TheMommyBlog

• Girl’s hairstyle’s got it going on.
• I mean, Faye Wray? Pffft. Jessica Lange? I scoff. But Naomi Watts? Has hair of steel. Silky-soft, angel-fine, smokin’ hot steel. My hair would have run screaming from my scalp three minutes after landing on that island.
• Speaking of Skull Island, what are we doing here? Let’s move there. Imagine the ecosystem that could support that kind of biodiversity. Sure, it’s a little unbalanced, sure, there are nine meat-eaters for every plant-eater, but maybe a rocky island can only support that blend of speciation.
• The villagers? Could use some sort of Head Start. A meal plan. Manners. At least the T. Rexes and the apes had some respect for one another. And by the way, these people managed to build a hundred-foot wall of stunning architectural durability—the Romans were engineers using tin cans tied together with string in comparison—but still used a spiked pole to lop heads off. What’s up with that? In the end, they built a flimsy door and that’s their bad, but then they did fool Kong into thinking it was impenetrable for a few good years.
• Doesn’t Adrien Brody look good with some meat on his bones?
• Whoever made Naomi’s negligee should be making a fortune in endorsements. That silk held up, people. And each dousing and soiling only added to the natural beauty of the garment. Each piece is unique and slight flaws in the color are natural and add to its overall character.
• There isn’t much that is more entertaining than bowliing for Brontosauruses on a sunny afternoon.
• Only the most co-dependant of low-confidence women would juggle rocks and walk like an Egyptian on the edge of a cliff to try to make a guy smile.
• Or point to herself when they are finally alone and ask, “Beautiful?”
• Did anyone else notice in the beginning that Naomi described that a man’s best strategy for expressing interest is to ignore the girl?
• And that Kong *also* played hard to get? Oh, sure, he beat his chest and dragged her all over town trying to find that last open bar and didn’t listen to a word she said and only got interested when she passed out cold and then he started prodding her like, is she passed out? Will she remember this? Can she pick me out in a lineup? And then she opens one eye, like is he still looking at me? Am I really his surest bet? Good lord, I’ve got get off of this island.
• Isn’t it funny how Jack Black can wield a bottle of Chloroform like a vet with a pocket full of Ketamine? One bottle broken across his snout is enough to put Kong to sleep without burning his eyes right out of their sockets or giving him permanent brain damage. I mean, wild ape? Pain in the ass. Demented wild ape? Horrific.
• Every time that movie executive with the Marlon Brando mustache opened his mouth, I heard, “It ain’t the way I wanted it! I can handle things! I’m smart! Not like everybody says, like dumb! I’m smart and I want respect!’” Oh, Fredo. Who knew you had a twin?
• No guy ever forgets, or forgives, a rival.
• No woman can resist a guy who’s just had his ass shredded fighting for her honor.
• “Are you kidding me? I survived the Holocaust and charmed an SS captain into giving me his winter coat. You don’t scare me.”
• “I am touching the beast. I am actually laying my hand on the twenty-five foot gorilla.” *touch* *gorilla twitches* You just crapped your pants, didn’t you? Heh.
• Oh, look, she’s wearing an evening dress that’s cut just like her old negligee the night he gets loose.
• Oh, he did NOT just take her skating in Central Park.
• Just goes to show that if you can make a guy laugh, you’ve won his heart.
• Damn, her hair looks terrific.

Maybe not, but you CAN buy some fabulous Fitz & Floyd china! Just head on over to eBay and drool over my fabulous offerings.

Heh. Some of you may remember that I have listed this china before, but I didn’t fully grasp what it was worth. Once Replacements.com offered me $100 for three dessert plates, I re-evaluated my decision to sell so cheap.

But you! YOU! Can own genuine Mommy Blog China!

• It was chosen by hubby #1!
• It was used for the very first Thanksgiving dinner I every prepared by myself—with my former brother-in-law and girlfriend as guests!
• I don’t remember if I lost the one dinner plate in a heated discussion, but you can make up your own story!

As an extra-special, limited-time offer I will include some special Mommy Blog gift—notecards, t-shirt, mug, tuft of Dylan’s hair, whatever—if one of my readers buys this set.

I just came from a looooong meeting, and had one of those inappropriate giggling fits right there at the boardroom table. I don’t think anyone caught on, but it amused me greatly, and helped pass the time. It started when the consultant said something about “the data dumps we’ll be taking” and then the “output on the process side” and “main functions” and “key outputs” and, finally, “flow charts.” I couldn’t help it. Someone had just farted.

The icing on this otherwise infelicitously metaphored cake was the quote of the day fodder that came at the end of the meeting. The consultant was going around the room, making eye contact with everyone and making sure we all agreed on the next steps. When she reached the end of the table, she stopped.

“Betsy, I see that you are not nodding.”

To which Betsy snottily replied, “I’m not NOT nodding.”

In other nodding news, I drove past the most amazing sunflower coming back from lunch. I screeched to a halt, backed up half a block, and leapt from the car with my camera. Y’all are not going to believe this.

Would you be surprised to learn that I was standing under that thing? Folks, I am not a small person. I am 5’9” in my bare feet. That thing was HUGE. Here’s another look. See the roofline in the background? I was not kneeling. I was standing.

Still don’t believe me? OK. Here’s the view from the curb. Lordamighty, that was one big sunflower.

I just received this email out of nowhere, and it seemed like a happy enough thought to pass along… sort of like the old Burma Shave billboards.

Call out Gouranga be happy!!!
Gouranga Gouranga Gouranga ....
That which brings the highest happiness!!

Well, there goes my weekend…

No, seriously. Who would get the first check if He were up to his ass in alligators? The bank? Visa? Victoria’s Secret Angel Club?

Never fear! Hop online an apply to have your debt reduced or resolved by your fellow Christians!

I thought that the religious movement had explored pretty much every corner of the retail market, but I was hugely unimaginative in my assumptions. They are branching out. I was fascinated that there was such a sector. Dozens of links! Who knew!

As I clicked though to site after site, there appeared to be two kinds of Christian debt consolidation services: those that were built up around the whole Christian theme, with bible verses in the sidebars and pictures of happy, mostly white, self-actualized people who just happened to become overwhelmed by financial obligations; and those regular, garden-variety debt consolidation services who saw an opportunity and alertly scrambled onto the bandwagon by sticking the word “christian” into their page titles and search engine keyword submissions.

Some of the catchy marketing copy was making me wonder if I really needed my other, more wordly credit vehicles… Here is but a smattering of the airy, luminous gems I encountered on my search:

Woo! Isn’t she the nicest, most gullible trusting soul? I feel like it’s open-mike night at the comedy club! OK. Testing, testing. Is this thing on? Yes? Good afternoon! Uh ... so, just flew in from Sacramento, and boy are my arms tired ... ow - Mindy, Snowball’s throwing stuff at me! (Now yer gonna get it.) :coolsmirk:—Pam

I don’t have quite this problem, but each of my children displayed similar enthusiasm!!

About a week ago, I had a dream in which I visited Amber BamberBoo at her new home in Brussels. It was just at the tail end of renovations, and there was a score of people milling around at any given time—either workers or friends come to dinner—and between that and their four adorable children, it was quite a scene. In the dream, I mostly tried to stay out of the way (soooo not like me in real life) and busied mysef finding out where I’d be sleeping, washing up, and trying to work the toilets.

At one point, I wandered into Amber’s suite of rooms (Yes, suite. Even while asleep I want the best for my loved ones) and admired the sage-green walls and the sky-blue ceilings with creamy, billowy clouds painted across them. I remember thinking that it didn’t, in fact, look all that much like a Turkish brothel, but it was lovely and whimsical and very pretty nonetheless.

Fast forward to lunch yesterday. I decided to try the new Brazilian crepe place across the street (WTF, btw? Brazilian crepes? I expected them to be tiny and uncomfortable.) and as I wandered in, I suddenly realized where I’d gotten the idea for Amber’s walls and ceiling! Only I didn’t remember noticing it before on the one time I’d peeked in and decided to leave the experimentation for another day. Meh. Who knows why our brains store things they way they do?

Anyway, not content with choosing a bizarre form of lunch, I ordered the most dubious item on the menu: the hot dog-n-cheddar crepe. They fussed around the crepe maker for a while, lovingly pouring the batter, laying in a stick just so, studding the trough with darling little cubes of hot dog, carefully laying strips of cheddar over them, pouring more batter on top of that. After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time—how were they going to handle a rush? Should they ever experience one, that is—they presented me with what can only be described as a cheese-and-nitrate gut bomb on a stick. On.a.stick.

It was actually quite yummy! In a retchy sort of way.

I was chatting with Meeta and Jenn just now, and for no reason at all, this site came up. I really don’t think I have to explain further, but as you can imagine, I woke up the baby laughing and falling out of my chair…
 
Be sure to browse all the sections!

Antique Vibrator Museum:
1869-1920
1921-1930
1931-1950
1950-1970

make your thong be gone

You can all stop giving me grief about thongs now.

*Down on her beggin’ knees thanking the cosmos for her very excellent health care resources*

Note: I was fascinated that the doctor who eventually treated this woman interpreted her actions as evidence of “a mother’s instict to save her child.” Huh. Don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s at least possible she wanted to save herself from an excruciating death via childbirth.

[swiped from Catawampus]

For years, I promised myself that I would learn another language. English I’ve got; I can survive being dropped in the middle of a Spanish-speaking city; and I can make my way around a Serbian cotillion. But that’s about it.

I think I’ve found my calling: I could easily spend the next decade learning Cockney Rhyming Slang. Notice I didn’t say “become fluent in” because I am not sure I could master the accent. Would have to hire a live-in for that. *ponders*

Toward that end, I have found some great online English to Slang and Slang to English dictionaries, as well as some theories about the origin of Rhyming Slang.

Cockney Rhyming Slang
“Cockney is the term used to describe any person said to be born within the sound of the Bow Bells - the bells of St. Mary-Le-Bow Church (“Bow Church”) - in Cheapside, London EC2… Cockney should not be used as a generic term describing any person born in or around the general vicinity of London.”

Is someone looking for a job in the Bay Area? Can I help you at all? Because I can’t imagine what if anything on my blog would turn up something interesting with the searches y’all been using:

job
San Jose
Woodside
Palo Alto
Sunnydale [try Sunnyvale—it’ll be more rewarding]
Santa Clara
Saratoga
Los Gatos

I can help with any of these—I live or work in or near all but two of those towns, so, you know, if you need a local perspective, just ask. Is all I’m sayin’.

Lee’s Friday Movie Smackdown got me thinking about one of my favorite movies of all time, The Jerk. I have been in love with Steve Martin since 1978, when A Wild and Crazy Guy came out. My brother and I spent hours listening to that album, and when Comedy is Not Pretty came out, we thought we’d died and gone to heaven. I remember giving it to Chris for his 12th birthday at my dad’s house in Ohio, and I even remember who was there and what I was wearing (Mo and her little brother; jean cut-offs & hot pink t-shirt). I was that excited about opening it up and having a listen.

We worshipped the man. I mean, come on. Cruel Shoes was a work of genius.