Finally, The Real Use For A Yoga Ball

It's hot, I'm tired, Meg is crabby, Ryan is fishing. I could blog about all of that, or you could just go stick a fork in a light socket. Or, you could watch this...

Tara is 75 months pregnant, and her back always hurts, so she bought that ball today in the hopes that would make her feel better. It didn't, so she gave it to her dog, Molly. Priceless.

You're welcome.

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One Dollar

Most people who work in television had some sort of ADHD. Even if they have never been diagnosed, even if they won't admit it, no one in my field has a very long attention span. We are built to pay attention to the moment, and to get news on the air as fast, and as accurately as possible; and then forget about it. When we are forced to dig for news, or to sit around and wait for news, when things are "low key," it is very easy for us to lose focus. It is very easy for us to be distracted by the ridiculous.

Right now, the ridiculous is all about the one dollar bet.

In the past month a co-worker has worn safety goggles that were left sitting around for an entire day to earn one dollar. Another has forgone shoes and hoped they would get to claim their prize without having to take a trip to HR first. A third put Mentos and Diet Coke in their mouth to see how big their cheeks would get. And then, there is Cody, who earned his money by eating the most disgusting cupcake ever to enter the newsroom -- all in one bite.

You know food is not good when it comes into the newsroom and two hours later is all but uneaten. I have seen co-workers almost shiv each other when pizza has been brought in, and chips left over from someone's weekend part -- on a Wednesday. These cupcakes, though, were inedible. I don't know where these cupcakes had come from, but even the most desperate of us wouldn't touch them. They looked like chocolate with white icing but, as one person who took a chance said. "that is definitely NOT chocolate." Cody tried to eat one, and spit it out immediately.

And then I offered him a dollar.

Worth every penny. Now though, I think the limits of the dollar bet may have been reached. I mean, a man almost choked to death on a paste flavored cupcake. How are we going to find someone to top that, for just a measly dollar?

Next up: five dollars. It will be epic.

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I Feel Petty

I feel like I am surrounded by pregnant women.

Really, it's like I'm in a pod person movie, and the pods are continuously talking about heartburn and hemorrhoids. Sometimes when they get hungry I fear for my fingers. After all, I am sure I look delicious.

There is no way in the world I would want to be pregnant right now. First of all, I have the world's most adorable daughter, and I am enjoying every minute of being her Mom. Another baby would be so unfair to her, as well as to the baby who would just pale in comparison at this point in time. Also, our house is close to bursting with just one baby; I can only imagine it with two. Despite these fact though, I find myself experiencing little pangs of jealousy with every baby announcement.

I think it's just that so many people are seemingly easily doing something I can't do. It isn't the babies they are having, again, none can hold a candle to Meg, but the fact they can have them at all. It's like being in a room filled with people who can whistle, and not being able to make a sound. You might have a flute that makes a much more beautiful sound, a sound you love more that any whistling you can imagine; and you know that even if you could whistle the sound probably wouldn't be as charming, intelligent, easy going, or sleep through the night as well as your flute. Also, everyone loves and admires your flute. Still, part of you still feels bad because you can't whistle.

Yeah, I know, that metaphor sucks.

Oh, and I wish I were taller.

Did I mention Meg is almost half my height? And that she sings the "Tiki Room" song? She's so amazing.

Maybe I'll use her picture to ward off hungry preggos. And if that doesn't work I will just throw pickles and run...

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Damnit.

See? I never do these tagging things right. I totally spaced I am supposed to pass on this award to five other bloggers. Hmmm, who to pick?

Well, first let's go with Steamy, because I think her list would be both interesting and terrifying.

Then, let's call on Maureen, since she never really got a chance to slut around in her 20's, and everyone needs that chance, even if it's only hypothetical.

It was recently CLo's birthday, and she deserves some virtual plastic Barbie sex.

Joe is British, so I bet his list will feature at least one of the Royal family. I want to see if it's Princess Margaret.

And, last but not least, Wanna Bee, for questioning on her blog just what "sexually active" means, making Diet Pepsi come out of my nose.

Okay, now I feel like a better bloggy person. I'm sure those I've tagged will grab that naked Barbie button and do wonderful things with it.

Oh, and Cheeseburger Doritos are available everywhere. They are in the black bags that are meant to appeal only to college kids. They will change your life forever.

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Five? Really?

I am, quite probably, the most faithful wife on the planet. I can honestly say that as long as I have been married I haven't thought about sleeping with anyone else, or even really found someone other than Ryan attractive. I mean, yes, I have looked at people and thought "oh, they're good looking," but I haven't wanted to throw my bra at them. Maybe it's because I did enough slutting around in my 20's (hi Mom!), or maybe it's because I am lazy and can't imagine the effort it must take to have an affair. In my opinion though, I think it's because my husband is one hot piece of ass, and he rocks my world like no other.

Wait, really, I have a point, and it's not to gross you out.

The fabulous Jules at Mean Girl Garage gave me this award, and despite my usual lukewarm feelings about such things, I decided to respond to it, first of all because she said I wouldn't, and second of all, because it features naked Barbies.

In my award acceptance speech I am supposed to name my five "freebies," or men* I would choose to sleep with if I could, and Ryan wouldn't get mad. Really though, if he's not going to get mad about me sleeping with someone else, he probably would be really okay with me checking into a hotel room by myself to watch cable, drink cheap wine, take long baths, and eat nothing but Cheeseburger Doritos for a weekend. Of course, after a couple hours I would get bored, and would want him to come up and bring Meg. She loves Doritos. And yes, I know that makes me Satan to all "organic" Moms.

Maybe they're the ones who really need to get laid... I wonder if every organic Mom has Keith Richards on her list, just to be bad.


*If I could turn back time, I would say Tony Curtis -- for all five. You know, when he was young, not now that he looks like this. I would post the actual picture on my blog, but it would make me too sad. Ryan is so lucky Tony isn't hot any more.

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Father's Day

I complain a lot, and often wish that things were different in my life.


Then I actually look at my life, and realize just how damn lucky I am.

Happy Father's Day, Ryan. I couldn't, and don't want to, imagine raising Meg without you.

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A Death for Us All

The state of Utah is preparing to kill someone, and it is slowly making me crazy.

I do not condone the actions of Ronnie Lee Gardner. He killed two people, and critically injured another. He admits to it. He has never really sincerely apologized for his actions, blaming them instead on his childhood, and drug abuse. He is not what I would call a "good guy." However, that doesn't mean he should be murdered in a spectacle that is beginning to rival that of a circus.

This execution is bringing out the grim aspects of humanity. At a commutation hearing earlier this week two family members of one of Gardner's victims pumped their fists when his appeal was denied. Local newspapers, and television stations, are doing multiple stories every day. As the execution day grows near national media are joining them. Gardner's every move is being cataloged, and transmitted in press releases. People are vying for seats in the execution chamber. All of it is being rapidly devoured by the public. They are eating up blood lust, pure and simple. And they are calling it justice.

I think that's the worst part for me. This idea that the state sanctioned killing of a man is justice. I thought society was supposed to try and raise people up, not kowtow to their basest instincts. I thought we were supposed to work together to push forward, and not resort to methods of the past that obviously have never worked. After all, if eye for an eye really is a deterrent, shouldn't murder already be a thing of the past?

Also, I don't see how this isn't cruel and unusual punishment. Telling someone you are going to kill them, and that people are going to watch them be killed? Letting them count down the hours and days? Telling them everyone around them knows they will be killed, but that no one can help them? Replace "state" with "psycho" and that is the basis of a great horror movie. Eli Roth could direct.

I'm just glad I don't have to explain this to my daughter.

Yet.

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A Sad Death

I used to have a whole list of blog topics on my Blackberry. Whenever I found myself at a loss for words I would pull it up, and find the perfect thing to wax rhapsodic about. Actually, I would pull it up and think "Jesus, am I using crack without knowing it," and then post pictures of Meg in order to get people to look at my blog without really doing anything, but you get the point. It was my safety net. A safety net that is now gone.

Two weeks ago my Blackberry gave up the ghost. Well, not really, it was still alive enough to haunt me. It would take calls, and light up the screen, or alert me when new email had arrived -- it just wouldn't let me do anything about it. Oh, unless I was really frustrated, and then it would randomly allow the "answer" button to work -- usually when a torrent of f-word varietals were pouring from my lips. Luckily, my Mom already knew I swear like a sailor.

There is an upside to the story: I got an iPhone and, because I got it so recently, will be able to trade it in for a 4G. However, the fact I have a better browser, and endless distractions that can be downloaded in an instance, is tempered by the fact I lost all of the information on my Blackberry except for contacts. I mean, important stuff. Not just blog posts, but appointments, grocery lists, and various gift ideas. I also had random ideas for novels (I mean, I have a blog, I should be working on a book), and all the things I want Ryan to do in the yard this summer. It may not se much, but now I wander around the house, wondering what I'm missing -- if I should be meeting a long lost friend for lunch, or buying a birthday present for a friend who's birthday I only know because of Facebook. I am awash in a sea of not knowing exactly what's going on, or what has been on my mind -- because I had it all on my Blackberry. Damn technology.

Well, at least I go this blog post out of it. That's much more than I ever got out of that list. Oh, and here is a picture of Meg.


Eh, she's really the only thing y'all want to see anyway... I mean, at least if you have taste...

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Cooking* With Libby

I actually am a pretty good cook. No, really I am. I make hard stuff, like pies; and things that call for saffron and stuff like that. However, tonight was the first really perfect summer night of the season. The first night that if felt like warm weather may stick around, and that snow boots can be safely be put away in the back of the closet until October. It was not a night for serious cooking. And we had a whole lot of leftover watermelon that needed to be used.

Watermelon margaritas, anyone?

Now, I know that there are tons of "recipes" on the web for watermelon margaritas. Yeah, but those call for muddlers, or strainers, or simple syrup, or even basil. I looked at them, but that was getting to close to cooking. So I kept it simple. I put the watermelon in the blender, added white whiskey (even better than tequila in my book), and orange liquor.


It didn't taste perfect yet though, so I threw in some lime juice and ice. Then, it was heaven. Frothy, pink, vitamin C packed heaven.


Even Ryan liked it. Oh, but he put his is a dark glass while he was outside mowing the lawn. He has a rep to maintain.

Oh, and don't worry. This isn't all we had for dinner. I threw together some of the simplest sesame noodles ever known to man. They definitely weren't this pretty though.

Summer feels good so far.

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Oil is Gross

I am praying hard today for the people of the gulf coast.

For the past 48 Salt Lake City has been dealing with an oil spill that is like knocking over a dixie cup compared to the mess in the gulf. Roughly 500 barrels (21000 gallons) of oil spilled out of a broken pipeline in one of the canyons and into a stream yesterday morning. That stream runs through my neighborhood, and into the biggest park in Salt Lake City. That stream is now totally toxic, filled with dead fish, leaving an oily residue on the banks and plants for a five mile stretch. The pond it empties into is now a sludge pit. It is so bad the entire park has been closed while they put in absorbent booms to get the oil off the water. The geese and ducks living in the pond, who were in the middle of nesting, have all been taken to the zoo to be cleaned. Oh, wait, not all of them, dozens of them are on their way to the landfill after being suffocated by the oil.

The air smells disgusting. It's better today than yesterday, and there is a breeze blowing that helps, but most of the time it smells like a gas station. At it's worst you could actually taste the fumes. It was gross.

And this was only 500 barrels.

More than one point six MILLION gallons of oil have already spilled into the Gulf of Mexico. And that leak isn't capped yet. This one is.

I can only imagine what Louisiana smells like right now.

So, I'm praying.

Maybe you should too.

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Eleven Months

From this: To this:

We are practicing blowing out candles at our house. Meg has made it very clear she doesn't want to be one of those babies who doesn't know what to do when her big moment comes. Yes, she knows that no matter what she does people will adore her, but she wants to knock the crowd on their butts. Lord knows she knocks Ryan and me on our butts every day.

Every time we look at her, we are amazed. When we wake her up in the morning we are glad to see her. When we put her to sleep at night we miss her. We love watching her eat, and sleep, and make messes. We even love it when she shows her growing attitude, slapping at our hands when we try to do her hair or wipe her nose; or watching her bare butt as she crawls away at lightning speed mid diaper change.

I saw a newborn baby in the grocery store the other day, and I felt a slight pull for the baby Meg used to be. You know, the type you could put down and walk away, and the type that didn't bite your shoulder when you try to cuddle. Then I looked down at the near toddler in my cart, the one with the runny nose trying to gnaw on the cart handle, and I smiled. I have gotten to see every moment from cuddly newborn to now, and I will get to see every other moment too. I can't tell you how lucky that makes me feel.

I said "give Mama a kiss." And she did. A big, wet, sloppy one with a smacking sound at the end. Best. Kiss. Ever.

Oh, how I love my girl.

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Small Stature, Big Impact

Gary Coleman died, and now I'm sad.

At first, I was just sad because I no longer had a "go to" guess every time a celebrity died. Then I was sad because I wondered if Sam would miss his favorite story subject. Then I was hungry because I skipped lunch. I had a really good sandwich, and then I was sad again, because I realized Gary would never get to have another sandwich, and I didn't even know if he liked sandwiches. I knew so little about the man who was my favorite choice for "which celebrity will die next," that I felt I had no right to even play that game at all.

I slipped into a funk.

I tried to hide my sadness behind a bravado of jokes. I told people Todd Bridges was interviewed on the Today Show but was crying so hard no one knew what he was talkin' 'bout. I started a petition to get Emmanuel Lewis to move to Utah to fill the hole left by Gary. I even, shamefully, circulated this photo of Gary's supposed casket. Not funny, and a bit cruel, I know, but I was trying to deal with my pain.

Stolen from a blog more tasteless than this one.

After that I just felt sad and dirty.

Now, I just don't know what to do. I keep thinking I see him in the distance, or that I hear his voice. My heart races until I realize that it's not him; that's it's just my mind wanting him to be there so badly. I find myself wishing I were his ex-wife or parents, just so I could be arguing over his remaining assets and who gets to dispose of his corpse.

Actually, I wouldn't want to see him dead. I would rather remember Gary this way:


I know. That picture is almost too much perfection for anyone to take. And now, it's all we have left of them. I mean, it soon will be all we have left of them. No one thinks Hasselhoff is making it through the year, do they?

Oh! New contest entry! Yay!

Now, I'm hungry again.

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Next Stop: Harvard

We found the perfect educational institution for Meg.


Actually, I guess it's more of a safety school. First choice is, of course, Taco Bell Academy.

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No, I Was Drunk

I have done my share of dumb things while drunk. Hell, I am guessing anyone reading this who has been drinking with me has at least one story they are holding on to for when I run for office, or when they need money. However, in recent weeks, all of my drunk exploits have begun to seem plebeian in comparison to those making headlines.

Let's start with the easy one: Ann Curry. You know, the journalist. Yes, I wrote that without laughing -- or at least without laughing a lot. After all she nods like she's a journalist. You see, recently Ann Curry was asked to speak at the graduation at Wheaton College. So, like any good journalist, she looked up past graduates. That's called "research." Of course, she failed to notice that there are in fact TWO Wheaton Colleges in the U.S. -- and that she had researched the wrong one. I guess she missed the "fact checking" day at journalism school.

Her excuse? She was "Googling drunk."

She picked that hairstyle while drunk too..
Oh, and I found the pic on Google. This is the right Ann Curry, right?

She acted like she was kidding, but I think we all know she wasn't. After all, why do you think all of her ex-boyfriends started Twittering about weird hang ups on their answering machines the next day. Don't worry, Ann, we've all been there. Just don't expect a call from either University of Miami next spring.

Of course, Curry's exploits pale in comparison with those of Sarah, the Drunkess of York. She claims the only reason she offered to sell access to her ex-husband was because she had "been drinking." She made the admission on the Oprah Winfrey show -- for which I am sure she got paid -- so she must have been stoned or doing 'shrooms when she agreed to that.

The really obvious sign she was drinking at the time of the sting though, was the fact she though access to Prince Andrew was worth 500k. I opened a Diet Pepsi the other day and found a lunch with the Prince under the lid. Then I threw the lid away. Maybe next time they should put that prize under a screw cap on wine.

Those arms a product of Shiraz and smokes. Trust me.

I think instead of blaming the misstep on drinking though, Fergie should have blamed it on Weight Watchers. Do you know how many points are in a glass of wine? Two. Do you know how many points a woman Fergie's size gets a day? Eighteen. So, she probably had a long day, was meeting a complete stranger who may or may not be carrying a tape recorder, and decided to spend her points on booze instead of food. This is why WW isn't really the "lifestyle" for everyone -- especially fallen duchesses.

Now if only Lindsey Lohan could blame something embarrassing on being drunk. I mean, other than her career.

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The Internet: Not Just For Porn Any More

There is now a dating website for people in relationships looking to cheat.

Yes, you read that right.

No longer do people wanting to step out on their significant others have to prowl through the Craigslist "casual encounters" section, or talk up the office slut. They don't have to head to cheesy bars on the other side of town, and buy daiquiri after daiquiri for the girl they went to high school with whom they have reconnected with on Facebook because she says she is in a "bad marriage." They don't have to hope the new next door neighbor is as easy as she looks. All they have to do is make a profile, sit back, and wait. The site has a 100% "affair guarantee."

Isn't America great?

The site even has "as seen on" listings. Apparently it has been talked about on "Ellen," "Dr. Phil," and "Good Morning America." Of course, they don't say what was said about the site on those shows, because that would be indiscreet. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Phil is part owner of the site. What an easy way to locate future "troubled" talk show guests. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

If the media "endorsements" aren't enough, they also have a celebrity spokesperson. A real winner. Michelle "Bombshell" McGee. Yes, a woman made famous for cuckolding an Oscar winner, and her love for dressing like a Nazi. A woman of such high moral fiber that she said she did Sandra Bullock a "favor" by talking to the press about her affair with Bullock's husband.

I guess Dame Judy Dench was busy.

The best part of the whole site though, I mean apart from the wedding band in the logo, the fact it's named after a call girl who picked her name from a list of 1980's popular baby names, and the blurry "erotic" photo, is one of it's many, many tag lines: "change your life today." I guess that's accurate though. Sign up for an Internet cheating site, and your life will most definitely change, possibly even before zippers come down for the first time. After all, I'm betting the second a spouse or significant finds that page in the browser history (because really, if you are so lazy you use an Internet service to start an affair, you probably aren't great at covering your tracks) things will start changing. Things like bank accounts, addresses, and custody agreements. In some severe cases facial shape and/or genital function could change as well. Some people get really, really mad.

I bet the meaningless sex is really worth it though. Like Internet, "cats playing ping pong," worth it. That's pretty good, right? Right?

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