Shuggilippo

And we're convinced men have selective hearing?

2010-03-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

Here it comes. The opposition. From the mouth of a mommy. Gasp. Shriek. Terror!

I, after reading the article, we all know which one that's been rustling our feathers and getting the panties all up in a wad, don't see what all the big fuss is about. I understand where the misconception that The Bash was intended has stemmed from, but for the most part think everyone is doing what we all get pissed at our other halves for: Hearing what they want to hear.

So this may not be as simple as, "HELLO I TOLD YOU THREE TIMES I'M HAVING THE GIRL'S OVER FOR A JEWELRY PARTY TODAY!", but the principle is precisely the same.

The title. Offensive...but only out of context.

The mocking tone about the subject matter of the fabulous Bloggy Bootcamp not being about hiding veggies in the kids food. Offensive...again only out of context.

After reading and reading and reading and reading the article both to myself and to willing audiences (okay, on a road trip for a week long girl's trip is probably not willing as much as frustratingly forceful) I cannot seem to wrap my head around how the bulk of that article is a reflection and expression of the hurdles being overcome in this new realm of community between mothers and women alike. That in a time where knowing your neighbors (let alone their names) is not a common reality, we're building "the village" among women with similar and often different interests, but essentially the same. Damn. Needs. And that some of them, with their talents are being offered jobs, products, and brand representation. Oh snap! (and also, bless their hearts)

Exactly how I took that article. The author didn't attend the conference, network with amazingly influential women, connect on a mass of differing levels just to bash the efforts, the unity, the power force behind what we're all doing as writers and mothers. She did it to bring attention to it. TO THEM. The ones she willingly mentions, by name, and direct blog url, driving excessive amounts of relatively unique traffic to what some curious minds may not have ever ventured to explore. A positive thing.

This may get me castrated from the "mommy blogging" community (hell, I haven't felt considered in the slightest as a mommy blogger still since I occasionally talk about having pretend, creative advertisement sex with strange people willing to fork out their money perhaps insinuating that I have a between-the-legs-dangler). Damned if I'll sit by and feel like less of a woman, writer, or mother for that matter because so-and-so disagrees with THAT article. For once, I'm hopping in the side car of the bandwagon. Maintaining my geeky, awkward, "so cute and young" outsider status to voice my honest opinion on all the bullshit hullabaloo. I pulled out the shit guns ladies and gentleman. Pardon the fan, this could get messy.

Every refute I've read so far has focused on the two things that *could be* considered offensive if taken completely out of context. The title. The subject matter.

Move on. No one is begging you to prove yourself.

I've always lived by the notion that if you're so deeply offended you have to parade your offense for the world to see (or in this case read), guilt is the driving force behind it. Whenever I've felt offended by anything it's because I recognize the truth of the statement in reference to my words or actions. It appears as though some out there, based the level of frantically, passionate and prompt refute, maybe, just maybe, sorta kinda feel like they should be doing it differently. Maybe?

Tuck. Roll. Diving head first. Off. My. Soapbox.

Natalie Portman said is best in Garden State, "Sidecars are for bitches."

I'm a bitch.

You're welcome.

If I make thirty cents in a month I'll be stoked.

2010-03-12T22:34:00.002-07:00

I'm obviously having trouble recruiting any sponsors for BlogHer '10 in NYC with my Sleep With Me campaign, shocking, I know, so I'm going to try this ingenious idea out for a month*.

I've gotten a huge response that people think my ~~ploy for bail money~~ ~~crass~~ honest approach to recruit conference sponsorship, was fresh, but they just don't have anything for me to promote otherwise they would totally pay me for my wit. Well, here's your chance you ~~smoke blowers~~ generous, ego-stroking readers of mine!

I've created a donation button on my sidebar that will exist until April 13th*. It can be used at your discretion with no minimums because I'm nice like that. Nice in the sense that while I'm down here groveling at your feet for your spare pennies, I'll also cut you a sweet break. You're welcome.

*Pending the success of my quirky cyber pan handling, the button may stay up longer. Thrice times a charm, you're welcome.

Speeches are for presidents and valedictorians.

2010-03-11T23:31:00.000-07:00

Nugget's two year well check resulted in two words I never fathomed for my little buddy, at such a young age, to have as suggested treatment for his "lack of 2-3 word phrases":

Speech Therapy.

Those two words, after being processed (slowly and with many a hard swallow and fighting off of tears for the sake of sparing his pediatrician another viewing of my ugly cry) translated into two more disturbing words: Gut-wrenching. Which, I suppose is really one word because of that hyphen in there. Or does the hyphen accentuate the fact that it is indeed still two words? To be perfectly honest, that’s totally beside the point.

What I'm trying to get at here, is, well, I don't really know I suppose.

All throughout my childhood, I grew up "gifted". I was flawless…at least in the eyes of the administrators of the educational system in which I was raised. Husfriend, he had speech therapy. He had speech therapy in MIDDLE SCHOOL to correct the trouble he was having making the “S” sound. That right there is the understanding I've had my entire existence of what speech therapy is intended for: To address impediments like slurs, annunciation hurdles, lisps, etc. Far be it for me to not be completely floored when Nugget’s pediatrician staked claim that the absence of his 20+ word vocabulary bank and failure to use groups of two to three words to communicate at this point is terms for therapy. Kind of like terms of endearment, except doesn’t quite turn you on nearly as much.

You guys, HE JUST TURNED TWO!!

Gurgley balls you guys! Gurgley! (Maybe he’s having issues because his mother doesn’t use “real” words in her common vernacular. Side note: speaking in rhetoric; no need to address this one.)

Perhaps, okay most likely, the shock has settled and I’ve successfully transitioned to the denial phase of this coping process. I just can’t believe that bringing Nugget to a speech therapist is really truly going to be the most effective means of expanding his communicative skills. He associates extremely well, almost better than most kids his age.

Counterpoint one: He doesn’t interact with other children very often….if ever. Nugget is almost always, I’d say about 80%-90%, around adults. When he does have the chance to get together with other kids his age, he’s attentive, sharing, babbles in Nuggetese, says what toy he’s sharing as he hands it to the other child.

Counterpoint two: Husfriend is not talkative…at all. Yes, I talk a lot. Yes, Nugget is around me for a majority of the day. No, Husfriend does not talk a lot. No, that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing going on in that brain of his. He doesn’t have the desire to hear his own voice as much as someone else in the family. *cough*

Counterpoint three: Nugget’s independence is uncanny. It’s not that he has ADD (trust me, we’ve had it checked out), but he is a very self-sufficient toddler having no reason to cater to a sibling’s needs for stimulation. There are times that he and I will be in the midst of a wicked game of “choo-choos” where he will stand up, grab his trains, and start heading upstairs to his bedroom. I will ask, “Can mommy come play choo-choos?” To which he responds, with a disapproving shake of his head and a wave of the arm, “Bye bye!” In my eyes, that is communication at its best…for a two year old. Which, by the way, did I happen to mention that? That Nugget’s pediatrician is recommending speech therapy for a two year, one month, and three day old toddler?!

*sigh*

Now I turn to you, you almighty sexy beast of a blogosphere. Be my village on this one. My psyche and my sanity (Which are kind of the same thing or so I’m told.) are at stake. This may not seem like such a big deal to some of you, especially in the grand scheme of things and stuff that parents are told about their child in these routine visits, but to me, to us, it is the biggest thing we’ve had to delve into when it comes to our Nugget. Have you ever been urged to seek speech therapy for your toddler? How did you cope? What tools did you use to broaden their communication skills? Flash cards? Videos?

I would love to hear from you or of someone you know that has experienced a similar nudge from their pediatrician. I dare not try Google just yet for fear of my self-diagnostic dependency on webMD. He may turn out to be pregnant.

Wordless Wednesday: Nugget Norris

2010-03-10T01:00:00.000-07:00

This picture was not taken in the past week, but I stumbled upon it this weekend. That counts for something right?!

P.S. Nugget, don't you be kicking Bartholomew!

**If you want to join in the Wordless Wednesday fun, link up with Angry Julie Monday!!

Lia Sophia Jewelry Party

2010-03-09T13:01:00.000-07:00

The time has come to share my newest love, Lia Sophia Jewelry, with you, my darling readers.

I recently attended a party at my sister's home and fell in love with their latest catalog. After purchasing two fabulous pieces, I decided that I wanted to do a Phoenix bloggy meet-up centered around accessorizing ourselves for the spring and summer seasons so quickly approaching.

Since I will be off Mumzy-napping all of next week, let us all get together for food, fun, fashion, and some inappropriate joking on:

Saturday, March 27, 2010!

Please leave a comment with your email address by Thursday, March 11, 2010 at Midnight to receive your personal invitation. Or, if you're creeped out by my strange audience of dwindling regulars knowing your email address to spam you with male enhancement medication, feel free to email me directly: jess@shuggilippo.com.

There will be great giveaways and the memories...oh, the memories.

Today you turn old and I stay forever young.

2010-03-08T13:03:00.000-07:00

Husfriend is twenty-six years old today.

Three of those twenty-six he's been forced to share with me. (I'm starting to think he's finally becoming okay with that.)

Now, Husfriend typically doesn't get to snag the most airtime on this here blog of mine, but today, since it is the historical day of his birth, I'll give him like 500 words worth. That seems fair right?

Every year he does a big themed party outing with all of his friends. Last year, Metro on The Metro where we christened the three month old Valley Metro Light Rail with our Jersey Shore get ups and attitudes to match. The year before, Booze Cruise Around the World where we rode bicycles dressed in our best nautical gear to different restaurants and partook of their regional libations. This year, well, I sat this year's festivities out. Partly because of my being ninety-seven and partly because I was being a party pooper. I knew the day wouldn't end well so I opted to save everyone the public display of impatient bitchyness. You're welcome. However, this year's theme seemed most enjoyable of all to me. It incorporated two of my favorite things in the entire world, making a spectacle of myself and feeding my competitive beast. A scavengar hunt. With teams and bizarre humans (mother/daughter mullet couple. Hello?! Yes, please!) and occasional shots of alcohol and pictures and gleeeeeeee! But I stayed home, hobbled around, threw up twice, stayed in a foul mood, and then went to sleep. Because, I'm awesome.

All I can say, is that Husfriend of mine, is a keeper. Not to mention he's just that, MINE. I will share him to a certain extent, but for the most part, I'm the one who gets to watch the Oscars and hear his Team America: World Police interpretation every time Matt Damon is mentioned or appears on the screen. (She knows what I'm talkin' bout.) I'm the one who gets to watch him play choo-choos with our Nugget the second he gets home from work everyday. I'm the one who gets to hear him play that acoustic guitar of his even if he doesn't want me to hear him yet. I'm the one who gets to marvel at his growth and kiss him for his accomplishments. Me. I do. (and someday soon I hope we "I Do")

Happy Birthday Husfriend!

(P.S. We have to drop Nugget off at my mom's at 5:30 tonight and don't forget to bring the extra car seat. You still haven't told me where you want to go for dinnner? I know its your day, but seriously, Mexican food is not the best option before a concert. I'm not kidding. Choose something else. Oh, and don't forget that I love you because sometimes I'm pretty unbearable and I'm pretty sure it could be easy to forget if I were you and not me and I had to deal with my occasional nonsense. Okay! Rambling! Love you!)

Wordless Wednesday: Quick Ray! Life is Good!

2010-03-03T14:11:00.000-07:00

Want to join in the Wordless Wednesday fun?! Link up with Angry Julie Monday!

**Diclaimer: I was neither persuaded or compensated by Quiksilver, Ray-Ban, or Life is Good for slathering the title of this post with their goodness or snapping this photograph of my darling Nugget sporting all three at once. However, if any of you would like to persuade me with your money and/or amaze balls products, get in touch!

Hello, My Name Is Jess and I'm Ninety-Seven.

2010-02-28T22:26:00.000-07:00

As I struggle with yet another bout of unbearable insomnia, my state of being is accompanied by the unrelenting lower back pain caused by a silly shower move. I'd love to say I was doing something impressive like mastering the ability to clean my hair whilst doing a solid handstand. Whereas shampoo was involved in the incident that inflicted upon me the most terrifying pain I have ever felt in my entire life (that has yet to cease), it was not while doing something worthy of YouTube or a coveted spot in The Guinness Book of World Records.

Reaching. That's it. That's all I was doing. Reaching for the shampoo bottle and thwap!

Crippling, screaming, paralyzing back pain. As if someone took the liberty upon themselves to speed up my personal aging process by jabbing a machete into the base of my spine. Shooting. Pain.

Since that fateful Friday morning, I've gone through waves of extreme pain that render me completely useless. I'm lucky enough to have a great friend whose father is a chiropractor. I put a call into the office and will be whipped back into shape tomorrow morning.

Until then, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. Drugs? Not helping. Rest? Too uncomfortable. Just Dance-ing? Flirting with disaster. Sleeping? I WISH!!

Naturally, WebMD and my vague (self-taught) knowledge of diagnostic medicine have led me to a few conclusions. Don't put it past me to suggest a few in my appointment. I'll surely be tweeting the events of my morning. She's been having sympathy pains and that makes me feel better. I mean, why wouldn't it?! Everyone wants someone to understand why the hell they are reluctant to take a piss because, heaven forbid, they tweak their back in such a way that results in their writhing in pain on the bathroom floor, pants around their ankles, and tinkle drops on their inner thigh. But Husfriend, I was just trying to wipe!! Quit snickering and help me will you?

My being under the influence is doing nothing for my ability to write besides chock this post full of obscure vocabulary and rambling. Oh the rambling.

Maybe I'll get better stuff come 10am...

Wordless Wednesday: True love is black & white.

2010-02-24T01:00:00.000-07:00

**Join in the Wordless Wednesday fun and link up with Angry Julie Monday.

Greedy, Envious Bastard!

2010-02-23T07:56:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I wrote my first "fuck" in this post. Be not offended for it is done so light-heartedly. No promises can be made for the future use of the word. I'll do my best.

Envy. It's one of the seven deadly sins. Every blogger has it. A-list or Newbie. Some more than others.

Lately this motivational topic of "The blogosphere is a big, scary place, don't let it get to you." has been trending with a lot of the bloggers that I personally follow. I'm chalking/chocking it up to the slue of conferences in the past few weeks. Can't say I'm all that mad.

When I rang in the new year, I secretly resolved to myself to be a better blogger. (Didn't we all?) I've held up ~~little~~ ~~some of~~ a bit of my end of the bargain of that resolution. The other part, well, it was the part that was either going to make or break me. Or so I told myself. The part where I assumed (and we all know that when you assume things you make an ass out of u and me) the blogosphere would be so riveted, so intrigued by my writing that I'd shoot right up the totem pole (that totally exists) of bloggers to be one with the A-listers. When that obviously didn't happen, oh the multitude of ridiculousness that is I came and it came on strong.

Nine times out of ten, according to the survey I made up just now for the sake of sounding intellectual and researchful (real word), we are harder on ourselves than any troll, stalker, or lurker could ever be to our "face" or behind our backs. That's not to say I know from first hand experience the emotional toll a troll has on your psyche, but I'm assuming (there I go again, dear anyone, feel free to stop me from this vicious cycle) it can't be much worse than the mind fuck I put myself through.

There have been a few instances where I was acknowledged by a blogger I consider to be "A-list", "head honcho", "super-radtastically-awesome-stellar-to-the-max". I did a naturally unshowered-past-noon, hopefully-no-one-is-watching-me-through-my-windows, happy jig in celebration, but then stopped, over-analyzed the situation, and immediately became completely. bummed. out. I went from, "Yay! {Enter Whomever I Admire} totally read that super funny, lame attempt at witty humor, post/tweet, and liked it!" directly to "Why did they DM/email me? Why wouldn't they just leave a comment? Are they afraid of losing followers because most of the time I'm trying too hard/especially NOT funny/excessively using the word "fuck"/too young/too much of a nobody?" You see? DO YOU SEE WHAT I DO TO MYSELF?!

In the recent days, thanks to a lot of those CEO's of Amazingness I was talking about, I've been inspired to chill out. I've been able to reflect and look back at why I started blogging in the first place. I overheard everyone talking abou these new fangled, fancy "blogs" back in 2008 at a dinner meeting thing-a-ma-jig for an adult dance company. My interest was sparked because I've always had a secret passion for writing. I started one right here, where I still am today, as a means to keep the family and friends we have strewn across the globe, connected to the happenings of our lives and the milestones of our Nugget. Then, THEN, I fell into this world of mommy-bloggers and entreprenuers. I was a kid (no literal interpretation; please and thank you) in a candy store filled with gobstoppers of inspiration and chick-o-sticks of support. I've developed great relationships and taken advantage of some fun opportunities.

Cue the second deadly sin: Greed.

Now, the fact that so-and-so stealthily acknowledged my existence in this ginormous (another real word) blogosphere, is enough, but just barely. I want public association. I want sponsors. I want comments. I want subscribers. I want followers. I want to be invited. I want. I want. I want. All this wanting makes me want to smack myself with a frozen beef steak. Because no one wants to be the whiny, woe-is-me, stroke-my-suffering-ego blogger*. Yee-uck! I am this, luckily to myself, but now my dirty laundry is being aired for all the world to read. Duck. Cover. Cower.

So it's my ego. That ego that is in no way broken. The one that fuels my confidence both on the interwebs and in that dreaded "real grown-up professionally type world". The one that though sometimes valiant and strong, becomes too strong to be appreciated. Because, let's face it, we all have egos. It's human nature. It is what we allow those egos to do that will determine our worth, our status, our respectability. And now, a deeply profound quote that is sure to make your brain explode all over your computer screen, and in turn, defeating the minute purpose of this post to have you like me, really, like me:

"We write to reach out. Don't waste your time waiting for someone to reach back."

*How great is is that this entire post wasn't written with disclaimer after disclaimer after disclaimer per my typical writing style? Hooray for progress! Only one. You know, for the f-bomb. Yeah.

The one where I get pathetic over nothing. (for the sake of frequency)

2010-02-19T12:09:00.000-07:00

**The reason I need an SLR of my own. I. Am. Awesome(ly Amatuer)!!

I think I've pinned down the source of my most recent bout of, "Ugh, seriously?! Hey universe! Can I at least get ONE win? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? I'LL KISS YOU!!"

Me.

I'm the reason "things just aren't fair" and "nobody cares as much as I do" and "nothing is the way it 'should' be". Yep. Yours truly. I'm the reason.

And fade in with Hoobastank...fade out...and proceed.

I work my ~~butt~~ ~~tush-tush~~ ass off to do stuff and buy pretty things and take time for myself like in the case of the forthcoming Super Not-So-Secret-But-We-Can-Still-Pretend-Right? Mumzy-napping of 2010. It seems, though I know that it is "how life goes" (you don't have to tell me twice or once or ever) , that there's never a plan I make that doesn't have some sort of string attached. Don't get me started on how much I loathe strings entirely. My mind processes the thought of strings as something to strangle someone with. Morbid? Yes. My reality? Resounding yes. Hatred much? I guess. I have not a single clue where I was going with that, so we're moving on.

This post is SO not about money either. It's about the ability, physically, emotionally, to participate in the Things That Make Me Go Ooh. No strings attached...uh, excuse me? Didn't I say we were MOVING ON! Quit it Bartholomew! I'm serious.

Basically I'm rambling. Essentially about absolute nonsense that is all self-inflicted, yet I haven't coaxed you fine specimens for a pity party in a while. October? Was that the last party? Geez, I need to get out more! (read: note to self, sort of the moral of this post dumb ass). Commence support and uplifting ego strokage.

I really shouldn't be complaining. At all. I'm Super Secret Mumzy-napping in 24 days, attending Bloggy Bootcamp, planning something remarkably kick ass for this broad, and going to BlogHer '10 in NYC in August (p.s. still actively accepting sponsors, wink wink shimmy).

Sigh.

I'll just keep gathering my MOTY awards to display in my glass case of accomplishment. It will look great below the gigantic mosaic of my face I'm working dilligently on...so far it is lovely.

Hi New Sponsor,ThaiCycles!!

2010-02-18T16:24:00.000-07:00

I am so excited to present to you, my loverly readers, a non-profit organization I've teamed up with that is promoting a cause so unbelievably important, I can't even begin to desribe my ecstatic-ness. Which is a word I made up. Just right this second.

ThaiCycles' mission is to provide the means of transportation to Thai children unable to further their education by attending a secondary education program because they simply have no way of getting there.

Their business plan is simple and solid. We, the people of America who have access to umpteen million options for higher education (in comparison, respectively), purchase 7 stylishly comfortable t-shirts and ThaiCycles wraps a bow on a brand-spanking new bicycle and ships it overseas to Thailand. They've gotten in cahoots with the local Thai government and the Ministry of Education to provide children with less hope for a future free from poverty and a basic elementary education, the brilliant opportunity to have at their disposal, something we, well, take advantage of having at our disposal.

So, for $20, the same amount of dough I, personally, spend a month on my ridiculous Diet Coke addiction, you contribute to the quality of life of a child in a less fortunate position than our own. How amazingly, cool, ecstatic-ness inducing is that?!

Head on over to ThaiCycles to browse their men's and women's t-shirt options. (P.S. I hear, or will make Joel hear and then let me & you hear, that they will be selling kiddo and baby sizes soon *cough cough* *waves excitedly at Joel*)

I also have a clickable button on the sidebar if you forget to jump to the website right now and get your his and hers shirts, but remember later when you have *nothing* to wear.

And, as always, don't hesitate to share how amped you are about this too in the comments, I'm sure Joel & Aaron would LOVE to see some great feedback!!

**I was provided nothing but a keen stroking of my ego for the contents of this post. Soon, it will be more, at which point, I'll be sure to let you know about my goodies, but for now, my heart is full and that's all the payment I really need.

Wordless Wednesday: Party Like A Rockstar

2010-02-17T11:23:00.000-07:00

Wanna join in the Wordless Wednesday fun? Post a picture from the past week and link up with Angry Julie!!

Love and pain and Hallmark.

2010-02-14T23:09:00.000-07:00

This weekend was a doozy.

We're talking a birthday party for a two-year-old. {Someone hold me.} A birthday party, might I add, I had an extensive amount of confirmed attendees with chitlins, who, well, failed to follow through. Times like that, though at this point other kiddos at the over-the-top birthday celebration is more for me than Nugget, I wish my bloggy pals in faraway lands lived a wee bit closer or were independently wealthy enough to hop in their private jets just to shower my child with nonsensical gifts. End pity party. Those who attended did make it fantabulous. The infant was a bonus, mainly because he is my to die for adorable nephew, and Liam Danger was, by default being the only other chitlin, bad ass fun! With a middle name like Danger, you'd expect nothing less.

Valentine's Day, doubling as Husfriend and my three-year-anniversary in 2010 was...interesting. Planning a day of walking and sitting and watching movies at a real life cinematic establishment were cut short when "The sangria isn't helping the pain!" and "Pretty sure my hips didn't get the memo that they still have 50+ years time to "go out" on me."-esque gripes began spewing from my mouth. Husfriend is pretty aware that it won't be a day with me without my incessent complaining. I held out for a while though. Since it was a *special* day and whatnot. I'm so sweet.

Then...THEN...I whacked my knee. Hard. Right there on the unnaturally oversized door jamb of the entry to our bedroom. Seriously?! Plus side, it happened at the END of the day. Down side, I have discovered how incredibly difficult it is to cry while dying of laughter at your own failed attempt at appropriate depth perception. Writhing on the floor at the top of the stairs will also convince your spouse that something serious has happened. He will be baffled when he reaches you to see you grabbing your knee, crying, and holding your chest to control your laughter. Because your boobies hurt for female reasons beyond male comprehension. Also, sneaking in the question about BlogHer you sacrificed your ability to walk for, is tough to do as you limp pathetically to the bed. I still managed to squeeze it out between tearful guffaws. By the way, it was answered precisely to my liking. Squee! (More to come soon, keep your panties on!)

Now, excuse me while I hobble to grab my weepy Nugget from his bedroom. Sigh.

Oh yah, Happy Valentine's Day jerks!

xo,
Jess

Interview with a Not-So-Vampire-y Patrick Dempsey

2010-02-12T15:42:00.000-07:00

**Recently featured on Mama's Losin' It's Writer's Workshop, I'm doing this a day late, but I just couldn't find the motivation in my funky, stressful, awesome sauce day to finish my interview with Patrick Dempsey. Lucky for me, he was willing to answer my badrillionth phone call.

Me: Hey PD! How are you?

PD: Wow! I can tell your beautiful just by speaking to you.

Me: Um, okay? Thank you? I guess? Glad to see Grey's Anatomy back on the air. How is taping going?

PD: Your eyes. They are striking caramel brown right? I'm entranced. What was the question?

Me: Yes. Brown eyes. Like the Van Morrison song. Anyway, I noticed when the show began airing again, you had cut off a few of your McDreamy tresses. Do you think that will have any effect on your loyal female fan base and their obsession with your looks?

PD: Are you single?

Me:Hm, I'll take that as a no. Speaking of your flowing locks, I was thumbing through a bunch of my older movies the other day and came across a copy of With Honors. How was it working with Brendan Fraser and Joe Pesci in one film?

PD: No, really, are you seeing anyone?

Me: Hello?! McFly?! Interview?! Yes, I'm very much off the market. I'm starting to wonder if you're even paying attention to the questions I'm asking. You have yet to answer a single one.

PD: There's something about you that makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.

Me: Did you happen to peruse my blog before I called? I thought I made it clear this interview was to be about you. It seems to be leaning towards all about me. Not that I'm completely heart broken that your doting over me like this. I do, however, find it a bit discerning since I'm the one who should be twitterpated with you. I'm confused

PD: I leave my wife. You leave your husband. We run off and get married.

Me: First off, he's still my husfriend and secondly, tempting offer, but I'm starting to get really creeped out. Is this really Patrick Dempsey?

PD: In the flesh baby. Speaking of flesh...

Me: Whoa, whoa mister!! This is an R-rated blog. Let's not catapult this sucker straight into Porno-town. Geesh!

PD: I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.

Me: Wha?!

PD: I love you.

Me: *click* (I don't think that was Patrick Dempsey.)

Wordless Wednesdays: Table Dancer

2010-02-10T01:00:00.000-07:00

Singing. Dancing. Self-confident.

Silly. Sheepish. Insecure.

Join in on the Wordless Wednesday fun!

Butterfly farts and unicorn porn because I can't be ALL mushy today.

2010-02-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

February 8, 2008, Nugget looked like this:

Two years later, he looks like this:

So what if I've been a hot weepy mess all day, haven't showered, and couldn't care less. It's my little Nugget's 2nd birthday. I'm eating up every second of his day. Being a champ by enduring the endless giggles and dancing to Matt & Kim on the bed over and over again.

Happy Birthday Nugget! Mama loves you more than she ever fathomed a person could love another.

Sleep With Me @ BlogHer '10

2010-02-06T20:49:00.000-07:00

I'm currently recruiting sponsors who would like to foot the bill for my booze and Canal Street shopping for BlogHer '10 in New York City August 6-7. Potential sponsors love to hear that you'll be representing them sloshed yet knock-offishly stylish. Pinky swear.

Let us now be serious. Super serious. Well, just kinda serious. I don't want Prozac to start flooding my inbox (unless you really, really want to, in which case I'll gladly take your dough off your hands. *waves giddily at Prozac peoples*).

Since there is no room for swag bagging this year, I can't hock your ~~shit~~ ~~crap~~ ~~junk~~ product to any of the attendees, but there are still some pretty awesome opportunities for attendee exposure, a la moi:

Logo inclusion on my bidness card to be handed out like free money. And c'mon, everyone's down for some free money these days. Shitty economy. Recession. Financial struggle. Blah, blah, blah.
Logo on super duper, top secret, only to be revealed to serious sponsors apparel to be flaunted around the conference like a trophy for best bowler in Chicago. (Chi-towners? Anyone? Hello?! Is this thing on?)
Title video and post sponsorship for one night (or multiple nights depending on how large the hole in your pocket prefers to be) of my personal daily conference adventure recap for the six nights of my journey.** Plus a prestigious "Wardrobe Provided By" mention in the credits...i.e. the sleep shirt I will be wearing during the video recap. Does the feature make sense now? No? Not as clever as I think I am?
The pride of bragging to everyone in the office that you were successful in supporting a niche-less blogger at a prominent conference in the blogosphere. Or maybe that's just going to be me incessantly bragging when Frank's Quik Lube signs on thinking the pun laden, innuendo of a sponsorship pitch meant something of greater "value" because...HELLS YES I managed to snag a sponsor, bitches!
A long-term relationship with yours truly. Because, let's be honest here. Can we be honest? No one likes a one night stand. Get it? The puns. I just can't stop them from leaping out of my brain and onto the computer screen. I'm serious. Someone help me. I'm scared.

If you are interested. I mean really, truly, 100% because I'm awesome and will forever be your favorite place to advertise your, whatever it is you do or sell, send me an email using the form below. On the off chance that this "below" I speak of doesn't exist in your world, send an email to jess@shuggilippo.com with the subject "I Wanna Sleep With You at BlogHer". Dead. Serious. Say you have a genuine interest in giving me money and you don't make that the subject, I'll conclude you're not as serious as you think you are so no, I won't push your brand, Uptight Corpo-Douchebaggery, LLC.

**There may be appearances by other bloggers during the nightly show that are way more popular than me, but sorta think I'm cool enough to room with.

Introducing Bartholomew Excelsior Danger XIV

2010-02-05T10:21:00.000-07:00

Bartholomew Excelsior Danger XIV is the crotchety little gnome in my head that masterminds more than half of the asinine things I say out loud.

For serious.

He's my friend though too. Not just an insane character I have to blame for my shock inducing statements. Naturally I'd love to take credit for his ingenious but what kind of a rude sonuvabitch would I be if that were the case. An unoriginal one I can tell you that. Oh how the guilt would eat me alive like an intestinal parasite. That was all Bartholomew. Such a colorful imagination that guy has.

I was recently gifted a real life, tangible, I just might snuggle up on the sofa with him every night while I hoover Reese's peanut butter cups and watch Jersey Shore* version of Bartholomew. Probably the most phenomenal gift ever bestowed upon me beside Nugget whom I brought forth from my loins and Husfriend who is, let's be honest, undeniably stuck with me for the rest of, well, forever. Coming across Bartholomew was far less painful than the from my loins-ing of Nugget and tends to laugh at more of my jokes than Husfriend (probably only because he isn't "onto me" yet).

This pretty new Bartholomew sits proudly outside my front door to ~~scare off~~ greet our guests with the utmost class and sensibility. House guests typically prefer to have their weight speculated or be accused of only wanting to raid my fridge for booze. Right? And honestly, if you can tell me any one single thing better than having a rude gnome squatting next to a plant that turned out to be beautiful but smell like rotting emu carcass upon bloom, I will kiss you. Right. On. The. Mouth.

Trust me. You won't be disappointed with my smoochity goodness.

It is highly likely that the real-life Bartholomew will be my mascot for BlogHer '10. He's eons cooler than that stupid Travelocity gnome. That thing is lame sauce. Always letting wildlife push him around like he's a nobody. Pfffft. Bartholomew is only recently breaking out of my head (and that one time I locked him in the closet) for his worldwide debut and he doesn't take no shit from no one. That's straight baller! Or something.

I'm pretty sure I lost all street cred when I started saying words like "smoochity" and "lame sauce". Damn.

Not to mention people already want to BE him.

*The only time I've ever watched Jersey Shore is when Joel McHale rips into it on The Soup. End confusion.

Wordless Wednesdays: Beer Bread Step Aside

2010-02-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

Four Peaks Mountain - Arizona

January 30th, 2010

Nicknames are so last century.

2010-01-31T14:55:00.000-07:00

Growing up I had a slue of nicknames. Some not so age-appropriate (Mrs. Captain Morgan before I was of drinking age). Some just plain bizarre.

Moose Chicken. It was my email address from the day I created a Hotmail account to the day I started applying for "real life" jobs out of high school. The moose spurred from a session in a mall photo booth where I couldn't resist but to give myself antlers. In every picture. Unflattering.

Chicken. Oh chicken, chicken, chicken. OG nickname came from my inability to conjure the ~~normalcy~~ nerve to ask for something as simple as a ketchup packet at a restaurant. I was a baby. A big fat, everyone else should do it for me baby. Who knows if when I asked that lovely McDonald's cashier for an extra packet of ketchup, that it would be the day he decided to flip a switch and toss hot french fry oil all over my sweet seven year old head?! I was a cautiously, imaginative seven year old. Very imaginative. Okay, paranoid. I was paranoid alright!!

The evolution of the Chicken in Moose Chicken came when I had the metabolism of a race horse. I swear my right leg was just a hollow dump site for any type of food I consumed. Upon entrance of the empty limb, said food would disappear. Poof! Straight into another dimension that I'm sure is equivalent to that where unicorn farts and fairy burps are the epitome of passe. Not to mention super classy and highly lady-like.

I had chicken legs. Itty-bitty, brush 'em with a feather and they'll break chicken legs. They were replaced with honking elephant legs when I was pregnant with Nugget and not until thumbing through last weeks photos did I realize that...

...hells to the yes! The chicken legs have returned. (We still need some work on the bat wings.)

Let's be honest here, Moose Chicken has a far better ring to it than Moose Heffer.

In an attempt to be gasp organized.

2010-01-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

I've resolved to "get my shit together" for 2010. Expletive, I know, a bit harsh. That's what it takes with this stubborn cookie. Swear words.

For the first time since I physically left the confines of my home to work, I purchased a ridiculously over-sized cork board that now sits proudly above my desk. Right smack in front of my mug. I'm thankful it is in no way, shape or form reflective. Daily work attire/appearance: greasy and homeless.

Now I have this thing. Staring at me blankly (pun totally intended).

I snazzed it up with some of the badrillion push pins I own. Yes, I own an excessive number of push pins and no cork board until this past weekend. I dangerously hang home decor on them when I'm not convinced a hammer and nail are required like the instructions say. I'm edgy like that. Furthermore, is it just an unseasoned homebody thing or does everyone else call them thumb tacks?? Husfriend gave me the funkiest expression when I asked him to "Grab me a push pin. I want to hang this air freshener above Nugget's bed." Apparently I was speaking the Japanese I've always longed to learn. Fancy that.

The next step, and mind you, this may be the only step for a few ~~weeks~~ days whilst I get used to having this thing, was to add a small calendar for bill due dates. I'm a visual person. I also tend to keep information on small post it size pieces of paper that I also tend to lose. Frequently. Then I go into crisis mode. For being one who used to cater to the organization of others' lives, I seem to have lost my groove. Hey universe! Stella wants it back.

P.S. Stella is me but just for the purpose of my obscure reference. I'm Jess again. You're welcome.

I could have settled for a Krazy Kitties or Beaches of the World calendar. They would have all been so unnecessarily large and obnoxious though. I figured I'd dip my curious tootsies into the House of 3 world. That digital scrapbook kit business is all the rage. I'm an if-I-don't-have-to-get-out-of-the-car-then-sign-me-up kinda gal, so download-and-print is right up my cyber alley.

I bought and printed these awesome postcard size calendars and if you're trying your darndest to get your shit together in 2010, I suggest you do the same. Plus the proceeds benefit Nourish the Children. Double whammy.

**Click the photo to purchase yours today.**

So I've got my cork board, my push pins, my mini-calendars, and a few coupons that I am sure are burning a hole right through my new piece of decor...furniture...to whatever the cork board is referred.

Wordless Wednesdays: Kid Tested, Mother Approved

2010-01-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

A cozy spot to nibble some Kix and watch his morning cartoons.

hey you.

2010-01-25T22:31:00.000-07:00

I miss you dearly.

I promise I'll be back with a vengance in the coming days.

Hopefully with big news of world domination and independent wealth.

My ears are ringing. 14! N.

Natalie Portman is so, totally, talking about me right now.

Wordless Wednesdays: Run, Husfriend, Run

2010-01-20T10:12:00.000-07:00

**The finish line of the PF Chang's Arizona Rock'n'Roll Half Marathon on January 17, 2010. Husfriend's finish time: 1:39:07 with 4 miles of "training" four weeks prior. AKA: Amazeballs.

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