All Rileyed Up

Thank you, Superior Court Judge Jeffrey Locke, from the fine state of Massachusetts for your legal expertise on this important matter:

“A sandwich is not commonly understood to include burritos, tacos and quesadillas, which are typically made with a single tortilla and stuffed with a choice filling of meat, rice, and beans.”

That’s right. The Burrito is NOT a sandwich. Panera Bread Co at the White City Shopping Center in Shrewsbury had a clause in their lease that the shopping center couldn’t lease to other sandwich shops, and when a Mexican restaurant planned to open up, Panera tried to invoke the clause, saying that burritos were sandwiches. And there you have it, the birth of a worthless case.

In addition to LOOKING IN A DICTIONARY, the judge also heard testimonial from a chef, who said, “I know of no chef or culinary historian who would call a burrito a sandwich. Indeed, the notion would be absurd to any credible chef or culinary historian.”

You know what else is absurd? A golfer with an arm growing out of his ass.

Did anyone ever consider Burrito’s poor feelings when they decided to take his entire identity to court? I couldn’t imagine what would happen if the very definition of my being was brought into question (”She is in fact, not a human at all, but a chicken leg.”).

What if Burrito always thought he was a sandwich? What if the news that he is not a sandwich was taken pretty hard, and he’s now out boozing it up with the Hot Pockets or some other shady microwaveable treat?

The Dark Side of Sandwiches

Alas, Burrito must accept it. He is a mortal in the mythological realm where Sandwiches are gods. After the news of Burrito’s identity was released, the sandwich community expressed shock and indignation.

Cold Cut Combo: “Holy shit, man, that’s some crazy shit!”

Tofu and Alfalfa Sprouts on 7 Grain all natural bread: “This case isn’t over. I know some grassroots organizations that would be interested. I can make all the arrangements. I just need to know—is Burrito willing to go all the way with this?

Italian Sub: “Burrito, I can make you one of the sandwiches. In exchange for my service, someday - and that day may never come - I’ll call upon you to do a service for me. Now go talk to my friend, Meatball Sub.”

Philly Cheesesteak: “Damn, Burrito just got served! Check me out, I’m on TV! Philly, represent!”

Hot Dog: “Hmm, two slices of bread, eh? What does that mean about me?”

French Dip: “You want to talk about outcast, try being renamed ‘Freedom Dip’ for a couple years and see where it gets you.”

Wow. I’m hungry now.

When Husband came home tonight, he brought with him a new keg to replenish our kegerator (you heard me) and The Boy ran to the door yelling, “Daddy’s home!” as usual. When Husband heaved the keg into the house, The Boy said, “Oh, Daddy! You brought some beer!”

So, yeah, The Boy actually recognized a “keg” and knew it contained beer.

Excuse me for a moment while I accept my Mother of the Year award.

In other Mom of the Year Awards, I also just gave The Boy his own pair of dress-up Snow White shoes. Yeah. Sue me.

Here’s the deal: I bought a pack of 6 Disney Princess dress-up shoes from Costco. 4 were presents for various nieces and friends. The other two were mine, and the plan was to give one pair to Little No Limit and hang on to the other pair in case I needed a last minute present for someone I forgot about (which, sadly, I have been guilty of doing in the past). If we made it past the holidays without forgetting anyone, then I was just going to throw the extra pair into the bog of eternal toys that is my living room and whenever friends came over, there would be two pairs of dress up shoes to use.

So when I came home from Costco, I gave Little No Limit her pair of shoes, a dashing pair of purple pumps with a medallion featuring Princess Jasmine. Little No Limit was so excited about her new shoes, she immediately accessorized with her purple Barbie cell phone with matching beaded cell phone carrier that was a gift from my friend whom I acted with on a local cable show (I provide that detail to remind you that, once again, I DO live in Cali). Anyhow, Little No Limit thrillingly sashayed around the house in her purple pumps with her purple cell and her purple cell carrier, and The Boy became… jealous. Why does Little No Limit get new shoes? Why does she get a new toy? I want my own shoes! I want my own shoes! I want my own shoes!

Seeing as I did have that extra pair of shoes…

I really didn’t have any reason to give Little No Limit a gift and not have any gift for The Boy. I didn’t want to be accused of playing favorites or anything. What would you do?

Right here would be the appropriate time to insert a picture of a 3-year-old boy in red dress-up pumps that have a blue velvet bow embellished with red sequins and adorned with a medallion of Snow White. I didn’t have the heart to take it. Because I just KNOW that 10-13 years from now, it will be far too tempting to break that photo out at a moment clearly designated to embarrass my son, and I assure you… it ain’t cool to be on the receiving end of those old embarrassing photos.

The thing that bothers me about The Boy wearing said Snow White slip-ons, though, is not that he wants them. It’s the fact that I’m “concerned” about it. I don’t want to be one of those people with double standards. Seriously, I don’t mind at all when Little No Limit wants to play with The Thing (Fantastic Four, you non-comic book freaks) shoes or when Little No Limit wants to play with the Hot Wheels or the GI Joe helmet and costume or the Buzz Lightyear stuff. And that’s all clearly labeled “Boy Stuff.” But when The Boy slips on a pair of Snow White shows, I’m suddenly up in arms. Husband is coming home, going “why did you do that?” and friends who come over say, “Hey, nice shoes, Buddy” and then shoot wild-eyed glances at me that say “WTF?” And I have to wonder, is it my own personal problem, or is it everyone’s?

Why is it okay for girls to play with boy toys and not the other way around? Is it really that big of a deal?

I remember when The Boy was only three months old, I had a picture taken of him at Kiddie Kandids (I love those people. Hate Picture People). He was wearing a bunny outfit with ears and a poofy tail–the whole shebangabang—and my friends were all like, “Oh, he’s going to kill you for this,” and “what the hell are you thinking, dressing a boy like that?”

First of all, I dressed him up as a rabbit. Not Divine (for those of you who don’t know who Divine is, watch Pink Flamingos. On second thought, don’t). And last I checked, both Peter Cottontail hoppin’ down the bunny trail and Peter Rabbitt were male. Second of all, why do they care? I admit—I do cringe when I watch my son wear those red pumps, mainly because I think to myself, what if this is a sign of things to come? Right now, it’s me battling my friends’ remarks, but hey, I can handle those. Ten years from now, though, what if my son still likes those shoes? He’s the one dealing with remarks and I can’t protect him from them. And I know that’s one of the trials of parenting, to learn when it is the child’s turn to protect themselves, but it’s already floating in my mind, and it’s freaking me out.

Frankly, in a society that treats sex and sexual orientation as embarrassingly as ours does, it’s no surprise that I’m this riled up such a simple act as The Boy wearing Snow White shoes. What can I say? I’m a product of my world.

I am still glad I gave him the shoes. I would do it again in a heatbeat. I’d rather he be happy than anything else. And if wearing Snow White shoes while he watches Pixar’s Cars and uses his Buzz Lightyear “action figure” to send his Hot Wheels off into the oblivion of that weird cobra-shaped Hot Wheels course makes him happy, well, so be it.

In case you didn’t know, Abraham Lincoln is the reason we celebrate Thanksgiving. Here are a few brief blurbs from his proclamation (which came out the same year as the Emancipation Proclamation, good busy man that he was):

“I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.”

There is some historical record of a meal celebrated between the Pilgrims and the Indians, but it was just once, and there was likely no turkey involved. But it’s all good. I’m a fan of tradition, and for us, turkey is part of the deal. Unless you’re some wild n’ crazy vegan like a certain man I married, in which case tofurkey is part of the deal.

I really admire Honest Abe, because during a time in which more blood was shed on American soil than ever before or since, he still took the time to say “you know what would be great, if we had a day where everybody said thanks be to God.” And he actually did it. I don’t think a modern president would even consider doing such a thing, much less get away it. There’s too much religion in the proclamation, for starters. And someone somewhere would claim it offends them to be forced to give thanks (”I’m not saying I’m against “giving thanks,” I’m just saying that the government shouldn’t tell me to do it). But, whatever… this post isn’t here to complain about things that give me a rash. I’ll save that for next week. Right now, I’ll just give thanks. In addition to the usual thanks for health, life, and freedom, I’m thankful for these specific things too:

For my sister-in-law’s healthy baby, who she carried to her 39th week after being on permanent bedrest from her 21st week.

For my cousin’s healthy baby, who was diagnosed with neuroblastoma early enough that they were able to remove it and he has now had two post-checks showing no signs of a relapse.

For my friend who just got engaged and wants me to be part of the wedding.

For my friend who just told me she’s pregnant and I can’t wait to see her be a mom.

For my friend’s dad, who is successfully recovering from a stroke.

For my fellow bloggers, for introducing me to this fascinating new world.

For Octo-Dog, because without it, I would NEVER be able to convince my children to eat hot dogs. I mean, come on, who would eat a hot dog if it weren’t entertaining?

For My Incredible Family. They’re the Best, even if they don’t know how to look at the camera:

Has it seriously been a week since I blogged? Wow. I hope I didn’t alienate my readers to never come back. All 12 of them. I’ve encountered various forms of time suckage in the past week that have prevented me from blogging:

A Very Special Episode of Family Matters
These are the time suckers that occur because you are swept away with something going on with someone outside the nuclear family. Namely, my sister in law had a darling baby boy this week. His name is E, but I keep calling him Michael. There is no one in my family named Michael, so I don’t know why I keep calling him this.

Doctor, Doctor, Can’t You See I’m Burning, Burning
The medical time sucker. Took The Boy to a chiropractor to discuss his eczema. Discovered he has an atlas misalignment. Got him adjusted. The doctor told me—“I want to make sure the adjustment sets, so don’t let him run around or be too active for the next few hours. Preferably for the next few days if you can.” I stared at him silently. Then I looked at The Boy, who, as if on cue, tripped and fell. I gave the doctor more silent staring. He said, “Well… just do what you can.” Within the first hour of leaving the chiropractor’s office, The Boy had tripped again, hit his head against the wall, climbed a couch and jumped off it, and chased a dog (sis-in-law’s Chihuahua) and caught it. And then wrestled with it. And the best part of this behavior? That actually was him being “inactive.”

If You Want to Be A Writer, You Need to Write
I’m in the last week of a fiction workshop and trying to send in my final critiques and do my research assignment on palatable markets for my work. And I just joined a new writer’s group online, and am wading through all the posts getting to know everyone and getting a piece in order to show to them. This is a fun time sucker, the kind I wish I had more time for.

Dogs, sir?
Yeah, those bitches are at it again. Her Name is Rio is shedding EVERYWHERE resulting in additional vacuuming when I already hate the usual vacuuming. Notorious F.O.X. has escaped from the yard several times, having discovered that if she jumps on the jacuzzi, she can use it as a stepping stone to jump over the wall. Two different neighbors have brought her back to me. I had to knock on a third neighbor’s door at 9:30 in the evening one night to tell them my dog had jumped into their back yard.

Lost
As in, the television show. I rented these on DVD because my friend wanted to discuss the episodes with me and now I’d just like to hook them up to my system intravenously. Why is Michael so selfish? Why is Sayid so sexy? Why is Locke so weird? What’s the deal with Libby and why did she die before that was explained?

Give A Man A Fish, He Eats For A Day…
Had friends over for dinner. I like to make special meals when friends come over and since Husband is vegan and one of the friends coming over is vegetarian, I had to look for a special meal recipe. I made tofu loaf and cooked carrots with toasted pecans and a brown sugar glaze. Considering the fact that the words “tofu” and “loaf” don’t really sound appetizing when paired together, it actually was quite good.

…Teach A Man To Fish, He Eats For Life
Met with my adult literacy learner again. Things are picking up and I had to spend some time preparing lessons plans, going over notes, coordinating our schedules.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Criers
Little No Limit does not enjoy her dance class, except for tumbling and tap, neither of which get any play in their upcoming Nutcracker production. I daresay she will not enjoy being in the Nutcracker (she and her classmates are “snow.” I think the whole point of putting 2 and 3 year olds in a ballet is to give parents an excuse to overspend on handmade tutus and take pictures. What can I say? I DO roll like that). I bought the Barbie Nutcracker DVD to see if this makes her enjoy ballet more. Seriously, her whole routine is step-step-step-kick… curtsy. Why does this require a tantrum throw down?

Last But Not Least…
Two Words: Potty Training.

Nuff said.

I like to be me. And part of being me is having catchphrases. I love catchphrases. Like theme songs and novelty neckties, I think everyone should have some. I may not have coined all my catchphrases, but I certainly like to use them. My bloggy friend Angel has hers. These are mine, including definitions. I’ve also written example sentences, all inspired by the birthday party I attended today, which featured the now-requisite child’s party bounce house.

“Suck”
Definition: to be lame
eg: Bounce houses suck.

“That’s how I roll/I don’t roll like that”
Definition: declaration of who I am
Eg: I’m not getting a bounce house for The Boy’s birthday because that’s how I roll.
Eg: Several people have suggested I get a bounce house for The Boy’s birthday, but I don’t roll like that.

“Like crack cocaine for kids.”
Definition: As dubious as this honor is, I believe I made this phrase up. Used to describe things that kids are incomprehensibly drawn to over and over and over…
Eg: Along with Baby Einstein videos and Chuck E. Cheese, bounce houses are like crack cocaine for kids.

“Inevitably”
Definition: Why does it always come to this?
Eg: Inevitably, I have to enter the bounce house to get my kids out.

“Marginally Unattractive”
Definition: Not fine-looking.
Eg: When I leave a bounce house, I find I have more bruises than when I entered it, making me marginally unattractive.

“Equal Opportunity Offender”
Definition: a person who makes fun of everything.
Eg: Being an equal opportunity offender is a fine line to walk, and when you cross the line—like, say, Mel Gibson—you should be confined to a bounce house for an indeterminate length of time.

“Beyotch/Bizotch”
Definition: bitch, but more fun to say
Eg. You might think I’m a beyotch for making fun of my friend’s bounce house, but you would be wrong. You’re the bizotch. And your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberry.

“I’m with you there, hombre.”
Definition: Emphasizes wholehearted agreement.
Eg: You think bounce houses are a product of the devil? I’m with you there, hombre.

“Dick Cheney style”
Definition: Big time. Made this one up too (Husband gets partial credit).
**Etymology: A while back, there was a news clip of Bush and Cheney talking, and, not knowing they could be overheard, Bush referred to a reporter as an asshole and Cheney responded with ‘big time.’ This led to a long running joke between me and Husband where whenever one of us wanted to say “big time,” we instead said, “Like Dick Cheney said.” Over the months, this evolved into the much shorter and concise “Dick Cheney style.”
Eg: Bounce houses cost too much, take up too much space, and are not safe. Overall, I think they suck, Dick Cheney style.

“WHOOPITY-DOO!” (spin finger in air while saying it)
Definition: big deal, as in reference to Adam Sandler in the Wedding Singer, at his first wedding singing job after his fiancé left him at the altar.
**For the record, I didn’t really want to include any movie quotes because my movie quoting quantifies its own post, but I feel this particular phrase has left the movie quoting world and become my own. People enjoy my use of it whether or not they recognize it from the film.
Eg: Yeah, I’m making fun of my friend’s decision to rent a bounce house. WHOOPITY DOO! She’s welcome to make fun of me for not renting one. I’ll even make fun of myself for hating them. I’m an equal opportunity offender. That’s how I roll.

P.S. I know that some of my catchphrases are actually just words rather than phrases. WHOOPITY-DOO!

Kill me now. This is what happens when you do something “because everybody else is doing it.” My friend went on this website where you can upload a picture of yourself and it analyzes your features and tells you which celebrities you look like. Sounds like good, harmless fun, right?

Wrong.

WRONG.

See, what they don’t tell you is that when they come up with their jacked up responses, you start thinking to yourself, holy crapola Batman, am I so fugly that I am a 53 percent match with Liza Minnelli? I didn’t make that up. I got a 53 PERCENT MATCH to that pill popping, Cabaret singing, husband beating daughter of Dorothy.

So the instructions were to load a large image of yourself not smiling. We all know how bad we look in pictures when we’re not smiling, right? So my first match was JoJo at 70 percent. As in, maybe if I were 10 years younger, 50 pounds lighter, and white, and even then, it would be, as her song says, “too little too late.” She also looks good when she’s not smiling, which pisses me off all the more.

I had 50 percent matches with Penelope Cruz and Keanu Reeves. Does this make me a half coke snorting Johnny Depp antagonizer and half serious thespian whose famous lines include “Excellent!” “I am an FBI agent!” and “There’s a bomb on your bus!”

Lest we forget my personal favorite—59 percent match to Ms. Barbra Streisand. I’m only down with this if I’m in the middle of a stage act and want to tell someone in the audience to shut the eff up.

Now, as I already mentioned, this was with the picture of me not smiling. So I decided that the reason I had such poor matches was because I turned in an unsmiling, AKA bad, picture. So I submitted a nice picture, of me smiling.

Straight up, the first answer is Debra Winger at 68 percent. ARE YOU FRIGGIN KIDDING ME????????? Needless to say, I am not smiling anymore.

Next, Jodie Sweetin, AKA the middle child on Full House. If this would enable me to meet with Bob Saget, I might be okay with that. You may only know of Bob Saget as the dorky dad on Full House or the host of America’s Funniest Home Videos, but in case you didn’t know about his acting alter ego, here’s his 44-second role in Half-Baked:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhSS5_uc33U]

I don’t know who Celia Cruz is, but I am DISTURBED to be a 60 percent match with this woman. DISTURBED.

I also got a 56 percent match up to Ben Johnson. So the truth is out why I don’t participate in competitive sports. I keep getting disqualified.

And another personal favorite, Zac Hanson at 53 percent. That’s the youngest dude in Hanson. I wonder if this means if I went to Oklahoma, I’d be forced to perform in the state fair?

Meanwhile, my friend J was in the picture with me, and the match up program found her to be sharing characteristics with Scarlett Johansson, Denise Richards, Jessica Alba, Mischa Barton, and Jessica Simpson. She gets all of those fine ladies and I get MMMbop. Life is cruel.

You may be familiar with this product, a tea set from the Disney Store. It comes with pink teacups and purple saucers, a serving platter, a teapot, and sugar and creamer containers. Lovely little set. Little No Limit and The Boy enjoy playing with it. Little No Limit likes to pour tea and drink it, while The Boy likes to spill it and wipe it up. I love pretend play.

Today, though, Little No Limit found a new way to play with the teapot. She clocked The Boy over the head with it. She was promptly relieved of her tea serving duties for a few drawn out minutes of crying, and I assumed she had learned that we don’t hit people with the tea set. When she was allowed access to the tea set again, she chose to bang one of the teacups and saucers against each other. Right over the boy’s foot.

Who knew tea could lead to such violence?

December 16, 1773

Besides that. Which reminds me, don’t forget that Tuesday is Election Day. I’ve been discussing the election with a number of different people and am continually fascinated by the different takes people have on elections. Just yesterday, a woman was telling me that her husband votes ‘No’ on any measure that involves spending money (in other words, everything). I have another friend who doesn’t vote at all, in protest of the system. I know someone else who doesn’t pay attention to who the people or what the initiatives are, they just vote for the Republican party and whatever initiatives the Republican party supports. (This works for other parties too, it just happens to be in this particular friend’s case, it’s Republican). People play eeny meeny miny moe with their ballots. Others write in names like Donald Duck. Or Conan the Barbarian.

Mr. Governor, I presume.

Surprisingly, the answer I least often get from people on how they vote is, “I read up on the issues/candidate’s agenda and decide for myself if this is something I support.”

Apparently, worrying about who the next American Idol warrants more attention than your next governor and whether or not you want to save (or destroy) the environment. That is why I’m proposing we run the next election in an American Idol format. Let’s hear them sing. We can call the show “Election the Musical: The Only Way We Can Get You to Care.”

Here are some of the songs you could expect to hear from out intrepid parties:

Republican Party:
The best things in life are free,
But you can give them to the birds and bees,
I want MONEY!
–Money (That’s What I Want) as sung by The Flying Lizards

Democrat Party:
If there was a problem yo I’ll solve it,
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it.
–Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice

Libertarian Party:
If you change your mind, I’m the first in line
Honey I’m still free, take a chance on me
If you need me, let me know, and I’ll be around
If you’ve got no place to go when you’re feeling down.
–Take a Chance on Me as sung by Erasure

Green Party:
You say you got a real solution,
Well, you know,
We’d all love to see the plan.
–Revolution by The Beatles

American Independent Party:
Everybody’s talking at me…
I don’t hear a word they’re saying…
Only the echo of my mind…
waaaaa wa wa wa wa, wa wa wa wa wa, waaaaaaa, waaaaaaa…
–Everybody’s Talkin’ by Harry Nilsson

Peace and Freedom Party:
I smoke two joints in the morning
I smoke two joint at night
I smoke two joint in the afternoon
It makes me feel all right.
–Two Joints by Sublime

Happy voting, people. Don’t forget to stop by the polls on Tuesday.