Robyns are the First Sign of Spring

Here is just what you were waiting for: some Swedish house techno music to get your weekend started. I saw Robyn live last year when she opened for Coldplay, and she blew my mind. She strutted out on stage with her platinum blonde mushroom hair, wearing a bubble wrap see-through jacket and a neon green plastic kilt, and performed a ridiculous set of songs while doing a combination of slow-motion aerobics and having a seizure. At one point, she played a wood block so passionately that I stood up and cheered. She made Will Ferrell’s SNL cowbell playing look like a preschool talent show.

[Sidenote: OMG, how have I not used that picture before.]

I wanted to hate her, I really did. I tend to like my women singers hippie-ish and tortured, with long, flowy skirts and peasant blouses. And I like them to play an instrument. But this robot-dancing Swedish singer, whose instrument playing consisted of pushing a button on a synthesizer and smacking a wood block, made me love her. I came home from the concert and got some of her music, and now she’s my go-to when I want to get pumped up for something (and with my fast-paced life, that is ALL THE TIME).

These are my two favorite Robyn songs. They go well with pickled herring and remaining neutral in international conflicts. Wait, that’s Switzerland. Right? Whatevs, go dance on your own.

She Was Not Comfortable

Am I the only one who thinks Reese Witherspoon’s recent arrest is completely adorable? I know, I know, DUIs are awful and there’s no excuse for getting arrested and being a dangerous idiot. But the way she apparently just jumped out of her car Elle Woods-style and all drunkenly defended her hubby? And even dropped the “Do you know who I am?” line? I kind of love it. I always admire a woman who can make a little bit of a scene. For example:

That’s my girl.

Don’t let the medical equipment and hospital bracelet worry you – she just had to have some follow-up allergy testing and is totally fine. But you wouldn’t know it by the way she was acting. By the time I took this picture, she had endured innumerable horrifying indignities, including: watching cartoons in the waiting room for 20 minutes; eating her favorite lollipops by the pound for most of the morning; and having a sweet, bubbly nurse draw three small purple marks on her forearm. OH THE HUMANITY.

After the nurse left us alone in the room for a few minutes, I asked my daughter how she was doing and, no hesitation, she yelled: “I am VERY UNCOMFORTABLE!” I asked her if something hurt, and she said no, she was just VERY UNCOMFORTABLE. And that became her mantra for the rest of the appointment. She told everyone she saw – the nurses, the receptionist, other little preschool patients who looked completely freaked out by her antics – that she was VERY UNCOMFORTABLE. And if she had known the words, I think she might have have followed up with “…and I’m PISSED that I’m here, and all y’all are lucky I’m only 3 feet tall because otherwise my sparkly little shoe would be up your fat ass.”

I was genuinely concerned that she wasn’t feeling great. But mostly I could not take her seriously at all because (a) her t-shirt has a picture of a dog wearing a tiara on it, and (b) …well, that’s pretty much it. I know I certainly never expected clients to take me seriously when I walked into a conference room sporting my “cat wearing stripper shoes” t-shirt.

Since my daughter was little, people have regularly commented on how “expressive” she is. When she was an infant that was clearly a euphemism for, “Holy shit, she has a lot of lungs.” But now that she’s older, I think it just means that, if you are within earshot, you will know exactly how she feels. At all times. Whether you want to or not.

I hope she is always this expressive, and that she always has a little scene-making potential in her. Probably because the only times in my life that I have made a scene were completely unintentional. For example, the first time I rode the metro in DC, I actually got on a crowded car at rush hour, made eye contact with the people standing around me, and SAID HELLO. I wish I was kidding. Coming from the Midwest, the idea of not saying hello to your fellow commuters was akin to punching them in the privates. And from my fellow commuters’ reactions that morning, I might as well have drop kicked some ball sacks. People glared at me and scooted as far away as possible, like I smelled really bad. I did not smell bad, and I was devastated. It took a solid week of commuting on the metro to scare that Midwestern politeness right out of me. Also, fuck you.

So I guess I’m saying: my wish for my daughter is may she always express herself loudly and be comfortable making a little bit of a fool of herself without worrying too much about the consequences. That is like a beautiful Hallmark card, isn’t it. And the footnote on that Hallmark card will say, “And may you also have your Hollywood A-list status and Oscar to fall back on.” Next to this cute little picture:

He Sings in Those Truck Commercials

This is my favorite news story of the day. I have many questions:

1. What the hell did this woman’s friends and family – who I assume had been waiting patiently for her to wake up – think when her first words were, “I want to go to a Bob Seger concert.” Maybe they are all better people than me (I mean, odds are good), but I would be PISSED. “Hey, grandma, you know who came to check on you and worried about you constantly during your half-decade long coma? Let me give you a hint: it was NOT BOB SEGER. So how about a little shout out when you wake up.”

2. What the hell did Bob Seger think when a nursing home called him and said, “Bob, you’ll never believe this, a 69-year-old woman who was in a coma for five years has one request: to see you in concert.” I could see him thinking (a) “Oh my god, the only people who want to see my shows are in comas.” OR (b) “That is one bad ass grandma and I want her to be my oldest groupie.” Because all musicians think about groupies constantly, right? I would. Anyways, the correct answer: (c) “If only I still had my long, flowing hair and blunt bangs from my youth, I bet I’d be getting phone calls from ladies who are not in nursing homes and/or comas right about now.”


3. Who the hell is Bob Seger. I am sorry, but white male musicians from the 70s and 80s kind of blur together for me. For example, when I found some pictures of Bob Seger, I thought he could be Kenny Rogers, Jerry Garcia, that Metallica dude, any of the Allman Brothers, or the Unabomber. (I know the Unabomber was probably not a musician but one of the pictures of Bob Seger looked a little angry and militant.) Because I am not exactly sure who Bob Seger is, when I first read the headline for this story I thought the woman had requested to see Bob SAGET, which I would totally get, because I was obsessed with America’s Funniest Home Videos when I was younger. Here is a clip of Bob Saget with his flowing, feathered hair and elephant-sized shoulder pads doing his best prop jokes and hosting magic:

I am not sure, but I think he could kick Bob Seger’s ass, or at least run away from him. And if I was in a coma and could choose between seeing Bob Saget host America’s Funniest Home Videos from the early ‘90s or seeing Bob Seger do…whatever he does in concert, clearly, Saget wins.

4. Also, America’s Funniest Videos still makes me fall off the couch laughing, because look at this.

Something about that girl running mummy-style in her fancy little dress and screaming her curly-haired head off just kills me. Interesting sidenote: when I showed my kids this video, they did not think it was funny. Like, at all. My son said, “Why are you laughing at that girl crying? She wants her mom! Where is her mom?” I mean, I guess that’s another way to look at it.

Anyways, I hope that woman enjoyed her Bob Seger concert and that she got her family members some awesome souvenirs. Because if she wants anyone by her bedside the next time she (heaven forbid) slips into a coma, she better start buttering them up now.

I Wonder if Enrique Likes It?

After a few blogs about women’s issues and controversial new sort-of manifestos, my brain was tired. So I headed south to Florida with the fam, where we hung on the beach with some great friends for a super fun, grown-up style spring break. That means instead of doing body shots with strangers and drinking tequila out of test tubes, we sat in the shade and compared body aches and pains. And played a lot of Bananagrams.

Here are some things that happened within the first few minutes of arriving in Florida:
1. I heard an Enrique Iglesias song. I have not heard an Enrique Iglesias song since, um, the last time I was in Florida.
2. All of my exposed pasty white skin immediately burned and is now flaking off in large sheets around the house.
3. My son looked at the stylish, scantily clad, model-types in the airport, and asked me if we were in a foreign country. I said, yes, basically.

Other than the sunburn part (although who doesn’t love a good molting), that is why we travel – to experience tired, terrible music and to feel physically inferior. I hope we can start to take even bigger trips now that we’re through with naps and diapers. Well, at least the kids are through with that phase, who knows with my husband.

Sadly, vacation is over now. And do you know how I am SURE that vacation is over? Well, one day, I was looking at this:

And 48 hours later, I was looking at this:
There is nothing like 4 hours of pushing a flatbed cart around Costco to snap you back to reality. On the upside, I am now the proud owner of 178 reasonably-priced rolls of toilet paper.

While I was zoning out on the beach I started to think about ways to get more people to read my blog. Obviously, porn is always a solution but I think it could embarrass my mom. Except she did send me this article out of the blue the other day with the message: “Well THIS is an interesting concept.” So maybe she wouldn’t mind.

But what are my options BESIDES porn? Most big-time bloggers have something very compelling and dramatic going on in their lives, like divorce, or mental illness, or recovery, or addiction, or cats with eyebrows. Do you know what I have going on in my life? Fascinating things such as trying not to give my family e. coli when I cook chicken; laundry stain removal; and exercising without aggravating my sciatica. I nodded off while I was writing that.

Another option to get more readers: create fake controversy. Some big-time bloggers write things with shocking headlines to hook people, like, “Why My Son is an Asshole,” or “I Only Feed My Kids Dry Kool-Aid Mix,” or “I Just Punched My Husband in the Balls Because He Deserved It,” and then surprise! The article is actually about how perfect the author is and how much they love their family, and the headline was a mean, mean trick.

Well, I can promise you, readers, that I will not play mean, mean tricks with my headlines, unless it sounds funnier or gets me more readers, in which case, I will. That leaves me with one final option: start a ridiculous hobby or vice and write about every sordid detail. Which is why this afternoon, I am pulling my clogging shoes out of the back of my closet, dusting them off, and strapping them on again for an epic comeback performance. It has been years since I’ve clogged, but I know for sure now that the soulful combination of marching and tap dancing while leaving my upper body completely still was really always my calling in life. Please stay tuned for video.

Obvs, this will be the soundtrack to my performance.