5:00 Fridays

My friend Gerry "The Foghorn" inspired today's cocktail, and I'm hoping it's not foreboding for our upcoming jaunt to the beach. Can we be gracious guests and give Foghorn a hand, please? Not a hand like he's the old dude in Up who needs help crossing the street; I mean applause, people.

Here's the open target now for Foghorn to tell everyone I gave him the clap. Homonyms can make our language so unseemly.

I'm pretty sure there never has been, and likely never will be, a Hurricane named after me. It's a dubious claim to fame, but from a girl who never had personalized pencils and monogrammed towels, much a less a doll or Barbie who looked like me, I'll take infamy in place of fame. Then again, I bet no one is naming their babies Katrina these days. I do live with Hurricanes Bird and Deal, and I proudly pay my taxes in the city of the once-won-the-Stanley-Cup-and-then-sucked-like-a-Dyson-and-then-blew-chunks-in-the-playoffs Carolina Hurricanes.

And let's just say I've indulged in a Hurricane or five on my days of revelry in New Orleans.


Hurricane
1 ounce vodka (not the bottom shelf crap, folks)
splash of grenadine
1 ounce gin
1 ounce light rum
1/2 ounce Bacardi 151
1 ounce amaretto
splash of Triple Sec
3 ounces grapefruit juice
3 ounces pineapple juice
Vitamin B
2 Tylenol

Fill a tall glass with ice. Use a hurricane glass if you have one. It is important you pour everything into the glass in the order listed. Add the juices last. No need to stir, and if you indulge in a few of these you won't be stirring at all the next morning, at least not without pain and nausea. Garnish this cocktail with a pineapple slice. Be wary of slurping this goodness through a straw. This is a sipping libation. I speak from experience.

Take Vitamin B and Tylenol before going to bed.

Now let this be a reminder to check your emergency kits and windows! Cheers!

Wordless Wednesday: Move Over, Martha, Rachel, & Giada

BlogHer 09 Requisite Recap

I am always amazed that people who didn't give birth to me or otherwise contribute to my mere existence, people who share my last name, people I pay, and people who know me up close and personally read my little blog. My readers are better than a live audience (mostly because I'm not affected by any rotten eggs or tomatoes aimed at my head and no one counts how many glasses of wine I polish off). I count my readers as friends and fans, affectionately known as frans.

I finally got to go to BlogHer in Chicago last weekend. I met many bloggers whom I have been stalking and adoring for ages now. We are not all just a bunch of words and mouse clicks in the blogosphere; we are people. We all have a story. In many cases, we have been reading each other's stories for a while. We exchanged knowing glances and shared personal jokes, even upon having just met. There were hugs and squeals and "Oh my Gods!" and high fives and fist bumps and ass taps. Or maybe that was just me feeling up the rocking Silicon Valley Moms in the photo booth.

I laughed with my new friends. With some I cried. We broke bread. We toasted. We got snap happy. We ate cake. We wore McDonald's paper bags on our heads. We tickled our funny bones with feather boas. We cut a rug.

In a word, meeting my blog crushes was...

exhilarating.

And I am cursing for not having a freaking camera. Note to self: buy a pocket doohickey to tote around.

I should have packed Depends because I about peed in my britches when I met Ree, Redneck Mommy, Vodka Mom, Backpacking Dad, Black Hockey Jesus, Jessica Knows, NYCity Mama, Maggie Dammit, Bossy, Stephanie, Neil, and so many more whose business cards are squirreled away in a box on my desk. I would have asked for autographs but I was too chicken just like the time I saw Melissa Gilbert in an antique dress shop in Sausalito when I was 12.

I don't give a rip about the swag, but the BlogHer parties were cool. I especially enjoyed the endless supply of cheesecubes, coffee, and sweet tooth aphrodesiacs. Oh, and the champagne cocktails at the Nikon soiree. I hear there were some swag hags ruining it for the rest of us, but seriously people, BlogHer was about the people, not the free shampoo, socks, and laundry detergent. All the sqeeing and peeing was worth it. My favorite bloggy friends live in different time zones than I do. I hate that I'll have to wait a year to see them again (Yes, Mac Daddy, I'll be going again next year.). I met amazing people, and that's not even including Carson Kressley (sarcasm people, saracasm).

Most people thought I'd be taller in person and even seemed a tish disappointed to see all 60 inches of me. Perhaps I need a disclaimer in my header stating "Beware, blogger's voice appears larger than her person." Someone I met at a Triangle Tweetup once told me he was disappointed to meet me in person because he thought I was more fascinating online. Um yeah. I was floored by that too. I didn't ask him to expound; I just ran to a corner and wept. In any case, I was delighted to meet everyone in person, live in Memorex. Blogher was a bloggy honeymoon for me.

And now Mac Daddy can stop calling all these twitterific folks my imaginary friends.

5:00 Fridays

Today's drink is one in spirit of the heart instead of top shelf spirits. I am at the Blogher conference toasting motherhood, food, writing, friendship, connections, laughter, and storytelling with new friends. I am meeting some blogosphere friends in real life for the first time (that's IRL for those in the Twitter and texting know), and it is truly exhilarating. We are a gaggle of quacks tripping over each other's words and laughing and poking fun and spewing sarcasm and jokes. Hugs all around.

Today I raise a toast to my new found drinking buddies. Grab your drink of choice and think about the friends and supporters and fans you'd like to catch up with.

Cheers!

Blogher Packing Tips

I'm getting on a plane in 2 days to head to Chicago. My Blogher hymen will be popped at last. Blogher virgin no more! I haven't been on a plane without children in 6 years. No kids to entertain, bottoms to wipe in a cramped airplane bathroom, and juice boxes to smuggle, or fights to mediate. Since I didn't succumb to buying a Kindle, I'll be reading books and trashy magazines. Don't judge me if you're sitting next to me. I'll totally bust you for peeking over the spine of Us Weekly and People.

I am generally a great packer. I went to India for a week with a carry on bag once.

Here are my packing tips:

Don't pack underwear you have not worn yet. They might look pretty but make you pull out wedgies all day long. No one's gonna shake your hand if they see you with your hand up your crack.

Don't bother with shampoo and soap. Of course I don't mean don't bother using them; I mean don't pack them. The stuff at the hotel will be just fine. It's not the Motel 6, people.

Pack a cardigan. And throw in a jean jacket or just wear it on the plane. That goes with absolutely anything. But spare us the acid washed look.

Accessories are a girl's best friend. No one will notice you're wearing the same dress 2 nights in a row if you swap out your jewelry. A chunky necklace or fabulous dangly earrings will rock any outfit.

Shoes. Remember that looks and comfort are not mutually exclusive. You'll likely see me in the same black patent leather wedge sandals all weekend, night or day. Bring cute shoes that go with everything. Black sandals are the chameleon of the shoe world.

Bring a plastic grocery bag. I know, I know. You bring your own hemp bags to the store so you don't have any. I actually leave my bags at home sometimes because once in a while I need a plastic sack. If I have clean stuff at the end of the trip, I don't want it co-mingling with the dirties.

Lash Exact. Best. Mascara. Ever. You will need something to make you look awake. This magical mascara in the purple tube does the trick. And it's like 5 bucks at the drug store.

Aspirin, Tylenol, ibuprofen. Pick your poison. Vitamin B doesn't hurt either. Oh, and Tums. You'll likely be hurting so pack some relief.

Leave the linen at home.

Rollable fabrics are key. Jersey is my best friend.

Everyone will be wearing a little black dress. I too have the standard issue LBD ready to go. But we all need a piece de resistance. Mine is orange.

Don't pack outfits. Pack Garanimal style. Mix and match. All your tops should theoretically match all your bottoms.

Dresses are the most versatile thing in a summer suitcase. And the swingy shifts I wear don't require sucking in my stomach.

Lastly, bring pajamas! Your roommate doesn't really want you to make yourself at home and sleep in your birthday suit.


So what'd I miss? Anyone else have packing tips?

Kidz Bop Suckz

I hate Kidz Bop. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it. For starters I can't stand when companies spell words in a cutesy way, especially when it comes to children. Here I am trying to teach my just-learning-to-read rising first grader that the plural of "kids" does not end in a "z." Of course he argues with me because he holds up the damn Kidz Bop CD case as evidence. Granted, Bird is a contrarian by nature (just like Mac Daddy, ahem, just sayin'), but in this case he's not being argumentative. I am a mother and a marketer, and in both roles I can't stand cutesy spelling. It's no different than the nonsensical babytalk that the Rugrats and Wonder Pets babble. All that Ga Ga is Ka Ka.

Those baby voices and Kidz Bop make my ears hurt like the entire city of Cleveland grating their fingernails on a chalkboard in unison to the beat of Rock n' Roll Hoochie Koo.

Unless my children are the ones singing, I have no interest in hearing a bunch of kids sing. Sorry, folks, but that ain't music to my ears. Kidz Bop takes top 40 pop music and records a bunch of kids and tweens singing those songs, many of which would not make the parental rating cut in my house. When the lyrics include things like "just shut your mouth" or "stupid," I turn it off. Likewise when the lyrics crank out some homeboy garble and attitude like "witchchoo" instead of "with you." Obviously poetic license reigns in song writing. For adults. Kids's music is a different story. I cannot stand the too cool for school attitude and lost innocence of youth that Kidz Bop purports. Besides, the original is always better. Kidz Bop bastardizes the songs, making car rides painfully numbing.

I think such music perpetutates the grown-up-too-soon attitude, lack of manners, and disrespect in the same way that all that writing on the hiney of girls' pants does. It's simply not age appropriate, not that words sprawled across one's fanny is ever appropriate. My sons are almost 6 and 4. They got those damn Kidz Bop CDs in McDonald's Happy Meals, that are age appropriate (And save the McDonald's lashing for another day, folks. Yes, we eat there occasionally and dig it. Move off the soapbox.). Personally, I think it was a sucky move for McDonald's to include those CDs as a Happy Meal toy. I'm all for music instead of made in China junk, but at least make it good music that isn't so precocious. I don't know about you, but I see plenty of bratty kids running amok. The last thing I need is for those kids to start cranking out orders for chicken noodle soup with a soda on the side.

There's plenty of good music for kids out there. I don't buy a lot of music that is kid specific, but my boys do listen to music not in the kid genre that is perfectly fun and appropriate. Here's a sampling of some staples on our iPod:

Journey - especially Don't Stop Believin'
Abba - Mamma Mia is a crowd fave.
The Beatles - We even build an Octopus's Garden every time we go to the beach.
KC and the Sunshine Band - Boogie Shoes gets us all dancing.
Cats soundtrack - Magical Mister Mistoffeles just might be our next cat's name.
Jimmy Buffet - Chanson Pour les Petits Enfants is a sure fire way to chill out the kids. And it helps with the French lessons.
Squirrel Nut Zippers - Just fun to jam to
Beach Boys and anything beachy - Good ole happy tunes with a bit of shag mixed in
Bare Naked Ladies - Fun music, but I just tell Bird and Deal that the band's name is BNL.

And these days there are plenty of good bands out there geared toward kids. We just saw Dan Zanes a few nights ago, and the show was fantastic. I'm ready to be a groupie! The Sippy Cups are also fun without being dorky (OK, but a bit of dorkiness is part of their appeal.). They Might Be Giants is awesome music whether it's the original stuff or their kid stuff. I mean really, "A little birdhouse in your soul" is so lovely and lilting. And they all beat the freaking Wiggles by a long shot.

5:00 Fridays

I have been craving some bubbly lately. Expensive champagne is not in the budget, and I don't dare crouch to the low shelf. Andre is so senior year of high school New Year's Eve in a friend's barn with horny boys who were so not getting any despite their best efforts. Not that I have firsthand knowledge of such revelry.

Prosecco is a lovely, low alcohol content bubbly white wine that tastes like summer sunshine, freshly mowed grass, a field of ripe canteloupe, and the spray of the ocean from a slow sailing wooden boat in one sip. A bottle goes down easily (I did say it's low alcohol content after all.) so stock up. I always have a few bottles on hand, especially when my dear friends Kat and Sammy pop in.

Today I am jazzing up my Prosecco with a few of my favorite things.


Maria's Prosecco

Sugar cube
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Fresh lime
Handful chopped mint
4 ounces Prosecco
Vanilla bean pod for garnish


Drop a sugar cube into a champagne flute. Add the juice of half a lime, half an ounce of simple syrup, and a handful of fresh mint roughly chopped (Luckily I have oodles of it in my garden.). Top off with Prosecco. Garnish with a fresh vanilla bean pod cut in half lengthwise.

I'm pretty sure this would have solved a problem like Maria.