Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Only 4 more days till the ass-kicking.OK SO NOW WHAT?
Don tells me that today, when he passed by our tried and true family restaurant, the Red Robin, it had been closed! Yet it still exists on the Red Robin website. Is it possible that a rival restaurant manager posing as someone from Red Robin Corporate, went and shut down Red Robin, and the people who run the chain don't know about the ruse yet? Oh I hope so.
There are not many places we can take our kids where everyone is really happy. There is a whole swathe of restaurants where WE would be perfectly happy, but the other patrons would beg to differ because they'd be irritated by Becca's ants in her pants and Sarah's whipping her retainer out at the drop of a hat. There is a whole other bunch of places that are family-friendly (aka other kids are also whipping out retainers, so grossness loves company), but the food is atrocious. I don't really believe in fast food, so that's out. And there are still more places that have been Blacklisted By Don for bad service violations of all sorts.
- underattentive wait staff
- overattentive wait staff
- serving Don the wrong kind of hamburger (if it comes with tomatoes, it's inedible)
- making us wait too long for our food (if Becca can run laps around the table more than 3 times, it's too long)
- irritating patrons (I know this is not a service violation, exactly... but sometimes we sit near annoying people and it gets the restaurant blacklisted. Sorry, life is not fair.)
But even beyond being a happy-medium kind of restaurant, Red Robin was good in several ways. First, the neverending basket of fries. We have never actually sat at the restaurant long enough to determine WHEN neverending would be put to a halt by management, but it is a nice sounding benefit. Second, balloons. Even for adults if you want. In a choice of nice colors. Third, it's by Becca's preschool. And Home Goods. And our house. Fourth, not so expensive. Fifth, nice selection of beers on tap.
So if anyone has any suggestions for us that would serve as a handy substitute for this place, please leave me a comment. Meanwhile, we are just going to hope that it's all a cruel, cruel joke.
DON IS OLDER THAN I AM
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sometimes he watches the Weather Channel... not to find out the weather, to actually watch.
WHITE AND NERDY
Brought to you by me and my main homey, Lil Don. Thanks for the link, Nani!
PS, the text on the trivia card reads:
- (Geography) In what city is the largest ball of twine built by one man?
- (Entertainment) What's the deal with Lindsay Lohan? I mean, seriously?
- (History) F.D.R.—was he faking it?
- (Arts & Literature) On what page does Harry Potter die in the next book?
- (Science & Nature) What is the melting point of a gorilla's head?
- (Sports & Leisure) How many Wicket Men are there on a 43-Man Squamish team?
PPS, This is Weird Al spoofing Chamillionaire's Ridin' Dirty, for those of you who want to add either tune to your iPods... I'm not THAT out of touch.
NERDY OLD PEOPLE GET A BABYSITTER AND HANG
Last night we babysittered up and went down to Pacific Beach to immerse ourselves in the chill vibe, y'all. Since we have no posse, we went with NYCA CEO Michael Mark and his wife Lois. I'm not sure we improved each others' cool factor, but there's strength in numbers.
Pacific Beach, or PB, seems to be a bridging area for college frat guys. They go from hanging out at SAE House, to hanging out at PB after they graduate (or maybe a little before, when they feel like getting out). Most of the bars were like Lahnina, or even more downscale... $2 beers, pool tables, most everything bolted down, peanut shells. Next door to the bars were tattoo parlors, head shops, and lingerie joints... clearly people do a lot of drinking in PB and want to do one of 3 things after they have run out of cash!
We liked JRDN the best... it was pretty swank. This psychedelic wall connected the bar area to the outdoor patio and into a very nice dining room. This one was done right. And the patrons all seemed to have ironed their shirts.
And when we came home, Daisy had cleaned up the house and made cookies with the kids! Pinch me!
I AM SO TOTALLY REMISS
Friday, January 19, 2007
So last week, my friend Allison turned 40. According to the website party411.com, a typical 40-year-old birthday party might be themed:
- The Big Four-Oh (how is this a theme, not sure)
- Luau
- 60s/70s Flashback
- Casino
You get the picture. In my case I believe I had a nice meal, thought about going to a spa and didn't (because I had 2 puppies, a 2-year-old, etc.), took a phone call from my mother that went something like "I can't believe I am old enough to have a 40-year-old daughter", and went to bed early.
In Allison's case, she manifested her love for construction equipment into a party theme. She rented a steam roller, trenchplates, and then smashed all the stuff we brought in lieu of gifts. We brought a blow-up figure from the painting "The Scream," an obnoxious dancing and singing birthday cake, and Becca's old car seat (which is completely indestructible). The best thing was the crushing of a number 40 made out of 40 cans of whipped cream... I have never seen people back up so quickly in my life.
I am not sure this party actually needed a theme, thinking back on it. The guests were colorful enough. I sat next to Gay Spencer, who decided he hated his tablemate Melissa. They ended up reminding me of some characters from Will & Grace. At one point I think a guy named Lumpy came to break it up. I am still unclear on this part of the evening.
The evening wound up with about 20 40+ adults splayed across a bed trying to get a photo taken with everyone in it. I think we need to write a note to party411.com and tell them about this party theme, because at the end of this, I am not sure anyone actually felt 40+.
I AM NERDY AND OLD
Thursday, January 18, 2007
We won this new client. They open nightclubs. Here are pictures of the Stingaree, the most famous of them (so far).The dude making the peace sign is called Lil Jon. He is a Crunk artist. If you don't know what a crunk artist is, then you, like me, happen to be nerdy and old. Sorry to be the one to break this to you.
Crunk means crazy + drunk. Lil Jon is a purveyor of such fine tunes as "Where Dem Girlz At" and "Who You Wit?" No. I am not making any of this up.
None of this is really the point of this posting. The actual point is that strangely enough, the owners of these establishments are trusting ME to help with their advertising. I have no bling. I am not a hoochie mama and I don't actually know any. I don't know the names of more than 3 martini drinks. The last time I was up at 4 in the morning, it was because one of my kids was in the E.R. I don't know the difference between a Quaalude and an LSD high (apparently, one makes you think that everything you see is melting, and the other makes you see lights everywhere... don't ask me which does which, because I do not actually know). I have never worn my underwear on the outside of my clothing. I don't have a posse.
I am going to have to immerse myself in this world soon... I have decided to start slowly, and listen to "Shawty Freak a Lil' Sumtin" tonight... maybe tomorrow I will get some see-through high heels or pimp my ride...
THE BABYSITTER PARADE
Saturday, January 06, 2007
It is hard to have an adult conversation in our house. First of all, the children suck up all available air space. Here's how it usually goes.
"Don, I meant to tell you - "
"Mommy, Sarah took my doll."
"Becca, you're interrupting."
"Sorry Moooom but she took my dooooll."
(10 minutes later after the Doll Dispute has been settled) "Damn it. What was I saying?!"
And, I am not home a whole heck of a lot. So we have some of our more meaningful adult conversations on the phone and over email. I remember a time (vaguely) when we would go out and see movies and talk and shop and walk around. This was 10 years ago, but I do remember it.
It's not that we don't go out. It's just that we haven't gone out in... a long time. Like unto a mammal's gestational period. Clearly we need a good babysitter.
My friend Michele (who's from Philly originally) commented that back home, people guarded babysitter names like family secrets. Here people are overflowing and will give you their babysitter's names, even if you are a casual acquaintance. So we did have a little informal list of names to start with. The teenager down the street, and lots of other people's tried-and-true teenagers.
As New Years Eve approached -- with a beautifully printed invitation on the counter -- I started down the list. No luck! Nobody even calling me back! I found a babysitter finally, who was going to bring her own 4-year-old kid with her. Not optimal, but fiiiine really. Actually, Becca liked the kid and promptly started dressing her up in dress-up clothes upon our first meeting.
And then this chick calls me up and cancels ON NEW YEARS EVE. Very uncool. She just didn't think her daughter and Becca were "a good match." What is this?! It's not a play date, for heaven's sake. So we spent a quiet evening at home with the kids and the dogs and a fire. Like the past 9 New Years Eves actually!
Not that it wasn't nice, it was nice. But I think in the past 9 years since Sarah was born, I guess Don and I have been out maybe 25 times. (Don guessed 3, but that's because his mind core-dumps all data that's over 2 years old.) Don has spent maybe 10 nights away from the kids in all that time. I'm afraid for us. Are other couples this way?
Fearing I would never speak with my husband in a full paragraph until our kids were in college, I went on a mission. A mission to find motivated, good babysitters who would call us back and actually show up, without any children with them, to take care of my children. And sometimes even overnight. And maybe even house-sit and pet-sit while we go on vacation. Because when I overdo something, I really overdo it.
We interviewed a dozen sitters. And now I have 5 numbers programmed into my phone. And extra names I can call later in case we burn out all 12. I am lousy with babysitters. And I feel liberated even though I have no idea what to do next.
Here are some things that every babysitter says in an interview:
- I have been babysitting since -- oh gosh I don't even remember!
- I love children.
- Your girls are so sweet. (one of them even said this while Becca was mercilessly beating Sarah with a looseleaf binder)
The question that separates the wheat from the chaff: what would you do if one of the kids drank a half-bottle of Motrin? (an appropriate answer would be call 911 or call you parents... an inappropriate response is looking worried and pale and asking why?! could that happen?!)
The way Becca gauges a good babysitter candidate "Hi. I love you. Can I have cookies?"
Sarah's measure: can I stay up until Mom & Dad get home?
So now we have to figure out some places to go...
BY THE WAY, HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Do you like the blog's new look? It's kind of boring, but I like the white space.
CHANNELING THE GHOST OF GRANDPA ALAN
It's not enough that we pick them up off of the floor, launder them, dry them, fold them, and bring them into her room. Now Sarah is giving us specific instructions on how she would like her underwear and nightgowns put away. This gives new meaning to the phrase "anally retentive". Somewhere, her Grandpa Alan - who could pack a suitcase so dense you could bounce a quarter off it - is smiling.