so that's why I never got any
Guys just love...how intellectual you are!

What Do Guys Love About You? (with pics :3)
brought to you by Quizilla

march of the figs Will loves figs. He makes this scrunched-up face while he's chewing them.

We had a little barbecue the other night with two other couples from J's school. One couple has an eight-month-old, whom we'll call O. (risking any unintentional references to Pauline Reage), and the other couple is expecting #1 in August. We grilled corn from my old stomps (Klein Farms) and bought a really huge-ass watermelon that didn't even get touched. It tries to roll out whenever we open the refrigerator door and we have to hold it back, like a rampaging gorilla. The heavy springer, who's named C., is a six-foot tall Amazon ass-kicker. She was really awesome. She's going to waltz through labor. I have this feeling. She asked me all about my birth and I told her the story, realizing as I did so that I'm not angry any more. I talked about it in therapy last week with Dr. S, who listened and then said, really sincerely, "That must have been terrifying for you." Anyhow, C.'s husband is going to be at home with the baby because he's a guitarist and works mainly at night. I'm trying to rope him into our circle of at-home parents. He'd be an interesting addition, this rockabilly dude from Ohio with hair like Jimmy Neutron.

We're getting ready for our vacation. I'm really nervous about traveling with a toddler. I guess you just have to give it up to the cosmos, you know? Our schedule--which B. really needs or else he gets fussy--is going to get all screwed up, and we're going to be exhausted, but we can't really focus on all that if we're going to have fun. Nor do I really want to drag a recalcitrant boy through the airport screening process. Nor am I really excited about our first post-September 11 flight. I have always hated to fly. J. is worse than I am so I'm the one who has to keep it together.

The sad news is that we planned out our itinerary and there is *no way* we're going further north than the Valley. No Portland. I'm really pissed. But we have to be realistic. All our time's getting eaten up as it is, between the conference and Jim's family. We'll have to maybe do the PNW as a separate trip next year.

I'm hungry. And now I have to put the clothes in the dryer.

what's wrong with this picture? What the hell is a snail doing in the house?

mmmmmwwwah! No time to update now, but big smooches to my main man The Other J. for helping me get my blog on. He's the man behind the curtain.

friday five: the final chapter

1. How are you planning to spend the summer?
   Visiting J's family, dispensing teething tablets, working on my book project.



2. What was your first summer job?
   Let me tell you about J.'s summer job, since it's more interesting. He sold patio furniture to my heroine, Marie Callender, Queen of Pies.



3. If you could go anywhere this summer, where would you go?
   To the bathroom by myself.



4. What was your worst vacation ever?
   I'm still voting for that long weekend J. and I spent at the B & B in Fredericksburg. For those not in the know: It was 103 degrees. There was a wild rooster roaming the premises who would climb up on our porch and crow at 3:00 am. I was withdrawing from Serzone and Xanax and was a walking panic attack. I had to sleep on the couch because the room was spinning and I thought I was on the ceiling. The hosts liked to take leisurely breakfasts and talk with their guests, so I had to sit quietly and make nice conversation while I was freaking out. The biscuits were pretty good though.



5. What was your best vacation ever?
   I'd say it was our honeymoon on Maui but even that was full of the weird mishaps that befall me whenever I leave my house. I started my period during takeoff at LAX. As soon as we landed the islands rejected me and I got some kind of Kamehameha's revenge that lasted two days and got so bad we called the paramedics at one point. I had to sit around drinking Gatorade and watching the Dragonball-Z marathon with my head in the trash can while the couple upstairs from us--septuagenarians--had noisy vigorous sex and J. went snorkeling. Then we almost went out like Falco, thanks to a tourist bus crossing over into our lane on a hairpin turn. But the parts that were fun were really fun.
   
   A pretty close second was our graduation trip to Port A, which worked well because nobody became violently ill. We did all get really sunburned.
   Posted by Marrit at 04:16 PM

crouching toddler, hidden poopy B. is fascinated by the toilet. Today he went into the bathroom, said "bye bye" to us, closed the door, and began audibly straining. I think he's got the idea. Nothing actually came out, though. Thus we cracked open Once Upon a Potty and began reading it together. Now it is quiet and the boy is sleeping and all I can think is how grateful I am that I don't have to utter the words "poopy" or "potty" or "pee pee" for another nine hours. I'm afraid I'm going to start saying this stuff in adult company. ("Do you need to go potty before we leave?") B. also likes to rip off little tendrils of tp and jettison them into the bowl.

One of the things that freaked me out about childrearing when I was single is that I couldn't get over the idea of teaching another human being to eliminate wastes in a certain manner. It still seems really challenging, like trying to teach somebody to eat with his or her nose. But I guess kids have a way of getting curious about it.

The city inspector came out to look at our trimmed trees to make sure we had proper clearance. "See that up there, those burned spots?" he asked J. "Yeah, that's from touching live wires." Holy balls! We're going up in flames!

We went out in the roasting heat to the playground. We met two kids; one was seven and one seemed to be five or so. Have I mentioned that I love older kids, the talking ones who say gloriously random shit--about San Francisco, about their stepmothers and bicycle locks and anything else imaginable? I can't wait to have a conversation with B. Yes, I suppose we do that after a fashion now. But I'm talking about these kids that just walk up and start yammering, unselfconsciously. That's so rad.

garcon, more coffee... Too many whiskey sours at Donn's Depot. Home too late. Sleep too disrupted. Tree trimmer coming over with noisy chainsaws. Fire bad. Tree pretty. Advil good. Mama buddies awesome. Need shower. Smell like Vantage 100. Mouth full of sawdust. Hair greasy. Bathrobe polyester. Heat index in the 100s. Baby obsessed with doggies, doggies, doggies.

more, more, more said the baby Today we have an afternoon playdate. Then tonight is Mama's Night Out, when a few of us will put on our trampy pants and drink brown stuff on the rocks.

I just wanted to add that if Microsoft is successful in introducing "ultramercial" into the standard English lexicon, I may have to do something desperate involving an underground army. Who's with me, people?

I just finished reviewing The Eye, which I recommend. I was unable to work in my observation that the Death figure looks just like Peter Murphy.

B. went to Best Buy with us and ran around the store. He wanted to pull all the CDs off the shelves. Naturally I could not permit that. But it was nice to be able to walk beside him for a change.

they even had a bear in the air You know, marriage can be a really tough proposition.

But everything seems just a little bit better when you listen to C.W. McCall's "Convoy." Where else are you going to find eleven long-haired friends of Jesus in a chartreuse microbus?

Catch y'all on the flip-flop.

oh, barf
You're creepy, get away, freak! You're Fear Dot
Com. Unique in your own way, you kill people by
means of their worst fear. Reason why you do
this is because you were so wrongly taken from
the world when a crazed man kidnapped you and
killed you ironically enough by your worst
fear. Haunting houses is soooo 1990's so
instead of rattling chains and making Ooooing
noises you got your own website and whoever
visits your site will die within 48 hours if
they don't solve the mystery of your death.
Kinda demanding aren't you?

What Scary Movie Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla Kristin, how could this have happened? I am *so* not this crappy movie. I can *totally* do a DNS lookup. And hey--do you have this on the list?

FFF

1. Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?
   I have v. straight white-girl hair. It's short like a muther.
2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime?
   Well, first it grew in. It was red. Then the 1980s came so I permed it. A lot. The sulphur dioxide burned it blond. Then I had Great Big Texan Hair, with Outsize Chrysanthemum Bags. Then I had a blunt cut with micro bangs, which I thought was really cool until somebody told me I looked like (1) my wig was falling off or (2) Prince Valiant. Now it's short and purple. I also have a Bonnie Raitt gray streak, hidden by purple. It's sort of cool, actually, but I'm not willing to be gray at 30.
3. How do your normally wear your hair?
   Ummm...short and purple?
4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?
   Naturally purple?
5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?
   The 1980s happened all over my head. One time when I was getting a spiral perm (so I could look even more like David Coverdale) the solution burned a giant red stripe in the middle of my forehead.

very random Memo to self: Do not go to afternoon playdates across town. Bedtime is all fakakta. It is not pleasant.

B. has really gotten into playing with telephones. He holds the receiver to his ear and says intently, "Ha da da!" What could it mean? I have no idea.

He did this at the aforementioned playdate, and it brought the house down. Then the three toddlers kept piling into the same single-seater ride-on car. Moz the Wonder Baby was the host. He's a big kisser. He likes to pet B.'s head and say, "Baby!" He and B. hugged a lot. I wish these babies would stop being so cute. It's making me want to have another one, and that's not good right now.

Kristin came over to visit her cello today. B. goggled at it.

Absolutely brilliant.

I am tired.

We were bidding on this but lost it. I despise eBay. My kid just loves this vacuum cleaner; he saw one (not for sale) at the resale place. I don't want to get in a huge fracas over it with lovesbeanies99 or some shit. I just want a toy vacuum cleaner. I don't want one that "really works" or is pink. You can't buy just a plain old kid size vacuum anymore. It has to be the Kidflow Dirt Devil 3000(tm) or whatever. And I liked the detachable toy Dustbuster because my kid's afraid of that, too. You go to pick up the fallen Cheerios and he gets this look like he's dropping a Cleveland steamer in his size 4 Pampers. I honestly don't get what so great about eBay unless you just can't find what you're looking for somewhere else, in which case you still shouldn't get too excited because some tool's going to sweep in and outbid you in the last 45 seconds. [/pityparty]

J. is crushed.

and one more time...! Protopic!

a very rad day You know how sometimes you have a really rad day?

Here's mine so far:

• I got to sleep in this a.m. (J. and I alternate.)


• Our yard is mowed. Yay, J!


• I finished another chapter of my book.


• I had a free rental at Vulcan, so I got three movies for the price of one. (It's two-for Tuesday.)


• And one of those was a Criterion DVD.


• I had a chocolate peppermint stick Luna Bar.


• B. is taking a nice big nap.


• I found an Elmore Leonard paperback under the bed. I hadn't read it yet.


• I'm going to review The Eye tomorrow.

Everything's coming up Milhouse!

I'm afraid I'm going to get hit by a bus this afternoon, that's how good today is. But I guess that's better than getting hit by a bus on a shitty day.

a random picture of david hasselhof I just wanted y'all to look. Make Tuesday a little more exciting.

go baby go!

Father's Day haiku Changing the diaper.
Giving a bath every night.
I love Big Poppa.

wha happa? Has everybody seen A Mighty Wind by now?

Anyhow, I blogged this morning during the nap, and then I guess I stuck it up my butt or something because it's not here now. My new name: "User Error."

I'm not going to rehash everything; I'll just lay it out. My kid has big-boy shoes from the Real Live Shoe Store Where the Guy Measures Your Feet and All. I am apoplectic. He toddles around everywhere. I took pictures, but CrapCam 3000 didn't want to get together with my USB hub without dinner and dancing. Maybe later I'll put the Al Green records on and the magic will happen.

Tomorrow I'm going to go see 28 Days Later, the Danny Boyle zombie movie. Now I'm not saying Danny Boyle stole my zombie movie, but it is a point of fact that I sent their production company--Whatchamacallit, I stopped paying attention after The Beach--a 100-word zombie pitch in 1998 in response to an open call for submissions reported in the trades, and it happened to be the germ of my current script-in-progress, tentatively titled Texas Mutant Cannibal Jamboree(tm). Now of course there are all these salient differences between the two stories. But just remember: When you see those ads that say "Danny Boyle Reinvents the Zombie Movie," mentally replace Danny Boyle with Marrit. Mmmkay?

Of course, if it's a piece-of-shit movie, I had nothing to do with that.

I had a piece accepted by a magazine today, so the pain of having my mutant cannibal movie ripped from my tender embrace is blunted somewhat.

I fell in love with this house and Jim drove by it and said it's a hideous dot-com Xanadu that sticks out on the street like a pig in a henhouse. You can kind of see that from the neighbor's place in the photo. But that loft!

whoa
You are Neo, from "The Matrix." You
display a perfect fusion of heroism and
compassion.

What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla I was really hoping to be the Colonel Sanders-looking guy who turns up at the end, sans chicken.

finally friday Woo! A week of odds and ends.

1. We got our tickets for vacation. I haven't been on vacation since my honeymoon, unless you count the long weekend I spent at that B&B in Fredericksburg, cold-turkeying Serzone; I thought I was on the ceiling for a while. A rooster woke us up every morning at 3:45, way before dawn. It was ferociously hot, and the only thing we did was drive out to Enchanted Rock and look at it.
2. We finally met Justine, who is as adorable as she seemed. We have not yet, however, met the Iglet. Perhaps soon. She was escaping from Houston.
3. I ate the best barbecue sandwich in the world today for lunch.
4. I saw a totally asstacular movie today: Love the Hard Way. I didn't even have to be there since I wasn't reviewing. I just wanted to get back in the game. Not even Pam Grier--in various animal prints and a frosted wig--could save this one. The upside: Adrien Brody's butt shot. And the free cup of coffee I got. I wanted to like it, too--it was directed by a German guy who probably thought he was channeling Fassbinder though it was more like Zalman King.
5. Baldo's vocabulary is growing: "bumpy" and "open." He brings books over: "Open. Open. Open." We went to the playground at the floofy market and he ran around and climbed up the slide. He drank some of my hibiscus tea and made the most pickle-sucking face I've ever seen on anyone. The floofy market is notoriously short on eggless pastries, so no luck there.
6. We're not having trash with K. tonight because she's out of town. I miss it, even though I can't even remember what last week's pick was. I honestly can't. I have such Breeder Brain.

To that effect, I'm sure I'm leaving something big out, but I just don't remember much of anything big happening.

memo to self: Do not place allergenic latex bandage on son's weeping, inflamed toe, even if it does have Big Bird on it. Use flexible-fabric bandages left over from trip to Wisconsin, and use Sesame Street bandages on yourself so you can feel like a quirky, ironic hipster. ("But see, I really *hate* Elmo, so I used him to cover my wound!")

I neglected to mention the terrfying moment I had yesterday morning, when I was kidless and out for coffee. We have become casually acquainted with a small boy named Aidan ("I'm five!" he tells me). We run into him and his mom everywhere--getting coffee, the pool, the park. So yesterday I went into the coffee place and here was Aidan running up to me with a cup in his hand. And inside that cup there was a snail.

If you know me in person you probably know that I am balls-out terrified of snails and slugs. I have nightmares about them crawling all over me. Or squirming, or slugging, or whatever the hell verb you use to describe locomoting mollusks. (Dave, please don't try to freak me out with Photoshopped snails.)

But now that I am a mom, I am magically able to handle snails and slugs! Aidan and I had a full conversation about its eyestalks and its foot.

Now, Kristin, about you and clowns...

Next door to the coffee place is an Arabic bazaar tragically named "WMD Productions." I sure hope they didn't incorporate under that name. Anyhow, that got me thinking as I had my quad decaf soy mocha latte and apple pie (prolly brushed with eggs, even though J. interrogated the barrista): If there are no WMDs in Iraq, if there never were, if our evidence was shaky, if our government has been lying to us, or at least spinning the truth to justify the means, what the fuck are we supposed to do about that, exactly?

merde! Holy cannoli, I just ate a metric assload of French-crust apple pie and I feel like I'm going to boot. But I wanted to quickly share our latest pastry-related revelation. Those baking bastards have been brushing the crust with eggs and not declaring them on the ingredients list.

I am ever. so. pissed.

Hey, why don't you just throw some penicillin in there and kill me?

Jim finally strong-armed the secret out of some chippie at Marie Callender's. I would have gone across the counter at her. The only egg-free pie is the French-crust apple. So then I scarfed a giant piece of it after dinner--I don't know, because I could?--and now I feel like a walking bag of streusel. Memo to self: Please don't do that again.

Baldo has a nasty scratch on one of the dry spots on his toe. We are on the lookout for staph.

Jim was acquainted with the real Marie Callender in her later years. It's too bad she's no longer alive, because I'd seriously fly my ass out to Orange County and show her my son's weeping, flamed big toe. Apparently she was a litigious pain in the ass. Could have been interesting.

the water's fine Swimming at the neighborhood pool today.

self-portrait with webcam

playtime

friday five...what, iv?

1. How many times have you truly been in love?
   Twice.
   
2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
   That would be J. (Baldo's dad, not the other Js running around here, though they're pretty rad, too.) He is laconic and straightforward, whereas I'm introspective and overthinky. He's very funny. He's sweet and thoughtful, and we have our own lexicon of shorthand and inside jokes. We've been together nine years. I adore him. Doing stupid shit with J., like grocery shopping, is like a trip to Disneyland on mushrooms with anybody else.


3. What qualities should a significant other have?
   I think everyone, all howsoevermanybillion of us, basically want the same thing: Someone who listens to us and takes us seriously, who's fun to be around, and who gives stellar head. That's it. When you're with the right person it should be like being around your best friend from fourth grade, who didn't care if you were a dork and shared your obsession with Battlestar Galactica. You don't have to pretend to be somebody you're not or play silly games. The bonus to being grown up is that now you can have sex.


4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
   I think I probably have a couple of times, by ending relationships that weren't healthy anymore. It needed to happen, but I'm sorry about hurting those people. If there's anybody else I don't know about it.


5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love, what would it be?
   You don't have to do a bunch of dumb shit to be in love with somebody. Just be willing to shut your mouth and listen sometimes. Be willing to learn from each other; be partners in a real sense of that word. You don't have to wear schmancy pants or make a lot of money or drive a particular car. You don't have to be popular. Don't flat-iron your hair if you don't feel like it. Don't get worked up over when to call. Don't buy an engagement ring. They're stupid and unnecessary, and they diminish your feelings by commodifying them. (J. could get me a bag of Funyuns to symbolize his love, and I'd be thrilled.) Don't listen to the stereotypical bullshit about what men and women are supposed to be like, respectively. Just be a friend to the person you love. Let them turn you on to something they enjoy, like Yugoslav New Film from the 1960s or Faberware or Norwegian death metal. Eat red whips and watch John Carpenter movies, or Max Ophuls movies if you don't like horror. Help out when they're sick. Let them go through the door first.
   Posted by Marrit at 05:17 PM

I didn't do it

chapeau That's an empty tub of whipped nondairy topping, courtesy of Sheila, the empty-tub queen.

bathpunk Ftr, that water is murky on account of the bath additive we use, not because we bathe our child in sewage.

who knew? "Shaky" intel behind Gulf War II?

yuck
Sweet Girl

What Kind of Girl Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Note to all, especially K: This quiz is also heterosexist.

and one more

you know you want it

can we get some freedom over here, George? Zimbabwe.

Sorry, nothing in it for Halliburton that I can see.

raise the roof Guess who's walking?

On his own, I mean? With both hands raised in the air, waving as if he just doesn't care?

That's right. My kid. No wonder last week was such a fresh hell.

I could go on with volumes, omphaloskeptically, about the dance of separation, about watching my child charge ahead of me with delight on his face, and what it means for all of us. But the truth is that I just feel amped. What does it feel like to walk for the first time? I bet it's pretty rad.

Here are some other things that are rad. The Distillers are rad. Sondre Lerche is rad. The Republic of Texas Biker Rally is rad. Pie is rad. My husband is rad. Rebel Mamas are rad. My family is rad. Grocery shopping is rad. Bento is rad.

Sunday is rad.

I'd put links up there but I don't have time.

I got a color yesterday from Lee. It's violet-brown (purple, basically) and my bangs are pink. I just wanted to throw that in.