Archive for June, 2006
-image-Guster: all around us, like cat dander and secondhand smoke
Except I LOVE Guster, and they don’t try to kill me like the other two.
Three Guster fun facts for you this Friday before a fake holiday weekend, and by “fake holiday weekend,” I am not saying Independence Day is fake but with the Tuesday holiday and some evil employers (yes, I could give you a link here to my husband’s company, but I don’t want him to be Dooced by association) not giving Monday as a holiday, yet forcing employees to take a day from their puny vacation bank, THAT, my friends, makes for a fake holiday weekend. NOT that I’m bitter or anything. Me? Never! BUT back to the fun facts:
UNO: Did I mention their latest album is OUT? I think I might have in a previous post. Did I mention that for some sick reason, we still don’t own a copy of said album? STILL? This is mindBLOWING. I take full responsibility. It is because of that damned lost credit card (which Mr. Squirrel had used to purchase two copies to be signed and delivered last week) and then a misplaced email. Anyway, the CDs are on the way, and my postman must think I want him, because I’ve been hanging around the front porch, looking all happy and anxious. Trust me, I don’t want the mailman. The UPS guy, on the other hand…
DOS: What are you doing this summer? Besides securing your tickets to come visit us, listening to Guster or sending me gobs of money so I can find a suitable daycare for Jojo (don’t you want Jojo to be cared for by the best?), you should be watching Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. I seriously pee myself once per episode…at least! Sometimes more! And didja SEE the episode when she, Matt and the others were starting their tour (of comedy, not duty) in Iraq? Did YOU, like me (trained Guster observer), notice the female soldier wearing this guster tee while getting Kathy’s autograph? PAY ATTENTION. I know you’re easily distracted by masturbation jokes and men (or women) in uniform, but eyes on the prize, people. Yeah, I don’t know if that phrase really fits here, but work with me.
TRES: I do love me the Spanish language. AND new tv shows in the summertime! I’m TiVoing a new show called “Psych” on USA because I love love love Dule Hill (he was Charlie on “The West Wing*”) and check out his character’s last name! Coincidence? I think not.
*and if someone can PLEASE explain how and why “The West Wing” got canned but “ER” is still hanging around when it is SO played and over and done and RIDICULOUS and every single commercial for every single BRAND NEW “you’ll never BELIEVE what is going to happen” EPISODE sends me into convulsions?!?!
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:25 am |
-image-A Tiny Look Into My Life…via 2 senses
Things that Taste Bad
1. no salt cottage cheese. Yes, shocking. For many, just the thought of cottage cheese alone is vomit-worthy, but to leave out that fantastic element of salt…why? Well, because one of my many child-rearing advice books recommended this as a great first food for Jojo. Jojo disagrees. And after tasting it myself, I concur. The paste I ate in second grade was MUCH tastier.
2. any baby food vegetable product. Another shocker, I realize. But MAN, pureed peas by Gerber taste like the peas mashed in a used ashtray. They don’t smell all that hot either, so I guess I should cross-list them under Things That Smell Bad, too.
3. frozen Eggo waffles. Because sometimes, I figure that third waffle, which I have to toast after the first two, will get warmer by sandwiching it between the 2 well-toasted ones. So in my morning haze to GET FOOD NOW, I impatiently flip up the lever and put it between the others and well, it’s not done. Not close to done. It’s still icy and not at all tasty. Then I get pissy and just throw it all away. I could really use a personal chef.
Things that Smell Bad
1. Dirty towels and bibs. No, not any dirty towels, mind you. I speak of the ones which I use thrice daily to clean up Jojo’s meals…off his highchair tray, off the floor and off of his hands and face. And off the chair. Myself. His hair. His eyelids. You catch my drift. The towels are actually cloth diapers, but I didn’t want to confuse you with that obvious foul-smelling treat (which, hello? I do NOT use cloth diapers in that way.). But really… I throw them downstairs when I’m done, and 99.9% of the time, I haven’t shaken or rinsed them out. So they pile up at the bottom of our basement stairs and fester. But you can’t really smell them. So they sit. And grow each day until a few days pass and I finally head downstairs, sort them into one of three laundry bags and let them fester some more. And THEN, when I finally do decide to do some laundry, I have to reach into the soggy mess and OH DEAR LORD the stench. Gooey graham cracker, mushy half-digested puffy snacks and an assortment of (days old) pureed vegetables and fruits…oh mercy.
2. Well, it took a few days to discover, but apparently our stovetop. Oh seriously, you are going to think we live like pigs, if you don’t already. This could also be listed under a separate header entitled “We are dumbasses” or “Cooking Tip No. 1.”
SO, yet another child-rearing book, this one about feeding your baby, suggested thickening the pureed foods with instant mashed potato flakes to increase Jojo’s ability to eat thicker food. Immediately, I went out in the stroller to the neighborhood co-op and purchased, for the first time ever, mashed potato flakes. I was psyched. What a good mom am I? We tried it the first night, and alas, Jojo hated the thickened sweet potatoes. We haven’t tried it since. I know, not too smart. We should try it again. Instead, I found myself suggesting mashed potatoes as the side dish to EVERY meal we had there for a week or so. The first time I made them, I misread the directions on the back of the package and added the milk before boiling the water, salt and butter. My husband said it wasn’t going to be a problem, and they would taste fine, so I continued cooking. Naturally, because I’m a sucktacular cook and always trying to do 3 things at once, I let the pot boil over. No biggie. This happens alll the time. But not when milk is mixed with water. Because then, people, THEN, the mixture settles into a pool beneath the coils/stovetop. The rather large bog of milky water sat there, festering, gathering stench and finally, the fumes of sour and rot, wafted upwards into our lives. I took out the trash. I sprayed Lysol. It took several days of “GOD what SMELLS in here?” to figure out the Bog of Stench lived in our kitchen. OH MAN that was nasty. It had kind of curdly edges and a thickened consistency that just should not have been.
Now who wants to come visit? Poodle and Sweets…did you get refundable tickets?
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:00 pm |
-image-What would happen…
if you typed in the word “asshole” to Google search and clicked “I’m feeling lucky?”
You may not want to do this if you’re at work and don’t have volume control. Or you’re a fan of W.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
7:16 am |
-image-Desperately Seeking Daycare
Sweet cheeses have I been procrastinating on finding daycare for Jojo. This recent post didn’t help my desire to place Jojo with a stranger, needless to say.
Here has been my search thus far:
Daycare Option Numero Uno: Woman Down The Street, recommended by my neighbor (who disclaimed the fuck out of the recommendation…”but you should interview her yourself/trust your gut/do a check/ask for references/but she seems really nice…”). I met this woman and her 4 year old. I’ve walked by her house several times– huge backyard with lots of fun toys and three (3) yappy pugs. I’m not sure about the dog situation. That’s where my gut comes into play. The woman claims that the dogs are never allowed near the babies, and when I was in her home carrying Jojo, the dogs were jumping up on my legs and scratching the crap out of them. I hate that. And one of the dogs she claimed was “jealous.” Jealous and dogs = future bites in my book. If it weren’t for the dogs, this would be a slam dunk. And yesterday, when I walked by, there were TWO MORE dogs (big barking yellow labs) in her backyard. What is this, Animal Farm? Ugh, am I being ridiculous because I’m not comfortable around dogs?
Daycare Option Numero Dos: Family Daycare Provider, found via NY government childcare agency. Has a dog (a boxer/PIT BULL mix). X She smokes, but is trying to quit: “but I don’t smoke in the house.” XX Well at least there are no guns in the house…I mean there “ain’t no guns.” She thought that was a great question: “ain’t never been asked that before.” Strike tres. XXX Movin’ on…
Daycare Option Numero Tres: Family Daycare Provider, found via NY gov’t childcare agency. Rude, sullen female adult (daycare provider’s daughter) answers the phone. Daycare provider has an opening. Also has initial suspicious tone with me when she comes to the phone; then, she perks up. I’m guessing she wants to be paid in cash; no receipts. No pets. No smokers. No guns. Watches a 3yr and 4 yr old in addition to her grandchildren (with her sullen daughter’s help?). This is getting tiring.
Daycare Option Numero Quatro: Family Daycare Provider, found via NY gov’t childcare agency. Answered the phone politely, no screaming kids, no bad grammar. No openings. Keep on trucking, Mrs. Squirrel…
Daycare Option Numero Cinco: Family Daycare Provider, found via NY gov’t childcare agency. Great part of town and close to our house. VERY friendly upon answering the phone and used perfect grammar (not that I’m the best speaker obviously, but I don’t want Jojo to sound like W an idiot. Oh joys. No openings naturally, but she did have a recommendation for me, so I’ll follow that lead.
I need a break. My neighbor stopped over to return the bike helmet I loaned her, and I told her my morning investigations… she has a few more recommendations but needs to make calls first to see if people have openings. There’s still hope. I’m going to branch out from looking at family daycares and try some daycare centers where there are several caretakers instead of one; obviously, more kids and more germs. But, no pitbulls. Wish us luck.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
9:57 am |
-image-It Came From UPS
Finally. And… I guess my husband was right. I probably wouldn’t have guessed that this is the “perfect gift*“ for me or that he would have ever ordered from this store. The segment about this on NPR must have been terribly funny, because even if he had found himself at the mall (ha!) and wandered into this store (chortle *gasp*), he definitely would not have picked up this book and leafed through it. BUT, to his credit, it is funny. I have laughed outloud. And the writing is kind of my cup of tea, so I can see why he would think I’d like it.
*My husband asked me to add the asterisk and EXPLAIN (how did he know I would talk about this here?) after our conversation last evening. He claims never to have said it was the “perfect gift.” Here’s a conversation recap:
Mr. Squirrel: So, do you like the book?
Mrs. Squirrel: Yes, it’s funny. I can see why you thought I would like it. It’s my type of writing and humor. But I don’t know if it the “perfect gift for me.” (behavior disclaimer: I had to say something to correct this misperception for future gift giving occasions. You may think I’m an ungrateful bitch. That’s fine. But you haven’t seen some of the weird things I’ve opened on holidays past.)
Mr. Squirrel: No, it’s not the perfect gift, but I never said it was.
Mrs. Squirrel: Yes, you did.
Mr. Squirrel: No, I didn’t.
Mrs. Squirrel: Yes, you came home all excited and told me you found me the “perfect gift!” I remember these things.
Mr. Squirrel: No, I said it was a good* gift. (I can’t exactly type out how this word was pronounced, but the inflection and tone indicated that the gift was ok– nothing special. Kind of like when you’re trying to find something nice to say about a piece of rubbery yet edible chicken that your spouse cooked, so you’re like “at least the center is nice and white instead of pink like last time…” NOT that Mr. Squirrel cooks chicken poorly. This is just a made-up scenario. And no actual chickens were harmed or under- or over-cooked.)
So poor Mr. Squirrel. He is embarrassed and vehemently denies ever saying the book was the PERFECT gift. Fine. It was still sweet to think of me and order the book, right?
AND in case hell freezes over and my husband stumbles upon the blog, I’ll list a few true “perfect gifts” for me at this time in my life:
1. A day at the spa followed by one night ALONE at a beautiful hotel or inn (not one where I’d have to be chatty with other guests or where schnauzers sporting sweaters roam the halls) with a big comfy bed TO MYSELF where I could sleep alll night, uninterrupted by Jojo who now can pull himself up to a standing position and then screams because he can’t lie back down. lordy.
2. Anything from my amazon.com wishlist which my husband knows about yet ignores. And these are things I want. I covet. I would NOT return! I promise.
3. See perfect gift item number 1. Repeat weekly.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
10:06 am |
-image-SERIOUSLY this time– a quickie & a haircut
The little girl from next door was gushing over Jojo again today (and being gentle) and she told my mom “I bet everyone who meets Jojo loves him.”
It’s the loveliest sentiment about my son I’ve ever heard.
—————————
And yes, another haircut! Yay summer:
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:05 pm |
-image-quickie
A quick recap of my mom’s visit so far…
Yard work. Lots of backbreaking yardwork and very expensive perennials (are those the kind I kill within a week or do I get a few months to string them along before dehydrating them to death?). My mom is the Energizer Bunny. She just keeps weeding and digging and picking up sticks and oh lord woman sit down and watch tv with me. I’m exhausted. But our yard looks great. I must say.
Squirrel and the Sassy Sailors. I’ve only swore in front of my mom like three times! Because I’m so mature and classy, I only used this phrase once: “I’m not fucking criticizing you.” Hmmm… looking back, that seems rather critical. Irony. Done.
Guster. Hello people. Their new CD comes out TODAY. WHY DON’T I HAVE A COPY YET IN MY CALLOUSED PALM? Yeah I don’t know either. Probably because I’m too busy pulling up roots (and thus killing the trees in my yard) to plant these lily things, transplanting other lily type plants and saying this FAR too often “I don’t know, mom. You’re the gardener. Whatever you think…” But back to Guster. My husband and I gushingly adoringly love them. And I thought I’d just plug ‘em. Check them out, especially if they’re coming to a town near you…based on my Google Maps of people checking out my blog, here’s a quick rundown of Guster shows for you:
Minneapolis: 7/7 (don’t worry, I know at least Sweets and Poodle have the good sense to have already purchased tickets. From personal experience at this event in years past, may I strongly suggest sunscreen. For the rest of you TwinCitian readers, purchase. tix. now! You have been warned…)
Seattle: 6/25
Brooklyn: 7/12
Chicago: 7/28
Austin: 9/15
Singapore: ok, so Guster isn’t hitting Singapore this time around, but you can still order their CDs online. And, I’m pretty certain the reader from Singapore hit my site by accident.
The Canary Islands: again, alas, Guster cannot make it this tour. But the Canary Islands lurker has hit more than once…may I ask? Is it you, Adriana? Are you still taking in college students back home and setting out their breakfast the night before to ensure those little loaf-shaped muffins are rock hard by dawn? Just checkin’.
Squirrely Neighbor Kids. I know YELLING BOY is a favorite of many, and he was back. But he wasn’t even the most obnoxious today. No, that would be 7yroldboy’s little sister (who is 4 and “independent”. I’ll call her LittleSis.) who really wanted to push Jojo in his swing and … I’m just shaking my head with the bad bad memories … was pushing SO hard and jerkily (like stopping the swing in mid-arch) and poor little Jojo was like being windblown and then being whiplashed and I’m trying not to be a mama bear and BITE LittleSister’s head completely off, because there was their mom, YELLING BOY’s mom, my mom, and two other neighbor kids alllll whippin’ around my backyard because the kids couldn’t swim in my neighbor’s pool because apparently the birds were shitting on the cover, which then leaked into the pool. So then they decide to come over and terrorize my son. My mom, who is a trained professional with children, said Jojo was fine and calm down. But my eyes were glued to his face and any sign of trouble (or snappage of neck because seriously, how many times do I have to say “let’s not push him so hard” or “gentle, LittleSister” or “ok, let’s not stop the swing and SNAP HIS LITTLE NECK FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST FLUFFY KITTENS YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE RASCAL!”) and I was going to freak the fuck out. That went well. Yep. I’m not putting him in the swing anymore when they’re home. Because it was out of control. And then, 7yroldboy got in the swing and then YELLING BOY jumped on the back, and if that swing comes down, I swear to GOD I’m going to go shit in their pool. Why do the kids freak out at my house? Take your circus back to the Pool of Poop, ok? bye.
SO that concludes my QUICK update of things thus far. And really, that was a quickie. There’s so much more. But alas, you probably have fallen asleep. Or left. Or shot yourself in the hopes that my blathering nonsense would finally cease. And so. Goodbye. For now.
OH SHIT. But first: NO! No, the package (”perfect gift” from my husband) has not arrived. I KNOW. I know. Trust me. You will know. Unless it’s something awful and embarrassing, then I may need more time to make up something cool and perfect to share with you. Kidding.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
9:21 pm |
-image-Not Just Because…
My husband came home earlier in the week and excitedly announced “I have found your Mother’s Day gift!”
Uh…??
“I know, I know. But it’s PERFECT, and I didn’t know what to get you for Mother’s Day so now I’m going to get you this.” He went straight to the office, turned on the computer and began searching for this mystery gift. It cannot be found on amazon.com. He heard about it on NPR during a segment on great Father’s Day gifts. It’s a book. That’s all I know. He actually wanted to buy “a lot of them — we can give them out as Christmas gifts!” But then he decided to check out mine and see if it’s really THAT FABULOUS.
I have NO STINKING IDEA what this book is. Or what it’s about. He said I would never in a million years guess what it is or from where it was purchased, so (hello?) that’s a challenge. Is it not?
“Ferrets R Us?” No.
“CatFancy.com?” No.
“Wal-Mart?” No.
“The Bill O’Reilly Fan Club Store?” No.
“ballsofshit.com?” Maybe…
So, I guess it’s going to come in on Tuesday. I’m doing my very bestest NOT to check the local NPR website for recent segments on Father’s Day gifts. It’s difficult. I’m one of those people who look for my Christmas gifts. It’s driving me a tad batty.
And then… I realized (thanks to another blogger’s kind Father’s Day well-wishes to Mr. Jojo) that YES indeed-io, Mr. Jojo himself WOULD be home on Father’s Day because his out-o-town work schedule had changed. DUH and doh– I had to get a gift now instead of later in the week. Rest assured, worried friends, I picked up some tool thing at Home Depot that my husband not so subtly mentioned he would like “for Christmas” (bah, good try. I know you want it now…). And bonus with purchase — there’s a spankin’ new Starbucks going in across the street from the Home Depot. Next door to the Dunkin Donuts. But still. I love them both.
So, my husband is heading out tomorrow morning, but before then, GIFTS and PANCAKES and lots of wet sloppy kisses from me & Jojo. Yay! My husband, as those of you who know him, is an amazing man. He’s brilliant, humble, funny, quirky, passionate and kind. This translates into me scoring a fantastic, loyal and loving husband. And most important to me… it means Jojo has a caring, fun, adoring, proud father who flies him around the house, swings him in the backyard, walks him around the house Quasimodo-like, reads him stories, soothes his bumps, splashes with him in the tub and loves every inch of him. We are so fortunate.
Happy Father’s Day to all the fabulous dads out there.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:12 pm |
-image-I’m feeling the heat
people. My mom is en route, and I’m freaking OUT because our house is a sty, the laundry is not done, Jojo wouldn’t go down for a nap like he usually does and I haven’t posted and I have so much to report. BAH the pressure.
Some random crap that’s on my mind that I have to get out before I take a blogging break while my mom’s here (because seriously, she cannot find out I have a blog):
Poodles and Sweets…No, not poodles… I mean, don’t send me hate mail. Dogs are fine. They’re not cats, right? My friend Cindy has a sweet poodle. But then, our neighbors had a poodle who tore through our garbage. So I’m kind of up in the air…but my FRIEND whose nickname is Poodle. I heart her big time. If there is a casbah nearby, she rocks it. Hard. Not that I know what a casbah is. And Sweets. I do love me some Sweets. And again, Sweets is a nickname for another friend of mine. She’ll probably not like my cat comment, but she understands. She’ll forgive me…or at least pretend to forgive me then leave a cement-like cat turd under my pillow when she comes to visit. YES, that’s my CURRENT reason to LOVE Poodle and Sweets– because they are COMING TO VISIT ME FROM THE TWIN FRICKIN CITIES and GOING WITH ME TO THE DIXIE CHICKS CONCERT!!!! Can you tell I’m excited? I’M YELLING! YAY! I LOVE THEM and am so excited. Plus, now I don’t have to whine any more about not going to the Chicks’ show. CUZ I am going with two of my bestest friends!
Prince on the ABC morning show… here are a couple of lowlights. First, the cameraman didn’t know which person was Prince when he and the dancers/singers walked out, so they followed this petite brunette woman in a white suit and shoulder length bob until finally…figured out Prince was the petite brunette in the lilac colored suit. The first song he sang sounded like a Gloria Estefan remix… that’s not a good thing. It’s about getting on a boat, which reminds me of singing “ROCK THE BOAT DON’T ROCK THE BOAT BABY!” to Suzanne. Because who doesn’t love that song? Well, besides Suzanne. He and his feisty chicas also sang/gyrated to “Let’s Go Crazy.” That was pretty fantastic, I must say. He ripped his guitar a new one (and when he held up the guitar at the end, I thought “that guitar is like 3 inches shorter than him.” Seriously. And he got the crowd to scream like friggin mating hyenas. Do you think they rehearse like that? “And then during this break I’m going to suggest they scream along like chimps in heat…like THIS (ear piercing “HHHEEEEYAYAYAAYEEEEEE???)”. Total. Freak.
Shhhhhh! Don’t tell my husband… or I will make your life a living hell by subscribing you to Tiger Beat and signing your ass up for some nasty (email) spam… but I kind of like watching the (AMAZIN’) Mets. I’m totally getting into them. And it’s NOT just because David Wright is friggin amazing and clutch (as I have to say every time he does sometimes spectacular and my husband points to me). Or because I looked up their salaries and at first was like “wow, he makes over $300k a year. That’s a lot.” Then I noticed that another older play makes over $12 MILLION a year…and he’s not doing as well as My David, so I’m all “DAVID IS POOR AND LIVING IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER WE MUST HAVE A FUNDRAISER OR SOMETHING FOR HIM HOW CAN HE SURVIIIIIIVE?” But it’s not just him. Really. They are kicking ASS this year, and that probably just means I’m becoming a fairweather fan, but now that I know more of the players (like Lastings…please don’t send him back to the minors. He’s awesome and just because he made a rookie mistake the other night…please please don’t send him back.) I can’t help but cheer along. I know. Pathetic.
Haircuts… any of you who know me know that my mom hates my hair. Always and forever. If I had a nickle for every time I heard “you hair looks like hell” (or “put on some lipstick– you look dead” for that matter), I’d be a filthy rich whore. But no. I’m just a poor ho with bad hair. apparently. SO ANYWAY, my mom took a pre-emptive strike on my straggly locks with a phone call earlier in the week by suggesting I get my hair cut and colored while she’s in town. Like she knows via the phone lines that my hair looks like a rat’s nest. WHICH OK it does. But good golly (like my attempt at not swearing?). So I made an appointment because with this heat, I cannot bear to blow dry it and when I don’t blow dry my hair, I look like a dirty hobo (as opposed to those clean hobos who ride first class). She had a point, I guess. I’m thinking of going for my Japan trip haircut. Yeah don’t you remember my hair circa Summer 2000 when I visited my boyfriend (now Mets — not METH– addicted husband) in Japan? For those of you who don’t remember… how could you? How could you forget that haircut? For SHAME. Leave now. Never return. Kidding. It was a sassyish bob. I hope. At least, I thought it was sassy. I’m going to definitely tell Heather (Stylist to the Squirrels) to sass it up… pictures will be posted. I may even get some funky highlights. Livin’ large, I tell ya. Or… “pathetic attempt to recapture some fading youth?”
running. out. of. steam. Must do some last-minute dusting/organizing/hiding of crap. Grandma touches down in less than an hour. Sweet jesus!
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
7:45 am |
-image-Yesterday’s Highlights…
During the 4:00 hour, Jojo fell asleep on me while I talked on the phone with my friend, Mary. It was far too sweet (photographic evidence below). When we finished chatting, I hung up the phone and didn’t move. I waited, savoring every sweet breath, until my husband got home from work. He walked in the house, didn’t hear or see us (as I’m usually spazzing out because “DADDY’S HOME! DADDY’S HOME!”) and began searching the house for his frazzled wife and adorable son. He looked in the room, cooed, and whispered exactly what I expected him to whisper: “I have to get the camera!”
The 10:00 hour… when I crawled into bed next to my husband, we did our “usual”– talking about the day and random things. I know, we’re HOT people. Just like Angelina & Brad. Here’s my husband’s random admission of the day: “Lately, I’ve been having these flashbacks to the first time I got kicked in the balls.” What do you make of THAT? I’m a tad concerned.
Back to the picture of Jojo…does his little arm kind of look Popeye-ish? Also, you can see part of my new tshirt that I received yesterday (yet another highlight)…it reads “ik houw van Jojo,” which means “I love Jojo” in Dutch. Yay! I’m a geek!
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
3:46 pm |
