There are gremlins in my tires. And my washing machine. Possibly the kids. It's really the only explanation. Or maybe science. Could be science.

I prefer gremlins.

The low-air pressure light came on in my car that let's me know the tires need air, or are flat, or maybe the weather has cooled off and my car hates me, or there are gremlins.

I prefer gremlins.

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This is not a gremlin. This is Abe wearing a Santa hat.

Abe makes me feel better. He's festive, he likes to party, but he never gets out of hand because, well,

he's only a bust; his lack of legs really limits his ability to tear shit up.

Everybody needs an "Abe."

Once, when Bob was still alive, we were on our way to a chemo appointment and the A/C in my car stopped working. We looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Shit, guess this means we're going to have to buy a new car." It's not that we didn't know how to get it fixed, it was just that kind of thing. That kind of stress. That kind of moment in time. I never did get the A/C fixed. It mostly fixed itself. Or something.

I prefer gremlins.

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These are also not gremlins, but I do question whether or not gremlins were

involved in their current placement because WTF? Is there a frat house near the manger?

My washing machine started singing a song tonight that is different from the song it normally sings. Something about Korean appliances—they sing the loveliest songs when they want you to know things, even things like, "Hey, there's a potential water leak happening somewhere inside your washing machine, and you need to call a repair person during the holidays to get our here and fix it even though you have a houseful of guests." The boyfriend and I looked at it. We restarted it. It seems to be working. I don't know why.

Probably gremlins.

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This? This is a 15-year-old trying to imitate the people on the Xbox 360

Box because he will still do things to make his mother laugh.

Our ice maker stopped working for a couple months. It started working again about a week ago.


The requisite 1.75 children are currently sick in our household because 1.75 children are always sick in a children-possessing household prior to a holiday. It is written, therefore it shall be law.


Clearly. Or, perhaps, the common cold.

I prefer gremlins.


There is a VERY strong possibility this is a gremlin.


My Office: Let Me Show You It

I don't do desks. It's not that I haven't tried. I have had desks. I have sat at desks. I have tried fancy chairs. I have tried fancy desks. I have tried fancy computers at fancy desks.

I always end up sitting on my bed.

I did my homework on my bed from the time I started having homework. I had a desk. I used my bed. I would sit with my very long legs dangling over the sides of my very narrow twin bed doing my homework. Sometimes my dog would join me. She sucked at math. I didn't. We were a good team.

I realize that using my bed as my desk and office is a colossal faux pas for somebody with chronic insomnia. I don't care. I didn't sleep any better when I sat elsewhere. I probably slept worse because of the pain I had from sitting at a desk. The ergonomics of desk life don't work for me.

So, a bed it is. This can lead to some confusion amongst people who reside outside my home. They think I spend ALL DAY IN BED OH MY GOD.

Mah Desk

Me at "My Desk"

Well, I sort of do. I spend a number of hours sleeping and a greater number of hours working and getting shit done online. I process photos, I respond to the colossal cesspool of email I receive, I manage my ad networks, I do the social network thing, I dick around a bit, and I MOSTLY do the other stuff that is my private business that I don't talk about here because, well, it's my private business not your private business. It's what ultimately pays the bills. This gig buys the lattes and the shoes, for the most part. Math is hard or that's what the dog said, anyway.

Pretty fucking exciting, eh?

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Sometimes I use a fancy-ass pillow for my neck!

This is the fancy neck pillow I like to use when I have to spend a rather long bit of time on the Interwebs. It makes my neck feel so very loved. Desks do not offer this option. Let's be honest, desks are assholes.

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Just like a desk-dweller, I can enjoy a cup of coffee in my office space. Look at me go! (Duck face optional for those of you attempting this advanced move at home.)

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My office has some sweet art. It has deep meaning in my life. I like that about my office and my art. It inspires me.

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I can talk on the phone in my office—can, but don't. I don't do phone. We've already reviewed this.

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Phone is icky. It is only good for the texting and the porn.

Thank you for joining me for this tour of my office. Tune in next time for a tour of my "other office" where I read the Twitter and think fondly of you all. It has the loveliest porcelain accouterments and softest two-ply. You're going to LOVE it; I just know you are!

What do polka dots sound like? Not Webvan or iguanas.

This one time at band camp…woops! Wrong story! My bad. Let me try that again.

Friday, the family went on a little field trip to The Tech Museum, which I reviewed in full-color detail here. It was most awesome. I do so love it there.

One of the most fabuloso stoner toys educational interactive music exhibits they have is a wall of musical buttons they call Wikisonic. The purpose of the exhibit is to “demonstrate the fundamentals of harmonics and chord structure by allowing visitors to experiment with note intervals in familiar musical melodies.”

Or, if you’re my daughter, it’s to find out what polka dots sound like. Because who hasn’t pondered that question, hello?

Oh, and her brother threw a couple things together, too.

Keep in mind, we are many things in this family, but musically trained we ain’t, (unless you count the hours we’ve put into Rock Band).

Here’s his first piece:

And here’s his second composition:

Again, same genetic material. I swear. No milk man involved. Although we did get Webvan deliveries. Oh, how I miss Webvan, but not for the sex, only for the deliveries. Not the baby deliveries, the food deliveries. God, you guys are disturbed. Those green and yellow bins, with their perfectly interlocking flaps. I still have some stashed away in the attic. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure they’re filled with outgrown baby clothes. Weird.

Oh, hey. Good news. First submissions have come in for the poster child/adult/pet/rodent/animal for FACE of the HUMORLESS. Soon we’ll be able to find a CURE. I just know it. So, when I say submissions, what I mean is a bunch of submissions from one entrant. Rather than subject you to all that humorlessness (it would shut the internet down, y’all), I’m gonna wait for some more submissions to come in and then post them for a vote. So, get those pics in. My email is available under the Contact header at the top of the page.

Remember, reptiles are eligible, too. I have seen some downright dour iguanas. And you’ll never catch one in a comedy club, unless he’s the janitor.

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Swallowed Up By Edumacating My Childrens


Image by califmom via Flickr

I been busy y’all. Seems I done birthed some kids a decade or so ago. Now, they want me to teach ‘em some stuff. You can read all about it in my posts over at CalifmomHomeschools. Here are a couple of posts to get you started:

Homeschooling Two Vastly Different Children: Can It Be Done?

Getting Into The Groove: Week 2

Seriously, though, that’s why I’ve been slacking off over here with my posting. Peanut’s decided she wants to do some hard-core book learnin’ this year, and I am the official whip cracker (which is not the same thing as a redneck cracker. Boy did I find that out the hard way).

Plus, I’m still waiting for y’all to send in your photos for the poster child for our Find a Cure for the Humorless campaign. The hell? I made you a ribbon with my own shaky hand.


I even came up with a couple of new options:



Now, do your part. Find us a poster child/adult/animal (I’m flexible, literally)!

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