I get this catalog and I can barely stand to look at it. It’s so disgusting - masquerading as a catalog of items for my personal “art of well-being,” it’s diet pills and nail fungus removal products and really gnarly looking vibrators shaped like worms.

I’m not kidding.

There’s also some really bizarre products that I cannot understand: press-on nails for toes. I have to confess to secretly wondering about whether there were press-on toe nails, since many a VH1 special talked about Lee Press-on nails.

But man, take a gander down disgusting lane - imagine all the geeyunk that would get stuck up under the fake press on toe nails with all that adhesive. Gah.

Yet that’s not the most disgusting thing in the catalog. There’s vibrators, tingle creams, things to put on your eye bags, your ass bags, bags in other places, and then.. there’s the stank bath.

Really, it’s the D-Tox Spa System. It looks like a normal footbath, except that you put these “detox salts” in the water, and in 30 minutes as your feet get pruny, the water turns the color of really bad diarrhea. Look at the pictures. I’m not kidding. The water turns shit brown. Just want you want to soak your feet in, right?

Right. Wow. Poop water. I need a vibrator now, baby. Yeah. Rwor. 

I am slowly approaching my birthday, and I was thinking today, what present would I like to give myself? What goal do I have to accomplish that I haven’t accomplished yet?

I’m starting a casual list - I’m sure this is of no interest to anyone but me, but hey, here be my space to remind myself of things I’d otherwise forget:

1. Do I want to carve out a Permanent Do Not Make it Messy office space with a desk and OMG a chair and give myself space to write more and work on My Other Job™ more deliberately? Or will that come with The New Kitchen that seems far away and impossible?*

*We hired an architect to design an addition onto our house. Yes, I’m due in September. Yes, he’s drawing now. Yes, I am clearly insane.

2. Do I want to treat myself to a course in photography, which I’ve been thinking about for, like, a year now, knowing that doing so would be (a) expensive sort of and (b) a commitment to take photos and actually do the lessons?

Wow, that’s a hell of a list. Woo. Stay tuned for more navel gazing and hot, hot attractive self-absorbed ruminations.

After over an hour of old-skool counting fun, Freebird was still awake an hour past his bedtime when Hubby came home from the vet last night.

Realizing that (a) I’d forgotten to give the teething young man some Motrin and (b) that maybe Hubby would like to see the Bird, we trooped upstairs - well, to be honest, I waddled, Hubby stomped because Hubby can’t climb up or down stairs without stomping, and Logan ran because he was still in the throes of joy at his anal glands finally finally being clear (Me: Ew ew ew. Logan: Yay! Yay! YAY!).

I went into Freebird’s room, where there was counting and clapping and One! Two! Tree! Fo! Five!-ing going on, and the young man stood up in his crib and started to jump up and down on his mattress with a look of “Did you know I could do this? I can totally jump on my own bed!” on his face. His mattress is seriously bouncy and I was totally jealous.

I scooped him up while Hubby fetched The Drugs, and while Freebird was swaying back and forth and babbling at me, I said, “Look, it’s Daddy! Yay Daddy! Can you say, ‘I love you, Daddy.’”

And just like that, no need for thinking time, Freebird turned his head around to see Hubby and said, “I LOVE YOU DADDY!”

Awwwwwww. Hubby’s face was priceless. And I’m sure, even though he’d never admit it, his heart just melted into a puddle of goo at his toes.

Now we’re working on, “Let’s watch Antiques Roadshow, Daddy!”

Sean answered my interview questions and I literally laughed my bum off at his last answer. Hee!

Also, Rbelle answered my questions and I totally forgot to link to her. See what I never do memes that require multi-step follow through? I’m a hopeless case.

But wow did I enjoy their answers, even if making up questions was a challenge and a half. 

I am still laughing at this: The Milwaukee Brewers had a promotion last night offering two free tickets to anyone who came to the game and got a free rectal exam. The trailer where the exams were held, according to the radio report I heard, was located near the TGI Friday’s in the stadium.

Hubby: “Which is appropriate because their food is butt.”

The news item I linked to pointed out the irony that the Brewers have one of those sideline competition where fans dressed as different kinds of sausages race for a prize. You can’t possibly make anything up that’s more funny than sausage racing on rectal exam night.

The only thing better was the Newark Bears’ promotion last year where you got in free if you dressed up as your favorite Scientologist. 

In my last issue of Domino magazine, which I like and loathe at the same time, there was an article about two women who, for $500, will have a phone interview with you and then give you a two word statement of your personal style. I’m fascinated by people who can accurately sum up another person in such succinct terms, even after interview questions in about a 30 minute conversation. But am I paying $500 for that? You must be kidding.

One of my personal style words might be “Frugal.” Or perhaps “Overly practical?” Other combinations I’ve entertained myself with: “Bedhead Acne.” “Comfortable Shoes (tho not a Lesbian).” “Elastic Waist.” “WTF OMG.” “Pajams KThxBye.”

Seriously, I’ve been entranced by the idea, and have been thinking what mine would be, what two-word description would best fit my personal style of clothing, decorating, and basically how I keep my shit together. Last night or the night before I figured it out. If I had to describe me in two words: Casual Poise.

How that fits into my clothing purchases, I have no idea. But I think it fits.

So what would your two word definition of style be? 

Today, Freebird is 18 months old. Yay Freebird! A full-on toddler with tantrums just around the corner - because if there’s one thing he inherited from his parents, it would be The Stubbornness. And also, the Monster Gas. I think he jet propelled himself up the stairs last night.

But also, today is the day that Baba O’Riley saw fit to deliver unto me not one, but TWO majorly pleasant symptoms of pregnancy: my already-entrenched sciatica met up with her good friend heart burn today, and oh, it’s a party in my torso, so bring the hot sauce. I feel like laying down the law and saying that Baba only gets one problem per week, and this week’s problem was already used up. But I don’t think the trotting-to-the-lavatory problem was Baba O’Riley’s fault, so maybe this week we get heart burn for fun and giggles.

Pass the Zantac OMG.