imaginary binky

In accordance to section 10.b of the contract

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 19 May 2009 03:59:00 +0000

I write this post.

Hey, there. How's it going? That's great. Wow. Have you lost weight? You look fabulous! Is that a new shirt, I mean, blouse, I mean, garment? It's wonderful and makes you very shapely in the most appealing sort of way.

Denver is hot today. And I still mean hot at 10pm. I have fans whirring about like crazy, and the temperature-o-mometer tells me it is 76 in here. What, 76 degrees, you say?! It's true. I've become a delicate flower that requires a misting of water, fans powered by the thin arms of servants, and grapes peeled and poisoned by those wishing to be in power. I hear tell of people who start to shiver and shake at the thought of 76 degrees *cough* elderly and/or residents of Texas*cough* but we people of the Mile High City have become accustomed to cool air and good times. It is not acceptable for me to be warm at 10pm.

Hmm. What else, what else, what else...

There are other things I could tell you, but I won't. Ha! I'm so cruel.

I'm trying to drown out the sounds of "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!" Amos is bonkers for this show. If it isn't "Little Bill," "Jack's Big Music Show" or this show, forget about it. The kid has standards. Unfortunately, I am not able to revert my standards to toddler age, so I groan and moan and hope for time to pass so that I don't have to listen to Wuzzleberg talk anymore.

AND YES MY SON IS UP AT 10PM AND IF YOU GIVE ME ANY LIP ABOUT IT I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE TIT.

Hey, did you do something to your hair? That's it, isn't it? Wow. It really suits you. I fancy it.

All of your neuroses, available today on Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Sat, 02 May 2009 20:29:00 +0000

Facebook, I love you, but I kind of hate you. No, I don't hate you in the way that other whiny computer geeks hate you. I'm not in love with Myspace and having pissing contests over the two of you. I'm not all caught up in your format and yelling, "Wah wah wah! I don't like how you are trying to be Twitter!" I'm not even a member of "Bring the Old Facebook Back!"

Why? Because I'm not a whiny jerk.

What I am, however, is a wine-y jerk. Sometimes a vodka jerk.

And that's where we have a problem, you and I.

You're freaking me out, man. And not in a good way.

Just because I've been drinking a bit of vodka just about, oh, maybe every night or so for the last week, it doesn't mean that you should display ads for Americana vodka because I've tried EVERY other vodka brand and import, or so you say in the ad.

How do you know what brands and how much I've been drinking? I'll have you know that I'm enjoying a giant bottle of Costco vodka, and Costco vodka don't need no justification. You buy it because it's big and will break your leg off if you drop it.

Look. Just because I talked about drinking vodka with juice box from Costco (which, by the way, is the smartest parenting cocktail I've seen in a long time) and then pairing it with a Ralph Fiennes movie, it does NOT mean that you should taunt me with Facebook ads for additional vodka. You do not need to remind me that, on occasion, I am overdoing it with the nightly vodka/juice box. You do not need to remind that even more vodka is available to drown my sorrows, and guess what?! It's American made vodka! Wave your patriotic flag, eat your Freedom Fries, and drown them in a vat of Americana vodka! Add some juice box squeezed by American hands!

Facebook, I've been going through some hard times. Hard times that I don't talk about to NOBODY. And no, I don't care that I had a fit of bad grammar back there. I'm a backwoods East Texas girl, and I'm lucky I can spell my own name, much less understand that Ralph Fiennes will punch me in the tit if I call him RALF instead of RAIF. So, stop taunting me, Facebook. I don't need to know that America makes enough vodka to drown my secret sorrows. Costco already provides this information in bulk.

You can also stop taunting my 30-something lady friends with your wrinkle ads. Honestly, I don't need to know that Mary Whatsherface from Sheboygan found a great home cure for hemorrhoids, wrinkles, and teeth whitening, and you can cure them all with one vat of Mary-made cream! The ladies at my playgroup were not pleased with having to face your wrinkle ads on top of unwanted invitations from old high school acquaintances. We have enough things that remind us how old and infirm we are.

Also, you're like a really bad friend who wants me crash and burn. Honestly, why are you posting "Hybrids by the hour" and green grocer ads right next to the vodka ad? Really?! You want me to drink your American vodka and THEN rent a car to go to the store, just because the booze was made by some schlump in Walla Walla and the car is environmentally friendly? Wow, Facebook. You've really found me out. You know how to reach your target market of moms who are home alone at night but need to get crunk, only to find they are out of wheat grass juice and couldn't POSSIBLY drive to the health food store unless it's in a hybrid.

Well done, Facebook.

Oh, and this ends my nonsense rampage that has everything to do with avoidance and shaking of fists and a great deal of boredom.

You're welcome.

The kid makes art for a good cause

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 02:17:00 +0000

Amos and I are participating in the 2009 Kid Art Auction, the brainchild of Greeblemonkey and Fruitlady. This year's proceeds will benefit Nature Conservancy.

I intended to add these sooner than today, but as you may be aware, I've had tremendous computer issues as of late. Now that those days are over, I can get back to my 'ritin', 'rithmetic, and ruminatin'.

About a month or so ago, I bought some nontoxic finger paints for Amos. I fully intended for his first creations to be donated to Kid Art Auction. Phil and I are more writers than painters, so we had no idea what would spill from Amos' fingers.

He didn't disappoint.

We've donated three of his paintings, shown below in the slideshow. One looks like a thunderbird, another seems like a fanciful dancer, and the third looks like a tree. I like them all. Perhaps they are more Rorschach ink blots than what I see, but to each his own, eh?

Please go to the Flickr group for Kid Art Auction and bid on Amos' creations (listed under imaginary binky). Auction ends at 8pm MST April 30th, 2009. Bids start at $5, and all you have to do is leave your bid in a comment on the particular photo in the Kid Art Auction Flickr group.

Just think. You could soon be holding your very own Amos Porter painting. Happy bidding, and thanks for participating!

Vlad the Vlogger

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 04:18:00 +0000

So, yes. I've entered the new century with fancy doodads and geegaws. My new laptop arrived today!

*massive cheers*

Amos and I decided to try the built-in camera. Let me know what you think of the audio. Video #1 is done with better lighting and the microphone from a headset. Video #2 is bad lighting and the laptop's built-in microphone. Better here or here? This one, or that one?

Please pardon the hair and lack of makeup. I made a half-assed attempt to straighten my hair today. I look like a softbal player from the 70s. Perhaps this is not my best look.

Now, on to the show.

Blah blah blah from me and lots of antics from Amos.

Bad lighting, possibly bad audio, but incredibly cute words from Amos. He speaks! You shall listen!

Alrighty. I'll think of something fantastic to do and/or say for next time.

Plop. Plop. Fizz. Fizz.

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 23:59:00 +0000

Yet, there is no relief in sight. Damn you, Alka Seltzer.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't damn you if I didn't actually take your product, but I do damn your brethren of cold/flu medicines that I did take - and did not work.

I caught a cold from Amos. He was all cute and drippy with his cold, while I am a face-swollen, drippy, achy, disgusting mess. Oh, to have the immune system of a toddler. Currently, I have a tissue stuffed up my nose as I type. One nostril would leak, so I stuffed a tissue up there. Then, the other nostril started to leak, so I stuffed the other end of the tissue up the remaining nostril. I look like one of those Spanish bulls with a huge nose ring, except mine is the backwoods Kentucky version of having a nose ring.

"Look, ma! I didn't even need to pierce it! I just stuffed a tissue up in der! Them kids at school are gunna thank I'm so kewl!"

I watched a show recently about backwoods Appalachia, so perhaps this is where I got the idea.

My computer is dying a slow, agonizing death in a very melodramatic way. I think my laptop wants to be a soap star. It darts its eyes furtively and takes dramatic pauses, or it runs away with the swarthy stranger who turns out to be its brother.

For these reasons, I have ordered a new laptop. I yearn for the day when I receive the notice in the mail that the maker of said laptop has decided to finally ship it. How could a laptop take so long to make and ship? What about all of those fancy machines that go whiz and burr and brop and zing as they drop pieces of technology onto plastic and then call it a computer? How long could that possibly take? I know they aren't knitting the laptop. If they were knitting it, I'd understand. Because, uh, I'm a slow knitter. It would take me years just to fashion up a wireless mouse.

So, unless my new laptop is crocheted or cross-stitched with pretty roses, I will remain anxious and angry with the maker of said laptop. In the meantime, please send more tissues to myself and my old laptop. She's making eyes at the coffee machine, and I hear he's a heartbreaker. (Plus, he died in a mysterious brick-making factory explosion but somehow came back with amnesia. I think we know how that one goes.)

Behind the scenes with Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 06:31:00 +0000

This is my behind the scenes look at snagging an interview with the most popular personal blogger on the Internet and New York Times bestselling author, Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com. You can view the interview transcript in three parts: part one, part two, and the final installment. The end of the interview is posted below.

Below, I include the odd yet entertaining bits of the interview that didn't fit into my Examiner.com articles as Denver Motherhood Examiner, as well as extra pics. It was over 27 minutes of wit and fun. Included in the comments are Jon Armstrong of blurbomat.com, and the man of my loins, Phil Porter.

You can also find the entire audio below. Bring a snack and a pillow. It's a doozy.

---

It was a good night for all Porters. While Amos enjoyed being babysat by the boobs he loves the most (belonging to our statuesque neighbor), Phil and I traveled to the south 'burbs of Denver into the land of Highlands Ranch to interview Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com and her husband Jon.

The interview went very well, and Heather and Jon talked and joked with us for almost 30 minutes before her scheduled talk and book signing at Tattered Cover. Luckily, I had asked for a few seats to be reserved for us so that Phil and I could have a chance to join the audience. One of the bookstore employees gave us two seats in the second row labeled "reserved for press." Ha! It was a packed house, full of enthusiastic bloggers and fans, and even the occasional gawker who would step into my view as they pretended to browse books.

If you listen to the audio, at the end, Heather compliments me on how great I smelled. I was wearing rose essential oil, which I always wear when I am out in public. It helps to open up the social side of someone, and it is a great oil for mothers. Also, Heather asked to touch me. I creepily said, "Yesss, touch me." Heheh. So, she smelled me and touched me. Not even Oprah got to do that.

So, on to the interview.

----

Aside from getting “dooced” from a job, which is pretty cool that you have your own word now…

I know. My mom is so proud of that. [laughs]

What advice or maybe warnings would you have for other bloggers?

One, anybody who wants to start writing online, you’ve got to realize that eventually, and I don’t care how anonymously you’re doing it, the last person that you’re ever going to want to read your stuff will find it. So, if you have someone, like, God, I hope this person never reads it, that person is going to read it. Eventually, it will happen. And so, you need to prepare. It will happen again, and it will happen again. And then, you know, just realizing, when you get your first hate mail or your first hate comment, move forward. We all get it, we all experience it, and it has nothing to do with you. It can be very discouraging. It’s a lot of work. Blogging is a lot of work, and I think a lot of people start websites and not realize just how much work and dedication it takes.

Do you have any hobbies that you don’t write about besides all of the other millions of things you do? Like, I knit.

Yeah, there’s not a lot of time. Photography is my main hobby. During the winter when I’m not cooking... pregnant, we snowboard a lot. Yeah, there’s not a lot of time for hobbies.

Are there a lot of snowboarding areas around Salt Lake City?

Phil: Sundance? Park City?

Oh, yeah. We have the best place to live if you’re a snowboarder, because the mountain is just right there, I mean it’s like not even twenty minutes up the hill. It’s great.

So, no snowboarding on this trip for you.

No. [laughs] My media escort came in and she overheard me talking about how I’m glad that his sperm didn’t take a month earlier or there’s no way I would have been able to do this. And she’s like, “Oh, so you’re pregnant.” And I was like, “Yeah, there wasn’t just like an incident with an Oreo, there’s an actual baby in there.” [laughs]

Will the “crown” versus “crayon” debate ever be put to rest? Because, I have to say, I told Phil about the way you pronounce it, and he said, “Oh, my God. That’s as bad as saying lie-barry.” [laughs]

[laughs] Well, no, see, lie-barry is because you were taught there’s another “r” in there. Whereas crown is like, you know, you’re in the South…

Phil: So, you just ignore all of the letters, all together.

H: Yeah, so crown is like, why waste the time, why waste the energy going “CRAY-ON” if you have crown? It’s the way Southerners sort of merge everything, all the syllables, into one goobledeegosh. Is that a word?

We were in Seattle and somebody asked me the question in the audience, and I said, “C-R-A-Y-O-N is pronounced crown.” He [Jon] went NUTS on Twitter, and started twittering like seven or eight, “NO ONE PAY ATTENTION TO MY WIFE BEHIND THE MICROPHONE.” And as everyone came through the line, they were like, “You’re husband has gone CRAZY.”

Technology, man.

[laughs]

Jon: It’s a bitch. It’s interesting you say that, because my name, when you yell it in the house, has fourteen or fifteen syllables.

H: [laughs] It’s bad because we came to school one day and Leta’s teacher said,” Yeah, I was reading Leta a book today about a boy who is coloring with some crayons, and she told me that I was pronouncing it wrong.” And Jon said, “GOOD GOD, WOMAN! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO OUR CHILD!”

[to Jon] I’m sorry.

It’s dialect. She’s learning dialect.

It’s dialect, yeah. It’s better than speaking like a Utahn. Come on.

Jon: She talks like your mom.

H: I know.

Is there an accent in Utah?

You drop the middle of the word. You go skeh-ing on a mohntain. Skeh-ing. And he’s like, dill or no dill. I watch “Dill or No Dill” at night.

Jon: Still bread.

H: Still bread. [laughs]

---

Then we posed for pics. My mind was all a jumble, and I was being asked questions as we stood there. On top of that, Heather is a tall beauty, even with a 7 month pregnant belly, and my squatty 5'4" just doesn't compare. It's like she was standing next to a gnome. What a visual. And, so, here is the actual visual.

I look shellshocked, but she told I smelled good, so there's that. Also, the office where this took place was a mishmash of equipment, telephone wires, and general mayhem. Our best backdrop was Sneakers the Seaside Cat. I like that Sneakers took the time to pose as well. All three of us are quite coordinated in black.

I'm smiling especially after Heather asked if she could touch me.

Jon took a million pictures, give or take, of Heather as she talked about her book to the audience at Tattered Cover.

Heather shakes her fist in Jon's general direction, or at least, that's what I'd like to think. I enjoy a good, copious fist shaking.

Heather braces herself for the huge crowd of fans who have lined up to have their books signed. I really admire that she was able to talk with me for half an hour, then entertain a large crowd while telling stories and reading from her book (while standing, mind you), and then handle a long line of fans without rushing them through it. All this, while 7 months pregnant.

So, there you go. That was my evening with the Armstrongs. Thanks for reading.

The full audio, for your amusement. Be sure to read part one, part two, the final installment, and the bit above to follow the full transcript.

DW_B0076.mp3

Now, go take a nap.

I'm not as short as they think

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 05:44:00 +0000

I'm very frustrated with sellers of clothing. I am 5'4", but I wear it well. For some reason, this height is considered to be petite. If I'm so petite, then why are so many women my height or shorter? Hmm?

I'm not a freak.

I don't like searching for the petite section of the store, only to find the most garish or stuffy-secretary type clothing imaginable. The modern clothing stops at 5'5", apparently. My body only fits clothes from a bad 1950s thrift shop. Cute clothes over in the normal ladies' section; shredded items with bits of feathers and looking of a person gone mad with a Bedazzler - under the sign saying "petite."

Today, I wasn't even treated to a petite section. I had to rifle through the jeans and such to find any hope of something that said "petite", or even worse, "short." SHORT? UGH. This is just shy of having to wear size "Husky" for plump boys.

I tried on a pair of jeans that advertised itself as being of average length. I put them on and stared in disbelief. I looked like a kid putting on her mama's clothes for dress up. I am insulted, clothing maker. Or, should I say "Famous Maker" as the ads do when the designer is too embarrassed to have their name in a Burlington Coat Factory ad?

Ugh. Grumble grumble.

I did find a cute pair of jeans, though. I'm trying to erase the memory of "short" being shouted at me over and over on the sticker covering the front of them.

--

By the way, Heather Armstrong of Dooce fame will be in Denver (Highlands Ranch, to be specific) today, Monday, for her book signing. Come say hello and tell me how great my ass looks in those jeans.

For more details about the event, read what I had to say here.

Shake, rattle, and roll

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 00:48:00 +0000

I have a bunch of posts up at my Examiner gig, including today's review of a local Denver music class that I highly recommend for kids under five.

Check out Teaching kids to love music, one kazoo at a time.

Also, I just removed the Intense Debate comment thingy that I had around for a little while. It was fabulous, but I think it was preventing people from seeing this blog. Kinda the opposite of what I want. So, please let me know if the blog works for you or not.

Hope all is well with you. Wackiness will ensue quite soon.

Words and letters to accompany photographic documents

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 20:25:00 +0000

Really. It takes effort to come over here and scribble some doodles. Let's try to pepper this mother up with some randomness and pictorials. Yeah?

Amos is growing and growing, and talking and talking. Latest words/phrases:

"Oh, my!"
"Oh, man!" (which sometimes sounds like, "Oh, ma'am!")
"Oh, boy!"
"Oh, no!" (And many other phrases starting with "Oh!")
"Get out!" (Thank you, Chef Gordon Ramsey.)
"It's true!" (Apparently, I say this a lot. Amos says something more like, "M'rue!")

Latest words:

pickle
diaper
monkey (monk-monk)
apple
toe
foot
baby (Ding dang, he melts me when he says this.)

And here is the monk-monk with Mama and Dad in February.

Alrighty. That's enough cuteness for today.

I hold these boobs to be self-evident

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 00:26:00 +0000

So, there is a great boob controversy swirling the Internets. You might call it Boobgate. I couldn't help but become a little involved.

I wrote about it over there in the Denver Motherhood Examiner. I hope you'll throw out an opinion or two or five.

See this lovely lady for the story behind the story.

Also, I'm diggin' my new comment system supplied by IntenseDebate. Do you like it?

And upon further reflection...

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 20:29:00 +0000

So, I may have left out a few details in that last missive. There are other reasons that I've disappeared as of late.

Anyone who stops by on a frequent basis may remember that at this time last year, I was knee-deep in family tragedy. At this exact date last year, I was tending to my father in the hospital, still thinking that he might pull a miracle or two. I was taking care of Amos, my dad, my mom, and getting through whatever other family squabbles popped up in the midst of it.

Did I take care of myself? Fairly debatable.

If you're not a frequent reader, I'll spoil the surprise for you: my dad died. In a bad way. Like, really bad.

And then my mom died. Ah, but that's another anniversary for another juicy month to come.

So, I'm not so sure how to handle this anniversary. The problem is that it isn't just one day to be sad. It's a month-long trudge toward a final end, and each day of that month was just some other form of misery. Sometimes, I will be having a great time out with Amos or with Phil tagging along, and it suddenly strikes me that I definitely was not feeling happy this time last year. And then I think, "Well, how do you feel about that?" I don't have an answer. Sometimes, I feel like I truly deserve a bit of happiness and movin' on from the past, and other times... well, let's just say that misery loves company.

The grieving process is a strange, strange entity. I know not myself some days. Other days, I'm perfectly fine.

Sometimes I wonder if the past is written upon my face. Like the grizzled, old cowboys who've seen a thing or two, or folks who've survived some tragic accident. Is it there? Can you see beyond that smile or smirk or behind a comment about the weather? So often, I feel like I'm masquerading as a normal person.

For the most part, I'm an incredibly happy gal. I have the most incredible kid. My partner is the best man I've ever known. I've lost weight. I've met a lot of people who put a smile on my face. I'm writing more than ever (yes, I know, it isn't here, but I'm trying).

I've come to realize that avoiding writing something on the ol' binky is like avoiding my past. This is, after all, where I shared all of that news. Avoiding this blog has somehow helped to take the bitter taste out of my mouth.

More changes are coming, I'm sure of it. I'm looking forward to the future more than ever. I dare say that somewhere in the middle of that grizzled, rode-hard facade of mine, there is a twinkle in my eye.

Let me know if you see it.

Still alive and kicking

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 18:29:00 +0000

I apologize for the disappearing act. Has it really been over a month since I posted here? Yowza.

Things have changed, lives have changed, and my focus has changed. But, I'm working on some ideas. I promise to come back here and give the ol' binky a dusting. I'm gonna shake it up, yo.

Anyhoo, I haven't actually fallen into a crack. I work every day (or almost) on my new gig at Examiner.com. They moved me (promoted? that's how I feel about it, anyway) from being the Denver Highlands Mom Examiner (which covered just an area of Denver), to the Denver Motherhood Examiner. So, now, I examine your mother. While she visits Denver.

No. Wait...

Haha. Er.

Actually, it gives me wider berth to talk about all kinds of nonsense. I hope you'll stop by to see whatever tickles my fancy on any particular day. I'm talking about issues that affect moms, women, and parenting. I cover local parks and businesses. One of the more fun aspects is that I have pretty cool giveaways going on. Head over to snag some tickets to Disney on Ice!

So, expect more silliness, seriousness, guffaws, doodads, and other whimsy to start showing up again on the ol' binky.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

Examine this

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 19:06:00 +0000

Well, the day has come to announce the announcement that had too many people on Facebook yelling at me to just get on with it already and make the announcement.

I have a new gig.

I am the Denver Highlands Mom Examiner for Examiner.com! Come on over and check out my inside take on this great neighborhood of Denver, just west of downtown. I'll be posting at least 3 - 4 times per week, so get ready for an onslaught of seeing Amos strut our local streets and showing you what's what for parents and kids in north Denver.

Oh yeah, I bought a new camera. It's not here yet. *kicks the dirt*

In case you missed it, I also guest posted over at Sarcastic Mom. Show some love, yo.

How are you doing? You look fabulous in that garment.

Die! Die!

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 05:40:00 +0000

Feeling random, so this is what you get. Sometime soon, I will announce something or another. Keep your britches on until then. Or, keep them off.

Phil quizzes me most weeks before he heads out to host a Geeks Who Drink quiz at the Irish Hound (read Phil's blog here). My score is sometimes the best, sometimes not. The highest scoring teams receive gift certificates, free beer, or assorted gadgets and odd trinkets. What is my prize? I get to sleep with the quiz master. I doubt the other teams receive orgasms for their efforts. Or, um... Phil?

In keeping with our longstanding tradition of destroying our personal items, Phil managed to throw our camera on the floor. The battery compartment broke. Now, if we want to take pictures, we must hold it shut for our dear lives, breaking off fingers in the process. I actually need the camera now, for reasons I will not tell you yet. I suppose I'm now in the market for a new soul stealer (camera, not husband). You know that American Indians didn't want their pictures taken because they thought it would steal their souls, right? Right. I'm actually glad that the camera is busted. Not only does it steal your soul, but it would take weird blue pictures that were difficult to adjust. Maybe that's the color of souls leaving the nest. So, I need a new device to steal souls in higher mega pixels and with better color adjustment (for maximum stealing, you see).

Amos is in love with the playground. Except, he doesn't know that it's called the playground. Everything is the slide. The slide! The slide! He yells it out as soon as he sees the shiny red, blue and yellow parts of the playground equipment. Ah, but only if it were so innocent. He actually yells out, "Die! Die!" in the most sinister, angelic voice you've ever heard. He runs around the house telling us to die. I am raising Damien, The Omen. I guess it's good for me that we don't live in a two-story house with a balcony. Also, I will not allow Amos to ride a tricycle indoors. EVER. Amos sometimes also seems to speak in tongues. Coincidence? I think not. *wondering if I should shave his head and look for 666*

Phil and I might have a date soon. A real, actual adult date involving two grownups. This lady right here is in sore need of a night out with a man. At this point, any man will do. I just. NEED. A. DATE. A silly neighbor volunteered to take care of Damien. She has been warned about being told to die.

Watching too much childrens' television will cause you to go wacky, not unlike the Jack Nicholson character in The Shining. All Dora and Wubbzy makes Sarah a dull girl. All Diego and Wonder Pets makes Sarah want to drop kick the TV and tear the heads off of stuffed monkeys.

Did I mention that I need a date?

Also, in case you haven't tired of me just yet, head over yonder to that crazy lady Sarcastic Mom. I am the guest blogger on her fence today. Just a sittin' on that ol' fence and sayin' thangs. And chewin' on straw. Chawin' and tawkin'.

How many w's?

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 07:05:00 +0000

I suspect this is what would happen if my grandmother was still alive.

Hey, you. Yeah. YOU.

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 20:39:00 +0000

So, apparently I missed the boat on Delurking Day 2009. This is a day when folks who read a blog are encouraged to stop by and leave a comment. Any comment. Any word choice pattern that involves clacking some keys and moving a mouse.

I apologize for my lack of timeliness. I am surfin' the 'Net today to delurk upon some bloggies that I enjoy. Many of them of are way over there in my favorite blog list on the left. You'd be an improved human being to visit those places.

So, my lovelies, if you happen to read this blog and enjoy the randomness, comedy, tragedy, and tomfoolery that splashes upon your screen, come on a' my house and leave a comment. Delurk. Make it so.

In other news...

I feel like I am a newborn learning about the world. I'm waking up after a long sleep. That whole mess back in '08 (which I like to call Aught Eight like an old rummy, and will sorely miss saying the 'aught' part of Aught Nine once Ten rolls around) left me a puddle of a mess. For those of you wondering, I'm getting back to normal, but some sort of new normal. I think it is a better new normal than the old norm. I think.

Currently, we are watching some bizarre ocean volcano song on "Diego" on Nick Jr. I believe the words were, "You've got to blow! blow! blow! like an ocean volcano! Blow! BLOW! BLOW! BLOW! BLOW!" Now they are yelling, "You gotta squirt! Squirt!"

Perhaps this will be my new mantra for Aught Nine. You gotta squirt. You gotta blow.

I'll leave you with that.

Coffee Dude, part deux

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 20:45:00 +0000

Well, I thought I was being too catty in the last blog, but I seem to have hit a nerve and a chuckle bone with a few of you who are well aware of empty biz-lingo speak. You ams my people.

So, Qwest decided to put off our glorious Internet at home because a third-party verifier made their verifying call to us too late (huh? wuh?). So, we wait until tomorrow for the wireless juices to flow within our abode.

In the meantime, I'm back at the coffee shop with my menfolk. We went to the playground and now Amos is mixing chess pieces with dominos. I'm sure there are old men sitting in Central Park right now who feel the mixed game vibe that Amos is sending through the air, and those men are simultaneously falling over from their concrete chairs and having heart attacks and/or some sort of exuberant spasms.

Or not.

As luck would have it, Coffee Dude is here again. Phil says the guy has been here since this morning. Perhaps Qwest has besmirched his good name as well. I suspect, however, that Sweetie has kicked him to the curb for wearing all brown from head to foot.

Yes. All brown. The same shade of dark, coffee house brown. If I wasn't able to observe the tail of his shirt, I'd swear that he's wearing a one-piece jumpsuit.

I'm going to guess that outfits like that combined with paradigm shifts, confluences, leveraging, and innovation are the reason that his venture capitalist buddy didn't want to bite the bagel.

So, here's why I appreciate Phil. I just observed his work e-mails, and someone he communicates with uses phrases such as major release, regression tests, public query, and release notes. See, that could potentially be really annoying coming out of someone's mouth (especially Coffee Dude), but Phil doesn't use these words (well, "major release" may have been uttered in our bedroom - hachachacha!). And for that, I love this man.

You know, Coffee Dude is bringing out my inner cattiness, and for that I should probably thank him. I look forward to coming here tomorrow to see what shade of puke he is donning. Will I perchance get to listen to another of his brilliant speeches?

I'll leave you with this. This morning, when Phil told me on the phone, "The guy you wrote about is here again, about three tables away," I asked him, "Um. You better hope he didn't hear you." "Um. I hope not."

So, then I spent the morning wondering what the chain of events would be if Coffee Dude HAD heard him. Would there be a confrontation? Would Phil try to calm Coffee Dude by saying, "Naw, man, she said some great stuff about you."? Would Coffee Dude demand to see this writing and then Phil would be forced to say, "Well, at least she edited out the parts where she called you a douchebag."? And would Coffee Dude then try to have fisticuffs with Phil, perhaps box him about the ears? How long would it take before I would hear of these grand tales of mayhem in the coffee house?!

As you can imagine, I was anxiously loading up the stroller as I pondered this, hoping that I would catch man-on-man, coffee-flinging barbarism over my blog.

Sadly, there was none. Maybe tomorrow.

Observations upon a coffee house outing

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 00:01:00 +0000

While waiting for our new Internet connection to be established at home, Phil and I have ventured to the coffee house for free 'net and not so free coffee. Phil is showing Amos around the place and letting people gawk at him. Meanwhile, this is what I'm hearing from the guy next to me on the phone...

"Yeah. He's just not on board. He's a sinking ship."

"Well, I'm down the wire here. My game is off. His method isn't entering our agenda."

"By some miracle, he'll come back and get into the circle. I'm not banking on it."

"We need the capital and the commerce. He just doesn't want to put his name on it."

"Lots of discussions today, but he's just not gelling."

"Okay, Al. Enjoy your tennis game."

UGH. How many more mixed metaphors and crappy biz-lingo jargons can this guy throw in? I am having convulsions just trying not to scream over his conversation. If only he had thrown in words like "paradigm shift" or "team effort" or perhaps "planogram." I suspect he's listened to way too many motivational speeches from Tony Robbins. Come into the circle and embrace the team. Hug it out.

I ran a business, and I didn't talk like this guy. I'm not sure how that would have improved things for me if I had entered the paradigm shift or the quantum leap. I used my big girl voice, but I didn't try to master some other biz-speak in order to impress folks. Then again, I was in the natural products arena that is full of laid back hippies and yoga enthusiasts.

I still have no idea what he does, but I think it's best that I not. I do know that he shakes the heck out of the community table we are sharing, and that's really annoying.

I guess I'm a little cranky at the coffee house. Heh. I'm not one to talk, I guess. I'm the lady with the giant stroller in the coffee shop, possibly annoying others with my large contraption.

Phil says folks just complimented Amos on his haircut. Thank you, coffee patrons.

-----

Update: He's one the phone with "Sweetie" now. His voice is totally different. He's down and out. He's under the weather without a paddle. He is stretched to the outer limits and other mixed metaphors.

Ouch.

He just said, "Are we having dinner as a family?"

It was so sad the way he said it. Okay, Coffee Dude. You've made me sad for you. Go home to Sweetie and have a gin and tonic. Maybe tomorrow you can put a plug in that sinking ship.

Onnellista uutta vuotta

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 07:03:00 +0000

That's Happy New Year in Finnish. That concludes today's language lesson. Well, for you, at least.

For Amos, however, language has suddenly exploded in new and exciting ways. The lil' mimic picks up new words every day, ranging from two (dew), three (dee!), shoe (dew... yes, it's the same as 'two'), to cheese (deezsh!). Thanks to "Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!", Amos goes around the house saying "Wow wow!" and raising his eyebrows up and down when he sees something exciting.

Okay, the eyebrow thing is something we taught him, but you must give him credit for combining the two skills.

It melts my cold, dark heart.

The lil' noodle understands WAY more than that. He meows when there is any mention of a feline. He knows what a xylophone is and where to obtain one. He climbs the stairs on the playground and goes down the slide all by himself. He can find your nose and your belly. He is quite fond of showing you his own abdomen, so much so that I think we'll have a public streaker on our hands one of these days.

Apparently, while I wasn't looking, my boy grew up into a bonafide toddler. Eighteen months is a mighty fine age.

So, here's to a new year without any catastrophes, yet filled with wow wow!

*raises eyebrows up and down*

Writing 'scripts in an RV

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 03:41:00 +0000

I've had an odd time lately since the passing of my mom. (Oh no! She's talking about that again!) Apparently, death creates change. Or, in my case, a head full of ideas that have nowhere to go. I'm thinking of the future, and here are random ideas that have popped into my head.

Phil and I should sell the house and travel in an RV for the rest of our lives, just like Six for the Road. We'll go town to town, up and down the dial. Phil will perform comedy in random towns and nudist camps while I make goldfish jewelry (yes, from real goldfish). Amos will learn the true carnie lifestyle. Happiness will abound.

You think I'm joking, but here are but some of the lil' cuties I'm considering for our vagabond life: How about an Airstream? An Oliver? A Scamp? Roundin' it out in an R-Pod? Teardropping the T@B? Whoa bam TADA?

Another option considered: Going to pharmacy school to learn to legally deal drugs to old people. It will only take four years of my life plus $40,000 - $100,000 in tuition. Then, I can rake in $95,000+ a year while wearing a smock in Walmart. Woo! Live the dream!

Another option: Learn to make jewelry. See above goldfish reference.

Another option: Actually committing to the blog and making it worth reading. Heh.

Another option: Become a travel journalist as trained by The Travel Channel. I could become a female Bear Grylls or some such, creating "Woman Versus Wild". Watch me strip naked and do pushups in the Himalayas!

Get a job of some sort that allows me to work from home. You may offer suggestions now.

Forget it all and eat chocolate.

Hello, carbon monoxide. The air, the air is everywhere.

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 07:02:00 +0000

Random, as you seem to like it.

Every Tenacious D song is exactly the same. Kind of heavy metal Renaissance Festival music. Kudos, Jack Black, for building a career on the same tune.

The furnace repair guy showed up yesterday at our request. We are not technically in danger of carbon monoxide - yet. This brings me to one of my favorite songs from the movie Hair, which is better than the stage musical Hair and much better than any school play version of Hair you were ever in. Also, it has Treat Williams. Your school play did not have Treat Williams. Although, I would really like to go to any school that has the balls to put on Hair. (Is that a joke? I think I'll make it one.)

No, I don't know what cataclysmic ectoplasm is, but I sure would like to find out.

Amos has grasped the idea of Santa Claus firmly in his toddler mind trap. Dude, I'm screwed.

When a child sleeps with you every night, sometimes there is needed maneuvering of said child to a crib for a sacred hour or so whilst the parents get some business time. Then, the business time players must not wake the cribbed child during business hours. It is very strange and a bit of a blow to the mojo to have to move an inert body in order to get it on with my husband.

Remember when I said I wouldn't drink wine while on the diet? I lied.

Don't eat the Jenga

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 23:14:00 +0000

That's what I said today. I'm not sure there will ever be another time I say that in my life, unless I take Amos back to the coffee house when he's teething.

Today, I ventured out of the house to the park and for coffee (and slobbery Jenga). Yesterday, I allowed a neighbor AND a repairman to saunter through my home while it was moderately clean.

It's like I'm alive again.

I'm enjoying my sassy new cut. It needs to be unleashed upon the masses. I need to go somewhere every day to clear my head and get back to being a person again. That, my friends, is the plan. Being a person is important, no?

We put up the Christmas tree and the Santa that my mom knitted oh so many years ago. Everyone in my immediate family has a knitted Santa, just like the one we had when we were kids.

Here is Amos with his buddy Santa last year.

I think I needed to put up the tree. I needed Knitted Santa to wink at me. I needed Gardening Santa to grace the top of the tree. I needed a bit of Christmas cheer in my gullet.

Christmas cheer, by the way, must come in the form of thoughts and deeds rather than Jesus juice. I'm on the diet again, as you may know, and that does not include tasty Pinot Noir or any of my other fermented friends. Steering away from booze while grieving and being a hermit does not make the process any easier, but alas, that is how it is to be. At least I'll be skinny and grieving. Heh.

It hasn't been easy to find places to go with Amos while the temps are in the single digits and there's snow everywhere. A friend suggested this place, called Monkey Bizness. We just might do it.

Another place that Amos loves a little too much is crawling on the giant plastic food play area at Cherry Creek Mall. They have this going on as well. Perhaps I'll let Amos ogle Santa without actually placing the tot on some fat guy's lap. I hear that Santa is scaring the bejeebus out of toddlers these days. Although, considering how hilarious those photos are, I just might need to scar Amos for a few minutes.

And blah blah blah. Time for tea.

Damn you, Natalie Portman

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 04:58:00 +0000

For making me use the scissors again. She's too cute with her tiny haircuts and tiny ways.

I'm back to the shorty cut. I think I like it. At least now I can look okay using tiny hair pins.

Okay. I'm now done with the hair talk.

Maybe I can tape it back on

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 01:56:00 +0000

I might regret this. I might not.

For reference...

I have bangs, people.

BANGS!!!!

Steady as she goes

noreply@blogger.com (imaginary binky) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 02:41:00 +0000

I haven't much inclination to write. I think you can understand why. Or, maybe you don't. No one really knows how to act when crap things happen. You just are.

So, instead of focusing on any one thing, here is a collection of randomness that I've had under my thinking cap for a spell. Enjoy.

I find great pleasure in checking my voice mail, only to be asked to resave the following message from many months ago: "WHAT THE HELL?! *click*" It was a wrong number, and it's some old man, sounding very much like Grandpa from "The Simpsons", apparently frustrated with my greeting. Granted, it was a long one as it was still my old business greeting, but isn't it odd that he listened to the whole thing and then decided to curse at a stranger? What a wonderful and silly gift he gives me every month.

Amos has new and delightful ways to entertain us lately. He will sometimes only eat if he is presented with a fingerbowl of water and some items to dip in it. The latest favorites are floating letters and numbers that are meant for bath time. He loves to dip the letters, say, "DISSH? DISSH?" which means, "This?" as in "What's this, Mama?" While he marvels at the letters, somehow we manage to shove a whole meal into his piehole. Simply amazing.

Another Amos-ism comes right from my own past. We dug up a treasure trove of toys at my parents' house, and amongst the pile was my giant doll, Mikey. He's this big fella with a giant head, a serious case of hair loss, and red suspenders. Amos thinks Mikey is The Shit. He talks to Mikey, feeds him, feels his strange plastic hands, and gives him a binky when appropriate. At times, we use Mikey to ease Amos into a nap. At times, we peek in and find Amos straddling Mikey's face and bouncing the crap out of him. I wonder if this Amos' way of telling us, "Yeah, you see this? Expect this behavior if you decide to have another kid."

In my quest to find solace and peace while I have retreated from the world, I decided to use a bit of mad money. I went crazy and bought a Wii. Yes, I have fallen to the calling of Nintendo and their ding dang invention that makes people look like they are in the midst of a seizure as they virtually bowl or ski or throw the controllers at the TV. My precious arrives Thursday. You can definitely expect radio silence from me from that day forward.

Snow. Cold. Started my diet again. Losing weight makes me cold, so I have to throw on extra blankets or strap the cat to my feet. But I look fabulous.

And so do you.