He always gets me with that last one. Well played, kid.

Inspired by a conversation I had on Twitter the other night, behold, I bring you...

A Brief List of Bedtime-Delaying Excuses Recently Utilized By My Son, Bedtime Delaying Master.

I'm thirsty.

This cup isn't a good cup.

What time can I get up?

I need you to tuck me in.

Tuck me in like a caterpillar.

Why are my ears so wiggly?

My teeth aren't sleepy yet.

I have to peeeee!

I guess I didn't have to pee.

I don't think it's dark yet.

Can I play with my bubble gun in the morning?

I wasn't making noise, I was being a lying-down robot.

Why do pirates have to go on treasure hunts?

I love you, Mommy! Can you come back and give me 100 kisses?
* * * * *
Okay, hit me, you all. What are your kid's/kids' most creative excuses (and can they top "my teeth aren't sleepy yet")?

The Scarlet Letter, J, and El Capitan Loco: A love story.

I can't say with absolute certainty, but it's been my experience that with rare exception, each couple out there is made up of a composed, rational, grounded half, and then a more out-there, and uh...spontaneous one. If you would ask anyone who knows us as a couple, I'd pretty much guarantee you that we would be pegged thusly:

 El Capitán Loco evidently mixes up her diacritical marks. Because she is LOCO!

 

Dear, sweet J. So organized and sane. Kind, calm, thoughtful, maker of rational decisions, and prompt put-er away-er of pants. (I HAVE A PROBLEM, OKAY?)

All of which is what made my discovery last night that much more surprising. Going in, you'll have to know three things:


THING ONE: We have separate mattresses.

Not separate BEDS, mind you, just separate mattresses, but placed together in a king frame. (Just--whatever, just go with it, okay?)


THING TWO: J loves his mattress.

Despite the two mattresses being 100% identical, and purchased on the same day from the same place, he remains intractably convinced of his mattress' superiority, as if mine is made of porcupine quills, Nazis, and sharpened sticks.

THING THREE: I rarely change the sheets.

NOTA BENE: They get CHANGED, mind you, weekly. Just usually not by me. (As noted above, I have enough trouble hanging up my damned suit pants.)

So now that you're armed with these key facts, let's proceed.

As it happened, last night, I was -- for the first time since we moved -- changing our sheets. As I made my way around toward J's side, I noticed something on the side of his mattress:

Why, yes. Yes, that is a GIANT "J" ON THE SIDE OF THE MATTRESS IN RED SHARPIE, completely visible when the blanket is pulled back. My first thought was that our incompetent movers had done it. It wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility, considering that they -- among other, lesser transgressions -- forgot to put our couch legs back on, said "oh, prolly just 15 more minutes, Mrs. Lady!" when what they truly meant was "THREE MORE HOURS, MRS. LADY. THREE ADDITIONAL HOURS. WE ARE LIARS, TERRIBLE, SLOW MOVERS, AND WE ALSO CALL YOU 'MRS. LADY,' AND THINK THAT'S OKAY," and in a stunning finale, literally trapped me in the living room with an alarmingly large amount of boxes, causing me to have to sort of hurl myself over and through them, like a contestant on Double Dare. (Keep being awesome, Ben Hur Movers!) But I asked J about it, and he matter-of-factly told me that no, he had written the "J" on there, so as to make sure he got the right mattress after the move.

Naturally, I was brimming with questions. Such as "What the effing crap, J? Who ARE you? Banksy?" and "I'm sorry, why couldn't it be on the INNER SIDE of the mattress? What about a subtle DOT on the label? Did I go into some fugue state wherein I, too, had marked my mattress like a CRAZY PERSON, such that the only way -- the ONLY WAY -- to distinguish the mattresses, and to ensure their proper return to their rightful owners (sleepers?) was by tagging each with one's initial, like a graffiti artist? WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS THIS?"

And you should have SEEN him, shrugging it off, just talking about the need for the (large, red, permanent) letter "J," like it was some completely logical decision he had to make, and everyone was just going around, doing this. I'm pretty sure -- if given the chance -- he'd do it again, if it would mean getting the proper mattress. The whole episode was completely random and bizarre, and I'd like to be more annoyed, but--well, you guys. This must be what it's like to live with ME. Walking into your dining room and being full-on ambushed by your significant other wearing an actual lampshade on her head, asking you to take a series of pictures of her in it, as if everyone was just going around, doing this. Uh, for instance. He goes along, always helping my with my assorted ludicrous projects, no matter how ludicrous said projects may be. And so, although This Whole Letter J Thing is ridiculous and crazy, I'm going to embrace the ridiculous and crazy in him. Lord knows I owe him one in that department, for a change.

(And obviously, I want to know if my yin-yang couple theory is right. Where do you and your significant other fall in the Normal/El Capitán Loco equation?)

Why yes, we ARE available for parties.

I feel like I have 75 things I need/want to discuss, but for now, I'm simply going to share this picture from this past winter, recovered from a thought-lost-yet-now-found memory card. I don't know exactly what was going on here, but I do remember that it was  -- though this may be hard to believe -- NOT posed; I'd been adjusting my boot, J had been fiddling with the guitar, and my brother just said, "hey guys! strike a pose!" and then this happened. All I know is that I have -- at long last -- found my album cover. FOR LIFE.

10 Lessons I Learned From BlogHer '10: Only ONE MUSHY ONE, I SWEAR!

1. If there is ever a time to lose an emotionally and monetarily valuable piece of jewelry (say, one of the diamond earrings your husband gave you five years ago), it's directly before you're going to recite a ridiculous, self-composed rap in front of about 2,000 people. You will notice it's missing, but in relation to what you're about to do, not give a tiny little rat's ass about it at the moment, because you are so nervous you've turned deeply crazy, and are all, WHATEVER, IT WAS PROBABLY A BLOOD DIAMOND ANYWAY AND THE EARTH WAS TRYING TO TAKE IT BACK BECAUSE LEONARDO DICAPRIO AND HIS AWFUL ACCENT ARE ANGRY OR SOMETHING AND WHY DID HE EVEN GET CAST IN THAT ROLE? WHEN DID HE GET ALL DOUGHY? BRING BACK BASKETBALL DIARIES-ERA LEO AND PERHAPS THIS LOST EARRING IS KARMA FOR HATING MOCK TURTLENECKS OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO PEE ON STAGE.

2. Don't wear nice earrings.

3. It's important to be friends with people who --say, when you get locked out of your hotel room together --  rather than bemoan the situation, enthusiastically go along with your plan to recreate an iconic scene from The Shining.

Jenbshaw's PhotoShop Magic.

4. I mean, just for instance. Totally random example, that.

5. On that note, also be friends with people who don't bat an eyelash when you abscond with what is clearly a dog's kerchief from a swag bag, and create an alternate personality for yourself, a Deadwood-era bank robber named Dastardly Pete, with a predilection for gruffly muttering "This town ain't big enough for the both of us."

6. Your friends, are really awesome.

7. It's okay to care what you look like...but proceed wear the same dress two years in a row. Behold! Last year! TA-DOW:



Broad social/sartorial experiment? Result of moving two weeks before and having fallen behind on dry cleaning? I'LL NEVER TELL. Whatever, man. I like that dress, and HAD anyone come over and confronted me about it, well, who would've looked crazy THEN, huh? LAWYERED.

8. Revolving doors are against you. On a related note, you cannot leave BlogHer, ever, without leaving an article of clothing in the hotel. 

9. You're not good at manning the door at a party. Or -- in connection therewith -- properly placing wristbands on partygoers. You will never make it as a carny. Or a bouncer. Or a bouncer-carny.

10. You ain't gonna see everyone. It sucks. So does inadvertently leaving someone's link out of a gushy lovefest, hence my lack of links here. (I loved you, everyone from this weekend! Even you, weird elderly tuxedoed man who appeared as if from nowhere backstage at the Community Keynote and just acted like you belonged there! I like your style!)

My Contribution to the BlogHer 2010 Community Keynote - The Twilight: New Moon Rap

A few weeks ago, I was informed that my Twilight: New Moon rap had been selected as a Voices of the Year humor finalist for the BlogHer Community Keynote. "Would you be comfortable rapping?" I was asked.

I remember that I was standing smack in the middle of Grand Central Terminal when I got the email, and involuntarily simultaneously snorted and guffawed, the resultant noise eerily similar to what I imagine a duck in heat might sound like. I was obviously extremely flattered, but my first instinct was to decline, on account of never having spoken in front of a large group, PARTICULARLY a large group almost uniformly armed with Twitter accounts and blogs, and THEREBY PLATFORMS FOR OPINIONS AND SWEET FANCY MOSES WHERE IS MY FAINTING COUCH. Oh, and the fact that I am not actually a rapper by trade. 

And then I thought about it.

Why the hell not?

{CORNY ALERT, FEEL FREE TO SKIP: One of my favorite quotes is "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." Well, what the eff was THIS, if not an opportunity to actually practice that? Despite how much the thought of doing it made me fear that I'd soil myself in some manner, I hated the idea of a missed opportunity even more.}


And so I said yes, got to memorizing my ridiculous rap, and performed Friday afternoon, with an amazing and talented group, including my hilarious fellow humor finalists, Marinka and Amy.




And truly, it was --gut-clenching terror aside -- exhilarating and fun to actually get out there and do. I hope you enjoy it.

(I've reposted the lyrics at the bottom so you can more easily follow along. if I come across a closer/sharper video, I'll  replace this one with it.)


BlogHer 2010 Community Keynote - The Twilight: New Moon Rap from metalia on Vimeo.

The New Moon Rap


Yeah, y'all know me, my name is Bella Swan.
Crushin' on a vampire who's oh-so pale and wan.
Edward's his name, built like a damn marble sculpture.
Knows Shakespeare n' crap, my dude is mad cultured.


His hair is gorgeous, and a sight to be seen.
Though it clearly ain't never been touched by Pantene.
It's shiny and flowing just like Niagara Falls,
Like Paul Bunyan's ox Babe, his 'do is ten feet tall.


But something bad just happened, hit me right in the gut.
It was my birthday and I got a paper cut.
No, really. That's it. It was nothing worse than that.
Then Jasper tried to eat me and so Edward knocked me flat.


Now time out for just one sec (this is kinda gross to mention),
But it's something that I feel needs a bit of attention.
If just a little paper cut made Jasper misbehave,
How do them vampires deal when I surf the crimson wave?


But back to the story at hand, though, herrre!
Edward abandoned me to . . . keep me all secure?
Look, I'm clumsy on the best of days, concussions to my gourd.
I'm bruisin', I'm trippin', I'm like ex-prez Gerald Ford.


So how exactly is it smart to leave me all alone?
It's truly quite a wonder I don't got more broken bones.
Oh! A lady vamp--Victoria-- is out to kill me good.
So of COURSE it's wise to leave my ass out there in the woods!


I soon realize I "see" Edward when I act super dumb.
Hangin' with Polanskis and racing bikes for fun.
I decide I'mma become an adrenaline junkie.
There's been no worse idea since that show Love Monkey.


I enlist Jacob to help, and with him, his hot ab muscles.
Them cougar hos be trippin'. Don't fight me, hos, I'll tussle.
I want him! I don't! I'm so damn undecided.
I hate him! I love him! I totes just wanna Ride It!


Jacob soon mysteriously abandons my ass, too.
He gets all enraged and treats my friend Mike just like a poo.
I'm mired in what's become a real deep personal hell.
But with these boys all leaving me, I wonder...do I smell?


Surprise! Jacob's a werewolf; lycanthrope if yo' smart.
He fursplodes out his cutoffs, they shred and come apart.
And Jacob's doing wolfy things, ain't got no time for me.
So I decide to run off, and cliffdive into the sea.


"Sound Decisions" is my middle name, but thankfully, I'm buoyant.
Alas Alice, Edward's sister (she's USUALLY clairvoyant),
She sees me drown, she doesn't see that Jacob comes to save me.
From Victoria the vampire, and the churnin' sea.


But now poor Edward thinks I'm gone an' that I kicked the bucket.
So he decides he'll go and tell the Volturi to suck it.
What, ya'll don't know about the vampires Volturi?
They melt you like the sun does to a wee snow flurry.


And how will Edward go and stick it to the man?
Drain a rabbi in Times Square? Hit a nun with a van?
No! Edward goes about his game much more starkly.
He'll...step into the sun, so his skin turns all sparkly?


Yo, don't ask me, people, I'm just a mere human.
I lack the understanding of vampire acumen.
So Alice and I set out to stop my darling Ed.
Prevent the Volturi from up and killin' him dead.


Dudes prancing 'round Voltura in red shrouds with quite the sheen,
Was like something straight outta Eyes Wide Shut's deleted scenes.
No orgies here, though; just peeps blocking me from my run,
Somehow, I reached Ed 'fore he sparkled in the sun.


Some crazy vampire crap went down...hey look! Dakota Fanning.
And some vampire tackled Edward, just like Peyton Manning.
We left Voltura promising that I'd be turned VAMPIRE.
The Cullens had sworn up and down- Volturi don't like liars.


So here we are, a promise made, soon I shall be undead.
I don't want to spoil things, in case you haven't read.
For what it's worth though, I must say, now that we've gotten back,
I'd still rather totally do those dudes in the wolfpack.

My love of cheese is boundless, and I secretly judge people who wear mock turtlenecks

Okay, look.

I gather I'm supposed to be writing some sort of bio post, so that anyone I meet at BlogHer this weekend can learn more about me, should they choose to check out my blog, but as a rule, writing bios makes me want to set my brain aflame. Plus, I'm getting all self-conscious at the thought of  just randomly describing myself. Here is my blog! There is my header! My sidebar: Let me show you it! Lord, I feel like I'm on an episode of Cribs, with no Scarface poster to show for it. And really, in terms of showing you the real me, if I meet you, I'll probably just say "hi!" and not bust out with some Fun Fact About Me, all "my love of cheese is boundless, and I secretly judge people who wear mock turtlenecks!" Because although TRUE, that would be weird. And also not unlike something out of a Bing commercial, but that's neither here nor there.

So, um, this is what I look like. Self portrait, because my husband is presently at his fourth store in a desperate, last-minute attempt to procure a funny hat for my son's Funny Hat Day at camp tomorrow. We are those parents.

What's great about this picture is that my nose looks kind of bigger than it actually is, so it'll be kind of awesome if, when you meet me, you're pleasantly surprised about its size. "Your nose! It's much smaller than I thought it would be!" you'll want to say. And go right ahead! It'll be a fantastic icebreaker, and I will nod knowingly, and then make with the finger guns. As you do, when someone remarks favorably upon your nose.

Note, please, that this is also my Nervous Face. I point this out because I'm speaking at the BlogHer Keynote, so I will be making said face -- and probably also Clenching Things -- between now and Friday evening, after I read my post. All I need to do is think about it, and *BOOM* Nervous Face, plus Clenching. I have been doing this often, and accordingly, do not construe this face as me being aloof,  genetically bitchfaced, and/or mentally snarking on your shoes. You are, I assume, lovely, I usually smile a lot, and I think they're cute. All it is, really, is me, trying not to barf. (I should be a LOT more fun after the Keynote, I swear!)

I suppose that about wraps it up; safe travels to everyone, and I can't wait to meet everyone this weekend. Well, except her, over there. In the mock turtleneck. She's up to something, I can just tell.

Take Me To The River...

Remember a few months back when I mentioned that I'd been selected as a PBS Kids Blogger Ambassador? No? What's that? Your own life? Point taken. Well! Anyway, I am one, and this Sunday, I'll be unwinding from BlogHer with J and the kids at this month's first event, taking place at the Hudson River Museum in Yonkers. I'm going to be the "mayor" of the event, and while I'm not certain what this entails, exactly, I think it means I won Foursquare. All of it. Without ever even DOING Foursquare, which is truly an accomplishment to be commended and/or appended to my resume. Relatedly, I am now the mayor of your pantry, and mama wants some s'mores. Wait. Where was I? Oh, yes. The event!

The event is free for Kids Club Thirteen members, and Peep from Peep and the Big Wide World will be there, which -- since Peep's show focuses on breaking down science/nature concepts for little kids --is a perfect fit for the location. (The Hudson River Museum sits right on the Hudson, and among other great areas, contains a kid-friendly Riverama, filled with aquariums, a huge 3D map of the river, interactive, hands-on displays, and more.)

There will be a ton of great activities for the kids, including a Peep "what floats" activity (where kids learn about what floats and what sinks), notebook making, Peep coloring and tattoos, an episode screening, a planetarium, and a surprise giveaway for first 24 member children to arrive, a Riverama Explore Challenge, and a bunch of other stuff.

So! If you're local, and are looking for something new and different to do with your kid(s) this weekend, come to the Hudson River Museum on Sunday, August 8 at 10:30 a.m. It's going to be a great event, and I would love to meet and hang out with you (when I'm not actively retrieving Lo from her inevitable swan dive into the aquarium). Hope to see you there!

(Click here for event details.)


Disclosure: I’ve received a free PBS Kids Club membership for the year. (Other than that, I’m receiving no compensation). Feel free to join yourself; membership is $75, covers two adults, and up to three kids, and is ideal for ages 3-11. Plus, you're supporting public television (so...good deed, right there) and will have fantastic events squared away for your kids each month. Kids Club Thirteen is also on Facebook (check out the programs under the "Events" tab), and Twitter.