Funny of the Day

QB and Mopsy went to a great party yesterday. The birthday boy had an inflatable water-slide that was about 2 stories tall and a huge pool that was heated to bathtub temperatures. Needless to say, the kids were in heaven. (Thanks, Lukas!)

To top it off, when we left, the goody bags were outrageous. QB got a football, an enormous lollipop, and a canister of candy from Dylan's. (Very posh.) Mopsy was equally delighted with hers. As we walked back to the car, goodies in hand, she said,

"This is good! I like this day!"

I was thinking, as we were at the party, how often it is that adults just sit and watch the fun, instead of jumping in themselves. I rarely go in the Sound at the beach, or join my kids when we're at the pool. And yesterday, at this party, I was thinking the water looked very refreshing, so why was I sitting on the sidelines sweating? What age is it, exactly, when we cross that invisible grown-up threshold and shift from doing to watching?

I vowed to change that, starting at the next party. Wait, that wouldn't do. Seize Tomorrow isn't quite as empowering as Seize the Day. I changed into my suit and jumped in the pool with Mopsy. I was right: it was much more fun.

I didn't take a run on the giant water slide, though. Maybe at the next party.

You Say Tomato, I say... Grapefruit

People ask me all the time if Connecticut is very different from California. The short answer to that would be, uh, YES. In just about every way. Think of a category, and the answer is yes, different, very different. (Mind you, in California we lived in Los Angeles, here we're in the suburbs. That alone is a significant shift.) If I were to write about all the differences, it would take me pages. Instead, I'll do this in installments.

Things I've Overheard in Connecticut That I'd Never Hear in Los Angeles:

"It's amazing how the principles expressed in The Federalist Papers are still relevant today."

"So, are you mulching?"

"I'm writing a letter to the First Selectman."

"Should we buy a cord of wood or a cord and a half?"

"I'm going to go mow the lawn."

"We're very diverse here. We have a lot of Swedes."

"I don't recycle"

"Go outside and find someone to play with."

"Let's walk."

Things I've Overheard in Los Angeles That I'd Never Hear in Connecticut:

"What do you mean, there's no valet!? Where are we going to park?"

"Isn't Gabby lucky that she has two moms?"

"I'm exhausted. I had three screenings today."

"Do you want to do vinyasa at 4 or hatha at 5?"

"Let's get Mexican tonight."

"It's a dry heat."

"I'm kicking around some ideas for a screenplay." "I just finished my screenplay." "My screenplay's over at William Morris right now."

"Who did your boobs?"

"Dude, you're harshing my flow."

Scam Spam

Here's an amusing email I got this morning:

__________________

My name is Mr, Rudlaff Eckhard Martin ,a General merchant in Canada,but taking Treatment in Tokyo

Japan.I have been diagnosed with esophageal cancer (117.7) and prostate

that was discovered very late due to lack of caring

For my health. I have only about a few months to live according to medical

Experts.

I am looking for someone reliable and trusted that can use my ($6,200M) for the

Less privileges and orphanage homes.

Since i can’t survive this illness. Please you can contact me through this

Email address:rudlaff_martin@yahoo.com.hk

Warm Greetings from,

Mr Rudlaff Eckhard Martin.

_____________

Of course! Doesn't everyone who is "dying" send out spam email to thousands of strangers asking for suggestions about which less privileged people could make use of his vast fortune? Happens all the time.

I'm so glad Mr. Martin informed me that he has esophogeal cancer (117.7). That sounds pretty legit. I guess the story must be true. Interesting, though, that he says he's Canadian yet clearly, English isn't his first language. Must be from Quebec.

I can't believe people still fall for this crap.

Letting it All Hang Out

OK, there's something I've been mulling over that I need to put out there: beach attire. What is the deal? I've been seeing way, way too much of people that I definitely do not need to see. Why is it that once people feel the sand between their toes, all sense of propriety and inhibition goes out to sea and they strip down practically naked, parading in front of people they're going to run into the next day at school or the post office?

My neighbor wouldn't walk down the street in that bikini for love or money, so why is she comfortable doing it on the beach? Sure, it's what everyone does, but showing your flabby belly is showing your flabby belly.

I'm not being a skinny snob. It's not that I think only people with model-quality bods deserve to wear swimsuits. Of course not. I just think we should all use good common sense. It's quite possible I'm just getting more and more conservative and crotchety in my old age. I no longer think the point of a beach outing is exposing as much skin as possible to collect every ray of sunlight.

Here's what I think: 60-year-olds, as a general rule, don't need to wear string triangle tops or crocheted bottoms. Men with enormous guts don't really need to opt for tight Euro trunks. There seems to be a rule of inverse proportion: the more people should cover up, the less they seem inclined to do so.

Another good rule of thumb: if there's only a 3 inch strip of swimsuit covering your ample rear end, it's not enough! There is absolutely nothing wrong with a nice cover-up.

I mean, really, what's the drawback to more modest attire? Not every inch of you will be as tanned or as (melanoma-prone) as your arms? I tell you what: wear the one-piece with the nice little attached skirt, buy yourself a bottle of self-tanner and everyone goes home happy. Problem solved.

Please, people, consider the visual affront to beach-goers exposed to body parts only a spouse should see. How about we not scar the children, okay?

All right, signing off now. I'm off to the beach. Fingers crossed.

Swing and a Miss

This was a big week for Jarvis -- and QB. QB took his first ever golf lessons. It was a week-long class that met for an hour each day before camp. To say Jarv has been looking forward to this rite of passage since the moment QB was conceived would probably not be an overstatement. All he's ever wanted is someone to play ball with -- or golf, or bike. So far, Jarv and QB haven't really gotten on the same athletic wavelength. QB loves swimming, Jarv lives for golf. QB played soccer, Jarv was once pretty good at basketball (way back when he had a good knee, a decent back, and a functioning right toe).

Finally, they might just share a passion. Jarv has been envisioning long, sunny Saturdays spent on the course with his pal. They'd go for lunch afterward at the clubhouse, have a few burgers and cokes and rehash war stories.

(Tony, our wise-cracking neighbor, asked if QB would be bringing a book to golf lessons, as he did when they went to the baseball game recently. No, he did not, thankyouverymuch.)

So Monday, it sounded like the golf lesson went well. They learned some basics: hand position, various swings, stance. That night at dinner I asked the kids the usual: What was your best thing today? What was your worst thing? QB's best was beach camp. And as for his worst? You know what's coming, don't you?

That would be golf. Not that he didn't like it, mind you, he had a great day all the way around. But if he had to choose a least favorite, that would be it.

Poor Jarv.

Funny of the Day

This is an old one that I was reminded of recently. (My brain is some whacked-out patchwork quilt of random memories. I don't pretend to understand how it functions, if it functions.)

Mopsy, QB and I were all lying in bed together. She must have been around three or so. QB was getting shoved over one side and kept asking Mopsy and me to scooch over. Each time, she and I would slide ourselves over another inch. "Scooch over!" he kept saying.

Finally Mopsy, fed up, announced, "There's no more scooch!"

She's Over Me

Mopsy was doing her usual whiny lament today:

"I want to play with a children who's a girl who doesn't live in our house who lives on our street."

This is a long-winded way of saying she wants to hang with her homies, Simone and Gaby, who she plays with almost every day. She'd move in with them if she could. But today, alas, these two "children who are girls who don't live in our house but live on our street" had other plans with their cousins. Mopsy was distraught. (I can only imagine the fallout when she's one day blown off by a boy she's in love with.) So I suggested what I thought was a perfectly lovely -- maybe even attractive -- alternative: me.

Clearly, I don't meet three of her four criteria, but I assumed she'd give me a pass. But no.

"I don't want to play with you," she said. "You're too Mommyish."

"Mommyish?" I asked, intrigued. "What's that?"

"You always have to do things first," she explained.

"Let's go biking right now. Just let me finish sweeping," I said as I tidied up the last four feet of our front walk.

"See!"

Aha. Mom's guilty as charged.

Itchy and Scratchy

This week I've remembered one of the things I dislike the most about East Coast summers:

mosquitos.

They're awful. A blight on the planet. And this year we've got a bumper crop thanks to a solid month of rain in June.

QB got one bite on his elbow that swelled up so much gave him benadryl and called the pediatrician. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the welt was at least 2 1/2 inches across. My calves have so many pink bumps, they're almost polka-dotted. It's not exactly the look I was aspiring to this summer.

Bug off, bugs.

So, Now What?

So the kids are off to camp and it's finally warmed up enough to feel like summer. We have thunderstorms only every other day now instead of every few hours. I know I should be more excited to go to the beach or maybe pick up a tennis racket for the first time in ages. But instead I feel a little bit....

bored.

The headband business is as slow as high fructose corn syrup these days and my manuscript is back to my editor which places me in the sitting and waiting phase that I must endure for a few endless weeks while waiting to find out if she deems it crap or passable. When she took a look at my last draft, she said she loved it and that it was adorable. And then she proceeded to outline five pages worth of things that I needed to change, including, if you can believe,..... the genre. Is that all? Well, then, no problem. So I'm trying not to check my email for a message from her hourly.

In the meantime, I've been organizing. Cleaning out the toy bins in the playroom. Sorting closets and shoe buckets in the mudroom. Going through the kids' art projects and school papers. And finally -- I'm most proud of this one -- I have returned the laundry room to its onetime pristine condition. It was packed with shirts that needed to be ironed. Pillows waiting to be washed. Old electronics. A broken vaporizer. Lonely single socks. It's all gone. Cleaned out. I'm extremely pleased. Now, anytime there are a few dirty clothes, I rush to wash, dry, fold and put away lest any build-up begin again. There's no place for baskets of dirty, smelly clothes in this laundry room.

See how bored I am? (It always comes back to the same general theme. I need to get out more.)

I guess the gal who asked me what I was going to do with myself while my kids were in camp may have had a valid question after all. Why I bother to blog about anything? I always end up eating crow.

Sayonara, Sarah

I was nearly apopleptic with joy when I heard that Ms. Palin had quit her Alaskan governorship in the middle of her term. I was in the midst of planning a celebratory parade when I heard that the reason may not have been that she was tired of Letterman making jokes about her daughters. Instead, she decided to bail out in order to focus on running for president in 2012. As a card-carrying Democrat, I think this is a brilliant idea. I mean, what better way to show people how devoted you are to public service than to quit the only real political job you've ever had? (No, I'm not counting being mayor of Wasilla. I'm fairly certain being head of tour local homeowner's association is most likely a bigger job.) Heck, I'm convinced. Look how reliable she is. How committed she is to serving her constituents.

Oh, actually, she's doing them a favor. You see, she's a lame duck since she announced she's not running for re-election in '10, so she might as well clear out now. I like that line of thinking. Only wish that little light bulb went off over George Bush, too.

One of her biggest weaknesses in '08 -- beside the fact that she knew next to nothing and had a hard time answering softball Katie Couric questions without soundin' like an idiot -- was that she has about a thimble's worth of government experience. Now, instead of racking up more quality time in office over the next three years, she's decided it's wiser to quit in order to fund-raise, strategize and schmooze. In other words, her "higher callin'."

I have just one question: who's going to be keeping an eye on Russia for us now? Oh, Sar-Bear, I know you're going to miss us all and the good, good times we've had together.

Right back atcha!

Bad Hair...Month? Summer?

Aack!

Got my hair cut today and it's too short! There's really no good remedy for that. I feel like a really old Orphan Annie.

Looking forward to either getting used to it or growing out, whichever comes first.