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August 20th, 2010
Cam had his initial appointment with an orthodontist yesterday, and I officially got shafted when I had braces. Mine were these huge, clunky, painful metal shackles. Every 3 weeks I had to go and get them tightened, which meant that every 3 weeks I had to stop eating solid food. And I haven’t even mentioned the nighttime headgear: I wore this gigantic, over-the-head strap which forced me to sleep on my back for a solid year. (By the way: my orthodontist thought I was going to wear that thing during the day, too. Even my mom, who was the Braces Nazi, was like, “You can’t wear that out of the house.”) Then three and a half years later, when they FINALLY came off, I was fitted for these 2-inch-thick retainers which I wore for another couple of years. You should see my class photos from my braces years: my grill literally looks like a grill.
Okay, so actually I’m not complaining. My teeth were ridiculous before, and now they’re straight, so it’s a win. BUT: these so-called “braces” I saw yesterday? They are like a tricycle parked delicately next to a tractor trailor. Even Cam’s retainer is cooler than the one I had: his is going to be tiger-striped. And they work by realigning the muscles of the head and jaw, not by forcing the teeth to move themselves, so evidently your teeth straighten much faster and it doesn’t even hurt as much. And if the before-and-after photos I saw are to be believed, they come with a total makeover so you look like a film star when it’s all over. They made it look so appealing that I almost asked for more braces myself.
So let’s recap: for me, giant fugly braces WITH ego-ripping headgear for 3.5 years, then another 2 years talking through 4 inches of pink plastic and sounding like I have a severe speech impediment. For Cam, stylish little space-age brackets that he wears for about 20 minutes total, followed by a paper-thin retainer in a cool tiger stripe.
And he’s currently mad at me because the retainer won’t be ready until next Monday. I’m like, ”Dude, you seriously have no idea how good you’ve got it.”
August 19th, 2010
 This photo perfectly captures yesterday's zoo experience. I feel you, kid. I took the kids to the zoo yesterday, and can we all agree that the zoo is not the great, fun activity it always seems like it will be at the outset? Here are the events surrounding the zoo trip:
1. Took kids to Target the night before to buy snacks. While I was there, talking to my friend Teresa, my kids tested all the fragrances on the Tester shelf. I’m still congested from riding home in the car with them– the interior of my van now smells like Zsa Zsa Gabor.
2. Then there was a death match over what snacks to get. I was going for healthy organic treats….. we ended up with Blue Gatorade and Pringles.
3. Also two trips to the restroom, but you already assumed that.
4. Okay, so then the morning of the zoo, there was a flurry of calls and texts to the tune of, “Which route are you taking?… What gate are you using to enter the zoo?… Why did you make those choices?… Where are you now?…How about NOW?!?!?… Can you text me this person’s cell phone number? Can you text it to my OTHER cell phone?… You want me to come to lunch?!? Um…who would be coming to lunch with us?… oh. Well, my day is actually too full to come to lunch… by the way why are you wearing THAT OUTFIT to the zoo?” ad infinitum. By the time I actually got to the zoo I wanted to kill myself.
5. Then the instant our feet hit zoo property, the kids began clamoring for Pringles and Blue Gatorade. And then fighting over the Pringles and Blue Gatorade.
6. By the way, a bee stung me while I was at the zoo. Because nature hates me.
7. Then some kid at Tropic World pulled my dress up while using it to help climb onto a bear sculpture marked Don’t Climb on This and yelling, “Mom! Mom! Where are you!!!” …..so a whole bunch of humans and a family of capuchins saw my ass. I’m just sayin.
8. By the way, we had lunch at Jimmy John’s afterward. Addie J unwrapped her sandwich in the car and got crumbs ALL OVER the Zsa Zsa Gabormobile. She also rejected everything in her sandwich except the bread, so that I put my knee right in a pile of turkey and sprouts when I opened the door to unhook her. “Hi Mom. I don’t like the salad,” she told me when I looked at her in disbelief.
9. Also, I had to cancel my 7:45 Martinis & Manicures appointment with some friends, when I remembered that I had a meeting at 5pm. That meeting ran super, super, super long, and we ended up with Draft Beer & Tortilla Chips at 9:00pm. Lame.
I realize that very little of us is directly related to the zoo; however I’ve noticed that zoo trips are always surrounded by little irritations. I would totally swear off the zoo, but we all know that in a month or so I’ll forget about the annoyance factor, and when the subject comes up again I’ll be like a mental patient: “YES! That sounds like a GREAT idea! Let’s go to the zoo!!!!!!” So what I’m saying is: prepare for another one of these posts. The over/ under is around Halloween.
August 17th, 2010
 I hate “Adventure Time.” I hate everything about it. I hate the way it’s drawn, I hate its stupid theme song, I hate the subject matter, I hate the vocal performances and the color palette makes my left eyelid twitch. So naturally, it stands to reason that my girls would adore it. Addie J refers to it as “Ee-Venger Time,” which is actually pretty cute and makes me feel a little bit less like flying into a homocidial rage whenever I hear that lame-ass dude start to sing.
Honestly, “Adventure Time” is right up there with “Caillou” for my most hated cartoon in the world. My personal Cartoon Network favorite is, of course, “Totally Spies.” I would have killed for the accesories those girls get– lipsticks that turn into tiny welding guns, makeup compacts that can analyze DNA, hair extensions that open out into sticky webs… okay, I would still kill for those accessories. (Imagine how I could use that compact to test hotel rooms for cleanliness!!!)
Anyway. Everyone in my house but me thinks the Totally Spies girls are lame, so it’s all Adventure, all the Time around here. I’m just gonna sit here, pretend I can’t hear that reedy, whiny voice from the television, and figure out this week’s mystery produce from our produce delivery (update: they’re pluots. Weird).
August 16th, 2010
 Yesterday, Gabby was asking me why she can’t have Diet Coke and M&Ms (not to be confused with Eminem, whom Gabby calls “M&Ms”) for every meal. So I was trying to be all healthful-thinking and creative about it, and I was telling her to think of her body like an engine. “When you put good fuel in your engine, like fruits and veggies and water, then your engine runs really well and feels good. Then YOU feel good and you can use your body to run fast, and think hard, and all kinds of good things,” I said, thinking that surely I must be the best mom in the world for thinking up this incredibly effective metaphor. And, indeed, Gabby seemed to be with me: “What happens to your engine if you put bad stuff in it?” she asked, proving (at least at that moment) that I had truly come up with something useful. And here is where the train jumped the tracks:
JULIE: Well, if you only eat foods that are not very healthy for you, then your engine doesn’t run as well, and your body doesn’t feel as good.
GABBY: Like that chicken you made that burned my tongue?
JULIE:….. No. That chicken was healthy for you. You just didn’t like the sauce. It was too hot.
GABBY: But it made my tongue feel bad.
JULIE: …Well, I’m talking more about food like candy, or Diet Coke–
GABBY: You drink Diet Coke.
JULIE: Right, but I don’t drink it very often, because it’s not healthy for me.
GABBY: Then why do you drink it at all?
JULIE: …..Okay, so I’m talking about food that might taste good but isn’t very healthy. Like candy, or ice cream, or chips. If you only eat those foods, you don’t get the right fuel for your engine and so your body doesn’t run right.
GABBY [with a sudden spark]: Oooooohhhhh!!!!! So you have to eat healthy food or else your body, like, runs out of gas?
JULIE: Yes! If you eat nothing but unhealthy food, and you’re not giving your body the nutrients it needs, then you wind up with–
GABBY: Explosive diarrhea?
JULIE:
GABBY: Explosive diarrhea, Mom? Is that why people get explosive diarrhea?
JULIE:
GABBY: Mom?
JULIE: …………….Yes. That’s exactly why.
August 14th, 2010
….and just so you know, I was running with my sister and friend this morning and they asked me where I found my phone. I had to stop running because I was so grossed out telling them about it that my throat closed up. (This is an actual physical reaction that I get. Ask Dave– he delights in grossing me out midsentence so that he can actually hear my voice choke off.) But judging by the number of “Just tell us where you left the phone, ya huge sissy” emails I’ve received, I need to admit where I found my phone.
It was in the ladies room at work, on the floor, between the sink and the trash can.
Now I can’t finish my breakfast and I can hardly breathe. I hope you’re all happy; I’ll probably be the first person to literally die of disgust. In the meantime please enjoy this website: www.spellingfails.com. My favorite from this site is the MSNBC graphics editor accidentally referring to Norah O’Donnell as “The White Ho.” (Or, you know, maybe the graphics editor was pissed off at Norah O’Donnell that day. I don’t know Norah O’Donnell’s life, right? Maybe she deserved it.)
August 13th, 2010
I temporarily misplaced my phone.
I just found it, by calling it repeatedly and walking around the building where I work, listening for the ring.
I can’t even talk about where I found it. I understand that most people would just start using it like no problem, but the part of me that belongs in a very, very clean rubber room with Kleenex boxes on my feet wants to pour alcohol on it and light a match.
Maybe I’ll just pour some alcohol down my throat instead.
August 12th, 2010
 Don't be fooled by the "Angel" tshirt. These are the tools of Satan. ….should be renamed the Ninth Level of Hell.
And lest there be any doubt: there is a limit to my girlie factor. Wanna know how many times the birthday guests requested the song “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift? Answer: only slightly fewer times than they requested the iCarly theme song.
Also: the next person I hear singing “No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed” will lose their vocal cords.
August 10th, 2010
 Actually, these are the exact two pets we have. I hate them both so much. Do me a favor: the next time I say something like, “Let’s get the girls some Pillow Pets. You know those fur-covered pillows shaped like animals? They’ll love those, don’t you think? It can’t be that hard to keep them Velcroed into animal shape!” ….please place my head up against a doorjamb and slam the door repeatedly.
Thank you.
August 9th, 2010
Okay, so we bought a Saab last week. This car is for me to drive when I don’t have little ones wth me, but make no mistake: I had nothing to do with the choice of the car. I don’t care about cars, like, at ALL. Like, I really can’t comprehend it when people spend actual cash money on things like vanity plates or custom rims or whatever, because I am missing whatever gene allows a person to appreciate stuff like that. I want my car to A. start when I turn the key; and B. not stop until I turn off the key– and that’s the extent of my ambition. So I just sort of unapologetically leave all the car-finding to Dave, who does enjoy searching for stuff and bargaining for deals and always makes sure to run it past me first.
However. I once had a car with a sunroof and loved that. AND I was exposed to heated seats (I think maybe in my mom’s car??) and thought that was totally cool. So Dave, because he’s awesome, found a Saab which has both. We picked it up this week (and promptly dropped it off to be detailed, because we were both immediately covered in an oil slick from the previous owner’s cologne) and ever since, I’ve been trying to make sense of the damn thing.
Now, let me preface this with the fact that I am really, really smart. Like, super-smart. Grade-skippingly, fellowship-winningly, the-one-everyone-calls-when-they-need-a-big-brain-ingly smart. And about ten minutes after we picked up the car, I called my younger brother, Mike, who also owns a Saab. When he picked up I started yelling this into the phone: “Oh my God what are all these frigging BUTTONS for I can’t figure out which one turns on the AC and I’m SO FUCKING HOT and it reeks like some dude’s COLOGNE in here and WHERE ARE THE BUTTONS TO PUT THE WINDOWS DOWN and none of the symbols make ANY SENSE and I’m afraid I’m going to push the Auto-Eject and launch myself out of the car and I think the sunroof is broken because I CAN’T GET IT TO OPEN WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!”
Mike laughed for a few minutes, and then told me how to put the windows down, turn on and control the AC, and open the sunroof. Turns out all of those buttons are clustered in weird places like the center console (okay, actually the sunroof thing should have been intuitive. But I think I was suffering from heat stroke). So I was like, “Okay, I’ve got this from here.” And Mikey said, “If you need help with the rest of the displays, text me some photos and I’ll call you.” I was like, ”Whatever, I’m fellowship-winningly smart….” and then a couple of days later, I texted Mike the photos and sat in the car in my driveway, getting a tutorial from my little brother on how to operate my new car.
Seriously, Swedes. Why so many weird and apparently redundant buttons and functions? There’s the big one marked “W” for winter driving, which just puts a governor on your gas pedal– but as Mike said, you should be able to trust yourself not to punch the gas during a snowstorm. There is the ESP button which stands for something that means Traction Control (right!?!?!?). There are, mysteriously, two buttons for fog lamps: one for when the rain is hitting at one angle, and one for a different angle– and these buttons are NOT located together. There is a whole dial for controlling the headlights although they’re on all the time anyway, causing a question mark to pop up above my head and start rotating slowly. There is a button with nothing but a circle and a dash on it that Mike didn’t really explain, so now I’m afraid that button is the Self-Destruct.
But my absolute favorite thing on the car is this:
Those Swedish designers, God love them, must have been very concerned that I would be kidnapped and thrown into my own trunk. As you can see from their very helpful symbols, this latch is my escape plan. I simply pull on it, the trunk lid pops up, and I hop out and run away. Thank you for foiling my kidnappers in advance, Sweden!
I stopped to fill the tank the other day and realized that I didn’t know where the gas tank was. I just pulled up with the pump to my right, assuming that the gas tank would be in the last place I would have expected. I was correct.
August 6th, 2010
When I’m calling a place of business, and I only have the first name of the person I need, and their freaking automated answering system needs the person’s LAST name in order to find their extension. Hello– he didn’t tell me his last name when we spoke! The sum total of what I know about this guy is that A. his name is Jeremy, and B. he has my carpet samples. And a PS to the receptionist: isn’t it your responsibility to find me Jeremy of the Carpet Samples? When the system asks me to either enter the last name or press zero for the receptionist, and I have to press zero….. that means I don’t know his last name. Asking me his last name, then repeating in disbelief, “You don’t have a last name??” is NOT HELPFUL. I JUST WANT TO GET MY FREAKING CARPET SAMPLES AND LAY THEM ON MY FLOOR AND CHOOSE ONE AND THEN MAKE A PURCHASE FROM YOUR COMPANY AND INCREASE YOUR JOB SECURITY, SO QUIT ACTING LIKE I’M RUINING YOUR DAY. GOD.
In all fairness, some of this might be misdirected irritation with the receptionist at our dentist’s office. Thank you for your understanding.
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