Another week down and we’re that much closer to retirement. Or if not retirement then death. Does that sound fatalistic? All we know is that work is awful and we’d rather be writing in a Starbucks and watching the freaks. Or shopping. Sassy asked her father the other day what he would do if the zombies came. He said the typical things but then interjected that Amylynn would be raiding Tiffany’s. Amylynn mentioned that Ava would be liberating zoo animals. We figure as long as we have a plan, it will all work out. The following things were giggle worthy this week.

1. Giant pink slugs. We’re not especially fond of slugs – Australian or otherwise. Who is? Still, this new development makes us wonder, what the hell is going on with the Australian wildlife? Regardless, what we do like about the slugs is that they’re pink. Well, not really pink. They’re more PIIIINK. Why in Zeus’s name would there be a slug this color? They’re also really big – like 8 inches. If you’re not sure how big that is, ask a guy. He’ll tell you that is gigantic. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. We crack ourselves up. Anyway, if you go up on the mountain where they live at the right time of morning, you’ll see hundreds of them. We’ll bet if you’re not expecting them you’ll

Oh Hell no!

assume you’re having an acid flashback or something. In order to complete their look – we think we should round up some adventurous Australians and send them up the mountain with sequins.  Giant pink bedazzled slugs. Sounds like a punk band.

2. Bugs for dinner. The UN is suggesting that eating bugs will solve the world food crisis. We don’t think so and neither does Stephen Colbert of The Colbert Report. He refuses to eat bugs. He won’t even eat gummy worms. “I use them to catch Swedish Fish,” he said. Right on. We’ve been seriously turned off of eating bugs since the 2008 Olympics when they did that horrifying story about the Chinese marketplace where you could buy tarantulas and scorpions on a stick. We had great plans for China, but now… We’ve revised the Great Panda Liberation plan to include giant suitcases of granola bars. We don’t really like granola bars either, but at least they have the appropriate number of legs at zero.

3. Sick days. Especially when you’re not sick. There’s something so fine about playing hooky. The Sisters hardly ever do it, but sometimes you just need a mental health day. Bank of No Forks can make a thinking person insane and sometimes you just need to reset your equilibrium in a way that a weekend doesn’t. Weekends are full of loud kids and house work and errands. A “sick

OH COME ON!

day” spent at Starbucks while you plan your escape from 9-5 drudgery makes it all better. Even more delightful is when you can do that with a friend.

4. Slothified. We found a story that got our panties all in a twist. We’re living in the wrong part of the world. That’s for damn sure. Apparently, we need to move to Suriname. Where the hell is Suriname, you ask? Its a country in Northern South America over by Brazil, and apparently it’s one of the greenest county on the planet – not in terms of recycling, but in jungle-y sort of vegetation. Still there is deforestation. There is a lady there who runs Green Heritage Fund Suriname and she received a call that some sloths were in danger in an area being developed. She went out there and returned with 200 sloths – many of them such small babies they needed to be fed with eyedroppers. She had them every where in her home – hanging from plants, the drapes, sleeping in china bowls. The first thing you thought of was the poop situation, wasn’t it? We’ll admit that occurred to us as well, but it didn’t deter us. We want our share of baby sloths. We’re checking into the retirement plans for Suriname.

5. Racy Medieval Poems. A long lost collection of French poems from the 13th and 14th centuries has been newly translated and will be available June 10th. The 69 poems making up the fabliaux, are described as naughty, racy, and ribald and are rife with cuckolded husbands, randy priests, lusty women and a penchant for poop humor. These are the kinds of poems that, at the time, would have influenced Chaucer and his eyeopening Canterbury Tales. What’s fun about these poems – besides the titles such as The Peekaboo Priest – is that they certainly shed some light on the preconceived notion that the church was in control of everything.  And that human beings have always appreciated raunchy humor. Otherwise there is no explanation for Benny Hill, Caddyshack, or Animal House.

On the tails of International Tiara Day…

Swimsuit season is nigh here.

I agreed to be a chaperon for Sassy’s 4th grade field trip to a bowling alley. In case you don’t remember, 4th graders are 10 years old. Ten year-old girls are highly emotional people. It’s just as they get to the cusp of teenagers – those deadly tween years. I don’t remember being this emotional when I was ten, but what the hell do I know. That was 34 years ago.

I have no idea how anything in my life can be 34 years ago, but there you have it. I had the same realization last week in California when I realized I hadn’t been to Knott’s Berry Farm since I went for my 8th grade graduation. That was 30 years ago. Holy shit, I’m old. And my feet hurt. And I had to get reading glasses this year. It’s only a matter of time before I’m complaining about bursitis or gout and yelling for kids to get off my lawn. Well, at kids besides my own.

A N Y W A Y. My age issues are not the point of this blog.

I arrived at the school with the rest of the kids and we promptly climbed aboard the school bus bound for the bowling alley. Just so you know, school buses smell exactly the way you remember them. Like feet and smelly boys. So you’re thrilled to get off the bus at your destination and gasp fresh air only to walk inside the bowling alley to a worse stench. Older feet and smellier boys. And other people’s shoes. And burnt coffee. That lovely potpourri does not encourage you to breath deeply, I assure you.

Even though it doesn’t have anything to do with the children, there was a guy there with three women’s names tattooed on his neck. When I texted this to Ava she told me not to judge – they were very likely his wife and two daughters. That could have been true, except two of the three names were crossed out. I swear to Zeus.

We eventually got all the kids in rented shoes. It took awhile because there was not a single child with us who knew what size shoes they wore. Then all the

Hey! Ava and I are excitable people. That’s not the same is it?

kids made little teams of themselves and we got them signed into the scoring computers. Then I got to sit back and watch the show like Marlin Perkins on Wild Kingdom.

Every time one of the girls would knock down a pin, all the rest of the girls would squeal and there be a 12 minute hugging session reminiscent of the Academy Awards. As you can imagine very little bowling was actually accomplished until they got that out of their systems. Fairly early on, the alley people put up the gutter bumpers. If they hadn’t, I can assure you there would have been NO pins knocked down. As it was, it was more like watching an enormous pinball game than bowling.

The child would pick up the world lightest bowling ball – weighing in somewhere between lint and yarn – and hold it in front of her. Then she’d run full tilt up the lane only to come to a complete stop at the line, pause, then fling the ball down the lane with zero finesse. The ball would pinball in the vaguest direction of the pins, bouncing off the gutters as many as five times, careening back and forth, before it would gently tap a pin.

There was a brief moment of epic drama when one of the girls thought the other girls were talking about her behind her back. Copious tears and wailing and then, just as quickly, everyone was back to hugging.

It made my head spin.

All that aside, it was better than being at work.

Next week I agreed to go with The Bandit on their bowling field trip.

That should be truly outstanding with blog fodder. I anticipate less drama and more shenanigans. Stay tuned.

Hey! I did an interview over at Much Cheaper Than Therapy today. I wrote a little piece on family history. Remember I wrote it so it’s not like it’s a Hallmark card or anything.

Pop over and have a read. You’ll have fun. Leave a comment and you’ll secure your place in Heaven. Or if not Heaven, then Starbucks.

I’ll have you know that we made it to Disneyland in one piece. Or five pieces as the case may be since there are five of us. We left the house at 3:20 in the morning. Or the evening. I’m not even sure what to call that time of darkness. I don’t really consider it the next day until there is sun to confirm it.

Even though we packed last night, everyone seems to have arrived with the requisite amount of stuff. Since we drove that means WAY. TOO. MUCH. STUFF. We were indiscriminate. Sassy brought one bag entirely of shoes. That’s how I know for sure she’s my kid.

I brought two pairs of shoes. The tennis shoes my foot doctor insisted on with the $800 prescription orthotics and my Birkenstock’s that he frowns on. After six hours my feet HURT. They really hurt and I wore his shoe selection today. When I get back I’m going to clock my dear old podiatrist right in the nose. Don’t worry though, I’ll power through with the assistance of powerful anti-inflammatory drugs and chocolate.

And maybe wine and whine.

Also, just as an aside. Our hotel has a bus stop in front of it – directly in front of the entrance to Disneyland. I’m telling you this is the best bus stop in the entire world for people watching. There are the most outrageous characters making that bus stop their home. If it wasn’t completely inappropriate, I’d include pictures but that’s mean spirited and I AM at the happiest place on earth so you’ll just have to trust me on this.

More tomorrow.

XOXO

Amylynn

I’ve never been a fan of Celine Dion. She seems a bit over-the-top for me with all her dramatic chest thumping. Maybe I can’t get over marrying a manager 26 years older than herself. But what the hell do I know. They’ve been married forever and I suppose they’re happy as they’re not plastered all over the tabloids. It’s possible that’s because there’s no room with the Kardashians taking up all the room on the covers, but I’d rather think they’re happy.

I guess it all boils down to the chest pumping dramatics for my meh attitude.

But then I came to learn something about Madam Dion that has made me infinitely jealous.

Not the money she has, but that certainly facilitated the reason that I’m jealous.

Ms. Dion has over 3,000 pairs of shoes. Sigh.

I don’t know the point of buying shoes that don’t fit. I’ve been known to buy shoes that are too high, too pinchy, or too costly, but they’ve all technically fit.

That’s a little weird.

The story I’m writing right now is a contemporary romance with a lady who’s got a serious shoe fetish. It’s been fun for me because I get to “shop” for shoes on the internet all the time. If you want to see Holly fictitious shoe collection, head over to my Pinterest page for Cooking Up Love.