Important cosmetic news

From my five year old.  He informed me of this esthetic breakthrough while watching me put on mascara.  Listen up ladies:

"You should get Spin Brush Mascara.  It has a brush that spins to keep your eyes from plumping.  It's for womans only."

I have no idea a.) What he's talking about b.) What show he's watching that has targeted him for this advertisement (surely the same as the snuggie) c.) How I can get my hands on one.

The reviews are in

I got some red lipstick.  When my best girlfriend "Steve" was in town, we went to a mall that just happens to have a MAC store.  I spend a good twenty five minutes there (a good portion of which is explaining my red lipstick "issue" and that I'd really like to be able to pull it off for special occasions, etc.).  She tried a couple of shades (first one, HID. E. US.) and then we settled on one that seemed to be working.  According to MAC lady and bystander lady, Reese Witherspoon was in da house.  Niiiice.   So then we take the show from the road, home.

Reviews from home:

9 year old:

"You look CREEPY!"

"You look like Michael Jackson."

"You look SO UNATTRACTIVE."

5 year old:

(In his best sarcastic girl voice)

"Red lipstick is so orginal"  "What does original mean again?"

He's insulting me with tone.  Not even vocabulary words he knows the meaning of. 

I give up.

I didn't fart

Hey everybody!

Sorry to take so long to report in.  It's been a busy bee week.  I survived teaching the inaugural spin class (barely)!  

And of course I will give you the blow by blow.  So here you have it:

I was supposed to get to the gym by 9:15 so that my instructor who was letting me teach her class could get me set up.  I've never used the sound system/mic etc. so she was going to give me the quick run down.  I dropped off my son at school at 9:00 and it usually takes me 10 minutes or so to get to the gym.  Of course there just happened to be two separate lane closures this particular morning that slowed me down by about 5 minutes.  By the time I got to the gym I was already in my training heart rate zone and sweating like Richard Simmons.

I walk into the spin room and it's packed.  The first thing my instructor says to me is "I might have to take you off the bike at 20 minutes because I'm getting complaints and eye rolling from the regulars about having a new instructor teach the class."  I think it was at this point my bladder burst out of my body like the creature in Alien, screamed and started spurting urine on the floor.  (OK that part just happened in my head).

So I get on the bike and look out at the faces.  This is a tough crowd.  Some of the people are lovely, but there is a chunk that wouldn't crack a smile if you put them in a padded room filled with puppies and naked, peanut butter-slathered toddlers.  Thankfully, I had asked a couple of friends to come and they were in the back of the room right by the clock I had to keep checking because I couldn't figure out how to use my ipod for time keeping without hitting the wrong button and pausing the music.  Seeing their smiling faces was the only thing that kept me from losing my shit.

The class got underway and I was relaxing a little.  Getting used to talking over the music, gauging how much blabber is too much blabber, etc. is trickier than you think.  Then five minutes in the mic dies.  Luckily my instructor is a rock star and ran up to the office to get more batteries.  Meanwhile I'm yelling over The Black Eyed Peas (not easy since that Fergie likes to own the room).

Once the battery shenanigans were over, I think it went OK.  There were a couple parts of the class I would re-work for the next time, but all in all I didn't embarrass myself.  I'm looking forward to teaching again.

Then as a nice treat, I went into NYC that night to meet Mrs. Snack and go to a book signing.  She has an excellent synopsis of our evening on her blog, and because I'm a lazy ass I will simply link to it if you'd like to read all about it.  I will say that the book signing was with Heather B. Armstrong, creator of the most widely read blog in the country, dooce who is one FUNNY woman.  And she was wearing red lipstick.  Jealous.

So sorry sister

We have a new yoga teacher at my gym who I LOVE.  She's Russian and athletic and funny.  She adds a spirit of gymnastics to the class that makes it feel young and challenging.  And her accent is fantastic.  I just love listening to her voice.  

"Deez azzena weell mazzagze your feemail organzzzz"

Anyone else tells me that an asana will massage my female organs, I'm a little skeeved out, but from her it sounds perfect.  There was a moment in class today however that I felt for another student with all the empathy in my female organs, not to mention my heart.

When we do deep stretches our instructor will come and splay her tiny athletic self all over us to press us into the stretch more deeply.  We were doing inversions (shoulder stands, plow, etc.).  If you don't know yoga poses, picture yourself laying on your back with both legs over your head and each knee by its respective ear.  So she's doing the rounds and goes to "assist" someone behind me by pushing the student's spread eagle legs back toward the floor.  You can see where this is going.  She is a tiny woman, but a strong woman.  She forced a torrent of air out of this poor person that made the most embarrassing noise ever.  It sounded like girl hole air.  I cringed for her.  And didn't turn around.  There are just some sounds you don't want to put a face to, for both of your sakes.  I just hope the woman comes back to class.  We all have holes and air.  It's OK.

Speaking of classes, I'm teaching my first spin class tomorrow!  I'm incredibly nervous, but very excited at the same time.  I'll let you all know how it goes.

I heart irony

You know when you're in a hurry and you go to whip into a parking spot, but you can't because the person in the spot next to you parked like a douche?  You hate that right?  Normally I do too.  Unless it makes me laugh.

Laugh with me.

Mission: Accomplished*

Just when you think your efforts as a Domestic Engineer go unnoticed and unappreciated, something surprising and beautiful happens.  Like this.

One of the things that was mysteriously broken after the rents left was the downstairs toilet seat.  I went to Home Depot yesterday and got a new one that I installed today while the kids were at school.

Son #1 came home from school and went straight to the bathroom, as he does everyday.  I'm in the kitchen when I hear:

"WHOA!!! THIS TOILET SEAT IS AWESOME!!!!"

I'm taken aback by the enthusiasm and ask "wow, what's so good about it?"

"THERE'S NO CRACKS IN IT AND IT'S SO SMOOTH."

And the piece de resistance?

"IT FEELS LIKE I'M POOPING IN THE EIFFEL TOWER!"

200 days

I've got 200 days left in my 30's.  Deep cleansing breath.  Let's talk a little about birthdays shall we?

I need to change my relationship with my birthdays.  I love people that love their birthdays.  I am not one of these people.  This started way, way back.  I think it has to do with expectations and pressure.  My parents always tried really hard (or at least they told me "we're trying really hard") to make my birthdays perfect.  Birthdays are never perfect.  Birthdays are when your best friend pukes tomato and cheese sandwiches all over you and the back of your mom's Volvo station wagon on the way to the roller rink.  Birthdays are when you cry inconsolably over the comment someone made about your dead dog.  Birthdays are when you get caught taking your boyfriend to your room and emerge with a patch of hickeys that would make a leech blush.

My husband and I also have a different "picture" of what a good birthday looks like.  His is intimate.  Maybe a golf outing with a few close friends.  A great dinner and a concert/play/show.  I enjoy these things as well, but not for my 40th birthday.  I pretty much want everyone I've ever met at my 40th birthday.  I want raucous partying.  I want tequila shots.  I want dancing.  I want roasting.  I want girl hugging and drunken expressions of love and affection.

I'm a big girl.  I know I've got to take this birthday bull by the horns and ride it.  I have 200 days.  So many options.  The problem is that my friends are spread out all over the country/world and I'm not expecting anyone to make a trip anywhere just for my birthday.  So I'm thinking the mountain needs to go to Mohammed.  A party here, a party there.  I'm also considering trips - I want to learn to surf so Costa Rica has been discussed.  I would also like to do something more reflective (after the partying of course) like a yoga retreat.  You only turn 40 once right?

If anyone out there has had the best birthday ever, let me know!  I'm open to suggestion and ideas.

If you give a chimp a corkscrew

If you give a chimp a can of soup, she will want to eat it.

She will pull the pop-top with such gusto, the metal tab will pop right off.

If you give a chimp a can opener, she will try and try to open the tab-less pop-top soup, but she will fail.

If you give a chimp a butter knife, she will try for many minutes to work the knife under the little circle of metal left on the pop-top can and eventually bend the tip of the knife.

But if you give a chimp a corkscrew, she will raise it over her head, bring it down full force on the vacuum sealed pop-top and end up with soup dripping from her chimp glasses, chimp hair and favorite chimp sweater.

The POOP on GOOP

I'm a little late to this party but after all the hubbub on Gwyneth Paltrow's new web site GOOP, I had to check it out for myself.   It doesn't suck.  I love the simple design.  I like the topics.  She got a lot of flack in the press for her lack of expertise (i.e. why should we listen to you about anything other than how to rock an english accent, look super innocent and bag a rock star) but she's obviously a ridiculously connected person and fills her site with mucho info from experts in their respective fields.

My favorite entry so far was a newsletter on parenting that I found very insightful.  I signed up to receive the newsletters and find myself actually reading them.  If nothing else, it makes me feel closer to Gwyneth, which in turn makes me feel closer to Chris Martin, which in turn makes me pant just a little bit.

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"Hey Springing Forward - SUCK IT."

Do you remember that movie Better off Dead from when we (I) were in high school?  Remember the paperboy who was always chasing John Cusack around on his bike screaming "I want my 2 dollars!"

I feel like riding my bike around the neighborhood screaming "I want my hour back!"  "Give me my hour back!"  I know this makes no sense whatsoever, but welcome to the world that is my mind.

My son acts as though this is all my fault (because everything is) and that I'm somehow doing this to make his life even more miserable.  

I know all about days getting longer, more light later, blah blah blah.  I'm from the Pacific Northwest - I need no sun to survive.  Mama likes her sleep.

Rant over.

Mama MIA

Hey there.  The 'rents are in town which means a few things:  I have little time to write.  My alcohol consumption has temporarily increased by 300%.  And lastly, I will have plenty to talk about come Saturday (stay tuned for an AWESOME dishwasher story).

I will leave you all with a mantra to keep you humming (spring is coming!) that I borrowed from my girl at snack (I warned her that I had to steal this because it spoke to me).

Mocked by Will Farrell

I was mocked by Will Farrell last night and it was AWESOME!  Our friend from Oregon came into town to take us to "You're Welcome America".  We had dinner reservations at 6:30 and the restaurant was running behind.  Also, for some reason we thought there was an opening comic so we weren't stressing too much about getting the theater right at 8.

So we get there about 8:10-8:15 and it had started.  Will Farrell was on stage (as W) and was doing a "prayer" somewhat similar to the sweet baby Jesus prayers from Talladega Nights.  The ushers told us they would seat us as soon as the prayer was over.  He finished the prayer and they whisk us down to our seats.  Our seats that just happened to be 2nd row, right in the middle.  Not conspicuous at all.

So we get into our seats and Will Farrell/George Bush looks directly at me and says "you missed the prayer."  And proceeds to kneel down and pray like 12 inches from my face, "dear lord, please excuse these rude people in the second row that came late.  Please protect them Jesus when they walk to their car later tonight and are accosted by an angry mob for interrupting the show."  The audience is going crazy at this point.  I'm dying of embarrassment and laughter at the same time.

Then on the way to the bathroom after the show I almost tripped over Bob Costas (and you could trip over him, he is a teeny tiny man!).

Such a fun night.  "You're Welcome America" will be on HBO March 16th.  Watch it!