The New Girl

You Wouldn't Believe How Long It Took To Write Even This Pitiful Attempt At A Post.

Having been so long away from this space and you, my dear friends, I've kind of...lost my voice. I find myself composing half-posts in my head and then, you know how it goes--I lose the thread before I can sit my ass in a chair that doesn't include a toddler trying to scale it. While whining or screaming or grunting or pulling at me. Making it impossible to concentrate.

Wait. What was I saying?

Anyway.

I want to write. I want to tell you things. But I just don't know what to say.

Is that writer's block?

Maybe.

I am good for a few 140-character tweets here and there but it seems that, in a way, Twitter is helping to kill my blog.  I tweet something and then my brain calls it 'DONE!' and it doesn't make it to the page here. Which is ridiculous, I know, but there it is.

So.

What now?

I remember the days of [you guys doing the creative heavy lifting] blog participation fondly.

Anything you want to hear about?

 

Reader Quiz: Days That Suck

I am having one of Those Days.  By that, specifically, I mean a day wherein (When? In which? During which?) I feel like...I don't know...Inferior.

Like, everyone ELSE I know (or don't know) is smarter, prettier, thinner, nicer, more successful, more creative, more of everything good, with a neater house and better-fitting clothes.

It happens occasionally.  I think I've written about it before, even.  I posted it on twitter and asked for the Cure for such a day.  I got a couple good-slash-witty responses (because those people? Are SMARTER and WITTIER than I am) and that made me want to put the question to you all.

What is the cure for such Internal Mindfucking Jackassery?

I am listening.

ADVISE.

It's Ernie & Bert. You Say Bert & Ernie And I Say, 'It's A Wonderful Life.'

I am STUNNED.  I am AGOG.

Once again, it appears that my quizzing has brought me [unwanted] unexpected answers.  Can it be that The Man is...well...[in agreement with you crazy people] actually RIGHT a lot of the time?  Have I been dismissing his rightness all these years?  Only to discover that [there are TONS of crazy people who agree with him] with examination of survey results, that his opinion was in line with the majority?

Nah.

I was thinking that it was REGIONAL.  But, perhaps you are all crazy.

The characters Bert & Ernie come from 'It's a Wonderful Life.'  Ernie was the cabby and Bert was the cop (You were close, BMom).

Here is Bert (of Bert & Ernie):

I couldn't find a picture of the two of them serenading.  The internet doesn't think much of cabbies, yo.

NOW.

Onto the Muppets. 

The two "Ever-Loving, Room-Sharing Muppets" are Ernie. and. Bert.

EVERYONE where I live now calls them, like you do, Bert & Ernie.  Everyone from my hometown (and maybe the midwest?) calls them Ernie & Bert.

I picked the picture with Bert first, so as not to draw IRE from The Man, for trying to 'LEAD YOU,' (and it looks like it worked, Julie.) 

But trust me when I tell you that it is almost ALWAYS Ernie first.  For real.

And listen, you don't have to just take MY word for it.  In fact, let's just take a look at the ALBUM, shall we?

Look CLOSELY.

What does it SAY?

I am taking it as EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE.*

Sorry. (I wish I would have bet you each a DOLLAR.)

And listen, you crazy kids, I don't have time to write a post about EACH duo in history.  And I don't want to shock you or anything, but these ladies?

 

Are NOT called, 'Shirley & Laverne.'

Just saying.

*There MAY be another album out there, with a different title.  It doesn't prove a thing. And anyway, to find it?  You'd have to be doing RESEARCH on MUPPETS, just to prove me wrong. Losah.

Weekend Quiz: Sunny Days!

Okay.

Here is my quiz.

Who are these [people] muppets*?

*It's not a trick question about Gay Muppet Marriage or How to Live a Long and Harmonious Life as a "Roommate".  I want to know what you CALL this duo.  As it is with most of my quizzes, it's a long-running stalemate of a domestic squabble.  I have my theories and I will SHARE them on Monday (or Tuesday.)

Okay, So, Vote, Because I'm Laughing Too Hard To Be Convincing.

Yeah, yeah.  I know.  The Election is over.  But HERE'S where your vote really counts, friends. 

I put this pic of my BIL's Bonhomme de Neige in the post with the road trip pictures.  No one commented about it there but please, take another look.

Forget the fact that my cute-ass Nephew is stealing the show by eating the carrot nose right off said Bonhomme.  Look instead, if you will, at Les Yeux.

Um.

So, do they look a little not right to you?? 

A little like, er, Dog Turds, maybe?  Frozen, I grant you.  But still.

On The Facebook (my personal account, yo) my BIL asserts and maintains that those dusky, chalky, poopsicles are ROCKS.  Rocks that he found in a PILE behind my dad's shed.  Which, I am CERTAIN, is probably the Dog Turd Cemetery in those parts.

I have a better shot but I'd have to block The BIL out of it because while I have no qualms about showing off his progeny, I'd hate to have any of his friends stumble on this blog and find out that he's 1) related to me (for his sake, not mine, OBV.) and 2) that he's a Turd Wrangler.

So, friends.  What say you? 

Back To Business

So!  Hey, thanks for the comments and compliments on that last [long-ass, somewhat maudlin] post.  It's nice to try to flex the writing muscles every once in a while.  Especially when they most often feel atrophied and possibly in need of some physical therapy to get them reasonably functional.  *ahem.*

Anyway.

*Brisk Clap!*

Let's get back to business! Which, around here (in case you're new to The New Girl) means, of course doing what you do best: [tolerating my non-sense] Answering my queries.

This one, in the area of Lovies.

Behold, The Littlest New Girl with her future-lovey, and although she appears somewhat interested in these pictures, I have to tell you that we were ALL oblivious to the POWER and GOODNESS of of this little weird looking baby doll thingie:

I almost took it back because it looked a little creepy to me.

.

What with those little blue eyes and the yarn braids.

.

I couldn't find the receipt for it.  So, we kept her. (The dolly, not the baby, OBV.)

.

So, The Little Creepy Dolly was in TLNG's room and would just, you know, be here or there, whatever.  It was in her crib for a while and then on the dresser.  Then all of a sudden, one day, TLNG started to show a definite preference for this baby.  At first, I just thought she was kidding me.  But it turns out?  She was serious.

Then, only That Dolly could sleep in her crib with her and Elmo (HA! You didn't forget him, did you?) And soon after that?  She started talking and her first word?  BABY.  She still pronounces it DAY-DEE, but we know who she means.  The critical turning point came on day after she'd gotten a boo-boo and it was to The Baby she turned for comfort and consolation.  Crushing Elmo in the Lovey Smack-Down of the Century.

Anyway.

I had a pretty good thing going with this Dolly. In my determination to keep track [of this fucking thing so that it was never lost at bedtime] of Dolly, I encouraged TLNG to put her back into the crib after getting changed in the morning. Dolly would hang out in the crib all day and wait for the company at night.  And then one day?  It was like she realized The Baby was portable and could go places with her.  I blame the babysitter who brought Dolly with her to The Little Sister's house for a drop-off.

Are you still here?  All right, I'll get on with it already.

Here's what all the good lovin' has done to poor Dolly:

I know that she's still got all of her appendages (so far,) but she's filthy (even after repeated washings.)

.

And let us take a good long look at her bangs [which make her look like she's from Jersey.  In the 80's.]

.

'Where's the other braid?' you might ask.  And that, my friends, would be an EXCELLENT question.

And so, as close as I came to returning Dolly before I knew of her importance in the world, I am now officially TERRIFIED of losing her or leaving her somewhere.  (She really gets around now, as we NEVER LEAVE HOME WITHOUT HER.)  I was so terrified, in fact, that I went online and purchased ANOTHER creepy, little, Dolly just like her.

And thus, my question to you.  How?  If?  Can I?  Introduce the New Lovey?  The Man and I [as effing USUAL] have a fundamental disagreement on this point.  It is his opinion that we wait until this Lovey has completely Shit-the-Bed (my dad's charming term for when something FINALLY gives out for REAL) Ahem. 

Anyway.  

It is The Man's thought that we'll just give her the brand-new Lovey after her old one is no longer repairable or functional.  To which I cry, 'CRAZY TALK!' as I am of the opinion that it will happen soon (if it has not already happened) that her love for this Dolly will move from being aimed at This Particular Model of Dolly to THIS PARTICULAR DOLLY.  And once that happens, we're totally fucked in the replacement department (which is not at ALL as sexy as it might sound).  I am thinking there needs to be a more immediate introduction, and perhaps, some alterations to The New Dolly (haircutting?  gelling the bangs?) so that there can be some even-wear-alternating between Dollies.  Some overlapping, if you will--a Rotation Situation.

I'm thinking we may already be too late.  Your help can't come soon enough.  My hands are raw from wringing.

Tell me.

For pete's sake.

What do I do with her:

TNG: 'What's that I smell?'
You: 'Um.  That's a give-away, I think. That's what a give-away smells like.'

When Life Imitates Art: Or, I Want A Look At Aaron Sorkin's Crystal Ball

Is it just me, or are you also thinking about the last season of The West Wing today?  I have fuzzy recollections of it, having seen each episode only once (unlike the other 6 seasons, that I watched repeatedly on Bravo) but I have to tell you, I'm thinking about it today.  [Edited to add: M put the link to this article in the comments and I thought that I'd go ahead and put it in the post because it just goes to show you how The New Girl has her finger on the PULSE, man, and how I SHOULD'VE been a reporter.  Unless. you know, it's important to write things FIRST.  In that case, perhaps I didn't miss my calling after all.]

That was the season which chronicled the Presidential race between Jimmy Smits' Democratic Candidate, Mat Santos and Alan Alda's Republican Arnold Vinick.  Santos was a young, Latino, veteran with a dignified wife and a young family and grand plans for the American Future, in the true democratic tradition.  Vinick was an older man, very experienced, and a moderate Republican.  He believed that he needed (I think, or am I imagining it?) to select someone as a running mate who would appeal to the base of conservatives.  Someone who was more socially conservative than he was (as he was pro-life).

I remember (partially) an exchange between Santos and Josh Lyman, in which Santos tells him in frustration that he doesn't want to be 'The Brown Candidate,' that he wants to be 'The Democratic Candidate.'  He is charismatic and people trust him.  Before he was convinced by Josh to run, he had been going to retire from politics, secondary to his disgust with the Political Machinations in Washington.

In the race to the White House, Santos is always the long shot and the under-dog.  He gains some momentum but for the most part is scraping by.  But they were both virtuous men, both decent human beings who believed that they were doing right by the American people.  And then, something happened that turned the campaign on its head.  There was a nuclear reactor melt-down.  Vinick can't escape the fact that he had been a loud, strong supporter of Nuclear Energy.  The fear and upset around the issue effectively changes the context of the race and cuts his lead.  Santos, with all his messages of hope and change, wins the election.

I'll tell you what I thought of all of this when I sat there watching it: Poppycock!  Nonsense! Balderdash! Highly Imaginative But Completely Impossible! 

In truth, I thought it was entertainment at its best.  The ultimate piece of creative fiction, constructing a world on the screen that would give people like me, people who were horrified by the Caricature-Football-Coach-In-Chief that this country elected (and re-elected!), a place to turn to get relief in the form of fantasy-fulfillment for one hour a week. 

The context was this: The political landscape as it was, it seemed entirely possible to me that Karl Rove would get his dearest wishes.  There seemed, to me anyway, a misalignment and a reneging on the basic promise of this country and I (along with many others, I fear) grew cynical and apathetic. Oh, I still voted, but you know what I'm saying.  I wanted Bartlet to be my president.  And after his term was over?  I wanted Mat Santos in the oval office.

And then?

Well, you KNOW what happened then. The war, Katrina, the ineptitude, the resignation/*retirement* of KRo, the shake-up of the Old Boys that had kept the system in place for so long, and finally, the economy.

John McCain, as a man and even as a politician (minus his running-mate *hem*), has character, determination and vision.  The economy and circumstances as they are, that is its own kind of melt-down, I think.  McCain's pronouncement of having voted with Bush 90% of the time was a hard pill to swallow.  Eight years ago, I wouldn't have been sad to have John McCain as my president.  I think the world may have been better for it.

But in the meantime, Obama captured the ideas and ideals of this country, in this historical race and final outcome.  He energized the people.  Brought hope to millions of Americans (and the international community as well) with his commitment to restore the promise of America and American ideas. I am simply amazed.  And elated.  He's even better than Mat Santos. 

Because he's REAL.

The Pendulum?

It has swung, sisters and brothers. 

Hurrah, hurrah!!

Well, Hello To You, Too.

Hey there!  Long time, no see, what with the partially unannounced The Father visit and all.  It was a good time, really.  There was much fun had by all.  If, that is, you count as fun dealing with his crazy-hell-beast of a dog (remember her?), who [thankfully] stayed at The Little Sister's house and terrorized The Nephew, scratched The Littlest New Girl's face (both completely unintentionally but STILL), and then to drive the point home and to test the animal-lover in all of us, OMG, PISSED ON MY SISTER'S BED. Can you imagine?  She only ran away once this time and [unfortunately] she came back all on her own, within the hour (and right in time for food, go figure.)  But the Wii bowling was a REAL good time (bonus fun fact: my dad used to manage a bowling alley WAAAAY back in the day) and The Father has a virtual hook, same as his real one.  Plus, all of the old bowling jokes got a dusted off and put to good use.

Such as this one, when your ball goes right into the space between two pins:

The New Girl: 'Oh, fugigodngsheked!'

The Father: 'If there were pins there, you would've hit 'em.'

In completely unrelated news, I can tell winter is on the way because my skin?  It is a-flaking.  WTF?  I am so dry and flaky, really, and it is a function of my under-productive oil glands.  As a teenager, I NEVER got zits, ever.  Which is a consolation, to be sure, but having a scalp like Allison Reynolds' is no fun, either.  Be hoping that you don't get any Winter Scene Drawings from me in the mail around holiday time.

Anyway.

There was something else that I wanted to tell you but I totally forgot what it was.  How's THAT for a seriously lame-ass post?  'Oh, hey, there was something GREAT that I wanted to say but, hmmm, what was it again?

Here's some news! The Littlest New Girl is almost a total-walker now, hallefallujia!  She really only crawls now when she wants to get somewhere supah-fast.  Otherwise, we're [Frankensteining it all over the house] toddling all over the place.  She's also doing funny things like crying whenever anyone in any of her songs goes to sleep, takes a nap, goes to bed, whatever.  I'm not kidding.  I'm not sure why.  She's also [grimacing widely] 'smiling' for the camera.  And probably the cutest-ever thing is that she's saying, 'Oh maaaan!' just like I do.  Having kids is a TRIP, yo.

So, while I go and get the humidifiers (yes, plural), I'll leave you with this little bit of insight that I've gained.  The key(s) to getting your Grandparent-avoidant child engaged are thusly:

1) The Computer:

 

2) Ice Cream:

 

Just sayin.

Fun Fact Friday

* I've started watching Six Feet Under (You: FINALLY!) Since it's On Demand, I've tried several times to watch it but I could never catch the first season. Now it's there, starting with the pilot episode.  I've only seen that pilot and to be honest, I didn't find it all that captivating. But I am willing to continue watching on the basis of these two facts: 1) SO many people looooved this show and 2) Pilot episodes are often not the best.  I've gone back and seen the pilot episodes of shows I love (West Wing) and thought, 'Hmph.  How did I ever get interested in THIS show?  The writing is hokey and the characters don't seem like themselves.'  Lovers of Six Feet Under, tell me...what do you like about this show?

* I made the homemade pudding (chocolate, of course) for the MIL dinner this evening.  I made it with soy milk and Ghirardelli cocoa.  I can't wait to eat it.  I have heavy cream in the fridge, ready to whip up for the top (thereby negating any heart-healthiness to be gained from the soy milk but wha-EVAH.)

* TLNG is hacking and coughing (sick from a cold) but has been taking small trips across the room in a bi-pedal position!  (You: FINALLY!) She's just in time for Halloween, though, because her wobbly-teetering-arms-outstretched-gait makes her look just like a leeeetle zombie, coming to eat my brain. She won't sit still for me to wrap those bandages all the way around her though.  *sigh*

* I miss Tessie.  (Don't worry.  No one was invited.)  I just miss her funny.

* I've done loads of dumb-ass things, lately.  I'm not sure what's going on, other than I've been up late reading and so, I haven't gotten enough sleep.  I've walked away from purchases that I've made, like, MULTIPLE times in the last month or so.  Like, I've PAID MY MONEY and then I bundle my kid up and WALK AWAY, with Good Shopper Samaritans running out behind me, holding my bags/beverage/whatever.  It's way embarrassing.

* When I was a kid, I remember doing crafty-type projects with my mom.  We made salt-dough hand-prints (and Christmas tree ornaments), paper mache bowls, stuff like that.  I remember that in the fall we used to go and look for pretty leaves and then come into the house and iron them between two pieces of waxed paper.

* I love the Fall.  It is, I think, my favorite season.  I love the crisp mornings that are followed by warm days, the different slant to the light, the changing leaves.  The season heralds the beginning of the winter holidays, to me, and the air outside smells fresh and alive.  I throw open the windows, despite the chill and air out the house.  I bring in little beautiful leaves, acorns, pine cones (the usual display place is on the back of the toilets, for whatever reason.)  I also get a powerful nostalgia in the Fall, especially since my mom died.  I think it was her favorite season also.

* The Man HATES the Fall.  He considers it to be the MURDERER OF SUMMER, which he loves with the heat of a VERY HOT summer sun.  He refers to it as, 'The time when The New Girl starts bringing all the shit into the house.'  HA HA HA!

* If you are the kind of person who only reads the CURRENT post, and not the ones you missed BEFORE the current post, you'll be hurting only YOURSELF if you don't scroll down just a little to look at the picture I posted last night.  Thank goodness she was holding onto that chair.  I would have hated to try to get her off the ceiling.  Maybe she should be a leetle witch for Halloween?

 

Wardrobe Essentials Quiz

It's probably not a huge shock to you that I am no girlie-girl.  In fact, in my own childhood, I hovered somewhere between fashion unconscious and tom-boyish (firmly excluding ANY athletic ability whatsoever.)  Each season, my mom would take The Little Sister and I to KFart or Hills (anyone remember that store?) to buy our wardrobes for the season.  And let's just say, so as not to speak ill of the Dearly Departed, that my mother was the [marginally fashion impaired] tree to my apple.  Even after begging, I never owned a pair of Jordache jeans.  I'm just saying.

'What does this have to do with me, The New Girl?' you ask.  I'm getting to that.

I have plodded through life, assembling things to wear in a muddled, disorganized fashion that has more or less worked for me.  I've always had enough time and disposable income to make myself presentable, if not usually p-r-e-t-t-y [gender-neutral] casual.  So, as fucked as my wardrobe is right now (I'm feeling very much 'between' wardrobes, dealing with scraps and remnants and ill-fitting disasters), I'm not here to talk about MY wardrobe essentials.

This is all about the children, yo.  Or, in my case, the child.

As a mom, I find that I am (unfortunately?) transferring my own [Mental Glitch] penchant re: dressing for comfort vs. style (AKA: if it doesn't itch, doesn't have a tag, has a r-e-l-a-x-e-d fit, perhaps a drawstring and is made from natural fibers?  I probably already OWN it) to my little, tag-free cutie.  But I'm finding that I feel like SHE is also 'between wardrobes.'

So, here's my question to you, oh-so-much-more-organized-experienced-shoppers-of-children's-duds*:

What do you buy for your kids for a season?  Do you have a formula of some kind?  A 'system' in place?  A certain number of pants/shirts/dresses/sweaters/special occasion outfits?  Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, I know.  But even in the Fall/Spring/Summer, you have to have a certain number of outfits for nice, right?  What about casual clothes?  Eating clothes (for those kids who, er, eschew bibs?)

Let's forget for a moment that I'm too [mentally slow] busy mothering to figure out what the hell size my slow grower** is going to be in for the FOLLOWING year-same-season, I'm just talking about the current, 'You're going to have to pay full price, stupid,' season. 

Tell me everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Isn't it so jacked up to have an entire SERIES of posts that do NOTHING but INQUIRE and ask you to SHARE? 

** Isn't it also jacked-up to have a kid who is tiny enough to fit into shit that I UNPACKED from the Spring?  Who has kids that are able to wear something that went out of and BACK INTO season? 

P.S. To the people that I meet while I'm walking down the street: she's in the 5th percentile for weight. Yes, yes.  I KNOW. She's a PEANUT.  A tiny SPECK of a baby. Yeeees. /End Rant.