FYI...

My Son, The Mumbling Historian

Jak-El: Mom, pinecones are real.

Lois: Yep, that’s right. Pinecones are real.

Jak-El: No, not pinecones. Pioneers are real.

Lois: Oh, yeah. Pioneers are real.

Jak-El: You know what they eat? Squirrels.

Lois: They eat squirrels?

Jak-El: NO! Coral! They eat coral.

Lois: Oh, right. Coral.

Jak-El: And they do a lot of odd things.

Lois: Like what?

Jak-El: Well, when they go to the bathroom, they wash their hands in the toilet.

Lois: Well, if you say so. Where did you learn all this anyway?

Jak-El: I’m smart!

Lois: I know that honey. But who told you all these things?

Jak-El: My brain.

Hope your brain tells you to have a wonderful long weekend! And if you live outside the U.S. and aren’t having a long weekend, have a wonderful regular sized weekend!

Now dance people, dance!

Coming Soon to Fox: America's Next Top Whore

::Lois and the Husband watch "Top Chef"::

Lois:Hey, y'know what would be great?

Husband: What?

Lois: If they had one of these "Apprentice" or "Top Chef" type shows for prostitutes. When a contestant gets eliminated, instead of saying "You're fired!" or "Pack up your knives", they could say "Go fuck yourself!"

Husband: Yep.

Happy Thursday.

Mammy!

Lois: I’m getting a mammogram on Friday.

Husband: Do they ever go back to normal after they do that?

Lois: I had one done last year.

Husband: Like I said, do they ever go back to normal?

Lois: Smartass.

Yep, since everyone seems to enjoy the talk about the boobies, today we’ll be discussing mammograms.

They’re definitely not as much fun as a candygram, but it’s really not that bad. It isn’t something I’d like to have done every week, but it’s not as horrible as some people would make it out to be. Just uncomfortable and weird.

So anyway…

I dashed off to the hospital, barely giving myself enough time to find a space in the crowded parking lot. I figured there was no point in getting there early, as I’d have to wait.

Surprise—I walk into the Women’s Imaging Center and am immediately ushered into the back, where I change into one of them oh-so-stylish hospital gowns. I look in the mirror and notice that I’m dressed like a 14 year old boy—black jeans, Chuck Taylors and a Batman t-shirt. (It would be really odd to make a 14 year old boy have a mammogram, wouldn’t it? I’ll have to put that on to list of things I can do to mentally scar my kids when they’re teenagers.)

Then it’s off to the waiting room, where I peruse a copy of Martha Stewart Living and find a recipe for chicken with lemons and potatoes, that I need to look up online later, because it sounded yummy.

Suddenly, a woman appears with a tray of beverages and snacks, offering them around like we’re guests at a dinner party. (A quick look at the tray shows no gin or whiskey, so I decline.) A nice, but odd touch. Sort of like when the same hospital gave me a $25 gift certificate for the cafeteria because the OR was running late so my C-section would be a bit behind schedule. I think they’re trying to win a customer service award or something.

By now, you’re probably annoyed that boobs haven’t been discussed more. And you’re right, you were promised boobs, so let’s talk about boobs.

A minute later, I’m whisked into the Mammoroom (okay, it wasn’t called the Mammoroom, but it should be.) I’m asked a bunch of basic identifying questions, so the hospital won’t get sued for squeezing the wrong gal’s pom poms, I guess. And then the fun begins.

Off with the top. Woo-hoo!

The technician has me rest my boob in the machine, and then crushes it. I don’t look down. I don’t wanna see. Bad enough what my damn kids did to em’, I don’t need to see this.

The nice technician and I discuss her pregnancy (she’s 8 months along and hoping that her own boobs go back to normal someday too), and plastic surgery (her friend is getting a tummy tuck next week and saving up for a boob lift, to repair the damage her kids incurred on her body) and the fact that my husband is a smartass.

Both my boobs are squeezed in a variety of positions, and x-rayed for my permanent record, and then I put my top back on and go on my merry way.

To sum up: normally, I usually make guys buy me dinner first before they get to do this. But for women in a lab coat, I’m easy.

Happy Friday!

Oh, and because Cake asked for it, Friday Dance Party Song! Everyone, shake your pom poms!

Monkey! Monkey! Monkey! David Tennant!

Weevilfest 2008 was yesterday.

I came away from the event with two important insights:

1. Next year, we should invite David Tennant to Weevilfest, because everything is better with David Tennant.



2. Detective Chimp should appear in every DC comic, in every issue. And in every Marvel comic. And possibly become a character on "Lost" and "The Office" and a contestant on the next season of "Top Chef." Because like David Tennant, everything is better with Detective Chimp.



Is it too early for infrastructure?


Signs of the Apocalypse?

Hey kids, guess what Homewood Suites forgot?


This is just wrong. Children do not need perfume. Children should smell just as God intended them to, like dirt and poo. Then again, this could be advertising a perfume that would make one smell like a child. That's even worse. What adult would want to smell like dirt and poo?

Pumpkin is Nice Too…

Let me begin by saying that I’m not a Hillary Clinton hater. I think she might be a very good president. It’s just that I think Barack Obama is a better choice. A fresh start, if you will.

But has anyone else noticed that people who support Hillary are getting very defensive about doing so? Whenever it comes up in conversation lately, it seems to go like this:

HILLARY PAL: Who do you hope gets the nod?

LOIS: Obama.

HP: Oh. Really? I’m for Hillary. She….(person goes into 10 minute treatise on the wonders of Hillary).

LOIS: Well, good luck with that. I’m just not sure she’s ultimately electable. Wanna go get some pie?

HP: Well, I think…(goes on for another 15 minutes about how Hillary will save the rainforest, cure cancer and uncover the secrets of “Lost.” Actually, I have no clue, because I’ve completely zoned out.)

LOIS: Great, great. What kind of pie do you think would be good? Is it rhubarb season yet?

HP: Her policies on…(Taxes? Gas prices? Chocolate covered bacon? Who knows?)…are much more thought out than Obama's and….(blah bidditty blah blah blah).

LOIS: I’m gonna go to McDonald’s now. They have apple pie. See you in November.

New Zealand Day, Part 2

As an early Mother's Day present, the Husband let me sneak out last night to go to see:



Wonderful show! I had a great time -- sang along with almost every song (except for the new stuff, which they haven't even recorded yet, so I don't know the words. I suppose I could have just made up lyrics, like my dad used to do in church when he didn't feel like singing the right words to the hymns. But this wasn't a church service, so that would have been sacrilegious.) The singing wasn't the brightest move on my part, as I already had a sore throat and today have pretty much no voice at all.

Here, have a picture of Neil Finn and Nick Seymour.

It's Almost 5 p.m. on Friday, So Get With the Dancin' and Infrastructure Already People!!!!

Travelin' Gal

(I returned home last night after a business trip. I actually did write a post between conference sessions, but problems with the hotel's WiFi meant I couldn't get online to actually post the post. So…..here's the brilliance I wrote in Chicago, with director's commentary after the fact in italics.)

I'm in Chicago on business. I caught a 6 am flight out of Logan, which I had to get up at 3:45 to catch. 3:45 am in Boston is 2:45 am in Chicago. And I didn't go to bed until midnight. And then I woke up every 30 minutes or so, because I was worried that I wouldn't get up in time to catch my flight.

So I'm very, very sleepy.

(I'm usually very, very sleepy. So what else is new?)

I'm writing this between conference sessions.

This will be a very random post.

I would really like some Fritos right now.

(Later that afternoon, I did indeed procure Fritos, but didn't have time to eat them before going out to dinner. I did eat them for breakfast the next morning, because I didn't have any other food in my room (aside from a candy bar), there was no room service and I didn't feel like getting dressed and going out. An hour after eating the Fritos, I felt very queasy. To sum up: eating Fritos before 9 a.m. is not a good idea.)

I just listened to a speaker who reminded me a lot of an older version Barney from "How I Met Your Mother." I kept waiting for him to say the strategy he was discussing was—wait for it—awesome.

(Has anyone seen the new "Harold and Kumar" movie? Is it any good?)

During the session he showed a clip from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" to illustrate a point. He preceded the clip by saying that women don't normally like or get the appeal of the Pythons. This made me want to hit him over the head with a shrubbery.

Of course, I want to hit a lot of conference speakers over the head with shrubbery.

(Heh. I actually went to another conference locally this morning, to see a friend give a presentation. I was so happy when he asked me to take off and forgo the afternoon sessions and get lunch instead. Playing hooky is fun.)

I'm wearing a new jacket. I like it a lot. I like it so much I'd go so far to say it is a jaunty jacket.

During the break, they did not serve any caffeinated beverages. This was very rude of them.

A woman was riding a Segway through the hotel lobby this morning. I want a Segway.

But not as much as I want Fritos.

(I never want Fritos ever, ever again.)

And whiskey.

(I had a shot of scotch after dinner that night, 12 year old Macallan to be exact. Whiskey is awesome.)