Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (a series)

Mack slumps into the house after a long day of school and discovers me hard at work on his computer. Reading stories.

"Babe, seriously, can we get some groceries?" he whimpers. "I really can't go to school all day and not eat."

I tenderly point out the fact that it's not the we don't have food... it's that he won't make it. If it doesn't come in a microwaveable bag or a banana peel, suddenly it ceases to exist.

Broken into a state of ludicrous from starvation, he turns into a crabby monster.

"Don't treat me like I'm a baby," he huffs.

"Stop acting like one and I won't," I tenderly retort.

"Get out of my face and don't talk to me the rest of the night."

Normally, I would have thrown some hate back in his face because that's what makes us happy, but he was hungry, and I know how hungry can make you insane.

Like when I'm hungry (or tired), I turn into this:
I tenderly stood up, left his computer, went into the kitchen and started cooking every morsel of food we had in the entire house. I made him two grilled cheese sandwiches, a dinner plate's worth of green beans, pasta salad with green beans, basil and tomatoes from our garden or my Aunt Becky's garden, potato salad and tuna salad. Then I went to the grocery store and replenished some of the snack stash, even throwing in a bag of hydrogenate-free chocolate chip cookies in the hopes that it would sweeten him up a little bit.

And that is why I earned an A+ in wife today.

I'm sad about this.

I love the scene in Cool Hand Luke where Paul Newman eats 50 eggs. In no way am I a film expert, but that scene is executed to perfection. The ludicrousness of the challenge, the humor of Luke's distended belly, the rallying prisoners -- it's tense and dramatic and comical all wound up together in a dreamy little package of time.How do you pay tribute to the life of a man like Paul Newman, a man who happily stayed married to his wife forever and who started an organic food movement long before it was cool? I think it starts with a bag of Newman-Os, a tall glass of milk and plans to escape.

Smooshie Muahs

I love being this close to other human beings. I love squashing our faces together and forgetting whose arm is whose and letting our heartbeats make sense of it all. Thanks to those of you who let me be this close to you. It makes this life worth living.

The Endorsement Series (Part 9 in a Series)

When I visit my mom and dad's house, I eat basically every nut they have in their house.

They have Everybody's Nuts Pistachios. Ate 'em. They have Blue Diamond smoked almonds. Devoured. They have Blue Diamond wasabi almonds. Well, they HAD wasabi almonds.

I just can't help it. Nuts are like salty crunchy goodness wads, and I am weak in the face of salty crunchy goodness wads.

I crunched through every nut in the house, and then, on the way to the airport, just when they thought their nuts were safe, I discovered the Blue Diamond Cinnamon Brown Sugar Almonds that my dad keeps in the console in the event that during his workday he realizes he's skipped 6 meals and is on the verge of a coma from improper nutrition. His near-death starvation couldn't even stop me from popping a handful into my mouth.

Come on, they taste like CHRISTMAS MORNING, people! A nut that is like Christmas. As if I could resist that.

Just go out, buy them, and hide them in a special place like a little squirrel does with its winter nuts. Deez nuts.

Making Messers

Leiah and Matt finally did it. No, they did that a LONG time ago. This time they did this.
During a whirlwind trip home to witness the nuptials and share my over-sized bosom with relatives I haven't seen in years, I think I managed to get in 11 hours of sleep.

The whole weekend was like a slurry of sassy comebacks, which basically means it was like a long weekend in heaven for me. I went out with Leigh and Heather to soak up some "Is that Sarah Palin?" glances. I got to have a beer with my cousins Isaac, Ryan, Nate, Andrea, and Taylor, all of whom I haven't seen in years and are even more fun as adults than they were as kids. Aunt Tina and Aunt Becky made my mom smile that way that only her sisters can make her smile, and I had an impromptu family reunion right outside the restroom with the Hensleys, who all seem to be gradually turning into Mimis and Pas. I think Magnolia actually emits light from her bright personality. Of course, Seth was there too... flunking on his ushering duties and trying to grow facial hair. I got to spend the night at Betsy's apartment and be jealous of her tiny furniture and her ability to make random feel orderly -- and I got to perform some big sister duties against some newly discovered larvae in her bedroom. I got to teach Ben the importance of the clink when toasting, even though he was drinking out of a sippy cup.

The only thing not perfect about the whole affair was the absence of Shan, Chaz and the Sweet Meat. But, they were huge parts of the story telling and big sources of pride for the rest of us, so while they weren't there in physical form, they were represented well by the words hanging in the air.
I talked too loud, I barked too many orders, I laughed too hard, I revealed too much, I generally overdid everything. It was like I was on Life Red Bull or something, and now, now that it's calm enough for me to bathe responsibly, I am sick. Like sinus pressure, hacking cough sick. Like the sick where your colleagues say, "Um, maybe you should go home," and you retort, in the voice of a 13 year old boy because that's all the voice you have left, "No, I'm okay. I've got some tea."

I wouldn't change it for the world.

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (A Series)

The room becomes filled with what can only be described as bombed by a Porta Potty.

Me: Did you just shit your pants?

Him: No, you were just ignoring what I was saying so I tried to communicate with smells. 

Never before in my life

Normally I steer clear of political discourse because I get too mad to listen to people who don't care about those less fortunate than them and I am admittedly far too uninformed to challenge their way of thinking. And, in my house, even though Mr. T & I live on the same political page, he is black and white and I tend to swim around in murkier realities. Then he gets exasperated at how rageless I am and I shut down at how rageous he is, and then I make a mental promise never to discuss politics again. Ever.

But lately, especially since the Democratic Convention, I have been smiling at the TV in ways that are usually reserved for episodes of Wife Swap. I have been doing my dishes to speeches that make me take my sudsy mitts into the living room to worship the orator. I have been moved to approach voter registration tables to thank the people for working to get others involved. I have felt a kinship to people who I'd normally have nothing in common with, and all of this has given me a sense of peace.

This is going to sound nuts, but Barack Obama does for me what I imagine Jesus does for others.

He inspires me to love my fellow humans, he makes me feel valuable, he gives me courage to be myself, he teaches me that truth and honesty are the best defense and the greatest unifiers, and he shows me that being friendly is heroic. He gives me hope.

I have a very unfounded but very present fear that the world may in fact end in the year 2012. I know it's ridiculous. I know it won't happen. But things are just so bad and there are just so many coincidences that point to 2012 and the environment is flashing a red alert and I don't even have an earthquake box ready! That little voice whispering, "Twenty Twelve!!!" in the back of my head won't shut up all the way and keeps me in a constant albeit low level state of freaked out.

But ever since Obama has taken the political stage, I feel like we've had a second coming. Like we've been given a bonus chance to get it right. I don't feel afraid, but rather feel optimistic, like we may just come out of this alright. We may just be able to keep loving those we love and breathing the air we've become accustomed to. We may just settle down and stop running all frenzied until we die. We may start taking care of ourselves and stop being so damn greedy.

I have voted in every election I have been old enough to vote in, but never before have I been motivated to do much beyond that -- beyond placing my fate in someone else's hands even though I know it's really up to me and me alone. Unfortunately we have created a situation where I am not enough anymore -- and I am hard working, college educated, healthy, blessed beyond belief. I can't pay down my student loans because they've done nothing but accumulate interest since I got out of school. I can't afford to add my husband to my health insurance policy because it would prohibit us from paying our rent. I am not enough, and something needs to change so that those who are hard working, college educated, healthy and blessed beyond belief won't have to feel that they aren't enough.

Obama represents that change to me. His is the first campaign that I have donated to (meagerly yet always significantly appreciated). He is the first presidential nominee that made me want a campaign T-shirt. He is the first candidate that I have actually wanted -- and trusted with my well being.

Vote Obama.

Take This Milton Keynes!

Charles is always so braggy about England's impromptu witch hunts and strange festivals where they give babies dirty cats to chew on, so I wanted to share a little of what goes down in Venice, where I live, and where strange happens basically every weekend. And, I'm doing it in comic form because I know how Charles LOVES a Chick Tract!

Partying Down with the Virgo Babies

One of my best friends and my favorite nephew both have birthdays in September, so when the two collided on my front stoop on Labor Day Weekend, we had choice but to throw a party.

Sadie, the creepy monster who lives upstairs with her mom and dad and security dog, is turning 1 on Sept. 12, and Ben, the love machine with the goldilocks and shark chompers, is turning 2 on Sept. 15. I believe birthdays should be celebrated for an entire month, and the only way to teach the kids that is to start them early. That's where I come in.

I may have spoiled it for the rest of you by getting first dibs on the party, but I got what I want, and the squirts got what they wanted, so we win.
[Note: this is a slideshow from that Smilebox thing. It's admittedly more annoying/less cool than the scrapbook thing, but I wanted to try it. The pictures are cute enough to make you watch all the way through, though.]

Scrapbooking

[Note: I got a free copy of this scrapbook/slideshow software called Smilebox when I was at BlogHer. It's normally $40 for a subscription, and then a few bucks extra for music options and ad-free slideshows and photo albums. It's very cute software, so if you like it, now you know how to get it.]

Precious Moments

There are several things that are incredible about the following. First, Ben is voluntarily on the sand. Secondly, he is having fun on the sand. Thirdly, Leiah did not vomit despite spinning round and round and round. Fourthly, I restrained myself and did not right then and there kidnap that angel baby and flee to Mexico.

A Letter to John McCain

Dear John,

I don't think you're a bad guy. In fact, as far as Republicans go, you've always seemed somewhat mild mannered and reasonable. If I shared a table with you at a wedding, I wouldn't find it altogether miserable, and I certainly wouldn't rub my armpit on your chair and swab my crotch with your napkin, which is what I think Republicans usually deserve (except Jennifer, who I love). But as a presidential candidate?

John, come on. You're turning 100 years old soon. You admit you don't use the Internet. You've got that weird thing where your arms are stuck like Barbie's, which I'm sure is probably from all that torture you survived but it's still weird looking. You're not bad; you're just not right.

I don't deny that you are an asset to the United States, that you have served more and better than I would be willing to, that you make the Republican Party (except Jennifer, who I love) seem less insane and evangelical. But this presidential campaigning is just wearing you out.

It doesn't help that the guy you're running against is not only charismatic and charming and brilliant and deliberate and affirming and confident and stoic, but he's also young and sexy. Well, younger and sexy. When you try to come off as young and hip against Obama, you look older than ever. And it hurts me to watch, especially when all those idiots in your party (except Jennifer, who I love and who is not an idiot) start whining on your behalf after they've made you do things they couldn't stand up to the scrunity of.

So, pack up your dignity, hold onto your self respect, go back to being a rational right winger, and act your age. It'll help you save face, I promise.

Love,
Miss Thomas

Move Over, Beethoven

I know it may sound like I'm bragging, but I'm pretty convinced Bam Bam is a prodigy. Whether he'll make David Beckham look like a ballerina or make Bob Dylan look like a suburban emo only time will tell, but right now, at the ripe old age of almost 2, he masters everything he touches. 

It's kind of freaky to watch, but then I remember he does have my DNA, and it all makes a little more sense. 

Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (A Series)

"Hmmm, lunch... lunch... what should I pack for lunch? Oh, I know, there's half a lasagna left from last night. I'll grab a bit of that."

[opens refrigerator; doesn't see lasagna anywhere; spots empty container picked apart by vulture man on counter top; eyes fall out of head in disbelief that a single human being can ingest that much lasagna as a midnight snack]

"Or not."

[heads off to work with the leftover salad that was completely untouched during the husband binge-fest]

I saw a perverted old woman... At Last

I love the Hollywood Bowl and I love Etta James, so when Etta decided to perform at the Bowl last week, it was basically the universe telling me to go, love, and smoosh it all together into a fun patty.

Paolo Nutini opened up the night, and if he wasn't so sweaty I'd be writing a marriage proposal right now. His songs were purely happy, and he kind of reminded me of the Beatles, only Scottish, a little drunk, and a little nerdier. As he rotated off the stage, Solomon Burke rotated on. The man showed up sitting on a throne big enough to hold an elephant and did not stand up one single time... because he was the size of an elephant. His voice was Barry White sultry though, so the love amped up so much that Mr. T had to remind me that he was the husband and as such, he should be putting his arm around me and secretly getting to second base.

Sometimes I forget.

Things were getting all lovey dovey touchy feely when Madam Blues took the stage. Since she's pushing 70 years old, she sort of hobbled out and immediately sat down on her hip replacement friendly stool. We also settled in to listen to her tell us how it is and were then treated to some of the creepiest old lady porn I've seen in... well... my whole life.

For some reason, possibly because she is crazy, she came out and rubbed herself. Her lower self. And then her upper self. And then she flicked her tongue around the microphone as if to say, "Hey there young boys, there's nothing but magic under these dentures."

It was so bizarre that whenever she made an advance on herself, the entire Bowl responded with gasps of horror and bursts of laughter. I couldn't look away because I could barely believe it was really happening.

Thanks to my FanciPhone, I was able to capture the moment in this triptych I call "Please. God. No." And now, you too, can experience Etta at last.

Things to Do in Austin when You're Drunk (part 2 of a series)

South Congress is a pretty notorious part of Austin, and after you've gorged yourself on Guero's, South Congress becomes a nice little stretch of asphalt that will aid in your digestion.

The strip has a lot of kitchy shops and restaurants, but unfortunately, it doesn't have a lot of trees. You're basically the egg frying on the sidewalk in August unless you learn how to hug the wall like Sarah does.
We wandered into vintage and antique shops with dusty old photos of people who are way past dead but who looked like they had a really nice life. I love old black and white snapshots of people. If it wouldn't be so incredibly weird, I'd like to make a family album of the pictures I really like and pretend that those are my ancestors and make up stories about them. Maybe in my secret life I will do that, but for now I'll let Shan be the primary weirdo in our clan.

Among the chandeliers, old farm equipment, feathered hats, tiny shoes, dishes and word cards that defined the four of us as Slow, Creak, Nerve and Prize, Kristin and I found a child's memory box. I had never seen one of those before. Since it's likely you haven't either, let me explain.

Apparently in the olden days, affluent parents liked to preserve their child's youth by collecting DNA samples and storing them in a velvet lined box. A lock of brown hair snaked around five little brown teeth in this particular box... and it was nasty. Interesting and mysterious, but nasty.

If I ever do become a parent, I must resist my pack rat tendencies and NOT save body pieces shed by my child. And if I simply have to keep these souvenirs, I must resist the temptation to put it all in a fancy box to make it seem special and not gross.

Since skin cancer was starting to materialize on Sarah's delicate skin, we called an end to our casual browsing and took refuge at a Doc's Motor Works Bar & Grill. Doc's was like a BW3s, only automotive. The beers were cold, brewed locally and called Fireman's #4. Just the way we like 'em.

Things to Do in Austin when You're Drunk (a series)

How Ruble, Sarah, Kristin and I managed to find the most incredible hangouts in Austin is either a testament to our abilities to sniff out good times or a clear indicator that Austin qualifies as one of the best cities in the United States.

Breathe now, because that sentence was a doozy.

It took us almost a year to the day for us far-flung friends to make it to the same geography, but it was worth the wait. We were barely off the plane an hour and we were sipping margaritas and eating queso at Guero's. A guy on the plane next to Kristin said he was going there as soon as he got out of the airport, so if he was that devoted, it must be a place worth devotion. Yeah, it was.
I was surprised to see how vegetarian friendly Austin actually was. I expected it to be like Dallas only worse, because Austin is known for its barbecue. Instead, I found veggie versions of practically everything. Which I'm sure I would have enjoyed if I wasn't already about to explode from all the queso I drank.

So, add Austin to your list, and at the top, write in Guero's. Also at the top, write "Hot as Hell... DO NOT bring your favorite hoodie."

I needed this today.

Ahh, the Torches of Freedom

Shannon, as we're pulling into Lake Charles for the first time: "Look at all the pollution. They're just burning it right into the air."

Mom, trying to look on the bright side: "Those are the Torches of Freedom, girls."

Shannon, after a long pause and five more sightings of burning pollution tubes: "Why are there so many of them?"

The Lake Charles Skyline

Annie's

I think we were on Common Street. I never did learn my way around since Lake Charles has grown so much since the last time I was there. It actually has several Starbucks now.

The place looked like a roadside shack, where genuine drinkers go to ease the pain, and as we past it I said, "We've got to go there."

Liz knows all about Annie's. Apparently she stayed there one night easing her pain and had Amy pick her up -- from the bar -- the next morning to catch a flight to Kentucky. That's what Annie's does. It sucks you in and gives you a place to wallow.

I'd left my ID in my suitcase with my boarding pass, so getting a beer wasn't as breezy as I thought it was going to be. The bartender refused to serve me even after I explained the ID traveling 30 years old story, when a woman three stools over asked me where I was visiting from. I told her California, Los Angeles, and that when we'd drove by earlier I'd told Liz we had to stop here and get a beer. The woman, Bonnie, called me over to "get a look" at me, had me take off my glasses, and okayed me for a beer. Since she was the owner, the bartender reluctantly complied, but not before a few cuss words were thrown around the room.

The bartender was a bitch. But Bonnie was awesome.

She'd been running Annie's for 26 years and had been living in Lake Charles for 40. As she explained, she was a "coon ass by injection." She'd named the bar for her grandmother, who used to go into bars in the days when women would cross the street to avoid walking in front of them. Bonnie called her a feminist. I understood.

Liz said I had to see the bathroom before we left, so I made my way to the back and, after a confrontation with a beetle the size of King Kong, went into the ladies room. It reminded me of my grandma's basement, where all the retired furniture and velvet paintings went to live. Delightfully tacky, yet refined, if you will.

We had to leave to meet up with Amy, but Bonnie told us to stop by on Saturday night for karaoke. She said things really get rolling at around 2:30... a.m. Good to know for the next time I visit Lake Charles.