Monday, October 29, 2012

Storm's A-Comin': A Story in 140-Character, Two-Glasses-of-Wine Panicky Pop Culture Non Sequiturs


Friday, October 19, 2012

I Wood Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

Today is the fifth anniversary of the day Jeff and I got married.

Jeff made that face pretty much the whole time
The traditional fifth anniversary gift is... wood.

When I told Jeff this, he giggled like an 8th grader, which is why I married him.

Here are some additional reasons:

He makes me feel like this all the time.

Also like this:

Except if you pulled back the camera, you'd see fifteen empty wine bottles, a precarious tower of un-broken-down Amazon boxes, and a Hoarders-level pile of laundry with a baby buried somewhere inside, happily eating toilet paper straight off the roll.

If you want to read the ultra-romantic story of how we got together, which involves tango (but not Cash), a bridge, a wife beater, a daffodil, and some late-night cheeseburgers, it's here.

If you want to see us pretend to be Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tia Carere in True Lies during our first dance as married people, it's here.

If you want to see some truly amazing photo outtakes, in which I resemble Lucille Bluth having a rage stroke and which I made into a Christmas present for Jeff, they're here.

If you want to read about our 1,000th day of marriage, and how it made us fight (despite the edited version of our lives that appears on the blog, yes, we do fight, and sometimes we're total dickheads to each other. Remind me to tell you about, oh, basically the entire first year of S.'s life later on when hindsight makes it funny...), but then I figured out a Super Touching Life Lesson that references Milli Vanilli, it's here.

In the meantime, here are five things made of wood that express my deep and abiding love for Jeff:

He loves meat, but doesn't get enough fiber.
TRUE. Also, you can buy this for $11.
Jeff loves ties. He might divorce me if I got him this one, though. Fucking hipsters.
We are always on the lookout for comfortable seating options for our living room.
Get it? GET IT? It's Elijah WOOD.  (Jeff is shaking his head in shame right now. I love you, too, honey. High five*.)
*That's also a pun. You love me. Don't fight it.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Tooth or Dare

S. has been teething hardcore lately (KILL ME NOW--whose great idea was it to have sharp pieces of bone stab a baby's mouth from the inside?), which has gotten me thinking about my own pearly yellows.

A lot of people are weird (read: responsible) about teeth, but I am not one of them. Like, my best friend Anna from high school has crazy dental hygiene. She never misses a flossing, and even drinks coffee and wine through straws. It's intense. She probably has really fresh breath though, whereas mine in all likelihood smells like Thai food and rich frosted mini donuts that have been soaking in a wine barrel for months unattended.

My theory, which is probably unwise seeing as I currently have no dental insurance, is that teeth can be replaced, so what's the big deal if you ruin them? (My mom is audibly gasping right now, and shaking her head sadly.) I'm kind of kidding, but not completely. I mean, I know you're fucked if you screw up your heart or liver, but teeth are pretty cheap as new body parts go. I speak from experience. In college, for reasons still unknown to me but probably having to do with grain alcohol, ramen noodles, and general vitamin deficiencies, one of my molars basically broke off. Then, for reasons I have repressed but which definitely had to do with laziness and questionable $20 bags of powdery schwag weed, I decided to put off going to the dentist for 8 months, at which point I needed a root canal and a new tooth.

Since then, I haven't had more than the odd cavity--which is really amazing considering my lifestyle--but I'm starting to worry again because I haven't been to the dentist since the September before I got pregnant, which for those of you who are awesome at math is more than TWO YEARS. In my defense, A) I was pregnant, B) I am lazy, and C) My dentist died.


I'd been going to him since I was 8 years old, too, so as far as I'm concerned he was the only dentist in my life. I'm going to compare all other dentists to him, and when I keep picking the wrong dentist, people are going to whisper, "Oh, yeah, Una? She has major dentist issues."Knowing me, when push comes to all of my teeth falling out of my gums, I'll probably just pick a new one based on the name. So good news, Dr. Glasscock, you've got a new patient coming. Probably sometime around 2017. Break out the nitrous.

Friday, October 5, 2012

10 Ways to Make Presidential Debates More Awesome. You Are Welcome, America.

  1. Instead of buzzkill themes like "domestic issues" and "foreign policy," let's try something prommy, like "Enchantment Under the Sea," or "Masquerade Memories."
  2. No red or blue ties allowed. In fact, no ties at all. New debate dress code is "casual antagonism." Bust out the mom jeans, Mittens!
  3. Instead of stodgy lecterns, debaters should lie facing each other on a king-sized canopy bed, in the intimate style of an 8th grade sleepover.
  4. Moderator must dress and speak in manner of historical reenactor portraying village drunk from colonial times.
  5. As in a game of Taboo, no one is allowed to say any of the following words: "fact," "plan," "middle-income," "percent," "government." GO. (Upon utterance of any forbidden terms, bucket o' slime a la You Can't Do That on Television descends from rafters.)
  6. Two words: Dana Carvey.
  7. Two more words: Lie detectors.
  8. Two more words that form a compound word: Paintball.
  9. Adopt The Voice format, in which audience members (and also Cee-Lo, just for fun), sit in giant La-Z-Boys with their backs to the candidates and refuse to turn around until they say something awesome. Also, Cee-Lo will be wearing something feathered.
  10. Tee-shirt cannon.


Tuesday, October 2, 2012



Except she said it more nicely. I just translated it into caps lock.


That off-camera sight he's terrified by isn't ten people singing loudly at him, it's my untweezed-for-two-weeks eyebrows. He sees his future, and woe! For it is bleak and Nair-y.
The requisite Abandoning of the Nutritional Standards. He never had a bris or a christening, but frosting is pretty much my family's religion.
Like his mother, he loves chocolate. Only in a less adorably racist way.
My sister got S. a collapsible tunnel, presumably so that he could perform a dramatic re-enactment of his entrance into the world on his birthday. My cervix is in fact made of rainbow sherbet, so this is very true to life!
I've never been able to keep fish, plants or yogurt cultures alive, so this one-year milestone is a very big deal for me. So what comes next, Ye Of Parental Experience That Extends Beyond The Average Warranty For A Kindle?
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