The Guy Movie

You know the drill. 

Man and woman go to Blockbuster to pick a movie to watch together. Man picks Guy Movie, woman picks Chick Flick. Flip a coin to see whose movie goes first.

Really Blockbuster should just do away with the current genre set-up in the store and just have 2 sections:

"Guy Movies" and "Chick Flicks".

The Guy Movie usually has a black and red cover.

The title tends to feature the word "Heat"... "Night" ...or "Vengeance".

Most feature Denzel Washington and/or Tommy Lee Jones.

Something is always being stolen/ blown up/ robbed/ hijacked or smuggled.

Someone is always getting shot/ stabbed/ kidnapped or tortured.

This is being accomplished with guns/ knives, tasers and/or explosives.

There are lots of cars/ trains/ freighters/ helicopters and fighter jets.

The hero is a cop/ex-cop/marine/ex-marine/bounty hunter/ex-bounty hunter/CIA/ex-CIA/FBI/ex-FBI/ detective/ex-detective.

More often than not he's a "renegade".

Quite often he prefers 'his own brand of justice".

 

The bad guys are foreign, or, if not foreign, ugly.

The hero is married to/divorced from/interested in a "good woman".

I can guarantee you this 'good woman' just wants to watch "Love, Actually" with a glass of chardonnay.

EVEN MORE Words I Made Up

(Is it time for a book yet?)

Philidelflip (fil-a-del'-flip) n.

The uncanny ability of a half bagel with cream cheese to land "cream cheese-down" when it falls.

wavetraction (wave-trak'-shun) n.

When you try to wave at someone you know in public and they don't see you, but everyone else does, so you have to retract your wave.

vegivindication (vej-ee-vin-di-kay'-shun)n.

Because of the "first-in, last-out" nature of grocery shopping, finally proving to the checkout clerk with the last items on the belt that you do, in fact, feed your family healthy produce, not just crap.

bumperclump (bum'-per-clump) n.

A frantic gridlock of bumper cars that can't get out of each others' way and use up all the ride time.

beefizzwary (bee-fizz'-ware-ee) adj.

To have a phobia of a bee being in your soda can.

ghostcrank (gowst'-crank) n.

The unexplainable phenomenon of your car stereo being several decibels louder when you start the car up than when you left it.

Big Bang Bucket List

Um, hello? World Council to Regulate Mad Scientists?

There are these dudes in Switzerland who have built a 10 billion dollar ATOM SMASHER?

Yeah. They want to "recreate the Big Bang". So, if you could just pop over there when you get a minute, we earthlings sure would appreciate it. 

You know, just give it a look-over since there are several nuclear physicists who have a few concerns. One being the total annihilation of earth into a black hole. Which, you know, would be bad.

And I, for one, have many things I'm looking forward to, not the least of which is "Heroes" and "The Office" coming back on TV.

So IF, in fact, the planet is going to implode into cosmic dust...I've gotta start crossing things off my "Bucket List" (things to do before you kick the bucket: Morgan Freeman/Jack Nicholson movie. Yeah -I didn't see it either.)

So, I'm jotting some things down:

#1. Make voodoo dolls of Swiss scientists.

#2. Buy a diamond & ruby encrusted Victoria's Secret bra

#3. Try one of those $200 hamburgers.

#4. See the Pam & Tommy Lee sex tape.

#5. Drink Grey Goose & OJ for breakfast

#6. Kidnap Joe Jonas at gunpoint

...that's as far as I've gotten. (note to self: Ace Hardware for duct tape)

OK! Thanks for looking into that - keep me posted.

p.s.  Prose&Converse commented on #6: "Big Bang, indeed." I don't know what she's talkin' about.

September 11th Tribute

Do you remember what you were doing?

Suck E. Cheese's

Suck E. Cheese's sucks cheese. 

Sucked then: 1998          Sucks now.

OK, to be fair, we've spent more time at the mutant rip-offs near us, "Boomer's" and "Oasis". 

But it's all the same freakshow: A chaotic sugar-fueled germ-fest of shoeless children running amok amidst clanging game machines and miserable parents.

I'll be honest: when that "child-party-looking" invitation arrives, I say the Birthday Party trifecta prayer: 

#1) Please let us be busy that day

#2) If not, please let it not be in the next county.. and

#3) Sweet Mother of God, please don't let it be at Chuck E. Cheese.

Because there IS NO DROPPING OFF at these parties. I mean you could, but it's like child-abduction paradise. So you're left making small talk for 2 hours with "I Really Don't Remember Whose Mom You Are" and silently cursing your husband who is no doubt stretched out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn watching football.

There's always a "Ball Pit" aka, "The Virus Acquisition Chamber".

There's always a "Playscape" with "Sky-Tunnels": This uses up a good half hour with:

"Mom! Look up here!"

"I see you!"

" Mom! Look!"

"I'm Looking...."

"Mom! Watch me!"

"God in heaven why didn't I bring vodka.'"

And the KICKER, the Icing on the Cake...is when the party is finally, mercifully, over.....and you think you're gonna get to grab your coat and go........

....the TICKETS. The freakin' TICKETS. Your child's reason for living: the mother-f'n tickets they've been "winning" all afternoon to "spend" at the "Prize Counter". 

Not only are there 15 kids ahead of you in line, but each one is in the quandry of his life, deciding whether to spend their tickets on a plastic slinky or a spider ring or a styrofoam airplane. And there is one employee. Inevitably, there is something like an iPod or an Xbox360 displayed in the case so that each and every child ahead of you asks: how many tickets for THAT? 

Not enough tickets in the world, kid, that's just there to mess  with you.

Another half hour later you finally reach the sanctity of your car with your new possessions: a Ring Pop, a Chinese fan, a rubber snake and 2 weeks of impetigo. Thanks for the party favor, Suck E.Cheese. 

Mom's Birthday

It's my Mom's birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!

So this means she and Eddie will go out to a very nice restaurant in East Hampton tonight and the waiter will come over to the table and say, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Mom: Do you have wine?

Waiter: Yes, ma'am, we do.

Mom: How much is it?

Waiter: Well, that would depend on your selection....

Mom: How much is a glass of white wine?

Waiter: Well, our house chardonnay is $9.

Mom: $9???? How much is a carafe?

Waiter: Um, let me see if we 'do' carafes...

Mom: How much is a half a carafe?

and so on. Which is not a conversation you hear much in The Hamptons. 

But being frugal is practically ingrained in her DNA, thanks to my grandfather, who once brought my grandmother home a fur coat that he found at the dump. He was perplexed that she didn't want it.

I can still remember being sent on errands to the grocery store when I was a teenager to "return this fruit". "What should I say?" "Say it's just not very good!"

Anyway, small wallet, but big heart....this is for you Mom, Happy Birthday:

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Breaking Up With the Gym

(phone rings)

Me: Hello?

Gym: It's me.

Me: Oh... hey.

Gym: You've totally been avoiding me.

Me: What? No- I've just been really busy - you know start of school and everything -

Gym: Did I do something? I've been trying to give you your space, but...are we OK?

Me: Totally! Yep- actually I was going to come see you today -

Gym: It's the Blog, isn't it.

Me: (sigh) Look. I have certain needs...

Gym: I heard you're on Twitter, too.

Me: What are you, stalking me? Yeah, I'm on Twitter. They're just friends!

Gym: What the hell is going on with you? You used to come here every day after the bus - Step on Monday, Kickboxing Tuesday, Group Groove on Wednesday-

Me: "Group Groove". I gotta write a post about that.

Gym: I don't know you anymore.

Me: I have 1500 visitors a day and 900 followers on Twitter. They know me.

Gym: They don't know your ass is expanding.

Me: I'll be there tomorrow.

Keyword Korner

If you are a blogger and you have yet to install Google Analytics, stop what you are doing right now and go get it.  I'll wait - go on.

For those of you who aren't bloggers, Google Analytics is a sophisticated tracking system for your blog's traffic. Total number of visitors, "bounce rate", global breakdown, you name it.

The only real reason you need to get Google Analytics is the Keyword  tracking feature. In other words, what phrases did people type into Google that lead them to your blog. 

I give you: actual Keyword Searches that landed on my blog: (did not make this up)

"how to invite people out for happy hour"

um.....just a thought, but how about: "want to go out for happy hour?"

"what meaning happy hour"

it meaning many alcohols in start of night times.

"hip happy hotties"

Why, thank you ;)

"bratz fatheads"

No argument here.

"how do words be made"

Go ask the guy at happy hour.

"Jonas eat him"

Yes.

"cougars for the Jonas Brothers"

I like your thinking: we may need to organize.

"bg nipple"

I'm guessing he meant "big" but BG's nipples are hot too.

"embarrassing doctor visit butt blog turnover"

I can totally see how this sounds like me, but it wasn't me.

"where are the Jonas brothers as we speak"

Dude, I don't KNOW.

"small child kicked me in the testicles + pluto."

I'm confused- are you combining pain advice and astronomy in one search?

"Hilary Clinton's pantsuit size"

Who in God's name is googling this?

"I just want to pee on her face"

Please, please don't visit my blog again.

and last but not least,

"ginormous purple genitals"

Don't think you found what you were looking for , but good luck with that.

Google Analytics: Let someone else do the blog material for you.

Ask and You Shall Receive

Sometimes the Blog Block Gods just smile down upon you.

I'm sitting at my computer this morning, pondering what to ramble on about and I hear this 'tick-tick-flutter' sound.

OK..... you don't see that every day. There's a bird in my office. 

Just chillaxin', popping around.

As usual, the Guard Poodle is right on it with the heightened senses and instincts of a vicious predator.

So I thought this might be an opportune time to take a shot of my office, what with both my favorite J.J.'s on display, BG, and the added wildlife: (click to enlarge)

The audio for this scene was something along the lines of:

Bird: 'Sup.

Guard Poodle: I'm thinking of possibly coming over there.

Bird: Bring it, bitch.

BG: That bird is trippin', yo!  Y'all better bounce, G, for realz.

Guard Poodle: I'm going to see if there's any toast in my bowl, then I'll be back.

Bird: Your mama'll be back.

Thank you, Blog-Block Gods.

So Not Hot '08

To my loyal constituents: It is with a heavy heart (and a head-splitting hangover) that I write this concession post today. 

The campaign trail for Hot Blogger Calendar has, alas, come to an end. 

While it was nail-bitingly close: (Top contestant: 1,987 votes, Me: 70 votes), in the end, the people's voice was heard. And that voice said: "Not so much."

My running mate, McMommy, and I perhaps had our hopes a little too high. 

We were already picturing ourselves having pillow fights in our NYC hotel room drinking champagne after the photo shoot.  Perhaps we'd run into some celebrities in the hotel bar like Collin Farrel and Matthew McConaughey. And they'd say, "What are you girls here for?" and we'd say "Oh, just a calendar photo shoot". Then we'd toss our hair and sip our cosmos in an alluring fashion. Then Joe Jonas would come up and order a beer and the bartender would say "Sorry- You're only 19" and I would say "It's OK - he's with me". And then Joe would throw his purity ring across the room.. 

Whoa. I really went off on a tangent there. Sorry.

Anyway: To the 70 people who actually voted for me: You're all invited to my house for a consolation party. Mojitos all around.

And as for this Hot Blogger Calendar thing, it is so not a big deal. Consider it forgotten.

Except:

Flashback: Hair Metal

Oh. My. God. I ain't even gonna front: Back in the day, I was all about the hair band dudes. The spandex. The bandanas. The fingerless gloves. The eyeliner. THE POWER BALLADS.

You guys, come on: 

Kip Winger......

David Coverdale......

Bret Michaels.......

Sebastian Bach.......

So cheese-tastically-80's hot. 

BUT. Not boyfriend material. 

Any girl with a brain in her head knows, you don't ACTUALLY go OUT with a band dude. That is a recipe for disaster, what with the groupies and the drinking and the late nights....

right?

Wrong.

I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Fear of Flying

There are people who "don't like" to fly.

There are people who say "flying makes them nervous".

There are people who say they "are afraid to fly".

And then there's me. 

For me to even pass through the Revolving Door of Hell at the airport entrance, I must be so high on pharmaceuticals and alcohol that I need a "handler".

I have tried flying sober. I have tried "relaxation techniques" and "positive visualization". It is a damn miracle I didn't wrench the emergency exit open mid-flight. My heart pounds, my palms sweat and suddenly I have the acute hearing of a Doberman pinscher:

 WHAT WAS THAT? Was that the engine shutting off? Oh God, there's no engine. We're going to die. And what was that noise? The landing gear malfunctioning? What if we lose cabin pressure? What if there's a bomb in the luggage? What if that stewardess is an Al Queada operative who's been training for this moment to kill us all with a deadly poison in the airducts? I bet she's already made her suicide video. What if a bird gets sucked into the engine? What if someone opens the emergency exit in panic in mid-flight? Oh, wait - that's me.

SO.......the medication plan is as follows: 

1 Xanax in car ride to airport

3/4 of a water bottle filled with chardonnay at check-in

another 1/2 Xanax waiting for takeoff...

 = "Me? I have no froblem plying."

MORE Words I Made Up

To continue my quest to invent more "Words That Should Be in the Dictionary But Aren't"..........I give you:

pewblurt (pyoo'-blurt) n.

A  wrong word or phrase said out loud in church when everyone else is silent. Usually a result of confusing Catholic vs. Protestant "refrains" combined with unwarranted overconfidence.

shrinkspiracy (shrink-speer'-a-see) n.

The baffling mystery of clothes that used to fit fine, but "something happened to them in the dryer." Usually correlates to an overindulgence in Cool Ranch Doritos.

perpendicutot (pur-pen-dik'-u-tot) n.

Any small child who is physically incapable of sleeping vertically in a bed, mostly your bed, resulting in their feet or head digging into your ribs all night.

chiaberry (chee'-a-berry) n.

The strawberry that starts to grow grey fuzz and infects all the other berries in the box.

debeautiflate (dee-byoo'-ti-flate) v. 

The process by which you start off an evening out looking primped and perfect, but by the time you get home and look in the mirror it's all wilted.

stallbuzz (stall'-buz) n.

The realization that you're drunk that only becomes clear when you use the rest room.

caraoke (car-ee-o'-kee) n.

Singing along to your car radio.

caraokabort (car-a-ok'-a-bort) v.

Abruptly halting your singing when another car pulls alongside you, usually punctuated by a faux-yawn or cough.

Bartering With Nigerian Scam Artists

So I'm going through my address book trying to think of who else I can beg to vote for me at Hotbloggercalendar.com and I realize:

What is wrong with me? - I have hundreds of business associates in my spam inbox !

 OMG - Adhabu, Euphemia (she cracks me up), Moubasa, Tahlib...let me start with Mohamed....who wrote me this email just last week:

VERY URGENT MATTER FROM MR. MOHAMED ABUDO,

Bank of Africa

Burkina-Faso

Dear Friend- Hello! to your email. I am surprising to you for help in a business matter. A very wealth client died tragically in a plane that crash leaving him none peoples to claim his fortune. Which is sum to be $25 million dollars US of A. I proposal to you to be next of kin and will give you 30% to be doing this. Please to be contacting me at mohamed_abudo2007@yahoo.fr.

Jazahkumallah for your email,

Mohamed Abudo.

Dear Mohamed,

 I am sorry for the unusual rash of plane crashes lately in your country. I am flattered that you chose me as a business partner, especially given my current credit score and the big brou-ha-ha with the TJ Maxx lay-away. Nevertheless. I look forward to doing business with you. I need a favor first, though: I need you to get 100 people to click on " Happy Hour Sue" at the Hot Blogger contest going on over at Hotbloggercalendar.com.

Dear Happy Hour Sue Friend,

What is meaning this "hot". 

Dear Mohamed,

Well, "hot' as in "popular" or "hot" as in looks - I'm not really sure...it would just give my blog a lot of exposure.

Dear Happy Hour Sue Friend:

Exposures for womens brings shame to the village.

Dear Mohamed,

Could you settle down? Just get your buddies to vote, OK? The we'll talk about getting the big 25 mil.

Dear Happy Hour Sue Friend:

No voting! No business partner! No womens on hot calendar!

Dear Mohamed,

I have PayPal.

Dear Happy Hour Sue Friend:

OK I am to be clicking. I like the McMommy also.

Rock the vote:

Hot Blogger Calendar

Just scroll down to Happy Hour Sue and I will love you 4 ever.

Musical Beds

God forbid there should ever be a fire at our house in the middle of the night. Because no one is ever in their own bed.

The only person who routinely sleeps in his own bed is my husband. The rest of us are nomads.

The guest room usually houses the most people on any given night. It has a king size bed and a small sofa.

I sleep in the guest room because my husband's snoring could probably wake the neighbors. Yes, we've tried sprays, and mouth trays and strips. (Note to self: straddling a former marine in the middle of the night while he's sleeping to try and put a nose strip on him is not smart.)

The 16 year old has never slept in his basement bedroom. He prefers the basement sofa.

My 11-year old daughter starts off in her room, but inevitably "hears something" and "can't sleep", so she curls up on the guest room sofa. 

Guest room body count: 2

The 7-year old has yet to sleep in her adorable Pottery Barn Kids bed. She is the most anxious and the least able to sleep. She climbs into bed with me....

Guest room body count: 3

Actual conversation at 11:30 pm last week:

7 year old:  Mommy, I'm scared.

Me: (almost asleep) Mmmm.

7 year old: Mommy! I can't sleep - I'm scared.

Me: What are you scared of.

7 year old: .......Ninjas.

Me: There's no such thing as ninjas. (is that true? I don't know)

7 year old: What if a Bad Guy comes in the house?

Me: I have pepper spray.

7 year old: Have you tried it?

Me: Yes.

7 year old: On a ninja?

Eventually she's falls asleep and proceeds to dig her feet into my side all night because her 7-year-old body has an internal magnet that rotates her to lie perpendicular to me. AKA "the axis of evil".

Even if ninjas do invade the house, they'll never find everyone.

Alpha Mom vs. Beta Mom

People often ask "Hey- What does that mean in your tag line 'Just another chardonnay-swiggin' beta mom'?"

And I say, "Well, I don't always swig it - only when I've had a bad day." And they say "No - I mean the "beta mom" part". And I say "Oh. I'm used to drinking questions."

It's probably easiest to explain what a beta mom isn't: an Alpha Mom.

Alpha Mom (al-fa-mom) n.

A mother of young children characterized by a Type A personality and freakishly organized tendencies. High rank in PTO. Chairs multiple charity organizations. When not in trendy pilates-wear, impeccably dressed in stylish but sensible outfits. Never leaves house without showering, makeup and jewelry. CIA-level knowledge of all school aspects, from lunchlady politics to principal's office. Volunteers for all school fundraisers and functions. Glue gun travel team. Enrolls offspring in the most competitive sports leagues, languages and music lessons. Car floors are clean. Children are on schedules. Master cook, making everything from scratch with ingredients from Wild Oats and farmer's market. Runs an occasional marathon. Drinks alcohol "on special occasions". Still has time to make her own curtains and hand-paint a mural on her kitchen wall.

Beta Mom (bay-ta-mom) n.

Yeah...not that.

The BuyCrap Party

UGH. You know the invitation. Where you think it's a real party invite but - PSYCH! - it's BuyCrap party. 

Pampered Chef. Southern Living. Discovery Toys. PartyLite Candles. Cabi clothing. Longaberger Freakin' Baskets. My Step Sister-in-Law's Beaded Jewelry.

What you think your invitees are saying when they open the invite: "Ooooh!"

What your invitees are actually saying: "F*ck!"

Dude, seriously? I like you - but not enough to spend $19 on this:

Because I'm pretty sure my FINGER has been doing a good job up to this point.

And I don't need a $69 wrought iron anything. Everyone knows you can get anything you want in wrought iron at TJ Maxx for $11.00 Wrought iron mirror? Yes. Umbrella stand? Yes. Underwear? Sure: $11.00.

"But there's wine!" Yes, I know there's wine. And dip. And cheese, don't forget the cheese. But here's the thing: 

Wine & cheese at MY house:  $0. 

Comfy couch & a new episode of The Office: $0

Not being the proud owner of a wrought-iron grape peeler: Priceless.

Back to School with the Bathtub Gangsta

Yo, Shorties. School is whack. For realz. 

But BG is here to hook you up with some dope gear to have you stylin' like little gangstas.....G'd up from the feet up.



First: your backpack. Hannah Montana? LAME. 
Dark Knight? Star Wars? Don't be a tool.

BG backpack, son. Off the hook!

Check it, right: lunchtime. I KNOW you're not thinking about rockin' Spongebob again for a lunchbox.





That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, G. 

40-oz. fits right inside.

Now about your style. Are you gonna look like a damn fool or are you gonna represent?

Yo- if your teacher gets all up in your grille about the topless chiquitas, tell 'em to get to steppin'.

Thug life, playas, thug life.

Make me proud. Peace out.

Shameless Self-Promotion About Shameless Self-Promotion

(I hope this doesn't create a worm-hole in the space/time continuum)....

But here's the deal. 

You need a blogger T-shirt. 

More specifically, you need the blogger T-shirt I designed :

This shirt is NOT available in stores!!!! 

It is NOT available on QVC or on Ebay, unless the one person who has bought one, Deb, from Don't Judge this Book By It's Cover, has just listed hers.

Rave reviews:

"People love the blog T-shirt. I can't wear it without getting tons of comments."

    -Deb, from Don't Judge This Book By It's Cover.

See that? 100% of customers love it.

Wear it to work! Show your boss you have better things to do on your computer, and probably do it on company time!

Wear it your child's school! Upstage the other stay-at-home-moms!

Wear it to the doctor's office! See if they get you in faster!

Just click here to order: (also mugs, bags & buttons!)

Blog T's

I Might Blog About This T-shirt may cause: instant popularity, fame, adoration, awe,  respect, party invitations, sexual advances and God-parent requests. Please use responsibly.

I Have Questions

These are the things that keep me awake at night.



How does my blender know the difference between "Milkshake" and "Smoothie"?


Why is Bret Favre's name pronounced "Farv"?


Why do people with large houses assume you want a "tour"?


What ever happened to SARS and the Bird Flu?


When did India take over the Dunkin Donuts franchise?

How did the Mars Rover get on Mars?


Why are Easy buttons and Trouble dice poppers so irresistable?

Why can't we have more terror threat level colors, like Burnt Umber?


Who are these freaks spending  $10,000 on a "vaginal rejuvenation'?


I need answers. Or Ambien. Or both.

Top 10 Things Hillary Has Time For Now

#10. Host a Pampered Chef party

#9. Read "Breaking Dawn"

#8. Bling her cell phone

#7. Catch up on Project Runway

#6. Join Curves

#5. Remove Barack from her MySpace friends

#4. Scrapbook

#3. Get tickets to Jonas Brothers

#2. Sudoku!

#1. Install spyware on Bill's computer

Disclaimer to 'Anonymous' who is about to post a rude comment: This is in no way a personal or political attack against Senator Clinton, who is a lovely, intelligent woman. Just a humorous thought. Settle down.

The Lifeguard

Job Requirement: 

Be on alert every second, scanning a deep pool full of 50 or more young children of varying swimming abilities. Must be able to scan, assess and anticipate every possible situation and scenario. Full visual and mental focus on pool at all times.

Job employee:

Hormone-distracted teenage boy thinking about current girlfriend, Maddie, ex-girlfriend, Jessica who keeps texting him, future girlfriend, Missy, in hot bikini over by the snack shack, parents who will ground him when they find out about the beer missing from the fridge, decision about which party to go to tonight, and whether he has enough money to buy Grand Theft Auto IV.

My Plan:

The MomGuard.

The pool club would have to pony up  a bit in hourly wage, but the MomGuard would be the BOMB. 

Dude, check it: Red miraclesuit with swim skirt. Large brimmed straw hat. SPF 50.

"Hunter Peterson! You just ate lunch- Out of the pool!"

"Mackenzie Jacobs! Do you have sunscreen on???"

"Cole and Bradley Shipman - Stay away from each other!"

"Great dive, Kelly - Yes, I saw that!"

"Nicholas Matthews - go use the restroom!"

"Morgan Jeffries - jump out farther or you'll crack your skull open!"

Seriously - wouldn't you be able to relax more??????

Party To-Do List

Woo-Hoo!!! Party tonight at my house.....

TO-DO LIST

#1:   Chill wine & beer

#2: Clean grill

#3: Sweep pergola sitting area...Wait, what the-

What IS that????????

#5: Remove dead kamikaze bird from lattice.

Why Dooce Wishes She Was Me

This is Dooce.

For those of you who don't know, Dooce is the über-blogger. The high priestess of the personal blog genre. Attendees of the BlogHer '08 conference were "too nervous to approach her" at cocktail hour. 

So she gets millions (literally - millions) of  hits a month and has 13,000 followers on Twitter. 

And she has to close her comments at 700. 

And she has corporate sponsors and 2 book deals. 

And was written about in Glamour magazine. 

And she was on the Today Show and is listed in Wikipedia. 

And her husband was able to quit his job to help her run her blog empire, and subsequent plan to rule the world.  

And she has the cheekbones of a supermodel, and looks like she should be in a movie with Hugh Grant about weddings.

But.

Does she have...

THESE??????

Yeah. That's all I'm sayin'.

I Miss U, Pluto

It was 2 years ago today that the Solar System was all: "Pluto, I'm just not that into you."

And bam- Pluto was officially dropped as a planet. Like the Michael Anthony of the solar system. One minute you're on stage jamming with Eddie Van Halen and the next minute you've been replaced by a chubby teenager named Wolfie. 

Saturn: Hey, Dude.

Pluto: Hey.

Saturn: Sorry about the whole "downsizing" thing. I totally had your back, but... 

Pluto: It's cool - I've been really busy consulting. I may be putting my own solar system together...

Saturn: Sweet.  Um, Neptune told me you've been reclassified as a "dwarf planet".

Pluto: We prefer "little planet" or "mass-challenged".

Saturn: My bad.

Pluto: It's cool. So what about the mnemonic device ? Remember?: "My Very Elegant Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas"? How are kids going to remember the planet names now?

Saturn: Uh...Uranus has been saying "Useless Nerdy Jerkoff Masses Exit My Victorious Solar System. Leave off the last 'S' for 'sucker'."

Pluto: Uranus is an asshole.

Genitalia, Part 2

Oh. My. God. 

How hard did I laugh at all the comments you guys left for the Front-Butt post. (81 at last count).

I would be remiss and irresponsible if I did not provide a recap, a "roll call", if you will, of all the genitalia nicknames that you have bestowed upon your kids, or that they have made up themselves. Some apparently have been passed down through the generations. For the few readers who said they have yet to decide because their kids are still too young, I give you: 

Girl Privates:

tu-tu, cootch, cooter, coochie, cakefoot, pee-maker, tweetie, lucy, coo-coo, kitty, butterfly, skinny butt, woo-woo, bum-dooder, lady business, froggy, po-po, girly bits, thingy, highness, pocketbook, area, twiz, chang, schnoolie and wahini.

For the Boys:

Peeny, penini, winkie & the boys, business, weanie, tallywacker, uh-oh, peppy, lu-lu, twig & berries, weenis, tenders, goober, package, mohanson, knuckles, ding-dong, pee pee bum bum, Mr. Bojangles, stuff, schmack, gweiner, pitot, flacker, nuts & bolts, hoo hoo & the accoutrements, wrong spot, wing ding, thing, thingy, peppy, carrot & onions, the guys, pudter, and Mr. Peterman & his associates.

I did not make any of that up. That is all you. And that is just readers of my blog. Any only readers who comment. Imagine the book I could put together if I actually researched it. They could sell it in the checkout line at the grocery store right next to the Baby Names book.

I could make millions. And put it in my girly-wallet.

The Front-Butt

You know those parents who are all: "You need to use the proper terminology for genitalia with your kids"? 

Yeah, I'm not one of those parents. 

Because my 7-year old daughter? Over-sharer. Princess TMI. Always talking about The Junk. Her junk, other people's junk.....So to avoid the inevitable "Mommy, my vagina itches..." in the produce aisle of Stop n' Shop, we've adopted the term "front-butt", coined by my niece when she was 5. We're all about the front-butt.

An informal survey of my friends assures me that most of us are TMI-phobic. Thus: girl parts are referred to as "feef", "la-la", "virginia" and "tootie". And the age-old question "Why does Daddy have a tail?" has led to : "peter", "pee-pee", "winkle" and "dingus". One friend's son claims that boys and girls have "peanuts and china". Excellent. 

Thankfully as grown adults, we ladies have matured enough to refer to our own anatomy as "va-jay-jay" and "hoo-ha". And let's not forget my all -time favorite from my friend Maura: "girly-wallet", which is hilarious on so many levels.

Fess up: what do say in your house?

Warm & Fuzzy Weekend

Enough with the humor. Let's have a cry. 

This is the sweetest, most heartwarm-alicious video. Makes me tear up Every. Single. Time. (and no-he's not going to attack them.;)

Have a great weekend!