Thursday, August 28, 2008


AT LAST!! After enduring three years of countless taunts from you nitwits for innocently snapping a photo or two of my son doing embarrassing and/or socially unacceptable things, finally I can get a little reprieve. Turns out I'm not the only one who wants to capture every joyful moment of motherhood on film to share with family, friends, and total strangers on the web.

Shaken Mama is a lady after my own tiny, cold heart. Unlike some of you humorless jerkoffs, she seems to instinctively "get" that, while motherhood is fraught with more penalties and thankless chores than such a noble endeavor should be, a smart parent knows how to find joy in the daily grind--that it's so very, very important to stop and appreciate the journey itself, rather than just trudging grumpily along to the bigger goal, which is, of course, to raise the child to adulthood.

Sometimes "finding joy in the daily grind" translates into "take poop photos and post on the 'net."

Monday, August 11, 2008

All the news you need

I have many wise and enlightening things to say today. Here they are, in order of thickness:

1) I'm hungry. Dieting would be fine if not for the irritating lack of food.

2) The city is resurfacing the streets throughout my neighborhood, which blows for a variety of reasons. If it's not the water getting shut off because some big yellow monster vehicle digs for gold in the wrong place, it's a sprinkler head getting broken when another big yellow monster vehicle drives into part of our yard. If it's not that, it's my car getting trapped in the garage while the street in the cul de sac turns into what looks like a huge platter of that sweet potato mush I keep seeing on my inlaws' table every Thanksgiving, or my car not being allowed back in the garage because they're making another batch of mush. Good thing I have a naturally sweet and patient disposition, or this, combined with the whole starvation thing, could make me cranky.

3) I may be hungry and my house may be surrounded by city workers who look like they just got released from prison, but at least I'm fashionably attired. Common Wombat, normally good for almost nothing at all, sent me a birthday gift which has what every birthday gift anyone ever receives should have on it: My face. Disregard the string you see hanging off the arm; Common Wombat has a strict policy of only supporting clothing companies who profit from the tears and sweat of enslaved 9-year old factory workers in Malaysia. It's lovely, isn't it? He drew the picture himself--proof of his schoolboy-like love for and adoration of me. I wasn't sure what that tiny word at the bottom meant, but he assures me it's just a fancy way to say "wonderful." At any rate, I like the shirt...although I'm a little creeped out by my suspicion that at this very moment, Wombat is wearing a shirt exactly like it.

4) While we're on the subject of Wombat and his addiction to stalking me, I should mention that Twitter is the high-tech equivalent of bathroom wall graffiti. Only, since you can access it from your phone, incredibly bored people like Wombat are scrawling all over the virtual Texaco men's room about 60 times a day. I think a lot of people use it to make witty comments or day-to-day observations. Wombat, on the other hand, just uses it as another of the 10 or 15 ways he has found to stalk me. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: If I ever go missing, please take a shovel and do a little investigative digging at any piles of freshly-turned earth you might see near the McDonald's by Wombat's house. I think he's crazy enough to kill and bury me, but I'm certain he's too lazy to go far from his favorite restaurant and all-day hangout to hide my remains.

That's all I have today. I'm off to my kitchen to stare angrily at my refrigerator.