« October 2005 | Main | December 2005 »

November 30, 2005

demented and sad, but social

A friend of mine, who at the time was a little soft around the middle and very self-conscious about it, used to describe his personal Faustian bargain as being married to Uma Thurman, but not being able to wear a shirt for the rest of his life. That's kind of how I feel about where we live.

I've been trying hard to understand why I'm so freaked out by the people here. Am I secretly jealous of the stay-at-homes and their SUVs, big diamonds and golfing husbands? Does it bring back feelings of inadequacy from my own childhood, where we were certainly well off but by no means rich? Is my friend too sexy for his shirt, so sexy it hurts?

A couple of weeks after we moved, I got an invitation to come to a "welcome coffee" sponsored by some of The Ladies in town. I like coffee and usually I like the ladies so I went. The event itself was fine, just a few women in various states of frazzledness that comes from trying to wedge adult social activity into your otherwise child-centric day. While there, I was recruited to help The Ladies social committee plan some upcoming events. Since I have an event planning background and an almost freakish need to be social, I agreed to help.

Next thing you know, the woman who recruited me disappears into the ether and suddenly I am responsible for throwing a cocktail party for 50+ people at some other woman's house. I managed to get the invites done and out in a record two days and I thought they came out pretty cute, but they were met with a rather lackluster reception from The Ladies.

With the date fast approaching (it's this Saturday!), decisions needed to be made. It's gonna be a vintage-y, Asian-themed cocktail party with cranberry cocktails and sushi. As my husband pointed out, if I have to throw this frigging thing I should just do what I want. Now all I need to do is get a black taffeta cocktail dress that says "Fuck" in rhinestones across the chest, get drunk at the party, and make out with some golfers in the coat closet.

Posted by Max at 03:04 PM | Comments (3)

November 17, 2005

putting the routine in our morning routine

This morning we were all doing our respective morning rituals to get ready for our respective days of content managing, programming, and gluing pieces of yarn to construction paper while trying not to get bopped on the head or bitten by "friends" (and we call our jobs work!). Since the Bean and I had been on our own for a while, we'd developed a little morning routine that my husband hadn't yet seen.

Me (singing from the bathroom while putting on makeup): I really can't...
Bean (from the living room where he was finishing breakfast): STAY!
Me: I really must...
Bean: GO!
Me (entering the living room with big sweeping arms): 'Cause baby it's cold...
Together: OUT-SIDE!
Husband: Why does he shake his head like that when he says "outside"?
Me: What do you mean?
Husband: He goes like this (shakes head and flutters hands in the air)
Me: Oh that's his Big Broadway Finish.
(pause)
Me: I'm making him gay, aren't I?

The Bean and I really enjoy that song especially now that cold weather is upon us. What could be better than teaching your toddler a Dean Martin song about slipping a hot girl a mickey so she'll give you some loving against her will? I also like how the song rhymes "delicious" with "delicious", which is one of my favorite songwriting techniques. The Beastie Boys also employed it with great success by rhyming "commercial" with "commercial".

I guess some words just sound better when rhymed with themselves. Someone shold write a song where every line ends in "orange".

Posted by Max at 08:09 PM | Comments (0)

November 15, 2005

poopship

You go out, you do some stuff, you make a few cookies with your kid, watch a little TV and the next thing you know, Ms. Dooce links to a picture you took of a farm animal poop game and you become L'Enfant Terrible de Internet Poop. Listen, she likes the poop, she likes the poop!! I like other things, like sea horses and I dunno, glitter.

My husband has been away for what feels like four decades. Last night I was in bed thumbing through my not one but two recently-delivered issues of Cottage Living (It's OK that your house is small, it's a cottage! Get into it, or at least, put a picket fence around it and fill it with throw pillows!) I developed a splitting headache and I'd also been feeling slightly nauseated. For me headache + nausea + steam heat = carbon monoxide death about to happen.

The Bean and I had recently performed a non-too-thorough inspection of our smoke alarms, whereby I would press the test button and we would both fall to the ground yelling if it went off. We did replace some batteries but in the hilarity of the falling and the yelling, I couldn't remember if we had tested the carbon monoxide detecting one or not.

So last night I weighed my options, which broke down like this:
1. Re-test monoxide alarm and wake up the Bean since it was right outside his door.
2. Open window in my room and in Bean's room even though it was butt cold to allow fresh air to mingle with (possibly) tainted air thus freezing but saving us both.
3. Do nothing.

Which do think I did? Well, if you guessed option three you would be right, but only partially so! Because I also looked up symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning on my laptop, then strategically left the laptop next to the bed so that if I did die, at least everyone would know I was wise to carbon monoxide's little game. Take that, noxious gas!

I consider myself a fairly self-sufficient gal. However, there is nothing like having a husband around to help seal the lid on the ole crazy box at times, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

Posted by Max at 08:46 PM | Comments (1)

November 09, 2005

suburban jungle bells

I'm subscribed to Yahoo's "Most Emailed Photos" RSS feed, and what my month's worth of research in this area has concluded is that we Internet people love us some boobs, booty, baby animals and giant art. If it weren't for the giant art and the boobs, I would have to unsubscribe. But seriously, it is a bit depressing to see some half-dressed catwalker or fricking baby something-or-rather replace the catwalker/baby thing from the week before. Let's mix it up out there!

Of course the week my husband goes back to Seattle, the Bean spikes a 101 degree fever within three hours of his departure and is sent home from daycare all red-eyed and clingy. He's been achy and cranky and terrible for the past two days. This morning I was preparing for a project status meeting and optimistically set up a little mise-en-scene with some of his favorite plastic animals to distract him. I even created a tempting animal trail, which led from one end of the couch to the animals. He did not take the bait but instead flopped around the couch asking for a series of things so rapidly that I felt like I was in Toddler Boot camp. Water! No...juice! No, water with ice (spilled)! MORE ICE WATER! Orange (not touched though lovingly peeled by yours truly)! Coffee (well, that was mine but he spilled it all over his two favorite blankets when I fricking needed it way more than they did)! I eventually had to move my meeting to an hour later so I could get the creep down for a nap.

I've yet to finish hand-crafting the eighty holiday party invitations for the SOCIAL CLUB I'm somehow now a part of so now I must go do that. If there's any way to win over a stodgy New England township, it's with glitter-glued snowmen scotch-taped to cardstock. Townspeople; love me, love my crafts.

Posted by Max at 02:00 AM | Comments (1)

November 06, 2005

the spirits of 1776

In Rhode Island, one must purchase one's alcoholic beverages in a separate place from where you get the rest of your provisions. These places are called "package stores" or "packies" for short. The packy closest to us is called 1776 and the employees all dress as revolutionary soldiers. Well, just kidding about the soldiers but not the name. Because it is a bit of a drive for us to go there, we tend to make some fanfare when we arrive if the Bean is with us. The result is that now whenever we drive by it, he gasps and yells "Booze House!" This pleases us.

We took advantage of today's glorious New England weather to drive past the Booze House to one of the fricking coolest beaches ever. The waves were crashing, there were a billion rocks for my wacko kid to throw into the ocean for hours on end, and the water was filled with SURFERS totally ripping it up on some major waves. I grew up in New England and yet until today had no idea that these waters were surfable. The one drag was that my camera was out of batteries so no pictures for you (or me).

I've been walking in the mornings before I barricade myself in the house to work and I still can't quite believe the gorgeousness of this area. The beaches and the leaves and the crumbling stone walls etc. However, we still have yet to meet or even see anyone that is remotely, um, like us. I told my friend (from Seattle, waa waa! Friends, move here!) that I was thinking of starting a tree-hugging, gay-loving drinking club for sardonic atheist commies, you know posting a flyer in the local Starbucks just for a lark. I'm sure that would go over really well with the lock-jawed boating set. Really, lighten up Rhodies! It's a short life and a fun one filled with lots of nice beaches.

The other day I picked the Bean up from daycare and drove home a different way, a route that took us over a bridge that traversed a salt marsh. The sun was setting over a white church at the end of the bridge and the water on both sides was flat and filled with swans. The Bean started yelling "Oh! This! This!", which is what he says when he wants to say something but doesn't yet know the word. He was pointing to the sky, which was shot through with pink and gold. I told him "sunset". He was quiet for a second then said "Pretty."

You're right, little boy. It is pretty.

Posted by Max at 12:58 AM | Comments (1)