Rejected by Carrot Top

This is a true but humiliating story (and aren’t those some of the best kind?) that dates back several years. A local radio contest was holding a poetry contest. Yes, you read that correctly: a radio station and a poetry contest. But ah, I love to write poetry and I love a good challenge, so I decided to submit a poem. The contest: construct a Valentine’s poem that had to contain the 6 words chosen by the station. No problem, I thought. I can do that. And I did. I also thought it was pretty darn funny and clever. The contest was judged by Carrot Top, (yep, he of the props and such) who was in town doing a show at our local auditorium and the prize was free tickets to that show. Even more embarrassing than the fact that Carrot Top apparently didn’t like my poem (didn’t appreciate my poem was more like it) is the fact that a few years before that, I paid money to see him. I dragged along some guy I was not quite dating, just on the off-chance that the show would be funny. In retrospect, I think there might be a direct correlation between that event and the fact that we never did go on a real date.

But I just could not help myself. I am a junkie. Even deeper than my addiction to all things entertainment-related is my addiction to comedy. I need to laugh, just plain need it so much that I will shake if days go by without so much as a giggle. If comedy were suddenly illegal, I could be found in dark alleyways, looking for a supplier. I am that addicted. Of course, most of my comedy fix comes from favorite television shows, favorite movies, favorite books. There are reliable sources I can visit again and again to get my fix, but sometimes I need to escalate, find new outlets to get the same comedy high. My DVR has become an invaluable asset in my quest to laugh.

Due to the writers’ strike (am I am so pro-writer, so go writers go), it is difficult to get any new humor on a regular basis. So, what is getting me by these days? I’m glad you asked. (Let’s pretend you did.) New episodes of Psych, definitely one of my favorite shows with lots of clever little 80s references. I like anything that can be clever and really funny.

I recently rediscovered Whose Line is it Anyway? (which only shows in the middle of the night, but that is the very reason the DVR was created). I can only find episodes of the American version of a few years back, but I originally watched the airings of the British versions when they showed on Comedy Central (way, way back when Comedy Central was a reliable source of, well, comedy. Now, the only consistently funny show on the comedy channel is The Daily Show.) When I lived alone in my old apartment (and spent much, much time alone), I would devour episodes of the British Whose Line and I really enjoyed it. When the American version aired on ABC, I tried to watch it, but was unable to keep up with the ever-shifting schedule (see also: Clerks: The Animated Series. Hilarious, but virtually impossible to find on ABC. No wonder no one watched it; no one could find it.) Now, however, I am able to watch what I have missed. It is one show that is always funny. Of course, when I started, it was just one episode here, one episode there, but soon I had my DVR set to “record all.” I can’t seem to get enough.

Reaper: hilarious situational humor. Of course most of the credit for the funniness goes to Tyler Labine, whose character, Sock, is reliably funny. (I also liked Labine on Invasion, another one of those shows that no one else bothered to watch and which was also cancelled by ABC. I am seeing a pattern here.) I am a big fan of any show whose actors seem to really enjoy their characters (such as Shawn Roday and Dule Hill in Psych) and Reaper’s cast is no exception – especially in the case of Ray Wise, who is certainly able to inject much more levity into his character than he could with his Leland Palmer, the rotten daughter-slayer of Twin Peaks.

That is basically all the new funny in my life. I haven’t seen a truly funny movie in quite some time. Are there any? Of course there are old favorites I can always rewatch, but sometimes I just need a fix of new humor. Does anyone know someone who can hook me up? I just need a taste, man. Just a taste.
No song of the day, just an amusing tidbit that made me smile this morning. Jude was playing with a barn and animals as I was feeding Sullivan. He said “Look, Mom. All of the animals are coming out of the barn.” “Oh,” I asked him, “Are they planning to have a party?” He looked at me. “No, Mom. They have to poop.”

Mostly Odds, Some Ends

I don’t ever read my spam email, and I think the spammers know it, so they are sneakily attacking me at work via facsimile. Here is just a bit of the text of a fax I received last week: “Individuals in need of prescription drugs can now acquire them without a recommendation. This can be achieved by simply answering a set of questions in our website and our doctors will write a prescription that will suit your health needs.” Yeah. That sounds like a great idea. Nothing could possibly go wrong there.

I never really analyzed it before, but I just noticed that my dental floss has a statement on the bottom that says it is made of the same material that bullet-proof vests are made of. This strikes me as information I didn’t really need to know – though I am encouraged that if I ever get shot at while flossing, I should be okay.

Speaking of teeth, Sully is cutting his very first. He has such an adorable toothless grin now. It makes me a little sad to know it won’t last long. Still, a smile with teeth can be cute, too.

Jude has recently rediscovered The Wizard of Oz and has watched it many times this past week. He has made his dislike for the Wicked Witch of the West well known. During one viewing he asked “Mom, if the witch is a bad guy, why don’t the cops come get her?” That, I thought, was a good question.

Speaking of Jude, he has really mastered potty training since my last potty training blog. It is as though he suddenly just gets it. He’s done a very excellent job.

One and a half weeks left until my emancipation.

Pink Floyd had their "If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding." Tonight Jeff said to Jude "If you don't eat your chicken, you can't have any Pez." One of a dozen silly things parents invariably say without even seriously thinking about them.

Song of the day: Harvey Danger's "Carlotta Valdez." A totally underrated band and a very good album to sing along to in the car.

Take This Job

Lately it has occurred to me more than once that it might be in my best interest to find a new job. I have really started feeling that nasty dread about going in to work in the mornings. People from the community and other people I work with have started dropping by my office more frequently, offering their pity, asking how I could possibly work with him. So, last week I got really serious about my job-seeking, sending out resumes, making phone calls. I was rewarded with an interview this past Friday.

Normally, I am the queen dork of all interviewees, weird and awkward, stuttering, stammering. I hate the whole process. I expected I would give more of the same at this new interview, a law firm in a neighboring town. For some reason, though, from the moment I stepped into the office, I wasn't nervous at all. A new concept for me, one that I readily embraced.

I interviewed with two lawyers and I was totally on. Smart and articulate and even funny when it was appropriate to be so. I didn't feel like I had to sell myself; I just had to be myself. The more they talked, the more I wanted the job: actual benefits -- vacation, paid holidays and sick days, bonuses -- and a starting salary of more than I have ever made before.

So, I wanted the job so badly that I was afraid of blowing it. Still, I kept my cool. After the interview and the obligatory hand-shaking, they said they would be making a decision by the end of next week. I knew they had several interviews that morning, so it was only natural that they would need a few days. I was still comfortable at that point, feeling like I might actually have a shot.

I headed back to work for my usual tedious Friday-afternoon duties. I received a phone call about two hours after I'd left the interview and was offered the position. I accepted with a loud "Hell, yeah!" -- though to them, it probably sounded more like "Great. Thank you."

So, what's left to do but put in my two weeks. I wrote a very kind letter to my boss and to the school's administrator, but also wanted to tell them both in person. I started with my boss. I gave him the letter (which he didn't bother reading), then told him that I had interviewed for and was offered another job. I calmly explained the reasons that I had been looking and politely told him that I had interviewed and was offered the job that very day. His response? "They must have been desperate."

Golly, I'm going to miss him.

I Know This Much is True

Yesterday I went for a haircut. This is always an anxiety-producing event for me. There are too many questions involved, too many choices. “What do you want?” “Well, I want my hair cut.” “Well, how do you want it cut?” “Short.” “Well, how short? All one length or layers?” If I am lucky, I can find a picture and say “Like that.” For a few years, I sported a “Mila,” a short do based on a picture of Mila Jovovich with short hair. Then, a basic bob that varied in length based on how long I waited to get it cut again. Yesterday, though, I was very vague about “short.” As soon as I sat in the chair and almost relaxed, the hairdresser started talking to me. Not the usual “how are you?” chit-chat, but a scary, one-way conversation that began “I’m not even supposed to be here today. I’m just covering for some lazy bitch who didn’t come in today.” All the while, Edwina Scissorhands just kept hacking away at my hair. “Bunch of lazy-ass people work here,” she continued as I cowered in my chair, terrified. The result was very short, but I like it, a step away from my comfortable bob – and it is easy to do, an absolute requirement of any hairdo I have.

I was recently looking through some old photos and I came across a picture of me from my college graduation. My attention was immediately drawn to my hair. It was so long. I cut it off a year or two after graduation and it has been short ever since, so I had forgotten what it looked like long. Looking at old pictures is such a bizarre experience anyway. They tend to evoke memories long forgotten. Mostly I smiled at the old photos, from early vacations taken and even photos from our honeymoon. I look at pictures and tend not only to remember, but to analyze, trying to figure out how much of that picture Kimberly is still me, trying to imagine how these two Kimberlys are the same. When I look at college Kimberly, I immediately thinking of writing . Well, writing and bare feet. Even with more than a decade of life experience since college, I think there is still some of that girl in me.

In the last few weeks, I rediscovered writing. It has always been a part of me and even when I wasn’t writing, I would still think about it, come up with ideas for poems and would jot down ideas in a notebook. Mostly these ideas are still in notebooks tucked away in our hall closet (with my old writing and Jeff’s old screenplays and all of our photo albums). Lately, though, I have felt an enthusiasm for writing that I had thought was lost. I am not sure what the catalyst was, but I am enjoying putting words to paper and have found that the words are flowing more easily than they have in years. I am loving it and I think it shows. I just may finish this novel yet. I'm 120 pages in -- I can't give it up now!

I know I tried to start an online writing group and failed at that!

I know I need a new job (more on that in my next post).

I know I my insurance company needs help, so maybe I can get a job there (more on that in my next post).

Mostly, I know despite my complaining and uber-short hair, I am really lucky most of the time.

Song of the day: Belle and Sebastian's "If She Wants Me."

What is . . .

Today Sullivan is 3 months old. Of course he wears it well; he doesn’t look a bit over 2 months and 2 weeks. In order to maintain some semblance of order, we’ve established an evening ritual around the house. Dinner together, followed by Sully’s bath, which I give him while Jeff and Jude play pirate ship or Spiderman or Fireman and Fireman’s Daddy (Jude has a boundless little imagination, a trait that I hope he keeps even as he grows up). Then I dry off Sully and change him, usually with some help from Jude (which involves a lot of “Please don’t touch your brother that way.” “Why, Mom?” “Because you don’t want to break his arm.” “Why don’t I want to break his arm?” Etc.)

After Sully’s bath he gets an after dinner bottle and I settle on the couch to feed him and can really focus on him. I talk to him, but interacting with him while he is eating is often futile because he closes his eyes, this look of supreme ecstasy on his face. As Sully eats, Jeff gets Jude’s bath ready and goes through the Jude evening ritual of using the potty, brushing teeth, etc. By the time Jeff actually corrals Jude into the tub, it is time for Jeopardy.

I recently rediscovered Jeopardy after a long absence and I was happy to discover that not all of my quiz show brain cells had atrophied. Sure, some of the categories (World History, Mathematics, Ancient Sumeria, guess Alex Trebeck’s annual salary) make me frown and make wildly inaccurate guesses (yes, I always guess) but I smile at the Cinema, Literature and Stuff Even an Idiot Knows categories because I can clean up in these areas. When I know the answer, I try to explain to Sullivan how I knew I was right and sometimes he will open one eye and look up at me. When I guess wrong, I explain to him why I didn’t have any clue.

When I was younger, I loved Jeopardy and when I lived with my parents, I would watch it every night. My stepfather and I would get wildly competitive. No one else cared, but we would try to beat each other to the answers. It seemed the one thing that we had; he always had far more in common with my brother and stepsister than with me. And from the comfort of my living room, I was pretty darn . . .adequate. Some days I was on fire, other days I didn’t know how to spell my own name (and my maiden name was a pretty simple one, so that is embarrassing).

Feeling cocky in my youth, I even auditioned for Jeopardy – twice. Both times auditions were held here in the Midwest, so I didn’t have to travel far: once for the regular show and once for the college tournament (obviously when I was in college). The audition process was actually pretty fun in that it was a written test in 50 different categories. Yes, to me taking that test was fun. Then the tests are scored, but the potential contestants don’t get to find out how they did unless they did well enough to warrant the second part of the audition and I didn’t get that far. This is a genius technique, in that it allows you to delude yourself into thinking that you were only one question from passing. Amazingly, I was only one question away both times. So close!

Rediscovering Jeopardy made me nostalgic for learning. More than that, it made me nostalgic for game shows. In my youth I would devour quiz shows and the shows today don’t seem to have the same draw to me. I have never deliberately sat down to watch an episode of Deal or No Deal, but have seen parts of it many times. Inevitably, at just the right moment turning off a DVD or turning the channel, I will settle on Deal or No Deal and physically cannot turn it off. It seems a celebration of people making monumentally foolish decisions. Perhaps if I were the one on television, I, too, would throw away huge wads of cash in search of a dream million that I will likely never see. But the show frustrates me and makes me mad because people are taking stupid chances when they have life-changing amounts of money right in their hands. I know Jeff gets amused that I get so worked up, often saying things to the television that I should not. I feel like I just can’t help myself.

A few years ago, before Jude was born, the show The Weakest Link was wildly popular for about two months and the show came here to my town seeking contestants. I was there in line to audition. The test given for that was very brief (10 questions maybe – I forget), but the main part of the audition was all about personality, about being able to brag about the wildly fascinating things that you have done. Since I have no discernable personality, I didn’t have a chance. The show-off seated next to me was a law school student who composed her own operas and fixed helicopters in her spare time (yes, really). How could I possibly compete with that?

Answer: The sweetest, most cuddly three-month-old on the planet

Question: Who is Sullivan?

I Need to be Committed

There are certain things to which I have committed with no hesitation. For example, several years ago when Jeff came home from work one day and threw a ring at me, saying “You want to get married or what?” I replied without hesitation “I wish you had taken the ring out of the box before you did that.” Then, an enthusiastic “Yeah, okay.”

Then, in May of 2004, I was feeling a little unwell and went to the doctor. “Doctor,” I said. “I’ve gained a pound or fifty and wanted to know if that’s normal.” Immediately, he said “Well, you’re pregnant, so, yes, that’s normal.” “Are you sure?” I wondered. “Yes, I’m sure. And you’re almost eight months along.” Staring at that ultrasound of a full-grown baby, I decided to commit to having that baby.

But I have an inability to commit to a “best of” list. I can’t choose my favorite movie or favorite song. I can narrow it down to 20 or so, but have an impossible time choosing an absolute favorite, and, even with a list of 20, am always worried that I am leaving something off. Jeff and I occasionally discuss “the list,” that silly list composed of 5 famous people that you would “be allowed” to have sex with, no questions asked from your spouse. It is a silly exercise, and certainly one that could cause an argument if not handled in the very silly spirit in which it should be intended. So, this morning as I got ready for work, Jeff threw down the gauntlet. I picked it up and said “I think you dropped this,” but I did accept his challenge to choose my 5 people. He posted his list on his blog last night: http://dungtheblog.blogspot.com/

So, after much anxiety and fretful nail-biting, here is the list (in no particular order) that, once I actually post it, I will likely want to change, fearing that I left someone off:

James Marsters. I am certain he never gets tired of people saying “Do the accent. Do the accent.” Or maybe he loves that, either way, I would have to insist on the Spike accent. And the hair.

Tom Welling. The baby on the list. The hot, dark-haired farmboy/Superman from Smallville.

Julian Sands. I’ve always been oddly drawn to him. British and proper, but there is definitely something really sexual going on underneath.

Jude Law. Just so beautiful to look at. He runs a tie with Ewan Macgregor. I have harbored my crush on Ewan longer, but I really think that they should be counted as one selection. If I had to choose one (and really, Jeff, isn’t that cruel and exclusionary?) I would have to go with Ewan with a slight edge.

Jake Gyllenhaal. So adorable. I really want to hug him.

Honorable mentions: Christian Bale (talented and attractive, plus there’s the whole Batman suit); Jason Lee (he was always so cute and funny in Kevin Smith’s movies, but I am afraid that the Earl mustache is a deal breaker); Brad Pitt (whose name I feel almost guilty in including, as it seems so cliché, but that would be the long-haired tortured soul Brad Pitt of Interview with the Vampire and Legends of the Fall; and John Krasinski (very boy-next-door quality that I like).

So, there you have it: my probably definitive list.

Subject to change.

Jeff has embarked on a “365” blog project, posting a picture every day for a year.” If you’d like to see the photos or learn more about it, here you are: http://project365jeff.blogspot.com/

Song of the day: “Rest in Peace,” the James Marsters-sung song from the "Once More With Feeling" Buffy episode.

Douglas, Christopher and Me

It began with a Borders gift card and spiraled into trademark introspection. Although there is a Borders bookstore less than ten minutes from my house, I opted to use my gift card online. Immediately, I decided to purchase a couple of Christopher Moore books As I perused the many Moore choices, thinking of Moore's very wicked sense of humor, it occurred to me that there were other writers whose works I am interested in collecting. Chief among these is Douglas Adams.
And, cause and effect being what they are, thinking of Douglas Adams made me remember my introduction to his brilliance. In high school, hanging out at a friend's house, I would occasionally get the opportunity to talk to her older sister. After a few conversations with said sister, she handed me a book and said "Read this. I really think you'll love it." The book was Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency and Jeri was right: I did love it.
Jeri was a popular girl, very pretty, very smart and very funny. Just all-around cool. What she ever saw in me to make her think I would be interested in Adams, I'll never know, but I am glad for the introduction. She was just cool. There isn't any better way to describe her.
Adams saved me the summer I spent working on Mackinac Island. I purchased all of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books from the island bookstore and spent my days off camped out in Marquette Park, reading. Without a doubt it is some of the funniest stuff I have ever read and I loved every moment of reading those books.
Then, years later, a friend introduced me to Christopher Moore's book Lamb and I admit that was also love-at-first-read. I adored it and laughed hysterically through it. This friend of mine, also much cooler than I am.
I have discovered that I don't mind being the least cool person I know. I have cool people in my family, very cool friends and a husband way cooler than I am. That tends to keep life interesting, I think. I have always sought the company of interesting people and populate my bookshelf with interesting reads. Life is too short to do otherwise.
For now, I am cool to my children, but I know that will pass quickly and they will discover my utter uncoolness and that's fine in a whole circle-of-life kind of way.
I ended up buying books by Adams and Moore and I can't wait to read them. And, if my obvious eagerness makes me even less cool, well, so be it.

Song of the day: "Most of the Time" from Bob Dylan. A perfect song of heartbreak and loss from a very cool guy.

Parental moment of the day: Sometimes, I just feel like a mother. Jude wanted me to read a book to him, his Big Frank firetruck book so I asked him where it was. He said "I put it on top of the thing that I take stuff out of" and I knew exactly what he meant.

My Boy Likes to Potty . . . .Some of the Time

It is a new year, time to look ahead, to make resolutions, a time to focus on the future. I’m bucking that trend and discussing a topic that was so last year in my home: potty training. It is the topic that will be last year, this year and possibly next year. When we decided to potty train Jude, it occurred to me that this is a somewhat sadistic process. Basically we are telling our small child that everything he has done up until this point has been wrong and now he has to put that in there or he will forever be ostracized by polite society (and impolite society is just as apt to call him “poopy pants.”) But, Jude is a bright kid (so says his very biased mother) and he took to potty training right away. Brilliant, I thought. Potty training is great.

Then, as weeks, then months, wore on, potty training was not great. It was a struggle of wills, a battle of wee child and frustrated mother. We bought books, as I am a firm believer in the written word and find that I personally learn best from books. There were big grown-up books for us and adorable potty books for Jude. So, we read books and shared Dora and Elmo potty stories with Jude. We had stickers as rewards for each successful deposit. We experimented with big potty vs. little potty, standing up vs. sitting down (and though Jude did all combinations of these, he prefers his little potty now). There was much hugging and high-fiving with successes. Then, the successes stopped. Jude treated his pull-ups as diapers and my taking him into the potty every half hour did no good because he refused to use the potty.

One book that I read promised a “no crying” potty training approach. Lies, lies, lies. Evil propaganda. I cried. Jude cried. The cat cried, thinking “I go potty in my litter box every time. Where are my damn stickers?”

We had decided many months ago just to try underwear, but, unfortunately, the smallest underwear were still too big for Jude (boy will he love stories like this when he gets older!) Instead, we opted for Pull-ups (or as I now call them “those things that are just like diapers, only bigger”). Over the weekend, we decided to try said underwear again and though they fit very well, we had a completely disastrous day. More crying ensued, along with much laundry, but, since we have over a foot of snow outside our door, we weren’t going anywhere anyway. Then, the next day, a wonderful success. I was so happy and proud, as was Jude, who pronounced that he was going to show all of his friends at daycare his “cool big-boy Elmo underwear.” When I left him this morning, he had a spare pair in his hands and I think that’s what he meant, but suddenly I have visions of him flashing his Elmo-covered bum at the other kids at daycare. If that happens, though, I’ll know he is more like his dad than I originally suspected. And, I will have a good laugh because, as any elementary school kid will tell you, ultimately pee and poop are funny. So with a sense of humor and plenty of stickers, we will survive.

Song of the day: Death Cab for Cutie's "Lack of Color"


Photo: portrait of the potty-er as a young man