Are We Scary?

This morning an appraiser for the people who are buying our house came a-calling. Usually appraisers stay for about 15 minutes, ask a few questions, take a few notes and leave. This woman seemed friendly enough when she first entered our home, and exceedingly nervous as she departed. She even shot me a final glance that I read as, "I don't know what goes on in here, and I've seen a lot of bizarre homes, but this one takes the cake, sister- Oh my god just please don't stab me on my way out."

So I proceeded to take a look around our house for any telltale signs of "craaaaaaaazy". And you know, one person's treasure is another person's cue to run away really fast.

Here is a visual tour of the state of affairs in our home currently, including things I think may have frightened our cream puff little appraiser.

We'll start on the main level, the one she toured first:

This would scare off anyone. Christian loves it more than he loves me, and it's always magically sitting out, gloating at me. 1 point for Cream Puff.


Here's a baby head sculpture that C made. Usually, it graces the back of our terlet, but I brought it out to get some fresh air I mean to pack it up. On it's own it may not be that scary, but I think coupled with what she saw in the basement may have given her some cause to panic.


More baby heads!!! Against a wall that seems to be oozing the elixir of death.

Oh my god don't turn to your right, Cream Puff! More cement creatures....


As I'm sure she moved quickly to the next area of the basement, she was met by these dandy little beings:
...which wouldn't be all that creepy, save for the fact that they talk. I'm sure they talked to her, cause I have conversations with them simply all the time.


Oh look! More of Christian's artwork:

Nothing off about these items.

Here's something that's haunted me for the 2 years that we've lived here. It's in a plastic storage box on the top of some shelves that lead back to the tiny coal room that was put in when the house was built in 1920. It stares at me every time I go down there.


Enough of the basement, already. Let's check out what may be lurking in the kids' rooms, those little pits of evil:


These dolls are enough to scare the pants off of anyone, but even after all of these nefarious items, I just couldn't understand the level of fear in this woman's eyes.


Until I remembered this:





Oh, Cream Puff. It takes a strong sort of woman to bounce back from that terror.

Knock-Upedness

It's both fun and terrifying to be pregnant again. Since I'm an elderly 38, it's a bit nerve-racking to think of all the things that could be wrong with the wee one. It's funny to read on the pregnancy message boards how indignant many of the over-35 pregnant set get at being referred to as, "Advanced Maternal Age". I don't know why that's such a shock to some; I feel super-old to be pregnant. Old and tired and decrepit and I think I'm shrinking and my bones will break soon.

The best things right now: 1. I eat constantly, and sleep even more constantly.
2. I can blame everything on being pregnant, including but not limited to: my extreme laziness, mind-numbing flatulence, mumbling, inability to finish a sentence, sudden fits of temper or inconsolable weeping.
3. That's all. The bad things are: 1. Having to feed constantly, and once I've tasted a food, it's banished from my repertoire for at least a month. I need to come up with brand new delicacies constantly to satisfy my fickle fat-ass pregnanty self. 2. I can't see my forehead because it has taken cover under a blanket of teen acne. I never had this much acne as a teen. I am 38, for fuck sake. 3. I can't dye my hair or bleach my teeth. A few posts ago, I was gloating in my judgment of people who over-whiten, but now I feel like a small homeless British boy from the mid 1800's, who smokes and eats sugar by the handful from the castaways of the candy shoppe outside of which he begs for a tuppence. I can't even describe the state of my hair.

Songs in the Head

I still can't get Beyonce's version of "At Last" out of my head, but only the first part, because it was played over and over on the news. They cut it off at the exact same point, too: after the word, 'along'. Christian no doubt is sick of hearing me sing it, especially since I really have no business singing out loud in front of anyone with ears. My rendition has taken on a strange twist, too, I sort of sing it half Beyonce, half Etta James, with just a hint of Billie Holiday, which makes for an atrociously annoying queer little accented version.

Soon it will fade from the forefront of my mind, to be replaced with Delta Dawn, or some other song my Dad used to sing in the kitchen. As he poured his second martini, thrilled that he was home from another long day in the world of work. He'd sing this, or perhaps, "Up In the Air, Junior Birdman", while doing a little shuffle, giving a little clap, laughing and banging us on the back as if we were the sturdy sons he probably rightfully deserved.

The first song I ever memorized was "You Light up my Life." I would sing that alone in my room, pensively gazing out the window, willing my life to take the dramatic and glamorous turn I knew was my destiny. Ballads were my forte, as Journey's "Don't Stop Beleivin' " flew awkwardly out my mouth several thousand times. One summer I developed a mini-crush on a skanky, small-time country singer who performed at a local county fair. She sang a cover of "I'm not Lisa" that blew my little 10 year old mind. I bought her 45, scored an autograph, and spent the next few weeks listening. I perfected each and every nuance of her voice on that song, and my facial expressions conveyed the desperate longing of someone who knows no end to suffering.

I guess I'd like to take this moment to publicly promise my husband that I will now officially retire my "At Last" phase, in favor of returning to an old favorite.



I'm not Lisa, my name is Julie
Lisa left you years ago
My eyes are not blue
But mine won't leave you
'Til the sunlight has touched your face

She was your morning light
Her smile told of no night
Your love for her grew
With each rising sun

And then one winter day
His hand led hers away
She left you here drowning in your tears, here
Where you've stayed for years
Crying Lisa, Lisa

I'm not Lisa, my name is Julie
Lisa left you years ago
My eyes are not blue
But mine won't leave you
'Til the sunlight shines through your face

I'm not Lisa

Due to the crap-ass economy, as many people seek to cut back on any and all expenses, I have decided to share some of my secrets for scaling back on so-called "luxury purchases." In this case, I have chosen to focus on vacations. One might argue that a vacation is necessary for the well-being of the soul, and I whole-heartedly agree. Let's explore some alternatives to a bank-busting family week in Disney World.....

1. Now that Google Earth includes the ocean, throw on your flippers, pour a Mai Tai, and do a little virtual diving! I just did it and saw a bunch of dark, murky blue- very mysterious! I'm thinking a good idea to enhance the whole experience would be to get the little fishy screen saver on your computer. There you go, Jacques Cousteau.

2. Gap now has their Spring window displays up. They are very bright and fruity, just in time to break up those winter doldrums. Why not pack a picnic lunch, jump in the family roadster, and head over to your local Gap. Each family member can then dress in the zippiest ensemble you can dream of, spread out the old blanket near the dressing rooms (in case inspiration hits and you want to swap the tangerine shorts for lime!) and feast on cold chicken drumsticks and lemonade. Tip: If a pesky store manager tries to break up your fun, pretend she's a swarm of picnic ants and swat her! Or better yet, pack the Raid!

3. Have you seen the ads for Key lime Cove? It's the huge indoor water park with the Tropical Island theme- I'm positive there are ways to sneak in there, family in tow, for some cheap, wet thrills. The best way I've come up with is to dress your kids as little toucans, throw on a few hawaiian shirts, carry some musical instruments, and saunter right past the front desk. Throw a little grin and a wave back as you pass, explaining, "We're with the band!" Then you can duck into the locker rooms, change into bathing suits, and slip and slide your way into your kids' hearts. Bonus: Moms and Dads- when you tire of the water and sense the hunger pangs coming on, scope out the nearby tables for partially consumed eats and drinks. Even the top most food in the garbage cans can't be that old... dig in and you've got your own sampler platter on the cheap!

4. Do a little camping... in your own back yard! If you're like most people, you own a few bed sheets. No need to buy a tent, tack your sheets up to the side of your garage as your shelter. This is called a lean-to, and will protect you from the elements. Now all you need is a giant bon fire, marshmallows, and sleeping bags. If you need to use the bathroom- no cheating! Walking inside wouldn't be keeping with the rugged outdoor spirit at all. Pretend your sidewalk is the path down to the latrines and cop a squat in your neighbor's yard! Don't forget to carry your flashlight. Sing camp songs until the wee hours and curl up in your lean-to with the satisfaction of enjoying a hardy adventurer's vacation. p.s: Watch out for bears! And if you live where I do, you may wake up curled around that homeless guy who walks around the neighborhood and vomits.

I hope I've inspired even the most cynical of you to open your minds and hearts to a new sort of get-away this year. Spit in the face of tradition and you may just find that you don't really need all those costly amenities to restore you to a state of relaxed vigor- just in time to go back to work and lose your job. Good luck, little vacationers!