Obligatory Costume Post

Mimi's first Halloween, but certainly not her first costume. We've been working up to Halloween by wearing a different costume every day.
Dx and I went to one party as Dorothy and the Tinman, and Mimi was Toto the skunk. Tomorrow, however, we're going as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.
Yes, I'm going to work in a costume. I certainly hope other people do. Nothing is worse than being the only one in costume.

Bumbo

Mimi: Circa 3 Months



Watch this hilarious stop motion video of stranger's babies in Bumbos.

Dx vs. The Kitchen Sink

My husband Dx likes ice cream. He really, really likes ice cream. If he could live exclusively on ice cream, he would.
At our local Creamery, there is a ice cream dish called "The Kitchen Sink." 8 softball size scoops of your choice are loaded up with 8 toppings of your choice, along with 3 bananas, heaps of whipped cream, nuts and cherries.
The Kitchen Sink is intended for groups of six or more.
However, the Creamery offers free ice cream for a year for the gluttons who finish this dish by themselves AND beat the standing record: 1 hour, 19 minutes.
One of Dx's best and worst qualities is persistence. The man NEVER gives up on something he's decided to try, especially if other people know he's making an attempt.
And thus, the Kitchen Sink.

When the waiter brought out the ice cream, a hush fell over the restaurant. It's an indecent amount of ice cream for one person to even think about consuming; it should be accompanied by a song ala Ziggy Piggy from Bill and Ted's. The rules allow one five minute bathroom break, and whatever happens in the bathroom is your own problem.
He started out at a good pace, but as we hit the 30 minute mark the spoon slowed dramatically. He kept saying, "I've hit a wall. I need to go to the bathroom."
After five minutes, I went in to the bathroom after him. He emerged, bloodshot eyes and a crazy look upon his face.
When Dx sat back down, I could tell the contest was as good as done. Our friend Glen encourged Dx to stop eating, but I used every tactic I could to get him to pick up the spoon again. I had 10$ riding on this! When I saw him scoping out garbage cans, I allowed him to throw in the ice cream soaked towel.
This is what he looked like minutes before he gave up.

He probably got about 1/3 of the way through what must have been three gallons or more of ice cream. Dx was sick for the rest of the night and much of the following day. However, late Saturday night, Dx looked me in the eye and said, "I think I could have finished it if I hadn't eaten lunch."
True to form, I think he may eventually try to eat the Kitchen Sink again someday. But in the meantime, the mere mention of a sundae makes him dry heave.

Below are pictures of Mimi at rehearsal for mom's play 'Guys and Dolls' at the Village Theater.
She is 8 months and, though never having climbed stairs before, undertook the challenge because they lead her onto the stage. A Star is Born, my friends.

Everyone has that One Song

Dx and I often sing the obnoxious sax riff from a completely horrible elevator muzack song. We have never been able to place the song, even singing it for friends has not provided any leads to figuring out what the song was called, nor who sings the aural atrocity.
Tonight, after a lifetime of annoyance, I have learned the name of my most loathed tune. It's called "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty and I hate it. It is the antithesis of punk rock and roll.
Here is an equally disgusting video for this most abhorred song. Enjoy. Please note the drummer's beard.


Here is a review of the song from Rhapsody.com:
"You know that soft rock song "Baker Street" with the mentally contaminating saxophone hook? You can thank Gerry Rafferty for that one.
Do you have a least favorite song of all time?

God Save the King

I object to this recent tribute to the legend.


Elvis' favorite sandwich was a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I don't eat bananas, so I don't know if this sandwich is in fact delicious. Recently, Reese's has put out a limited edition Elvis peanut butter cup with banana cream. I find this revolting.
Will someone please buy one and tell me how it goes? I believe that it might demote a grade A candy to grade F, see Paige's post.

P.S., Alex's husband wins the Dork Contest, hands down, no contest. The Celine Dion fan club, with a membership? For Shame.
One more thing. Dx is blogging. Shall we encourage him and read/comment his blog?

Dork Contest

Welcome to the Dork Contest.
Tonight my husband opened his mouth and the words, "That's Optimus Prime. Aren't you going to watch him transform?" fell out of his mouth. And then he hung his head in dork shame and begged me not to blog about it.
Can your husband top this supreme dorky comment?

Why I Failed Relief Society

I am not crafty. I don't like crafts, I don't like to use stamps, I don't like to make scrapbooks. Sure, sometimes I browse through the scrapbooking isle to look at the fancy stickers, but no, I have never thought that decoration around a picture and cutesy little words make the pictures any better. When I make books of pictures, I order them from snapfish.com.
When it comes time for that big homemaking craft night, count me out. It seems like everything there is just one style of decoration! While I appreciate that other people have talent in this area, I am just not one of them and the raffia accented decor does not fit in my home. My husband would come home and think I'd been possessed if one of the following appeared hanging from my door.


I say, why use raffia when you can use glitter? Glitter and raffia don't seem to go together very well. If your project would look alright nestled in some strawlike material, I don't want to pay $8 to make it. If it has glittery pizazz, maybe I'll give it a shot.
Like these pumpkins, for example. I would happily make these.

Or this tree. It's glittery.


I live in a Raffia Free Zone. It's sparkly here.

I am Nortorious, and I have a messy bookcase.

Under the sink.

The bookshelf from hell.

How do people live with this type of disorganization? Every day I look at these areas and think, today is the day that I will sort and clean these areas. And then I find much more amusing things to do and they go uncleaned.

I'm in the 12 steps to recovery about these areas:

Step 1- Admit that I am powerless over these areas and that they've become unmanageable
Step 2 - Come to believe that only a higher power can rescue me from the mess. Possibly Ellie?
Step 3 - Make a decision to turn my will over to higher power. Again, possibly Ellie?
Step 4 - Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of each area. (Found: plastic bags, books I've read, other junk)
Step 5 - Admit to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. I'm doing this step via my blog.
Step 6 - Am now entirely ready to have God (Ellie?) remove all these defects of my bookcase.
Step 7 - Humbly ask God (Ellie?) to remove my messes.
Step 8 - Make a list of all persons the bookcase has harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. Um, no one. Only I care.
Step 9 - Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. Dear Dx, sorry that the bookcase is a mess. It is my fault, but I secretly blame you in my heart.
Step 10 - Continue to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. Yeah, admitting I'm wrong? Never going to happen. Maybe I'm not ready to move onto this step. I'll let you know when I get to 11 and 12.

(Step 11 - Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out
Step 12 - Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs)

Thank you, fellow bloggers, for allowing me to reveal my embarrassing bookcase and under the sink area.

Pictorial

Went to Monterey with my mother's Relief Society. We hiked and stuff. Cordons, MacDonalds, Pam and Jim

Mimi has no jammies that fit. She is only 8 months and has already grown out of 12 month size clothes. She is a giant and it pains me. It may have something to do with the fact that she spends her life eating. Eat your heart out, Alice. At least your clothes still fit.

This is a poor sick old man in a hospital cot.
Anyone guess who it is?
It was tight quarters and I kicked him to the cot.

Mims is a pacifist. Thanks to Paige for wardrobe.

Mimi impersonating a naughty bunny.

Panties For Peace

Send your panties to Myanmar!
The oppressive regime in Burma (Myanmar) is currently holding 2500 people in labor camps because they were protesting the Government. The protestors are pro-democracy, many of whom are Buddhist monks. The Burmese government has been screwing up for years, but now there's a way to get them back.
Send your panties to their Embassy!
Evidently, the country's superstitious generals, especially junta leader Gen. Than Shwe, believe that contact with women's underwear saps them of power.
"It's an extremely strong message in Burmese and in all Southeast Asian culture," said Liz Hilton, who supports an activist group that launched the "Panties for Peace" drive earlier this week.

The Lanna Action for Burma Web site writes: "You can post, deliver or fling your panties at the closest Burmese Embassy any day from today. Send early, send often!"

Now we all know what to do with all that wedding lingerie that never gets any play since we've nearly doubled our wedding weight.