if wishes were horses

"I want to ride a real horse", says Ms J. I reply, "There are no real horses." "uh-huh." To which I reply, "No." "uh-huh."
"No."
"Yes. I saw one before."
"That was just in your imagination."
"uh-huh."
"No."
"Mommy!! Tell the truth!! Pleeease!!"
"oooooo, I'm all about the truth. You could just call me Oprah"
"But I don't believe in unicorns."
"Ah, see now there's something we can agree on. Neither do I. So, why is it you want to ride a real horse?"
"I like the way they move up and down and side to side."
"Isn't that a rocking horse?"
"Real horses do it too."
"hmmm. okay..."

WMD's part2

Ms J: Gung hay fat choy. That's how you say Chinese in French.

the high road

Well, she could have made a statement in the press. You know, along the lines of "It was my understanding that Mr Frey's memoir was factual. That is to say, I believed that the things he said happened, did in fact happen. I am disappointed to find out that is not at all the case. I regret my telephone call to Larry King Live in which I defended Mr Frey. I regret endorsing his book by putting it on my book club list. I apologize for giving the mistaken impression that the truth is not important to me. The truth is very important to me."

I'm no publicist. And that was a first draft. *shrug* I'm just sayin'.

oh, HEY! Oprah should have hired Tom Cruise's old publicist to handle this! The one that didn't allow how much of a nut job he is to get out for all those years! 'Cause I'll tell you, that publicist is sheer genius. Sheer GENIUS, I tell you.

when the cat's away, the mice build WMDs

Brown: okay, so what day is it today?

Ms J: Sunday?

Brown: No.

Ms J: What day was it yesterday?

Brown: Monday.

Ms J: so...Friday?

Brown: Good Lord, child! This is not rocket science!

Ms J: it is rocket science. Why don't you just tell me what day it is?

er, no, it was an "Oprah" thing. Sheesh, doggie.

I'm really un-impressed with Oprah, with her dressing-down of (exacting revenge upon) James Frey on her show Friday. How unnecessary. How unkind. How spiteful and vengeful. The guy isn't really much of anything. I'd probably call him a loser, if I weren't feeling very beneficent, magnanimous, and shit. Oprah could have taken the high road. And spared us all.

Let this be a lesson unto us (all 3 of us who read this blog) ...never in any way allow yourself to be a party to Oprah feeling like an idiot in front of the world. THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY. And it won't come across well on National Television.

"yah...I heard you wanted to talk to me about some elbow thing?"

the bee's knees?

the "cat's pajamas". or the "cat's meow".

Or...The "doggie's elbows"?

heh. I think it's the doggie's elbows.

It looks like she has ELBOWS!

Well, speaking for myself, I find that quite amusing. tee hee.

This picture has nothing to do with this post

I haven't posted in awhile (not that anyone noticed...except maybe my beloved Walter). Then again, maybe even he is bored with me. Since I've shown no recent pictures of my cans. heh.

I've been living in the crazy land of home-improvement hell. Trying to get some things done around here, and also ensconcing my brain in the idea pit of what sort of renos could be done around here to make it slightly more than my house and closer to my "home". [okay wait a minute. ensconcing isn't the right word...but I can't think of what the right word is. Enveloping? no, those words conjure up a sort of comforting atmosphere, which is not at all what it has felt like, to be obsessed by the house. Or even to BE IN the house. More like...engorging...overwhelming my brain. Drowning and gasping for air and flailing is more like it.]

So anyhow, I think that has come to an end. We have pretty much decided it wouldn't make much practical sense to put money into renovating this house. We're going to sell. Living on the furthest edge of town (as far as I'm concerned) isn't really what works for our day-to-day existence. We're constantly driving, and frankly, with Uncle Yaris in the picture now (Mr Brown's new leased vehicle is the cutesie-fuel-efficient Toyota Yaris) driving isn't all that enjoyable for me. It's a snazzie go-cart, imo. I'm not big on go-carts. I passed that stage at about age 12.

sigh. I harken back to the days when I bombed around town in my uber-pretentious yet oh so comfortable and powerful Mercedes ML350. wow. that rocked. But, it ate so much fuel it was sickening. To the point of making me feel like a bad person. Even with my Kelly Ripa (albeit brunette) hairdo and sunglasses. tssssss...so hot it sizzles.

btw. I have caught on to Mr Brown's Kelly Ripa obsession in a way that I hadn't clued-into before. This is how it happened:

I realized that he kept referring to the show (Live with Regis and Kelly) as "Regis". Examples, "oh, 3 minutes 'til Regis". "Record Regis, I won't be back in time for the opening". "oh, so-and-so is going to be on Regis today". "Hey, how come you don't have Regis on?!"

What does this say to YOU?

to me, it says, he's so obsessed by Kelly that he has to try to hide it by failing to mention her.

man, I'm swift.

So now I figure, I'll just fantasize about Mark Consuelos, and that should improve our relationship substantially. Shouldn't it??

heh.

Regarding the photo...this is the scene most days, when Mr Brown leaves to drive the older 2 kids to school in the morning.

global warming hits home

Okay. It's January.

It's RAINING. WTF?? I live in the great white north. January is cold time.

It's RAINING

does anyone else find reading Harry Potter aloud exhausting?

I'm going to become even a bigger advocate for teaching one's kids to read early on in life. *mop of the brow* How does AGE TWO grab you??

I've been intermittantly reading the latest Harry Potter novel "Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince" to eldest brownlette (7), since it came out in July. If left to my own devices, I'd have devoured the thing within the first week, because I'm constantly left tantalized, wondering "what happens next??" and I want to read ahead, but I just can't bring myself to, since...well, I'm supposed to be reading it with her. And if I already know what happens, I'll probably fall asleep, because reading this book aloud is a frikken WORK OUT.

Dammit,couldn't JK Rowling, with her multi-million dollar empire and her new baby, and sprawling estate in the English countryside, find it in her heart to make the books just a bit more...orally friendly? sheee-it! I stumble over pronounciation, I try to keep up with appropriate inflection, whilst keeping the storyline straight for those inescapable questions about what happened 4 chapters back, while maintaining momentum and excitement, and...it's just all a bit much.

Maybe there should be a parental advisory on the cover. "This is a great book but regardless of all the hype, with the Hollywood movies and all, be sure your kids are at a reading level at which they can read this book to themselves, or your 'Time to Yourself' after the kids are in bed will be spent in re-coup mode, to a greater extent than usual. Oh, and we recommend chammomile tea and zinc losenges for your parched throat."

I'm going to make tea.