Blah Blah Babycakes

Fear

When I was a little girl I never disobeyed my parents. Perhaps it wasn't really in my nature, but also I had the fear of God in me. This is what happens when you go to church three times a week. I was terrified of the End Times (Have you not seen the Rapture series??) and the thought of burning in hell for eternity kept me from telling lies and hitting my sister.  The image of me standing before God as he looked over a long list of my transgressions was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow.  

Oh how I'd love to scare Henry with that image. I doubt he'd ever talk back to me again if he knew the horrors of eternal damnation, but I'm raising a godless child and so reminding him that Jesus is watching isn't going to do much good. Instead I holler about respect, kindness and accountability, but that doesn't pack quite the punch that hell does.

So, I've come up with something worse.  Jail. 

I have Henry petrified of the fuzz.

He thinks that jail is a horrible place where bad listeners and other criminals are locked up and made to eat broccoli. All it takes is one phone call to the police and naughty little boys are taken away. 

Living in the city, where we frequently hear police sirens, gives me plenty of opportunity to look at Henry with wide eyes and say, "Sounds like someone wasn't obeying their parents."

This morning on the way to school Henry and I witnessed a young man being arrested and put in the back of a cop car. 

"Look at that, Henry.  "He wasn't a good listener and now he's going to have broccoli for breakfast."

It's horrible and I'm ashamed, but it works.

iRegret?

You know how when you first start dating someone and you feel like you can't get enough of them? Your friends and family are ignored as you devour and explore each other for days, stopping only for basic necessities to keep you alive. 

Finally emerging from your love den feeling exhausted and a little empty as you try to rejoin the world of the living. Shaking as your soul tries to crawl back inside your body.

Meet my new lover:

It's why I haven't called. Which is strange, because it's a phone, but whatever. 

I do miss my Blackberry a little.  We were really comfortable together.  Me and that beast that wouldn't die.  The iPhone took me to a velvet rope club with bottle service and loud music. It made me feel young and hip for a second, but then because I'm 30-something (and very tired) that hip feeling quickly turned into the exact opposite and suddenly I wished I were home in my Gap loungewear with my Kindle, checking my old-fashioned Blackberry (whose buttons I knew how to push).  

But that's over now.  I made sure of that.  

And all of a sudden this is the metaphor that will not die...

Packing for a 4 day trip to New York - Part Two

Committing to minimal makeup was more difficult than cutting back on clothes, but with Fresh's Bronzer, Fiberwig's Mascara and Stila's lip and cheek stain I should have just the right stuff for a fresh and pretty face. I'll probably throw in a few tiny samples of eye cream and moisturizer too.   Oh, and I'll get my hair blown out when I arrive, so no need for flat irons or blow dryers.

So that's it!  I'll have my phone, klonopin, sunglasses and ipod (loaded with an action movie, chick flick and a Woody Allen film) in my handbag and I'll be on my way. 

I'm not forgetting anything, am I?


Yes!  I forgot to tell you to follow me on Twitter.  Duh.

 

Packing for a 4 day trip to New York - Part One

I'm going to New York for a few days and on my agenda are two rock shows, a birthday party (mine) and a fundraiser.  I need and want to pack a suitcase or two full of dresses, shoes and makeup, but instead I'm going to be low-maintenance girl and fit everything into a small, stylish carry-on and still look amazing wherever I go.  An impossible task, but here's how I'm going to do it.

I'm going to fit everything I need into this bag.

The jumpsuit and the shorts/tank can be worn to the two Hold Steady shows and the dress and heels to the benefit.  During the day I'll wear my yoga pants, white tee and gray sweater and of course I'll have my airplane clothes for travel days.  I rolled everything up, put the shoes on the bottom and it all fit perfectly.

Coming up next, makeup

Anonymous

I once got a phone call in high school and an unfamiliar female voice came on the line and asked me why I was such a bitch.  She hung up before I had a chance to answer her. 

Very distinctly I remember my body going hot and the sick feeling in my stomach, but that soon gave way to a delicious feeling of satisfaction.  Because it meant that I was somebody.  Somebody that people were talking about.  Good or bad didn't matter to me then. I was thrilled.

The same hot body, sick stomach feeling hit me when I read the anonymous note that was sent to me via regular mail a few weeks ago.  It was typed out on a small strip of paper.  It reminded me of a fortune cookie. My address was hand printed by either a child or a right-handed person's left.  The envelope was taped and the stamp was a sticker.  No DNA evidence. 

The sender of the note wanted me to know that a dear friend of mine regularly talks behind my back and that the topics do not put me in a good light. The sender thought I would want to know.

This time didn't feel quite so delicious.  It bothered and hurt me and not because of what the note said (It's not true, my dear friend is quite lovely and annoyingly is not much of a gossip or trash-talker), but that someone had gone through the trouble to disrupt my life in such a juvenile way.  It made Minneapolis feel small and suffocating.

I'm not at all unfamiliar with anonymous comments.  Being told that you suck is something that most every blogger gets to hear on occasion.  There was just something especially creepy about an anonymous letter in my mailbox.  It wasn't quite as easy to hit delete and ignore.

It was, however, a riotous time trying to profile the sad individual who sent the note. Over forty and bitter? Jealous and bored?  Crazy?  I tried to think of women I know who are on the verge. Or maybe it was a dude?  What kind of adult would do this? And what was their motive?  If it was to make me obsess about something for a few days, then mission accomplished. I brought the note to a party and my friend hung it on the wall as though it was an art installation. People flocked to it and couldn't stop talking about it. Everyone had a theory and some wondered if maybe the sender was at that very party. Everyone was a suspect. It was like a game of Clue. 

I think Mrs Peacock did it in the parlor with a candlestick.

Suck

I reviewed my new Vroom quick-clean appliance over at Blah Blah Babycakes Reviews.

It sucks so good.  It sucks super hard. It's suck-tastic.

Brawl

My friend J cross-stitched this:

 

 She's so badass.

I tried to be badass during the random bar fight I got into tonight with this beyotch that tried to steal my outside table, but instead I said something like "You're retarded."  "Don't mess with me, because I'm older and less skinny." And then I thought about throwing my drink in her face, but I didn't want to get my hair pulled.

Obviously what I should have said was, "Don't make me cut you."

Missing

Confirmation of MTA NYC Transit Lost and Found Inquiry NYCT20095154033

We didn't all make it back home safely to Minnesota.  With great sadness I pass on the news that Moo Cow AKA Smelly Cow was lost in the great city of New York. 

Moo Cow drinking a margarita in 2006

Moo Cow was sent to Brooklyn, NY in 2004 to be the best friend of a little boy named Henry. Cow lived a very good life and was loved dearly. He went everywhere that Henry went.  Moo Cow traveled to faraway places and has actually been lost before, but always made his way back home.  This time poor Cow was left on the F train and I'm pretty sure he's gone forever.  Forever riding the train like the smelly, broke ass bum that he is.

We'll miss you Moo Cow.

One Year Ago:  Still not comfortable with the word PENIS.

Happy Birthday Nick

Love, Andrea and Henry

I know I'm horrible at birthdays and a whole bunch of other stuff, but I hope you have a special day.

Trippin'

The whole fam damily is in Washington DC for the weekend. I'm trying to schedule a play date with the Obama children, but it's not working out.  I guess they heard that we suck at play dates.

On Mother's Day Henry and I are taking the train to New York for a few days and I'll probably twitter about it.  So you can check back here for my 140 character updates.

Circle of Women

What's better than drinking wine and shopping for handbags to benefit the YWCA of Minneapolis?

Nothing.

I went to the 13th Annual Circle of Women Purses & Passion: The Premiere Minneapolis Fundraising Luncheon and Purse Auction yesterday and picked up this little mesh cutie by Whiting & Davis.

 

Display

Even though I splash photos of Henry (and myself) all over the Internet at an alarming rate, you wouldn't guess so by visiting my home.  You wouldn't guess so, because you would not find many pictures of us around the house. I have only a few personal photographs displayed on a table and I've been meaning (I swear) to move them downstairs to the television room so they are not on the main level of the house where we entertain. It's just an old-fashioned rule I've hand-picked to follow and make up for it two-fold by showing my boobs online. 

I'm probably the only mother on the planet who never had professional portraits taken of her child as a baby, yet I love the yearly school portrait custom.  It's fascinating to see the progression from adorable preschooler all the way through awkward teen. 

I am currently in possession of Henry's new school photo, but I don't know what to do with it. Last year's photo is hanging in my bedroom and I can't decide what to do with the new one. When I was little my mom displayed an enormous 8x10 of both me and my sister right smack in the middle of the living room and then replaced them every year with the new school photo.  This was great except for the fifth grade, which was a particularly long and ugly year.  I'm inclined to do the exact same thing as my mom (!!!), but it's hard to cover up the cuteness from the year before. And hanging them all up isn't an option for me.

Is there an easy solution that I'm missing?  What do you do with the progressive school photos? 

Baby Shower

The baby shower I hosted for my friend Kris was such a fun success that I decided to hit the town later in the evening and dork out at a party. Never invite me to a party.  I'll put on your sunglasses and force you to take pictures of me.

Thanks for the photos and the compliments Aimee. You too Masami!  Your photos make the party look like something out of a magazine. 

Twitter Fail

Coachella 09. The tweets that didn't make it.

Who wears a one-piece romper to a festival?  I have to get naked every time I pee.  Brilliant

I am so not a festival person.

Brr.  The desert is cold at night.  WTF?

Andrew from Desperate Housewives!  Little and cute.

After several vodkas in the VIP tent I think I might be a festival type person.

Dane Cook!  I actually don't think he's funny.  but I love seeing famous people.

Girl Talk is BANANAS! Almost worth all festival misery. 

Get me out of here.  I need a Klonopin, a cheeseburger and my bed.

Heaven and Hell

Walking around in the desert with masses of people and no indoor plumbing is my idea of hell, but that's my plan for tomorrow. 

I'm in Palm Springs for Coachella '09 and although this is my fourth year going, I've never actually made it to the festival.  Pregnancy, baby, toddler...I've always had an excuse and spent the three days by the pool with margaritas and magazines instead.  My idea of heaven.  This year I'll venture to the festival and rock out to Leonard Cohen, The Hold Steady and learn wtf a mashup is. (I love how there is a chick passed out in his bed.)

I forgot my camera thingie, so I have no photos, but I'll Twitter all my lame observations (from a safe distance in the VIP tent) all day tomorrow.

Three Years Ago:  You Can Check Out Any Time You Like