TO-DO LIST UPDATE. So it appears I may have started something here. But it dawned on me that I should have specifically noted to post your to-do lists here in my comments, not because i’m so lazy and don’t read everyone’s blogs in a timely fashion (well, there is that), but this way they will be in one place for everyone to shop and compare. okay? i think it’s fab. it’s also dangerous, though, because while reading someone else’s list i’ll think, Oh Shit!, I need to do that, too!

So, until the next surprise To-Do List Challenge (which we will all post here in “comments”, right?) (see, told you I like to make rules, hehe), just go about your days singing every Hot song you can think of for The Hot Ticket.

“I’m So Hot For You” the Rolling Stones
“Some Like it Hot” Robert Palmer
“Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot” Buster Poindexter
“Houston is Hot Tonight” Iggy Pop
“Hot in the City” Billy Idol
“Hot Child in the City” Nick Gilder
“Hot Legs” Rod Stewart

Kim

PRESIDENTIAL DEBATE II. What I learned last night during the second Presidential debate: George W. Bush proposed the hydrogen automobile. Did anyone else catch that? I doubt it will be as big as Al Gore inventing the internet (which W. referred to last night as “the internets” immediately removing him from any generation of hipness and depositing him in with my mother’s, who refer to Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore’s band as “The Sonic Youth”), but still, I find it hard to imagine him “proposing” a car that runs on something that isn’t at first glance a huge money-making enterprise for him or his cronies (wait, does he own stock in the Hoover Damn?).

“Kerry*Edwards – The Hot Ticket”
(TM MadameLuke, but John and John can use it if they like )

MORE FUN WITH DICK AND GEORGE. Dick Cheney is the Ethel Mertz to George W’s Lucy in the Bush White House. Ethel was smarter, and frequently exasperated with Lucy, always had to go along with her zany schemes, and was forced to play second fiddle because she wasn’t as big a player in the Big Hollywood Machine. She was also considered not as appealing. Sound familiar? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge Lucy fan and one of the only nicknames I’ve ever had was Ethel, and it pains me to even compare the two camps, but think about it. It was glaringly obvious during the VP debate that Cheney is smarter than W. Boy, he must hate that guy. Boy, I hate ‘em both.

WHY WE ARE STILL MARRIED. Here’s a little peek into a typical exchange that may help others who are wondering how some couples stay together for soooo long (12 years and counting):

Dh: Should I shave my beard?
Me: But then your head would be back to 90% bald!
Dh: I resent your attack on my being follicle challenged.
Me: Well, maybe I resent your being follicle challenged! (laughing)…Okay, now you can make a fat joke.
Dh: I resent your being a fat ass.

It’s the warm fuzzy moments that bring us together.

Kim

TODDLER SWEARING. (Caution: toddler swearing.) Every mother has her own version of the swearing toddler story, and each thinks hers is the funniest and I am no exception. Anyone not familiar with the genre – imagine an 18-24 month old using words like “fork,” “fake” or “folk music.” My particular 2 year old happens to have met his Waterloo with the popular ogre Shrek, which in his capable hands (mouth) comes out, “f*ck.” Not sort of like it, or something close to it, just exactly it, with a capital F and all the exuberance and heartfelt enunciation that befits a big green charismatic swamp-dweller with a gorgeous, sassy wife.

Today we were in Payless Shoe Source trying to taking advantage of a closeout sale and right next to my size 9-1/2’s was an entire wall display of Shrek slippers. Well, my young son was so elated, so entirely giddy at this discovery that he could not, would not let up in his announcements to me as I tried on shoes a mere eight feet away from him (though you wouldn’t guess our proximity from his volume) “F*uck, mama! F*ck! F*ck shoes!” For the first couple of minutes I tried, at equal volume, to reinforce to the other listening shoppers (and there were many: SALE!) his speech mishap with, “Yes, honey it’s SHREK!” and “Uh-huh, SHREK shoes!” But after I realized that He. Was. Not. Going. To. Stop. Yelling. “F*ck shoes, mama!” over and over, I burst into uncontrollable giggles.

He finally shut up after discovering a pair of Dora sandals that light up (!) when stomped upon. He would then not leave quietly without the Dora sandals that light up, so of course he now owns his first pair of drag queen shoes. He wore them home, to bed for his nap and is now sporting them with only a diaper. (F*uck shoes, ha! Shoes rule.)

Kim

MORE POLITICS!! So dh and I are watching the VP Debate the other night, taking turns flicking each other on the cheek trying to stay awake. (Did anyone else notice that the little black timer boxes placed on the desks in front of the candidates looked like rolodexes, and combined with the incessant note-taking on the parts of both Dick and John, they started to look like a couple of receptionists? Anyone? Just me?) Since we are not learning anything about either running mate or the race in general we bide our time till the after-debate phone-ins begin, figuring these will hold much more entertainment value, and we are not disappointed. Unfortunately, most of the callers are not exactly eloquent, and in order to feel better about the situation we, of course, start to make fun of them. There is a phone line for Cheney, a phone line for Edwards and a phone line for Undecideds, and callers are phoning in with their opinion on who won the debate. We were really hoping to hear this one:

Caller (male): Well, I was undecided before tonight’s debate, but after listening to Mr. Cheney and Mr. Edwards I’ve decided that Edwards is just sooo young and hot that I have to vote for him.

Host: And that is based on the information in tonight’s debate?

Caller: Well, look at him! He’s like, all eager and good-looking and Cheney’s all…not-hot.

Host: Did you hear their discussion on same-sex marriage? They’re both opposed to it.

Caller: Well, yeah, but I’m thinkin’ maybe Edwards might flip-flop, ya know? Ya know?

Host: Were there other issues tonight that might affect your vote?

Caller: Well, hotness is pretty important. A Kerry-Edwards ticket is pretty…

Host: Hot.

Caller: Yeah…hot.

Host: Thank you, caller.

Maybe we should’ve called. We’re soooo voting for Kerry and Edwards, even though I think Edwards just may suffer from ADD or may have had the first person singular pronoun removed from his vocabulary.

Kim

CHALLENGE. I’ve decided to start the MadameLuke To-Do List Challenge, wherein I post my real, honest to goodness daily to-do list and then, if you see fit, you can compete in the spur-of-the-moment challenge and post your list as well and we can all gaze longingly at the mundane tasks we are all mired in and see, as my former bandmate Jill Fido once so eloquently put it, “the work that disappears.”

What, you are asking, does the winner get? First, let us define “winner.” Is the winner the one who has the shortest list? Longest? Most mundane? Least? Or perhaps the one who includes the most easily completed tasks (“socks/shoes”) just to garner that feeling of achievement? (Don’t laugh, we all do it.) Maybe the winner will just be apparent. Now don’t cheat. Don’t make things up like “wallow in despair for hours on end,” although I will say right now that I did have a to-do list with the following task: Develop new roll. The list became crumpled and lost in the bottom of my bag and by the time I found it I was deep in a funky funk (shocking) and when I read “Develop new roll (role)” it meant something far beyond the 35mm of black and white of its original intent. Develop beyond mother/wife/laundress/cook/maid/shitwiper? But how? How, when the only things asked of me in my own home are 1) Is the dishwasher clean or dirty? 2) What’s for dinner? 3) Have you changed your mind about a bottle? I digress only because it was the deepest moment I ever had with a To-do list entry.

The rules: 1) I get to make the rules. 2) Only the real to-do list from the day of the Challenge, no cool hold-overs from a better to-do day. 3) I’ll pick the winner and then you can argue with me. 4) I love to argue. 5) I love lists. 6) And rules.

QUESTIONS. How many To-do lists do you keep? A daily one (bank, p/u prescription) and then a long-term one (fix roof)? How long do you carry over tasks before you either give up on them or realize that you just won’t forget? A week? A month? I have been writing Blue Cross Claim Forms for over a month.

TO-DO LIST CHALLENGE!!!
Kim’s To-Do List for Wednesday, October 6, 2004
- Blue Cross claim forms
- Song permissions (for play)
- Follow up LHJ essay
- Water new trees
- Plant sweet peas (on list for 1 week)
- Make apnea appt for dh
- Send script to rf
- Appts for k & m
- Script changes to Ian
- Bank
- Office max/envelopes
- Phone list for e’s class
- Practice songs on slide (!!!! One month on list)
- Change strings on slide
- Bank statements (2)
- Fed. Tax deposit/September
- New grips on scooter (for bike to school day tomorrow!!!)
- Find e’s library books
- 10:20 work in e’s classroom

Seeing as it’s 3:45 pm local time, I imagine tomorrow’s list will look a lot like today’s list. Damn. Okay. I’m happy to say that all I did all damned day was sit and write. Harumph. I’d do it again. (Just because I make a to-do list doesn’t mean I have to DO the to-do list.) (and all the colored girls sing do to-do to-do do do do, do to-do to-do do do do……)

kim

COCKY MO-FO. I went out last night, in public, with my dh and no children and parlayed in multi-syllabled conversation till the wee hours of the morning. We ate embarrassing amounts of sushi (without embarrassment), strolled (strolled!) across the street for dessert (dessert without smiley faces, cartoon character tie-ins or wrappers) and then saw a movie. Is there anything worse than disappointing dessert? Why can’t anyone in this town make a real cannoli? Dh compared the one he tried last night to a “wine donut.” Now, being a woman who likes both wine and donuts, I take offense at that. Cannolis should have cheese and pistachios. Period. (Shut up and make one, Kim. Okay, fine.) Anyway, I would like to say the movie we saw will have no marketing tie-ins as well, but since it involved zombies, it just might. “Shaun of the Dead.” Very funny. I recommend it, and I don’t generally go in for that sort of thing. Which brings me to my next train of thought…

ZOMBIES vs. VAMPIRES. While deciding to see the aforementioned movie, I got to thinkin’, “I would never see this movie if it was a vampire flick.” And that started me wondering. Why? Am I not an equal opportunity undead watcher? Apparently not. Vampires, I think, are snotty, what with their fancy fashions, perfect skin and ideolgy (“be one of us!”). Zombies are much more comfortable dressers, move slower and seem to have less lofty ideals (“eat you now”). In other words, I am more like a zombie, at least on the outside. But the more my dh and I discussed this, the more we realized that no matter how snooty, vampires are truly cooler than zombies. For instance, in a restaurant crowded with equal parts zombies and vampires, let’s say Alec Baldwin enters and walks modestly to his reserved table. While the vampires might look up and give a barely perceptible knowing nod as if to say “yo”, the zombies would be the ones spilling their fruity umbrella drinks and yelling “that’s Alex Baldwin!” Dh, in the end had to remove himself from the debate after I reminded him that he is, in fact, undead himself (he has donor bone in his right ankle…along with seven screws and a couple of titanium plates. A story for another day.) Oh, one last thought, I’ve never seen a zombie chick that made me feel bad about myself, whereas vampire gals…well, you get the idea. They’re just so hot. (If you put a corset on a zombie, it might cut her in half.)

Kim

Is it any wonder that two of my favorite words (I have many) are “aplomb” (confidence and poise, especially in challenging circumstances) and “apoplexy” (a fit of anger) considering that I generally vacillate regularly between the two on a daily, sometimes hourly basis? In fact, I usually start with one (either will do), then depending on the flow and number of witnesses, transition into the other. Here’s a common example that can “Kerry” either way (new verb usage for flip-flop, thank you very much). Kim, mother of three, attempting to get all of her various-aged monkeys into their various models of car seats in the back seat of her Volvo in a timely fashion (read: NOW!WE’REFUCKINGLATEAGAIN!) Take One, Begin with Aplomb (the neighbors are watching):

Me: Okay! Everyone in, don’t want to be late!
Eldest: I forgot my pony.
Me: She’ll be waiting when we get home.
Middle: I forgot my pony.
Me: Silly boy, you don’t have a pony (kiss kiss buckle)
Baby: Pony Pony (squirm)
Me: Come here, you little monkey (tickle buckle)
(close doors, lock doors, transitioning to apoplexy)
Me: Damnit we’re late again. Eldest, buckle your little monkey brother! Hurry! Or your pony gets it! (Revving engine as threat.)

Take Two, Begin with Apoplexy (aint nobody here but us chickens)

Me: Ack! We’re late! Get in the car!
Middle: I don’t have shoes
Me: You don’t need shoes – I’m not letting you out ever again!
Eldest: I forgot my pony!
Me: Pony schmony let’s GO!
Baby: Mommy poopy
Me: NOT NOW!!!!!
(leaving house notice neighbors walking dog, transition to aplomb)
Me: Now-ow-ow (singing) not now-ow-ow, don’t leave me…oh, good morning!

kim

POLITICS! FROM KIM!! (Well, sort of…) Watching the Presidential debate tonight (Kerry spanks Bush) my mind kept wandering, mostly during the Bush speaking parts, and I think that is survival instinct on my behalf to keep my blood pressure down. However, after the first few minutes it was clear that I could watch AND listen, since he was digging his own hole, sniffing around in it like the dog he is, and hunkering down in it for the night. But my mind did continue to wander back to the same question, based on the Republican Party’s entire campaign of “September 11 – Vote for Bush” mindtwister. Here’s where my mind kept going: What if September 11th had actually happened on October 4th? Would everyone be going around saying “10-4?” Would the Republicans be coining “10-4 good buddy, Bush, over and out” or some other cockamamie thing? Would the war on terror be conducted like a trucker convoy? Would cb radios be the new vogue (aren’t they really anyway)? Would we be asking “Terrorists: What’s their 20?” (That means where are they.) I think I may be revealing way too much of my knowledge of cb radio-speak and culture here, so I may just have to let you imagine the rest. And I don’t mean to be disrespectful of the REAL 9/11 here. I mean, my mind just wanders and wonders. Over.

And by the way, are our troops really “fighting vociferously” as President Bush claims? Are they yelling and screaming or debating the insurgents? Or perhaps because the troops aren’t equipped properly they’re having to fake their arsenals like a Batman episode (“Bam!” “Ka-Pow!”). What word do you think he was searching for? Viciously? Voraciously? (Are they hungry? Well read?) Hmmm…nu-cu-ler…

I don’t feel so bad about voting for the Not-Bush after tonight.

Kim

Warning: wordy morning leads to long rambling entry today. Those of you who know me know this mood. Love the sound of my own voice mode. Here goes nothin’ (in multiple parts). I suppose this is what blogs are for, right?

DEAD CAT. My dh has a couple of employees (if you work for the EDD, he has exactly one), and that ONE, who, at the risk of sounding like Walter Matthau, is generally “a pretty good kid,” called this morning to let us know he couldn’t come in today because his girlfriend’s cat died yesterday and she really needs him around today. Ummm, excuse me, but that one’s just not on the list. “I have SARS.” okay. “My girlfriend died yesterday.” okay. Even “I’m experiencing post-traumatic stress over a loss that is affecting my ability to function safely in the workplace.” okay. But six degrees of Kevin Bacon’s dead cat is not okay. Maybe this is payback for the time, way back in the irresponsible dark ages when I was nineteen or so, working at a local amusement park in food prep when I actually had the gall to call in ugly. Yes, you read that right, I called in ugly. I woke up one morning suffering the effects of an allergic reaction to something (or somebody?) and was rash-y and hive-y from hairline to waistline. It was slightly itchy but mostly unsightly. I couldn’t imagine going out into the light of day and serving food to tourists (unappetizing!). My manager understood and made some comment about being beautiful again “by tomorrow.” So, with all due respect to cat lovers and mourners out there, this employee’s gf needs to find another shoulder to cry on post haste, baby.

LIP GLOSS. I have a confession to make. I love lip gloss. I have just rediscovered this after years of poo-pooing the very concept. The last time I wore lip gloss was back in 6th grade and it came in a glass bottle with a rolly ball that could pop out and you could suck on it (eeew). I recently received as a FREE GIFT! (after spending an enormous amount) from Lancome (another story altogether – trying to cover my rosey cheeks) a free tester of their new grown-up lip gloss. It’s fabulous. It’s not slippery. It’s not gooey. It makes me feel like winking at people. Who? Anyone! My free sample is clear, which was a smart way to get me all roped in, since I’m already addicted to chapstick and used to having something on my lips at all times. My 6 year old daughter reacted with “oooh! mommy you look all fashion-y!” This with just clear shiny lips – respect! Forget the perfect grammar and spelling, the backlog of memorized showtunes or perfectly executed single, double and triple tap-dancing time steps. Lip gloss made her LIKE me. Yesterday, cloudy and gray, was threatening to drag me the same direction, and I knew I needed something in the $15.00 range to make me feel good, special, autumn-y. Plum lip gloss. I am not a girly-girl (at least not to the naked eye), so I hauled my cookies, such as they are, in their stinky old-school Chucks and ratty backpack to Macy’s and bought me some gloss. Plum. Like an over-ripe piece of fruit hanging on a tree got all rained on and whispered to you “…come here, when I’m all wet and drippy purple and let me kiss you…now you’re all plummy, too” See how happy it makes me?

COSTCO. I’m going to Costco today for the first time in a year and I’m scared.

Prayer to the Goddess of Costco:

Please let me shop for a family of five
Not for an legion
of hundreds as if
I had
A walk-in
Freezer
or
Even
A
Pantry

so mote it be

Kim

There is a part of me that secretly (or not so) yearns for and envies contentment. I suspect it in others on the playground in the mornings and in coffee shops and “about town” and, maybe I’m just buying into other people’s big charade or falling prey to somebody else’s medicated ennui, but some days it seems so much easier to be just happy with the day-to-day instead of constantly overcoming and dealing with a backburner that is always full and a front burner that is always boiling over. Why do I have to want to do so much?!?! Sometimes it just seems like it would be so much easier to like Survivor or Regis and talk about it at the grocery store to complete strangers (strangers no more!), turn on the radio and hear a song you like (stop trying to write better ones), go to the polls and vote for someone you believe in (as if you believed in any of them), pick up your child from a school you trust, drive around in a big dumb car with bells and whistles you feel no guilt driving, make lots of money doing things you can’t really justify…wait…I think I’ve just discovered why I have a sister. She got all the mind-numbing contentment and I got all the angst. Damn. How did that happen? Can I settle for contentment within my own role? That would be okay, too. I’m content to be less than glamorous. I’m content to be less than rich. I’m content to be an adequate mom instead of Super Mom. Somehow I don’t feel that rosey glow I see on other faces around town. My rosey glow is genetic and is more likely brought on by stress or rage. Am I content to be the malcontent?

To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.
- Gustave Flaubert

ah, there it is. I feel better already.

Kim