Monthly Archives: March 2012

The best thing about IKEA is the play center. That is, if it’s open, which is rare. Whenever I take the boy to IKEA—whether it’s first thing in the morning, during lunch or in the late afternoon—the play center is almost always packed or close altogether. Despite it being crowded at IKEA today, the boy was able to play in the ball room for about an hour this afternoon.

The worst thing about IKEA is that the place is staffed with imbeciles. The lady who checked in the boy could barely keep track of what was going on around her and I ended up filling out the parental consent form twice because she misplaced the first one.

After busy daddy and I finished shopping for a few storage bins, I went to pick up the boy from the play center. I told another IKEA lady that I was here to pick up my son, and I handed her my ticket. The IKEA lady said, “Kim Jarmoosh? What kind of name is that?” I said, Actually, it’s not Kim, it’s Kipp. And it’s not Jarmoosh, it’s … oh nevermind.

She looked at me and then at the ticket. She said, “Beekah? Berkett? How do you pronounce his name?” I said, It’s pronounced the way that it’s spelled. The lady said, “That’s a weird name for a boy.” I said, Well, those of us with unusual names need to stick together, don’t we, Zhaharameesha’kiah.

IKEA lady didn’t seem amused. I think I might have mispronounced her name, but it was pretty long and the name on her name tag was written in 9-point type, so it was kind of hard to tell.

After busy daddy’s yoga class and my workout with Chris G this morning, we got some Vietnamese food for lunch. It’s wicked cold in the Northeast today, chilly and rainy. I guess the bad weather kept a lot of people at home because the restaurant, which is ordinarily crowded, was empty today. I’m always surprised that a bowl of noodle soup could be filling, but it actually is!

Apparently the Busy-Lazy boys didn’t have the winning lottery tickets. Oh well. I guess I’ll  just have to show up for work on Monday.

It’s been a super-busy week, so it was nice to have a family dinner that I didn’t have to cook. Busy daddy felt like having pizza, so that’s what we had. On the drive to the restaurant, busy daddy said to me, “Since you’re back to eating gluten, there’s a really good sandwich you need to try.” I said, Who said I’m back on gluten? Busy daddy said, “Seems like everything you’ve been eating this week and on your business trip had gluten.” I said, I’m not religious about keeping a gluten-free diet, I just try to avoid it. Busy daddy said, “Um, right.”

That got me thinking: can I be a social gluten eater, like a social drinker or a social smoker? I’m pretty sure I can’t be a social smoker because, you know, even though smoking is awesome, it gives you cancer and makes you die and stuff. Meanwhile, as much as I’d like to be a social drinker, I don’t think I could stop at just one or two drinks because, you know, of the alcoholic tendencies and stuff, so that’s basically a no-go as well.

I suppose I could be a social gluten eater, as long as I’m OK with the occasional tummy ache and getting fat and stuff. Tonight, busy daddy and the boy shared a margherita pizza and salad, while I had bone marrow crostini, which was delicious, and fire-roasted meatballs, also yum. I don’t even like bread all that much, but the crostini was delicious. Don’t let the bone marrow scare you. It’s really good, gluten be damned!

The odds of winning tonight’s $540 million jackpot might be 176 million to 1, but you gotta be in it to win, yo.

I’m tickled when I see and read the various and sundry parenting controversies that flare up from time to time in the parenting Tumblrverse. Whether it’s about circumcision, co-sleeping, cloth diapering or attachment parenting, everyone has an opinion. What’s funny is that (some) people want to make sure that their opinions are heard (which is cool) at the expense of invalidating someone else’s opinion (which is not cool).

To me, there’s a lot of cultural imperialism at play. What’s socially acceptable in one culture may not be socially acceptable in another. And yet (some) parents like to out-shout each other about how and why their cultural imperative is the only legitimate one. 

It’s like gay marriage. If you don’t “believe” in gay marriage, then don’t get gay married, simple as that, easy peasy. Same goes for other myriad choices that parents make on behalf of our kids. Don’t like circumcision? Then don’t circumcise your daughter. I realize that there’s a lot of pressure to do so. I mean, if the predominant culture mandated that we circumcised our daughters, who’s to fight with that logic, amirite? After all, it’s just a tiny, meaningless flap of skin. So what, who cares?

Isn’t it more critically important that Susie’s hoo-hoo looks just like Mary’s hoo-hoo, so that she’s not traumatized and stuff as she’s growing up? Because we all know that we spend an inordinate amount of time publicly showing off our hoo-hoos to our friends, co-workers, and family members. Everyone knows that life is like a circuit party: after a few introductory questions—Top or bottom? PnP or sober?—the obvs next question is cut or uncut? It’s probably The Single Most Important Question a girl will be asked in her lifetime. True story.

I guess Alicia Silverstone likes to premasticate her son’s food before depositing the chewed up stuff in his mouth, like a bird. Apparently people are going apeshit over this. Because everyone has the right to judge how another parent chooses to raise his or her own child. Because everyone knows better than the person who “theoretically” knows his or her own child best.

Bottom line: Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one, only some stink more than others. And as a point of clarification, I don’t think girls should be circumcised. But that’s just my own stinky opinion. Carry on.

Obvs I have some daddy issues. Plus, I like to equivocate. And I write a little bit like a 14-year-old girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. And despite my disdain for “people,” I seem to write about them. A lot.

EDIT: Upon reflection, I think this Tumblr Cloud is a bunch of hogwash. Where are the 20 actual keywords that describe my interests-slash-preoccupations? Where are the words cupcakes, ice cream, mustaches, LEGO, Star Wars, bacon, cupcakes, idiots, macarons, ice cream, zero-interest financing, adoption, gelato, pandas, quilting, cupcakes, mochi, tattoos, dancing, and cupcakes, for Christ’s sake?

For the record, I am not a huge Lady Gaga fan, despite the obvs demographic targeting. I like freakshows as much as the next guy and I admire her take on self-empowerment, but after hearing Lady Gaga in a few different interviews and watching her (awful) concert movie on HBO, I pretty much went from thinking that she was sort of interesting to thinking that she’s kind of a contrived hot mess. But more power to her.

Because of my generally meh attitude about her, imagine my surprise when Lady Gaga showed up in my dream last night. I was at a bar hanging out with Lady Gaga and her male alter-ego Jo Calderone. They were flirting with each other and I was thinking, It’s kind of weird that someone would be flirting with herself/himself, but whatevs. If Ann Carlisle could pull it off in Liquid Sky, then it could work in my dream, amirite?

Gaga and Jo were yammering on about something or other, and I felt totally uncomfortable because my fake mustache and Andy Warhol toupee were slipping, thanks to it being, like, 100 degrees in the bar. At one point Gaga and Jo said they wanted to leave, you know, to get busy, and Gaga asked me what I wanted to do. With my life. I said, I don’t know. I guess I could marry Phil and live my life as a redhead?

And then I woke up. A few lingering questions:

  • Why have Lady Gaga and Jo Calderone seeped into my subconscious?
  • I don’t think I would make an attractive redhead.
  • Who the heck is Phil?

I Want to Follow You!

Seriously, I do! Especially (but not exclusively) if you’re a Mumblr or a Dumblr. Or if you’re brilliant and/or artsy-but-not-too-fartsy and/or hilarious, as demonstrated by the fact that you’re a creator of things and not just a reblogger of crap. Or if you like cupcakes and ice cream (and really, who doesn’t like cupcakes and ice cream? Communists and Rick “Darth Maul” Santorum, that’s who). Or if you hate The Man and you believe in Speaking Truth to Power. Or if you like Star Wars and LEGO and mustaches. And you’re nice and you’re not a Mean Girl. Because Mean Girls suck.* Bonus points if you have a beard and wear glasses and like to eat cupcakes and ice cream while designing stuff, preferably out of LEGO, or on your computer, which is obvs a Mac. (I’m kidding. Not really.)

If I’m not already following you but I should, drop me a line.

* If you have to be a Mean Girl, at least be brilliant and hilarious. There’s nothing worse than a Mean Girl who’s stupid and unfunny. Stupid, unfunny Mean Girls need to STFU.

EDIT: As TheSahmmy rightly pointed out, not all Mean Girls are Girls, and in fact most of them are dudes.