The boy and boobs in the Big Easy. Not my boobs, though.

New Orleans is THE city for the Pterodactyl, mainly because of the liberal scattering of boobs. Regular boobs, cartoon boobs, enormous voluptuous boobs, painted boobs. Blue boobs. We walked through the French Quarter the other day, and he was agog. He kept tugging on his little sister’s sweater, screeching, “OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THAT ONE!” Then I had to be all, Don’t say God! Say gosh! “So I guess he’s not gay,” someone said. Because gay men have noRead more

Who am I again? Remind me.

See here. Let’s talk about me for a while. I’m not really myself around the holidays. For starters, the stress of all this expectation (did you read last week’s post?) renders me emotionally paralyzed. I don’t know what to buy people. I don’t know how much to spend. I browse online stores for hours looking for the perfect gifts for friends and families, and quit when I get a headache. Then I wake up the Saturday before Christmas and think,Read more

Regarding the world not revolving around me: What?

Remember that promise I made to blog every day this week? No? Whatever. Blame Hot Firefighter Husband, whose “flu” was just a gross cold that he gifted to me. Happy Birthday, me! I’m really trying to rally because we’re leaving for New Orleans Saturday and I need to squeeze in at least two hard workouts before then so I’ll feel STRONG enough to face Holiday Drama. “Would you rather face it sick?” asked Husband. That’s a stupid question. Obviously I’dRead more

I’m THANKFUL for one of the seven deadly sins. Guess which one?

Happy Thanksgiving. To celebrate, we will head south to BFF’s house, and I only have to cook one thing. BOO-yah, especially since the condo culinary gear consists of decorative wooden utensils and a pasta scoop. First, however, we will all run the annual Turkey Trot, which we do every year. It’s a hilarious fun time and we only have to run a half-mile, which makes it extra fun. Everybody who finishes gets a pie, because Publix grocery donates all ofRead more

‘Tis the season to watch the calendar.

Every year around this date, I become a little frightened of time. Until now, I slog through the days like they’re cold oatmeal and I’m a twig. But here comes October and suddenly it’s Halloween and the costumes haven’t been ordered and the next day it’s Thanksgiving and then KABOOM, Santa has come and gone and we never did send out Christmas cards. I hate that panicked feeling, which is common among those of us who are organizationally challenged. It’sRead more

Vacation Odyssey V: The (long long long long) Road Home

When we left Cape Cod, we drove to Northampton, Massachusetts, to visit one of my oldest, dearest friends. We stay in touch via email, but we hadn’t seen each other in years. She had never met the Tyrant! What? Everyone should meet the Tyrant, and watch her dance inappropriately to that new Robin Thicke song, which is my new go-to tune for feeling all BOO-yah. Have you seen the video? Wowser. It makes me feel warm and cozy inside, andRead more

Rules for making summer bearable

At the beach this morning, my big toe got hooked by the wrong end of a fisherman’s discarded line. By the time I pulled out the rusty hook, blood had begun to pool. “MOM,” screamed the Tyrant. “YOU’RE BWEEDING!” About 20 yards away, three fishing dudes were packing up to leave. I assumed the hook, line and sinker belonged to them, and I marched over there to act all belligerent and righteous. I feigned a limp as I approached, andRead more

The State of the Estate, re: Mother’s Day

The kids had so much fun throwing the bright blue bags of dog poop up on the roof that I didn’t even get angry. Then Hot Firefighter Husband had a long work stretch and the bags sat there for three days. Six of them. Full. Of. Poop. But as a special Mother’s Day present, Husband climbed up on the roof and retrieved the shit from the shingles, by which point the wafting aroma had permeated the back deck. Like aRead more

My Valentine’s Day tribute to love, and martyrdom

St. Valentine’s Day originated as a pagan celebration of the Roman god Lupercus. At the annual Lupercalia festival, a young man drew the name of a young woman who then became his sexual companion for the year. How cool would it be if it was a voluntary lottery! Like, if the young man was all Johnny Depp-like, women (or men? It was Rome, after all…)  could buy more lottery tickets. And then the girl who got chosen could be all,Read more

New Orleans childhood redux

In New Orleans, my parents live right behind a levee tasked with the dubious job of holding in Lake Pontchartrain. Each morning, they drink coffee while gazing at the large green hill and watching the seagulls drift in the wind. You can’t see the lake – the levee blocks it from view – but you can sense its looming presence. You can smell it. When I was growing up, the levee was a short walk away. Sometimes we went thereRead more