Things I Have Been Doing Other Than Packing for our Trip Because SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP Packing Blows and I am the Procrastination Queeeeeen

Certain people I know apparently love packing. I am not one of those people. I loathe it, particularly when in involves packing for more than just me, and packing for extended periods of time. Needless to say, our upcoming trip involves both those things.

I'd like to say that I tackled the challenge head-on, and moved through it efficiently and quickly, but that is not the case at all. Here's what I've been doing instead:

1.Making Babies

RELAX, people. Not that kind; I’m all set for now, thanks. No, I’m referring to what happened after I saw this frightening picture on Slynnro’s Flickrstream. As I learned, if you submit a picture of you and your significant other to this scarily-named website, they generate a picture of what they think your kid will look like. Since I have two actual children already, I was curious as to how accurate their prediction would be. As it turns out, the site thinks that J and I will produce AN UNHOLY DEMON CHILD. I was initially confused as to why my fake baby was clad in a red ski cap and scarf, but now I understand that it's probably to conceal his "666" birthmark.

Avert your eyes, people! He may take on another form!

2. Marveling at my Good Fortune

I despise the layout and design of this blog. Coupled with that (and I know everyone says this) I NEVER WIN ANYTHING. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I received an email from one of the designers at Ruby & Roja, informing me that I had won their free blog redesign contest! I have thus been spending A TON of time perusing their site, and gathering ideas for what I want this ugly duckling blog to look like when it gets its makeover to become a beautiful swan. I CAN’T WAIT!

3. Acting like an Adolescent

I saw the following clip on The Soup the other night, and was guffawing. That’s right, GUFFAWING. Because deep down, I’m a 13-year-old boy, and floppy, ill-conceived hot dog costumes will never NOT be funny to me.

4. Pretending I’m One of Those Crafty People

(By which I mean, a person who can MAKE things, not like…a sly, sneaky bastard.)

My desire to avoid packing was such that I actually spontaneously developed a hobby, went to the craft store for supplies, and spent the past few afternoons honing said hobby.

Seriously.

My new hobby is making barrettes.

Seriously.

You see, I can already tell that Lo is going to have a ton of hair, just like her big brother. And while plenty of places nearby sell darling barrettes, I cannot justify spending upwards of $8 on ONE TINY, PINT-SIZED BARRETTE THAT WILL LIKELY FALL OFF NO LATER THAN FIVE SECONDS AFTER IT’S CLIPPED ON, LOST FOREVER IN THE WILDS OF THE FOOD EMPORIUM. So I started making my own, and I have to say? They’re not too shabby. Suck it, expensive barrette sellers! I’M ON TO YOU!*

5. Taking Pictures of the Shit I SHOULD Be Packing!

Finally, I came to my senses (read: panicked) and started actually taking out the stuff we needed to pack. Since I was packing for both me and the kids, this took roughly forever. (J somehow got away with only packing for himself. I’d complain, but he will likely read this post soon, and realize that not only did I completely blow off packing for two straight days, but I also WROTE A POST ABOUT THE WAYS IN WHICH I DID SO.) Once I started, though, I noticed something.

My pile of crap…

PALES in comparison…

…to the INSANITY that is packing for two small children:

This is MADNESS!

If anyone needs me, I'll be doing my damndest to make order of this chaos...

...And, um, probably watching the dancing hot dog kid again. IT'S FUNNY, DAMMIT.

-----------------------------

*Some people who saw my picture and discussion about this new hobby on Flickr have inquired if I'd be interested in selling barrettes to them. First of all, I'm FLATTERED (and shocked), but sure, I'll sell them. Email me (metaliablog[AT]gmail[DOT]com) for more info.

I'm Not Even Going To TRY To Come Up With A Clever Title

So, I just had one full bottle of beer (Magic Hat #9...one of my favorites, in case you’re wondering), and I’m…lightheaded. Very much so.

Consequently, I find myself wholly unable to form the thoughtful, well-constructed paragraphs a post traditionally requires, nor can I make any attempt at connecting the wildly random thoughts flying through my addled mind, so bear with me.

First things first: Before anyone judges me too harshly for my current state (FROM ONE BEER! My God, what’s HAPPENED TO ME?! Oh, right. I haven't drank in nearly a year.), I’m done nursing. So as not to squick out any of my more squeamish readers, I’ll speak in code, replacing "breastmilk" with something we all know and love: COTTON CANDY! Yum!

I recently came to the conclusion that I was not producing enough COTTON CANDY for my kid. I would give her whatever COTTON CANDY I had, but she was still ravenous. So after sitting with her forever and feeding her the COTTON CANDY, I’d still need to supplement with formula. This was very, very time-consuming, and I was feeling guilty. Guilty because I felt...impatient that the whole feeding process was taking so damn long, and that because it was taking so long, I had much less time to play with T. If all of that makes any sense at all.

I hadn't had this problem when I'd nursed T, so I really didn’t know what to do. Also, I’m going back to work in less than a month, and just the thought of pumping at work again had me shuddering. My office is great, and has a private room for just that purpose, but even so, I’m not too keen on pumping COTTON CANDY, remembering to take it with me, keeping it cool on the subway and commuter rail, and sticking it in the freezer when I get home. And so, I made the decision to stop nursing. It was sort of sudden, and I’m a bit sad about the situation, because I actually do enjoy nursing. At the same time, I’m happy with my decision, because it's working out much better for all involved, and Lo is doing absolutely fine with the formula. (Plus, now I can use the beer boot on vacation. Everybody wins!)

Speaking of my kids, it's picture time! Here's my latest shot of her....

And him (yes, I know you can't see his face, but I love this shot):

In other news, it’s hot. (Wait, I’m going somewhere with this!) Because it’s hot, I’ve taken to wearing boy shorts around the apartment instead of heavy pajama pants most nights. And I must confess: Anytime I wear them? I start doing So You Think You Can Dance-style solo routines around my living room. Why? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE GIRLS ON THE SHOW WEAR FOR THEIR SOLOS. Sadly, I do NOT think I can dance, so the results are…well, they’re tragic, is what they are, but still! I cannot stop myself! (I will, say, however, that I have my “Reach out! Artfully curl your fingers! Pull them back ever so wistfully!” move NAILED.) This is...weird, right? Like, very, very weird?

On yet another unrelated note, my dad sent me this a few weeks ago, and I giggle every time I watch it. (Particularly now. Because dude, THE BEER.) I'm sure it's made the rounds already, but just in case you haven't seen it yet, do yourself a favor and watch The Magic:

Finally, I need some help. My skin is generally pretty good: calm, not too dry, and only seldom does a pimple crop up. In the past week, however, I appear to have angered it in some way. I have not changed my skincare routine in the least, and yet all of a sudden, it's a war zone. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's a post-pregnancy, hormones-gone-kerflooey type situation (or at least that's what I'm telling myself so as not to WEEP OPENLY), but regardless, I am at a loss here. Has anyone else experienced this? If so, any suggestions? Short of animal sacrifice, I'm willing to give it a shot. I'm not kidding--I'm thisclose to calling this place about their bird poop facial, people. Help!

It's a Sad Day When You Realize You Need a Blog Category Devoted to Karaoke

I don’t have the best voice.

I can stay on-key, but it’s never what you’d call good singing. Or even passable singing. Or even--well, Loralee would probably vomit in terror if she ever heard me, is what I’m saying. T, however, thinks I have a fabulous voice, and since I’ve been home with him all summer, I’ve spent a good part of that time responding to his requests for me to sing to him. I tend to avoid boring nursery rhymes, and instead sing him stuff I actually listen to.

Sure, it’s not easy to make Snoop Dogg suitable for toddler ears, but “Rollin’ down the street in my Big Wheel, sippin’ a can of juice!” actually kind of works, and now I can finally make millions with my “Hardcore Gangsta Rap for Small Children” album concept. He’s also taken a liking to my renditions of both “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Bleeding Love,” all of which make me almost forget about my total lack of singing talent.

Just when I didn’t think I could feel any better about my voice, I decided to show him the video of Feist singing "1, 2, 3, 4" on Sesame Street. It’s actually one of his favorite songs, and has been for a while:

1, 2, 3, 4 from metalia on Vimeo.

(He's 15 months old here.)

(Where did the time go? WHAT HAPPENED TO MAH BABY???)

(Ahem.)

I sat down with him and hit play.

T bounced up and down excitedly, exclaiming, “That’s mommy! That’s mommy singing with the chickens!”

HAAAAA.

I don’t have the thick bangs anymore, but I actually sort of see the resemblance. You know, if I squint. And tilt my head. And plug my ears. He, on the other hand, was convinced it was me, and made me replay it about eight more times, repeatedly squealing, “That’s you, mommy!” each time.

I was elated! He thought the adorable lady with the lovely singing voice was ME! And then I remembered something that brought right me back down to earth: LAST SUMMER’S KARAOKE DISASTER. Remember the trainwreck?

Well, we leave for vacation a week from today, and you know what that means: Vacation Karaoke Night is once again near! I’m determined to stage a comeback and obliterate the memory of my sad, sad Lauryn Hill cover. Sure, my voice is the same, but ANYTHING will be better than my singing that night. IT HAS TO BE.

The question, however, is...

What do I sing?

Do I sing “Don’t Stop Believin’” which I know I can do? Or do you have a go-to karaoke song that you’d recommend? (NOT A COMPLICATED ONE! I CAN’T LIVE DOWN THE EMBARRASSMENT AGAIN! THEY WILL RUN ME OUT OF TOWN WITH TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS, I TELL YOU! TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS!) You have my guarantee that regardless of the outcome, I will post a video.

This is PRECISELY Why I Didn't Read Harry Potter

Okay, I did it.

I finished the Twilight series. I forsook (that's a word, right?) the Olympics, only half watching the women's gymnastics (and I WAS a gymnast!), I cooked the most half-assed meals this past week, and I'm pretty sure my daughter thinks my face looks like a large black, white, and red-covered book. I'm not proud, people. But in honor of this momentous occasion, I was all ready to dazzle you with my poem making fun of describing the series, when I realized that not everyone who wants to read the books has had a chance to do so yet. And my poem had spoilers in it. I mean, maternity leave is not easy by any stretch, but I do have a lot of "sitting around" time, perfect for reading books (meant for 14-year-old kids) quickly. Not wanting to be the jerk who ruined Twilight with an admittedly awful poem, I decided I’d put my (debatable) talents to better use, which will be revealed in just a moment.

Before I begin, I will say that while the books did hook me in, they were not…um, quality literature. And I have no problem with that, it’s just that it’s a bad sign when a reader starts counting the number of times an author reuses words and phrases. For me, it started with the word “murmur.” I can’t even begin to convey to you the number of times this word appears throughout the series, but THREE TIMES in the space of two pages, for instance, seems excessive to me. He murmurs, she murmurs, the bag of Doritos murmurs…it’s ridiculous. ENOUGH MURMURING. Then I started noticing other words the author repeatedly uses, and things that kept coming up, and I found myself completely distracted from the story. It got so bad that I actually caught myself talking to…myself. I believe my exact words were: “For the love of God, Stephenie Meyer! You’re filthy rich now! Buy a thesaurus!”

All of which brings me to my brilliant plan:

TWILIGHT DRINKING GAME!

Nursing (and a general desire to avoid alcohol poisoning) precludes me from participating, but I can only imagine just how drunk one would get if they actually took a shot every time (Don’t worry! No spoilers!)…

• Someone “murmurs.” (GAHHH! It’s killing me even to write it!)

• Bella injures herself with her klutziness, which, really. C’mon now. No one could be THAT bad.

• Edward smiles what Bella describes as “[her] favorite crooked smile.”

• The term “dazzle” is used in any form.

• The term “human” is used derisively, most often by Bella about herself. And on a similar note, drinking every time Bella acts like a masochist.

• One of the vampires “snarls” or “hisses” in a public place. (No one in the town notices that? NO ONE? REALLY?)

• The, uh, reader falls into a deep, dreamless sleep on the couch as Bella goes on (and on) about Edward’s beauty and finds him or herself one full hour later with a huge red indentation on his or her shoulder from where the 754 page book had rested as he or she slept. TRUE STORY.

• The reader sort of feels like Edward’s behavior and speech juuuuuust borders on that of a creepy, obsessive boyfriend, a la the fantastic Tori Spelling cinematic masterpiece, Mother May I Sleep With Danger. (Not like the reader has seen that movie three times, or anything, and uncontrollably giggles each and every time he or she gets to the scene where Tori has to escape in the canoe, even though it’s supposed to be Very, Very Serious, but that’s a story for another day.)

• The reader wonders why no one in school or the town has noticed that Edward and his family are so pale and so cold and so beautiful, since Bella clearly cannot shut up about any of these things.

• The reader feels like shouting at Edward and Bella, “Oh, just DO IT already!” And then the reader feels like a dirty old lady.

I jokingly mentioned this whole Twilight drinking game thing on Twitter (the murmuring! It was driving me mad, I tell you!), and a few other people piped in with awesome ideas, such as drinking every time:

• Edward "speaks low enough so no one could hear." (Jonniker)

• Someone winces, or refrains from wincing. (Kerrianne)

• Bella whispers “I’m sorry.” (Nancy Pearl Wannabe)

Since I know a lot of you have already read the books, I’m turning it over to you: What would you add to the list?

UPDATED: I think this sort of goes BEYOND Murphy's Law: My most disjointed, bitter post yet!

I have so much to talk about; I haven't forgotten about my terrible Twilight poem (sample stanza: "He swooped in and saved me from the van's crushing tires/O, Edward! You foxy, swift and brooding vampire."), and I still need to talk about my lovely time with Ali at brunch last Sunday, my newfound obsession with WipeOut (thanks, Sweetney) and yay! The fact that my first BeautyHacks post is up!

BUT.

I can't really get into all that right now, because I am too busy laughing. And why am I laughing? Because it was either that OR CRY.

J and I spent a splendid and not at all annoying four (4) hours this past Friday getting our car repaired and picking it up from the repair shop, which, naturally, was seventy million and nine miles away from our home. You see, a few weeks ago, someone rear-ended our car in a parking lot, necessitating repairs to our bumper. Or more specifically, the bumper of our leased car that is going back to the dealer in LESS THAN THREE MONTHS. But whatever! we said. Accidents happen, and no one got hurt, so we shrugged it off. Plus a Hot Cop came to the scene of the accident, wearing a comically tight uniform, so that was fun for everyone.

So we got our car back on Friday, good as new, and all was right with the world. And then came yesterday. Yesterday--NOT ONE WEEK AFTER GETTING THE CAR BACK--I was driving to New Jersey with the kids...and proceeded to get into an accident. Necessitating repairs to our bumper. Or more specifically, the bumper of the leased car that is going back to the dealer in LESS THAN THREE MONTHS. (Sound familiar?) C'mon, what are the odds?

*weeps*

Thank God, everyone is fine, which, at the end of the day is really what matters. And I am TRYING to find the humor in this, because I'm sure that in 5 years or so? The back-to-back fender benders will seem funny. Right? RIGHT?

Ugh, who am I kidding?

Can someone please tell me something happy? Or send me a something that cracks your shit up? Because this kind of blows, and I'm a bit bummed.

I promise, I'll be back to my normal, happy self by my next post, and we shall never speak of this again.

UPDATE: I just remembered! NOTHING can snap me out of a funk like T's Rocky impression. (He's saying, "Yo, Adrian! I did it!") Yes, this should definitely help:

And the Winner Is...(Plus! Special Surprise Second Place Winner!)

Whoa. You guys really like lip gloss, don't you? I was blown away by the response, and of course, I needed to figure out how many righties and how many lefties had responded. Unfortunately, last night was NOT the best night for me to be doing complex calculations/tabulations of any kind, as I was having one of those evenings where I was, uh, totally stupid. Does that ever happen to you? Like, everything becomes difficult, and you can't type or speak without revealing yourself to be a Class-A Moron? To give you an idea of the extent of my idiocy, during a conversation with Heather B. last night (who was eating Swedish Fish candy at the time), I accidentally confused Sweden with Switzerland when discussing said candy. I'm not saying there's no such thing as Swiss Fish. I'm just saying that no one's ever heard of it.

Idiocy notwithstanding, I tallied up the results, calculated percentages (and picked a winner, of course) so all of this is a disclaimer in the event there's someone else out there who has too much time on their hands, decides to do their own calculations and finds a discrepancy. But the truth is, I'm pretty sure it's all accurate.

Now here's the part where I blind you with science:

Of the 136 comments that were left by 9 pm last night:

• 114 were righties

• 20 were lefties

• 2 abstained

Note: I based handedness on whether or not the commenter writes with that hand. I did count Andra (who was a lefty, but was born in a Communist country and was switched to become a righty) as a lefty, since genetically, she is one. I did NOT count Heather B. as one. (She claims in her comment that she was a lefty until age 6, when she was involved in a freak accident. She later told me said accident involved "a mountain lion and a man named Jose," whereupon I realized she was a filthy liar who has ALWAYS BEEN A RIGHTY. And eats Swedish Fish.)

That means that of the 134 who stated their handedness:

• 14.93% are lefties

• 85.07% are righties

What’s quite cool is that according to Wikipedia (I KNOW, but I’ll use it as a reliable source since it suits my needs right now), 87% of the world’s population is right-handed. And my percentages align almost perfectly with that, despite the fact that this is totally a random sampling of people. Hooray, science!

So now for the exciting part; the winner! I utilized an online random number generator, and the number it selected was... And if there was ever a time to redo my template to include a NUMBERED COMMENTS SECTION, boy, was it last night. But I painstakingly counted up to comment 91 (not once, not twice, but THRICE, just to make sure)--though my eyeballs were all but bleeding by this point--and saw that comment 91 belonged to...

Kat! Who, incidentally, is a righty! Congratulations, Kat!

But wait! There's more!

Seeing as the number of comments on this post blew my previous comment record away (and I have no idea what that is, I just know it's not 136+ comments), I decided that I'd pick a second winner to receive another prize: L'Occitane Verbena Soap; one of my favorite soaps EVER. Yes, it's beauty giveaway madness all up in this bitch! This time, the Randomizer selected.... Comment 24 belonged to...

Jennifer! Another righty! Congratulations, Jennifer! The surprise soap prize is yours!

(Winners, email me your addresses!)

In other news, I'm going to attempt to post MORE THAN ONCE this week, since I'm already hard at work on a Very Special Poem which may involve the Twilight series, and must be shared with the world. It had to be done; "vampire" has lots of rhyming possibilities, and I needed to take advantage of that opportunity, you know?

Easiest Contest Ever.

I must admit, I’m having a pretty good week. I got my iPhone, it’s my Mom’s birthday today, I’m hanging out with the lovely Ali on Sunday, J and I got new knives which may or may not be able to SLICE A PINEAPPLE IN MIDAIR (more on those soon) and Lo has been—well, I don’t want to say it, lest I jinx myself, but it has to do with the opposite of waking repeatedly in the night. (Haha, fate! I outsmarted your wily ass! Tempt THIS!)

Oh, and there’s another good thing, too—Starting very soon, I’m going to be one of the contributing editors over at BlogHer’s BeautyHacks, reviewing all manner of beauty products and writing about them. PINCH ME.

Because I’m so very excited about this, because it’s the weekend, because I haven’t done a contest in a while, and because I may have gone overboard stocking up on one of my favorite lip glosses when it recently went on sale (Alba TerraGloss in Garnet, which I mentioned a while back in this post), I decided that it was time for…a little contest. I will select a winner to receive a tube of this sheer, neutral/reddish (and universally flattering!) color.

As for the rules? IT COULD NOT BE EASIER:

By 9 pm E.S.T. on Monday (8/4), leave a comment telling me if you’re a righty or a lefty.

That's it. (I have no reason for this question, other than the fact that J and I–both lefties—realized that T is officially a righty, so handedness intrigues me of late.) The winner will be chosen at random.

See? Simple. Like taking candy from a baby. Or lip gloss. Whatever.

Good luck!