HollywoodFlakes

Hollywood is on Kickstarter!

2011-11-29T12:06:00.001-08:00

You know it's big news when I refer to myself in the third person in my post title! My toys business is ridiculously busy and without giving up sleep altogether, I can't sew enough to meet demand. Take a sec and watch my Kickstarter video here; http://tinyurl.com/7dcl2cd

There are all kind of goodies you can get from participating in my project like custom toys, zines, stickers, web shout outs, and generally warm fuzzies all around when my brand is known throughout the entire universe. And as a special incentive for my poor, postless blog followers, if this project gets funded, I'll post every day for a month right here on Hollywood Flakes about anything BUT toys.

A Musical Treat: tUnE yArDs

2011-06-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

I like to listen to podcasts while I sew and yesterday I ran across an interview with Merrill Garbus, who created the musical act, tUnE yArDs. My ears perked up since I was best buddies with a Merrill Garbus growing up who shared the same, milky voice and artistic sensibilities. And it's not a common name so I ran to the internet, did an image search and there she was. I hadn't seen her since 1992, but there was no doubt, my little friend had climbed the ranks and now was a famous indie queen. I listened to her stuff online and fell in love. So I just wanted to share some of it here for you guys. I kind of think she's a genius. What do you think?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQ1LI-NTa2s&feature=related - Bizness

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e31dpx-XGfI&feature=related - Powa

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ujebm05G9JA&feature=related - Gangsta

For my other Connecticut buddies reading this, did you guys know about this? I think she's only really gotten "famous" the last few years but I can't help but think she's going to be big. Here's a little blurb about her from hipsterrunoff: http://www.hipsterrunoff.com/2011/04/broad-tune-yards-next-female-indie-sex-icon.html

Yeah, I'm totally jealous.

A Room to Rent

2011-06-26T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's blazing hot here in Vegas, so when I driving back from my errands this afternoon and saw a women trudging down the street carrying three huge bags, I stopped the car and asked if she needed a ride anywhere. "I need a room," she said with a desperate tone in her voice. "Do you know of anyone in this neighborhood with a room to rent?"

I didn't. But I couldn't very well let her stay on the street so I said she could come back to my house and we'd make some calls to find her somewhere to stay. She was beautiful by anyone's standards, wearing a super revealing outfit and jumpy as all get-out. "Thank you so much," she said, "I don't want to talk about my situation, but I really need a place to stay right now.
"There's a local women's shelter close by," I offered. They always have rooms available and I could drop you off right now."
"No, no," she said distractedly. "I don't want to talk about my situation. I just need a place to stay."

So I brought her back to my home. As we walked through the door, I let her know that she was welcome to stay for the day and could have any food in my kitchen and use of my phone. But she wasn't listening. Instead, she was slowly looking around my home with wide eyes. Then said to me with great concern, "has someone been in here?"
"What do you mean?"
"It looks like you've been robbed."
"Oh no, I just have little kids and haven't cleaned the house since Friday. It's always a little messy," I assured her. Sure, my house was a little untidy, but I didn't feel like it was anything out of the ordinary. My guest didn't look convinced. She slowly reached for my hand.
"Are you okay?" she asked me? "Are you in trouble?" Her eyes were filled with terror.
"No, really, I'm just a little messy. My family is out of town this weekend and I've been doing projects so the place is a mess."
"Do you need to hire someone to help you clean? I know someone..."
"No thanks," I laughed. "It's just part of having kids." My casual attitude didn't calm her.
She looked at a the dishes strewed around the kitchen and then blurted out, "I have to go. Something is wrong about this place. I can't stay."
And so she picked up her three huge bags and high-tailed it for the door, casting terrified looks at my untidy house on the way back out into the 110 degree heat.
Now I'm no Martha Stewart, but I'd like to think that my home would be a very nice place for a drugged out gal to spend an afternoon. Then again, I probably didn't want my home robbed so maybe it's for the best. But it still smarts a bit that she'd pick the Vegas elements over my childrens' mess. Maybe I'm the crazy one for living like this. Anyone have a room I could rent?

The Runaway Bunny

2011-06-10T13:12:00.000-07:00

Today was the day. I had decided last night that this would be the day of my independence. Fat Lawrence had got to go. Of my three rabbits, he's the only one who manages to escape from his cage daily and engages me in hot blooded scrambling for hours around my back yard. It's just not cool to play on a lawn covered in bunny poop all summer so today would be the last chase. I woke up bright and early this morning and was ready for war.

At 7:30 am, I put on my running shoes and went into the back yard. There he was, under the honeysuckle lazily chewing a twig. I ran, he ran. As long as I didn't lose sight of him, I could always catch him eventually. So when the sprinklers came on, I chose to continue the pursuit rather than go to the garage to turn them off. Over an hour later, dripping wet, my hair full of twigs and leaves, and a heart full of hate, I was ready to end the war. Fat Lawrence had evaded all my traps, slipped through my wet fingers and bounded out of captures too many times and I was ready for the coup de grace. If I couldn't win the physical game, I could try to win the mental one. He sat crouched under the pomegranate tree, ready to spring away at my first move. Instead, I made the most horrific, hissing, growing noise I could conjure up. Let there be no question, I was pissed. Fat Lawrence shrank to the ground in horror and stayed perfectly still while I approached, slowly picked him up and put him in the brown cardboard box I'd prepared for the occasion. I couldn't believe it had worked.

I immediately called my kids and told them we were off to liberate Fat Lawrence. I loaded the box and the barefoot kids in the car and drove. They didn't understand. "Why is there mud on your face, Mom? Why are we getting rid of Lawrence, Mom?" "But I LOVE him, Mom!" I cheerfully explained that Fat Lawrence obviously didn't want to live in a cage and would be much happier at a large nearby park with all the ducks and grass. How could we not bring him to his new home? Fifteen minutes later, we arrived. It was just as I'd imagined it. A beautiful day, ducks swimming in the pond, a bunny in a box, my year long dream had finally come true. I parked the car and took Fat Lawrence out of his box to give him the grand tour of his new home. First off to the pond to show him where he'd be drinking. I couldn't help but notice an unleashed Labrador Retriever across the water. Then I looked around for some nice shady underbrush for his mid-day nap. I didn't immediately see a good shady spot and upon looking up, saw a clear, Vegas sky with two hawks lazily circling above the park.

I sat down with Lawrence on a bench. We were both still soaked clean to the bone after our morning chase. I picked a few twigs from my hair and he started grooming his wet fur. Now was the part where I put him down and left. A few months ago after a particularly long chase, I taught myself via YouTube the art of butchering and preparing a rabbit for stew. I've begged my husband to take his shotgun and finish the little guy off but he refused. And now was the day I would rid myself of this little beast. This stubborn beast who I'd rescued from a shelter last year after he'd been returned twice due to bad behavior. This crazy looking fluff ball who I'd tamed from a nasty, biting monster into a fast, fluffy genius. The only thing Fat Lawrence loves more than playing chase, is being held afterward and stroked until he begins his deep, rumbling bunny purr. Now was the part where I left him for good.

An hour later, the sun had almost dried me out. I called the kids back from the playground and told them I was ready to go home. A dry and well petted Fat Lawrence was coming with us. My girls were confused, and tried to reason with me that he really wanted to stay in this beautiful park. No, no, I said. It's too dangerous here. What if a dog gets him or a hawk grabs him? What if he doesn't like the taste of the pond water? What if he misses us? We definitely couldn't leave him at this park. All the things I hated about this bunny were the exact things that endeared him to me in the first place and that hour I'd spent with him on the bench had been a sort of second honeymoon. Darling husband Spike, I know as you read this you are rolling your eyes, but honestly, I just couldn't do it. I love my naughty bunny. There is such a fine line between love and hate. It's almost always the things we love most about someone which end up driving us nuts later on. But if we are honest with ourselves, it's not hard to fall in love again after taking a drive to the park and considering the alternative options. Love or hate, it's all just expressions of passion. What would life be without it?

Fat Lawrence + Hollywood = LOVE FOREVER!

Update: I came home that day and put him up on Craigslist to find an owner with a bit more level emotional status than mine. That night a very dear one-eyed Mongolian man fell in love with my fattie and took him off to live with his twenty other Lion Head bunnies. Farewell, my love!

Bullets for Brains

2011-05-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

"Ms. Flake, the principal would like to speak with you."

And suddenly I knew. We'd been caught.

There isn't much that excites my husband these days so when his birthday came, my four year old and I brainstormed for a fun party theme. I asked my daughter what boys like, she said guns, we went with it.

What gun themed party would be complete without shotgun shells at each dinner plate? I dug through Spike's small arsenal in the closet and selected nine red and beautifully live shells to set on the table next to cards with each guest's name card. I cut black guns from cardstock and put a bowl of loaded water guns on the middle of the table. Every big boy's dream birthday. After the party, I was caught up in a sugar and frosting haze and didn't notice who cleared up the table.

Two days later, I dug though Pixie's backpack after school looking for homework assignment and I saw a shotgun shell at the bottom of her bag. She casually mentioned she had given a bunch out to her friends on the kindergarten playground. Apparently she had taken them all off the dinner table. Cue my panic. Our elementary school does not give out class lists or phone numbers so I had no way to call the moms to warn them. Not that they needed any warning. By the next morning, five of them had called the school in a panic and one boy had been pulled off the school bus for waving the bullet around. By the time I dropped Pixie off at the school yard gate, the other mothers were knit in tight groups and the gossip mill had decided she had actually brought a loaded gun to school.

And thus the call to see the principal. I never had to go as a kid, but now both me and my daughter had to make the long walk towards the school office. Pixie was white as chalk, and my head was racing with pleas to appease CPS. It's bad enough knowing you're a screw up, but having to drag your poor kid into it as well just because you think live ammo is a cool decoration is just pathetic. We were seated in a large, empty conference room with a plastic bag on the table containing three of the bullets. My prints were all over them.

Spike had warned me to just tell the truth, but I couldn't think of a way to saying "I decorate with bullets" that would sound reasonable. I could blame it on him. I could blame it on an irresponsible guest. I could blame it on an obscure medical condition. I just couldn't imagine having to blame myself. Luckily, the principle had apparently been in her position for a while and just handed me a form to sign saying that I had seen her and that was that. No questions, no guilt, no admonitions, just a signature. I thanks the heavens that the public schools are messed up enough that our small ammo slip was just another paper for the school to file away. But I guess I'll have to reconsider my party theme for Spike's birthday next year - bombs.

WonderCon

2011-04-06T00:50:00.000-07:00

I did it. I exhibited at WonderCon. For the vast majority of you who don't know what that is, it's the San Francisco version of ComicCon. And for the rest of you, ComicCon is the biggest pop-culture convention in the US. But back to WonderCon. I decided last October to apply with my plush toy line. It would mean a huge amount of money spent on the exhibitor fee, hotel fee, display fees, gas money, and innumerable other expenses. I had a small lump of dough built up in my business account and pretty much sank it all into this one show. The question was would it pay off.

I convinced my husband to take off work for a few days to come help me at the convention. My sister agreed to drive down from Utah to watch my kids while we were gone. Another friend agreed to manage the local craft event I was supposed to be running that weekend here in Vegas. And I even sweet talked my sisters into helping me with some of the tedious sewing while we were supposed to be enjoying a relaxed beach vacation the week before the big event. By the time the convention rolled around, I had sewn $13,000 worth of plush toys in 4 months. Throw in my factory produced item, and I would be going to San Francisco with $18,000 worth of Flaky Friends (my toy line). I had no doubt I'd sell it all. I'd put in the work and there are required, rewarding consequences for hard work. I'd sewn enough to be able to drive a nail with my finger tips so I knew I'd done my part.

When the car broke down on the drive to the convention, I panicked a bit. It set us back a few hours, but we got back on the road. When we got miserably turned around in the traffic in San Francisco and couldn't find the unloading dock with the clock ticking on our unloading time, I almost passed out in the passenger seat. But unload we did, and I set up in Moscone Convention Center with my toys flanking me with sewn on smiles. I had made it. Now just to sell $18,000 worth of plush in three days.

How did it go? This is where I give you the line about how it was invaluable for the contacts I made, how much fun the crowd was, and how I got a lot of business cards. No, really, I did have a good time. The other plush artists I met who have growing product lines were very helpful and will hopefully provide invaluable mentoring/advice to me in the future. And today I got an email from a customer who bought from me at the show with a custom request. But as far as the books go, after 4 months of non stop sewing, neglecting my kids, pizza dinners, and a ridiculous amount of money invested, I'm coming out pretty much exactly where I was last Christmas. According to my bank account, all the work I've done this year never happened. So that's why I've decided to treat the small stack of business cards I accumulated at the event as my magic beans. With all the blood, sweat and tears that went into getting them, they've got to have some magic in them. Grow, beans, grow. Because if you turn out to be duds, I'm going to kick myself in the face until I stop trying to do anything ever again.

Viable Career Options

2011-03-27T02:35:00.000-07:00

So it has already begun. I wrote a post today, then ran it by Spike (as I usually do when I'm writing wild) and he deemed it WAY too off base for publication so I'm left trying to think of tepid, pleasant things to write instead. But since I can't quite contain myself, I'll give you a teaser that it was an open letter to our nation's panhandlers about how to really stand out amidst their growing competition. Something about powerpoint presentations and jazz hands... Seriously, can't we all use some tips on how to get ahead? But thank you Spike, for keeping me from self destructing online. I'm a terrible person without you.

So with that off the table, I guess I just have to tell you a little something that happened at the park by my house a bit ago. After living in Vegas for two years now, I'm slowly acclimating to our local "culture."

My three year old Cher was waiting to use the fireman pole at our local park but two tween girls were playing on it. After waiting for about 10 minutes for her turn, little Cher came to me asking to intervene. I walked towards the pole to ask the girls if Cher could slide down it once or twice. As I got closer, however, I overheard their conversation.

"You really need a lot of arm strength for this trick," said one. "Then just hold on and flip up your legs like this." The smaller girl then demonstrated the upside-down splits on the fireman pole.

"Wow, I can't do that."

"I'll teach you how," her friend reassured her, "and it's even more fun to do on the real spinning pole. And this is one is super easy too." She then executed the perfect stripper floating spiral.

Really? Pole dancing lessons at my kids' playground? I hate to say it, but the chances of my kids' friends being strippers is much higher in this town. I'm rethinking having put my girls into dance classes. I'd hate to give them any practical job skills they might be tempted to use. Another truth of Vegas is that if you meet a girl with incredible legs, she probably is or has been a showgirl. Heck, they don't even have to be girls, but those long legs only mean one thing. For the first time, I'm glad our Flake family has been endowed with overly long torsos and stumpy little legs. One less Vegas career option.

Gambling being our main industry, the number of locals who are employed as card dealers or waitresses is quite high. Some of the other moms who pick up their kids from kindergarten show up in their casino barmaid get ups. That's a fun thing for all those 6 year old boys to see. But hey, I respect an honest paycheck and people have to eat. Since the chances of my kids working a casino at some point are pretty high, I just have to make sure I hand select their job. I'm thinking they could be the people who sit inside the lion cage at the MGM casino, babysitting the lion pride all day. They get to wear a full set of clothes, and if any handsy men try coming near them, the lions will eat their faces off. Mama likes that. Now if only they offered Lion Taming as one of the community courses available at our rec center...

The five cokes I drank at dinner tonight have finally worn off so I'm going to bed. Viva Las Vegas, Baby.

Go To Hell

2011-03-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

Remember all those half truths your parents told you to make you behave? Cross your eyes and they'll stay that way. Misbehave and Santa won't come this year. Boys have cooties. We all use them. Easy lies to avoid the bigger conversation. I'm as guilty as the next mom. I tried recycling a half-truth the other day on my six year old Pixie.

At a stop light, a man crossed the street in front of our waiting car. "Mom," Pixie said slowly, "that man is kind of chubby."

"You can't say stuff like that, honey." I replied. "Did you know that once you get to heaven, everyone will know everything you've ever said or done, including that man?"

Pixie turned pale. "I'm so sorry!" she stammered. "Will he know that I'm sorry?"

"Yes. But remember to always speak nicely."

So that was that. I'd used an old lie (or maybe it's true?) that had worked on me as a kid to keep my own spawn in check. With only the minimum required amount of guilt, I put the incident out of my mind.

The next day I was working in my sewing room when Pixie came in. "Remember that guy yesterday... who was a little... you know..."

"The man at the crosswalk?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?" I asked.

Pixie gave me a wistful look then said softly, "I hope he goes to hell."

And there it was. Rather than have to face all the people who she'd ever said anything less than flattering about, Pixie had begun damning them all to hell instead to save face. Just another tick mark on the score card of my awesome parenting. Go, me.

A Cacophony of Words: Aging through Vasoline

2011-03-24T01:13:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching the movie "Julie and Julia" and for the first time in a long time (think 2008) actually remember why blogging is essential for my expression. What a great movie and a sweet reminder that for some of us, writing is what ensures we maintain a firm grip on our identity. Rather than wax too poetic, let it just be said that I've had words bottling up in me ever since moving to Vegas two years ago and the bottle has finally spilled over. So after tossing in bed for about an hour, I had to get up and post back on ye old blog. There's no way I can play catch up. Just imagine the same old me, except with rock hard callused fingers from sewing thousands of stuffed animals since January 2007. Oh, and I found some grey hair last year. On my head.

The grey hair thing was fun at first. I've worked hard, played hard, and been up way too many late nights with deadlines so I was proud of the grey. The badge of a good woman who has done her share of work. My three year old has repeatedly offered to pull out the new hairs but I can't let her. I just have worked too hard for them. I'd always thought the signs of age can be beautiful and admired the older women around me who don't try to hide their years. But that was before I began noticing the wrinkles around my mouth. The stringiness of my neck. The furrow that somehow isn't smoothing out of my brow. While aging can certainly be respected, it's hard when it's literally on your face.

We had some extra airline miles and got one of those offers to redeem your miles for magazines. The magazine choices were limited but I ticked off the Vogue box among many others. I got my first copy two weeks ago. I haven't looked at a fashion magazine since high school and 15 years gives me a whole new perspective on the genre. I was suddenly and ferociously interested in reading the anti-wrinkle cream ads. Of holding the magazine under bright lights so I could detect photo shopping on Cate Blanchette's up close photo shoot. One page was hastily ripped from the magazine and tucked in my purse to give me an idea of a younger looking hairstyle I could try to make me look "hip."

When I hadn't been able to walk by a mirror for a week without pulling my skin back to see what a facelift could do for me, I realized what had happened. The magazine went into the recycle bin (I'm sorry to the 1,000 trees that went into the making of that massive piece of crap) and I called to cancel the subscription. Any publication that makes me sad to be me can't live in my home.

Side Note - I also ordered Spike the ESPN magazine from the same offer. It arrived with a Godly muscled baseball player in a lunging stance on the cover. No sign of Spike wanting to take up pro sports or steroids yet. I'll keep my eye on him.

So back to my mid life crisis. For now, it is averted. My contact lens prescription is a bit out of date, so rather than get a new one, I'll just keep the face in the mirror fuzzy. Sort of like those old movies where every time the leading lady was on screen, they'd rub vasoline on the camera lens to give her a heavenly glow. I plan on carrying on as a modern Elizabeth Taylor (minus 7 of the husbands) and keeping my chin up, no matter how far down it stretches. I, Hollywood, am after all only 31 years old, and not a bit dramatic. Bring on the grey.

In Your Face, Life!

2009-11-11T15:54:00.001-08:00

Who is going to be watching the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing Competition in Oahu, Hawaii in a couple of days?

Who is going to lend her practiced eye to the dancers at the 18th International Hula Dance Competition at the concert shell on Waikiki beach on Saturday evening?

Who is going to be skimming over the seas in a 40 foot catamaran while the steam of whale spouts float into her face while you are stuck in your cubicle?

That's right, kids. Hollywood has finally earned her long-yearned for trip to Hawaii. And it won't be pretty. After 30 years, I'm getting mine and the fallout is going to be thick. Don't think this is going to be an easy week for you. Just when your boss walks by at five minutes till 5pm and casually drops that thick file on your desk, think of me, sipping whipped pineapple slushy off my fingers on a white beach.

And that treadmill you exercise on? You're not even going to be able to make it to your second mile without stumbling while imagining me simultaneously swimming in the crystal clear Pacific with the bottlenose dolphins. Life is rough. I know, I've been there. But not this week. This week is payback. Spike and I are going to come back from our week in paradise (sans kids!) looking like this:

And yes, we'll finally be too cool for you.

Aloha!

Sugardaddies, Fine China and Concrete Slippers

2009-11-07T08:47:00.000-08:00

A brief summary of Halloween - Cher wanted to be a Lionhea d bunny just like the ones we have as pets so I tricked her out with some fur:

And that about sums it up. When you can dress your two year old as a fluffy pink Lionhead bunny, what's not to love? Halloween was good.

And my mobster from the last post? Frank has turned out to be quite the fun friend. We had him over for dinner last week and found out he moved from Staten Island to Vegas for "health reasons." I guess it's not very healthy to find yourself at the bottom of the Hudson River wearing concrete slippers.

But the real highlight of the week was from the day I spent about 8 hours hitting up thrift stores in my area for mismatched china. You really get a good idea of who is in your community when you spend a day bottomfeeding.

Stop One: Goodwill

I was paying for some items. My girls were with me and we saw a woman in the store (think Roseanne Barr) with a tiny chihuahua snuggled into a bed of blankets in the child seat portion of her shopping cart. Of course, my girls ran up to her and asked if they could pet her tiny yapping dog. She sneered at them and pushed the cart aside. "No. This is a service dog." I looked at the cashier and raised my eyebrows skeptically. The cashier rolled her eyes and scowled. I'm guessing this wasn't the first time someone had tried to cheat the system by passing off a luxury pet as a disability crutch.
Stop Two: The Charleston Outlet Thrift Store

This particular store lacked a certain credibility with their storefront signage. On my way in, I noticed an official sign that read, "Please do no leave your children unattended in our store. Any parents not attending to their children in this store will be reported to Clark County Child Protective Services." I called their bluff and asked the cashier if they had ever really reported a parent to CPS before. "No," she said, "but we're supposed to..." Yeah right. But you can bet your bootie I kept my two girls glued to my side in that place.

Stop Three: A Second Chance Thrift Store:

This place had some really upscale items, mostly from estate sales, at jaw-droppingly low prices. After spending way too much time looking around a picking up some great vintage items, I went to check out. Ahead of me in line was a young black man. He was engaged in sincere conversation with the store proprietor. The proprietor, another black gentleman was saying in a very calm voice, "just remember that once you walk out that door today, I don't ever want you coming back."

"Man, I wouldn't steal from you! I don't steal from my own people!"

"All I'm saying is that you are not welcome in this store."

"You think I'm stealing from you? I never steal from you."

"I don't want to get into that. Just walk out that door and don't come back in here ever."

"You're my people, man! I wouldn't steal from my people!"

"Next please," said the proprietor with a warm smile. I sheepishly laid my items on the counter while the young man sulked off towards the door.

Stop Four: Martin's Mart Thrift Store

This place only had one teacup I wanted. I brought it to the counter and asked the price. "Thirty five cents," said the cashier. I reached for my wallet to get the money but just then an older man walked into the store, carrying a large trash bag and looking like the definition of homeless.

"I got it," he said with a grin and flipped a couple coins on the counter. At that moment, he was Daddy Warbucks. The girls and I thanked him up and down and left the store with a light heart. Everybody loves a sugardaddy.

And in case you're wondering what I'm doing looking for odd bits of china, here's the project I've been working on this week:
Teacup candles. You can get really beautiful pieces of china for pennies if the rest of the set is missing. And for some reason I've decided to try my hand at soapmaking and bath bomb making as well. It's been a craft week for me. Check out my first batch of soap I made:

So yeah, it's been a fun week. Sorry for the long, rambly post. There's been a lot of good stuff going on.

My Friendly Neighborhood Mafia

2009-10-24T14:15:00.000-07:00

Last month my bunny, Stu, escaped from our yard. I posted on Craigslist, put in a report at the animal shelter and searched the neighborhood but came up empty. I could only assume that one of the many pitbulls living in my neighborhood had finished him off. But yesterday my next door neighbor popped her head over the wall and informed me that Stu was in her front yard. I ran over but he bolted as soon as I approached.

I chased him three doors down where he mysteriously disappeared in an overgrown backyard. After some poking around, I saw evidence that Stu had been living in this yard for quite some time (read between the lines, a month's worth of poop in a corner). The owner of the house saw me poking around in his yard and came out to see what I thought I was doing trespassing. He was a short guy, probably 55ish, and his voice sounded exactly like Marlon Brando's Godfather. After I told him about Stu, he verified that yes, he'd seen Stu eating his flowers and defecating all over his property for about a month. He introduced himself as Frank told me I could do anything necessary to catch the little guy and gave me free reign of his yard.

I borrowed a rabbit trap from Animal Control came back the next day to set it up. Frank saw me and came out to oversee the operation. Pointing to Stu's poop pile and promised I would clean it up. He waved me off and said there was no need. "It's no problem," I said, "I don't want my rabbit stinking up your yard." In an instant, Frank grabbed my face with one had and popped a light smack across my cheek. Still holding my face, my cheeks squeezed between his thumb and forefinger, he said in a low voice, "you clean up that poop and I'll come to your house and throw dirt all over your front yard." He released my face.

"Got it," I laughed. Anybody willing to slap a total stranger probably wouldn't make an empty threat like that. The poop would stay. "So you're from the East Coast?" I asked, his accent sounded Brooklyn to me.

"Yeah, sumpin' like that," he replied.

"I grew up in Connecticut," I said.

"Well that makes us just like family," he said happily.

"Sounds good to me. I don't have any family in the area. How about you?"

"I've got some family living in the casinos," said Frank.

"Sounds like fun."

"Depends on who's winnin'," he said with a shrug.

I think it's safe to assume that this guy has got some sort of Mafia running through his blood. We finished up talking and I turned to leave. I'd gotten some leaves and dirt all over my backside from sitting down to set the trap. "Eh, you're a mess!" said Frank. Without so much as a dinner invitation, he brushed my legs and rear end clean. After the smack, I knew better to protest. After he judged me sufficiently brushed off, I thanked him and took off. Maybe I'll catch Stu, maybe I won't but at least I can sleep easy knowing that my neighborhood mobster likes me.

Flu Vaccine Fright Fest

2009-10-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

On Monday, the H1N1 vaccine has hit the streets of Vegas and local moms are wasting no time getting their dose. Currently, the vaccine is only being offered at one location in the Vegas Area, and only to the highest at-risk group (child caretakers and children under 5 years old). I saw the lines out the door on the news yesterday and even though it didn't look at exciting as an American Idol casting call, I decided to grab a place in line this morning. It was going to be a long morning of waiting and I didn't want my kids to know what was going on until the last possible minute.

"Come on, kids. Get in the car. I've got an errand to run."
"Where are we going?" asked the ever vigilant Pixie.
"We've just got to drop by an office for a minute."
"What for?"
"I need to get some stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Who wants a cookie?"

That distracted them until we got to the Public Health Department. A long line of grim looking mothers pushing strollers was already spilling out the doors and trying to fill out medical forms in the high wind. I took my place in line.

None of the kids seemed to know they were the intended targets and stood around with bored expressions. One mother had brought a portable DVD player and had distracted my section of the line with a cartoon. The line inched slowly forward. We finally made it inside, around the reception desk, and towards a greeter. At this point, the line was siphoned down a thin hall. An attendant in scrubs made her way down the line talking to each mother. My time was running out. Pixie caught sight of the woman's clothes and turned to me with apprehension. "Mom... what is this place?"

The jig was up. No sooner were the words "flu shot" out of my mouth that my two children began screaming and scrambling for an escape. Luckily, I'd had the foresight to buckle them into the stroller. "I DON'T WANT A SHOT! I DON'T WANT A SHOT!" they screamed, and in seconds, the children waiting in the hall with us had caught the whiff of terror. All around us, the pleading, screaming and whimpering began in earnest. The woman with the DVD player glared at me. The line inched forward.

After a quick consultation with the nurse, I was relieved to hear my kids could simply get the flu mist squirted up their nose instead of a shot. With this information, I was finally able to calm them down. We were approaching the end of the hall when we noticed the noise coming out of The Room. A high-pitched tremor of not fear, but absolute terror. Apparently, we were approaching out final destination. I pushed the stroller in.

I was now lined up against the back of a large conference room with about 20 other moms, waiting our turn at one of the vaccination stations. There were about 15 women administering shots and each one faced a blue-faced, apoplectic child. We had to stand there with our kids and watch our fate play out in deafening reality. At this point, the waiting children were too terrified to cry, they just stood with wide, wet eyes, as the children at the vaccination stations demonstrated their best Halloween night screams while being stuck full of needles.

It was our turn. I got my shot, then brought Pixie to sit in my lap to get her nasal spray. "No shot, right Mom?" she asked with confidence.
"Right."
So when the nurse pulled out a long, skinny device with a pointed tip and brought it towards Pixie's face, all hell broke loose. It sure looked like a shot to me. In order to administer the spray, the nurse had to stick the mister up both nostrils and squirt. I had my leg wrapped around Pixie's lower body, one hand holding her head tight against my chest, and the other pinning her arms down. She was screaming just as loud as every other poor kid we'd seen in there. Then we had to do the same thing with little two year old Cher. There is no way that the nasal spray was any less terrifying than a shot. I'd say it's much worse. But finally we were done.

"And don't forget to come back in a month for another dose," called out the helpful nurse, just as we were leaving. Another round of fresh screams. I booked it for the door at the end of the rooms, desperate to get my kids out of The Room of Terror. As far as Haunted Houses go, this one pretty much takes the cake this year. I'm all Halloweened out.

The Football Widow

2009-10-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

True, Peyton Manning looks better in spandex than I do, but is this really what I've earned?

Most people would agree that men are simple creatures. They like things will barbecue grill marks on them. They like remotes. They like naps. They say what they mean. Simple, right? So could someone please explain to me why the majority of men are obsessed with one of the most time consuming, complex endeavors ever? Football isn't simple. It isn't devoid of emotion. It keeps men awake when they would otherwise be napping away a perfectly good Saturday afternoon. I've got to think there is more than cheerleaders in hot pants behind this aberration of nature.

College football began at the end of August. During the first quarter of the first game I turned to Spike and asked, "So when does the season end?"

"Honey, this is the first game of the season."

"Right. When does it end?"

It's not that I begrudge him a little sports (note to self - I totally begrudge him all sports) but football in particular gets me going. Here I am, the faithful little wife of ten years, married and accustomed to the ups and downs of matrimony, but come Saturday, all I can think about is how I want to bomb every college football field in America.

True, I can't run a five minute mile like most wide receivers. I can't hit a fly off the wall across the room with a perfect spiral football throw. I've never tackled a grown man to the ground or gotten a grass stain on my forehead. There will be no younger, fresher second string replacement for me when I'm tired, crabby or creaky. I shouldn't be surprised to be a football widow at the age of 30. Maybe I should make a better effort to compete in the field.

There are the "Ty Detmer" wives who are fun for a few years but then fizzle out. But I want to be a "Brett Favre" wife, getting better and sexier every year. Who is to say my time to shine is up? In order to regain my husband's admiration and affection on Saturdays, I need to get my butt to training camp and make myself a competitor.

A couple of possible training goals for myself:

Buy calf-length spandex and practice putting them on without vomiting.
Perfect my diaper toss so that I can hit the garbage can with a loaded diaper from 60 yards.
Don't shower after working out
Stop using multisyllabic words
Practicing bulging my neck muscles in the mirror to perfect the intimidating look
Trash a hotel room
Pray for Obama to criminalize college sports

That's all I've got for you today. Pray for Mojo.

Please Stop Being So Nice

2009-10-16T13:56:00.000-07:00

I can't go anywhere without my kids complimenting people. It's driving me nuts. True, it's probably my fault. I've tried to teach them to be nice to everyone and look for the good but things are getting out of control.

At first, they would just tell friends stuff like, "I like your shoes" or "cool necklace" but now it's gotten to the point where they roll down their windows in the car and shout out to strangers on the sidewalk stuff like, "YOU HAVE PRETTY HAIR" or "I LOVE YOUR DOG." We were at Costco the other day and my friend came up to say hello. Immediately, the girls started in.

"Nice watch."
"I love your bracelet."
"Your nail polish is beautiful."
"You have a pretty smile."
"I like your groceries."

I interrupted and said, "I'm sorry, my kids are compulsive complimenters." Her smile dimmed somewhat. I immediately knew I'd erred. Maybe my children's robotic compliments were the only ones she'd gotten that day. Had I just burst her bubble? Perhaps she was feeling insecure about her grocery choice that day. I tried to redeem myself, "not that you don't have nice fingernails... it's just that... they complement every..." I rolled to a stop, positive that anything that came out of my mouth after that would only do more damage.

So I've decided just to grit my teeth and bear it. Today we passed an elderly woman with shockingly blue hair in the parking lot of Walmart. My two year old ran up to her and went on and on about how great her hair was. I kept my mouth shut. Later in the store, they harassed some other poor woman complimenting her automatic wheelchair. Pixie, the four year old, is obsessed with men's belt buckles and any time we see a guy rockin' a Texas sized buckle on his belt, she gets all handsy and effusive and it's all I can do to keep her from pulling their pants down to get the buckle off. That one always ends up a little awkward.

I need to get over my issue with this. I can't stand an empty compliment but just because my kids are full of them, doesn't necessarily mean that they don't mean every word. So what do you think - do I need to become more like them or should I try and teach them a little more restraint? It's a weird issue. And it seems like there is an obvious answer - I just don't know what it is.

Happy Birthday Hollywood

2009-10-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

This is Spike. Today is Hollywood's birthday. Feel free to leave a comment saying something you like about her, if you're so inclined.

How to Clear a Blocked Toilet

2009-10-07T00:15:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm a homeowner, when something goes wrong in my house, I've got a rather scary decision to make. Call a professional, or become a professional. Due to my unflinching cheapness, I went ahead and bought the book published by Black&Decker, "Complete Home Repair." The empowerment began immediately.

So when my two year old flushed both a aluminum Capri Sun pouch and a large building block down her toilet, I took a deep breath and prepared for my curtain call. After consulting with my father over the phone who assured me he'd fixed clogged toilets millions of times, I plunged in.

Step one: Plunge in. Plunger had no effect.

Step two: Purchase a drum auger (snake) for $28 to try and weasel the blockage out. I got a few small pieces of the Capri Sun bag, but no sign of the wooden block.

Step three: Call my dad again and get itemized instructions on lifting off and replacing the toilet.

Step four: Remove toilet, clear blockage in no time and call father in victory. Bask in father's assurances that I am indeed, Wonderwoman. Hang up.

Step 5: Turn on the water supply to perform a test flush. Notice leak coming from a small crack I've accidentally made in water supply line behind toilet. Decide not to call Dad for further guidance since he's just finished telling me how great I am and I don't want to burst his bubble.

Step 6: Accidentally destroy old water supply line and valve while trying to remove it and go to hardware store for a $12 water supply value and line replacement.

Step 7: Install new supply line and valve. Turn on water supply and spot two minor leaks. Readjust the nuts to tighten the seal.

Step 8: Turn nuts the wrong way, have valve burst off. Have face placed strategically in front of water pipe so the blast of water pushes your contacts behind your eyeballs and then run soaking wet though the house, blinded, screaming, "TURN OFF THE WATER!" to a husband who I'm praying can hear me.

Step 9: Turn off water, utilize 15 towels to soak up the flood. Have husband use mystical Man Muscles" to screw nuts on tight enough.

Step 10: Try not to notice as I slog through the bathroom that my book, "Complete Home Repair" that I kept by my side through the entire operation has now become a waterlogged mess and will need replacement for an additional $25.

Total cost: $65. But hey, my Dad is proud of me - at least until he reads this post. No professional plumber can ever take that away from me.

I Wanna Be Paris

2009-10-03T08:01:00.000-07:00

Cher is two and a half and it was time for me to bite the bullet and take her in for her first hair cut. Of course, she was petrified. Her older sister Pixie has indoctrinated her in the religion of hair and its innate value as a prop for awesomeness. So to help her get through the big cut, I brought both of them to Supercuts (sold as "the beauty salon") for a sisters-trim.

I had to sell it the right way. They were going to be more beautiful afterwards. Trims keep your hair healthy. They were starting to look like street bums. It would be easier to brush. But they were still tearing up at the idea of cutting of their golden locks. The clock was ticking and the hairdresser would call us to her station any minute. I couldn't send them in their tearful state and needed something. My eyes locked on a Glamour magazine. "Girls," I said, "look through this magazine and find a picture of the hair style you'd like. Then show the picture to the hairdresser and she'll make you look just like it." The fell for it and smushed into a chair together, excitedly turning through the pages of the magazine.

They quietly conferred over each picture. Then Pixie shouted, "Mommy! I want hair like this!" She held up a photo. It was Paris Hilton, pinch-faced and bare bodied, dressed as a mermaid with long, fake blond hair cascading down her torso. (See the picture here). I couldn't take away her dream now. "Great hon! Bring that picture up and you can look just like it." Pixie was sold. But Cher still browsed the pages anxiously. Would the trick work twice?

"Oooh, I want this! I want this!" Cher held up a photo of a woman and her dog and pointed to the dog. A lovely golden retriever with, let's face it, great hair. That would have to do.

"Pixie? Cher?" called the hair stylist. We were up. The girls couldn't wait to show their dream hair cut photos to the styles and I had to give her a helpful wink to let her know to play along. Luckily, it worked. Armed with their photos, the two kids made it through the shampoo station, the brushing and the cuts with wide grins on their faces. And by the time we left, Pixie was convinced that her new shoulder-length bob made her look exactly like a siren and Cher's 1/2 inch trim was enough to make her bark like a noble retriever.

I never thought I would say it, but thank you, Paris. You're a lifesaver.

Don't mess with Hollywood or Texas

2009-10-02T16:21:00.000-07:00

This is Spike. I got a new cell phone from work, so I don't need my old one. To save a few bucks, Hollywood bravely agreed to call Sprint to cancel my line with them. First, someone told her it would be no problem, that she could get her own plan for $70 a month, and I could cancel my plan without paying a penalty. About five minutes later, the guy she talked to called back and said "oh, just kidding, you'll have to pay a $100 penalty."

Hollywood went to work calling various numbers, explaining what happened. At one point, someone claiming to be a "manager" told her that we would in fact have to pay $200 to get out of my line. Not a smart move on his part. I felt a little sorry for the guy as Hollywood politetly, calmly ripped him to shreds, pointing out that she had been repeatedly told different things and jerked around by a bunch of keystone cops, and the fact that he was a manager made him the most guilty of the bunch, since he presumably should have trained his employees not to be complete incompentents.

After her short vent, she wisely hung up and called back for a chance to talk to someone else. This time, she struck paydirt. The new guy told her she would only have to pay $60 a month, and that I could cancel with no fee.

The moral of this story is (a) don't deal with Sprint, (b) if you do have to, call them over and over until you get what you want, and (c) don't mess with Hollywood.

The Evil In My Home

2009-09-29T16:37:00.000-07:00

"Mom, there's a bug crawling on the wall."
"Okay."
"Come see!"
"Fine."

I walk into the kitchen where my two year old has led me by the hand and look around to find the offending insect. "Where is it, Cher?"

"Ummm...I can't remember...," she waves a pointed finger distractedly at the walls and then her gaze lands on the floor. "There," she proclaims triumphantly.

"Honey, that's a tortoise."

"Yeah."

We bought our first home six months ago and I quickly went to work surrounding my family with non-human friends. Since my husband Spike is allergic to cats and can't stand dogs, I had to get a little more creative so now our backyard hosts a bevy of bunnies and a small clan of dessert tortoises. But not all the animals at my home are invited guests.

When we first looked at the house, we found a scorpion in one of the bathrooms. Our realtor assured us it was a once in a lifetime sighting and many other locals promised they had never seen a scorpion while living here. It turns out that's because all the scorpions in Vegas live at my house.

The week after we moved in, I was still finding them crawling on my kitchen floor and hiding under the laundry baskets. Soon after, my four year old Pixie was bit in the living room and spent a Sunday in the ER. When we finally called an exterminator, she delivered the grim news that the only way to kill scorpions was to hunt them down individually and crush their little brains to mush. No spray would kill them. With the help of a dark night and a black light, we were finally able to see just exactly how bad our scorpion infestation was. We caught (not saw, caught) 84 in the first hour of hunting.

Last night Spike proclaimed the scorpions to be, "his jealous mistress." Each night before bed, he pulls on his leather gloves, grabs the black light flashlight and picks up his Killing Stick. Then out to the yard he goes, hunting for anything that wiggles in his blackl ight. After a round of killing in the yard, he turns off the lights inside and sweeps each room, finding any scorpions that have managed to gain entry to our home, taking care not to wake our two daughters as we sweep and kill in their little purple bedroom. The scorpions are a little piece of Satan that has manifested itself in our otherwise happy home. And if you've never had the chance to see your spouse decked out with a blacklight, Killing Stick and grim smile, you've never known true love.

We are strangely proud of our infestation. When we invite your over for dinner, we'll insist you stay until dark so you can accompany Spike on one of his killing sprees. Then if you're really lucky, he'll capture a few with the salad tongs and make you get up close and personal with them to see just how tough you can pretend to be. Scorpions only come out in the dark so we are able to enjoy our yard during the day. But as soon as the sun sets, my girls come to me with big eyes and ask if the scorpions are coming out. We tiptoe inside and lock the doors. The yard is given over to the beasts.

Life has been eerily wonderful since moving out of the apartment phase of life and if it wasn't for the scorpions, we'd be like Adam and Eve, moving around Eden with bland smiles. But the scorpions keep it real for us. Just the right amount of wicked to make the good really pop. Now don't you wish you lived at our house?

Just a Friendly Little Beating

2009-09-26T21:07:00.000-07:00

Scene: Lake Mead. My two girls and I are enjoying a Saturday at the beach. A man, his daughter and a pitbull puppy settle in ten feet away from us.

I'm a friendly gal, so I yell over, "that's a good looking pit." He smiles and we launch into congenial small talk. My girls are enthralled with anything puppy related and beg me to let them pet his dog. I get his permission, warn them that puppies can be overly excitable, and let them go.

Inevitably, (I know, I'm a terrible person), the puppy playfully grabs my two year old Cher's hand in his mouth and she starts to cry. I pull Cher back to my lap to calm her. The man comes over, completely apologetic but I assure him that she'll be fine. But the next thing I know, he's dragging his four month old puppy by the ears to where we are sitting. "Bad Lady! See what you did to this little girl?" Then, still holding her ears twisted tightly in his fists, he starts beating his dog in the face. "Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!" Each shout punctuated by a violent blow.

"No really, my daughter is fine!" I say. The beating continues at our feet. "She was just being a puppy! Please don't hit her. See? Her hand is fine." I hold out my daughters hand and show that no harm has been done.

"This is the only way she'll learn," says the man with an apologetic smile. Her ears get another twist. BAM. At this point, both my girls are totally freaked out and Cher's begins crying for the puppy instead of herself. For his finale, he grinds the dog's head into the sand. Finally convinced that he's shown me what a great guy he was, he releases Lady's ears and gives me a heroic grin like he's just slain a dragon. The dog lies terrified on the ground.

Funny, one minute you are chatting with a guy about the weather and the next minute, you feel like grabbing him by the ears and beating him senseless. Gotta love the beach.

Learning How to Knit

2009-09-25T08:03:00.000-07:00

I'm only a month away from 30 and trying to embrace my inner old lady so what better to do than buy a pair of knitting needles and some yarn. My husband Spike was not amused. "This isn't you, Hollywood. You're edgy. You're avant garde. You are not a knitter." Be that as it may, with the help of online knitting guru Judy, I've taken up needles to fight for my right to be chubby, frumpy, and middle aged.

It wasn't easy. I've tried knitting before and each time was overcome by the sheer blandness of it and gave up after a few stitches. But after two children, a couple thousand dirty diapers, and a vengeful scale in my bathroom, I've found my mind sufficiently addled to take on knitting once more. This time, it stuck.

I can purl, rib, decrease, cast off, fair isle and stockinette with the best of them. When the kids start fussing, my needles slash and click like Edward Scissorhands. I can finally understand the allure of gun ownership. When I'm holding two pointed metal needles, I feel impervious. The metallic hiss they make as they slide across each other reminds me of Mel Gibson in Bravehart dragging his longsword across the nobleman's armor. With my needles at my side, nobody will mess with me. And really, how would you rather die - gun shot or knitting needles? I'm a force to be reckoned with.

So far I have used my knitting powers for good. And really, death by knitting needles seems to be a rare occurrence. I could only find one instance online of a knitting needle accident - a Palo Alto librarian was stabbed through the heart with a needle - but the tough old biddy survived. So the chances of me going all Tomb Raider on anybody's hinnie are slim. Plus, anyone who knits knows if you had the choice of protecting yourself from a heinous villain using your knitting needles or preserving the hours of stitching you'd already accomplished, you'd choose to save your knitting rather than your life.

So I bide my time, knitting dolls and cuffs, just waiting for some foolhardy lug to look at me the wrong way. And when he does, there will be no more question as to the "avant gardness" of my skills.

____________________________________________________________________

For those of you wondering what in the world has happened in my life over the past year since I've posted, here are a few tidbits:

We aren't the Hollywood Flakes anymore. We're the Henderson, NV Flakes. But don't even think about calling me "Henderson."

I'm now fat and Spike is lean. An amusing development.

After bleaching my hair unsuccessfully multiple times over my life and promising myself I would never do it again, I did it again. It looks terrible.

I'm sick of sewing.

Pixie, my four year old, learned to knit (see her instructional video here).

After mistakenly ordering a 30 lb bag of instant oats, I've become a master chef of all things oat related. Yum Yums, anyone?

I decided to blog again.

Eco-Unfriendly

2008-12-09T21:05:00.000-08:00

I'm generally a big fan of The Disney Channel on cable. Turn it on, plunk the kids down, and get a half hour of work done. The morning shows don't even have commercials on during them. But they really kill you with the few minutes of airtime after the show is over. As soon as "Tigger and Pooh" ends, a bevy of short, public service type ads roll out in front of your child's vacant eyes. Remember to exercise. Being nice is cool. Apples are the new ice cream. You get my drift. Apparently they are running a new blurb about being eco-friendly. I only know because I'm one of the victims of the ad.

Out of nowhere, my four year old Pixie has started following me around the apartment turning off light switches. "We need to save electricity, mom," she says. "No we don't," I respond.

Imagine I'm going to the kitchen to make her a sandwich. She follows me, turning off the lights behind me, and when I get to the kitchen she flicks on the switch so I can see the peanut butter deep in the cabinet. I reach for the peanut butter. Off goes the light.

"Are you done now," she asks?
"I haven't even gotten the bread yet."
"You need to hurry and finish. We need to save electricity."
"Honey, it's fine if I have the lights on in the kitchen. Please turn them back on."
"But we have to turn out the light to save the electricity!"
"No. We don't."
"But mo-om!"

And around and around we go. Living with her is like living in that dream where you can only see 10 feet in any direction and the rest is obscured in darkness. She truly believes that electricity is on the same level as the endangered panda or perms. How could I treat it so wastefully? Heaven help me if she ever learns about recycling.

She's in bed asleep now so I have the entire front of the house lit up like a Viking pyre. I can't help but revel in the hum of precious electricity as it comes to it's pointless doom in my light bulbs. Just goes to show, parents should spend more time passing down their vices and less time with the television on. I should have known better.

Westurn!

2008-12-06T20:17:00.000-08:00

My sister-in-law Mindy moved from Baltimore to po'dunk Wyoming this week. After years of living on the east coast, it's no small adjustment. Today Mindy sent the following email describing one of her first experiences in town:

"So this drunk cowboy guy came up to me in Wal Mart. He was missing a front tooth, wearing full cowboy garb, a crumpled up leathery face the works. And wanted to tell me what a great deal he got on DVDs. He started pulling them out of his bag. He pulled out Dances with Wolves and said "WESTURN!" then he pulled out 3:10 to Yuma and said "WESTURN!" and then he pulled out one more movie and said "WESTURN!" and I looked down and it was Brokeback Mountain. I started to tell him that he probably wouldn't like that one, but then I decided to let him discover that for himself."

Thanks, Mindy. I needed something to post about today.

How to Clean a Carpet

2008-12-05T19:14:00.000-08:00

Yet more of my fabulous follies as an apartment manger. This job tempts me to hate mankind.

We have a family who moved in three years ago. They seemed nice, normal and promised to provide little or no hassle to me. But last year the wife knocked on my door.

"Hollywood, is there anything you could do for us? Our carpet is so dirty. Could we have a new one?"

I went down to their apartment and saw that the beige carpet we had installed only two years before was literally black throughout the entire apartment. I made a phone call. My management company was feeling generous so they put in a new carpet at no cost to the tenant. Yeah, they're just nice like that sometimes.

Last month there was another knock on my door. It was the wife.

"Do you think you could put a new carpet down in our apartment? It's black again. I was thinking you guys could put in a really dark carpet so you couldn't see the dirt."

"I don't think we are going to be able to do that. Have you tried cleaning it?"

"Yes. I clean it, but it always gets dirty again. Your carpet is so nice and clean..."

"I vacuum almost every day and shampoo it every few months."

"..."

"Would you like the phone number of a carpet cleaner?" I offered.

"I guess. Would the apartment company pay for cleaning?"

"No."

One week later she gave notice that they were moving out. On to newer, whiter carpet I suppose. I'm not the cleanest gal on the block, but I don't think these people even owned a vacuum. Even pigs don't live in their own filth. I wonder if she really weighed the options and decided that packing up and moving was more palatable than actually keeping her carpet clean. Gross. Really gross.

Rant over. For now.

The Christmas Diet

2008-12-04T22:15:00.001-08:00

With Thanksgiving stuffed tidily down my gullet and the globs of candied yams scrapped off the kitchen floor, my husband Spike and I grimly face the December Diet. The one where you smile and say 'thank you' when neighbors drop of cookies but self-righteously dump them in the trash the minute you wave them off the doorstep. The diet where you repeat in your mind day and night that Santa is a fat fraud who would rather you end up with type II Diabetes and die in your sleep next month so he doesn't have to whip up yet another Christmas present for you. The diet where the Christmas tree lights shine a little dimmer because your eyes are misted over with the dull ache of hunger.

Its in times like these when I turn to the cooking channel. I am a vicarious eater when I have to be. Tonight, I was pacing the living room, agonizing over our bare cupboards (my enterprising husband dropped all our ice cream, sweets and sugar goodies off at a neighbors home the night we started our Christmas fast). What did I want? What did I really want? Food. Plain and simple. And the food network delivers. If I turn up the volume just enough and get cozy up to our 47" t.v., it's almost like they are serving me. I silently salivate through the preparation of a delicate tiramasu, watching to make sure they dust just enough coco powder on top to fit my liking. Then the dish is presented and I drop my mouth open just in the slightest to receive a sliver of the t.v. delight. I can taste it. And it's everything I hoped it would be. Spike moans in agony and begs me to change the channel. He hasn't learned to feed off of a satelite signal. I ignore him and prepare for another bite of the seductive dessert. Spike leaves the room. Good. Now there's more for me.

Sneaking in a post...

2008-12-03T20:11:00.000-08:00

So I haven't posted in months and have received many emails wondering if I'm dead. I didn't respond and was tempted to let it play out disappear to Costa Rica never to be heard from again but alas, here I am, alive and well in Los Angeles.

Here's the summary of what you've missed. In June I was feeling spunky and changed my life-long left hair part to the other side. Things got a little funky after that and I even switched from my Republican allegiance to Democrat. But I was unable to control the whirlwind of change and the day before the November 4th election, my part and my party allegiance reverted to old ways.

In August I read all the Twilight books, while silently hating myself. Apparently I'm a Jacob girl.

In August, I read all the somber, intelligent books I could handle (Kite Runner, anyone) to atone for my flippant reading of August. It was overcompensation and many nights I went to be sobbing at the terrifyingly awful things I was reading about. But it did get the taste of teenage romance novels out of my mouth.

In October, I called in sick and played computer games for about 2 weeks straight. I developed a nasty case of carpal tunnel. I kicked the quickly developing habit but my wrist still aches day and night. Halloween (my favorite day of the year) was a blast with Pixie being a princess (yawn) and Cher being a pint-sized flapper.

In November I started sewing again after a three month long break. I'm happier that way. And my ad people were starting to email me reminding me that they would pull my ads if I didn't post so here, for sheerly mercenary reasons, I give you a post. I have my pride and seeing a blog writhe in malnutrition does make me feel a bit guilty.

So yes, after a long mental health break, I'm back. All three of you who are still reading my blog can get together and share a bowl of ice cream in celebration. I'm going to comit to blogging at least five days a week for the next month to help myself get back into the habit so feel free to start checking daily again. I'll be here.

Million Page Mission: Now Accepting Applications

2008-09-17T10:46:00.000-07:00

My one year old Cher has recently become obsessed with books. She has her favorites that she plops in my lap anytime I'm sitting down and takes the whole process quite seriously. Most of her books are only about 10 pages long and she makes me read them over and over. But she's quite emotional about the whole ordeal. Every time I turn a page she gets upset, seeming to know that a page turn signifies the approaching last page. As I get closer to the end, she gets more hysterical and by the time I reach the last page, she's a wailing, sobbing fit and demands I go back to the beginning. So we read a lot of books, and not many last pages.

It seemed fitting that Cher accompany me to an event last week sponsored by Lunchables and First Book. Lunchables has organized a Million Page Mission. Basically, for everyone who comits to read at least 100 pages to their child during the back-to-school season, Lunchables will donate $1 to First Book, an inspired non-profit organization that gives books to children who have none. Television actress Lori Loughlin was at the event doing a book reading to a group of school children and I got to talk with her about the Million Page Mission before the event. She's the one who played Jesse's girlfriend in Full House and is currently in the new 90210 series. Lori has children at home as well and I really enjoyed talking to her about our families and the event. I've also dedicated to work on my tan after seeing her perfectly bronzed skin. She's very sweet and the kind of person who you'd love to spend a day at the beach with.

But back to the event - I easily read 100 pages a day to Cher, but her books only have about 5 words per page so it's not too hard. I think it's a great mission, however, and was really surprised by some of the facts I learned. For example, recent studies find that only one in 300 children living in low-income areas has access to an age appropriate book. First Book is the organization dedicated to providing free books to these children. The representative from First Book who I spoke to told me about the impact that owning a book can have on these children. She said that after giving a child just three books, it is easy to measure the change in their performance at school.

I always was surrounded by books as a child and spent most of my young adulthood hidden inside a book. It's easy to take that for granted. At the event, I heard about children in Head Start pre-school programs and how in some neighborhoods, when the teachers as the child to bring in a book from home, the most common book the children bring back is a phone book - the only book in the home.

It literally takes 3 seconds to pledge to the Million Dollar Mission. For your pledge to read to your children, Lunchables will donate to help First Book get books to children. This is only going on through October 31st, so please take a moment and make your pledge. Then make sure to actually read to your kids! Those are always my favorite moments in the day.

Man, I so pale.

This is a post about

2008-09-04T10:41:00.001-07:00

nothing, really. I just can't stand to see that picture pop up as the first item on the blog for even one more minute. So I am posting about pretty much nothing.

Don't believe me? Well, just keep reading. There, now aren't you glad you read a post about nothing? Here's a nice picture to get the taste of the other one out of your mouth:

Transvestite Blondes Have More Fun

2008-08-28T15:52:00.000-07:00

My dear old dad works out of New York City and was thoughtful enough to snap this photo on the subway a few days ago of a fellow passenger. The thing that cracks me up the most is that with all the questionable fashion choices that this outfit entails, he (she) had to throw in socks-with-sandals. The uber-mini skirt I can understand, but seriously, what was he thinking with the socks? My father commented to me on the phone today about how grateful he was for the dim lights on the subway car so the contents of the mini skirt could remain a discreet mystery.

Three cheers for New York City!

War May Be Hell, but Hollywood Is Even Worse

2008-08-14T09:29:00.001-07:00

Posted by Spike (without Hollywood's permission)

Here is a story from the New York Times that doesn't actually have anything to do with the Hollywood, but I thought the headline was funny. (The story is about Tropic Thunder.)

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/13/movies/13trop.html?bl&ex=1218772800&en=bf042c4d96f94d9e&ei=5087%0A

Also, it is almost time to do another "Best of Youtube" post, so post comments with links to the funniest videos. The winner (picked by me) gets glory.

Flaky Friends Coupon Code and Giveaway

2008-08-06T08:04:00.000-07:00

Get ready for definitely my most effusive review yet. Head on over to MamasLike for the latest giveaway as well as a really good COUPON CODE to use if you want at 20% discount to my Flaky Friends shop. I have to admit, the coupon code is a little too generous and I'm going to be doing a lot of slave labor sewing this week, but it's a good chance to nab that Flaky Friend that you've been pining over.

Check it out!

Adventures in Prototyping

2008-08-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

I've been working with a factory in China for the past few weeks trying to get some of my animals ready for mass production. In first stage, the factory looks at my sample piece, then tries to reproduce it as a prototype. After I okay the prototype, mass production of the animals can begin.

You'd think this would be a relatively simple task. After all, I've already made the animals and the factory simply needs to look at my pictures and do the exact same thing. Let's take Lester the Giraffe for example. He's a fine young mammal, endowed with many handsome characteristics. I sent this photograph to the factory to help them manufacture a prototype:

A few days later, I got back this picture of their first attempt:

Not bad, but I had a few concerns, one of which was the size of the eyes was too large. I asked them to make the eyes about half the size that they were in their prototpye. So they got to work and today I received their second attempt:

Okay. So obviously we're dealing with some communication issues here.

Two more Flaky Friends Giveaways

2008-08-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

The first is hosted by the lovely Mel of Pink Crab Creations for a $25 credit to the Flaky Friends store. Go here to enter.

And then my darling Lindsay is hosting another $25 shop credit giveaway here. I swear, I've given away more of these guys then I sell. But really it's more fun that way. Good luck everyone!

Seriously, everyone should have won one of these by now.

Why I WON'T Blog about the Earthquake

2008-07-31T10:28:00.000-07:00

Quite simply, this is a humor blog. There was nothing in the least bit funny about the earthquake. In fact, I've never been so terrified in my life. Can anyone explain the humor in thinking that you and your sleeping one year old baby are about to be crushed under thousands of pounds of rubble? Is there really any humor in suddenly having your house start grumbling, shaking and swaying under your feet while your possessions are shaken off the shelves? And I'm dying to know where the humor is in try to decide while your house is being shaken like a Mexican maraca whether to immediately dive for cover and save yourself, or whether to risk running back to your child's room, grabbing them, THEN dive for cover? What would you do? I couldn't decide so I just stood in the hallway doing nothing until the house stopped shaking.

But even after the 12 second shake-up, my house was still moving. In L.A., buildings are built to sway when an earthquake hits (rather than crack) so for a good 20 seconds afterward, my chandeliers, mirrors and confidence were still rather wobbly. A picture that had fallen from the wall in my baby's room had woken her and she started screaming. Lester the Giraffe wasn't built for this kind of excitement and he tumbled from his perch on the shelf. My sugar bowl in the kitchen fell onto the floor, seeking cover.

But wait - I think I'm still missing some of the humor. You see, an earthquake can often trigger aftershocks, which can be even bigger than the main event. For 24 hours after the main earthquake, you are at risk of aftershocks getting you. Rather than sitting around gripping my children with white knuckles for the rest of the day, I picked up Pixie from pre-school, cranked up the volume on the white noise machine, and made us all nap all afternoon. I didn't want to be awake when the roof fell in on me.

So no. I don't get the humor in earthquakes. Ironicly, I've spent the last four years that I've lived in L.A. secretly hoping to feel a big one because I thought it would be cool. I was wrong. Not cool.

So tell me, peanut gallery, where is the humor?

Lady of Perpetual Chaos Giveaway!

2008-07-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

Because I can't seem to make room for them, Lady of Perpetual Chaos is doing me the honor of hosting a $25 Flaky Friends credit giveaway on her blog. Stop on by! Any other takers to host a giveaway? There is a host/hostess gift in it if you do!

Are You Gay?

2008-07-30T10:12:00.001-07:00

My brother-in-law works for the airlines and forwarded me this great little story that appeared in The New York Times. It's too good to be true, ~~and yet, it is~~(and it's not. Oh well.):

Don't Fly Me

It has been reported that an employee for Ansett Australia (Airlines), who happened to have the last name of Gay, got on a plane recently using the company's "Free Flight" offer for staff. However, when Mr. Gay decided to take his seat, he found it being occupied by a fare paying passenger.

So, not to make a fuss, he simply chose another seat. Unknown to Mr.Gay, another Ansett flight at the airport experienced mechanical problems. The passengers of this flight were being re-routed to various other airplanes. A few were put on Mr. Gay's flight and anyone who was holding a "free" ticket was being "bumped"/ Ansett officials, armed with a list of these "freebee" ticket holders, boarded the plane, as is the practice, to remove them in favour of fare paying passengers. Of course Mr. Gay was not sitting in his assigned seat as you may remember. So when the Ticket Agent approached the seat where Mr. Gay was supposed to be sitting, she asked a startled customer "Are you gay?" the man, shyly nodded that he was, at which point she demanded: "Then you have to get off the plane." Mr. Gay, overhearing what the Agent had said, tried to clear up the situation: "You've got the wrong man, I'm Gay!". This caused an angry third passenger to yell: "Hell! I'm gay too! They can't kick us all off!" Confusion reined as more and more passengers began yelling that Ansett had no right to remove gays from their flights.

They'll come for us Mormons next. Just you watch and see.

Another Giveaway Opportunity

2008-07-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Here's another Flaky Friends giveaway opportunity hosted by the lovely Shiloh. Get a chance at $25 store credit in my shop. There are so many of these going on, you're BOUND to win at least one!

Mother of the Year: 2008

2008-07-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

I was filming my three year old this morning while she quoted some poems during breakfast and captured this moment on tape. Thought you all might appreciate it!

Of course, the main event was supposed to be the following video of Pixie reciting her favorite poems from the book, Polkabats and Octopus Slacks by the irresistibly funny poet/artist, Calef Brown. Colleen sent us this book after I saw a copy of hers when she was visiting and had a fit of jealousy for it. Thanks so much, Colleen! Penny can recite by heart 13 of the 14 poems in the book. We had no idea she loved it so much until one night for family night she just started saying the poem, Funky Snowman. Half an hour later she had said all the rest of them. What a gal! Sorry, she will probably be hard to understand, but I think there is a copyright issue if I put the actual poems here on the blog.

Jerry's Final Thoughts

2008-07-24T23:35:00.000-07:00

I was preparing for bed and made my last round of the apartment to make sure everything was in order. This generally includes starting the dishwasher, locking the doors, setting the thermostat, getting the lights and peeking in on my sleeping kids.

I tip toed into the girls' room and peered into the mess of blankets and limbs, trying to identify where their heads had come to their final rest. I had to pat around in my three year old's bed for about 10 seconds before I could make sense of the bodily contortion she had assumed. A soft pat on her cheek assured me that no monsters had crept in and bit her head off since I'd last seen her. My one year old Cher had assumed the bum-in-the-air pose, the rest of her body curled up underneath in a tight ball. I gently placed a blanket over her high-held rear but Cher's subconscious mind must have objected to the circus tent look and she rolled over with a grunt.

Not wanting to upset the magical phenomena of children sleeping, I slowly backed out from the room, tripping over the lingering detritus of princess play. And tonight, like every other night, I had the overwhelming, surprising emotion of joy in motherhood. The wonderful triteness of it. Of how the small things really do bring the most joy. Especially if those small things are two, amazing little girls who think you're the best thing planet since sippy cups. So forgive the gooeyness of the sentiment, but I'm one blessed lady.

My nightly rounds are a happy routine. And while my patting the children's faces in the dark to make sure they haven't been defiled by monsters may seem excessive to some, it's sure a nice little feeling to know that they haven't. So for my final thought: Kids + Heads = Joy.

My husband is going to make fun of me for this post, so spare me any heckling in the comment section. I've already got my hands full of it on this side of the computer.

My Secret Plans for Global Domination REVEALED!

2008-07-23T21:31:00.000-07:00

I just can't say no when people ask me to participate in their giveaways! Smoochiefrog is celebrating her bloggiversary this week and hit me up for a giveaway. She is giving a commenter $30 Flaky Friends store credit plus 20% off your store purchase for anyone who uses the code "Smoochiefrog" when they check out during her giveaway (ending midnight, July 26 EST). Plus I'm offering free shipping on everything through the end of July. Now if THAT doesn't get you buying a Flaky Friend, I don't know what will. Here's her giveaway link.

By the way, for anyone wondering why people are asking you to leave a comment with your favorite item, it's because ...

(this is big news folks)

are you ready --- I'm going global!! That's right - I currently have a two overseas factories working on prototypes of three Flaky Friends that I'm hoping to get manufactured (in both China and Indonesia). It costs a TON of money to do this and it's a big step for someone who has only been sewing for seven months, but I would just hate myself if I didn't try. I'm not completely sure which one of my characters has the broadest appeal so I'm trying to get some informal "focus groups" through the blog network where people respond to my shop and say which one strikes their fancy. Although it's hard for me to let go of the artist aspect of each Flaky Friend being personally handmade by myself, I've already made about 300 items and the idea of a toy virtually the same for a price that people can actually afford makes me happy. I know that most people out there will never by custom plush, no matter how much they like it because it's just too darn expensive to pay us hoity-toity U.S. artists!

Right now I have Gerty the Hippo, Lester the Giraffe and Greg the Shaggy Sheep in the early phases of production and hopefully will be receiving a shipping container in a few months with 1,500 of my toys. I'm terrified, excited, and really terrified. A month ago my husband and I had decided it was time to get me a new car - I'm swapping that new car money in for a shot at this business and am going to stick with my junky old car for a few more years. We are both prepared for the whole plan to implode, but are hoping like mad it will be a smashing success.

I'm hoping to follow the Beanie Baby/Ugly Doll models. Unfortunately, the only part of that "model" that I understand is to be a household name. This whole process is extremely difficult because there really is no real business model out there I can follow other than just begging stores to carry my products once they arrive and hoping they take pity on me. Any bored MBA/Advertising/Marketing gurus out there who need someone to talk with on a Saturday night should call me for a good time.

By the way, sweatshop shopping is really fun. But that's my next post. No really, it is. I've got pictures and everything!

So here I go. I'm just going on the assumption that if I take the leap, the net will appear. And if you are ever in need of a giveaway on your blog, let me know. I love the free advertising and the feedback from comments is invaluable because I'm too cheap to conduct real market research or focus groups.

So there you have it. I've unveiled the scheme. Now I'm going to feel really silly in 20 years when I still have 400 boxes of stuffed animals sitting in my garage. Wish me luck - no really, I need it!

Flaky Friends Giveaway!

2008-07-23T14:53:00.001-07:00

My bloggy friend "bythelb" is doing a Flaky Friends giveaway on her blog right now. The period to enter lasts until Monday, July 28th. Go on over and leave a comment for a chance to win $25 in my shop!

She is also giving people an extra entry in the giveaway if they link to her giveaway on your own blog (very clever, bythelb! Where did you come up that that smart marketing technique?). So head on over, and take your shot at getting the certificate!

The Heist

2008-07-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

I drove to my bank ATM the other day to make a deposit. As I was walking up to the machine, the bank doors opened and two large men came out of the door, followed by another man pushing a dolly. The cart was stacked 4 feet high with bags of coins and cloth bags of cash. They were headed towards an armored car parked just in front of mine.

I knew I shouldn't stare, but all that cash on the move made me salivate. I tried to play it cool and watch the transport out of the corner of my eye, but the two large men frowned in my direction and I quickly looked back towards the ATM machine. I pretended to mess around in my purse, but instead watched with great interest as the men loaded the cash into the truck, bag by bag.

In my normal life, I would never consider robbing a bank, but for these few, exciting seconds, I hatched a plan to escape with the cash. One bag of bills would get me to Costa Rica, and another would mean a life-time supply of virgin pina coladas. I'd have to create a distraction for the men. Maybe I would fake a heart attack at the ATM (although once you saw my pathetic checking account a heart attack wouldn't be so far fetched). The men would come rushing to my aid. Then, with a ninja move that I hopefully would come up with on the spot, I would incapacitate all three men in one deft maneuver, sprint to the truck, tuck two cash bags under
my shirt and run to the Jenny Craig store across the parking lot.

When the cops came around looking, they'd be too humiliated to ask the lady with the big chest at Jenny Craig if she was really hiding something under her shirt besides too much dessert. My plan was foolproof.

I turned from the ATM to look around for security cameras. The rumble of the armored truck distracted me and I saw, crestfallen, a lifetime of virgin pina coladas driving away from me. With a sigh, I completed my transaction and stuffed a measly $20 in my wallet.

I'll be ready next time. Oh, I'll be ready.

Jack Sprat and the Squishy Bottoms

2008-07-10T17:56:00.001-07:00

I've started walking three miles a day with the girls in the jogging stroller. Surprisingly, they both love it and I can get quite a good workout if I put my mind to it. We drive to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena and walk the three mile loop around the stadium and attached golf course. There are a few snags, however. My three year old's commentary on the hundreds of other exercisers there.

Pixie has virtually no fat on her three year old body. A few weeks ago she was endlessly amused to find that her bottom jiggled when she walked. Ever since her discovery, she loves to analyze other people's bottoms to see if they are "squishy" as well. When you are in a three mile loop full of other locals wearing spandex pants and too-tight exercise shorts, there are oh, so many bottoms to judge.

I try and keep body talk healthy and open in my family. So when Pixie and I are behind a pack of swaying tushes and she says, "ooooh, there's a squishy bottom" I just agree. I've never really fixated on other's behinds before but now, every morning for 45 minutes, all I hear is bottom talk. There are the large men whose bottoms are not squishy. Pixie wonders what their secret is. And of course the precious women whose squishy bottoms are their defining characteristic. Pixie has aptly described my bottom as squishy as well and despite my reassurances to her that it is only a passing phase, she's convinced that no amount of walking will change my soft anatomy.

While I play along with her squishy bottom talk, I (believe it or not) have my limits. This morning we overtook a larger woman walking and Pixie shouted out in disbelief, "Mom, her boobs are HUGE!!" I quickly shushed her and tried to explain why that was rude to say. I then endured a 10 minute conversation with her about why different people have different sized chests, explain the current girth of my own chest, and tell her all about what would happen to her poor physique in 10 years time.

I think for our walk tomorrow I'll bring headphones so me and my squishy bottom can exercise in peace.

Flaky Friends Newsletter: Who's in?

2008-07-10T11:20:00.001-07:00

Hi guys. In the spirit of perpetual marketing of my stuffed animals, I'm exploring all options of communication. I was thinking I'd have a monthly e-newsletter with updates on new animals I've made and special offers such as discounts and free shipping. Additionally, everyone who receives my newsletter would be automatically entered in a monthly drawing for a free stuffed animal. If that sounds good to any of you, send your email address to "flakyfriends@gmail.com" and request to join the mailing list.

To start off, here's a little guy I came up with last week named Greg. I designed him as a custom order to be based on the artist Greg Olson's depiction of sheep. Personally, I think Greg Olson's sheep look like they've been rolling in mud for weeks and are half starved, but I tried to use lemons to make lemonade and I'm quite happy with how my little guy turned out (I know, I know, he looks NOTHING like the ones in the painting, but I took a lot of artistic license!). I'm also offering free shipping until the end of July on all purchases.

So shoot me and email and I promise good things at least once a month as well as a great giveaway in the monthly drawing. Got to get back to sewing - my stock is running thin!

THEY FOUND HIM!!!

2008-07-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

MORE DETAILS LATER, BUT RYAN IS HEALTHY AND WELL AFTER A NIGHT OUT. THEY FOUND HIM IN A CORNFIELD ABOUT A MILE AWAY AFTER 12 HOURS OF SEARCHING.

THANK YOU, GOD!!!

update: here is a video from Fox about the night and when they found him:
http://www.myfoxchicago.com/myfox/

MISSING BOY: Ryan Flake

2008-07-08T04:20:00.001-07:00

My nephew Ryan Flake, 3 and a half years old went missing from his Oswego, IL home last night around 8:30 pm. He was in the house with his family and they think he wandered out the back door into the yard. A few minutes (not more than five) later they called for him. They couldn't find him, went to neighbor's homes to search, and finally called 911.

The community came out and held hands to walk through the woods and surrounding property. Police are on the site with dogs and equipment. Every second is crucial in the search.

If you live in the Chicago area, please look at these photos and forward them to your neighbors so we can find my nephew as soon as possible. It's been raining all night and the area surrounding his home has a lake, woods, and roads. We've contacted all local stations but would appreciate even wider notice of his disappearance.

Here's a link to more photos of Ryan.

Please pray with us that he's okay and will be found soon.

Beach VaKay

2008-06-26T19:16:00.001-07:00

Yes, I'm on beach vacation right now. Don't everybody rush to rob my apartment, there is only so much fabric in there to take. Then again, it might be nice to come home and have nothing to sew. This is also a vacation for my hands. After six months of intense sewing, my entire right hand has grown hard as a rock and almost hurts to close in a fist. But it's almost a badge of pride for me.

I finally had the guts to ask around and get my toys in a local toy store. It's a pretty big rush. I'm hoping that by the time I get back in town I'll have some big re-orders to fill.

So yes, since it's a beach vacation I'm on, absolutely nothing is going on so I'll leave you with a link to another party to visit tomorrow - my dear bloggy friend Summer is having her one year bloggaversary and is doing a giveaway every hour with tons of great prizes (including one of my stuffed turtles that looks like this). Enjoy the party! I'll be sipping diet ginger ales on the beach. My version of heaven.

Interprative Singing Time at the Mormon Church

2008-06-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

I've been given a new assignment at our church: Children's Song Leader. I knew this was coming. My whole life I've never had any calling in the Mormon church that wasn't completely administrative. But we've been going to our church here in Los Angeles for over four years now so the secret was hard to keep - I'm a manic freak who is superbly suited for mass entertainment.

A few weeks ago my friend tapped me on the shoulder at the start of church, "could you come help out in Primary [the 4-12 year old classes] today?" Of course I said yes but when I showed up she asked me to entertain the entire group of 50 kids with songs for half an hour.

There was only one thing to do. For our first song, I picked a basic everyone knew and had a squadron of eight year old girls come up to interpretive dance along to the music. I tried not to look towards the back of the room where the regular adult leaders sat since I'm sure they were expecting something a little more reverent. For the next song, I had them alternately yelling and whispering the words. The rest of Singing Time was just as raucous. It was a blast but I'm pretty sure not one of them "felt the Spirit." But two weeks later, they still have me doing it so hopefully my methods are acceptable.

I'm trying to come up with more gimics for song time. Perhaps a good motivator to get the kids singing louder would be, "children, the louder you sing, the higher I'll lift my dress..." Wow. Just kidding. Other options would be to have a suitcase full of kittens and threaten to kill one kitten for every kid I see not singing. A few of the older boys may take up the challenge, but I bet I'd get some good volume with that one. Of if I see kids not singing, I could duct tape their mouths and hands for the remainder of Primary class? I'm full of great ideas.

Anyone know where I can find kittens in bulk? I'll have to stick with interpretive dancing until I can scrape some up. Or just go the traditional route and bring in a paddle covered with damning scripture verses and whoop booties to encourage participation.

It's a wonder my church has always given me desk jobs. I was born for this crud.

Crammed Organisms in St. Louis

2008-06-11T23:31:00.000-07:00

Here's something for your calender - for anyone St. Louis area looking for some offbeat fun this weekend, go check out the Crammed Organisms show at Cranky Yellow, 2122 Cherokee Street.

It's part of the biggest ever plush exhibition going on every weekend in June and I'm one of the many artists exhibiting. The show this weekend at Cranky Yellow is the second of four plush shows going on this month in St. Louis exhibiting my and other plush artists' stuff. They are showing my hook rabbit, frog Prince, Sasquatch and single parent alien. Unfortunately, I live way out here in L.A. and can't go but if anyone else wants to check it out, it's a total party. Here are the details:

June 13th, 2008 @ Cranky Yellow - Opening 7-11 p.m.
(2122 Cherokee Street! St. Louis, MO 63118) 100+ works of plushie art!
Cranky Yellow's gallery will be filled to the brim with a collection of unique plush art. Browse the exhibition and see pieces from some of the best designers working today!

STL Craft Mafia Outdoor Market!
The STL Craft Mafia is offering up their goods in Saint Louis' ONLY outdoor night-time craft market! Shop and buy local DIY/handmade goods in this awesome outdoor venue (on the side of the Cranky Yellow Building)! Meet and Greet the designers!

The Crammed Organisms Photo Booth!
Bring your camera and take photos in this exclusive photo station! Seriously! What a fun way to remember the night!

Win a Life Sized Big Foot Plushie!
Be sure to be here for a chance to win a life size Big Foot plushie created by Superchick Studio! He is fresh out of the forest and ready for a new home!

Lots of Raffles!
Buy some raffle tickets to win amazing plush and art related prizes! Feel good knowing 100% of the funds raised will go to charity!

Of course, if twisted plush isn't your thing, also going on that night in St. Loius is the Route 66 Festival. I don't know what it is other than the music is "eclectic" and you are supposed to bring your own chair. So what's it going to be? Celebrating concrete or celebrating evil genius seamstresses? The choice should be clear.

Stranger Danger

2008-06-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

According to the government websites, there is a registered sex offender living just one block from my house. There are three more who live surrounding the park I frequent. And less than a quarter of a mile away in the neighboring town, they are on almost every block. So it was finally time to burst my three year old's bubble and teach her about Stranger Danger. "What's a Stranger?" was her first question.

"Somebody that we don't know."
"Oh. Well I can just introduce myself." We obviously had a lot to talk about.

She was well primed for the discussion. A thief broke into our apartment garage a few weeks ago and she had to follow me around while I did my apartment management duties to get everything straighted out with the police and my tenants. Ever since when she gets into our car she worries that a Stranger may be inside and is vigilant that we have all the car doors locked at all times to prevent Strangers from getting us.

So I felt more than a little sad to have to inform her that Strangers were all around us, not just in our garage. I prepped her on the basics:

What to do if she lost me in a public place
What to do if a Stranger approached her and asked her to follow him
What to do if anyone touched her private areas
What to do if a Stranger picks up her and tries to take her away

We went over and over different scenarios and she very seriously listened and learned. Which leaves us with a problem. Do you know how many Strangers there are in Los Angeles? We went to a church fair a few weeks ago and she spent the entire time pointing at people with wide eyes, "is that a Stranger, Mommy?" I found it difficult to explain how sometimes there are Strangers we can trust so I just nodded and said yes and she stuck like glue to my side for the whole fair.

So how do I teach Pixie to discriminate against all the Strangers in her life. As we drive down the streets she points to houses, "does a Stranger live there? Does a Stranger live there?"

Of course, I could teach her some basic Criminal Profiling, but I'm sure it would backfire. After all, if the criteria is half shaved, underdressed men, my husband would be persona non grata just about every night. But perhaps a few stereotypes couldn't hurt. After all, Pixie is the same little girl that used to go running for the sleeping homeless men at the park every time we visited because she wanted to "snuggle" with them. Okay, so people who sleep in public places might be a good place to start. And men who drive Miatas. That's just creepy.

I've been scammed...

2008-06-10T17:32:00.000-07:00

UPDATE:

Thanks to a trusty anonymous commenter to this post, I've proven to be a sucker. A woman I know forwarded me the email about the e.l.f. going out of business thing and I had bought $30 worth of stuff 10 seconds later.

Here's the snopes link debunking this:

http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/nothing/elfcosmetics.asp

I'm such a sucker. Here's hoping the makeup doesn't rot my face off...

Have any of the rest of you ever fallen for a forwarded email scam? What was it and how much cash were you out?

This was my original post...

I have to spread the word on this - Neiman Marcus just bought the makeup line called e.l.f. but they don't want to sell the old product that says e.l.f. on the package so they are selling all the old product for $1. EVERYTHING for $1. This is incredible, high quality makeup. I just got enough for a year for pennies.

Plus, if you enter coupon code "CAROLINA" at checkout, you will get $7.50 off your first $15 of your purchase or 50% off if your order is under $15.

Go to, ladies. All the makeup a gal ever needs is waiting for you!

Click here to shop!

Late Night Scares

2008-06-09T01:41:00.001-07:00

My husband doesn't like to watch horror/scary movies so I have to tivo them and watch them while he's gone or asleep. I had The Grudge tivoed today and couldn't wait for him to go sleep so I could indulge in a little scare fest. And now here I am, at 1:30 am and scared out of my brains. The movie turned out to be more scary than I had expected and after 2 hours of holding my breath and silently screaming (so as not to wake my oblivious family), I'm totally jacked up.

Thank goodness for the other blessing of tivo, my three year old's favorite Playhouse Disney shows. Nothing to get the heebie jeebies of a scary movie out of your system like watching some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I'm ten minutes into the show right now and am trying to lose myself in the goofy escapades of Mickey and his gang. I'm hoping that by the end of the half hour show all the pale Japanese demons from The Grudge will be laughing along with me. No signs of a smile from the creepy drowned woman yet.

Why did I do this to myself and more importantly, why am I going to do it again, and again, and again, etc.

Office Memos

2008-06-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

My poor husband Spike works and slaves for this family with little or no glory. I remember the days when I was stuck in front of a computer all day, dreaming of my half hour lunch break huddled in a back room with an energy bar and celeb gossip magazine. You couldn't pay me enough to do that again. But Spike has a good attitude about it.

Today was one of those rare times when working in an office actually is like an episode of the t.v. show, The Office. Spike's law firm is on an upper floor of an office building that has a bank at ground level. A few minutes ago my darling Spike was working away at his desk when a memo came across his screen from the office manager. It read:

If you're going to the bank this morning, please wait until we get an "all clear" from the building. The bank is being robbed.

Hopefully that will get him through the rest of the day until he gets to shut off the computer and come home. Hang in there, buddy!

___

For all you long distance family members who pine for my lovely girls, here's a video of Cher from Monday. She's spent about 10 hours a day doing this ever since she learned on Monday.

Emergency! What's the Plan?

2008-06-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

It's fire season in Southern California again. Plus, we are years overdue on the gigantic earthquake that is supposed to decimate Los Angeles. So when I got an email asking me to create an emergency plan for my family, I sat up and took note. A few years ago I asked my husband what the plan would be if we got hit with a major earthquake. "We'd go to my parents' house," he replied.
"Your parents live 700 miles away," I said.
"We'll walk."

And that's been the extent of our plan up until now. But the State of California has put together a really cool site where you can go to assess your risk and create a detailed emergency plan for your family. Don't think you need to do this? Well just ask yourself if you and your partner both know the answer to these questions:

Who is your local, non-family emergency contact?
Who is your out of state contact?
Where is your designated local meeting place in case you can't go back home?
Where is your designated regional meeting place in case your town is a disaster area?
Do you know your children's school or preschool phone numbers and address in case emergency strikes during a school day?
Does everyone in your family know the phone numbers of your pharmacy, health insurance, physician and/or homeowners insurance?

I hadn't though about a lot of these. And I live in an area where disaster isn't a question, it's inevitable. But even my brother in law who lives in the Chicago area was woken up in the middle of the night this April by a 5.2 magnitude earthquake. In Chicago. Who saw that coming?

The site also gives some really good tips such as:

Send a copy of your plan to your emergency contacts and parents so that in case of emergency, they know where to look for you as well.
Duplicate important documents such as birth certificates, insurance documents, deeds, and store with your emergency kit.
Find out what emergency plan is at your child's school so you know where to go to find them in case the school is affected.

So I really encourage everyone to fill out the disaster plan whether or not you live in California. The site also provides wallet sized cards with your most important emergency numbers. Your cell phone may be out of batteries just when you need your contact numbers so make sure to have something written down. Just a tip, print out the form before you complete it - I had the form reset on me twice when I attempted to fill it out online. Then MAKE SURE to give copies of it to your emergency contacts and family members. There is also a book you can customize and print out that helps teach your kids about dealing with emergencies, but honestly, who has the printer ink for that. But do have a frank discussion with them about what to do in an emergency.

Has anyone been in a large-scale disaster before? Were you prepared? What would have done differently? I've lived here for four years now and still haven't felt a big quake but every day I get more and more nervous about what I'm due. Sorry to be so preachy today, but get prepared, people!

What a bunch of whiners!

2008-06-02T12:47:00.000-07:00

Since you guys are never fully satisfied until I completely humiliate myself, here's a photo shoot from this morning of my luscious locks (see previous post). I'm booked for Milan on Friday.

Cue the music, "I'm Too Sexy" and enjoy my hotness.

Mullet Mommy

2008-06-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

Why don't I ever learn? I continue to commit the cardinal sins of hair cutting:

1. Cutting my hair myself
2. Late at night
3. When I'm in a bad mood
4. Attempting bangs

Ten days ago I decided to give myself a cute summer "do" so I took out the scissors. A few chunks here, some short, trendy bangs there, maybe another chunk here to balance out that chunk...shoot - are those bangs straight? A trim across the ears - no, not that much! The bangs are looking kind of short, maybe go shorter so it looks like it was on purpose?

Half hour later, the final result was a mullet fiasco. I shrieked, ran to my three year old's dress up box, and found a huge, checkered scarf to wrap around the damage. Ten days later, that scarf has only come off for showers. If anyone has any great recommendations for hair growing potions, please send them my way.

On the upside, I did find this great knit hat maker and custom ordered a cap I can wear all summer so my three year old can have her dress-ups back. I've never been a hat-person but then again, I've never been a mullet person either. My hat should be ready soon and I'll spend the rest of this Los Angeles summer sweating out my mistake in style.

Spike, please feel free to put all the scissors away on high shelves so I can't reach them next time I feel like giving myself a makeover.

Pretty or Smart?

2008-05-29T09:46:00.000-07:00

So here's the deal. I'm simply nutzo for sewing. Allow me to illustrate. This is a picture of my very first plush creation in January (it's a manatee, awful, but a manatee no less):

And this is the basset hound I made yesterday:

It turns out that practice really does make perfect. I'm unstoppable. But that by no means implies that my life as I otherwise know it simply stopped the second I plugged in my sewing machine.

For example, Pixie has been up to her usual foolishness. She's obsessed with her long hair and insists that it's her one, divine quality. I was attempting to straighten up her hair after a windblown day at the park and pushed her overgrown bangs behind her ear. "Mom, stop that! You're making me look like a short, little man!" I asked her what she meant. "Princesses always have their hair in their faces like this," she said as she raked her bangs back across her eyes and peered seductivly at me from behind the hairy veil. I swear I didn't teach her that.

Which reminds me, I should probably be teaching her more because the other evening my husband Spike asked her, "Pixie, would you rather be pretty or smart?"
"Ooooh, pretty! It's so embarrassing to be smart!"
Ever since then, my bedtime stories have detailed how the princesses use math and linguistic skills to defeat the evil dragons rather than a handy prince. Let's pray to the heavens it isn't too little too late.

My all time favorite answer to the "pretty or smart" question came from my nephew when he was five years old. "Sam, would you rather marry someone who was pretty or someone who was smart?" He replied without a second's hesitation.
"Pretty. Because if they are dumb you can just teach 'em stuff."

So life rolls on at the Flake house. I apologize, (as usual) for the pathetic posting. I'm going to punish myself by making a big batch of turtle stuffed animals this morning. Bwa ha ha ha ha!

Oh, and I'd rather marry someone pretty as well. Spike is a total hottie.

Dear Hollywood,

2008-05-29T09:40:00.001-07:00

It has come to my attention that you are no longer updating your blog on a consistent basis. I fear this may have something to do with your recent foray into the "ugly-stuffed-creature" business.

Whatever the case, I'd like to make a request: Will you please refer all your readers to ME? I've recently started increasing my blog output and am up to 6 times a week. Out of those 6 posts, at least 3 will be very funny, 2 will be mildly amusing, and 1 will probably make your eyes bleed. But regardless, they'll help people pass the day. (And isn't that what we all really want?)

So if you could just turn your readers over to me, I'd appreciate it. Because I really do want to get rich and famous (moslyt rich) but I have NO sewing skills.

Sincerely,
Emily of actegratuit.blogspot.com

Cough

2008-05-02T07:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-30T18:55:00.001-07:00

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"

2008-04-29T09:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-04-27T00:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-04-24T08:49:00.001-07:00

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!

2008-04-23T20:32:00.001-07:00

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!

2008-04-23T13:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-21T20:56:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-09T22:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-03T09:39:00.001-07:00

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

2008-03-26T21:42:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-03-23T20:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

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:

Eliot Spitzer's Wife

2008-03-13T21:18:00.000-07:00

This is Spike.

Why, oh why, did Eliot Spitzer's wife stand up there on the stand with him when he admitted to the world that he is an adulterer and a john?

I think the fact that he brought her up there to be humiliated with him shows what a selfish dog he is.

What do you think? What would you have done?

Eel Breath

2008-03-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

I don't care if the Japanese gal behind the sushi counter gives you a smug look when you order California rolls.

I don't care if you want to look cool by ordering something exotic, like say, the eel sushi.

I don't care if it's slathered with delicious avocado slices.

I don't care if you look away while picking it up so you don't have to be grossed out by the slimy, grey raw flesh you're about to eat.

I don't care if you brush your teeth immediately afterwards to get the acrid taste out of your mouth.

Eating eel sushi is never worth it. You think morning breath is bad? Try waking up with eel breath. The stuff is more potent than onions. Needless to say, next time I'll just suck it up and order my white-girl California rolls and smug Asian servers be damned.

California Knows How to Party

2008-03-10T18:22:00.000-07:00

This is Spike.

This weekend, I had the chance to visit my brother who is a law student at my alma mater, which shall not be named for the sake of preserving our anonymity. Let's just say it rhymes with Shmichigan shmlaw schmool.

I also got a nice remembrance of the old days when I attended a lecture by Ward Connerly, whose mission in life is to get states to ban affirmative. His speech was disrupted by the delightfully named Coalition to Defend Affirmative Action by Any Means Necessary. Apparently, the means necessary were to make complete jerks of themselves by noisily storming up on the stage as Mr. Connerly (who incidentally was invited) tried to address the audience (who incidentally came to hear Mr. Connerly).

But if there is any one thing this weekend really taught me, it's that I love LA. Michigan was windy and cold. And seriously, how many songs about Michigan are there? Michigan dreaming? Michigan, here we come? Michigan knows how to party? Hotel Michigan? I wish they all could be Michigan girls? I don't think so. California definitely has its flaws, and its fun to get a way from time to time, but in the four years we have lived here, I have never once thought "Oh no, I have to go back to California."

They Made Me Eat Foie Gras!

2008-03-07T21:43:00.000-08:00

Last fall, I was thrilled to be offered a chance to review restaurants once a week for a local online news publication. The editor said he wouldn't be able to pay me, but it would be a free dinner for me and my husband once a week at new and trendy restaurants in exchange for my write up. Our first dinner out was to a local French bistro where we were subjected to mushy figs, foie gras and pistachio pate. We were game, if not a little grossed out by the cold, organy taste of the goose liver. However, at the end of the meal I got stuck with a $110 bill. I called the editor on the spot but unable to get a hold of him, I simply paid the bill and planned to have the editor reimburse me. I called him the next morning. He was furious with the restaurant manager and promised to send me a check immediately. He asked me to email him my mailing address so I wouldn't have to eat the cost. I've copied our string of correspondence below:

Sept 21, 2007

I'm sorry to have to pass this on to you, James. Is there a way you can still get the restaurant to pay for it? The total for our two meals (my husband and I) was $110.42. Let me know if you'd like the receipt. My address is ******. Thanks again. Let's try again for this Thursday - we are happy to review anywhere you can think of. I'll keep my ears open for new restaurants in the area as well. Take care, Hollywood

September 24, 2007

Dear Sarah: Thank you, many apologies for this -- FIRST TIME this has ever happened, which I attribute to 750 ml management's arrogance and/or ignorance. I'll send payment by check and scout out a reasonable venue for you! Best regards, James

October 2, 2007

Hi James, I'm wondering if I should plan on doing a review this Thursday. Please let me know either way so I can let the babysitter know. Thanks, Hollywood

October 7, 2007

FYI, I'll be out of town from Monday to Friday this week but would love to do a review when I get back the week of October 15th. Also, could you let me know when I should expect to receive the reimbursement from 750 ML? I hope you were able to get a hold of the manager and get him to reimburse you! Take care, Hollywood

November 5, 2007

Dear James, I am still very much interested in doing food reviews for Pasadena Now. I haven't heard from you or received reimbursement for my 750 ML bill. Are you still interested in my services as a reviewer? If not, please just send the reimbursement for the dinner and consider me in the future. I would love to contribute to Pasadena Now in some way. Thank you, Hollywood

November 5, 2007

Holy cow! Did I mess up? Too crazy I am.... Hollywood(et al) please accept red-faced apologies... I will get that too you toute suite and mais oui! we would love to work with you on reviews... I will get back to you on that soon, I promise James

November 5, 2007

LOL! Apologies accepted. I'm glad I'm still on your radar for the food critic gig. Hollywood

Feb 26, 2008

Hi James. So my bill at 750 ml - what's the plan there? I had really thought from your previous emails that you were fully planning on reimbursing me for my mixed up meal. I'd love to resolve this. Thanks, Hollywood

[crickets chirping, James cleaning his ears with my hundred dollar bill, me vowing to get vengeance on my blog, etc.]

So for those of you who though the food critic gig was too good to be true, you were right. James, you messed with the wrong girl. If I were you, I'd be checking my loafers for foie gras before putting them on tomorrow. You thought goose liver was nasty to eat? Try sinking your toes into it.

My Progress Report

2008-03-06T17:37:00.000-08:00

I was in dire need of some feedback today as to my abilities as a mother. I put together a brief questionnaire for my three year old. Here's what we got:

Do you think I'm a good mom?
Uh huh.

Why?
Because you love me.

What would you say some of my strengths are? What am I good at?
You love to clean up.

And what would you say some of my weaknesses are?
You aren't strong enough to reach higher things.

What do you think I could do better at?
Working on a plane.

Like an airplane?
Yup.

What are some of your favorite memories of me as a mother?
You love to give me hugs.

Thanks for the good report, Pixie! I'm feeling a ton better about my abilities. But I'll take the flight attendant advice into consideration next time you wet your bed.

A Frosty Remedy

2008-03-04T21:21:00.000-08:00

Today was bad. Bad, bad, bad. My three year old peed on the carpet three times. I sewed for 8 hours trying to get through my pig, beaver and penguin orders, I couldn't smile at my husband for the life of me and my tenants wouldn't stop calling. At 7 pm I was falling asleep at the sewing machine and ready to hit the sack. As I got up and headed for my bedroom I remembered that I'm on a diet. Brilliant. That meant I could go off my diet. And we all know that's the best imaginable way to finish up a failed day.

Hoping the Carb Gods weren't watching, I snuck to the kitchen and dumped all our remaining ice cream into a big bowl, poured melted Dove chocolate over the top and then topped it all off with a six inch tall tower of whipped cream. As I carried the bowl carefully to the couch, trying not to tip my precarious Leaning Tower of ReadyWhip, I was already starting to feel better. I know people would categorize this as "emotional eating," but there is no denying that my ice cream tonight was able to salvage the 15 previous hours of torture. I'm surprised nobody has bottled the stuff or incorporated it in a multivitamin. Even half an hour after I finished my binge, my insides are still happily chilled from my frosty medicine. Has anyone ever felt this satisfied after eating celery? I doubt it. I almost feel good enough to finish up some sewing - almost.

Shopping list for the week:

One Gallon Vanilla Ice Cream
Slave laborers

A Sweatshop of One

2008-03-03T21:57:00.000-08:00

Boy, oh boy, have I gotten in over my head! I went to a church talent show last weekend and decided to bring about 20 of my stuffed animals to display. Word got out that I sell them and I got swamped with kids trying to buy them. Feeling sorry for their parents, I told them that everything that night was only $20. I sold eight on the spot and got eight orders from kids for their own custom Flaky Friends (at $20 each dang it!). That means this week I've got all their orders to process plus four others that came in before Saturday making my stuffed animal habit officially annoying.

I don't think there is any way to gracefully get out of this slave labor I've brought on myself. At $20 each, these animals are hardly worth it. It's taking me anywhere between 2 and 5 hours to make them, and the kids ordered some of the complicated ones (Paris the Turtle and Lester the Giraffe). My entire house is full of fur and fluff and I've lost all feeling in my fingertips. I'm seriously considering hiring some kids from church to help me cut fabric and prep animals. Needless to say, it's going to be a long week.

The good news is, some sucker bought Bad Baby today from my store. My husband Spike was in shock. His reaction to the news? "Wow. People will buy anything!" I'm relieved to have Bad Baby out of my house. He was freaking out my kids and stinking up the place. But now I have to buckle down and sew truckloads of charity animals to pay for my moment of weakness. I hope this doesn't kill all my enthusiasm for the little critters. Okay then. Can't blog. Must sew.

How History is Made

2008-03-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

When I was three years old, my mother started keeping a journal for me. At night, she'd come into my room with a book and a pen and ask me what I did that day and write down my response verbatim. That journal she kept for me is one of my most precious mementos of childhood. I told stories about playing with my siblings, snuggling with my dad and other sweet moments.

With hopes of continuing this tradition with my own three year old, last week I started a journal for Pixie. It hasn't gone as smoothly as I'd hoped. First of all, almost everything she tells me to write down are blatant lies. In all her daily recaps, somehow going to the park with Dad and eating pancakes at McDonald's are worked in, regardless of what we really did. On the one hand I wish she'd be a little more true to the real story but on the other hand, when she looks back at these journals as an adult, she might really think that she spent everyday at the park Dad rather than the reality of spending half the day in Time Out.

This is tonight's entry:

I went to preschool. I love Cher. I want to write "spagetti" in my journal. I want to write "poop" in my journal. Did you write "poop" in my journal? Good! Now "pee" in my journal. I went to the mirror. I went and took off my eyes so I couldn't see and I went to the park. That's all I did.

Somehow this isn't turning into the tender record keeping that I thought it would be, but I'm hoping she'll still get a good laugh out of it as an adult. It does make me wonder about the journal my mother wrote for me as a child. Ninety nine percent of what Pixie reports in her journal are lies. There's a pretty good chance that mine were as well. But at this stage, it doesn't matter. In my opinion, a child's perception of their life is far more important than the realities. I can't wait to see what you do tomorrow, Pixie!

A Good Day to Jump

2008-03-01T12:58:00.000-08:00

I should have seen the warning signs. It had seemed listless of late. Yesterday morning I could even smell urine on it. It should have been clear to me that it had stopped caring. But I was too wrapped up in my blog, my sewing, my all important life to notice what should have been obvious. And yesterday, it took the most desperate action of all, it's life. Pixie's purple baby blanket is no more.

It was shaping up to be the perfect day. I was at Disneyland brunching with faboo friends on a fifth floor balcony of the Grand Californian Hotel. The sun had come out after weeks of gloom and the group of us were relaxing under an overgrown pergola eating chocolate cherry cake. For the afternoon, children were overfed in Africa, the ozone layer had never been thicker and George W. Bush could pronounce the word, "nuclear." The group of us sat around a table laughing and swapping, 'aren't we fabulous' looks while hummingbirds investigated our colorful bags. Then my three year old Pixie tapped my arm. "Mom, where's my purple blanket?"

Some of you may remember this blanket. It's the ratty piece of chenille Pixie has had since birth and carries with her everywhere. "Well where did you have it, sweetie?" I asked. She shrugged and her bottom lip began to quiver. I stretched lazily out of my teak chair and began to look around. The balcony wasn't very large in I quickly deduced the blanket was missing. "Pixie, can you tell me where it might be?"
"I think it fell over the balcony..."

The sight was enough to make my insides churn. From my view over the railing, I could see it laying in a twisted heap below. It had landed on an overhang just above the first floor. There was no way we could reach it.

It seemed to have a peace in death that it never possessed in life. A knowledge that its soul would never again have to endure the atrocities of living with a three year old. The boogers, the pee, the sneezing. For three years it had endured all silently, but on that beautiful day, the ironies of its existence proved too much for our silent purple friend and it took it's own life. The hostess of our lunch joined us at the railing and offered her own words of comfort to my grief-stricken child. "It's okay, honey. From now on, your purple blanket will always live at Disneyland."

And isn't that what we all really want anyways? Rest in peace, purple blanket. The worst is over. Rest in peace.

My First and Last Blogger Lunch

2008-02-29T08:11:00.000-08:00

Today is the day. My first official "blogger lunch," a physical meeting of local bloggers to get together and talk about how lame we are in person. Yes, I'm nervous. But not for the regular reasons. I'm pretty sure my hair will look fab and my conversational skills will be up to task, but it's the other factors that are making my eye lid twitch.

1. Supposedly, I was the only person to respond to the invitation so it will just be me, the host, and a crew of her family. Or was I really the only person invited? Is this criminal targeting?

2. I was convinced by the hostess to bring my children along although I'd already arranged alternate babysitting. Does she want to take out as many Flakes as possible?

3. We are meeting at a "secret" location. I'm supposed to come to Downtown Disney and wait between two shops at which point I will be met escorted to an undisclosed location.

4. The only picture I have of my hostess is her avatar, a pirate. Now I know the movie industry would have us think otherwise, but pirates don't have the best reputation when women and children are involved.

5. I was asked to bring cash. Sure, it's just a measly $5 to pay for our lunch foods, but that's $5 that they'll beat me with crowbars and leave me gasping in a puddle for.

6. It's Leap Day. Technically, this day shouldn't exist. So when I go missing, nobody will even notice.

I leave for the lunch in two hours. Please don't kill me, S'mee. But in case I don't come back, go looking for an overweight pirate wearing Birkenstocks. He'll deny everything but look in his back pocket and you'll find my $5. I will be avenged!

I Want, I Want, I Need, I Need!

2008-02-26T21:55:00.000-08:00

I've been putting off making my official New Year's resolution because there are so many things I want to get done this year and I'm afraid that by focusing on just one, the rest will fall by the wayside. Which is better - doing kind of well on lots of things or really well on one thing? So I think I'm going to just have a list of New Year suggestions and I can flit between them as my mood sees fit and maybe accomplish something as opposed to be a big failure in one thing. Here's my list of goals:

Make Fertile and Fabulous a real gag mag that I could mail out quarterly with contributing writers who have great senses of humor (any volunteers to write short pieces?)

Turn Flaky Friends into a business (register it with the government and all that) and be able to write off my costs for supplies. Maybe have my toys sold in local indie toy shops?

Complete my second triathlon/get buff again.

Publish my book. I've had the manuscript of polished essays sitting around for almost a year now and the phone number of an awesome editor and am just too scared to sent it out into the world.

Teach Pixie to read. I bought a great book called, "Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons" that my sister-in-law swears by but I haven't even cracked the spine yet.

Participate in a local craft fair with my stuffed animals.

Have Hollywood Flakes syndicated by a major newspaper as a weekly column.

Bite the bullet and buy Flash (animation software), PhotoShop and some sweet video editing software and learn to use them all.

Learn how to fiddle with my violin.

Teach Cher tons of sign language. Pixie could do over 100 signs when she was one (here's a video of her doing some in her high chair pre anonymous name) and Cher has just started making her first signs at 10 months. I want to take the time to develop that communication with Cher as well. It's so fun seeing what babies have to say!

Get rest. Yeah, that one's not going to happen.

As I look at the above list, I realize most of these are more than I could hope to accomplish in 20 years but each one of them picks at my brain every day. I don't know how to prioritize them because really, I know I should concentrate right now on just keeping my kids fed and alive but I still can't shake the feeling that I could do them all if I just put some elbow grease into it.

I often feel like I want too many things for myself and I should just be happy sitting back and letting all my ambition slide for the sake of being a good mom but the modern woman in me tells me I can have it all. I know that's a lie, but it still sounds so good! How does everyone prioritize the "non-important" stuff? Is anyone making any progress on their New Year's goals? What kinds of things have you sacrificed to accommodate the more important goals in life? What things will you never sacrifice? And most importantly, has this post been sufficiently distracting to make everyone forget about that last post I put up that grossed everyone out?

Things People Swallow

2008-02-25T13:46:00.000-08:00

In August 2006, a Serbian man had surgery to remove the following items from his stomach: eight nails, a knife, a pen, a screw, a spoon, and a clothes-pin. There were also several other smaller objects in his stomach. The man had been reported by a concerned relative although he didn't report any pain. Amazingly, doctors found no damage to the man's internal organs.

Can you guess what we're talking about today? Make sure you aren't about to eat anything and then go visit this page. The 10 Most Shocking Things Found In People's Stomachs. Seriously. Put the cupcake down first.

Have any of you heard of the term, "pica?" It is the behavioral urge to swallow things. Usually it only manifests itself in babies and young children, but sometimes the urge persists until adulthood.

In France a few years ago, a 62 year old man was complaining of violent stomach cramps and was rushed to the hospital. When they x-rayed his abdomen, they saw a large mass inside his gut, pushing his stomach down. They operated to remove the mass and found it to be 5 kilograms of coins worth $650 in value. This guy never outgrew pica. But at least he could afford the trip to the hospital.

I was reading some threads in a teacher's forum today and found that most teachers of young children deal with pica. A frequently asked question among the teachers was, "How do I make them stop?" I liked one teacher's response for how she dealt with her first graders. She says:

"What's in you mouth!? Now if you accidentally swallow that thing I am going to have to get it out. Do you see how big my hand is? I'm going to have to stick my big hand down your throat. You can be sure that it will hurt. If you don't want my big fat hand down your throat then you better get that thing out of your mouth and keep it out!"

She reports and almost 100% effective rate for her method.

When my oldest was in diapers, I'd occasionally discover a surprise in her diaper. Mostly rubber bands and small pieces of trash but once my favorite bracelet went missing. A day later I found all the beads from the bracelet in her diaper. I had a weird moment of calm when I considered salvaging the beads and re-stringing the necklace. Don't worry. I didn't. But it did amaze me how they had just traveled through her entire digestive system unmarred.

So here's the conversational topic. What is worth eating simply for the x-ray photo? What's the weirdest thing you or your kids have eaten? Do you really believe that story about the hair? Discuss.

The Very Talented Hollywood

2008-02-23T22:11:00.001-08:00

I don't claim to be good at everything. I'm good at a lot of things. Making homemade Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, pulling off the bed-head look, memorizing camp songs, but admittedly, apartment management isn't my forte. Unfortunately, I'm an apartment manager. This morning I had the following cell phone conversation with one of my tenants:

"Hi, Abby. Sorry to call so early on a Saturday morning. We had a break in last night and we know at least one car was stolen. I'm calling because your parking space is empty. Is your car supposed to be here?"
"What? Are you kidding? Yes it's supposed to be there!"
"Abby, I think your car may have been stolen. I'm so sorry."
"I can't believe it. They stole my car!? Holy (insert small fluffy animal). You're sure it's gone?"
"Positive. I'm standing right here at parking spacer #24 and it's empty. Could you come down and help the police fill out a report?"
"Holy [puppies]. I'm coming right now. I just have to - wait... you said spot 24? That's not my spot. I park in 11."
"... ... ... My bad. Your car is here. I was looking at the wrong column on my spreadsheet. Ha ha. Twenty four is your storage locker number. Wow. Sorry to bother you. Really sorry. I hope you can fall back asleep. Again, I'm SO sorry."
Tenant is still gasping in shock when I snap my phone shut and smack my forehead.

But I make a darn fine peanut butter cup. Darn fine.

"Oooh, Special!"

2008-02-22T09:53:00.000-08:00

I'll say if for you because I know it's hard to do: not all babies are cute. That's fine. Because at least their mothers love them. But what baffles me is when people tell you your baby isn't cute. That's not fine. Take my Cher for example. Cher is without a doubt a unique looking baby. Her head is huge, her mouth is huge, and she's just got a 20's doll vibe going for her. I get all sorts of reactions to her when we go out in public. Usually, it's just the, "ooooh, she's...special," line. Special. Right. I can handle special. But sometimes it's the, "now isn't she funny looking!" Not quite as nice. And the comment that toped all was the unnamed, concerned relative who told my husband reassuringly after our visit, "she will be cute."

Admittedly, it took me a few months to understand Cher's look. I was used to judging all beauty based off of my first, wispy daughter and when I had a second with her own kind of beauty, it threw me for a loop. Nevertheless, I soon appreciated Cher's vintage look.

I was visiting my in-laws a few years ago and was getting to know one of the new grandkids. He was about 5 months old and didn't seem to like me very much. I kept trying to meet his eyes but he avoided them and didn't respond to any of my cooing. His mother came over and sat next to me on the couch. "You know what's wrong with Collin?" she asked. It was the time of the autism craze and every magazine seemed to be featuring articles about the signs and symptoms of autism.
I offered helpfully, "yeah, I think he may be mildly autistic." She looked at me in shock.
"Actually, I was going to say that he's too cute."
I was mortified. What was I thinking telling this mom that her newborn son seemed autistic? I tried to back-pedal. "Oh, well it's just that he won't look at me...he seems really sweet. I've just been reading these articles about autism, but I'm sure he's fine." That'll teach me to ever say anything in the least bit negative about anyone else's baby. I'm pretty sure that sister-in-law isn't going to be asking me to babysit anytime soon.

So when in doubt, say the nice thing. Here are some terms you can use when you run across that funny looking baby in the grocery store (because from experience, I can attest that just keeping your mouth closed is impossible for the common adult):

"Special" "stunning" and "unique," although obviously cop-outs, are acceptable.

Comment on the babies clothes. Baby clothes are almost always cute and an easy fallback. Unless they have Barney on them. I have no suggestions here.

Tell the mother the baby looks just like her. She'll take it as a compliment whether or not it is one.

Say the baby should be in commercials. You don't need to say it would be a cleft palate reconstruction commercial instead of a Gymboree ad.

Play peekaboo with the baby. Baby and mom will love it and you'll get to hide from the unappealing looking baby. Everybody wins.

And my personal favorite line, "Wow. Now there's a baby." Who could deny that?

So please, do the right thing and don't tell parent's what you really think of their kids. I don't care whether they have two heads, two fingers and two tongues, rest assured that all babies are "special." Please don't try to convince their parents otherwise.

Middle-Aged Yeller

2008-02-21T18:36:00.001-08:00

Behold, my latest creation. I've been putting off making a dog because they are always so darn predictable, but luckily, this little guy turned out fresh. Here's the item description:

Middle Aged Yeller is footloose and fancy free. The last thing on his mind is getting gored to death by wild hogs.

Let's enjoy Middle-Aged Yeller before he gets old, wise, and dead.

Yeller has tiny jingle bells in his stuffing so you can hear him while he dances to his favorite Celine Dion CD. His nose is a delightful microsuede and his fur is the softest imaginable. He sits on his own at 8" tall and is safe for children of all ages. Hand wash/air dry only.

I've made three animals today and am hoping to crank out a few more tonight. I'm a bit giddy because I finally made back my materials cost on the first batch of animals so yesterday I went out and bought a trunkful of new fabric.

Now I guess I have to make a wild boar Flaky Friend to go along with Yeller. Like peas in a pod, those two. Here's my actual Etsy listing for Yeller with more photos and information. It's so fun being in possession of a deranged mind!

Anonymous Comment Day: Your Biggest Mistake

2008-02-20T06:46:00.000-08:00

My dumb writing group decided the prompt for this month would be "Mistakes." Consequently, I've spent all month trying to think about what to write about and dredging up all the memories of my biggest mistakes. It hasn't made for a good month. So I'm passing the bad energy on to you because I'm nice like that. Maybe your comments will help me come up with something creative for my writing group.

So the question is, what is the the biggest or worst mistake you've ever made? I'm a little afraid to see what's going to happen with this question but hope it will make for some killer comments. As always, only anonymous comments allowed and I'll anonymize (yes, when you are as cool as me you can make up words) any comments that aren't.

Adventures in Craigslisting

2008-02-19T10:34:00.000-08:00

I bought a loft bed off of Craigslist last week. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the home, the bed wasn't disassembled so I had to go upstairs with the seller to take it apart. The seller wasn't very friendly and could easily be placed in the uptight category but it was going to take a while to take down the bed so I tried to engage her in some friendly banter to lighten the atmosphere.

I asked her if she sold a lot on Craigslist. If she ever got any weirdos, etc..
"Well, sometimes I do worry about the security aspect," she said.
"Me too! I just read this really creepy article about a Craigslist murder! It was just a routine sale and the seller let the person into their house and then they just KILLED them. A total stranger. Can you imagine!"
She looked at me in shock. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked horrified.
"Ha! Now you think I'm going to kill you! I swear I'm not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, but it was just such a shocking story!"
"Let's not talk about this."
"You're right. I'm sorry. This is pretty creepy. Here I am, a total stranger in your house talking about murders."

That's one ice-breaker that I won't be trying again. If she was uptight before, she was stone cold now. We took the bed apart as quickly as possible and she got me the heck out of there. Now I'm not the murdering type, but as I watched her scurry back into her home and snap the door shut, I couldn't help but smirk that she thought I had it in me. My conversational skills may be lacking, but I make up for it in general creepiness.

Smile for the Camera

2008-02-19T10:12:00.001-08:00

The wild days of parenting negligence and apathy are over. Pixie is three and I'm pretty sure some adults have memories from that age. The pressure is on for me to perform. I used to be able to wave off letting her cry in her room for hours or laying on the couch eating potato chips while she begged me to read her books. She'll never remember this anyway, I'd tell myself. My husband is always reminding me that babies have the memories of goldfish. But soon after her third birthday, an ominous thought has haunted me. Anything I say or do can and will be held against me in the Court of Parenting.

I took Pixie out yesterday to try her new tricycle. These are the moments that childhood is supposedly about. Watching her figure out how to pedal, offering encouraging shouts as she wobbles down the sidewalk - but I couldn't enjoy it like I should have. I felt like there was a camera guy following me down the sidewalk recording my every movement. Waiting for that one gesture of impatience. That one moment when I looked at my watch. Waiting to capture that one moment that would mar my child's eternal perception of her childhood.

I know, I know, it's a ridiculous thing to worry about, but nevertheless, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. So I took extra care to smile grandly. I tidied my hair and patted Pixie's shoulder with love. Surely, the camera guy was getting this. Hopefully Pixie's future memories of me would remember the good as well as the bad. Would this be her first memory of me as her mother? Or would it be the moment that I lagged behind and she went spilling face first from her tricycle onto the pavement?

I hate the pressure of the camera. But there is no denying it - dress rehearsal is over and now I've got to face the lights. Pixie could remember anything. I want it to be perfect. Line please?

Hollywood: Blog Desinger Extraordinare

2008-02-17T12:40:00.000-08:00

This is Spike. A couple of my coworkers heard that Hollywood had her own blog, and in fact one is a big fan of hers. When my firm decided to start its own blog, they asked me if I could press Hollywood into service. I did, and she performed brilliantly, designing the firm's blog on punitive damages. As a nice reward, my firm gave Hollywood a gift certificate to the Santa Anita Mall. Which is to say, they got Hollywood the Wii and Guitar Hero she has been wanting for so long. Everybody wins.

Feel free to check out Hollywood's handwork. (Its OK if you're not super interested in the subject matter. Just bask in Hollywood's design skills.)

Sandra D. meets Me

2008-02-15T10:05:00.000-08:00

Spike and I decided to get away this Valentine's Day so I left my two sick girls with their aunt and we took off for Phoenix. There is a legal society conference going on out here so we celebrated our love last night by sitting in a huge room full of Mormon lawyers, listening to how we need to use our powers for good and not evil. It was tres romantic.

Today there is a series of lectures covering a wide variety of topics. We get to hear from Sandra Day O'Conner (or Sandra D. as I like to call her) in an hour. I'm excited to see if she recognizes me - I hear all the Supreme Court Justices are required to spend at least an hour a day reading Hollywood Flakes. My list of grievances of the American legal system is ready for our inevitable discussion. Here are some of my talking points:

Supercuts is not super. I'm interested in the honest and ethical naming of all places of business. Just last night I drove by a tattoo parlor that advertised in bright neon lights, "NO REGRETS TATTOO." Puh-lease.

I'd like declawing to be legal for all children under the ages of two. We mothers of small infants walk around with bloody gashes on our faces. What about our rights?

Americans should be able to buy seasonal hunting tags for those huge, inflatable lawn decorations that people put out at Christmas time. I'd love to bag me one of those 8 foot tall Frosty the Snowmen.

Actresses should be paid depending on how much they weigh. Every pound over 100 they carry during a movie shooting is an extra million dollars. If they fall under 100 pounds, their contract is void. Anorexia would be abolished and McDonalds wouldn't have to degrade themselves to providing a healthy menu.

The Miranda rights needs a "right to party like a rock star" to lighten the tension when you are arrested.

People like me should be banned from blogging when they have nothing of value to say.

I'm off to meet Sandra. I'll let you know when my policies come into effect. So if you are pulled over for a DUI this weekend and the cop tells you about your rights to rock, send a big thanks out my way. Your welcome in advance.

Why We Kiss: From Premastication to Romance

2008-02-14T21:34:00.001-08:00

It's been called osculating, necking, philemating, macking, and snogging. They say the average person spends two weeks of their life doing it. If you're anything like me, you spent a good part of Valentine's Day smooching. It's a holiday that allows all kinds of ooey gooey signs of affection and I took full advantage. I even made my husband play the, "lets say why we love each other," game. Brutal. The poor guy is counting the seconds to President's Day when all he has to do is watch basketball on the couch.

But why I bother kissing the guy. Let's face it, with all the spit and leftover spinach dip between our teeth, kissing can be pretty gross. So in pursuit of the answer to my curious animal instinct, I set out for some answers. Luckily, there is an entire group of scientists dedicated to unlocking the secrets of our locked lips. In all seriousness, they call themselves philematologiests and they have some very unromantic explainations for our spity hobby.

Perhaps, they offer, cave-stay-at-home-moms chewed food for their babies and passed it into their babies mouths creating a mouth-bond. Yuck. And how premastication has anything to do with kissing I have no idea. I have to admit, I've bit pieces of candy bars off for my kids to eat, but chewing it up and spitting it at them? I hope more from those cavewomen.

Another theory they offer is that kissing originated from Roman times where a kiss was the sign that sealed a contract. "Sealed with a kiss," sound familiar anyone? Roman men would kiss each other on the lips to seal a business agreement. It was something along the lines of, "hey, can I buy this horse?" "Sure." "Great, let's make out." Young Roman couples were asked to kiss each other at their weddings to seal the marriage contract. The famous "kiss of death" has also been linked to Roman times from Judas' kiss to Jesus which identified him to the soldiers and led to Jesus's death. The mafia, being the devout Bible readers they are, adopted this practice. It's advisable to avoid the Don on Valentine's Day because his kiss means you're about to get whacked.

Kissing has been viewed by many cultures as a way to unite two people. This theory has it's origins in Indian culture where the soul was thought to be carried by the breath so joining mouths together and sharing breath was actually a bonding of souls. I actually like this theory. It makes me feel less creepy than the chewed up food version.

Kissing, however, is not a universal token of affection. A full 10% of the world doesn't kiss at all. In fact, some African tribes consider the act of kissing to be cannibalistic. Other cultures find kissing vulgar. The U.S. has a few kiss related crimes still on the books. In Indiana, it is illegal for a man with a mustache to "habitually kiss human beings. I can understand that one. Mustaches are prickly. No girl wants a rash on her upper lip from an overly amorous Sasquatch. The prudy prudes of Hartford, Connecticut made it illegal for couples to kiss on Sunday. Cedar Rapids Iowa has criminalized kissing strangers. I propose another law that anyone who has eaten an Awesome Blossom be banned from kissing for the following week.

The most popular theory of kissing is a sneaky one. Anthropologists propose we kiss to sniff out a prospective mate and by getting our noses right up in someone else's face (while distracting them with spine-melting smooches) we are really smelling their pheromones to determine if they are compatible mates. Its been found that women subconsciously prefer the smell of men whose immune system proteins are different from their own, which could produce healthier babies.

Of course, there is the obvious theory for kissing which is it just feels so darn good. Our lips and tongues are jam packed with nerve endings and kissing is a lot less strenuous than having to give a backrub. Plus at 26 calories per minute, it's another excuse to add to the long list of why you're not going to the gym today. By this estimate, the most calories burned in any one kissing session was a joint 3,480 by a New York couple who kissed for a record breaking 29 hours.

So whatever your reasons for kissing today, nourishment, pheromone scouting, sealing your apartment contract, get your smooch on. Trust me, the lucky recipient of your kiss will be oblivious and just think you like them. Suckers.

And the winners are . . . .

2008-02-13T20:33:00.001-08:00

First, two honorable mentions. Whoever posted the Star Wars Trumpet video and whoever posted the Japanese Workout video get an honorable mention. Those are two of the greats.

But the winners are:

1. Jessica G for the Bollywood Superman video. It works on so many levels.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=f5Pjo0WjBcs

2. Magi for the muffins video. Muffins. Who knew?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=1tcR19y7GPM

I really enjoyed watching all your videos. Thanks to everyone for sharing.

Jessica G and Magi, don't forget to pick out the flakyfriends creation of your choice. (I will let you work out the details of how to claim your prize with Hollywood.)

Update: I just realized it doesn't make too much sense to say that I am giving an honorable mention, and then not mention who actually posted the links to the Star Wars video and the Japanese Workout video. Oh well. I just don't feel like going back into the comments to figure out who you were. So enjoy your honorable non-mention. Or leave a comment fighting for the glory that is rightfully yours.

Hi guys, this is Hollywood. Winners, go ahead and select your items from my Etsy store and just click "pay later." As in pay never. Enter your mailing address when you checkout. This way I still get to have the items shown in my shop as "sold" so other buyers can see what I'm selling. Obviously, you never have to pay.

Death Metal Salvation

2008-02-12T15:38:00.000-08:00

Mothers of the world, here's the solution to all your woes. Guitar Hero. No joke. After the week from Dante's innermost circle of hell, I was inspired to borrow my neighbor's Playstation and Guitar Hero II game last night. As of noon today, I'd won the game (on Medium, but still!)

There is something about death metal that makes you toughen up and stop whining. I'm no longer the doormat mother, I'm now the stylishly anorexic, "Johnny Napalm." Butt wiper by day, rocking the universe at my sold out concerts by night.

My husband Spike and I are trying to decide whether to buy a Wii and Guitar Hero and if possibly it will make our lives better. Neither of us subscribe to the "money can't buy happiness" theory. If Guitar Hero can keep me from melting in a puddle of self-pity when I'm stuck at home with sick kids, it's worth the price. Plus, it has the unexpected benefit of being a great workout. I was stinky and sweaty after my two hour jam session last night and I have a feeling my poor choir-director arms have met their match.

Okay, confession. This post is mostly just to take the pressure off of poor Spike so that people stop submitting YouTube videos. I think he's going to get fired from his job because of all the videos he has to go through today. Speaking of that, Spike, who is our winner? Actually, let's have two winners. Let's hear it Spike.

A Private Note to Perla

2008-02-10T22:14:00.000-08:00

Hi Perla - you just left a few comments on my blog but I don't know your email or blog address so I wanted to respond here. First of all, thanks for your kind comments and I'm flattered that you've wasted a bunch of your life reading about mine. It's been a TOUGH week and I was just about to go to bed in a heap of defeat but your sincere, sweet comments are going to send me to bed with a smile instead of a scowl.

Sometimes the hardest thing about life is that it doesn't kill you. Keep your fingers crossed that my kids stop puking on me tomorrow and I just might live to blog another day. For everyone else out there, play along with Spike and send in a few more great YouTube links. We need all the laughs we can get over here and my stuffed animals are starting to pile up in the corner. I'd love to send one out to Spike's winner. Of course there is the 40% of you (according to my Gallup approved poll) that detests my creations - I'll be happy to send a Precious Moments doll out to the winner if they fall in that category.

Let's do this Jerry Springer style and end with a trite thought...

Don't think of it as puke, think of it as a chance to relive the past.

***10 minutes later update***
Wow. I feel like a whiner. I just said a heartfelt bedtime prayer and God helped me remember how blessed I am to have these little puking twerps. I know. I don't understand how that works either, but I feel much better. Bring on the yak. Perla, you're my girl!

Youtube: The Best So Far

2008-02-09T21:11:00.000-08:00

This is Spike. Hollywood has had a rough day, so I am going to give her a little vacation.

Here is my list of the best 10 videos ever posted on youtube in no particular order (and I promise none of them are of my kids.)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=s3BpUnoCmpE

http://youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZLsJyfN0ICU

http://youtube.com/watch?v=Tx1XIm6q4r4

http://youtube.com/watch?v=pVENWl8uBeg

http://youtube.com/watch?v=bNF_P281Uu4

http://youtube.com/watch?v=AJzU3NjDikY

http://youtube.com/watch?v=H8hyCWH1Ww0

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ji7VmldBE_A

http://youtube.com/watch?v=K2cYWfq--Nw

Now for the part where you reciprocate. Everyone post a link to their favorite video. I promise I will watch them all. And the winner gets a FREE item from Hollywood's Etsy store, Flakyfriends.

The winner will be selected by me on next Wednesday, so get your nominee in by Tuesday night. Don't miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance to win a genuine Hollywoodflake's totally original stuffed animal creation. Sure, pretty soon everyone on the block will have one (or several), but you'll be the only one who got one for free. Don't wait! Link to your favorite* funny video today!

*This blog is rated PG-13. Please pick your video accordingly.

Update: Good videos. I realize I should have made clear---your choice doesn't have to be funny. Feel free to share videos that are just plain awes as well.

Secondhand Jazz Resale Shop

2008-02-08T13:00:00.000-08:00

Nate Calvin has been interested in fashion since he was a preschooler. Despite the brutal teasing of those in grade school who made fun of his passion for fashion, Nate continued to seek out unique and funky clothing at weekend yard sales and dress like a high end fashion designer. With the help of his supporting mother Kris, Nate has finally been able to open his own successful shop here in South Pasadena. Oh, and did I mention that Nate is only eleven years old? Because he is.

I was doing my usual rounds of town yesterday when I noticed the secondhand store. I'd never gone in before because the clothing in the window was always utterly dowdy but today I noticed a change. There were multiple items in the window that caught my attention. Nothing could be described as matronly - in fact, everything I saw was hip and fresh. In I went.

Being the Chatty Kathy that I am, I asked the shopkeeper where she bought the clothes for the shop. "Actually, my son buys them. It's his shop. I'm just working here until he gets out of school. He should be there soon."

I had to meet him. Luckily, there were multiple items I wanted to try on so I popped in the dressing room to kill some time. In a few minutes I heard a tiny voice, "Hi, Mom."

I came out of the dressing room to see the man (boy) behind the magic. Nate was barely five feet tall, but he had the style and confidence of a West Hollywood fashionista. I introduced myself and gushed about how fabulous I thought he was. Both Nate and his mother Kris were happy to give me details on the shop.

Nate had seen the clothing store for sale a few months ago and begged his mother to buy it for him so he could try his hand at shopkeeping. Kris Calvin is very involved in the community and holds multiple jobs but she couldn't deny her son's eye for fashion. The mutual adoration these two feel for each other is impossible not to notice. She told him they'd try it out on a trial basis and see how it went. She bought the store but gave all management, decoration and merchandise responsibilities to her son. The end result is a secondhand store with a couture atmosphere but amazingly affordable clothes. Nate spends the weekends yardsale hopping, looking for fun fashion to sell in his store and his mother spends her evenings washing the clothes to get them ready for sale.

Only weeks later, Jeffrey Sebelia, winner of the hit reality t.v. show Project Runway noticed his store while out shopping and came in to look around. Three months after taking over the shop, a tidy profit proved that Nate was gold.

When he isn't playing his saxaphone, Nate would love to become a designer and is saving up for a sewing machine and sewing lessons. I have no doubt we'll all be hearing a lot more about him in the future.

Make sure to stop by and check out his threads at:

Secondhand Jazz
1506 Mission Street
South Pasadena, CA
91030
626-403-6600

Kids these days.