Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

New Policy!

Before I go into my weekend, I'd like to point out my Photo Disclaimer.

Read it. Live it. Love it.

I can't wait until the people we played, 'Pretend You're With' come along and ask me to remove their pictures.

If she asks me to remove her picture, oh I'm going to struggle with complying.

But I will! I promise I will.

Dear God I promise I will.

So much to tell you about my weekend. I can't right now because I'm hosting a birthday celebration for my sister tonight. My sister who requires a gluten and meat free diet. You would not believe how many things have gluten in them and also meat. Like pasta! And chicken breast! And Bread! And beef wellington! And BIRTHDAY CAKE!

And you will not believe this, BEER! My sister lives a life entirely free of beer. My father is weeping from heaven (or where ever).

Wish my sister a happy birthday. We both hate people right now so we're really fun to be around.

You should also know that even though my weekend was great, Logan is still in the proverbial and literal doghouse but I'm trying very very hard to move past it. Or laugh at it. Either thing.

**I closed comments for the weekend because sometimes I just don't want to hear it. Good or bad. While I was on a roll I started closing down all the old comments and trackbacks so I can avoid the spam-fest which always occurs on the weekends. Sorry.

Oh no! Someone else is breaking the rules.

Oh dear!

I got an email this morning from someone who recognized my pictures from Max's preschool picnic because she'd seen one from the same picnic on a public forum she belongs to. A forum with 3000 members. There in the background were children with their faces showing!

(((((((GASP)))))))

I wonder about the "legality of using images from school functions spotlighting other people's children without permission".

I hope this person doesn't end up in the principal's office. Luckily for her, Alex wasn't nearby when she snapped her shot.

Sweet Jesus.

Such bullshit I don't even know where to fucking begin.

Yesterday was a day I just wanted to end.

It started out very very bad but then got better when the nice preschool moms came over for a playdate.

It got so much better I started to think, "Wow, this wasn't a bad day after all."

If only I'd gone to bed at 3:30pm, after the playgroup, it would have been an all right day after all.

Instead, like an asshole I decided to press my luck.

I really should have gone to bed at 3:30pm.

Please just bear with me as I work this out. Or don't.

Dear Melissa,
  It was brought to my attention that my son was featured in a photo with yours on your internet blog. Understandably, Alex would be in the same photo as Max because they were performing the same nursery rhyme.

Initially, I was disconcerted that Alex's picture was used without permission or even notification, but mostly that it was used in conjunction with the language [I jokingly captioned that their little boy was saying the (((((GASP))))) F WORD! AHHHHHHHHHHH] in the available caption.  Furthermore, I wonder about the appropriateness or legality of using images from school functions spotlighting other people's children without permission and would caution you against doing so.
 
While I can appreciate your creative outlet and spirit, and wish you success in your journalistic endeavors, I do not appreciate the use of the picture of Alex with attached text being used on your site, and ask that you remove it.
 
Respectfully,
 
Marni Cxxxr [I'm assuming she doesn't mind me mentioning her name since she and her husband speak to ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN about this issue!]

Did you know what I'm doing is a "Journalistic Endeavor"? Me neither! So I removed the picture and then wrote back (before calling this woman):

"I'm so sorry Marni.

I often forget as my website gets more press that it's not just a casual place where i share things that happen to me or go on in my life. Much like a photo album or casual conversation.

It's new territory to me and I apologize that I didn't think about how you might feel about it.

Your language implies that you are very angry and again I hope you understand that it was never my intent to offend you or cause you any pain whatsoever. I sometimes forget that my love of crude language isn't entertaining to others.

I've removed the picture and taken your words to heart and am very sorry you didn't feel you could discuss this with me in person or via the phone.

I hope you can forgive me for my oversight. It is very hard to keep up with everyone's feelings and frankly I never would have thought to get permission from anyone I've ever photographed. This new media I'm participating in has rules and nuances I never fully considered. I hope my sins of omission haven't hurt you irreparably.

I will be more careful in the future.

Melissa"

Yes they've decided to leave the school. Yes, I did what I could to make amends to these people. In fact, I only stopped short of offering to have the large log surgically removed from this woman's ass.

Yet the entire issue keeps swirling around my sphere of awareness.

What I've concluded is that my pond is far too small.

I'm moving.

For future reference, please refer to my About page before sending me email. Email you send me may very well be published so think long and hard before emailing me. I'm in a very very bad mood lately.

One Awesome Spouse Up For Grabs [Revised]

Usually when I want to write about something painful or ugly I like to try and write it with a bit of humor thrown in to take the sting out of it.

Last night, actually early this morning, my husband behaved in an embarrassing and I would even say humiliating way.

I wrote about it in this space briefly this morning but it was not funny and it didn't say anything worthwhile about my current situation. Julia is actually quite good at taking disagreements with her husband and making them entertaining, I am not.

On top of that, it added to my own humiliation and that of my husband. He actually deserves it, but I don't.

So for that reason I'm pulling what I wrote. Perhaps at some point I'll be able to put some sort of useful spin on what I'm feeling but don't hold your breath.

In the meantime, I'm thinking for what I put up with from my spouse (trust me, I put up with a lot) I should go ahead and order my camera right now.

Presents!

Today I got two presents.

A while back the sarcastic journalist saw thisbook on my amazon wish list.

She had the book and offered to send it to me and so I sent my address to her and said, 'if you're a stalker, this is a very clever plan.' She said she wasn't a stalker and sent the book and surprise! I'm the stalker, her return address was on the envelope and so now I'm driving to Texas to find her.

Duh. The internet is a very dangerous place.

The book is just sublime. I wish I was having a baby so I could incorporate some of the ideas. But there are a few things I could put into the kids rooms I have now. Like this lamp.

Also this dollhouse.

If I ever throw a baby shower, rest assured it will look like this:

Also today Max and I came home from the library and found a package on our porch.

Flea @ One Good Thing sent a package of......PEE WEE VIDEOS!

Like 8 of them. My children were so happy, especially because Logan appears to be holding our Netflix list hostage lately. To quote him, "If they want to watch a movie they'll watch "The Motorcycle Diaries" or they'll go to bed!"

Hooray for Flea!

But then, in the bottom of the box was something all wrapped in a deceptive package. A gingham package with a red ribbon. I thought it was biscotti. But it wasn't.

It was a Techno-Vagine. (!!!!)

I like to think I'm an open minded person sexually. I've written about my "phone" you know. But when Logan and I went to Chicago and stopped in at the Honeysuckle Shop, the thing I was struck by was the latex vagina sitting on a classy bookshelf right across from the cash register.

Not only that, my catholic-ish self was struck by the fact that people can make polite small talk while a Latex Vagina stares at you.

Thanks to Flea, I'm now practicing making small talk with a latex vagina staring at you. In fact, Friday I'm putting it out during our playgroup, just to see how everyone responds.

Internet, you're like my family. I love you and hate you with equal passion.

I am such a huge bitch.

I'm still grieving the loss of my T-days but I thought I'd share a set of pictures from Max's preschool picnic.

Sometimes I think I'm actually a pretty nice person but there's a streak of bitchiness inside of me and sometimes I hear my inner bitch cackling like a lunatic when I publish photos like this:

You'll have to click on the photo and read the notes to grasp the magnitude of my bitchiness.

You know I wouldn't be this big a bitch if we could have just talked things over. But now! I won't have to because "So And So" isn't coming back to our school next year.

The Last Day Of Preschool.

sniffle

The Yard Sale.

Well it was huge and embarrassing. But most of all it was exhausting.

I could not believe all the stuff I had in my basement. When it was all splayed out on the driveway I felt a mix of hysteria and humiliation.

A lot of it wasn't necessarily a by product of my love of shopping, but rather my love of entertaining and gift giving. For a long time I believed this would be our 'starter' home and I believed by the time Madison was a little older we'd move somewhere a bit bigger. But it's now been seven years and we're not leaving for at least another year or even three. So all my shelves of extra vases and bowls and gift items just had to go.

The nice thing was that once everything was actually out of the basement and on the driveway, the basement was a lovely cavern of emptiness. In the past we've cleaned the basement by virtually moving all the crap from one end of the basement to the other. It's all gone now.

Now I can see a small playroom for the kids where all their large annoying toys can go so that I don't have to look at them every second of every day. A place for me to sew and work on projects that isn't in the middle of my dining room where the children are tripping over cords and fabric is everywhere.

The sale was a success in the dollar sense but I should have made more. Some of my nicest things didn't sell, some of my bigger ticket items didn't sell. But we made a dent in the clutter and made a big fat donation to the salvation army last night after dinner.

I hope someone skinny with a taste for Ann Taylor evening wear and ONE THOUSAND STUFFED ANIMALS (seriously....what the hell?) makes a stop at the Salvation Army store on Fourth street this week.

I met Amy (who calls herself Amy In Motown in the comments) and her adorable and angelically sleeping little girl. She bought quite a few toys from my friend Stephanie and listened to me talking a mile a minute because I just couldn't even wrap my brain around all my crap out on the driveway. I also met Nancy and her INCREDIBLY patient daughter. Nancy reads this website and lives just around the corner from me. (Actually Nancy, I saw you walking down your street last night as we were on our way back from dinner at the brewery.) She bought quite a few things from both Stephanie and I. Some great clothes, some toys and the cute toddler bed we used for both Maddie and Max.

Then today we went to the Apple store to get Logan an overpriced armband for his iPod shuffle and on our way out someone (Hi Emily) said to me, "I love your website," and I said, "uhhhhh." She recognized Logan, which you realize makes Logan's head swell to mammoth proportions. But it was actually a good time to see someone who likes my website because I had a eyeful of irritation last night.

I'm feeling slightly depressed about the condition of the internet. The internet is in a bad mood with me and it appears it's angry with a few other people too. Yesterday evening after being away from my computer most of the day I found 3 'helpful' emails from people and I found the emails sort of 'not helpful'. I also found several comments which made my eyes cross and sent my body reeling into convulsions, WHY IS ANYONE SO PISSED OFF BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE THE IDEA OF SPENDING $750 ON AN UGLY AND STUPID STROLLER?

I've also decided, as the owner of this personal and self absorbed website, that I'll be deleting any comment I don't like and I'll quite possibly be banning the ip's of people I don't want to listen to anymore. It's very dictator-ish isn't it?

I mean, what? I only want people to say nice things?

Wow, that's weird....why would I want people to say nice things. I don't hang around people in my regular life who spew hate at me. (Certain people I don't speak to anymore come to mind.) Why would I want to read it in my inbox or on my personal website?

You actually can disagree with me but calling me or other commentors names is really not allowed. If you feel like you can't control yourself (like Stephanie Bryant who "tried" to control herself but then JUST COULDN'T!) then maybe you need a hobby?

If you'd like to disagree with something I think I'm open to discussion. But don't tell me what I would or wouldn't do. Please don't tell me what to do. Please, oh dear God in heaven do not tell me to act in a mature or reasonable fashion because I've already told you. This website and my life would be unbelievably boring if I never got unreasonably upset about stupid things.

My Feet and Strollers: The Undetected HOT BUTTONS of America!

I hope I make $750 at my yard sale today.

Because it's true, I actually really want that overpriced monstrosity in my basement.

Punch.

This stroller makes me want to punch someone. HARD.

SEVEN HUNDRED FORTY NINE DOLLARS.

ANGRY

ANGRY

ANGRY

Hamway IS the way.

Logan was a draftsman for a local builder while in high school and college. Some of us worked at Meijer and were attacked by rabid customers. Others of us modeled without clothes on for Life Drawing classes. Some of us even sold our plasma to finance our way through college.

Logan was Mr Brady at his drafting table.

When some of us were asking, 'Do you want fries with that?', Logan was saying 'Do you want a cathedral ceiling on that?'

One day when we were newly married, an old work friend of Logan's from his drafting days called and asked us to dinner to discuss a "business" she was starting. We were excited to see her and her new husband (even though their wedding invitation had a couple on a Harley Davidson and actually said TLA in the text. I just gagged), and anxious to hear about this "business".

The dinner is a swirl of drawings and flow charts and vague references to "The Business". I was a student at the time and my goodness! Students are great at this "business" and Logan? You're a graphic designer? Excellent because you'll be great at this "business" too! Amazing isn't it! It almost seemed like everyone could be good at this "business".

When the charts of McDonald's and the questions about my "Hopes and Dreams" started I realized AND blurted out, "THIS IS AMWAY ISN'T IT!!!!???"

Ashen.

Ashen is the color our new "business" partner's face turned.

"You've heard of it?"

Uh....yes from my brother who was really pissed he'd wasted an afternoon being pitched not even a month ago.

A few days after this I related the story of the "business" proposal to friends and someone said, "Wouldn't it have been perfect if he'd answered, 'No, not Amway, THIS is Hamway."

We went on to spray beer all over the table and delight in "The Hamway Way Of Life!"

"Ham, it's the way! Hamway!"

"I realize you can't actually eat ham," we'd say to the kosher Jew. "Hamway transcends ham! Hamway is the way!"

"You don't like ham? People who hate ham are perfect for Hamway!"

"Look, the thing you have to ask yourself is, do I want to surround myself in all white meat? Or do I want to grab life by the horns and get into ham? This is where Hamway comes in. Hamway can make your dreams come true."

Yes, well we were drunk and it was funny at the time.

I hope I've given you enough background to see why it is that when I went to Fed Ex the plans for Logan's parent's dream home I had to heartily laugh and resist the urge to pitch my cashier on the life fullfillment that only Hamway can offer, when I saw the name of the builder.

"Hamway, we build dream houses....with Ham!"

The Very Huge, Very Embarrassing Yard Sale.

Back in April Secret Agent Josephine helped her parents host 'The World's Most Embarrassing Garage Sale' (It was on April 7th, but I can't find permalinks on her site so you'll have to look around for it I guess).

As I worked through my basement in the last two weeks I became increasingly horrified and embarassed by the sheer volume of crap I've bought over the last 5 years. At the height of my addiction to shopping I was buying things at Target, (Target clearance is so amazing) (I miss you Target, I'm sorry how things have worked out.) almost twice a week. A lot of it I didn't really have a use for but thought I'd 'save it' for 'something'.

There's more in the basement but I can't even tell you all the things I have because it's way too embarrassing.

For a while I'd planned on having a yard sale with friends because I really didn't think I had enough to fill an entire sale. I was so, so wrong.

It's very huge and very embarrassing.

But I think this will be a nice way to move on from that time in my life once and for all. I'm in a new place, a place that doesn't involve twice weekly trips to Target.

And who knows, maybe all the money we make will go to that camera I want! No probably it will go to keeping our cushion intact. I like the cushion. A lot.

Here's the flyer I made for Craigslist and to post around town. Logan made me remove our location, even though it was vague and even though we're listed in the phone book. If you wanted to stalk me, you really could very easily.

I'm trusting my ugly feet to hold all stalkers at bay.

If you're local and you want to come see my shame splayed out on the driveway of my home for God and everyone to see. Please let me know!

Also, please pray for good weather. I want this over with.

Do It For Logan.

Often on this website someone comments or emails me saying something which is only meant to be helpful. This something is usually along the lines of, "well, there is a very emotionally healthy and stable way to deal with this. If you did, a, b or c, you would be fine. You're wasting a lot of emotion on this." You realize I'm paraphrasing for comedic effect, but sometimes the emails say things like that or even better. "Get a grip you stupid insecure lunatic."

I know these emails and comments come in the spirit of helping but somehow these comments leave me feeling like I haven't done a very good job expressing myself. I am many things and emotionally healthy is not one of those things. I'm touched you think I am emotionally healthy or stable, but really?

If I didn't "waste" emotion obsessing about things, I'd like to think this blog would be much different than it is now. Thinking things through by writing about them, venting about things that anger or upset me, stewing in my own juices until I am ready to move on is what I do. Often I'll be doing that for much longer than you are willing or able to listen. That's fine, you do know that don't you?

If I didn't obsess, stew or vent the most traumatic events of I've covered on this blog would have been written much differently. Some might say 'less entertaining'. But I don't know. Maybe you find mental stability entertaining.

Instead of this you might have this:

"4.21.05 Today, I offended my in laws by mentioning to a reporter the simple fact that we do not speak. They've contacted the reporter to 'tell the real story'. I stuck to my boundary, they have humiliated me and given my husband more undue grief. But I believe my boundaries with them are reasonable and I haven't crossed them unfairly so I'm not going to think about it anymore. The End."

Instead of this you may have read this:

"4.27.05 Today, I offended a fellow preschool mother today by posting a picture of her child supposedly saying the 'F-word'. She is really really upset. I feel horrible. I took the picture off the website and apologized profusely and am doing so again here. She called the preschool also, but I guess I did everything I can so I'm just going to accept her waltz of displeasure as she avoids me in the halls of the school. Oh well! The End."

Remember Lice Fest? I kind of freaked out while dealing with that.

Just imagine if this were the website of someone with emotional stability and survival skills?

"12.17.2004 It's been a week of dealing with the head lice. When you think about it slathering your child's head in mayonaisse and chemicals and olive oil, is really nothing when you think of the plight of the tse tse fly. So I'm actually really lucky. The End!"

My job hunt? Remember?

What if I had a healthy dose of bounce back-ability?

"Today I failed miserably at my 10th job interview in three months. I failed really badly and I think this might be as low as it gets. But at least I don't have syphilis. But if I did, I'll tell you what, I'd just be happy it wasn't a flesh eating disease."

Mentally healthy? Yes. Entertaining? Not really.

When you think I'm talking about something for too long I want you to do something Logan wishes he could do each night when he lays his angelic head down on the pillow and hears a voice from the other side of the bed saying, "You know what really bugs me about this?"

He can't click that little button in the upper left hand corner of your computer screen and turn me off.

He has to listen, you don't. Do it for Logan.

Do it for LOGAN!

Penile Misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings are the theme of my weekend.

I wrote something yesterday and I really wasn't talking about me. I've actually come to a place where I am satisfied with where things are going. I'm only 31 and there's time for me to write something and maybe put it into book form. It's not time for me to do it. But when it is time I won't be slapping a cover on my blog and calling it a book. That's all I was saying really. I'm obviously still processing my feelings about that since I let other people get under my skin so deeply in this regard but....ah well.

When I'm 40 I'm going to be mature. I thought it was 30 that would make me mature, but that hasn't worked out very well.

I needed a new icon for my website and I tried to find a picture of myself but I have ugly years, and 2005 is an ugly year. So I was out. I moved on to pictures of the kids, but without Photoshop skills it's impossible to get them close enough together to make an icon-worthy shot.

I thought to myself, "What pictures have made me happy lately?"

My feet have made me pretty happy lately. I know that's odd, but I'm in utter shock that my feet can look this nice plus that picture of my feet at the pool immediately makes me smell sunscreen (just a number 4!) and remember how I didn't have a single fucking thing to do all day.

It's an addicting feeling, having nothing to do. The picture of my feet reminds me of when I didn't have anything to do all day.

I should have known that posting pictures of my feet and writing about my ticklish feet during a pedicure would bring out those people who have a fetish about feet. Especially ticklish feet.

In the last week I've gotten 7 emails from men, about half of whom claim to own a nail salon. Amazing! They read about my pedicure and just 'had to laugh' because they've had clients who are very ticklish. They happen to find it very "amusing" [read: "arousing"] to watch their clients pretend not to be tickled when they are so obviously struggling with the 'intense sensation' of having someone touch their feet.

Uhm......okay.....

Also, they hope I don't mind but I have lovely feet and would I ever want to chat via Yahoo or MSN?

I have maintained, since the mid 90's that there is a penis behind everything on the internet. The penis drives the internet.

A few unrelated things for the weekend.

I've been in my basement all weekend pricing things for my yard sale next weekend. There's nothing like my basement to make you feel like MOVING IMMEDIATELY. Also, while in the basement pricing things I start to think....let's just SELL IT ALL! We'll buy new! Do you think anyone will buy a furnace from 1973 for $10? How about kids? A 6.5 year old (with an above grade level reading ability!) and a 4 year old with a mouth like a trucker for, oh I don't know $10 a piece. Because I'm thinking I'll be a much better parent to two college age kids and they're cheap because they're poor and also hungry.

I won't pay for their college education of course because it's a rule in our house, if you're not born of my body I don't pay for your education. It's on our family crest.

Today we went into downtown Royal Oak for a bagel and a bit of shopping. We didn't have any change for the parking meters, so we drove through the city parking lot until we saw a meter with some minutes left on it. But it gets worse. The first meter we stopped at had no minutes, so we moved to the one next to it which had 23 minutes. But then a couple was leaving so we moved into their spot which had 58 minutes left on the meter!

And that is the cheapest of cheapness. I was laughing about our cheapness but then I felt a little uncomfortable with it all. So I blogged about it.

Something which has been laying heavily on my mind.

Bloggers really like themselves. Bloggers tend to think they're writers. Some of them are actually writers, but most of them (like me) are not. When I met with the mentor like person she told me a few things. One of the things she told me is that people who write books are absolutely certain they have a riveting story to tell. She said people who write books believe they are intrinsically interesting.

I do not believe that about myself. I think I write a fairly decent blog, but BLOGS ARE NOT BOOKS. You have to have a story to tell in order to write a book. If you have some fragmented things to say, you're writing a blog and again, BLOGS ARE NOT BOOKS.

Even if you have a lot of traffic on your website. I've seen bloggers patting themselves on the back recently for the traffic they get. They think, "I must be a good writer if I get this much traffic..." but the truth is, all of our traffic has increased as more people have started writing and/or reading blogs.

Because your blog has traffic does not mean you can write a book, it means you can write an entertaining blog. Writing an entertaining book means you have an interesting story to tell. Again, blogs are not books.

If all it took to be a published author was a) a blog b) web traffic c) published family or friends: I would have had a book years ago.

You can't make a book out of a blog. A blog is a blog is a blog is a blog.

Prove me wrong. Please.

Mind Numbing Minutia.

On Saturday afternoon I drove to meet my friend Jill for lunch in Gruene, Texas.

We ate a little lunch outside under the shade of trees on a brick patio. (Today it's 43 degrees so I'm feeling particularly nostalgic about outdoor dining.) I drank the spiciest bloody mary I've ever had and midway through it, I stopped and wept for Chrissy. I wept because there were pickled green beans in my drink. Also olives. I just don't know what I did to deserve such luxuries. I really don't. I have something like survivor's remorse, except for drinkers.

Anyway, we ate and talked and silently willed the squirrel running through the trees over our heads to stay the hell away from our table with that dead mouse in it's mouth. Because, I know that would make great content, but a dead mouse on my table is just too much.

We went shopping and looked at various odd antiques and then it happened. I found the tank top of my dreams.

Last year I went to The Gap and found a tank top with a V at the front and the straps lined up with my bra straps exactly and they had all the colors that look good on me and the cups fit my breasts exactly as if it were made specifically for me. Under the breasts it flared out a bit and was willing to pretend I don't have something people call 'Love Handles' (I do not love them).

Then I had to zip it up and the dream shattered all over my bedroom. I guess everything but my rib cage is a Gap size M. My ribcage is a size "Pregnancy Ruined You" The next day I returned 12 tank tops to the store but before giving up hope I tried on a large and everything was wrong with it. Mostly the fact that my breasts were not covered at all.

So when I spotted the tank top at the store in Gruene I didnt get my hopes up until I went to the dressing room and it fit. Like it was made for me. Like God himself had taken mercy on me and my flattering tank top quest and cross dyed my tank top in the most breathable fabric and sent it to Gruene Texas and I found it.

There were a lot of great things about my trip to Texas. Pedicures, reading a book in 1.5 days, all the celebrity gossip I could stand, lunches out with my favorite person, good conversations with teenagers which make me fear my children's pending adolescence a whole lot less, being propositioned on the river walk by an escort service, seeing friends I see on the internet daily but only see once a year if I"m lucky. All of that was awesome.

But the green tank top from the hands of God to my bosom. That's worth all the frequent flier miles in the world.

When I attempted to tell Logan all about the new tank top I bought I actually heard his eyes glaze over across the phone lines all the way from Michigan. He then said, "That was riveting, tell me again...." Which is his smart ass way of saying I'm rambling about silly things.

But guess what? Logan told me all kinds of 'riveting' things about his day when he was trapped with the children for 4 long days. Mind numbing minutia of a day spent yearning for adult interaction. That was really satisfying, realizing he'd be a babbling dolt like I am if he weren't busy being A Very Important Man day in and day out at the office.

Maybe that was actually worth all the frequent flier miles in the world.

Delightfully Lost.

While in San Antonio I had planned to go running around the lovely neighborhood I was staying in. I love looking at houses and gated houses are especially intriguing to me. Did I mention that Tommy Lee Jones lives a few blocks away? Not on Lazy Lane, however, has he been in any movies lately?

I planned to run and Logan laughed. I mentioned my plan to run and Jean laughed. Oh I'll run, I thought to myself. I'll show them.

Little known fact about Texas: It's hot even in early May. It's also often humid. And the thing that makes this little sprawling neighborhood especially delightful are hills. Delightful rolling hills. Delightful humidity. Delightfully beating sun. I may have run early in the morning but I had my previous itinerary to think of: Sleep.

Instead I thought I'd take the puppy, Sophie, for a few walks. We went for long walks through the neighborhood in the evening and I spied inside gated estates and took pictures of things that reminded me of Logan. The walks were wonderful until Sunday night when I decided to take a quick walk before dinner.

Five hours later I was in Austin asking anyone! PLEASE anyone! WHERE IS RIDGEMONT!?

No really I ended up walking for an hour. I was so lost I began crying and begging the dog to 'Show me the way Girl, Show me!' But she didn't know the way because she'd been too busy looking for piles of dog crap to sniff at along our route.

The thing about delightful neighborhoods with gated entrances is that not a lot of people are actually outside and there's something about a gated entrance to a home that doesn't scream, "Howdy Y'all! Come on up here and ask for directions you idiot! Never mind that doberman, she's an absolute baby!"

Finally I came across a father and son playing basketball in the front yard and I walked up to their gate, wild eyed and sweaty. "Can you help me?" I screamed through the bars and the man told his son to go inside, she looks wild. And I was wild. I was wild with the desire to be home now.

When I told him where I was trying to get to, he raised his eyebrows and said, "You really thought this was the way to get there?"

Yes, yes I did. Actually no I wasn't sure. I saw a street sign I'd heard mentioned around the house and thought, 'This has to lead somewhere familiar.' Which is a wise thing to do when you've been in town for just 4 days and have spent over 3/4ths of that time sleeping. It's funny isn't it that I thought something would be familiar, when all I was really familiar with were my pedicured toes, the tv remote, the pool and my bed. (Oh Bed....one day we'll be reunited.)

Oddly, nothing looked at all like my bed, or the pool or even like my toes so I was lost. Badly.

The nice gentleman on the other side of the gate, which was there to protect Texans from midwestern women with sweaty brows and crazy looks in their eyes, which was wise since I really may have just moved in there when faced with walking back the way I came. About 10 or 15 blocks he said and I bit my lip to fight back the tears. Sophie looked up at me with a look that said, "You are one stupid fuck."

And off we went to find our way home. I stopped every jogger I saw and they became my cheerleaders. "Excuse me! Is this really the way to Ridgemont?"

Yes! They'd answer....just 10 more blocks! And Sophie would look up, but now she wouldn't even say anything to me, that's how disgusted she was.

I started talking to the dog publically, which I know dog lovers do, but I do not talk to animals in public. Except Logan, I do talk to him in public.

"I'm so sorry Sophie. I know I should have brought my cellphone. You can stop bringing it up now. No one is sorrier than me."

But I knew she was probably sorrier since she has four legs to walk on and that must take a lot of extra energy.

About 5 blocks from our destination Jean drove up and saved me. I never thought she'd be able to find us, because I'd started to believe in my humidity induced delirium, that I was actually not even in San Antonio. I started to believe I was in another dimension. A dimension where everyone lives in climate controlled gated estates and they don't like lost midwestern lunatics.

The thing which makes the ordeal even more annoying is the fact that on Saturday afternoon I drove all the way to New Braunfels to meet my friend Jill for lunch at the Gristmill and didn't get lost even once. However, put me on a sidewalk for a leisurely stroll around the block and all hell breaks loose. And believe me, Sophie is never going to let me forget it.

Waaaaaaahhhhhh

I don't want to leave yet.

One point five hours until I get on the plane back to reality. Today the pediatric dentist called to let me know Madison has an appointment tomorrow at 8:15am and I told her to shove a sock in it Lady because I'm STILL on vacation.

They keep pulling me back in.

I just had a large sangria swirled margarita at Rosario's and while that seems like a good 'last hurrah' I mostly feel like I'm not ready to go back to reality.

I'm spending the next hour soaking up as much of the texas sun as I can. Which means I will be the red lobster sitting in seat 9A on Northwest flight 1068 out of San Antonio. But as God as my witness I will not leave this wonderland looking like a pearly white yankee.

I thought I'd write more while on this vacation but I didn't. I was too busy sleeping.

My God the sleep.

I talked to Max this morning and told him I can't wait to see him because I'm going to SQUEEZE him. He said, "You're going to squeeze all my blood out of me?"

How did I raise such a morbid child?

I have such good stories. Like the dream tank top coming home with me. Like the 60+ minute walk I accidentally took the dog on where I got so lost I looked like a sweaty lunatic walking up to strangers (texans are nice to crazy people!) asking them to please help me find my street! Help me!

I am sitting in an exit row on the flight home. I'm fairly certain I can lift the exit door off and help people off the plane but I also tend to panic in these situations. Let's all pray I don't have to do my duty for the people of flight 1068.

Moving.

I keep telling Logan there's a better place for us to live.

Hello?

It should be against the laws of blogging to have this many good days.

As predicted: I'm mostly sleeping and eating and drinking and reading and sunning.

This has been punctuated by brief outings to shop, hours of Oprah and all the home decorating shows I can possibly watch without having convulsions. Logan can usually tolerate an hour before he starts complaining...as if he doesn't like the shows!

I had my pedicure yesterday (thank you Jean!) and it was quite lovely but here's something you might not know about me: I'm extremely high strung. Having someone touch my feet is a very awkward experience for me. I don't know how to act during such a luxurious event.

So I act extremely awkward. I also giggle a lot. The eurasian man doing my feet kept telling me to "Relax" and I thought to myself, "This is as good as it's getting."

When the nice man grabbed the pumice stone and started exfoliating my feet, I nearly took his eyeball out with my extremely ticklish flailing foot. He ended up holding my foot in a choke hold while he did his job and I screamed with the overwhelming sensation. He kept saying, "Relax....."

It was all worth it though, even though he's bruised and battered. I tipped him well.

To Answer Your Questions.

Greg needed to know:

"What kind of bread?? What kind of cheese??"

Ciabatta. Cheddar.

Mamaloo would like to know:

"Why San Antonio?"

The Alamo, duh.

Phil would like to know a few things. Now!

"(a) why San Antonio and (b) what else will you do there and (c) how will you make sure that Max and Madison don't sneak into your checked baggage while you're not looking."

(a) The Alamo, and more specifically the basement of the Alamo. Also my dearest friend who abandoned me for Texas (I'm mostly over it now) and her newly remodeled guest house with a bed larger than my own and a pool, with a hot tub, and she has SUN. (b) I will be sleeping, sleeping, watching tv (whatever I choose to watch), drinking, eating, sleeping, floating in the hot tub, laying poolside, getting a pedicure (!!!), sleeping, reading, not waking up 50 times a night with the hacking ball of phlegm next to me, bonding. (c) I've tied them both up so they will not slip into my bag.

On the same theme Jen would like to know:

"why san antonio? and will you be incommincado whilst gone?"

San Antonio to see relocated family. I should be able to connect with my laptop, they have wireless and so do the neighbors apparently (shhhh.....) because last time I could pick up a second signal in the guest house thing. Otherwise they have a computer and I'll have my camera and all the time in the world!

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD!

Which is something I don't have now because I need to pack and go to the bank and pack and do laundry and change kitty litter and play with Max and....

Hey! More insipid Mommy Blogging!

Another cheese sandwich please.

Please, just hack up the lung and get it over with.

Someone suggested Logan would be a nice husband if he were to give me a gift certificate to purchase the camera of my hot and dirty dreams.

He would love to give me that lovely piece of equipment, but he can't. At one time he believed a money tree flourished in the basement. At one time, I believed there was a money orchard out in the country somewhere and Logan was secretly harvesting it and not telling me. But we've both been slapped across the face with financial reality so it's not that he could give me the camera but won't. It's that we don't have theextra money to spend on a frivilous piece of camera equipment. Actually we do have the extra money, but if we buy the camera we won't have the extra money. I like having a little extra money when all the bills are paid so I'm not buying the camera. No matter how strongly my old wicked ways try to convince me it's a good idea.

I've mentioned before how my mind has shifted. At this point, I do not want to part with my money. It physically pains me to give away the money which makes me feel comfortable and stable in this life. I hate being poor more than I hate not having the camera.

HOWEVER!

Tonight we sat down and looked at Logan's frequent flier miles and I am flying to San Antonio on Wednesday night! Like Wednesday....tomorrow night!

This means I'll be sleeping in a large bed in a private guest house all alone.

This means I'll be sitting by the pool reading endless People magazines while soaking up sun (GOD HELP ME THERE WILL BE SUN)

Let's pretend I won't have to put on a bathing suit (and no, naked would not be better so don't even) to do any of this. Oh God the bathing suit.

But let's not dwell on that.

When Logan goes out of town I like to think he's having one non stop party. And sometimes, it is a party. Like when he went to this place and then moved onto other places late in the night. Places where people may or may not be wearing clothing.

He called me from the airport Sunday while waiting to board the plane and his ears were hurting and his body was aching and he said, "There's just so little down time on these trips."

And I said, "Define 'down time'."

Because I like sleep, especially when I'm sick and you wouldn't find me at a bar where the employees may or may not be wearing clothing at 4 o'clock in the morning. You would find me snuggled up in the king sized bed I had in my room because that would be down time and that would be more important to me.

I'm leaving town for an extended weekend, and I know it's not the same as when Logan goes away because when he goes to Arizona for a photo shoot there are beautiful models and R.V.'s and semi trucks carrying vehicles for the shoot and six trucks carrying models and the crew and equipment. He has an entourage. When Logan goes on a trip there are police blocking roadways and cars driving the wrong way on a one way street all because he, The Art Director, COMMANDS it!

My trip will be lower key and won't actually be expanding my career or paying me. But that's what makes it so great that Logan gave me his miles so I could get out of this house and regroup a little bit.

He can't buy me the camera but he is getting me out of the house and into the sunshine and warmth and I love him for that.

I love him even though he's grouchy as hell from coughing all night long and feeling like garbage. He went to the doctor this morning and got a steroid shot, an inhaler and antibiotics for an ear infection. I've been sick since March 18th. When the hell did I become a martyr? Why haven't I gone to the doctor?

So when I heard they didn't just tell him it was a virus and to 'wait it out', I hung up on him and called to get an appointment. There better be drugs for me. I've been suffering way longer.

I think I may have cursed myself when I told Laura Berman I didn't want to be an insipid mommy blogger, giving a blow by blow daily report of what I'm doing.

Uhm. I also just ate a cheese sandwich.

Wishing.

I wish Logan would just cough up his lung and get it over with.

Jesus Christ all Fucking Mighty.

I love him but he's coughing a LOT.

Robots should never, ever get sick.

He's here.....no more phallic photos. Sorry.

Logan arrived home a little while ago.

He's so cute when he has a cold. He actually said, "I just don't understand, I've been sick for a week."

How could he be SICK? For a WEEK? My God! A week.

I've been sick since March 18th, so boo hoo Mr Roboto.

He offered to, you know, perform. But the coughing is really annoying so I said forget it.

Sigh.

I may not even be able to sleep in the same bed as the poor guy, my God. The coughing is horrific, sofa bed for me.

This is very anti climactic. Oops. There I go with the word play again.

My email.....grrrrrrrr. I just spent over an hour clearing it out. WHY don't the messages get deleted when I download them to my mail program?

I was so sad today when I checked email and there was nothing. But then there were all sorts of comments being left here. But no email letting me know.

No email letting me know that SSSSS really "Needed the help finding the naked pictures of the bliss. Or others. Please!"

Uh......

No email from "Freak@yahoo.com" telling me to "GET A LIFE AND MOVE ON." This was on the post about the run in I had at Royal Oak Brewery. Move on from that? I just don't get it, but okay. Delete!

I spent the entire day cleaning, doing laundry, changing sheets....because don't you hate it when you walk in from a trip and your house is a mess? The house is just beautiful. All the laundry is done (by the way: Logan wears a LOT of clothes. Laundry took me half the time to do!).

Amusing: Logan lost his sex drive while on his trip. I had at least double the sex drive while he was away. Odd.

i feel so dirty.

Great news. Logan's coming home on Sunday instead of Monday, except late. And he has an ear infection. I'll have no mercy on him. I've been yearning through an entire week.

Amy sent me this lovely picture to round out Phallus Weekend. She asked me to photoshop out the men in the picture even though they don't attend Max's preschool. But I've been slapped across the face enough this week so they've been cropped.

Hello.....

I really need to go to Utah.

Also, if my in laws are still reading this I'll be shocked and amazed. Hi Kelly!