Recession buster

There is really no more need for President Obama and Mitt Romney to squabble over how to get the economy back on track. I've got the answer. I've got a simple idea that could help us all to ease out of the economic pinch most of us are feeling.

I can actually boil it down to one word. (Why I wasn't a political science major, you ask,. I mean, c'mon, one word?!)

Yes, one word:

Dritz.

Not sounding familiar? How about a second word to get your creative, we-can-fix-this-fucked-up-country juices flowing?

Here you go:

Toughskins.

There, now I have your attention.

Do you remember the 70s? We did not throw away our clothes, especially our jeans, when they got some measly hole in them. Oh no, we did not.

Instead we grabbed one of these:

And a piping hot iron:

And we patched them up as good as new:

Granted, we typically iorned them on the outside, so the whole dang rounded-cornered rectangular patch was showing, and so much the better if it was a beige patch on blue or green green jeans than a matching color -- badge of honor, baby. We wore our little pants until they were holy-patched highwaters and then passed them down to our cousins.

So no more of this, "I-need-new-jeans-for-school,-mom" shit, we need to tighten our belts patch our pants a bit, and instead concentrate our efforts on stopping the crazies from taking women's rights all the way back to the 1920s.

The BDay Girls

What do you do with a couple of birthday girls on a late summer night under a full moon?

Why, you bring them to the baseball park!

Especially when you have the beers-on-the-third-base-dugout-seats...

. . . and especially when you have a view of the boys in said dugout...

. . . and especially when you have such a killer view of home plate.

Sigh. If only the good guys had won.

Happy Birthday, Kelly and Mumsie!

party poopers

On a recent rock star adventure, I found myself surrounded by a few of my very favorite people in a dimly lit, gorgeous smelling hotel room that sounded like a babbling brook. It made me need to pee. 

There were so many interesting things to explore in that space, so I grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos to show you. Just remember the part about it being dim. That was not an exaggeration, and although we were a quad of smarty pants girls about the town, none of us could figure out how to work the lights.

So imagine yourself surrounded by seriously good smelling air, and imagine the sound of a babbling brook. Now go pee, then come back and look at my photos.

The little corner bar was a study in adorbs. Everything was wee and sweet and enticing.

In another corner there was another wee bar set up! Awwwwww!

If you got bored in this room, you could wish upon the handy kaleidoscope.

If you got thirsty in this room (and who wouldn't with all of that adorable liquor lying around?), you could enjoy a stella from your bag after chilling it on ice for 11 minutes. Approximately.

If you bring your dog to this room and your dog is hungry, you can order her up some chopped steak for $14!  plus a 25% service charge plus a 9% convenience charge plus tax and tip.

If you feel snacky in this room, you can choose from a wide selection of very mature snacks:

Or... um... you can look into what else they have got for you...

 intimacy kit -$12

How convenient!

And if the air in this room wasn't sweet smelling enough for your delicate lung-flowers, no need to worry:

Oxygen!

24 plus breaths! for $18! That's less than a dollar a breath!!

At 10:00, every door in the joint was marked with one of these

I had to sign a "no party policy" at check in, and initial my understanding that we were strictly limited to two persons per bed.

Look at the person I got to have in my bed!

And in the other? Bona fide rock stars!

It was a weird hotel, but the beds were comfy even without party privileges. We had a great night and tons of laughs, and stopped by the pool for a little while before heading back to San Diego and our innocence. I took one more photo at the pool, not of the view or the peeps or the d.a.y., but of the signage in the loo of all places.

No party poopers.

Be vewy, vewy quiet

Okay, I'll admit, I'm not hunting rabbits. But I am being vewy, vewy quiet as I navigate through these few days that feel like some kind of manna from heaven.

I, for the first time ever since getting remarried, have the entire house to myself, and not just for an overnight, no, but for 56 glorious hours! Of course, I'm here at work or asleep for many of them, but still. It's so peaceful, and quiet, and relaxing, and quiet, and liberating, and quiet, and perfect.

I didn't get out of bed until 7:24 this morning. Incredible! And I was out the door by 7:44. It's just little ol' me to get ready. No lunches to pack, no hair to brush, no squabbles to endure.

Don't get me wrong, I love my girls to infinity. They are beautiful, wild, ever-changing beings that I would never want to do without. (Well, never for more than a week or so, anyway.) But they are all with their respective fathers, so there is no worrying that they are not being properly cared for.

So clearly, my only job is to enjoy this timeout to the very best of my abilities. Lots of yoga, lots of reading, lots of walking around the house delighting in the fact that I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!

So, shhhhhh, be vewy, vewy quiet.....

The Touch

This is my friend Penny.

Penny's pretty cute.

Okay, Penny's really cute.

Plus Penny loves geography.

I can never keep my hands off of Young Penny's tootsie-toes. 

The girl's got great tootsie-toes.

 

And Mistah Schleckah? Oh he loves those little babies.

He loves to take the tiny babies on walks, to show them the local flora and fauna.

Mostly flora.

Oh, the fun those two had.

We could hear the wee one laughing out loud from up on the deck.

And Penny was having fun too.

But none of that is important right now. What is important is Young Penny was pooped, and needed a nap, and no one -- nobody -- could get her to sleep.

Enter -- da-ta-da-da! -- me.

I have The Touch. I am able to get the wee tiny lads and lasses to sleep by slinging them over my forearm, walking them up and down the street, and comforting them with the sound of my voice reassuring them everything's gonna be allright, and a gentle, but firm, and very specific circular back rub.

And I am always successful.

Success?

Oh, you better believe it.

Penny's dad and I were talking about my prow-ass -- well, I was. He may or may not have been listening. I said, "I am so good at getting those babies to sleep!" He said, "She doesn't look that comfortable." I said, "What are you talking about? This is my patent-pending over-the-arm-baby-carry. She's *totally* comfortable! She's drooling down my arm!" He countered, "She's tired."

He's wrong, though. It has nothing to do with tiredness. It has to do with one thing and one thing only.

I've got The Touch.

The Mary Ellen

Five for Friday

pack
unpack
pack
unpack
repeat

summer!

After this weekend, I'm staying put for a while. Let the peeps come to ME for a while! I intend to spend many nights in my lovely bed and many days at my lovely job and many hours doing serious damage control on the critical issue of my snack build-up.

Today we came home from camping in San Elijo, tomorrow is a rock star road trip. I need to pack unpack have a drink.

In the meantime, here are five extraordinarily weird photos from the lovely and most favorite place of all time, San Elijo:

Extreme

Like all of us, there are many words that could be used to describe me: frugal, resourceful, conscientious, sensitive, dependable, fun-loving, cranky, etc. But one word that really doesn't hit the mark is "outdoorsy." If that's even a word. But you know what I mean, right? Those amazing women (or men) who run 50 miles on uphill trails, engage in 24-hour runs, and bike up crazy mountains? Our very own guest blogger Julie is outdoorsy, as are my sister-in-laws Tiffany and Fon. But me? No, not so much. Me, well....

And that's okay.

So when my sister-in-law informed me that we'd all be going to the Flagstaff Extreme Adventure Course on our last visit, well, I was a tad bit anxious. Suspended bridges, swings, slides, nets, and ziplines and 40 - 60 feet in the air? Um, no thank you.

But I knew I had to suck it up and partake in the family joy.

I was kind of hoping that my sister in law would send me some photos from the outing. I know she took quite a few. (But hey, if I really wanted some photos, I should have taken some myself!) But since she didn't, I've taken some shots right from the Flagstaff Extreme website. And for some reason they are teeny tiny. But they will have to do.

No big deal, right? Just don't look DOWN!

This was the worst of the worse for me. Just grab on and go. SHIT, are you kidding me?

Another least favorite section. These things swing like a mofo, but hey, you gotta move on to the next one to make it across.



Holy crap! Really?

The place was actually very cool, with a small practice course that everyone has to complete before they can start, then there is a kids' course, and a four-level adult course.

GREEN = Minimum Elevation/Minimum Skill
BLUE = Medium Elevation/Medium Skill
RED = Advanced Elevation/Advanced Skill
BLACK = Advanced Elevation/Advanced Skill

I really did well on the practice course :-) And level one (green) was no biggie either. But the blue course started to get a bit dicey --  that's where they throw in that dang rope above. And it starts to get pretty high. I didn't realize that heights make me nervous, but they do.

I did not attempt the red or black course. Quite a few of my in-laws completed the red course, but only two went for the black course.

And although it was not an activity I would have chosen, it was fun, and we all felt good about ourselves afterwards. Plus, we went straight to a Mexican restaurant afterwards. Now that Bohemia was one that I certainly earned.