Fickle, Frick Frick Frick Frickle

I have been scampering around for the last 23 minutes in nothing but a too-tight shirt and my underoos and let me further say that there was not a modicum of beauty about it. The sucktopus was attached to my hip the entire time while I yanked out every last item of dark clothing in the bureaus, in the laundry piles, in already folded laundry baskets, in the drawers with cheese graters and rolling pins, in the jar of TUMS. Frick Frick Frick on a Stick, where are the PANTS I just BOUGHT the other DAY and TOTALLY FOLDED and put on the BED IJUSTSAWTHEMMMMMMMMM. Wah.

Have I mentioned how fickle the sucktopus has been? One day, totally silly, docile, eager to practice her butt levitation. Next day, totally needy, whiney, disinterested in so much as wiggling her big toe. Sometimes it's Jekyll and Hyde, back and forth, to and fro, rolly polly pell mell every 15 minutes! Month 7! Who knew! I just put her down for the second nap o' the day and it's only 11:36a.m. Let's hope she wakes up as sweet as a vanilla wafer, shall we?

Well I am going to take this pantsless act elsewhere. Before that, though, let me meditate upon 3 happy thoughts:

1. Nana Red is coming in a few short days and you know she be bringin' the girly baby loot, n'ah mean? 2. My friend Shanananana just offered to babysit Baby Girl so I could go to a restaurant tasting. That was so sweet of her. 3. It's almost sweatah weathah. And also. Apple cider!

***

Put on ya 'at and be 'appy....

Disclaimer: Lovey Loverpants wants you all to know that he does not always wear a wife beater and that he is not trying to be all "Ernest Goes to Jail" in his trashy swag. He is trying to be "My Name is Earl."

Superbad

I am a few yards from the door of the high school and I already know it's going to be bad. There are steep stone steps and no ramp (isn't there a law to protect the kids in wheelchairs from this ignominy?) at the front door and I know a little bit more about how bad this is going to be. I can hear the voices of teachers floating out the windows; they are using that tone that teachers use when they know they have lost the students' attention. And in this instance they have lost it to a woman pushing a lucky green stroller up to the front door of the high school at noon-thirty on a Monday. Oh wait. That is I. Soooo bad.

A guy in a golf shirt who is probably the assistant principal or a coach or both comes to the door and looks down at me, not meaning to be condescending, but whatever AT LEAST I DON'T HAVE TO DRAG BUH-BUMP-BAH-BUMP THIS STROLLER UP THERE and he asks if there's anything I need.

"Um, this is kind of embarassing, but there isn't a craft fair here today is there?"

He tells me no, in a kind way, and says at least not that he knows of, but, of course, this being school hours, probably not.

And in this moment, we are both realizing something.

He is realizing that he is talking to a crazy person who actually thinks a high school might open its doors ON A SCHOOL DAY to gaggles of crafty moms like she, moms that would come to the door of a high school wondering where the ramp is to accommodate their strollers.

And I am realizing that he probably thinks he is talking to a crazy person who might question why there was absolutely no signage whatsoever advertising a craft fair on a school day at a high school, but, heh, let's just go see if it's one of those under-the-radar craft shows open to the public at a public high school.

But really all I am is frazzled and unable to read the internet correctly, and growing blonder by the day.

Dum Dum Didday

The other day I passed a book shop with big posters in its windows. Each poster had a big word on it advertising what I presume was sold within the book shop. The posters read, "PAPERBACKS." "SCONES." "MAGAZINES." "VIETNAMESE." I wondered what kind of shelving units they had, and how they were organized such that the Vietnamese section was just as prominent as the Paperbacks section. Was the Vietnamese rack right next to the Magazine rack? Upon closer inspection, the sign read "VIETNAMESE Spring Rolls."*** Every night that Lovey Loverpants and I are in bed reading before lights out, the age-old struggle ensues. Who will leave the warm cookie dough comfort of the bed to make the epic trek of three steps across the wooden floor to turn off the light? Lovey always makes the same clapping motion in the direction of the light. As a nod to the '80s stocking stuffer adverts for The Clapper. But we don't have The Clapper. But he claps as though we do.

It

Gets

Funnier

Every

Time.

***

Baby Girl is big into exercising the bounds of her voice, as I've mentioned. Her favorite vocal exercise is to shout MAMAMAMAMAM, and since it's sort of my name and since she does it on repeat while looking right at my face without really wanting me to respond, it sort of becomes one of those Chris Farley routines where he keeps asking Paul McCartney, "Remember when you were in The Beatles?!"

***

This is one of my favorite Fresh Prince moments ever.