everyone, remember me? I was in Sideways, remember? Um, I was, uh, nominated for an Oscar? Remember? No? Wait…”( Sound of fabric ripping as Virginia tears the entire front of her dress clean off, exposing all but a thin sliver of her enormous, free-wheeling breasts)

Two paparazzi talking to each other: “Geez, was that thunder? Is it going to storm?”

 "No, I think Virgina Madsen’s boobs just fell out of her dress.”

V.M. : “NOW do you remember? Hey, Sandra! Sandra Oh…Hi it’s me, Virginia! Say hi to Alexander, will you? I’d LOVE to work with him again…if you see Paul, say hi to him for me, too!”

“What? Oh, hi, Virginia. Alexander and I are divorced now, and I haven’t spoken to Paul since “Lady in the Water” tanked. Um, Virginia, I think your dress is on backwards.”

OK, maybe that’s not why her dress spent the whole night trying to leap off of her. Maybe it was just embarrassed to be seen with her.

Jeremy Piven wore an ascot. I love him and I love Entourage, so I’m really hoping he was just being ironic. I thought Simon Cowell was wearing one, too, but then I realized I was just looking at his matted chest hair and threw up. To say he was repulsive would be an insult to repulsive things. (see Virginia Madsen’s dress)

I’ve been a Barry Manilow defender pretty much my whole life. Say whatever you want, the guy’s adorable and he can entertain, you know what I’m sayin’? I read a piece by Joe Queenan once where he went to a Barry Manilow concert  ready to rip and came out a believer, and  that’s impressive since Joe Queenan is about as hard-boiled as it gets. I love Barry. BUT….

Mr. Manilow has obviously gone completely insane. What else would explain what he’s done to his face?? Nothing moves. He’s got cheek implants so big he looks like he’s storing nuts for the winter. Even his hair looks plastic now; he looks like if Hermie the elf were possessed by Joan Rivers.  And after he won his Emmy, he said he was going to bring the statuette into the operating room with him the next day. The official word is “hip surgery”, but I suspect they melted that puppy down and dipped his face into it.  And Farrah is apparently seeing the same plastic surgeon.

Keifer…mmmmm Keifer….Charlie Sheen looked sweaty and rumpled and wild-eyed, I do believe his Syphilis is getting the best of him.  Ron Livingston and Jennifer Love Hewitt presented some award together, and I remarked that I thought they were the best looking couple of the night. Mike looked up and said, “yeah, and he looks all right, too.” Budump-ump. Katherine Heigle looked beautiful, but unfortunately her boobs were sweating all over the place.

You know who looked the best? Helen Mirren. She had on a really pretty white dress that complemented her hair and skin tone perfectly and a stunning emerald necklace. She won for playing Elizabeth 1 in an HBO movie, I never saw it but I think there’s a law in England that states “Every English actress must, at some point in her career, play Elizabeth 1. And Jeremy Irons will co-star.”

The Dick Clark tribute was fun, and there was a nice tribute to Aaron Spelling. It was awesome to watch his widow dab at her eyes just a second too late every time the camera caught her.

“Mom. Mom! The camera is on you!” (Randy Spelling shakes his mom, who is making out with her trainer)

“Wha? Huh? Is it Tori? Call security!”

“No! The camera was on you!”

“Oh. Damn (she tears up)…I miss Adam…”

“Aaron.”

“Right….oh, look, honey, a montage highlighting your (as far as we know!) father’s  career, how nice. Hey, I didn’t know he did “Sunset Beach”, why haven’t I seen any checks for that? Get my lawyer on the phone!”

By far the most entertaining part of the evening was watching a reliably drunk Paula Abdul try to get through an interview with the chirping team from E! I couldn’t understand a thing she said, but boy did she make me laugh.

August 28 '06

"He's been out about 13 years, he hasn't re-offended...he's gone straight and you've got to admire that. And it also shows that prison works."

-David Brent on his role model, Nelson Mandela

So The Office won the Emmy (more about the show later) for best comedy last night, absolutely deserved, it's a great show. But if you want to see the master at work, watch this.

August 27 '06

Mike got on the scale a few weeks ago and was greeted with a number he has never before had the displeasure of hosting, so he's been strictly dieting ever since. He has an iron will, people; the guy hasn't had so much as a cookie in three weeks and while the pounds are coming off slower than he would like, they are coming off.

Yesterday we drove out to Timbuktu to collect the elder babes from camp (whenever I re-read these things, it always seems to come across like Molly is a separate unit from Meg and Finbar; some sort of auxiliary child, which I suppose explains why her whole life is dedicated to making sure people notice her. And I promise not to use any more semi-colons this whole post.) Anyoots, we passed a Culver's restaurant and my vigilantly starving Miguel blurted out, "I want to eat six butter burgers and pass out on that picnic table."

Other things we passed that made me chuckle:

The Bug Bee Hive Resort...I'm not sure naming a resort after two of the more unpleasant aspects of summer is the best idea. "C'mon down to the Bug Bee Hive Resort! We've got bugs, we've got bee hives! Play your cards right and you might find a garter snake in your suitcase or a mole in your bed! Every third guest leaves here with Lyme Disease! Yee haw!"

A homemade sign on someone's front lawn that said, "Day Care Sale"...what's for sale, exactly? The day care itself? The services? Or the actual kids? And is a day care that is having a sale really where you'd want to put your kids?

"Hi, Monique, are you going to go back to work now that Cargo is weaned?"

"I honestly wasn't going to, Linda, but the Bug Bee Hive Daycare was having a sale, and I just couldn't pass it up. You know I'm a sucker for a good sale!"

D&D Recycling, right next to D&D Storage. Hmmm.

Kidlets had a wing ding of a good time at camp, and were both incredibly sad to leave. We went to a great band concert last night, but by evening's end they were fit to be tied...and in a move of ugly Pavlovian irony, both popped out of bed at 7 am this morning. Instead of spending today doing fun, loving-family-reunited type things, I have spent it refereeing/banishing them to their rooms and they have spent it alternately shrieking at me and at each other. They are going to bed right after dinner. Just as well, since the Emmy's are on.

August 24 '06

If Space Were High School

Pluto: "Hi you guys! What's up?"

Mars and Venus look at each other uncomfortably. After a beat, Mars mumbles, "Oh, hi, Pluto. What's up?"

Venus stifles a giggle and Mars elbows it and whispers, "Shut up! You're so mean!"

Pluto: "Are you guys going to Jupiter's party in twenty thousand years? I can't wait. I’ve been working on my gravitational pull."

(Enter Jupiter and Neptune.)

Jupiter: "Excuse me, dwarf planet, what are you doing talking to Mars and Venus?"

Pluto: "What? What do you mean? Oh, you’re talking about my demotion…so I'm downgraded a little, so what? I'm still the same old me, good old Pluto! Remember that time Earth had that dinosaur infestation and I was like, 'Hey Earth, why don't you call Orkin?' That was funny, right?"

Jupiter: "Whatever, dwarf. I always knew you weren't one of us; for crying out loud, you're not even round.”

Neptune: “Yeah, and newsflash, I don’t really appreciate how you’ve been orbiting me all the time like some stalker. It totally grosses me out, why don’t you just quit it.”

Pluto: “It’s not like I can help it! You think I don’t want to orbit the Sun?”

Jupiter: “Look, dwarf, we've been listening to your dumb stories for long enough. Go hang out with Ceres, why don't you...what, Venus? What did you say?"

(They all look at Venus, who blushes and stammers nervously)

Venus: "Um...I was just saying, Earth does think it's so great and everything just because it has people and stuff. I mean, don't you get sick of its constant whining about that stupid Ozone hole? You can't even see it. At least it has Oxygen."

(Jupiter leans in menacingly close to Venus.)

Jupiter: "You don't fool anyone, Venus, we all know how jealous you are of Earth and you might as well face it: Your properties are not even close. Not only do women not come from you, you're never going to have people, or trees, or those giraffe things you’re so obsessed with. No way, no how. Now why don't you shut up or maybe we'll have to start calling you a dwarf, too."

Venus: "No...no please, Jupiter, I'm sorry."

(The four bona fide planets spin away, leaving Pluto rejected and dejected.  Enter Ceres and Xena, the two other “dwarf planets”.)

Xena, excited: "Hi Pluto! Heard you’re one of us, now! Do you want to go try and clear asteroids out of our ellipses?"

Ceres, sadly: “Hey, I am an asteroid!”

Xena: “Whoops, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, you’re so big I just forgot.”

Pluto, angrily: “I don’t want to hang out with you guys, and like you’re even strong enough to clear your orbital paths anyway. You know what? I hope you get crushed by icy debris! Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!"

(Pluto spins away, its odd egg shape giving its orbit an awkward tilt.)

Xena: “Pluto better watch it. I’m bigger than it is.”

August 23 '06

I love days like this...I wouldn't if it were the 37th consecutive one, mind you, in other words late March, but coming on the heels of countless hot, sunny days, it is nice to have a break. Molly and I made two batches of banana bread and we're still waiting for blueberry scones to come out of the oven.

Big kids are at karate camp this week, they come home Saturday and I miss them. There are days when I think I will go insane (see every post ever) from the chaos and of course, when I don't have it I miss it. Make up your mind, woman! Well of course I love the chaos, I thought that was understood. Update: the scones are out. They smell oddly of urine.

This is their second year of sleep-away camp, they absolutely love it. I went to stay-over camp one summer when I was about ten, and my experience was a little different. To say I did not enjoy myself would be like saying Keanu Reeves might benefit from an acting class.

I went with my girlfiend Anne, and we only knew each other and were immediately pegged the nerdballs of the whole place, particularly horrible considering it was a religious camp. I don't remember what it was called, but it was in the middle of Wisconsin somewhere and we had to go to prayer service twice a day and the rest of our time was spent trying not to get ridiculed into eating disorders.

There was, of course, one particular group of super-hotties, just like in the movies. Even the counselors had crushes on them so they were treated like princesses; they got all the good supplies and all the speaking parts in the shows and got to read at all the prayer services. What really, really chapped my hide, though, was that they won the "cleanest cabin" award every single day, and their cabin was not the cleanest mine was it was it was. I may not have known how to tie a lanyard or style my hair into feathery waves around my face and I may not have had a chocolatey brown tan and I may have nearly drowned in the swim across the lake but damnit, I knew how to clean and I got robbed. My mother says that I sent home terrible letters about how miserable I was, but that when she came to pick me up on the last day I was skipping around like I'd never been happier. Well, that'd be a kid for you, right?

Speaking of traumatic childhood experiences, Mike and I just finished watching the show Freaks and Geeks on DVD, wow was it great. Funnily enough there's a scene in it where a nerdy girl gets told by the way-too-cool-for-school guy that "the name of the song is Baba O'Riley". I rest my case.

August 22 '06

Gotta spend today workin' on my taxes. (Insert angry, impotent, rage-against-the-man stream of expletives here.)

You'd think I'd be the last person in the galaxy qualified to do my own taxes, seeing how I never went to a math class my entire life (when I was a young girl in Catholic school, the math teacher used to let me skip the tests so I could go draw posters for the all-school masses,) but you'd be surprised how meticulous a bookkeeper I became when Uncle Sam started forcing his way up my ***. I really hope to get back here later today sometime, but I dunno how many layers this onion is gonna have. Have a great day and I'll catch you later and let you know how it went.

August 21 '06

Can no longer ignore the late August bloats; every bite of ice cream, every gin and tonic ingested since June first has slowly banded together and resurfaced like an annoying relative I'd hoped I'd lost touch with but just surprised me with a Christmas card. Oh. You. I thought you were dead.

Dead? of course I'm not dead, you big silly! Not only am I still alive and well, I'll be staying with you in the form of back fat until Halloween!

Oh well, if I didn't have that extra few pounds at Summer's end, it would mean I didn't have as much fun as I should've.

Had a loverly weekend, off in the wilderness with the gals. No, we didn't have any pillowfights or anything like that, much to Miguel's dismay...in fact I have never, in all my years as a female, sung into a hairbrush as my girlfriends provided back-up vocals.

I would actually go so far to say that I would use that last one as a filtering device to screen new acquaintances; ask them if they ever expected me to sing “I Am Woman” with them or eat ice cream straight from the container while we man-bashed, and if they answered in the affirmative it would be sayonara sister, find someone else to help you get your groove back. In fact, one gal left unexpectedly early because her hubby called and said he had some lovely surprise plans for her, so could she rush home? And we all thought that was super sweet.

I will cop to watching a lot of Sex and the City, an admittedly girly cliche, but so what, it's a great show. Seems people's biggest problems with that show, at least the complaint I hear the most, is "That's not how women behave." Well, no, not every woman, of course not, but I'm perfectly capable of being entertained by characters and situations I don't know/have not experienced in real life. When I saw Batman Returns, I didn't say to myself, "How ridiculous, that's not what I would do if my parents were gunned down before my eyes when I was a child." Besides, part of the fun of Sex and the City is yelling at Carrie for being such a clueless doormat and hooting at her insanely ugly wardrobe. I have to finish this later, Molly is up and wants pancakes.

August 17 '06

I wrote this last night while watching Project Runway.

Can we please discuss the looks for this fall? Leggings and tight jeans are back, are you kidding me? Weren't the last few years bad enough with every butt crack in America making its presence known in the low-riders, now we're back to choking our ankles in jeans that make everyone look like inverted bowling pins? Heidi Klum is on the tv right now in a pair of jeans so tight she'll need the jaws of life to get out of them, and they make her, a tall, gorgeous supermodel, look like a beast. Oh fer--she just yelled at one of the contestants for designing something that made her model look fat! Uh, Heidi, you don't exactly look small in dem der jeans...and leggings, Ughhhhhhh...to quote my good friend Mel, friends don't let friends wear leggings.

So we're all swimming tonight, and I'm looking at Molly and thinking how different life is for a third kid in relation to the first...we were so concerned about keeping Meg in her little Utopian bubble, sheltering her from all bad words, bad thoughts, bad media images, all she ever watched was channel 2 or an animated Disney flick, provided it wasn't too violent like Bambi...I remember telling her uncle I thought the Lion King was a "little dark" for her...and not that that was a bad thing, certainly trying to keep questionable material away from young psyches is a noble pursuit, but once you have a bunch of kids, well, some of that over-zealousness just goes to the wayside. Anyway, I was laughing about that in a "I can't believe what a bad mom I've become" way with Mike while we watched the kiddies dunking each other in the pool and the words were not half a second out of my mouth when Molly yelled, "Oh gross Finbar you just pantsed me!"

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I want to give up on all my parental ideals, but anyone with more than one child can relate, right? Right?

Last night she and her little girlfriend called us all out into the yard to show us that they were basically teaching each other to ride her two-wheeler. It was so cute/sad...like the two of them just said, "well, we could just teach each other to ride these things, since our folks sure as heck aren't gonna do it..."

OK, out of guilt I just took a break and went up to tuck her in. She had a pile of books on her bed and said she wanted to do Eeeny-meeny to choose one.

"OK," I agreed.

"Eeny meenie miney moe, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers let him go, eenie meenie miney moe. My mother said to pick the very best one and you are not it."

"Not it? No..Molly, you have to pick one. It's nine-fifteen."

"No, Mommy! This is how you do it!" and she tossed the eliminated book onto the floor and began the process again.

You don't really think I stopped her, after the story I just told, do you? At 9:30 the last book standing was "Pupa'd out", a story about caterpillars.

So I'm leavin' tomorrow, going to the wilds for a little r-n-r. Catch you Monday.

August 14 '06

Kudos to Syl Jones for his much needed, public dressing-down of those plebeians who partake in celebrity fantasy leagues. He very rightly stated that those involved in such a pastime are “bored, breathless women looking for yet another addiction.”

Thank Heaven someone finally had the guts to say it. You just knew this was going to happen the minute those jezebels started showing up in public with their ankles exposed.

Mr. Jones believes involvement in a celebrity fantasy league is akin to an addiction to psychedelic drugs; it’s just as insidious, just as addictive, just as detrimental to society, and he’s got a quiver full of misunderstood Timothy Leary* philosophies to prove it.

He hit the nail on the head. Why, if people spend a few stolen moments a week doing something fun and mindless, next thing you know there won’t be enough airplane glue at the hobby shop to satisfy our society’s need to escape reality. For shame, people.

You should be spending your free time volunteering for charitable causes and reading to your children. What’s that you say, you already do those things and the fantasy league is just a small and silly distraction?  It doesn’t actually define your entire life? Are you daring to suggest Syl Jones is full of hot air?

Mr. Jones is ashamed to inhabit the same city as the “simple minded rabble who breathlessly await photos of Tom and Katie’s baby as if the child were the Messiah.”

Here, here! Obviously that baby is not the Messiah. Although, and I’m just playing devil’s advocate here, the fact that Syl neglected to include the surnames of either  “Tom” or “Katie” makes me suspect that he does, indeed, know who they are….surely not, he has much more important things on which to focus his attention, like making sure nobody ever has fun. Forgive me.

But Syl’s strongest point was that our “weird and empty obsessions with things trivial both intrigue and frighten much of the rest of the world as they view our culture from a distance.”

Too true.  If only we were obsessed with normal things like extinguishing everyone who didn’t share our radical religious beliefs, we wouldn’t seem so weird and frightening.

 *Timothy Leary was Winona Ryder’s Godfather…two points for me!

August 10 '06

Conversation overheard in my car:

Finbar: "Molly, wanna play Shadow?"

For those of you who may not know, "Shadow" is a supremely annoying game children like to play, wherein one player tricks another player into allowing them to copy their every utterance and movement until the second player is on the brink of tormented hysteria, causing mom to threaten to stuff the first player into the dishwasher if he or she doesn't knock it off.

"Shadow" and "Show Butts"...two fun games all kids are simply born knowing how to play, whether you like it or not.

Molly, being just five and all, might as well have a target painted on her forehead when it comes to "Shadow". She always, always falls for it, so today when this dreaded question floated up from the back seat I held my breath, hoping, hoping...don't fall for it, Moll...

Molly: "Molly, wanna play Shadow?"

Yes! She did it ! She turned the tables and was, at long last, in the "Shadow" catbird seat!

Finbar: "No, I shadow you."

Molly: "No, I shadow you."

Finbar: "No, Molly. I copy everything you say."

Molly: "OK."

Finbar: "OK."

"Dang."

And this after the poor kid got all dolled up in an old dress of mine and then promptly tripped on it and smacked her forehead on the back steps. I freaked, thought she had a concussion. She doesn't, just a huge, ugly green bump over one eye. I made her take the dress off, and since Molly simply cannot cotton to a complete lack of dramatic adornment, she drew purple and pink polka dots all over her face with one of those multi-colored ball point pens. She looks like she's been through a meat grinder, and I can't even wash her face because I don't want to hurt her bump.

I'm watching "You've Got Mail"...love it. Dang, but Ms. Meg Ryan is about as cute as it gets in this movie. And her wardrobe is fantastic...what on Earth happened to her? If a gal who was that cute felt she needed to pump her face full of botox and collagen, what hope do the rest of us have?

August 10 '06

Watched "The Family Stone". Now, this movie got ripped to shreds by the critics, but since I disagree with the critics a lot of the time, I rented it anyway...I mean it has an all-star cast, how bad could it be, right? I knew it was about a wacky dysfunctional family full of 'types' and I was prepared to be slightly annoyed by that (which is also the reason I'm not exactly rushing out to see "Little Miss Sunshine") but I was hoping this particular movie would inject that cliche with something unique. The good news is, they did. The bad news is, that unique something was that not one character in the movie had a single redeeming quality.

It seriously should've been called "The Most Hateful People Who Ever Lived. Ever!"

Dermott McMermott brings Sarah Jessica Parker home for the holidays to meet his family. He's an uptight weenie who lets his relatives run roughshod over his girlfriend, for no apparent reason other than the fact she wears her hair in a bun and they are all funky hippies. His mother wears a bulky, wigwam-inspired robe and little glasses and she has a dirty mouth and is the meanest, most unwelcoming harpy since Bette Davis pushed Joan Crawford down the stairs. His dad is a long haired, pouca-shell wearing dweeb who wanders around aimlessly looking for his personality and letting his wife emasculate him at every turn. His sister has an NPR tote bag, dresses like a homeless person to downplay her great beauty and has all the charm of a rabid dog. There are two brothers, one who is Luke Wilson and one who is deaf and gay and has a black boyfriend. Fer CRYIN... we get it. This family is so open-minded and wonderful, not only do they not see color, they can't even hear it. They are perfect and SJP wears her hair in a bun! Why should they be nice to her when she is clearly asking for it?

Ahh...but not so fast. SJP shows herself to be just as big a jerk as they all are, and hilarity follows. She gets drunk and undoes her bun and sleeps with her fiance's brother and magically, turns nice, tee hee! Her sister, who is there for no discernable reason, flirts with Mermott McMermott and they fall in love, Haw! Then they all chase each other around and totally destroy the kitchen and all the Christmas goodies, can you imagine that? And then they all laugh.

Oh, and then Diane Keaton dies of breast cancer, proving she was nice all along. UGH.

I have to go make muffins.

August 5 '06

I think it's sweet that Jodie Foster has come to Mel's defense. I mean, if my friends abandoned me every time I said something reprehensible I wouldn't have any friends left.

(awkward pause)

Seriously, you know Mel's gonna come out smelling like a rose...in fact, if Floyd Landis were smart he'd immediately 'fess up and start bawling that he had a "problem", and not try to cling to his argument that his balls are just naturally bigger than everyone else's. Everyone loves a reformed sinner, look at Hugh Grant for Heaven's sake. Mr. Landis should just admit that he did, indeed, get blown by a hooker on Hollywood Boulevard.

Speaking of sports, the new Sports Ill. features Joe Mauer on the cover and compares him to Chip Hilton, fictional sports hero extraordinaire at my house growing up. Chip was such a revered, iconic figure in our family, he was second only to Jesus to us kids, and that was only because we figgered if Jesus had played sports, he probably would've been better than Chip.

The books were technically JP's, but we all read them a thousand times and my brothers spent their childhoods trying to live up to them. When Mike and I were dating, he tried to tell me that Bronc Burnett was sweeter than Chip. (!!!) We almost broke up over it, until he admitted he'd never actually read any Chip books.

The books were re-released several years ago, with some (unnecessary) changes in order to try and appeal to modern kids. For instance, Chip has a computer and a skateboard and he's actually a girl now.

They're still great tales for kids, though, even though the cover art is no longer as good...and about so much more than sports. Chip wasn't just the world's best athlete, he was the world's best person.

Bronc Burnett. What a pansy.

August 2 '06

Fer cryin'...the paper is just one big fat depressing blob of bad news this morning. From war to a global warming apocalypse it makes me want to go spend all my money on shoes. Thank heaven for Heloise, who tells me I can make it all better by concocting popsicles out of Bloody Mary mix.

LOVE Heloise. Without her how would I ever have known that I could store small items like paper clips or coupons in old margarine tubs? Or use old plastic shower caps to keep food items fresh in the refrigerator? Or scribble notes to myself on opened utility envelopes, reminding me not to throw out the styrofoam containers the mushrooms came in, as they make nifty helmets for the kitty cat?

The following are some of the gems from my all-time favorite Heloise column, which I saved and is taped to my fridge. The theme was cell phones:

Whenever I meet someone and we want to exchange phone numbers, I never seem to have a piece of paper, so I just put the new number in my cell phone, along with the new acquaintance's name!

Well, this poor sap obviously missed Heloise's column about saving all those old envelopes to use as scratch paper, so extra Hallelujahs! that she figured this out.

My husband and I use our cell phone (we each have one) to talk back and forth when he is outside working.

A) I'm so glad she clarified that they both have one, because I was seriously confused. For a minute I was imagining the two of them running back and forth from the kitchen to the yard, alternating between the cell phone and the land line, trying to locate each other's numbers on those pesky bits of scratch paper that somehow never seem to be in their margarine container when you need them, and it was total, non-Heloise sanctioned chaos! The cat couldn't even keep its styrofoam hat on!

(Husband's P.O.V.: "Yeah, I retired from the plant last year, and all she does is nag nag nag all damn day. I took up gardening just to get out of the house and what does she do? She buys a cell phone and calls me. While I'm in the backyard. Thank God I read in Heloise I can use an old tube sock to hang myself.")

Next letter:

I use the bright screen as a flashlight to help me see when moving around the room while my wife is sleeping and to look for things in the dark, like when an item is dropped in a movie theater.

Silly me, I use a flashlight to move around the room while his wife is sleeping. I am glad, though, that he gave an example of a place that is dark, because I couldn't think of any and frankly didn't know what he meant.

I use my cell phone to store my car and truck license plate numbers in case the plates are stolen.

Dude, where do you live?? Why so paranoid? I expected the next line to be, "Plus on my cell phone I can talk to the mother-ship."

But this one was hands down, my favorite:

A cell phone use that I have found to be quite handy is to use my cell phone as a ruler. It is exactly 4 inches long and 1.5 inches wide. (Note from Heloise: All cell phones are different measurements. So folks, measure yours today.--Heloise) Many times, if I need to measure something small, I just pull out my phone instead of trying to locate a ruler!

Heloise wants me to measure my cell phone so I can use it to measure stuff? What should I measure it with, a different cell phone? And how hard is it to locate a ruler, especially if you've been following Heloise's advice and keep yours in an old spaghetti box, which is the perfect size and shape for just such a thing?

August 1 '06

Happy August. A blessedly rainy day, still muggy but about a thousand degrees cooler today, and I am thankful and relieved. Often times you'll hear people around these parts remarking on how we tend to complain when it's too cold and then do it s'more when it's too hot. Not me, sister, you'll never hear me complaining it's too cold (OK that's bull and we all know it but whatever). I fall into that camp that'll take extreme (or should I say EXTREME!!) cold over extreme heat any day of the week and twice on Sundays, I mean you can put an extra layer on and still pretty much go about your business, not to mention who doesn't look great in a nice thick sweater? Whereas very few look all that great, you know, shirtless.

Don't get me wrong, like any normal person my very favorite weather is 80 degrees, but given the choice of 102 and 12 I'll take 12. This last week I had a hard time keeping my eyes open for more time than it took to refill my ice cream bowl; the high heat practically turned me into a cat. Eat, snooze, eat, snooze, lick my rear end, snooze...mmm.......

I'm sorry, did I say that out loud? Suddenly I'm Mel Gibson...good gravy. I feel like Mel is the guy from college who was always a little nuts but still loveable and sometimes it even seemed like he might be sort of a genius, remember that guy? And then one night you came home and found him passed out in your dorm room with his pants around his ankles, a paper bag clutched in one hand and your empty hairspray can in the other. Later, after your buddy Sully had rolled him out of there so you could go to bed because you had an early Psych final, you discovered he'd taught your favorite stuffed animal a thing or two about love, and you had to throw it away the next day...right after you finished filing that restraining order.

Apocalypto indeed.

I've got seven thousand kids here right now; Meg and Josie have three little girls sleeping over so naturally Molly and Finny had to have a couple of buddies over, too. I have no idea what they're all playing, but every three seconds one of them runs into the closet next to me to rummage around and re-emerge wearing some bizarre headwear and brandishing a blunt instrument. No one is crying, though, and the screaming seems to be of a joyful variety so I haven't meddled except to tell Molly that she has to quit with the cartwheels until she puts some underpants on.

The other night as I was tucking her into bed and we were saying our prayers, she ended hers with "Dear God, please let me be rich when I'm nineteen."

We all went to the movies this afternoon, me and nine kids. Half wanted to see Monster House and half wanted to see Pirates, so I settled them all in their respective theaters and spent the whole time bopping from one auditorium to another, effectively seeing half of both movies. It was pretty fun, actually, I thought Pirates was jolly good fun.

Came home and realized it was National Night Out, totally forgot about that. I've never really understood the logic of everyone leaving their homes at the same time in an effort to thwart crime, to tell you the truth. Seems like a perfect time to go a-robbin', if you were so inclined.

I'm off to bed.