Top 10 People I’d Prefer in the White House Instead of George W. Bush

Let me be clear. I don’t want out W. on principle just because he’s a Republican. I want him out because he’s a retard.

1. Martin Sheen (Hey, he did a good job on “The West Wing.”)

2. Jimmy Smits (See above. Maybe he could run after Sheen leaves office.)

3. Alan Alda (Again, “The West Wing.” See, I’m non-partisan.)

4. Morgan Freeman (He led the country through an comet hitting the earth in “Deep Impact.” He could handle this mess in a week.)

5. Colin Powell (Again, this ain’t an anti-Republican thing. It’s an anti-retard thing.)

6. My senile cat. (Meow.)

7. My other senile cat. (Meow.)

8. A stick of butter. (Yes, technically not a person. But who doesn’t like butter?)

9. Timmy from “South Park.” (TIMMY!)

10. You. (Why not? You’re nowhere near as big a retard as W., are you?)

Thanks for the Mammaries

Great. Now my husband will tell me he wants me to get a boob job for my own safety.

(from Reuters)

The breast job that saved a life
Hospital: Shrapnel from rocket lodged in implants, sparing Israeli woman

JERUSALEM - An Israeli woman's breast implants saved her life when she was wounded in a Hezbollah rocket attack during Israel's war with the Lebanese group, a hospital spokesman said Tuesday.

Doctors found shrapnel embedded in the silicone implants, just inches from the 24-year-old's heart.

"She was saved from death," said a spokesman for Nahariya Hospital in northern Israel. The woman has been released from hospital.

Top 10 Rejected Dr. Seuss Book Titles

10. “Jack Black in a Hat”

9. “Mr. Brown Can Poo. Can You?”

8. “I’ve Got a Rocket in My Pocket! Dr. Seuss’ Book of Ridiculous Pick-Up Lines”

7. “The Butter Battle Book” (Wait. This one is real
.)

6. “How Mel Gibson Stole Chanukah”

5. “Horton Hears an Exploding Laptop”

4. “Green Eggs and Hammer Toes”

3. "Oh, the Places You’ll Pass Out Drunk in College”

2. “Yertle the Taxidermist”

And the number one rejected Dr. Seuss book title:

1. “One Fish, Two Fish, Snakes on a Plane”

Let's Go!

Snack Quest

Have you ever watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas?"

What am I saying? Of *course* you have. *Everyone* has. The only exception to this rule is my boss. Years ago, the "Snoopy Dance" came up in conversation in his office. He asked what the heck we were talking about.

"You know? From 'A Charlie Brown Christmas'?"

::Blank stare from boss::

"Is this something new? You know I don't own a television."

Oh yeah, sure. It's something new—FROM 30 YEARS AGO!

"I was in the Navy then. I didn't have time to watch television."

"But they rerun it every year! How can you not know what we're talking about?" we ask.

On cue, Lamont and I leap from our chairs, start humming the "Linus and Lucy" theme (Duh duh-duh dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah…) and doing the Snoopy Dance, bobbing our heads, jumping from foot to foot and letting our arms hang at our sides.

The boss is dumbfounded. Another person walks into the office and the boss says "I have no idea what they're doing," thinking this is something stupid we've made up on the spur of the moment.

Without missing a beat, the new person looks at us unfazed and asks "Why are they doing the Snoopy Dance?"

But, as Peter David would say, I digress.

So…as a kid, I was obsessed with Peanuts. I had a raggedy old stuffed Snoopy I slept with and took on every trip away from home. I had another smaller family of stuffed Snoopys (Snoopies?) I built a house for in my bookcase. I read all the paperback collections of Peanuts strips I could get my hands on over and over and over. I had a Snoopy lunch box and God only knows what other Peanuts paraphernalia.

And I always got super excited when a Peanuts special was going to air. Remember, this was pre VHS and DVD. The specials aired once a year, and you better damn well catch them.

Aside from the cartoons themselves, one thing in particular fascinated me about Peanuts specials: the ads for Dolly Madison snack cakes. These were not sold in Rhode Island, but I wanted them desperately. If Charlie Brown and Snoopy endorsed them, they must be good.

To this day, I have never seen a Dolly Madison snack cake. Do they really exist? I did a Google search recently and found the parent company, Interstate Bakeries. The Dolly Madison brand is still manufactured but there is no information as to where the elusive cakes are sold.

I e-mailed the company asking for help, and a little less than a week later received a friendly reply saying they were sorry I couldn't find Dolly Madison products in "my area."

"ARRRAGH!" as Charlie Brown would say. Yes, yes, but where *are* they sold????

The e-mail offered the URLS of several Web sites that they thought might carry Dolly Madison products. No luck. Several do carry Hostess products, which are made by the same company, but those are sold in my area and I don't care. I want the Snoopy approved snacks, dammit!

So, my question to you: have you ever seen these sold in your area? If so where is your area? Is it on the planet earth? Could I drive/fly/swim there and buy Dolly Madison cakes? Would it be worth the effort?

Please help.

Good News!

My Summer Vacation, Part 4:

Day 7:

It’s our last full day in Maine. We decide to head into Portland and take the kids to the Children’s Museum, since they’re having a Dr. Seuss party that afternoon. Plus, it’s free on Fridays, and free is always good.

We’re on the road when we realize this is the one attraction in the entire state husband did not print out directions for. And we have no map of Portland. No worries. It’s a small city, and there has to be signs or a visitor’s booth or something. We’ll find it.

Life lesson learned: Never, never go into frickin’ Portland without directions or a map. We drove around in circles for an hour looking for the place. The signs we did find for visitors’ information sent us around in circles. You can’t get there from here, indeed.

At some point, my stupid brain remembers we have not one but two cell phones in the car, and the phone number of the museum. I call and get directions. Turns out we had been driving in a four block radius of the place all along. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

We stop at the art museum next door and get a city map. The Dr. Seuss thing (and free hours) doesn’t start for a bit, so we’ve got time to kill. The museum’s information lady suggests taking a train ride, so we hop back in the car and drive to the train museum.

Jak-El, who had been a bit cranky (quelle surprise!), perks up at the sight of the train cars in the museum, and the Thomas the Tank Engine train table. He plays while we want for the next train ride. He’s happy, until we announce we’re going outside to get on the real train.

Commence spaz attack. Child cries as we get on train. Child cries while we find seats. Child screams as I force him to sit down.

Dan-El, meanwhile, is the happiest little pooper in the world. He sits on his dad’s lap and waves to all passersby like Betty White in the Rose Bowl Parade.

Jak-El screams for most of the first half of the ride, finally completely calming down when the train stops for a short mid-ride break. A juice box and a cookie convinces him to sit sullenly and quietly (a vast improvement) for the rest of the trip.


Next is the Children’s Museum. After all the sturm und drang, I’m happy to report this was a success. Jak-El enjoyed it, and particularly liked getting his face painted. He choose the crude spider design offered on the sheet of possible face design options, which looked even cruder when painted on his face. “Spider-Man! Spider-Man! I want Spider-Man!” He was thrilled.

We head home, stopping for fried clams and chowder (no clam cakes please!). We eat them and finish off the last open bottle of wine. As always, wine is good.

Day 8:

Time to go home. Jak-El actually helps pack, an amazing feat.

We stop in the center of Kennebunkport to do our only bit of vacation shopping. I’m obsessed with trying fudge from Roly’s English Fudge, the first American outpost of a U.K. chain. (Why, I’m not sure. I like fudge. God save the queen. I dunno.)

We go to the fudge shop only to discover it doesn’t open for another 45 minutes. A few toy store perusals and a stop in a jewelry store to buy some gifts eats up some of the time, and we decide to do a horse and buggy ride for the remainder. Our horse is named Redd. Other than Jak-El being so excited he practically jumps off the carriage at one point, the experience is pretty uneventful, which is nice. Then we get fudge.

Lunch is had at a lovely little Scottish restaurant, McDonalds. We stop at another McD’s closer to home and buy Jak-El the ice cream cone he had been promised earlier in the day if he ate his lunch. He finishes it on the porch as we unpack. Later, I find dried, sticky melted ice cream on the front door. And the porch furniture. And his car seat. And the side of the car.

Dan-El happily plays in the living room while we unpack, overjoyed to again be in an area he can roam free without being “reset” every 30 seconds. (Yea childproofing.)

And now we’re home. And you’ve read a travelogue that took almost as long as the actual vacation to write. The moral of all this? Family is good, wine is good, Portland signage is bad.

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m gonna go open some wine now. You do the same.

You Know Who You Are

You're On Notice...

Vacation finale to come later today or over the weekend.

My Summer Vacation, Part 3:

Day 5:


It’s hot, too hot, about 80 degrees by 8 a.m. While the baby practices dismounts off the furniture under the watchful eye of his father and grandparents, I convince Jak-El to go to the beach for an early morning treasure hunt.

It’s beautiful at the beach. The place is deserted except for some stray joggers and folks walking their dogs. We park ourselves next to a huge hole someone dug the day before and spend the morning searching for shells, burying each other in the sand and making sand castles.

At some point, Jak-El insists on taking the “Pirates of the Caribbean” treasure chest and key he acquired the day before at McDonald’s out of the beach bag, and promptly loses the key. I commence a search for the key, imploring him to try and find it, since I’m sure he’ll be upset later that it’s gone. He doesn’t have any idea and doesn’t seem to care. “Look for the key, please,” I beg. He wants to just dig and ignores me.

After I ask him to look for the key for about the twelfth time, he looks at me, rolls his eyes and says with a weary ‘you’re an idiot mom’ voice, “It’s on a mission.”


This phrase is my explanation for what happens to action figures or other toys when the disappear under the couch or whatever for days and he’s upset. Now the little f*&ker is using it on me. I give up. Over a week later, he hasn’t asked for the key once.

We leave the beach and go to a local coffee shop for a late breakfast. Back at the house, everyone is at a loss for what to do. It’s too hot to even move. We decide to eat lunch out at the Maine Diner (the place advertised constantly on Phantom Gourmet, for you New England locals) to sit in air conditioning for a while.

We’re seated at our booth, and Jak-El immediately starts having a fit, about what I’m not even sure. Dan-El behaves but wants to people watch more than eat. Jak-El screams some more, and wants to sit in my lap while I try to feed Dan-El. The restaurant is crowded and cramped. I’m about ready to snap.

“Let me feed the baby so you can eat,” asks my mom.

No, just eat, I reply. Really, let me handle it, please. There’s no way these kids are going to let me eat in peace, so can everyone else just eat so we can leave? I’ll take my food to go and eat later.

The husband has seen this before, and knows to let me be. My in-laws and my mother, however, keep offering to assist. I refrain from maiming anyone with my fork and we finally leave, husband with the two grandmothers to go shoe shopping and me with the dad-in-law and children to go back to the house.

The ride back is enjoyable. The kids sleep, and dad-in-law and I drive by the water to see the Bush house. We have a festive round of Republican bashing in the car, and back at the house I finally get to eat lunch.

The rest of the day, we try to keep cool, eventually piling the kids in the car again for a two hour ride to nowhere just so they can nap in the air conditioned auto.

Day 6:

The grandparents head home for Rhode Island. While we love having them visit, and enjoy the babysitting help, it’s nice to have the house to ourselves.

We decide to go to York’s Wild Kingdom & Amusement Park. Jak-El decrees upon arrival that he does not want to go to the zoo, so we head to the ride area, expecting him to change his mind.


He takes an immediate interest in the train, so we buy some tokens, fearful if we buy him a day-pass he then won’t want to go on any rides. The train is a hit, as is the boat, bumper cars, rocket ship and just about anything else he can zoom around in.

Then, he wants to go into the “Jungle House,” a funhouse kind of thing. We decide to go for it. I go in with him, while husband stays with Dan-El. The first half is lots of fun, just twists and turns, shaky floors and the like.


We come out the top and the husband calls up to us to shoot a photo.

Then, the chaos begins.

We head down the stairs and I spy a sign with a parrot saying “Trouble Ahead!” Ah, what do parrots know?

We make the next turn and are suddenly confronted by an animatronic screaming figure wearing a tribal mask. Jak-El freaks and wants to turn around and go back the way we came, which isn’t an option.

Let me carry you, I said. He practically leaps up, wraps his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist and buries his face in my chest. I wobble through the increasingly dark and twisted tunnels past a day glo painted skeleton (which of course Jak-El opens his eyes just in time to see and freaks out more), and finally get us out of there.

Back in the sunshine, Jak-El keeps looking behind us, terrified the creatures are going to come out. They can’t get out, we assure him. “The superheroes put them in there to stay.” That nonsense and an ice cream bar calm him down.

He never did want to go to the zoo, by the way.

We spend a quiet night at home. Wine is a good thing. For us, not the kids…although it would have calmed Jak-El’s nerves, that’s for sure.

Next: Where the hell are we, Spider-Man and it’s time to go home.

Random quote of the day:

That’s nice. I always did want to put him in a cage.

Intermission

The vacation travelogue will resume tomorrow. Go to the snack stand and get some melted butter or something.

In the meantime, two things of note:

1. Until he read my blog last night, the husband did not realize we paid to enjoy the butter flight. "What? Who pays for butter????" he asked. Apparently, you do dear.

Remember kids, the complimentary butter is not the butter that tells you how lovely you look this evening. It is the free butter.

2. Strange coincidence. Aquaman was also on vacation last week. You can read his travel adventures /here


My Summer Vacation, Part 2

Day 3:

Since Dan-El wasn't overwhelmed with the beach, the husband and I decide it might make sense for him to stay home with the napping baby, while I take Jak-El to the beach for a morning of sun and fun.

Jak-El, however, had other plans. "Want to go to the beach?" I asked. "No!"" he responded. "I wanna go to a playground!"

Great, except where the hell is a nearby playground?

I pull out a local map and can't find any notation of playground. I do see one elementary school in Kennebunk, and figure they must have a swing set, or a slide, or something he can climb on.

We head out, stopping first for lattes (mine, decaf nonfat iced; his, nocaf, whole fat, straight up) and pastry (chocolate croissant for moi, lobster shaped sugar cookie for him). Sugar and caffeine does a body good!

I pull out of the café's parking lot, drive a block and see a sign for a playground. Yeah! No searching!

We sit and nosh on the slide. No other kids are there, so Jak-El gets bored pretty quickly, declares the playground "stinky" and wants to go home.

After lunch, we drive around in search of fruit, veggies and seafood to prepare dinner for the assorted grandparents set to arrive that day. At a farm stand, I buy rasp, blue and strawberries for shortcake, hoping to pick up whipped cream and little premade cakes as well.

"We can't sell pastry, but we have biscuit mix."

Biscuit mix? Do I look like I want to bake? Please. We move on.

The husband and Jak-El run into a fish market for lobsters and clams, and then we do a drive by the Bush homestead. No presidential sightings, but there are a heck of a lot of black SUVs on the property's perimeter, so someone at least semi-important must be around.

We get home and shortly after my mom arrives, followed soon thereafter by my in-laws. The husband goes off in search of shortcake, and I baby-sit the children of all ages.

That night, we feast on steamers, lobster, corn on the cob (cooked on the grill—best way to cook corn EVER), and wine. Husband and I polish off the bottle we opened Saturday night and then start in on a bottle of Shooting Star chardonnay, a wine I haven't had in years but really, really enjoy.

::after the first glass:: "Hey, this wine is really good."

::after the second glass:: "Hey, did you notice wine is really good?"

::after the third glass:: "Hey, I really like this wine. Did I tell you this wine is good?"

Husband is ignoring me at this point, having moved on to drinking White Russians with his father. No one cares. We're all pretty friendly drunks.

Day 4:

This morning, Jak-El and his grandfather walk across the street to visit the sheep that live on the farm there. The breed is named Jacob sheep. For some reason, that amuses my son.



After Dan-El's nap, we head out in search of entertainment. First up is lunch at McDonald's, where Jak-El gets a "Pirates of the Caribbean" Happy Meal toy, a treasure chest with a key. He's quite pleased. Dan-El people watches, eats his squash and plots how he'll acquire the treasure chest as a teething toy when his brother isn't looking.

Next door to McD's is a miniature gold course. We walk the kids over and ask Jak-El if he wants to play. "Yeah! Golf!" he says. We pay for one child and one adult and hit the links.

I hit a ball to show Jak-El what to do. He follows suit, then runs to the end of the hole, picks his ball up and drops it in the hole. Then, he does the same with my ball.



We move on to the second hole and repeat the process. "All done!" he says, ready to leave.

Not so fast. We just paid $14 to play golf, so someone is going to damn well play golf. We con him into playing most of the rest of the course by convincing him the only way out is to walk by all the holes, and if we're walking this way, why not hit the ball as we go.

On the way back, we do a little bribe shopping for the boy. Every vacation, the grandparents must do one night of babysitting to "pay" for their room and board as our guests. But since Jak-El isn't always an angel, we decide a little bribery is due. We buy him a piece of candy and a new toy.

The toy is a game, "Pop Up Pirate." A plastic pirate figure is stuck inside a plastic keg. Then, players stick little plastic swords in the keg until the pirate randomly pops up. Whoever pops the pirate is the loser.

As you can tell, it's a game of great cunning and skill.

The bribes worked. The little psycho was well behaved, thanks in large part to the fact they left him alone upstairs and let him watch Cartoon Network almost the entire time we were out.

We dined at Arrows in Ogunquit. The meal was amazing, and the most expensive we've ever had ($450+ for two people), but well worth it. We don't get to dine out often as adults, but when we do, we like to make it count.

Much to my delight, we chose the chef's tasting menu, and had oysters, lobster, salad (four types of greens, with four types of oils and vinegars—of course, I messed up the combinations, cause' I'm uncouth), salmon, Kobe beef, and a quartet of desserts. Everything was wonderful.

Dinner started off with the waiter telling us we could either have the "complimentary" butter with our bread OR we could order the "butter flight," a sampling of three different types of butter, each described in loving detail. (I think one was hand churned by New Zealand virgins or something.)

As soon as I heard the words "butter flight" I nearly had a giggle fit. But I noticed the husband nodding appreciatively, so I let him make the call. He was taken with the fact one was described as "sweet," and he likes things sweet. (Why do you think he married me?) So we got the butter flight and they all tasted like, well, butter. But butter is always a good thing. Yea butter.

As I signed the credit card receipt, I decided that what I had just paid for a meal more than entitled me to steal the pen with the restaurant's name on it. I also wanted to steal a "complimentary" head of lettuce from their garden, but the husband and lack of proper light to see what I was doing stopped me. Drat.

Next: It's f*!king hot, the creatures are after us, and Lois has a meltdown.

Random quote of the day:

"Do you know his shoes are on the wrong feet?"

My Summer Vacation, Part 1

Day 1:

We get off to a late start. Having two children just doesn't make getting ready for a trip any easier. Weird, huh?

We finally get on the road, and hit major bumper-to-bumper Saturday afternoon traffic on 95 North. It will take us at least an extra hour to get to Kennebunkport.

"If we get there and get unpacked and I sit on the couch and it just feels like we're at home, I'm really going to lose it," says the husband.

We finally get to the vacation house and unload the car. Then, we head off to the nearest "real" grocery store in Kennebunk to stock up for the week. Too tired to cook afterwards, we stop at The Clam Shack to pick up dinner. They sell "The Bush Family Cookbook," so it must be good.

We get fried claims, fries and clam cakes. Now, I grew up in Rhode Island, where they know how to make clam cakes right. In RI, clam cakes are fried dough balls from heaven, sold for about $6 a dozen.

The fried clams were excellent. But Maine has no clue about clam cakes. There, clam cakes are sold one for $1.95 and resemble – and taste like – flat fast food chicken patties gone wrong. And the really dumb thing is that as we're eating them we remember that we tried them two years ago and vowed then to never order them again.

We feel tired and stupid, but better after half a bottle of wine. Everything is better after half a bottle of wine.

Day 2:

After a lazy morning we head over to the beach. Jak-El has been talking about nothing for a week but going to the beach and a movie on vacation. Today, we plan to accomplish both.

I stupidly buy a week pass for the beach. Little did I know that after one visit to the beach, Jak-El would consider it crossed off his list and not care about going again.



Jak-El had a lot of fun digging holes in the sand. Dan-El, on the other hand, wasn't so wild about the experience. He started crawling about a week before the trip, and now wants to be on the move constantly. He just couldn't understand why we wouldn't let him crawl around the beach, eating fistfuls of sand. We would have, but I read in a book somewhere that's not recommended until babies are at least 11 months old. Something about not being able to digest sand yet—I know, dumb, huh?

We go home and eat dinner and then drive a half hour north to Saco for a night at the drive-in. Husband and I are mighty excited, as we rarely get to go to the movies anymore.

Luckily, Jak-El falls asleep on the way, so we don't have to listen to him whine about when the movie is going to start. Dan-El wakes up about 15 minutes after we arrive in a chipper mood and enjoys playing with the sunroof. I'm considering sending this picture to Brittney Spears—perhaps her stunt baby would enjoy a little station wagon surfing too.



We wake up Jak-El just as "Cars" begins and he sits quietly and happily on his dad's lap through the whole movie, munching on popcorn. When it ends, he climbs back into his car seat and promptly falls asleep.

I'm very proud to say that I was the only one in the whole car who stayed awake to the end of the second feature, "Pirates of the Caribbean 2." Hooray me!

Tomorrow: The grandparents arrive, miniature golf is attempted and we have the most expensive meal ever.

Random quotes of the day:

"I don't want to get wet!"
"Then why are you in the shower?"
"I. DON'T. KNOW."

"Oh great. Now you've ruined Danny Kaye for me *forever*."

What the...???

Hey! Who the f*&k built a hot tub in the middle of our living room while we were gone?

And why does it smell like onion dip....?