Speedos Don't Hide Much

My far-away friend and I just had a debate about the hottest sports body. My first thought was gymnasts, because they're muscle-y and flexible, but that's clearly wrong. Do you remember the last Olympics with the twins and their center-parted hair? These boys are clearly fighting their "girlfriends" for the free sample of Nair in this month's Cosmo. My friend's first thought was basketball players. Long and lean. Fluid, even. But in my mind, too skinny. We tossed out football players (too beefy), wrestlers (something just plain ew!), and baseball players (no comment needed - I mean really? with the spitting?). And then I remembered the poster. The Poster. When my brother was in college he played water polo and one Christmas he brought back his team photo as a poor college guy's kind of gift to my mom. She was all "oh honey, thanks?" and I was all drool and raging hormones. Imagine 15 hot guys, naked except for Speedos, staring at you as you sprawl on your basement couch reading Judy Blume books. If I never dated much in high school it was only because I was a total slut at home with the Water Polo Team. Yeah. Water Polo Guys.

My BS Stood for Bonehead Smurf

There's one thing I can never really wrap my head around*. I always feel like going north is going uphill.

*Two, if you count that ridiculous phrase I just used.

Stroke Me

Of course if the results of an online quiz fuel my born-a-Leo narcissism I am going to advertise said quiz. So here it is (and blech! I hate orange!):

Your Blog Should Be Orange

Your writing has a star quality - it's charming, bold, and flamboyant. You write what's on your mind, without fear of embarrassment later. You are one of the most honest bloggers around, and people appreciate your daring persona.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

(from the nut, check her out)

We'll Make Our Own Hall of Justice

We've just found that Madeleine has inherited my super-human talent: The Scream. Believe me. It shatters glass.
My husband's talent is always knowing the time. Without a watch.
The baby? He's an excellent sucker. I'm not sure this will serve him later in life, unless, well, you know.
What's your talent?

Rehashing Turkey Day

Woke up at 6. Fed baby and shoved him to my husband's side of the bed. Aaaahhh. Woke up at 8.
Clothedchildrenpackedbagsloadedvehicle. Road trip nazi nearly apoplectic as I tried to fill the travel CD case with something other than Kenny Rogers and Neil Diamond. Raced to brother-in-law's Flathead Lake house. Ate ate ate ate ate ate. All day. Without stopping or breathing. Slept fitfully, as somehow Madeleine took off her pants and underwear in the middle of the night and ended up upside down next to me in the ginormous guest bed. Woke. Ate ate ate ate ate again until just past nauseous, then raced home. This is why I am now sitting in my bathrobe with a towel on my head and a big hunk of pumpkin pie and some tea. Baby is asleep, drunk on Gripe Water, Madeleine is at a football game with her dad. And I am decompressing.

And then here's how they spent their holiday in Baghdad. I'm sorry to those of you serving in Iraq. You should not be subjected to this.

I'd Do Him (Her?)

A friend just called to see if I wanted to got to Capote tonight. I looked it up and found that Truman Capote is played by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Philip Seymour Hoffman, I heart you. I don't know what it is about him. He's kinda fat, funny-headed, slouchy, bad teeth. All considered not particularly appealing characteristics. But the way he talks... (me staring at the wall for many moments, imagining his gravelly drawl from Almost Famous) I think that must be it.
It reminds me of a game my friend and I used to play where we tried to think of the grossest person, by conventional hot-ness standards, that we had a secret desire to make out with. Hers was Steven Tyler, which I never thought was fair because a rock star can be toothless and oozing pus from open face wounds and still have some kind of allure, but oh well. Mine was John Goodman (again the voice!). I'm pondering now, give me a sec... yep, still hot for JG. Or how about Jeffrey Rush? Can he count as gross? Oh wait! I KNOW! Judi Dench. And I'm not even a little gay, but she kind of looks like a man and the accent and stoic-ness. Yes!

Change Is for Parking Meters

So I'm thinking it's time to change the header on this old rag (meaning, my blog). I came up with the name in a fit of exasperation after some particularly ugly sentiments expressed in our local newspaper, but after writing 40+ posts I've found that "opening your mind" is a feat only accomplished in a truly literal sense. That is to say, I can only open Ann Coulter's mind by beating her over the head with a sharp, pokey object. And I'm not specifically advocating this. Plus, it's more than a tad condescending to suggest that my sentiments, me, Mignon, sitting at home in Missoula in my bathrobe, are critical and thoughtful enough to make readers really think about things (said with fake earnestness and furrowed brow). Aw hell. All we want to do is just laugh and make people like us. Me, I mean. That's what I want to do.
I thought about listing all the new names I was coming up with, but that would be like calling someone and hearing the 8 different answering machine messages they recorded before coming up with a decent one. So without warning I will change it. One of these days.

Brrrrr!
(Did you know in Italy when they say Brrr! they roll the 'r'? They even shiver with flair.)

December 1st, Blog Against Racism

For those of us addicted to blog, let's get off our figurative butts and collectively speak out against something on which we can all agree. Orange Tangerine linked to this, to coincide with the 50th anniversary of Rosa Park's monumentally important act of civil disobedience. I'll save whatever thoughts I have for that day, and if you're reading this and don't have a blog, at least be mindful on December 1st of what transpired 50 years ago. Can you imagine what it meant to people in that time, the enormous risk Rosa Park took, to take a stand? Are you doing what you can to make things right?

Duck

This Reuters headline from yesterday:
Bush hails Taiwan democracy
reminded me of this story:
Taiwan lawmakers in food fight over arms budget, 2004-10-27

So I'm thinking...mabe Bush has been reliving the days of 6th grade student council for the past 5 years? Or maybe he's pretty sure he can't legally shoot Cindy Sheehan in Texas, so the idea of hurling a little lasagna at Congress takes the edge off.

Foreskin Drama

Phone Rings.
"MOOOOMMYYYY"
"I got it Sweetie."
On the phone, "Is this Quinn's mom?"
"Yes?" Me thinking, what did he do?? Oh wait, he's in an infant...
"He has a doctor's appointment tomorrow at 12:00"
"Okay, thanks."

"Mommy, who was that?"
"The doctor, Pooh-y has an appointment tomorrow."
"For what?"
"Shots."
"SHOOOOTS?? Is it going to be as bad as when he had his weiner cut off?"
"No sweetie, nothing will ever be that bad."

My husband made the circumcision decision. Madeleine and I are still traumatized.

File This Under Things That Other People Say Better Than I Can

Our local paper occasionally gets an insightful letter, and I like to spread the word and do a little Hear!Hear! (or is it Here!Here! - both just kind of make sense). I hope to encourage the educated and thinking readers (that would be me and a few of my friends, but not all of my friends because my friend T has some left-field notions about government spending) to write more letters. Because as you may have noticed, there are a lot of wack-jobs in Montana. So here's a good one:

Here is the `men's choice spin'
This is in response to Joel Olinghouse's letter of Nov. 7, in which he asked readers to write letters about the issue of abortion without invoking the "women's choice spin." I accept his offer. There are several choices men could make that would prevent abortion. In no particular order, they are:

Speak to your partner about her views on unplanned pregnancy before becoming sexually involved. If her views differ from yours, perhaps you should move on.

Learn your partner's menstrual cycle and track it on your calendar. Most men have no clue when a woman can or cannot conceive.

Use a condom every time. Better yet, use a condom in conjunction with your partner's birth control method.

Choose vasectomy if you do not want children or already have the children you want. The procedure is safe, highly effective and one of the most economical forms of contraception.

Realize your children are sexual beings from the day they are born. Sexuality does not "appear" at puberty. Answer your children's questions with candid information. When they become teenagers, stock a drawer in the house with condoms for no-questions-asked access.

Abstain from sexual intercourse.

Give up the hideous, widespread notion that "your job is to spread your seed." With the average number of children per family in this country at 1.86, your "job" is extremely temporary.

It is clear we do not need a handful of privileged politicians in Washington making reproductive choices for women. Instead, we need our men in this country to make commitments to their sexuality to ensure they do not experience an unplanned pregnancy. And this is the "men's choice spin."

Clare Kelly, Missoula

And because pictures are fun, here's one. This book was found in my grandma's closet. My slightly-overweight-battling-diabetes-but-cooks-food-that-makes-you-eat-until-you-vomit grandma. (Sorry, that was a little annoying.)

Not Only Do They Get Their Own Scissors!

My daughter is a lefty and it makes me absurdly happy. I feel like she's blessed like all those little kids that might be the next Dolly Llama (too lazy to google spelling) from Little Buddha. And by the way, I really like Chris Izaak (again, lazy and google and all that). I know this means, the lefty-ness, that she is destined for amazingly great and creative things, and actually, by telling people in public that she's a lefty it's like I'm blatantly bragging about her, but in my own private way! I can go crazy nuts with the bragging of her awesomeness and Nobody Even Knows. Oh, but now I've screwed it up for myself, for I can no longer discuss the lefty-ness here without it being an obvious brag-a-rama. But that's okay I have a few other of her and the baby's quirks up my sleeve that are a sure sign of their impending genius.

The snowsuit seemed smaller in the e-bay picture. Perhaps because it was a small picture.

Children and Nail Guns. Like Peanut Butter and Jelly.

The day will come my children will demand to finger paint and I will not wring my hands in angst. That day will be when our basement is no longer the Cement Hole and figerpainting can occur in its rightful place. Away from me. And that day is now in the foreseeable future! We're going to re-fi the house and do all the annoying things that dads and nosy old neighbors nag you about like fix-the-roof-stain-the-deck-seal-the-driveway, and - AND finish the basement!!! In fact, my husband started this weekend. Which is only slightly annoying, as this was our first weekend without a football game or hunting trip. But, hell. At least he's not out messing with The Giant Pumpkin. That "project" is now thankfully dismembered and rotting on our front steps. Yeah, whatever. We still have a few Halloween decorations up, but they're Very Tasteful (haha - tasteful Halloween decorations! I crack me up!). So anyway, back to the basement! Which will soon be referred to as The Spare Bedroom. Or The Family Room. Or the Laundry Room Slash Spare Bathroom. I feel like the Martin Short character from Saturday Night Live - the guy with his pants pulled up to his nipples jumping around shouting, "I'm so excited! I get to meet Pat Sajak!" The future of our basement is my Pat Sajak.
(There's a lot of things going on in this picture, I figured the demon dog was a minor distraction. And anyway, I want to chronicle the progress and this is the start.)

My Disturbing Daughter Is Disturbed

Madeleine has an obsession with death now. Well, that's not really fair, I guess. I should say academic curiosity, because all her questions are matters of clarification for her. Like, "After we die, does everyone else live?" and "Do old people go to the same dead place as old dogs?"
But this morning on the way to the health club she said, "Mommy, every day are we one day closer to dying?"
After that I said screw the treadmill, I'm going straight to the jacuzzi.

I Wish This Man Were My Closeted-Gay Neighbor Whom I Could Spy on at Night While He Danced to Old Show Tunes

I love music videos. MTV, I think the kids are calling it these days. And this one is clearly one of the greatest of all time. Thank you Fat Boy Slim for unleashing The Fleet-footed Beast, once known as Christopher Walken, the creepy guy who both won an Oscar and had a role in Gigli. Check it out. "Weapon of Choice"
Any other suggestions??

My Budding Buddy Hackett

A collection of humor:

Why did the light turn on when it wasn't supposed to?
Because it was its turn to dance.

What did the bottle say to the bottle cap?
Vap!

Why did the chicken criss-cross applesauce?
Because it was in school!

Why were the stripes colorful?
Because they were rainbow stripes (Mommy, was that an adult joke?).

And one that actually made me laugh out loud (with relief?):
Why didn't the car move?
Cuz it was parked!

Trying Unsuccessfully to Establish that Big Box Stores Should Be Avoided at All Costs (and One Gratuitous Cute Picture)

Krispy Kreme's grand opening was day before yesterday, and I resisted until this morning. Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah I love Krispy Kreme and so on with boring details of the levels of ecstasy experienced while eating doughnuts. I just have to say they're damn good, but I can resist because the store is in the Big Box Store Thoroughfare, which I avoid at all costs (except TJ MAXX and Ross, which are really just fancy versions of a giant garage sale in a nice neighborhood). In fact, KK was built right in the parking lot of Lowe's. I used to frequent Lowe's because of that story about the divorce and the woman building a Lowe's wherever her jackass ex built a Home Depot, but then I found out that was bunk and now I think Home Depot is like the Ugly Step-child Home Improvement Center. So I don't mind shopping there as much. And Target's okay, because of the dollar section and the cool ice cube trays and matching bathroom soap dish/toothbrush holder sets. And Barnes and Noble's allright because for some reason this town doesn't have a decent independent book store. I thought I had found one, attached to a cute coffee shop, then one day the coffee shop started sporting one of those big Christian fish symbols (you know, like the one people put feet and and write 'Darwin' on the inside), and then the guy in the book store, who has some sort of Henna fetish, didn't know who Norman McLean was and I just said screw the whole lot of you. I mean the bookstore and the coffee shop. So that makes Barnes and Noble okay. And of course Old Navy is okay because where else can you get kids stuff for that cheap? Oh wait. That was a totally crappy excuse. That's what Wal-Mart people say!! I feel like some hemp-wearing dirty-dredlocked hippi is going to read this and smote me for compromising my principles to get cheap kids' fleece. Yeah, well smote away, you freak! You're probably too skinny and malnourished from all that vegan junk you eat and your smoting will have no more effect than whatever dieting measures I'm taking after eating half a dozen Krispy Kremes!

Superficial Impressions to Follow

Because I've been obsessing on and off about the quantity of candy I've eaten in the last 36 hours, I've decided to make this the most superficial post I can possible elicit from my sugar-coated brain. Here is a list of famous people I've seen and my completely unfair impressions of them based on that fleeting glimpse:

Lilly Taylor (way cool actor from a lot of cool movies): saw her twice in Portland - at a toy store and crossing a street. She looked scared (possibly because I was staring like a maniac) but really come on! You're in Portland. They're all vegans for god's sake!

Andrew McCarthy (brat pack actor): he was going into a restaurant in Portland with a really tall date, so natch, he looked short.

Peter Falk (actor): he was getting out of a car while we were gawking and driving by his house in Bev Hills. He looked old. That was 20 years ago, before he got the kooky eye.

Jermaine O'Neal (NBA All-Star): he was signing autographs in a mall in Portland. He looked young. And shy. Needed some zit cream.

Ed Asner (actor): he was in a bookstore in Portland. He looked annoyed. The bookstore is large and confusing, and again, I may have been staring like a maniac. But again with the shortness!

Andrew Shue (actor - Melrose 90210 or something): in a bar in Kalispell, MT. He looked cute. Don't remember much else about the entire evening...

Drew Bledsoe (NFL quarterback): same bar in Kalispell, MT. He looked annoyed. We were throwing peanuts at him.

Stephen Breyer (supreme court justice): at a party at my college graduation. Made no impression on me whatsoever. I guess that's the way it should be.

And that's it. That made me feel a little dirty. Not dirty, like honey what time are you going to be home tonight, but dirty like I just have to go brush my teeth. It could be the Brown Ale though.