A Sweet Papa

Because he'll never do it himself I'm going to toot Serge's horn for him.

And no, Serge, that's not a euphemism for a "blowy".

Someone was kind enough to scan his Esquire article online. If you'd like to read it click here for the first page and here for the second page.

Photos of the Week

Couldn't choose. Could you not just die? My heart leaps right into my throat every single time I look at these damn photos. Mama's best girl.

For Everything An Audience

I don't do much anymore without an audience. At least three pair of eyes studying me intensely. Is she putting on her shoes? OMG!!! She's going to the bathroom!!! Lets go! Here we go everyone!

And we all troop into the bathroom.

Violet stares. The dogs stare. Is it number one? Maybe number two? The suspense is overwhelming!

And we all troop out of the bathroom.

Here we go everyone. Into the bedroom. She's making the bed now. Max, also known as The Professor, stares intently at me while Crazy Train Milo decides that now? When she's making the bed? It's the best time for a snooze. On the bed. But wait! Oh. My. God. Is she putting on her shoes? Are those her shoes? Are we going outside? ARE WE GOING OUTSIDE? Violet watches all and chuckles, pausing occasionally to investigate dead leaves or dog hair tumbleweeding across the floor.

Most recently the vacuum has become a source of intense study in our household. Not three weeks ago both Violet and Milo had an obvious aversion to the dirt sucker. I'd switch on the vacuum and they would visibly cringe. Milo would hide and Violet would cry. Max is sixes as far as the vacuum is concerned and would continue reading Dan Brown's latest novel in the corner.

But just this week, in addition to everything else I do, I have a rapt audience for vacuuming. A vacuum patrol, if you will. I'll finish a rug or section of carpet and they'll offer a solemn nod in approval: Looks good. Sometimes, though, Violet crashes her walker into the vacuum: Lady! You that makes the babas of milkies! You missed a spot! There!

Without further ado I present to you The Vacuum Patrol:

Facefuck

In a fit of nostalgia over the weekend...Okay, okay, in a fit of wine drinking over the weekend I - AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT - "friended" an old high school friend on Facebook. I can only defend myself by saying that I rarely use My Better Judgement, therefore it is not accustomed to being used and verrry rusty. Also, I used the term "friend" up there loosely as this was the same cat who, I've been told, spread rumors of my abortion all over the prestigious, hospital-looking Utah County institution that is Mountain View High School (Go Bruins! M-V-H-S THE BEST!)

Fuck it, I thought. Bygones and all that jazz. I'm a grown-ass adult with a scrappy city boy of a husband who can moonwalk circles around those suburban, baseball cap/flip-flop wearing jock fucks I spent so much time trying to please. But Kevin and I had some laughs, I not so much rationalized as justified, so I took another swig of red to fortify myself, popped a fifteenth Peanut Butter Cup in my mouth and clicked "Add As Friend".

And pretty much forgot about it until today.

There I am, happily perusing Facebook for those nuggets of information without which my day would surely be incomplete:
Jake is walking his dogs. That's great Jake! Glad to know it!
Sarah is leaving the gym. Sweaty. Super, Sarah! Fan-fucking-tastic!
Ryan killed a hooker in Mafia Wars. Time to hide Ryan.
Jimmy is tired. Buck up Jimbo, tomorrow is another day!

Then I spot it.

Kevin, we'll call him Kevin, Kevin became friends with John. One hour ago, Facebook informs me. And Kevin became friends with Rachel. Oh! That's right! I "friended" Kevin a couple days ago. He's obviously been on Facebook today. I bet we're friends now and I can look at pictures of his kids, judge his wife and muse over just how bald and swollen he is now. You know, the usual Facebook stuff. So I click to Kevin's page.

AWAITING FRIEND CONFIRMATION.

But...He...Um?

Kevin The Jock reached all the way from 1995 and bitch-slapped me, once again. I requested the pleasure of his friendship, like, two days ago, and he's obviously been in his account accepting requests from John and Rachel today. But not me. No Kevin became friends with Monica.

Isn't that just SO Kevin, I thought to myself. And then I was all whiny, like, But why? Why doesn't Kevin want to be friends with me? Does he read this blog? Is it because I'm snarky about The Church? Maybe he's a bishop now or something and The Church has finally gotten around to handing out The Blacklist for 2009. Then I was pissed. Fucking Kevin. Doesn't want to be friends with me. I didn't even want to be friends with him either. I was just feeling nostalgic drunk. THEN I was mad at myself for A) Thinking I should be Facebook friends with Kevin in the first place even after he made out with me in his bedroom that one time senior year and so I felt sufficiently bonded enough to tell him about the horrible abortion incident and then SOMEHOW, everyone in high school knew about it and B) For feeling like an asshole because there I was thinking and reacting just like High School Monica would and 3) For being on Facebook in the first place. It's all so goddamn high school-y and here I am sucked right into homeroom shenanigans. How come she isn't friends with me. His new girlfriend isn't that cute. Is this comment clever enough? How come he won't be friends with me? Does this picture make me look stupid? Is my link stupid? Nobody commented on my link? Why are the cool kids on Facebook ignoring me?

But then I got tough. I pulled myself up by my bra straps and gave Facebook the business. STUPID, FACEBOOK. Making me feel all high school-y again. So guess what I did? I pre-empted Kevin's IGNORE THIS FRIEND REQUEST by taking back my friend request. That's right. I took it back, motherfucker. I changed my mind.

I WON'T BE IGNORED, FACEBOOK, I WON'T BE IGNORED. I WILL COOK YOUR BUNNY ON A STOVE BEFORE I WILL BE IGNORED.

Item

You guys! I'm not sure what to do! So many of y'all are entering THE GREAT EXPERIMENT that I think it might be too time consuming for folks to read all the entries. What do you think? Also, I'm having a hard time getting folks to stay within the 500 world limit.

So I'm gonna try something different for November.

Instead of a $5, it will cost you $10 to enter. And only the first fifteen people who enter will be in the contest. That guarantees at least $150 to the winner (if fifteen of you enter and I'm hoping you do) and assures you won't be reading thirty blogs to vote. Also, there will be no word limit, it's too hard to enforce. I end up feeling like a grumpy, English teacher editing an essay. I tend to think between 500 and 700 words is ideal but if you want to go longer, that's up to you, it's your $10, but you could lose votes for being too wordy. Donating is still encouraged!

November's topic is First Time. Any first time. I am accepting entrants now. If this way ends up sucking donkey balls we can switch it back or try an entirely new way for December. I really like how things are going but I'm not sure how else to keep voting manageable while still making the money pot substantial. So hey, we can give it a try, right? What do you think?

To Oblige The Grannies

The Great Experiment: Childhood Memory

Congratulations Norma from November Juliet! You just won $135!

Seventeen entries this time around! Is it getting to be too many to read? Should we change up the rules again? If it gets any bigger I'm not sure where to take it because I don't want it to get too time consuming to read all the entries. Larger entry fee? First twenty people to enter are in? All ideas are welcome.

Because so many folks entered this time I'm just going to leave voting up all weekend. Voting closes on Sunday night at midnight, which is technically Monday morning. That gives you all weekend to read and vote. And leave the good people some comments! Comments are nice! Get to know each other. That IS kind of the point. And the money ain't so bad either. Remember, only one vote per IP address. Thanks for playing everyone! Am so excited so many people entered.

Good luck! In no particular order:

1. Shelly - Hair Bows and Guitar Picks

2. Anne - Annabelle Speaks

3. Wyndi - Wycked Texan

4. Barbara - Barboletas

5. Misc Momma - Miscellaneous Momma

6. Digital Bath - SlobberTrauma

7. Crummy Mummy - Crummy Mummy(Who Drinks)

8. Livia - Yes, That Was Me

9. Damien - Spawny's Space

10. Sara - Saradigm

11. Katy - The Confused Dildo

12. Jambalaya - Jambalaya

13. Jen - You can take the girl out the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl!

14. Emily - Tales of A Red Shoe Pope

15. Daycare Lady - Daycare Lady Disclosed

16. Norma - November Juliet

17. S'Dizzle - Untitled Distraction

I Need To Tell You Something

Before I get into the something let me just remind you today is the last day to enter THE GREAT EXPERIMENT for October. I need your links by midnight tonight and I'll post 'em up tomorrow at eight in the morning Mountain Standard Time. Folks've been donating and entering and stuff so you stand to win around $135.

It's hard to write things on blogs without feeling a bit melodramatic. After all, there are people out there writing about the death of a child, women chronicling battles with breast cancer, people who have been horribly disfigured in crashes that optimistically power forward with nary an eye squint of derision.

I am not one of those people.

I am having a hard time. Not in any sort of dramatic-depressive way. Or maybe that's just me trying to downplay the melodrama because, of course, as fucking usual, the overriding emotion I feel when I have a hard time is GUILT. I just mean I'm not going to flip out and knife someone at work or crash my car on purpose, if that's what you're hoping. I just feel the pressure building and building inside of me and if I don't let it out I am just going to pop like an overfilled balloon and you or you or you could very well get hit with skin shrapnel. And what if you get hit with the skin part that has zits? Or my armpit? My unshaved armpit. On your face. That would be gross.

It's just that...I don't have much relief. I am working working working and then I get home and Violet needs me so I'm ON! On as in *JAZZ HANDS* my child needs me and so I must narrate everything I do and repeat Mama over and over again so she'll learn my name and then I point out the window eight thousand times and ask What does the birdie say? (she loves it every time) and God forbid I sit her in her little pen to watch The Great Pumpkin else I'll feel guilty for the rest of the day because I'm letting that blockhead Charlie Brown raise my child and I'm sure my mom and Peppermint Patty would have a thing or two to say about that. Then, suddenly, the day is over and I did nothing but go-Go-GO so I try to relax and have Me Time but the later it gets the worse it'll be in the morning because babies don't care if you stayed up until one in the morning drinking wine and watching Deadwood. Really, they don't. Try it sometime. They are equally unimpressed by late nights with beer and Dexter.

See? It's nothing like I've been snorting rails of coke and can't get straight. Although I drank half a bottle of wine by myself last night after a stressful day in the newsroom and before he left for work this morning Serge left a note next to the bottle that said WE NEED TO TALK.

So that, along with Violet crying, was fun to wake up to.

But the note could be our usual joking. Did I tell you how he left a note that said STOP THE INSANITY on a six-pack of beer out of which I'd drank four in one night so the next morning I put the same note in the package of cheese because he can eat, like, a brick of cheese in a day. In a most unsavory, manner, I might add. I kind of hope he's not kidding this time, though, because I am drinking a lot. It's all part of my effort to unwind and, like he said, stop the insanity in my head. But really, he's probably kidding because who uses the line WE NEED TO TALK in earnest anymore? Everyone knows that's a preamble to nothing good.

I need to simplify and I don't know how. I thought I was doing so well but I still feel like I'm drowning every single day of my life. But guess what? This here? You guys reading and cheering me on and just being here is so helpful. Even when bad things happen I am somewhat comforted because at least it's a story I can tell y'all and you will listen to reason and tell me I'm being stupid or you will say the same thing happened to you one time and you've SO been there. And you seem like a perfectly respectable bunch so if you've been there then surely I'll make it through this pressure cooker time of life.

I'm not really telling you all this for any reason other than maybe you feel the same way sometimes. I'm not going to off myself or anything, I just feel like crap a lot, like I can't catch my breath, that's all. So I think I'm drinking to relax and then I feel like shit for drinking too. I know life goes in ebbs and flows and having a kid is hard and all that. I know I should probably get back on medication but I don't want to. I just don't really think this is a mental thing. I think this is just a legitimate case of Living Life Blues, you know?

On the bright side...

I used to think meeting people over the internet was creepy. It's not. It's cool as hell. Most of the time, anyway. There are the exceptions. Turns out I'm finding like-minded folks just by nature of our commonalities. Or differences. Whatever. At least you're here which is much better than before I had a blog and times got tough. Then I would just pass out in a bed of Dorito crumbs with cookie dough saliva drooling from my mouth to the couch while Seinfeld played on a loop.

I had a weird thought but it's comforting, in a way. I can name dozens of internet folks I've never met that I know would let me sleep in their house and eat their food if some strange turn of events, perhaps an asteroid was headed to earth or zombies took over or maybe The Second Coming of Jesus actually occurred and I found myself in their city without a place to stay. Isn't that just crazy cool? I think so. And if you find yourself, God forbid, frolicking amongst the Mormons of Zion and the end of the world is nigh you can totally sleep at my house. But maybe you'll cook dinner? And babysit while Serge and I go to a movie? We haven't been to a movie theater since before Violet was born. And then we'll come home and make snacks or something, maybe pull out Monopoly and we can all spend the apocalypse together. Because a game of Monopoly is sure to last until the end of the world. It always does.

So, just...dammit, y'all! Thanks for hanging out.

I Defy You NOT To Fall In Love

I've made no secret of it to my family, or at work, really, that at some point I want to move to Pennsylvania and live near Serge's brother Dave. Grammy and Gramps are there too. After the drunk, dysfunctional, wonderful madness that was living in New York City and the subsequent 2007 Exodus From Brooklyn, the two remaining Marah members, Dave and Christine, settled in a lush area of Amish country known as Sugar Valley. To visit is to roll back the clock to the late 1800's where dairy farms were the norm and power lines were not. It suits them beautifully. They make unbelievable music and own goats. Need I say more?

In stark contrast, we settled into proper working gigs here in Salt Lake City. You know, bill paying, buying IKEA shit, throwing out IKEA shit when it broke and buying more shit to replace it. At least we've reached a point now where we ain't replacing. Our bookshelves folded like a house of cards, now disintegrating into dust in the garage. We have stacks and stacks of books waist high, just waiting to see what we're going to do with them. And that's after selling a bunch at a yard sale and dropping off a ton more at the thrift store.

But yeah, I'm getting off track.

I haven't written much lately about my brother-in-law Dave. Serge's brother. His best friend, his band mate. Dave's a tough bastard, sometimes. Tough bastard in that way genius-types with one track minds tend to be. Like an old turntable, Dave's mind only revolves music. Mostly, I like that. We conflict sometimes, when some sentimental girly-girl notion buried deep inside rears its silly head and then I am hellbent on seeking some kind of meaningful interaction with him. The kind of interaction that has him frantically searching for the nearest exit and pawing his pocket for smokes. But he's a good guy. And I've never seen anyone work so hard at something. He's a prisoner of his passion for music. It will never stop clawing at his innards and, selfishly, I hope it never does because I love his music so fucking much. I can honestly say if it weren't for Dave and Serge's music I don't know that I'd have fallen in love with Serge like I did. The music spurred it on, a backdrop to love, the soundtrack to the movie that was me meeting my future husband, the father of my child.

When will I get back to Pennsylvania? Who knows? I can tell you this; I don't want Violet to attend school in Utah. Just because. In fact, I'm considering home-schooling for the first few years. Yes, really. The dream is there, shimmering seductively, a few years from now. Big, old farm house. Rural Pennsylvania. Raising up Violet around passionate, creative, troubled, musical folks like Dave and his Christine. And two goats called Fury and Mud.

Listen, Serge's band Marah (former band, whatever, I have a hard time believing he'll never play with Dave again) has a new song out. It's awesome. You can get yourself a free download by checking out the widget there to the lower left of the blog. And also, if you want to know why these goddamned rock boys routinely having me tearing out my hair and then my heart, watch this (very short) documentary about Marah I just found. Not sure how I missed it but, here you go. I defy you to watch this and NOT fall in love with these two scrappy, Bielanko boys with poet souls

Yes David, it made me cry. I lasted until the photo at 5:14, though. More than five minutes in! Still, you best grab your smokes and head for the porch.

Housekeeping At The Girl Who

UPDATE!

Oh you! You and your generosity! Now at least $105 is up for grabs in this month's contest. But come on, you shy people you, just enter. There are dozens of amazing writers I know who read this blog that haven't entered yet. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. YES, I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU! YOU TOO! You blog every day anyway, what do you have to lose?.

First! The deadline to enter THE GREAT EXPERIMENT for October is tomorrow night at midnight. Links will be due by midnight on Thursday. I'll open voting at 8AM Mountain Standard Time on Friday October 30th. Interestingly, no one has just donated this month. Everyone who has sent money has actually entered the contest. $90 is up for grabs! I know we can get it to at least $100! If that's where this contest stays, $100 a month, that'd be fantastic. So if you were wavering, c'mon, just go ahead and enter. It's fun.

Because last week was a bit traumatic and busy and INSANE I haven't had time to ship the crock pot to Ariel, the lovely woman who won the giveaway. Ariel! It's coming, I swear to God! Also, because your costume comments were so much fun to read I've decided to do another giveaway in November so stay tuned.

My sweet peanut, Violet, turned nine months this past Wednesday and because I was busy earning red check marks next to my name in the secret Mormon file they're busily updating over there at church headquarters I haven't had time to write the lil' punkin's nine month newsletter. It's coming Grammy, I swear!