Monday, March 19, 2012

In Which I Sprain My Dominant Boob

...And Forget to Ask About the Specials

The scene: An elegant Italian ristorante on the good stretch of Ventura Boulevard. (Let's call it Il Primundo Novo al Allegro Grappa.) A rare date-night opportunity while Morticia and Gomez are at the middle school dance for three glorious, drama-laden hours. Candlelight. Genuine faux-Italian background music and a platoon of grinning waiters displaying theme-appropriate levels of swarthiness.

Jon Bon Jovi (not my husband's real name) and I are shown to a table for two in the front window and we begin to settle in. I slip off my coat and reach around to hang it on the back of my chair...reaching...reaching...a little further...and...

My chest seizes up

Not in a "next comes the pain down my left arm/cardiac event" kind of way. And not in a "zing! went the strings of my heart/Judy Garland" kind of way.

No, more of a "I just broke my boob" kind of way.

"Hmprhzork," I say, and spin back to a frontal position with both arms across my chest as if 1) I were pledging eternal allegiance to Emperor Vorgon of the Quang Galaxy, or 2) I have just dropped my nunchuks.

"What's the matter with you?" Jon Bon Jovi says, flipping open the menu.

"I...I just blew out a boob," I wheeze.

He slaps the menu down and leans across the table before realizing he has stuck his chin in the genuine Italian candle. He huffs and moves the candle, then leans in again. "How did that happen? I mean," his eyes dart left to right and he lowers his voice, "is that even possible?"

"I don't know! I didn't invent the dang things, I'm just an owner-operator!"

Wincing, I hunch my shoulders forward and rub my chest with my forearms, tongue lolling in the corner of my mouth.

"Stop that!" he says, opening his menu again and trying to cover me with it. "Do you want people to think you're a Kardashian or something?"

"But it hurts!" I attempt to sit up straight. "And it's my dominant boob!"

Jon Bon Jovi freezes. "I'm sorry, your what?"

"You know, my dominant one. The leading lady. The first string. The prima ballerina. The big dog. The--"

"OhmyGodstop," he says, falling back into his chair. "You don't really have a, um, dominant you?" He looks at me like he's wondering whether I'm the kind of person who has a favorite kidney. (Which would be weird. Right?)

"Well, of course I do."

Jon Bon Jovi takes a deep, cleansing breath - the kind he takes when the children and I pause the TV to explain "America's Next Top Model" to him.

"Okay, then. So let me ask you this: what do you call the other, ah, non-dominant one?"

"Hello?!?" I roll my eyes. "It's called the back-up boob? Was I your first girlfriend or something?"

He shakes his head and tosses his napkin in his lap. "Next you'll be telling me they have names."

"Don't be ridiculous," I say with a snort. "They're nicknames."

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Kind of Like Buddha...

...But With More Muffintop

As you know, I come from a long line of stupidass, and so it was especially fitting that I spent last week fielding questions over at

Here are my thoughtful, penetrating responses to a week's worth of some, um...interesting inquiries.

What can I say? It's just my small way of giving back...

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Excuse Me, I Speak Blog

Yes, That's an "Airplane" Reference
So, anyway, I was thinking about how much information I've absorbed in the six months or so that I've been workin' my corner here in the blogosphere. Anyone who blogs knows there's a bit of a learning curve when you first start - the sure was for me, anyway.

I've relished in my small (okay, microscopic) triumphs as I've felt my way along, figuring out little things about posts and layouts. I think it's kind of tough for non-bloggers to relate, though.

For instance, the other day I scampered into the kitchen, fresh from my desktop, to tell Jon Bon Jovi (not my husband's real name) something I'd just figured out on the ol' blog.

"OK, so the Blogger template wasn't giving me the option I wanted, so I went into the HTML and found the notation for the main background and then I inserted a new hex code and totally changed the color to the one I wanted!"

Poor Jon Bon Jovi. It's just not fair to do that to a husband. I could practically see the thoughts going through his mind as he stood there, frozen, coffee mug in hand:

OK, I know something good just happened and I want to be supportive, but I have no flippin' idea what she's talking about.

Wait, am I
supposed to know what she's talking about?

Oh crap, have we (God forbid) talked about this befo
re and I've forgotten about it? Be cool! Play it off...

Now, hold on, she's usually only this excited when she buys something expensive. What the hell has she bought now?

It's an understandable reaction, after all. If someone had started yammering to me about HTML seven months ago, I'd have advised them to seek counseling.

One aspect of the blog world that fascinates me is the array of acronyms, like ROFL, IMHO, LMAO, etc. I still have to stop and decode them each time (duh!), but I find them very entertaining.

And so, in an effort to do my part to contribute to the lexicon of this new world of which I am so fond, I offer a few blog-specific acronyms of my own:

TBBGIIMC - This Better Be Good - I'm Ignoring My Children

ISSBFMFTC - I Smell Smoke But First Must Finish This Comment

- Banner Envy

- Proceed With Caution: Extremely Bitter Blogger

- Just Here To Mooch Followers

SICS - Seizure-Inducing Color Scheme

- Extreme Crafts Intimidation Zone

- Unwarranted Music Onslaught

- Comment Performance Anxiety

INTGTTBFFHN - I've Needed To Go To The Bathroom For Four Hours Now

This is an encore of a post that originally ran way back in 2008. I was inspired to do so by my bud Kim Moldofsky who blogs at Hormone Colored Days. Kim served as a kick-ass Community Leader in my session at Blissdom and, while we were chatting, she mentioned that she'd always remembered this post and how much it made her laugh.

I hope I conveyed how much her comment meant to me at the time, because it sure made my day. Thanks, Kim. YAOSCAL (You Are One Super Cool-Ass Lady)