I pick my schools based on mascots.

My high scool mascot: Potter Pete. 

That's Potter Pete, down there.  What is Potter Pete, you ask?  Well.  He's a kiln.  A KILN.  Because I happen to be from the pottery capital of the world.  Just when you thought I couldn't be any more fancy, right? 

Watch Out!  We're the Potters!  We will burn your asses, and then possibly make a pretty vase.

Please do not worry, Pete does not always look so angry and firey and...kiln-murdery.  Sometimes he looks all brick-faced and friendly, even though he is blowing his top off.  He's either saying that the Potters are Numbah One, pointing to his fire head, or signaling the waiter for his check.

We're number one!  I will burn off the eyebrows of anyone who disagrees!

Check, plz!

My undergraduate college mascot: Pete the Penguin

I had my choice of mediocre state schools.  The world was my oyster.  But how does one move on from the glory of Kiln representation?  HOW?!

With penguin representation, that's how.  You've got to admit, he's pretty bad ass for a penguin.

Watch your back, lest you be waddled into submission, taken back to our igloo, and...trust me.  You don't want to know.  Just be very afraid, and stuff.
* insert scary version of whatever noise a penguin makes *

My graduate school mascot: Zippy the Kangaroo

I seriously could not make this up if I tried.  Kiln, Penguin, and Kangaroo.  A trifecta of ridiculous.  I can't go beyond a masters degree because how could I possibly find another worthy mascot?  It is impossible.

You better hope I don't catch you and put you in mah pouch!  Booooing!

I challenge you to defeat me in my quest to have the most ridiculous mascot resume.  Anyone think they have a more ridiculous set of macots than I?

--

One Year Ago: Le Reflux

Two Years Ago: My Ovaries, The Clown Car

Everything tastes better than skinny feels.

The great Kate Moss once said that nothing tastes better than skinny feels.

Well, Kate. I disagree. Respectfully, of course, you skinny whore drug addict adorable little supermodel you.

I think everything tastes better than skinny feels. Maybe not everything, like…lima beans. But come on. I mean, hello?! Nachos? Taste way better than skinny. WAY better. And? AND? Girl Scout Cookies. Chex Mix. Burger King French Fries.

A lot of things taste better than skinny feels, is what I’m trying to say.  And maybe I'm also trying to say that Kate should broaden her horizons.

Now, I've never endured a drug-filled night of partying.  But I have endured an alcohol-filled night of partying, and I feel sorry for Kate if she has never had the pleasure of Taco Bell at 3 a.m. after the bar closes.  It's like...gourmet.  Really.  Taco Bell at 3 a.m. is like the best food I've ever had.

This?  This post right here?  Is why I have to exercise 5 or 6 days a week and religiously count calories.  Because I love Taco Bell.  And hate Kate Moss.

I have lost 8 pounds.  But I still love Taco Bell.  It is all very angsty.

--

Two Years Ago:  More Unnecessary Details About My Ultrasound Appointment

Two Years Ago, Also: Easter Misunderstanding

Anywhere, but she doesn't share.

Olivia has an Oversized Anywhere Chair. 

Its on the top five of favorite things to play with/spill milk on/climb atop/just generally abuse.  She does not appreciate if you sit in her anywhere chair.  It is clearly labeled with her name, afterall, and it is hard to argue with that sort of "MINE" type of evidence. 

But Milo can't read.

I can haz chair?

Like some sort of radar, Olivia senses that a foreign butt has planted on Her Own Anywhere Chair.  No toy can distract her.  Not even a game of peekaboo or an out of place tub can keep her from staking her claim.

Oh no he di'nt...

Move it or lose it, dog.

Mine.

 I feel like we are getting dangerously close to being required to actually...parent.  Which I find to be terrifying.  Up until now, I've been pretty comfortable with the whole Keep Alive part of being a mom. 

Block the dog food so she can't choke?  No problem.

Close the toilet lid so she isn't tempted to dunk her ahead and attempt a self-swirly?  Check.

Break food up into little pieces so they are easier to chew, and to throw on the floor?  Double Check.

Etcetera.

I'm doing a terrible job at teaching her the meaning of No.  Or, maybe just that No is not hilarious.  She's well aware of the meaning of No.  It clearly means: do something not allowed, pause when the mother says no, smile one-tooth smile at the mother, carry on.  Bonus if the mother laughs at the baybee because OMFG SHE IS BAD AND SHE ACTS JUST LIKE MEEEEEE HOW CUTE AND MUSHY!  LOLZ WITH MY HAND OVER MY MOUTH.

So, my point is that Milo should get used to not sitting in Olivia's Anywhere Chair.  Because there is a good chance that I will suck at the Sharing lesson, too.

Also.  You people seem well-read.  So please tell me: what toddler-related books should I be reading?  I loved Happiest Baby on the Block, and the Baby Whisperer. 

What's good for scheming against an adorably sinister toddler?

---

One Year Ago: Well Played, Universe.  Well Played.

Two Years Ago: March 18, 2006

Help me settle a dispute.

Mark built this.  (I'm sure you remember our Mega Blok obsession.  It continues.)  He says it's a skyscraper.

He was so proud of his "sky scraper" that he made sure to photograph it at different angles.

Seriously.  It went on for about 10 minutes.

Until Olivia had the good sense to stop the madness and do a Godzeela Baybee on the "sky scraper."

I?  I do not think it looks like a sky scraper.  I think it looks like...well.  You know.  A pee pee.

I need you to pick a team: Team Sky Scraper or Team Pee Pee.

(Don't be put off by being on a team called Pee Pee.  I won't make us Pee Pee shirts or anything.)

---

One Year Ago: One Month: I think someone stole my baby!

Two Years Ago: An Open Letter to Tylenol

It's been a while!

Since I tossed you a Google Key Word Salad!

Here is a brand new list of things people searched for that led them to my blog:

Let my dog eat you

Ummmm....no?

Going on a trip to relax while trying to conceive

Wait, I think I've heard this joke before...

Hating adults in pigtails

Ah, my friend.  You have come to the right place.

Hurt my clitoris

Well, now, that is unfortunate.

I peed in my maxi pad

Also unfortunate.

Peeing in maxi pad

Is your toilet broken?  Because...Seriously, why?

Phallic cake design

If you Googled this because someone told you to eat a dick?  That's not what they meant.

Relax and Suck

THAT is probably what they meant.

Top ten things that suck

I should add Peeing In A Maxi Pad to my list.

Toss me the salad

Your Google salad is now tossed.  That is my limit when it comes to salad tossing.  I'm serious.  I even buy bagged salad which requires no tossing whatsoever.

(p.s. I left out a whole bunch of Duggar stuff.  I mean, like 15 Duggar-related searches.  You'd think it was Duggar central over here.)

Blaze of Gluttony

I'd like to say that I rallied from my 12 cookie eating spree.  But the empty sleeve of Thin Mints from last night would heartily disagree from its current residence in the garbage can. 

The good news?  All of my cookies are GONE.  Two boxes in three days, which is...embarrassing, is what it is.  And I'm not even kidding when I tell you that I had to put my mom's three boxes into a bag and hide them in the back of the closet because I am this close to a break with reality and cannot be trusted with cookies just sitting in the cupboard.

What is possibly more embarrassing than eating two boxes of Girl Scout cookies in three days?  How about sitting at Panera on your lunch break, changing the words to Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" so that it is a moving account of said cookie-related break from reality?  Or!  OR!  How about posting it on the Internet?

 

I wake up in the morning
And I raise my weary head
I've got cookie debris on my pillow
And crumbs all over my bed
I don't know why I keep eating
Girl Scout Cookies when I actually feel sick
I'm a glutton on a roll
A six cookie gobbler
My big ass blocks the wind, YEAH

When you're given an order sheet
From some adorable little Scout
Well you have to order something
 Maybe just the mints, they're thin
Well, they tell me that I'm hoggin
Yeah, I gained a pound this week

I'm a hog with the cookies
I'm not going to share with anybody
Mister get your hand away from my Samoa
 
I'm going down (down) in a blaze of gluttony
Weigh me now but don't tell anyone the truth
I'm going out (out) in a blaze of gluttony
And Lord, I never dunked Samoas but I did dunk Thin Mints
I'm no one's diet role model, call me Fat Ass Mc Bad Example.

  --

Two Years Ago: Mediocrity! Coming to a University Near You

I will be good for a cookie. Preferably, Girl Scout.

I found these pajamas at Target.  They say "I will be good for a cookie" and the pants are pink with chocolate chips. 

I so look forward to the day when I can bribe Olivia with a cookie.  "Here, Livi, I will give you this Samoa if you sit still and smile so that I can manufacture some happy memories to record on film!"  Right now, most of my pictures turn out like this:

And really, if I'm going to buy cookies, I need someone else to eat them with me.  I cannot resist adorable Girl Scouts, first of all.  And second, Samoas complete me.  I am totally serious when I tell you that I ate 9 Samoas last night, followed by 5 for breakfast this morning ohmygod somebody stage an intervention over here! 

I totally rationalized the purchase of eight boxes* of Girl Scout cookies by telling myself that I would only eat ONE serving per day.  160 calories, worst case scenario.  Easy, right?  

Moronepper.

The bad part is that I have another unopened box of Samoas. 
I'm seriously giving them away.

This photo** serves no purpose other than The Cute, and An Attempt At Distraction From My Gluttony.

I hope my employer doesn't read this and offer to pay me in Girl Scout cookies.  There is a scary chance that I would agree to such an offer.

Please, please, please tell me I'm not the only one stuffing Girl Scout cookies in my mouth like a squirrel storing nuts. 

*Three were for my mom.  But still.  Five boxes, all for me.
**Except, don't click to zoom on this picture.  Because you will see that Olivia has boogers that can only be qualified as Epic and yogurt in between her eyes.

--

Two Years Ago:  Nosy to Epic Proportions
Also Two Years Ago: Good Times Over The Weekend

(One Year Ago, I had a baybee who didn't sleep.  So mommy didn't blog.  I'm sure you understand.)

Improvising Fatherhood: Shake, Rattle, and That's How I Roll

I have a new Blog BFF.  Like, officially.  We are having necklaces made and everything, except in the shape of a laptop instead of a heart.  BB on one side, and FF on the other.

And do you know what?  My new BBFF is a boooooyyyyyeeee! 

*ahem*

He is a daddy blogger.  And he is funny.  His name is Nate and his blog is called Improvising Fatherood, and he has a totally NOMable little boy named Chandler.  And a wife named Ashley who likes my blog, so obviously she is da kewlest.  I am admittedly new to his blog.  But, after exchanging a few funny emails and reading up on archives, I've become a big big fan.  Example of The Funny emails that made me want to read his blog:

Me: I can't return emails on my phone, because either Apple or Hotmail is a dick.  I'm not sure which.

Nate: I work for Apple.

Me: * facepalm *

(he tells me how to fix problem, I thank him.)

Nate: Glad your Hotmail is working.  We all know who the dick really was.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

We have done a bit of a blog swap today, so head on over to Nate's blog and read about the trouble I have caused in his marriage.  But first, enjoy this post about his preshus baybee. 

--

Shake, Rattle, and That's How I Roll, by Nate Smith of Improvising Fatherhood

Today the whole family went back to the Lake Oswego Public Library music class. In a previous article I wrote about my experience taking Chandler to this class on my own. This time all of us went together.

We were a little late and missed out on some of the opening songs. That didn't phase us though, because today' trip wasn't about the music. Today we were there to show off Chandler's crawling skills.

Chandler has really got this crawling thing down, and he's already trying to leave that mode of transportation behind as he attempts to stand and walk. So today as we snuck in to the class and found a spot in the "happy circle" we didn't waste anytime. I put Chandler right on all fours and released him into the wild.

I think Chandler could tell it was time to perform. He put on a dazzling display of crawling, sitting up, switching back and forth from the crawl and sitting positions, and even threw in a few face plants as comic relief.

And the crowd went wild!

We got a ton of comments like, "How old is your baby? Only 5 months! This guy is 7 months and he's nowhere near crawling yet," and "Wow, he's really advanced!"

I'd be lying if I said Ashley and I weren't LOVING it. I wrote in a previous article about how I hate when parents talk about how great their own kids are. So Ashley and I have made a conscious effort not to talk him up too much. We just let his actions do the talking. And as people are fawning over how amazing he is we will often deflect the praise by saying something like, "Well he's still not sleeping through the night."

Of course, being the doting parents that we are, we can't help but want to promote our child a little bit. Ashley has joined the BabyCenter.com forums and we are actively sharing our son's achievements. We still avoid any "our son is so special" type comments, and instead we upload videos of him in action and simply say, "He does this now. Is that good or something?"

It's pretty obvious what we're doing. We're bragging. But at least we're backing it up with solid evidence. Another mom posted that her baby was the cutest baby ever. But she didn't post any pictures. This of course sent the forums into a tizzy as a slew of other moms posted pictures of their babies and declared their child the victor. While Ashley and I agree that Chandler can probably take all of those kids in a cute-off, Ashley went a different route and replied that ours was the most athletic baby ever. And we provided video proof. The decision was unanimous. Chandler wins.

Oh, and that comment about Chandler not sleeping through the night? Well he slept for 5 hours straight last night. So that will soon be a thing of the past.

BEST BABY EVER!!!!!!

One Year Photos

A couple weeks ago, my friend Tami came to take some photos of Miss Thang. 

(Olivia, not me.  I'm sure "Miss Thang" made you think of me right away, so I want to clarify.)   

Tami takes photos as a hobby - which is turning into more of a part-time job as she gains popularity! - and she does an excellent job.  You can see more of her photos on her blog by clicking here.

She really had her work cut out for her.  Our normally chipper Olivia was in an especially foul mood and cried the entire time.  The rare moments without crying consisted of annoyed pouting, by both Olivia and myself.  We came to find out later that Olivia was working on an ear infection and a touch of pneumonia, and a raging fever that would send us to the emergency room.  

(I had no excuse for pouting, I was just being a moron.)

BUT. Despite all of said woe, the pictures are adorable and so I'm going to be a huge attention whore and post them.

I need legal advice about a very important matter.

Can I press assault charges against a goose?

I was minding my own business, walking to my car so that I could spend ridiculous sums of money at Toys R Us, when I was assaulted.

By a goose.

It is quite possible that this asshole goose was after me for whatever crumbs were surely all over my body.  I can't leave the house without some crevice being shoved full of debris - puffs/yogurt/graham cracker/snot/booger/macaroni and cheese (it is the cheesiest)/etcetera.

Whatever it was, this goose was all over my ass.  Like a bum on a bologna sandwich.  And he had a friend (whose head you can see looming over to the left in the picture below).  It was like, a Gang Goosing...Geese-ing?  Whatever.  One goose away from a Gaggle Bang, is what I'm getting at.

Hey Laydee! Is that a drumstick in your armpit? 

Hand it over, bitch!

I tried to take a photo of the Goosehole while he was snapping at my ankles, but I was clearly under duress and was unable to...press buttons.  While I screamed.  I was too startled to even swear.  I was all, "AHHHH!  WHAT GOOSE?!  HALP!  GOOOOOOOOOOOSE!  GET! AHHHHH!" 

And then, of course, I stepped in a giant pile of goose shit on my way back into the office after lunch. 

---

Two Years Ago:  Assault By Mail

Lights Out

As I mentioned here, I've been working out.  Partly because I want to be able to kick people's asses, but mostly because I need to lose some weight.  And I'm not sure if you knew this?  But believe me, you will want to hold on to your collective britches because this is a total shocker - you can't lose weight by simply sitting on your couch and watching skinny people live out complicated and dramatic sitautions!

Thanks for nothing, Kardashians!

So, working out.  Am doing it.  Three days a week, it's me and Jillian (and Mark, who has joined us for some Shredding) at the dirty ass crack of dawn...5 a.m. 

Two or three days a week, it's me and the treadmill, slowly making our way from Couch to 5k.  I try to do all my running on my lunch break.  There is a workout room that I can use.  And by Workout Room, I mean Glorified Closet With Two Treadmills, An Elliptical, and Some Monstrous Nautilus Equipment.

I'm sure we all know that there are people who make me want to claw out my own eyes in the Glorified Closet With Two Treadmills, An Elliptical, and Some Monstrous Nautilus Equipment. 

The Couch to 5k (I do this one) is three days per week.  I used to run on M, W, and F in the Glorified Closet With Two Treadmills, An Elliptical, and Some Mosntrous Nautilus Equipment.  But I kept seeing these two uber friendly 40-something guys. 

And they wanted to be gym friends.  I promise I'm not acting all oh, these guys are hitting on me because I look soooo pretty in sweatpants and old tee shirts.  They weren't.  They were chatting with me.  Do I like basketball?  No.  Do I lift weights?  Not unless you count lifting drumsticks to my mouth as lifting weights.  How do you like your iPhone?  I like it more than I like talking to you.

I do not want gym friends.  I also don't want elevator friends, or public restroom friends.  I simply to do not enjoy small talk and am incapable of pretending that I do.So, in order to avoid my Gym Friends, I switched my treadmill days to Tuesday and Thursday.  And it worked!  No more Gym Friends. 

Well, it worked for a week.  Now?  Now, it's Lights Out Lady.

Lights Out Lady uses the treadmill while blasting oldies on the public use CD player.  Also?  She does not wipe down the equipment after she uses it.  She does all of these things in the dark.

I'm so not into running on a treadmill, in the dark.  Call me crazy, but getting sweaty and breathing heavy with someone in a dark room is something that I save for...you know? NOT THE GYM GLORIFIED CLOSET WITH TWO TREADMILLS, AN ELLIPTICAL, AND SOME MONSTROUS NAUTILUS EQUIPMENT.

When I get there after her, I turn the light on.  I mean, I have to deal with her blaring oldies and her sweat drips left to dry all over the place.  The least she can deal with is...light.  (Can you imagine? Oh, the humanity!)  And she never fails to wait the 20 seconds for me to get into hearing range before she gives a totally exhasperated sigh. 

Last week?  She turned the lights back off during my cool down.  She stopped her treadmill mid-walk, went across the room, and turned off the lights.

Is it just me, or is that strange behavior? 

Maybe I'll just give up on working out and buy bigger pants.

--

One Year Ago: No! Sleep! Till Brooklyn!
Two Years Ago: Lupron Eve

Nosy Neighbor

She could probably spend all day doing this.  It makes her laugh when I call her a Nosy Neighbor.