I'm Baaaack!

Hard as it was, cutting myself off a bit from technology for two weeks was oddly liberating. For the first few nights, I didn't know what to do. I read a book. And caught up on my magazines. I actually talked to my husband. It was odd.

I just want to thank everyone who guest posted for me while I was gone, you'll be getting one more tomorrow too. I also want to thank those of you who came over here, commented, and even joined my site! I'm thrilled to have you all here.

There were a million great things about my vacation to Cape Cod. I had tons of amazing fresh food, I met Sparkling over at Lia Sophia Tomgirl (can I tell you, it's so awesome finding out that someone you think will be super cool and easy-going is actually that in real life?), and I had an amazing new drink called PainKiller that was just about the most magical thing I've ever tasted.

But one of the best parts? Really spending time with Wee 'Burb and getting to know her as the little person she's becoming at 21 months. I had no clue just how much she's learned at this new daycare.

So my parents have an outdoor shower and I decided to take her out and see what she thought. She had an absolute blast playing in the water, but she didn't want to climb all the way in. So I tried to figure out a game to play to get her to stick her head in the water and wash off the shampoo without squealing like a piggy off to the slaughter.

So I start randomly singing the hokey pokey, figuring I'll teach her.

Apparently I was a bit too late. My child, not even two, started turning her little white naked baby butt around, clapping when I said "that's what it's all about" and then screeching with pure delight as she dunked her head in the water.

She spent the rest of the weekend turning around and clapping and yelling "pokey" until someone sang the song.

She also knows how to count in both English and Spanish, is proficient in "if you're happy and you know it" and is learning her colors.

How is it possible to fall more in love with this kid every day?

A Beary Happy Birthday to Me

So the roommate got me an early birthday present of a trip to her boss’ cabin in Wisconsin. My expertise on cabins and cabin travel is limited to my sister-in-law’s awesomely tricked out house on like a billion acres. Complete with hot tub.

Oh, and bears.

Her dog, fondly called Frankendog for awhile, still bears (pun intended) the scars of her run-in with a bear mommy who was less than thrilled with the pup for deciding her cub was her new playmate. And later, the bear (or one of its relatives) took out their frustration on their hot tub cover, completely annihilating it not 10 feet from their door.

People? I don’t do nature. I’m sorry if this makes me a princess. It’s just how I roll. So my first question to the roommate and her boss was if they had bears.

While I was waiting for an answer, my husband stepped in. He decided he wanted me to be prepared in case I came face-to-face with a cranky bear. I decided to share this with you because a) it’s freaking hilarious and b) it may just save your life.

“The most important thing is to not run away from the bear. Because if you run, you’re prey.”

I’m pretty sure if you’re there, you’re prey, right? Like it’s not like the Terminator where the bear is all assessing me to see if I am THE ONE. Or if he can steal my clothes. I’m fairly confident they bite first, ask questions later. Yes?

“Do not try to climb trees.”

Is this a common instinct? I guess I don’t know what I would do, besides pee my pants and lay down and play dead (incidentally, also ill-advised). But I would think attempting to climb a tree would be low on the list. I don’t do trees, either. Though apparently I was an expert tree climber as a youth. Someday we can discuss the multiple complaints my mother had as I ruined the handmade dresses…and, you know, climbed trees in a dress. Flashing neighbors early, that’s how I roll.

“Never sneak up on a bear.”

Like, is this really a common thing? Does he seriously think I’d be stalking some bear like “bwaahaha, I’ve got you know, Grizzly!” I have no words for this one.

“Make yourself a bigger force than the bear.”

So this was the crux of the advice. I’m 5 foot 4. So is my roommate. Somehow I was picturing her like boosting me up on her shoulders so we look like one really tall person?

In all seriousness, apparently you are supposed to wear something called bear spray (I am imagining it has to do with pee of some sort of animal, and I just am too traumatized to look it up) and make a lot of noise when approaching anywhere with potential bear-like creatures.

Fortunately, her boss’ cabin did not have bears. But she did cite ticks, so we didn’t do any venturing around the property.

I should ask Scott what to do with ticks.

I See San Fran, I see France!

I’m baaack! Pretend you all missed me for a moment. Done? Thanks. And special thanks to Kat, Amanda and Lola for filling in for me while I was gone.


So, there were a lot of interesting things that went down while I was in San Fran. There was a gay bar where heteros like Scott and I were extremely unwelcome. Seriously, I think the bartender used sanitizer after we left, not wanting to be affiliated with our straight-people money. There was the homeless man outside said bar who tried to convince me that they tried to use pigeons for military tactical missions, because of their “visual acuity.” It failed because “they weren’t very focused.”

But, by far, the most interesting thing that happened to us in San Francisco was the naked lady on the tour bus.

Allow me to set the scene. When we arrived on Saturday we walked eeeeverywhere. And seriously, guys? San Francisco is the only place in the world where you actually CAN walk uphill both ways. So by Sunday morning I insisted we take the tour bus that allowed us to get on and off as we saw fit. Sunday we spent the whole day going from town to town.

Monday we slept in, in homage to the fact that we could. We both woke up at our normal work time and kind of contentedly sighed and went back to sleep. Because we COULD, people! No baby, no dog, no work.

We got some coffee and some breakfast and we’re feeling pretty giddy. As we are turning the corner to the bus area, we see a cop car. Then we see three cops on top of the double-decker tour bus. It wasn’t our tour bus, it was a different company. We stretched our necks to see our bus, but no luck. So we sat back and watched the show.

So of course we watched the cops. We couldn’t see who was in the bus, but that person was clearly not leaving. And the cops didn’t seem overly anxious to get that person off, which seemed odd because this particular tour bus wasn’t touring. It was actually where people bought tickets, and the company reps were sort of wandering around looking oddly frantic.

Based on what we saw, and what we overheard, here’s what happened.

A homeless woman who, let’s say, had been more sober in her life than she was that day, climbed on to the top deck of the bus. The tour guides asked her to leave. She refused.

I am not sure in which order this happened, but two things occurred: the police were called and the homeless lady took her clothes off and threw them over the side of the bus.

So when we had arrived, the lady was bare-ass naked sitting in the seat with three cops pulling on gloves, but each refusing to touch her.

Why the wait? Well, you see, they couldn’t very well take her down all naked, right? Only they didn’t have on them a tarp big enough for this lady.

So they called the fire department.

You guys, TWO fire trucks and an ambulance turned up.

So now there is a cop car, an ambulance, two fire trucks, and one very naked lady with three very uncomfortable cops.

One fire truck? Had a cherry-picker attachment.

All we saw was the woman stand up with a huge blue tarp around her. How she got off was a bit of a mystery because our bus pulled up and there were so many people getting on and off and telling the story that all we saw was the cop closing the door to the ambulance.

I won't lie, I want to believe so very much that she had to be forklifted off. If only because then someone else lived my own nightmare, and what are the odds these things repeat?

So there you go. What was the most interesting thing that happened to you on vacation? If you’re a parent, did you do a baby-free vacay? I have to say, by day 5 I was missing her like crazy. But the first few days? Total recharge.

Roommate From Hell

I’ve had a lot of bad roommates in my time. College was a breeding ground for unfortunate room share options, wasn’t it?
There was my freshman year roommate, who was obsessed with Suzy Zoo. Yup, these covered her entire wall. Or, well our wall, since the room was a 10x10 cell.

There was my sophomore year roommate, who was a mute twin on academic probation. Her twin was equally mute and, I think, equally stupid because both of them studied 24/7. They only spoke in whispers the entire time I knew them, and because they were identical, anytime that I had to address something to my roommate, I just spoke to the air above their heads until one mutely nodded their assent.

My junior and senior years I roomed with…well, she was a friend until we lived together for two years. She was a neat freak goody two shoes who never dated the entire time I knew her, and was always in bed by 9:00. Our friendship ended abruptly when she sent a scathing letter to my parents’ house after graduation complaining that I took my phone and left her “without any communication with the outside world.”

All this is to say, those people pale in comparison to the horror that is rooming with Wee ‘Burb. Her and I were thick as thieves the week in Cape Cod, and we had a blast, don’t get me wrong. But as a roommate…well, let’s just say I no longer question the wisdom of not co-sleeping.

She’s like that roommate in college who partied all the time. It was blessedly quiet during the day, you had the place to yourself, and just as you were about to drift off to a blissful sleep, the roommate comes stumbling in, giggling and chatting all night.

That’s Wee ‘Burb.

Just as I fell into bed, weak with relief from making it through a day of constant vigilance and holding and nose-wiping, and talking, and laughing, off she’d go. Usually around 2 a.m. “Daddaddad” followed by quiet. Okay, I can settle in now. Eyes close, body relaxes, “Daddaddad” and then some sort of squawk I can only liken to a pterodactyl. Followed by clapping. CLAPPING! 2 a.m. There’s nothing to cheer about at 2 a.m. Unless you’re my daughter, apparently.

I’ve never been so happy to see her crib.