Smacksy Sunday Link: Hipster Puppies

Hipster Puppies is a sort of genius. Some of the jokes are so deeply inside the hipster scene that I have to ask my husband to explain a reference for me. But sometimes I don't and then I feel cool for a second. Either way, this stuff is funny. And there are puppies. I like puppies.

Happy Sunday.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Go Find a Book

"Here's one!"

I am SO the boss of you

Contemplating how I can help the world, one know-it-all post at a time.
Photo Credit - Bob Rosenberg

Acknowledging my certainty that everyone would be so much better off if they would simply do as I say, I am doling out advice today over at Mouthy Housewives. These wise and deeply funny advice-giving women were kind enough to ask me over for the day and I was delighted to say yes.

My qualifications to answer the world’s big questions?
Mouthy - Check.
Housewife - Also check.
So there you go.

I give a lot of advice everyday: unsolicited, often ignored, and always to the same three year-old, Bob Rosenberg.

“Take your hand out of your underpants, please.”

“Do you have to tinkle? No? Then let go of it, please.”

“Take your waffle out of your underpants.”

“Tuck your package back into your p.j.’s”

“No, it will not fly away if you don’t hold it.”

“I just know, that’s how I know.”

“Please take R2-D2 out of your underpants.”


Obviously, I have a lot of experience to share. To get a little more smacksy in your Friday, please go here.

Subscribe to the Mouthy Housewives. It's like having a life coach, if your life coach had a wicked sense of humor, soft golden highlights and cute shoes.

Wednesday Night Sleepover

Bob tucked in his Slumber party guests tonight:
Greedo
Bossk
Death Star Droid (Bob thinks this droid is C-3PO. Please don't tell him the truth.)
Darth Vader
Pack of Trident White peppermint gum

Twitter, Guilt, and Chef Bayless

I love Chef Rick Bayless. I fell for the Chef/Owner of Chicago’s Frontera Grill when he competed on Food Network’s Top Chef Masters. He is talented, his food looks amazing and he was able to be kind even when kicking the ass of the slimy Michael Chiarello. I don’t follow many celebrities on Twitter but I enjoy following Mr. Bayless.

On Twitter he posts gorgeous photos of the new specials on the menus at his restaurants.
He live tweets reviews of other restaurants while dining. He gives encouragement when his followers tweet photos of their home made meals made with his recipes and he answers questions about Mexican cuisine. (“Hey Chef, Can you freeze Queso Fresco?” “Yes, but it affects texture a little.”) How nice is that?

Last week, my favorite tweeting chef posted this message with a link to a photo:

"Topolo menu tasting: classic Michoacan-style carnitas w pork belly, tomatillo avoc salsa, tortilla shards, lime air"



After clicking on this photo, I shot off a tweet to Rick Bayless that read:

"I adore you and I'm sure that carnitas tastes amazing but it looks a little um... pornographic"

You guys see this picture. Come on, it’s all parts and fluids. Even still, I was hit with instant Twitter remorse. I’m not sure if I was expecting him to tweet back, “Whoa! Astute observation! It totally looks like a wang!” but I guess I was expecting something. Instead, I got back nothing. (And this is a man that answers questions about frozen cheese.)

I immediately assumed that I had offended Rick Bayless. Rick Bayless who has a bunch of restaurants and three cookbooks and his own show on PBS and has nothing better to do than give a flying churro about my comment. Not likely. Perhaps my remorse is unfounded.

Still.

I’m sorry Rick Bayless.

Cabin Fever: A One Act

Today was day five of Bob's bronchitis. Jeff was away for the weekend so other than a trip to the pediatrician, Bob and I have been in the house for 128 hours straight. We are getting a little punchy. Every conversation is starting to feel like the kind you have in a booth at Canter's Deli at 4:00am.

CABIN FEVER

I am laying on the couch. BOB is hopping up and down in front of me.

BOB

Thorax. Thooooooorrrrrax. Thorax.

ME

Do you have a thorax, Bobby?

BOB

No. Only insects have a thorax. I just have this body with my own bottom.

(BOB turns around and drops his pajama pants to show me his behind.)

ME

Wow. Okay. I get it. Nice.

BOB

(BOB turns around and pulls his pants up.)

I am also magic.


END SCENE

The Little Nutcracker

Jeff and I are in the kitchen putting away groceries. Bob runs in, arms stretched in front of him, his fists clenched tightly.

“I am very flying at you,” says Bob as he hurls his fists into Jeff’s crotch. Jeff instantly pales. “What’s wrong with Daddy?

“Oh Bob, I think you really hurt Daddy. Jeez. He really got you. Are you okay?”

Jeff’s eyes are closed.

“I’m sorry Daddy. I will kiss it for you.”

“Wait Bob, you can give him a hug in a minute. Let’s just let Daddy…”

Bob leans in and head-butts Jeff’s crotch while making a loud smoochy noise. Jeff doubles over.

“Oh no. That was bad and weird. Bob let’s just go in the other room and give Daddy a minute. We have to be very gentle near other people’s private parts.”

Jeff steadies himself with both hands on the counter. He exhales in rapid Lamaze-style breaths. I lead Bob out of the kitchen.

“Sorry Daddy. Mama did you know that now I only like ice cream if it’s all melted and not cold? Where’s my Spiderman guy? Have you seen him? Does R2-D2 have Valentimes in Star Wars?”

From the kitchen Jeff says, "I'm good. I'm good. I'm okay. Just need a minute. Couple a minutes."