Cray-cray

Mack sometimes needs attention, and he has become pretty good at finding a way to get me to stop watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey that is effectively annoying. Not too much that I get pissed, but just enough that I am distracted.

Well, the other day a magazine came and Mack started flipping through it.

Then Teresa said something totally bitchy with a smile and thought that'd make it okay.

"Ohhh look, there's a free sample."

My head snapped from the television to the man on the couch peeling out a free sample of something I needed, something that was MINE because I pay for that subscription, something that he was about to STEAL FROM ME!

"What is it? Huh? Is it perfume? I hate perfume. What is it? SERIOUSLY."

"It's a Bioré strip."

Dammit. I love those things.

"Give it to me. It's mine. It's my free sample. GIVE IT TO MEEEE."

He managed to keep it just out of my reach, peeling it out of the package, removing the backing and putting it on his nose, and all I could do was degrade into a swirl of irrational consumer jealousy. Finally he snapped his head around.

Yep, that's a pantyliner.

Maters Precious

My mom and I went to the Tomato Festival today. And we ate tomatoes. Like a dozen types of tomatoes. And it was fabulous.

The adventure started with crepes at 6 Friends. Then we rode our bikes to the Arboretum, where we pretended to be tomato connoisseurs and got our faces painted.

Mom and I finally did shots! :)

We decided to take a little walk around the gardens and the woods, and on the way to the gazebo area, a bee got caught in the strap of my sandal and did a little freak out that resulted in his death and a stinger in my foot.

Bee stings burn a lot worse than I remember.

Things seemed fine yesterday. I'm not allergic and the pain subsided pretty quickly. But then when I woke up this morning...

You know that movie Pure Luck where Martin Short is stung by a bee and his face explodes in swollen? Yeah, I have the foot equivalent of that. As if these feet aren't hobbit enough on their own, now I gotta deal with bee puff on them.

Happily Ever Laughter

Life escapes me sometimes. Or, rather, I get so busy living life that I have no time for soaking it all in. And then stuff that happens in April starts to come back to me in August and that's how we got to today.

Back in April, Ruble got married to Steve. I have been with Ruble through some pretty atrocious relationship dealings, so when I first met Steve, while we were all in Atlanta for Kristin and Will's wedding, I was delighted.

Steve was funny, down to earth, outgoing, and tolerant of our shenanigans. He was like Ruble in all the good ways and a perfect balance for her special blend of crazy. When Ruble would hinge on freak out, which doesn't happen too often, Steve wouldn't let her topple over the edge... mostly because he'd laugh at her. He's equipped with a personality that manages to lighten the mood, maintain the perspective, and find the fun in it all.

By "shenanigans," I mean beer drinking.

And unexpected, competely unwarranted drunken attacks.

Ruble's laugh is the thing that I have always loved the most about her. It didn't matter if it was the middle of a test in high school or the middle of the championship NCAA basketball game, if Ruble felt like laughing, that well of joy erupted like a volcano. There is just no stopping it. She can't keep it in. That freedom to be loud and delighted no matter what is adorable and admirable.

Ruble and I started going on 'dates' when I moved back to Kentucky, days Mack started calling "Rube Days." Steve would sometimes come along, and we'd all sit on a patio somewhere, drinking beers as big as our heads and talking and laughing. Ruble and Steve quickly became one of my favorite couples, one of those rare units that don't make you feel like a third wheel no matter what. I love Ruble, absolutely adore her, all on her own, but somehow, when she and Steve are together, I like her even more.

When they got engaged, on a hot day in July 2009 near the summit of Angel's Landing in Zion National Park, it was sort of like having the universe reaffirm that things are right with the world. Sure, accidents happen and sometimes there are piles of shit, but in the end, yin meets yang and all is well.

Because the epic and overblown World Equestrian Games made people in the business of weddings inflate their prices, Ruble and Steve decided to have a long engagement and get married this past April instead of October 2010 like they wanted. I don't know if that extra time was necessary considering the detailist that Ruble is, but it sure gave her time to spoil the crap out of those of us lucky enough to be her attendants.

Me = legs scarred by bugs in Ghana. Kristin = 6 months pregnant and jealous that we can imbibe. Michelle = definitely not as big a lush as pictures make her out to be. Sarah = not in town. Ruble = 'what have I gotten myself into?'

Ruble's wedding affair started with nails at the nail salon. Then it was a day at Keeneland. After that we had a rehearsal dinner of sea bass, calamari, fried lobster risotto balls, cheesecake, and an open bar. Then we had mimosas at the hair salon and mineral makeup at the spa on the big day.

Ruble did all of this, gave all of this to us, planned it all down to the last detail, even ordering me a special vegetarian sandwich in the lunch order. Most brides need their attendants to handle these things, but Ruble made her attendants feel like princesses while she did the tough tasks of being the queen.

Then there was the wedding.

Ruble was the most beautiful I have ever seen her, gorgeous and effortless and with a figure to die for. Her dad walked her down the aisle, and in true Ruble fashion she started to make small talk with guests on her way to meet Steve at the altar.

During the ceremony, while everyone else prayed, Ruble chuckled and pinched Steve's butt.

You see all those heads bowed? Even that atheist there playing along? Not Ruble!

Words were repeated, rings were exchanged, and I'm pretty sure a pinky swear sealed the deal. Through the whole ceremony though, laughs. Bursts of laughter. Delight echoing off the walls of the church. Pure and unyielding happiness. It was everything you could ever want in a wedding and everything a marriage should be.

There was also a reception, complete with beer chugging contests, the Electric Slide, and even something we'll call 'dancing.' The details are fuzzy, thank god, but the feeling of having a blast is still crystal clear.

No, I did not learn that move from Elaine on Seinfeld. That is all mine.

Congrats Rubeskis. I love you!

Just in case.

Seems like my friends are having babies and losing their dads in freaky ratios right now, and since Shannon is 2cm dilated with Fitzgerald and my dad is out of town, I figured I'd better just tell my dad how much I love him.

So, Daddy, you know the biggest fish you ever caught? Well, I love you the size of the fish that eats the fish that eats the fish that eats that fish.

And I also love when you look at me like I'm crazy, which is why this is one of my favorite pictures of you of all time.

Greg, I love you too. Neither of you go dying on me, okay, because how my friends are getting through life without their dads is beyond me. I can't even talk about it.

Ya'll ain't gonna believe this.

I had a White Trash Party. It was real fancy.

 

We dressed up real nice and ate some extry yummy foods like macaroni salad and Manwich. They was also some Squeezy Cheese, which I ain't ate since a white water raftin' trip a few years back when me and my friends got into some trouble for play actin' too loud. I found some purty amazin' decorations for the house, some thangs from the Goodwill that I could not believe people had given away -- especially that kitty tray.

The reason we was havin' the party was cause one of my best friends, Sarah Smiley, had her birtday last Wednesday and I never get to celebrate her birthday with her. So we got to talkin' before her first trip to Africa (she just left for another 'un today, that world traveler) and me and her and Ruble decided she outta have done a keg stand once in her life and next thing we knowed, we was plannin' a white trash party.

It was lots of fun, complete with some backyard brawlin' and a truck pool. Yep, we did it riiiight. And we'll never do it again.

Yeah, there are some gaps. But there's this.

Bakers, Like, Totally

For whatever reason, when I come to LA to visit my in-laws I like to bake. It started a couple Christmases ago when I decided I wanted to try to make Bourbon balls as gifts for friends and former colleagues I'd be visiting, and since then it's sort of been something I do with help from Laila.

Together, Laila and I have made Christmas cookies, lemon meringue pie (a disaster!), coconut cream pie, and, most recently, carrot cake and red velvet cupcakes. I LOVE carrot cake and this recipe was just amazing, as was the accompanying recipe for cream cheese icing.

Laila is usually involved in the process at the very beginning and at the very end. Like I say, "Hmmm, what should we make?" and then once it's made, she comes in and decorates or eats, depending on what's necessary. This time she got extra crafty with the decorations on the cupcakes, adding squares of chocolate, chocolate shavings and even shredded coconut to the menu of toppings.

 Baking with Laila is definitely becoming one of my favorite LA traditions, right up there with Real Food Daily.

LA Familia

Mack and I got to hang with our rowdy neighbors a few days ago and I love these people like you would not believe.

They lived upstairs from us in Venice, and even though on the surface we look like complete opposites, hanging out with Bill and Sandra is like spending time with people I grew up with -- namely the Troyers, a group of brothers whose garages served as the backdrop for much of my childhood. They're loud, they cuss, they're tattooed, they're big drinkers, they're basically white trash, but they're good people, so good that they'd take your dogs to the vet even after they'd moved an hour away and you'd thrown shit on their sidewalk for years before that (true story). What you see is what you get, and that is my favorite character trait in people. Sure, they're rough around the edges -- who isn't -- but they are pure gold at their core.

They're originally from New York, but California has softened them. They're now vegetarians and recycling is a major priority. While we were hanging out, Sandra went outside to have a cigarette and their little girl, Sadie, started screaming in the squeakiest 3-year-old voice, "SMOKING IS BAD!! SMOKING IS BAD" Screaming it and chasing after her mom to make sure she got the message. Sadie is also a vegetarian. And a genius.

We taught her how to do the middle finger.

No, it's not good for a 3-year-old to give the middle finger, but it's also not good for a three-year-old to suck on a pacifier or not be potty trained, and Sadie doesn't do those things. She's not your typical kid, because her parents aren't your typical parents. That's why I like them so much. Some kids read Curious George; Sadie reads Pat the Zombie. Some kids watch Disney movies; Sadie watches horror movies. Some kids play with dolls; Sadie plays with snakes.

We got to see their new house, a fortress hidden behind a 30-foot-tall wall of bougainvillea. Sandra has a studio to do her makeup stuff, Billy has a workshop to do his motorcycle stuff, Sadie has a back yard to do her kid stuff. And in the midst of car parts, broken toys, and a janky tire swing, there's a beautiful garden, full of flowers and vegetables and solar powered lights. That yard is the perfect metaphor for these people.

Stop.

And smell these flowers I encountered on my walk the other day.

The Graduate

My very first time living in LA was when I came to live with Laila and her mom while her dad and Mack went to do Hurricane Katrina clean up. She had just started kindergarten, and when I came to live with her, she was still wearing sandals. It was November. 

She started getting a cough and her teacher gave orders that Laila was to start wearing socks and shoes. I was the designated enforcer, and I thought it would be a simple enough task to convince a 5-year-old that socks were amazing. And then I learned how hard parenting really is and that I didn't want to do it.

Laila was hilarious back then, coming up with expressions that have become a part of my daily vocabulary and central to our family dynamic even five years later. She's grown about 20 inches since kindergarten and officially passed up her mom in height and shoe size this year. She's a chatter box of preteen girl, and she chooses apps for her iPhone by searching "annoying" and "talking" in the App Store. She sometimes chews with her mouth open, and sometimes she is so beautiful you can't resist touching her face. 

Laila is 11 years old now, and she is officially done with elementary school. I am completely baffled as to how that is possible. 

Daddydudeday

Little Man in Training

Ben spent the night with me the other day, and while I taught him the term "jerk off" is synonymous with thieves and that when you're really angry, it's okay to beat the hell out of a tree, I did manage to work in some constructive lessons as well.

Last summer when he and Leiah stayed with me, I introduced Ben to doing dishes. He actually liked doing them, and I had a just-right stool that made it an easy enough task. This time, I figured it was time to teach him how to cook eggs.

I don't know what it is about eggs, but the men in my life seem to love them and have a real knack for cooking them. Mack can do a poached egg as well or better than the fanciest restaurant, and both his dad Tom and my dad Steve are masters of the fried egg. I even remember my real dad Greg cooking eggs when I was a little little kid, which is when I learned how to mash the fried egg for a magical egg slurry. Ben needs to be in on this Man Egg Club, which is why I helped him make his first batch of scrambled eggs.

If only he could make the coffee...

Anna Elizabeth Kelly. Yeah, I met her. Yeah, she stole my heart.

In the frenzy of life a couple weeks ago, I carved out a few hours and headed north to Cinci to meet Anna Elizabeth Kelly.

The first baby of one of my best friends, no one knew Anna was going to be an Anna until she arrived on May 14th... an early birthday present for me (thanks Jen!). Her parents are meticulous planners, so the fact that they didn't find out if they were having a boy or a girl basically means hell froze. I have no idea how Jen and Mike resisted knowing.

Anna was totally newborn when I met her, which means she was a gooey lump of limbs and sugar. I showed up during a diaper change, so I invited myself in and was treated to Anna's baby belly debut. She lost her button as I walked in, and I couldn't believe she was already that grown up.

Jen looked totally put together, as usual. She dressed Anna in a little kitty onesie and leopard print leggings and handed her over to Auntie Amber.

At which point, I turned into a blob of love and laid on the couch with a little piece of heaven on my chest.

Anna is such a good baby, so calm and cozy, literally a bundle of delicious goodness. I like a good baby, but what I like more than that is a baby with personality, and Anna was oozing personality at less than two weeks old. Just look at these facial expressions she's mastered in her short life... the pucker, the smirk, the whatchutalkinboutwillis, the fake sleep grin, the silencer, the happy baby. I'm telling you there will be a show someday called "That's so Anna."

I'd barely gotten my baby fix when I had to get on the road, so this is not the last you'll see of Anna. Jen and Mike have quite the Cincinnati lure now... seriously, look at these things.

Anna, it was so good to meet you, such medicine to hold you. I can't wait to teach you all sorts of funny faces as you grow up. Welcome to the awesome world of being a Taurus!

Just another explosive Monday.

A couple of Mondays ago I got a text from Mack: "Be careful coming home. Transformer in front yard about to explode. Avoid the front yard."

Totally normal, right?

Well, here's what happened.

Yeah, you see that tree laying on that powerline? That's coming out of our flowerbed. I'd been scoping the flower bed for poison ivy about a week prior to this event and noticed the base of the tree seemed hollow and rotten. When I mentioned it to Mack he was all, "It's fine. Look how healthy it is at the top. Totally alive."

Uh huh.

The landlords were in town so all we had to do was sit on the porch and watch as the tree guys weaved their buckets through power lines and cut that tree into firewood. It was pretty funny later when I got on Facebook and saw a lot of people wondering why there was no power downtown near Woodland Park. Oops.

Holy freaking tornado.

Still got it.

I have sooo much to write about but today was the first day that a dude ever gave me his number out of the blue so that trumps everything else. Not even my husband gave me his number out of the blue.

The guy today, let's call him Peacock Johnny, just happened to be the most impressive male specimen at the public pool. That doesn't sound like much, but in this case, he was hot. Leigh and I noticed him pretty much upon arrival, when we did our initial survey. Part of the appeal of the public pool is the people watching, and part of the appeal of the people watching at the public pool is the high volume of human disasters there. We are equal opportunity watchers, but when we see someone delicious, we act like good married women and stare at them without expression under the cover of our sunglasses.

Peacock Johnny knew he was hot, and he kept walking around the pool, getting in, getting out, walking around, laying out, getting in, etc. Leigh and I, we get in, we get out when it starts to smell like pee, we lay down once an hour. Peacock Johnny was all over the place, but, as I said, he was delicious to watch so we didn't mind.

I was wearing a bathing suit, like a good public pool patron, a fact that makes me getting a number from a hot guy all the more insane. It was a grandma-esque little number that I bought so my boobs would be contained while playing with Laila or Ben in the pool. Also so that I could play frisbee or other beachy fun games without grossing everyone out. It's from Lands End, it fits terribly, it's a tankini that looks like decorative elephant skin, it is strapless.

Guess who liked my "no strap" look? Yep, Johnny Peacock.

Of course we didn't talk to him or anything because at the pool we like to give off an air of superiority. While he was leaving, he walked up behind where we were sitting, did a little psssst, and handed me his digits through the fence. At which point I looked at Leigh and we high fived.

It took me 33 years to do it, I had to be married so it doesn't matter, but I finally got a number! And it was from a sexy beast!

(I just told Mack about it and he said, "I hope he likes the two black eyes look if he comes near my wife." No way Johnny Peacock is that funny.)