TheMommyBlog

Friday, November 07, 2003

You should have seen the look on Gil’s face when I told him that I had locked my keys in the car at work this afternoon. If I hadn’t pulled on the passenger door in frustration, I would never have realized that that particular lock didn’t catch! It would have been appallingly sad and pathetic if I had called him to come rescue me at the same time that he was dialing me to come give him a jump…

Friday, November 07, 2003

Remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine is waiting to meet her date at the movies, and then hears he’s been in an accident and promises to rush to the hospital, but stops at the candy counter first to buy Jujubes, and then is totally busted when she eats them in front of him?

Well, I am sitting here typing this entry while my husband and children are waiting for me, after dark, in a parking lot 10 miles away, to arrive and give their dead car battery a jump.

Before you call the authorities (or my mother), I should mention that the car died in a shopping center parking space in front of The Jungle, a climbing/running/jumping/swinging/careening-off-the-walls indoor play area. I’m sure that if I show up in the next 30 minutes, it will be too soon. In fact, the longer I sit here, thinking of things to say, the more they’ll tire themselves out. Sayyyyyyy.....have I ever told you about my childhood?

Thursday, November 06, 2003

[Singing]: I have $10 in my checking account...la la la la la la...and 328 especially complex grant files to audit, prefereably by Dec. 31...la la la la la la...I’ve committed 9 of those days to visiting my in-laws...la la la la la la...and another 5 or so with my folks...la la la la la la...plus kids’ pageants and parties...la la la la la la...the annual auditors have arrived...la la la la la la...and are focusing on my departent this year...la la la la la la...and we’re getting a new CEO in January...la la la la la la...and no one has a clue who it’ll be...la la la la la la...or what bizarre new quirks and baggage he/she will bring...la la la la la la...the roof needs repairs...la la la la la la...my brain is fried...la la la la la la...and my spine is turning to mush...la la la la la la...but at least we’ve found some perfectly wonderful new departmental t-shirts.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

I have the most startling mole-like pimple going (just close your browser now if you can’t stand to navel gaze along with me). I haven’t had one of these beasts in years, and it’s terribly distracting. It’s in exactly the same place as Fred Savage’s mole in Goldmember, and I can’t get the scene out of my head where Austin Powers is blurting out inappropriate comments about the Mole’s mole.

(Austin is about to meet The Mole for the first time. Irony is, The Mole has a mole on his face. And Austin can’t stop mentioning it!)

Austin: “So you’re the...” (he spies a huge mole on Number Three’s face) “...Mo. Mo.”
Foxy: “Most. Most.”
Austin: “Most.”
Foxy: “Most excellent agent we’ve ever seen.”
Austin: “Yes, most excellent agent we’ve ever seen. Thank you.”
Number Three: “By the way I realise that I have a large mole on my face.”
Austin: “Where? What? Where’s that mole? I didn’t see one.”
Number Three: “I also realise the irony that I am myself, a Mole.”
Austin: “No one would make that connection.”
Basil: “Any way, well done old chap. Jolly good work.”
Austin: “Yes, nice to mole you. Meet you. Nice to meet your mole. Don’t say mole.”
Foxy: “Stop.”
Austin: “I said mole.”
Foxy: “Stop.”
Number Three: “Bye.”
Austin: “Mole. Mole. MOLE!”
Basil: “Oh SHUT UP!”
Austin: “Moley Moley Moley Moley Moley!”

Austin Powers: “Mole! Bloody mole! We aren’t supposed to talk about the bloody mole, but there’s a
bloody mole winking me in the face! I want to c-u-u-t it off, ch-o-o-p it off, and make guacamole!”

Monday, November 03, 2003

I think I am finally able to write about this without gagging. And yes, it’s about fish again. We had friends over for dinner last night, and since they are also Gil’s fishing buddies, we thought we’d serve trout. Mainly because every other time they get together, say, over a campfire, trout isn’t always on the menu.

Parallel track: Logan is still obsessed with Richard Attenborough’s Life of Mammals, especially the meat-eaters episode. He loves to see the bears pounce on the spawning salmon and tear the heads off. He’ll actually say, “Mmmm, I wish I was in the TV so I could eat some of that yummy salmon.”

Back to last night: Logan was very excited about dinner. When it was finally ready (it took almost as long to BBQ as it presumably took to catch; evidently trout are high-maintenance little buggers), he insisted on a whole trout, not cut up, and then asked permission to take it outside and eat it with his hands. NO! Jeeesus, no. I knew exactly what he would be doing on the patio--holding down one end with his paw, and tearing the other apart with his teeth. No, no, no. Hell, no.

As it was, the first thing he asked was , “Can I eat the eye?” Holy mother of God, what is he asking??? I can barely stand the fishy smell as it is, but there is NO way I would be able to kiss him goodnight knowing he’d chewed away on that poor thing’s eye. Then it was, “Well then can I eat the skin?” And then, “Hmmm yummm, I love skin!” I chose the seat that would put my back to the island where he was eating and poured myself a large glass of wine.

By the way, about fishing, but not eating the fish: to be entirely fair, the guys mostly practice catch-and-release fly fishing. This way, they get to be hunters without harming the fish or depleting the supply in the mountain streams near Mt. Shasta. But help me out here. They crimp the barbs on their hooks, I’ll give them that, but how exactly does this prevent harming the fish? Doesn’t having a piece of metal thrust though a cheek, and then being yanked out of the water and suffocated a bit while the hook is removed, count? Do they really think that it’s a fair and mutually participatory sport--that when they hook a fish, the fish says, “Okay, okay, you got me. I thought I was getting away with that, but then you flung me out of the water and I almost shit my scales. Got the hook out yet? [works his jaw back and forth] Great, thanks! Next time I’ll see you first. Put ‘er there. High fin!”