Baby v. Dog: An Adorable Smackdown

I have been meaning to do an epic post about the incredibly boss jacket Jeff got me for my birthday, and also how I am trying to bring back using "boss" as slang, and also "do me a solid." But in order to fully express the bossness of said jacket, which makes me look like I belong in a circa-1992 Sassy magazine, also known as My Sartorial Goal For All Time, I have to convince Jeff to do me a solid (see? sounds so natural) and take my picture, preferably in a series of catalog poses in front of public fountains and soft-focus lampposts.

So in the meantime, please enjoy the heart-warming sight of S. trying to eat a small dog:

S: OH HI BUSTER, CAN I GRAB YOU? PSYCHE! TOO LATE. WHAT'S THAT, A BALL?
Buster: [quiet resignation]

S: THIS LOOKS LIKE IT'S MADE OF RAINBOWS, CAN IT GO IN MY MOUTH?
Buster: [taciturn resistance] 

S: WHY DO YOU DENY ME??????? I HATE YOU, AND LIFE!!!!!!!!!
Buster: [unfazed chewing] 

S: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOUR BALL, I WILL HAVE TO EAT... YOUR BUTT!!!! (WAIT, THAT CAME OUT WRONG, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.)
Buster: [WTF?]

S: DON'T BE MAD, THOUGH; I LOVE YOU. COME BACK TO ME?
Buster: [subtle bitchface]
 

S: YOU COMPLETE ME.
Buster: [Jerry Maguire? Really? You are your mother's son.] 

Also! There is video, because I am an awesome parent.

Enjoy. Don't forget about the jacket, though. It's real, and it's spectacular.

P.S. Buster belongs to our awesome friends Alex and Christina. Check out his (Alex's, not Buster's, not that he couldn't do it, though, probably) totally boss short horror movie here.

Baby v. Dog: An Adorable Smackdown

Baby's First Snoop Dogg Parody

Rollin' down the street,
suckin' binky,
sippin' on apple* juice
Laid back...
With my mind on my mommy
and my mommy on my mind

*Jeff, my other child, replaces "apple" with "titty" in his rendition. Substitution optional.

P.S. That's a baguette, not a giant spliff.

Baby's First Snoop Dogg Parody

Birthdaypedia

Today I am 32. [hold for applause] Last night, after spending far too much time on WebMD trying to ascertain whether my stomach cramps were A) amoebic dysentery or, B) my uterus staging an attempt at secession, I consulted Wikipedia in an effort to better understand the challenges and rewards I might expect in the coming year. These are my findings.

Pro: "32 is the ninth happy number." Great! This can only mean good things. Right?
Con: 13 is also supposedly a "happy" number. Uh huh. This is me on my 13th birthday:

And while I may look happy to have made a pilgrimage to show Hans Christian Andersen my acid wash Texas tuxedo and my best Babysitters Club Super Special cover pose, trust me--I was not happy.

Pro: "In the Kabbalah, there are 32 Kabbalistic Paths of Wisdom."
Con: Gwyneth. Always ruining everything with her odorless seitan poops and smug British inflections nasal ukelele ballads. Sigh. That bitch is almost as bad as Uma.

Pro: "32 is the number of teeth of a full set of teeth in an adult human, including wisdom teeth." [emphasis mine] I AM WISE, PEOPLE. And I still have all of my original teeth, minus 3/4 of one of my incisors that I lost playing "run around the big cement rectangle outside of school as fast as you can until you realize you can't manifest a playground using psychic powers and the energy generated by three packs of Yodels" in 6th grade.
Con: I haven't been to the dentist since September. Of 2010. I floss at my own risk, lest one of those Acme anvils falls out.

Pro: "32 is the number of pages in the average comic book (not including the cover)"
Con: The best part of comic books are the covers.

See?

(Boring but basically a) Pro: In chess, the total number of black squares on the board, the total number of white squares, and the total number of pieces (black and white) at the beginning of the game.
Con: Reminds me how much the ending of Lost sucked.

Inconclusive:

• The code for international direct dial phone calls to Belgium
• O.J. Simpson's number when he played for the Buffalo Bills (saved from being an obvious con by virtue of the fact that hearing "Buffalo Bill" makes me do the creepy Silence of the Lambs voice and yell at Jeff, "It puts the lotion in the basket!")

So. I think we can agree that I wasted an evening. But in the name of science. Which proves I'm maturing.

Birthdaypedia

Click It Up, Baby. Click. It. Up.

This is what I look like in my mind on a good day.

This is what I look like in reality on a bad day.

Either way, the Heathers reference in the title works, right? Right. Moving on.

Okay, so I'm not going to lie to you--this is a post of links to other stuff I've written. BUT WAIT. You want to go to there. Because if you click them, I might get an Ab Roller. I KNOW. Keep reading.

So, first, I have this column in the New York Observer. It's pretty much exactly like Sex and the City, except that Candace Bushnell already did that, and if I tried to copy her my main character would have to be named, like, Unitard Lesbos or something, and also there's only so much you can write about grooming your nether regions to resemble a racist 1930s children's television character. So instead, my column is about parenting. But it's funny! I call babies dicks and stuff. (Note: I refer to the babies as dicks, not to baby dicks, as I'm pretty sure talking too much about infant genitalia lands you on an unsavory government watch list.)

Anyway, here are the links to my first two efforts. If you go share and comment on them, I will definitely be famous and have my own TV show and can probably someday give you a new car (or at least an autographed copy of my eighth grade yearbook photo, in which my braces are color-coordinated with my overalls).

NYO column 1: Behold a Pale Listserv
NYO column 2: Baby Onboard

Okay, next, I've been writing for NickMom, a new humor site from Nickelodeon. If you click on these, I could win money (for real), and if I win money, I will use it to buy more As Seen on TV infomercial products that I can blog about, like The Bump-It or maybe the Slap Chop.

So if you want to see THIS...

You know what to do.

Top 9 Shocking Revelations in the Easter Bunny's Autobiography
Top 9 Reasons Pinterest is Better Than Sex
Top 9 Inappropriate Thoughts To Have During Mother's Group
I Wish I Could Be Like Clair Huxtable

Finally, I'm still over at Aiming Low, making MS Paint graphs about poop that have the same effect on Jeff as that Sex Panther cologne from Anchorman.

You know you're proud of me. Just admit it.

I promise a Philippines post is coming soon. Also probably a self-serving post to remind you that it's my birthday on Friday. The 13th. Yup, that'll end well.

Click It Up, Baby. Click. It. Up.

Face-Testing Olay® Total Effects Tone Correcting UV Moisturizer

Everyone has at least one physical feature they covet but will seemingly never possess without surgical--or divine--intervention: a straight little nose, long, shapely legs, full lips, a flat stomach. (And anyone who says they don’t is either lying or a Ukranian fashion model.)

My if-only feature fantasy has always been beautiful skin. I had some serious acne in my teens and early twenties (which I fetchingly spackled over with heavy foundation--in my prom pictures I look like an awkward geisha who’s been let loose in a Jessica McClintock outlet). Even after it abated it left me with unruly, sensitive combination skin. I did everything I was supposed to--drank tons of water, used oil-free products, loaded up on antioxidants--but I never achieved the dewy perfection I so desperately craved. (In retrospect, perhaps this is because I also did a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to--like drink lots of booze and smoke cigarettes and eat Rice Krispies treats for lunch. But let’s place the blame squarely on nature and look the other way, agreed?)

Anyway, aging hasn’t helped my skin woes. You’d need a sherpa to navigate my crow’s feet, and the oiliness of my youth has recently been replaced by inexplicable dryness, with some red splotches and brown spots thrown in just for fun. So when I was approached to test-drive Olay® Total Effects Tone Correcting UV Moisturizer I jumped in face-first.

The seven things the moisturizer claims to do--seven, being inherently lucky and the title of a Prince song, bodes well already--are moisturize, minimize the appearance of fine lines, reduce the appearance of age spots, smooth skin texture, reduce eye puffiness, defend skin against harmful free radicals and combat dryness. That’s a lot of things, y’all. AND it comes packaged like a delightful summer soft-serve swirl:

Now there’s no shame in picking something based on looks alone--I mean, otherwise would "The Bachelor" still be on TV? But I’m happy to report that Olay delivers on multiple fronts:

• After a week of use, my skin felt smoother and softer and my lines were less noticeable. 
• Because it corrects tone, it served more or less as a tinted moisturizer, doing away with my need for foundation. 
• It took care of dryness without the need for any additional moisturizers. 
• It gave me that subtle “Who, me? I don’t wear any makeup!” glow. Ding ding ding ding ding! 

Subtle differences, but in the "after" on the right my skin is less red and more--dare I say--dewy. Also I have fewer flyaway hairs. Granted, not Olay's doing, but still. Also part 2: Isn't my shower curtain boss?

I realize that I am wearing the same top and messy bun in the above photos, which I only wish was on purpose. The truth is, I’m a new mom who wears the same nursing bra at least five days a week and never has time to wash her hair. But hey, at least my skin looks good. Thanks, Olay!

What’s your healthy-skin secret? Tell me about it in the comments for the chance to win a $50 Visa gift card!

Rules:

No duplicate comments.
You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:

a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post
b) Tweet about this promotion and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post
c) Blog about this promotion and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post
d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.
This giveaway is open to U.S. Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by email. You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.

The Official Rules are available here.

This sweepstakes runs from 4/9 - 5/16

Be sure to visit the Olay TE page on BlogHer.com where you can read other bloggers' reviews and find more chances to win! While we're on the subject of looking good, you might want to check out the "Looking Your Best" posts in the Life Well Lived section of BlogHer.com. There are some great tips and expert posts!

I was compensated and provided free product for this post. The opinions expressed herein are my own.

Face-Testing Olay® Total Effects Tone Correcting UV Moisturizer

Scenes From a Failed Education: Easter Edition

It will surprise approximately none of you that I am not exactly a religious scholar. After all, Jeff once convinced me that there was a Biblical figure named "Asso", and in my elementary school pageants we favored racist songs about Santa's adventures down Mexico way over traditional carols. Also, I once made this:

Still, there is no excuse for the following ignorance. Christians, please don't be offended; my penance will be eternal damnation, okay?

Me: It's a gorgeous day out. Let's take a walk and get some coffee at [name of favorite local bakery].
Jeff: We may have to settle for Dunkin' Donuts. [Favorite local bakery] is probably closed.
Me: What? Closed? For Easter?
Jeff: Um, yeah.
Me: It's not even a REAL holiday.
Jeff: How do you figure?
Me: Well, you know, there's candy. And ham at 2 pm or whatever. But it's not like there are presents to open all morning.
Jeff: Interesting. I would argue that it's actually the most important holiday.
Me: Oh, what, because of Jesus?

I KNOW.

Then, later, I had this conversation with my dad's partner, Lisa:

Me: [Recounts above dialogue.] Hahahaha. My Biblical knowledge is woefully sparse. I should have remembered that it was a really big deal that Jesus rose from the dead, right? Haha.
Lisa: [Laughing gently, the way you do when you are a kind person who doesn't want someone else to feel like a moron.]
Me: But... maybe you can clarify something for me. Because I know Jesus was crucified...
Lisa: Right.
Me: And then rose from the dead...
Lisa: Right, after they buried him in a cave.
Me: ... But what happened after he rose? I mean, was he just like, 'What up, peeps, I'm back!'?
Lisa: No, he just disappeared. He was gone when they went to his grave.
Me: Ohhhhh. [pause] So, kind of like Elvis.

Needless to say, Jeff will be handling our son's religious and historical education. Also, science. I will take some light grade school math and everything required for domination of the pink wedge in Trivial Pursuit.

Scenes From a Failed Education: Easter Edition

The Insomniac's Notebook

So, I can't sleep. This has been a problem for awhile now, and it's especially awesome because the time span that I spend trying to fall asleep corresponds pretty much exactly with the only time span that my child is asleep. Needless to say, it's been

Every time I mention Good Times, I just think about how Troy Dyer would think I was cool.

in my house lately.

Longtime readers of the blog know that I have some anxiety problems that tend to erupt in Jessie Spano-style freak-outs. But when I'm not treating Jeff to some of my sex-ay irrational hysteria, I'm funneling all of that anxious energy inward, funneling it into my brain, where a team of tiny mes live in the few remaining cells, like in Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Too Afraid To Ask) or Herman's Head. Except instead of controlling my body or awesomely manifesting as Bobcat Goldthwait (I wish!), they sit around drinking way too much Diet Coke and speculating about my imminent downfall.

An abbreviated list of things that keep me up at night:

1. Money. Why don't I have any? How can I get some? Do I know anyone who wants to give some of theirs to me? How can I get on a rich person's will? Could Brewster's Millions ever come true, only with me instead of Richard Pryor, and is there an architect who would build me a house with airplane emergency exit slides instead of staircases? Why does everyone keep telling me that if I were my kid's nanny I would be making over $100K? I am his nanny, and I make zero, unless you count the cash I pocket when people send him cards. I wonder how much change is in our piggy bank? What if instead of recycling our cans I took them to that machine by the grocery store that trades them for nickels?
2. My health. Where did these bruises come from? Where did my butt go? Why does my back hurt? Am I having an aneurysm? Why do I put four sugars in my coffee? Why can't I eat kefir and seitan flakes for breakfast like Gwyneth Paltrow? Why do I hoard so much candy? Why are my teeth so yellow? Did I brush them last night? Do I have cavities? Is this because I haven't gone to my dentist since 2010? Why is health insurance so expensive? Why can't I sleep? Am I dying? What if my heart explodes? What if my vagina falls out? What if I grow a full beard and turn into one of those old ladies who DOESN'T EVEN NOTICE?
3. The baby's health. Is he breathing? No, but really, is he? If you look really close? Is he pooping enough? Is he pooping too much? Is his poop the right color? Is my breast milk less healthy because I ate 25 Mary Janes for lunch yesterday? Does it taste like the milk at the end of a bowl of Lucky Charms? Is he sleeping enough? Is he sleeping in the right position? If I pick him up every time he cries, will he be too dependent? If I don't pick him up, will he be a sociopath? Is it weird that he's always trying to bite my face? If he turns out to be a cannibal, will I still love him just as much as if he were a urologist, or a male model? 
4. My career. Do I have one? Is this it? Will I ever write a book? Will books still exist? Is it too late to learn to tap-dance? Do people still do that, outside of Shirley Temple movies? Is Shirley Temple still alive? Does she need any tap-dancing servants? Like maybe someone to taste her food before she eats it to make sure it's not poisoned? For positions like that, can you specify desserts-only?
5. Television. Why do they keep replacing Bobby Draper on Mad Men, like they think we won't know? Why are they making a Sex and the City prequel? Why am I still watching Glee, especially after they all wore white tie to regionals? What other possible tragedies can befall the doctors at Seattle Grace hospital? An elephant stampede? A mudslide? An entire busload of diabetic high-schoolers getting impaled on the Space Needle?

I do not worry about Jeff's health, because I hear him breathing all night, and also because a diet of mini Reese's Cups and historical nonfiction has been proven to increase longevity. I think.

The Insomniac's Notebook