*Cough*

My one year old Cher loves to imitate. Like most babies, she's tickled pink by fake coughing and we'll have long, coughing parties when she's feeling chummy. This morning I coughed in the kitchen and I heard Cher's delicate cough in return. I hammed it up and gave her a bigger cough. She reciprocated. Laughing, I faked a huge coughing fit while she went wild with her own coughing, rocking back and forth in her high chair. Then she suddenly stopped, her mouth hung open and her eyes started to water. With a gag, she spit up a huge chunk of blueberry pancake and then started screaming.

Thanks goodness she got the pancake chunk out on her own. Oblivious me would have just laughed and made fun of her while she choked to death on my delicious pancakes. Then I'd have to put something awkward on her tombstone like, "she really liked pancakes." Or better yet, "my mom is an idiot." Yeah, I'm glad we don't have to figure that out. Yet.

Lucky Rabbit's Foot, Unlucky Rabbit

Any of you who grew up in the 80's probably owned a lucky rabbit's foot at one time or another. I know I always had one swinging from the zipper of my backpack and I loved to rub it during class, feeling the hard tendons and nubby toenails. It grossed me out a bit back then, and still grosses me out now. But I still love the things.

Since we live in utterly p.c. times, you don't see rabbits' feet for sale anymore. Decorating with severed limbs is so passe. But I've been wanting to have one anyways so I went ahead and whipped one up for myself out of my fabric. It turned out pretty well and I got to thinking about all the poor, gimpy rabbits out there. Naturally I had to then make the rabbit as well.

I got online to see what the deal was with lucky rabbit's feet anyway. I got way more than I bargained for. According to what scattered information I could find, there are many requirements for a rabbit's foot to actually posses good luck. Get a load of this:

It has to be the left, hind foot of a rabbit

The rabbit must have been shot in a cemetery

Either during the full moon or the new moon (there is some discussion as to which is best)

On a Friday

Preferably Friday the 13th

And it should be raining at the time

The rabbit should be shot with a silver bullet

But still be alive when the foot is removed.


I'm not making this up, folks. The whole idea of rabbit's feet being lucky comes from hoodoo, an African-American folk magic. So it's got to be real, right?

Unfortunately, I confess that my rabbit's are not the wet, cemetery type. All my rabbits are farm raised and fed a steady diet of high quality cotton stuffing. My workers are careless with which appendage gets whacked, it's usually the one that has the least poop on it. Then they mock the rabbit and eat it. I'm not sure that produces the appropriate hoodoo magic, but it still makes for a fun keychain. (I'm selling them here)

I loved this quote I found from humorist R. E. Shay," "depend on the rabbit's foot if you will, but remember it didn't work for the rabbit."

Events of the Heart presents "You've Gotta have Heart"

Can I just say how cool I am? Really cool. Last night was my big poser event where I acted like a big shot and interviewed Brenda Strong about heart disease. It couldn't have gone better. First of all, the whole evening was like my wildest dream come true. It incorporated three of my favorite things in the world: fiber, glamor and schmoozing. Metamucil sponsored Events of the Heart in presenting the performance, "You've Gotta have Heart." Metamucil asked three local bloggers to attend, me, Liz from Everyday Goddess and Kristin from It's All Fun and Games. I had never met the other two before, but the three of us had a grand old time pretending like we were "somebodies" and got front seats at the performance. So in case anybody ever tells you that blogging doesn't matter, I beg to differ. Apparently we're super star hot shots whose opinion matters. Who knew?

But let me just start out by telling you guys a bit about the issue which I really was in the dark on. The event was to raise money and awareness for heart disease education among women. Twelve actors performed a series of monologues relating to heart health. The event is being called "The Angina Monolouges." It was superb. A great mix of humor and tragedy. I have to admit, the final monologue had me weeping.

Here are some pretty shocking facts I learned last night about heart disease that I hope the rest of you women pay attention to:

Breast cancer kills 4% of women. But heart disease kills 44%, more than all the other cancers combined.

1 out of every 2.5 women will die of heart disease or stroke.

Social isolation and heart disease are intertwined. If you live your life without an emotional support network, your chances of getting heart disease go way up.

The symptoms of heart disease among women is different from mens. Women suffer from fatigue and nausia when their hearts begin failing and generally have no idea there is a problem until they are dead. They say death is the number one symptom of heart disease for women because it is almost never diagnosed correctly.

There was a study where over 100 actors went into health clinics and doctors all over the country. They all said the exact same thing, and complained all of the classic symptoms of heart attack. 100 % of the men were treated for heart disease (given EKG and referred to a cardiologist.) Only 50% of the women were treated for heart disease. The rest were treated for other things like depression, gastrointesinal problems, stress, or just dismissed as hypochondriacs.

You can be doing every thing right, diet, exercise, meditation, and still be at high risk of heart disease. It is genetic so if you've got high cholesterol, you need to either take medication to lower it or increase your intake of fiber such as psyllium husks. I spoke with Brenda who used to be a licensed yoga instructor and she said the only thing that could lower her deadly cholesterol levels was the psyllium husks. She lowered her cholesterol 30 points in 30 days when she began taking it every day. And a helpful FYI, Metamucil has a pink lemonade product that tasted just like the real thing but has psyllium fiber mixed into it. It's really delicious and smooth and three glasses of it a day make up 100% of your daily fiber. Anyone with trouble getting all 7 grams of their daily fiber in should pick some up. It an easy, delicious way to lower your cholesterol.


So enough of my preaching, back to my interview. I asked Bill Weavers question, did she have a favorite ventricle. Brenda claims her left ventricle is nearest and dearest to her heart. I also asked Molly's question about how easy it is for actors to incorporate issues they hold dear into their storylines. She said that the producers of Desperate Housewives actually give the cast quite a bit of say in how they would like their character developed. The actresses play a big part in creating the storyline. I then asked which Desperate Housewife character did she think was at the biggest risk of heart disease. Brenda said the Gabrielle character because even though she has a healthy lifestyle, Hispanic women and minorities in generally have an increased risk of heart disease. I hope this doesn't mean that Gabrielle is going to keel over in next week's episode! And to end I asked Calidaho's question about why the cause was so important to her. She has personally battled high cholesterol and her grandmother suffered from it as well. She was very gracious and easy to talk to. Our time was up way too quickly.

So now for my favorite part - the name dropping. I went up to Dana Delany after the event and actually made quite a fool of myself by saying, "I'm a huge fan of your work" and shaking her hand while staring into her eyes until her body guard took her by the shoulder and lead her away. Also performing at the event (some of which I was able to talk with at the reception) were: Eva Longoria, Markie Post (the Night Court lady), comedian Kathleen Madigan, Stephen Collins, Alex Kapp Horner, Annalynne McCord, comedian Judy Gold, Cynthia Adler, Holland Taylor (who is so beautiful I couldn't stand it) and Jeffery Tambor.

Here are a few shots from the night. Liz and I took pictures of our feet as we walked down the red carpet. Sure, the photographers were busy getting pictures of all the real stars, but they'll be kicking themselves when they realize whose picture they forgot to get for the cover of US Weekly!

Molly, Calidaho and Bill, thanks for your great question ideas and I'll see you round the shop!

Call for Help! I Need Your Questions.

I was going to keep this as a surprise, but I actually need your help to prepare. On Monday I am doing a ten minute interview with actress Brenda Strong. Metamucil is sponsoring a swanky red carpet event attended by many well known actresses to raise money for heart disease education and I was asked along with two other L.A. bloggers to attend to up the publicity. Ms. Strong (from the t.v. drama Desperate Housewives) will be hosting the VIP reception before the actual event where I will have 10 minutes alone with her for an interview. I was told I could ask her anything I liked. Since the goal of the fund raising event is to educate women about the threat of heart disease, I should probably ask related questions but I thought it would be fun to come prepared with a few questions from you blog readers as well.

And so here's your chance. I'm hoping to bring her three questions from readers regarding women's health, heart disease, celebrities as philanthropists, or anything else you can think of that won't make her blush. As usual, funny gets you extra bonus points. I'll publish her answers on the blog next Tuesday when I report on the evening.

And just to give you some extra motivation, if I pick your question to use, I'll give you 50% off one item in my store and free shipping. So really, help me have something good to talk about for 10 minutes! I don't usually have a hard time talking to strangers, the problem comes when I try to actually sound intelligent. Here's a list of questions I'm considering:

"I'm sure the folks at Metamucil would like to know the impact of fiber on your digestive system. Could you please explain?"

"Could you listen to my heartbeat and tell me if you think it's diseased?"

"Do you want to buy one of my stuffed animals?"

"Why are you bothering to spend all this time on educating women about heart disease when the real number one killer of women is high heels?"

"I'd love to donate to your cause. But I forgot to bring cash - mind if I borrow a twenty?"


That will only fill a few minutes, guys. Throw a dog a bone.

Attack of the Killer Apes

The gorillas aren't happy. You'd think with their new enclosure at the zoo that took over two years to make, they'd be thrilled with all the extra space and landscaping. You'd think a gorilla would appreciate the fact that he gets to live in sunny California and not have to deal with those Debbie Downer monsoons. But no, not our gorillas. My violin student reported to me that on her last trip to the zoo the gorillas were flinging poop at the visitors. This is no small task as the thick, glass viewing wall extends almost 15 feet but fling they did and her friend got a jumbo souvenir on her shoulder.

But there is no fighting the urge on a beautiful Saturday with freshly dressed kids. You've just got to hit the zoo.

The new gorilla enclosure houses six gorillas. Four females, one baby, and a huge silverback. I'd never seen the silverback out before, but we were hoping that by getting to the zoo early we'd catch him before his siesta. And we did. Despite the many Angelenos crowding at the glass, trying to get a look, my three year old Pixie managed to press her face right up against the glass, staring at the gigantic male. He must have been 300 pounds and was pure muscle. "Don't look in his eyes!" came a girl's voice from the crowd. So of course we all had to stare into his navy eyes.

The gorilla looked our way and walked towards Pixie. Her face was pressed against the glass and she didn't even flinch when the gorilla pressed his face against hers. Everyone ooohed and ahhed while the two shared a moment. Then the gorilla slowly backed up and lumbered about 20 feet back into the enclosure. He turned, and ran full speed back towards Pixie, leaping high in the air at the last second and slamming his entire massive body against the glass where she was standing. BOOM!

The air was suddenly full of babies crying and women shrieking. So much for Pixie's tender moment. She was the only human under four feet tall who wasn't screaming bloody murder. With a blank face, she slowly turned and asked me if we could see the zebras now. I wasn't going to wait for it to start raining poop so we high tailed it out of there. I made a mental note that coming to the zoo early when the animals are "lively" maybe isn't such a good idea after all. We managed to escape before the pooh flinging began but could hear the booming echos of the male pounding on the glass as we scuttled up the path. I'd never been more anxious to see the zebras in my life.

For any Angelenos going to the L.A. Zoo this summer, be warned and bring sunglasses and an umbrella when visiting the gorilla enclosure. You don't want to unwittingly engage in a staring contest with a brute ape and end up plastered with excrement. He's a pretty sore loser.

I'm posting on my group blog, Mormon Mommy Wars today. Come on over and read my scandalous little tale.

Just Gettin' Out All that Pent Up Goodness!

On the joyous occasion of my overcoming a dire case of writer's block, I find I have about 50 things I want to post about today. Alas, I fear I've lost many potential posts that could have been written in the past few weeks. But a commenter in my previous post suggested a good dose of "Anonymous Comment Day" to get the party started again and I whole heartedly agree that a little vent session could be in order. I'll kick it off with my anonymous comment:

This is not Hollywood. This is an anonymous, genderless, typist located somewhere obscure on the planet earth.

I HATE when the cashiers at the grocery store ask me to donate money to causes. There I am, spending $6 on a tub of Moose Tracks ice cream, and they ask with a look of concern if I'd like to make a small donation to help children with cancer. Heavens! Let me snork down my ice cream in peace! I always say no. Mostly because I hate kids with cancer. (Wow. Please detect the massive amounts of satire in what I just wrote! But no. I never donate to causes I know nothing about.)


So let's have it. It's anonymous day, folks. Say what you will. Here are some topics you could gnaw on if you're coming up empty:

Recycling: do you? Don't you? Do you really just hate the whales and recyle just because it looks good on your eHarmony profile?

Hollywood Flakes: Can you ever get over two weeks of the silent treatment? How can you live without us? Are you going to make me pay for your therapy?

Your bikini body: Are you going to make it this year? How's the battle of the chub coming?

Sordid details: Go wild. PG-13 wild, that is.


Now go forth, post anonymously. For heavens sake, ANONYMOUSLY. I say it again and again, but some of you poor people are just calling out for help and keep signing your name to your deepest, darkest secrets. It makes for some good drama I guess.

Ah, Girliness!

I've tried to shield my three year old from many of the horrors of womanhood. The stiff, patent leather church shoes, pantyhose, elaborate hair dos, but it's all for naught. She simply insists on being a martyr to her sex.

I received a pack of little girl pantyhose (do people still call them that?) a few years ago and tucked them in the back of her dresser drawer. I refuse to wear them, and am definitely not going to make my poor daughters suffer in them either. But Pixie, being the girlie freak she is found the pack the other day and insists on wearing pantyhose 24 hours a day. She won't sleep unless she is swathed in her princess dresses and the pantyhose are squeezing the life out of her midsection.

So what choice do I have to but go with it? There is an online shop called Little Painted Polka Dots that Pixie has loved drooling over belonging to Hollywood Flakes reader Lisa. It's girl overload. Get a load of that tutu Lisa makes (picture from her site). She was a sweetie and made a custom growth chart for my two girls. My baby just turned one and Pixie is almost as tall as I am so I wanted to start documenting it before they both outgrew me. Pixie keeps going back to it and having me check to see if she is any taller. She thinks I can't tell that she's standing on her toes! The chart is a huge hit around here and Pixie is giddy at the prospect of someday reaching the third birdhouse. Lisa did a fantastic job but I do feel for her. She asked me what my nursery theme was and I was embarrassed to admit, "Patriotic Birds" was my self-concocted theme. Thankfully, her hand painted chart actually ties the room together! Now if only I could somehow tie together Pixie's new theme of bedtime and pantyhose.

And while we're talking girlie, what exactly is it about a tutu that is so completely fabulous? Usually women try to minimize their rears and thighs at all costs so actually decorating it with swaths of decadent tulle is quite a leap of faith. I'm drooling over Lisa's tutus. I just bought this one for Pixie. I wonder if I could get away with a fabulous tutu? Maybe if everyone is busy looking at my fluffy tulle rear they won't notice all my built-in fluffiness. It could be the newest fashion breakthrough!

Thanks so much for the chart, Lisa! I'm already trying to sort out the arguments my girls are going to have when they both want to keep it as adults! Do I keep track of each of their heights on different sides then split it down the middle when they move out? Yeah, I overthink like that. Patriotic Birds has never looked so good!

Careless with the truth

This is Spike.

So yesterday, we stuck Pixie and Cher in their room for a few minutes while we frantically cleaned the house for a party. When we finally released them, I noticed that Cher had some scratches on her back and was actually bleeding just a little bit. I asked Pixie what happened to Cher. Her reply: "Dad, I did not throw anything at Cher."

Ha. I try not to laugh when she lies, because it won't be cute for long. Not once she learns how to make it convincing.

P.S. Sorry no post from Hollywood. Apparently all her creativity is being sapped by fluffy whimsical creatures.

Your Name Here

I was party to a disgusting prank today. As much as it hurt my stomach to participate, in the end I found no alternative. Apparently, somebody thought Anthony deserved to be punished and I had little say in the matter.

I was at Michael's craft store stocking up on supplies when I had the feeling a bathroom would be a good idea in the near future. A stock girl pointed me to the women's restroom. A one holer. The bathroom was pretty trashed and I contemplated asking one of the employees to clean it up first, but biology told me to just get it over with. Looking past the dirty toilet paper strewn all over the floor, I apprised the toilet. In harsh, black scars, the name "Anthony" had been etched on one side of the toilet seat.

Woah now. This was not my battle. For all I knew, Anthony was a decent guy who had just been misunderstood. For all I knew, he'd enraged this woman was because he spent all his evenings with his ailing grandmother. For all I knew, Anthony crochets bandages for lepers. But there was his name - ripped across 50% of my valuable toilet real estate. "Sorry, Anthony," I muttered.

If only Anthony knew how many sweet, crafty women have defiled his name. I can only pray that he actually deserves it. Anthony, wherever you are, be bad. Be very bad. Do it for me and my guilty conscience. And say "hi" to your grandma for me.

Pimpin' My Ride

I really don't understand how people can say that money doesn't buy happiness. Last week, the purchase of two items has made my life immeasureably more happy. The first was Spike's co-worker buying him this bumper sticker:


Because my husband holds himself out to be "classy," I get to put it on my busted car instead of his. If the Republicans are for Voldemort, I'd have to guess that the front runner for the Democratic party is Simba, the Lion King.

The second happy item was this gem I found last night at the counter of my local Blockbuster. A Dirk Nowitzki bobble head for my dashboard:


Funny, I just can't remember that last time changing my kids' diapers made me as happy as this plastic Dirk does. At only $4.99, I'm happy. My dumpy 1996 Toyota is going to be the hottest thing on the LA freeway this summer.

In other news, at age three, I finally let Pixie watch a full length Disney video in our home. I borrowed Beauty and the Beast from a neighbor last week and she's already watched it 6 times. Of all the things that she could have taken away from this Disney classic, she's chosen to go with the crazy father. She runs around the house all day scowling and yelling, "MY FATHER'S NOT CRAZY!" Of course, I have to bait her and remind her that in fact, her father is crazy which just send her into paroxysms of rage and protests.

And some bad news for my blogging career, the stuffed animal business is zipping along quite nicely. Since mid January, I've made over 60 stuffed animals and sold about 35. If anybody knows how I can have someone else mass produce these things, let me know. I could sure use the extra time for blogging.

Needless to say, I've been pretty busy lately. I was so exhausted yesterday that I had to make an emergency run to the grocery store for a basket full of chocolate bars. I ran into a friend in the store and under the pretense of being glad to see her, I collapsed on her in a hug. I'm not sure if she could tell from the overly heavy, long hug that I was really just using her as a prop against falling over. So a word of warning to any of you who run into me on the street, I'm hugging anyone I can get my arms around these days. Keep your distance unless you've got a strong back.

Oh oh, and one more thing. I just registered to run a half marathon in Park City on August 23rd. The ONLY reason I'm doing it is because a bunch of my siblings are going to be running that day (either the full or the half marathon) and I'm a competitive snot who needs to prove that I'm as cool as they are. I hate, hate, hate running and don't understand anyone who does it for fun. In fact, after a year of not using my YMCA membership, I just canceled it this week. Probably not the best sign that I'll be able to run a half marathon this summer. When I super buff and ran my triathlon in 2006, I did a six mile run. Training for 13 miles is going to be a stretch (and where am I going to find the time?) but I've got something to prove to my athletic sisters so it must be done. Have any of you run a half? Any great training tips? I can use all the help and motivation the internet can summon.

In Memory Of

The girls took a quiet moment at the Los Angeles Arboretum today to quietly ponder the lives of Salvador and Emma Lombardo. Were they or were they not worthy of this nice teak bench and would they mind having fruit snacks mashed all over their memorial? Some questions may never be answered.

Uh, this is awkward...

So here's the deal. I've been going through another one of those "I'm done blogging" phases. It takes so much mental energy to come up with something smart and interesting - mental energy that I could be using on maintaining my sanity as a mother. The past two weeks of not blogging have been great. I've really enjoyed not stressing over getting up a post every night and not running into my room to check comments every ten minutes. But at the end of the day, the fact remains: I have something to say. And a woman with something to say combined with an enthusiastic audience is an impossibly enticing combination for me.

So fear not, my darling stalkers, I'm back. We've missed out on a lot of great content from the past two weeks but I'll get back on the horse and continue broadcasting my follies for all to snigger at.

The toy biz isn't slowing down and I'm still happily taking orders for my poor, misunderstood stuffed animals. Yesterday a friend asked to buy my least favorite animal - an ugly, poorly made hamster that made me cringe every time I looked at him. I was appalled. I was sure she only wanted him to buy him to make me feel good and felt sorry for her at having to actually take him home. So I made a newer, better hamster that I felt met my quality control requirements (the first one in the link). I brought both over to her and let her know that she didn't really have to buy the ugly one. But she claimed to have some deep personal connection with him and refused the updated model. Every lid has it's pot. Good riddance.

Let's see...what else have you missed...

Outback Steakhouse. Spike and I went, lured by the shockingly calorific "Blooming Onion." I've always been intrigued by this stinky treat. The onions they use were specifically designed to be "bloomable" by Texas A&M University and they were inspired by the Japanese style of cutting vegetables into floral designs. Back in the day, I'd even eat some of the darn things. But seriously, folks. The Blooming Onion has 2,300 calories - and that's without the dipping sauce. So even though I'd entered the restaurant set on braving it, in the end I wussed out and instead ordered the onion soup. Alert to anyone going to Outback: DO NOT ORDER THE ONION SOUP! You think the Blooming Onion is oniony? Somehow they concentrated the flavors of a million onions into a tea sized cup. My husband and I could only take a few bites. When Kim, our waitress came by I asked, "have you tried the onion soup?"
"No."
"It's really oniony."
"Really."
"No. Like REALLY oniony. We can't even eat it."
Poor Kim. She was a sweetie and took away the soup and replaced it with an non-onion dish for the morons who ordered onion soup but didn't like onions.
I tried to make it up to her. On the receipt we left on the table I wrote, "We heart Kim! DEATH TO ONIONS!" To be fair, the rest of our meal was fantastic. I love a good, bloody steak. Who are these idiots who get them fully cooked? Plus, a word to the Outback Lovers out there, Outback has some special menu items until the end of April that are out of this world in celebration of Outback's 20th Birthday. If you couldn't tell, I'm back on the low-carb diet again and fixated on meat. I'm making Spike take me back to Outback next week.

And last of all, Happy Easter, everyone! I passed on doing Easter baskets because hey, my kids won't remember anyways, and we had a fun egg hunt at the park instead. Good times for all. Anyways, my post tomorrow will be more organized, but I just wanted to make the point that I'm not abandoning the bloggosphere, try though I may. I've discovered that if I don't document the contents of my head, I'm nothing more than a walking sack of bones.

Oh, and apparently Easter makes Cher mad. Go figure.

Fiddle Performance: Update

This is Spike.


Hollywood performed Ashokan Farewell for an audience of about sixty people last night. I am happy to report that she nailed it. I am sure we'll be getting calls from talent agents any day now. You can book her for your wedding, your funeral, or other special occasions. Don't hesitate, though, her schedule is filing up fast.

Fiddle Practice: Ashokan Farewell

I've spent all morning trying to get ready for my performance on Sunday - I told a friend I knew how to play this song and now she expects me to do it for a group of about 40 people on Sunday. It's a fiddle piece by Jay Unger but I'm no fiddler. They say the only difference between a fiddler and violinist is the number of teeth they have. I've got full set of pearly whites so I'm going to have to fake it a bit. To prepare, I've been listening to fiddlers on YouTube and trying to figure out my own notes to make it sound authentic.

It's not perfect yet, but I thought I'd record it for you guys to hear. It's one of my all time favorite pieces of music. Some of you may recognize it from Ken Burns' Civil War series on PBS. Enjoy the screeching: