My theory is that someone is slowly killing off everyone who has ever been on TV.

Not to stereotype, but it's probably an Amish serial killer.

DANG! Why do celebrities keep ruining prescription drug abuse for the rest of us?

Another weekend looming

So, okay. Here's what happened:

Many years ago, I was a mom who stayed home with her very young children and was a freelance writer, too. My husband made enough money for us to pay bills, with my freelance work paying for wacky things like cable TV and takeout. It was good. And then we lost everything due to poor planning and relentless optimism, and I vowed it would not happen again. I spent the past eight years working up my journalism credentials, as a writer and editor, so I would be hirey should (heaven forbid) the economy tank again.

Thank GOD journalism hasn't been hard hit!

Now my magazine is on hiatus while we all hold our breath and wait for the world to resume spinning on its axis. The good part is that I have been part of the workforce for a while (aka, hello, unemployment). The fascinating part is that both Andrew and I were both sent packing on the same DAY (aka, hello, panic attacks).

This blog has been kind of quiet, mostly because I have been too busy running in tight little circles while flapping my hands at my sides. It's hard to type that way. It is, however, an excellent cardiovascular workout. And rather adorable when I'm drunk.

Now I am looking at options, which means squinting at the computer screen and wondering if I could be an x-ray technician with no training and with carpal tunnel syndrome from all the flapping. Or maybe I can hire myself out as a bad baby bird impersonator. I'll figure it out. I think. But oh, weekends are not so much fun when they just are two more days that you know for sure won't be days on which you'll get a call or email about that resume you sent in.

What about you? How is your job?

Michael Jackson

That issue of personal life versus public life is back again.

I am reading a lot about Michael Jackson today, as you probably are, whether you want to or not. And I am watching the growing debate regarding his "legacy" v. what may have happened in his private life.

Last week there was gossip that Morgan Freeman, an actor generally beloved by the public, may have had (or is still having) a ten-years-long affair with his first wife's granddaughter - a relationship that started when she was 17 (at best) and was being raised by him.

And then we have our old friend Woody Allen and his wife/not daughter, Soon Yi, and lesser -- but still morally repugnant -- stories, like Christina Bale's rage on the set, of Ben Stiller being an ass at the Oscars, of Chris Brown's assault of Rihanna, of various celebs with diva-like behavior - the list goes back in time to painters and playwrights and Delphi oracles.

I don't know where I am going with this except to say that it's what I am gnawing on. How do we reconcile the art with the artist, or do we? Should we keep the two separate?

Putting the "ew" in Tuesday

People have recently found this site by Googling both:

"Hot Woman Mrs. Robinson type"

and

"Nipple Ink"

I see my reputation precedes me.

* * *

In other news, I am now writing at MSN's Celebrity Babies. If you dislike both babies and celebrities, this is not the place for you. On the other hand, you can come and write your own thoughts about Jon and Kate and their Eight, or help decide with whom Jennifer Aniston should have a child, even if she actually doesn't want one. It's pretty much why we became sovereign from the British low those many years ago.


* * *

In other other news, this makes me laugh in all the wrong places: http://www.dontevenreply.com

Oh, noez.

Nestle has recalled their big tube o' binge in the form of raw cookie dough, due to suspected cases of food poisoning. Dang! Just how am I supposed to eat my Friday night feelings now, Nestle?

Hey, Baby!

Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka are hoping for a baby.

That's where I come in.

Do you think if Neil Patrick Harris wakes up and his disheveled baby nanny is spooning him, he'll be really really mad? Cuz I don't. I think David will get up to check on the babies (we're having twins) and then I'll get his side of the bed. And then NPH will tell me the weird dream he was having and we'll discuss the symbolism until morning.

It could work.

String, on finger, like so.

• I forgot about puppies. Puppies can be 80% house trained and run to the door and scratch on the glass with their tiny Frito toes to be let out, but then at 2 pm, they decide the bathroom throw rug is Pee Central. Every day.
  
  
• I forgot about summer. Suddenly here we are, in summer. Home. All of us. Together. Full-time. At the same time. In one house. With the bathroom rugs, full of puppy urine.
  
  
• I forgot about my blog. Not really, but I am trying to write Things and I do write them, for the most part, all day, and suddenly my words have been rung out of my head and I have nothing left for you. Might I offer you, in exchange, a slightly used bath mat?

I'm in love with Tom Oatmeal.

Seriously?

SF bay area craigslist > santa cruz > household

Wooden Toilet Paper holder - $2 (santa cruz)

Reply to: sale-rm9ky-1219926904@craigslist.org

Date: 2009-06-13, 11:54AM PDT

Wooden Toilet Paper holder that screws into the wall $2

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
  

PostingID: 1219926904

I keep this next to my bathroom mirror

because no matter how rough I look, it isn't that rough.

Which one's Pink?

On the way home from the gym tonight, just past sunset, the radio station I was not really listening to started playing the entire Dark Side Of The Moon album. I rolled my windows down and turned the music way up and recalled so clearly how that year, that teenage Pink Floyd year, was so! fraught! and! bittersweet!

And then I laughed out loud, alone in the car, because it suddenly hit me that every phase of my life until shockingly recently has been so! fraught! and! bittersweet! I am old. OLD. And I just figured that out NOW?

God bless my fifteenth year, and keep it far from me.

Shopping with eyes only

Amazon's special deal today is the RAMBO DVD collection. Nothing says "Happy Father's Day, Sweetie!" like a vet gone mad in the jungle, in Blu-ray.

"Good" mom? Hah! Kick-ass mom!

Over at Good Mom, Bad Mom, they were giving away a gift certificate to Ridemakerz, a make-it-yourself RC thingamajiger (like Build-A-Bear, but with remote control cars). And I won!

Only, I don't really enjoy the ol' remote control playscape the way I did back in 'Nam. So I passed it on to my child. And today, this came via hot FedEx guy:

And minutes later, we had this:

Please note that smiling with teeth is for chumps.

As if that weren't cool enough, today I discovered how to Hoffify:

A shot to the heart

Today, I discovered, to my horror, that I am allergic to dressing rooms. How odd! As soon as I started trying on bathing suits, I swelled up like a blowfish.

I bought a two-piece, with a skirt, and I have some fundamental issues about the bathing suit skirt thing. It screams GRANDMA. And also DON'T LOOK AT MY THIGHS RIGHT HERE, DON'T LOOK AT THEM! IF I WEAR A SKIRT YOU WON'T NOTICE THAT I AM FAT! And also maybe a little of: I MIGHT JUST HAVE A PENIS, WHICH IS WHY I AM WEARING EXTRA FABRIC, BUT I AM BEING COY!

That said, it did look cute and sporty rather than "Fat Girl," or at least cute and sporty with a crotch curtain. And that's more than enough for me.