Scrambled Brain With A Side Of Punky

I've got five days to go. My brain is scrambled, my belly distended, and I cannot walk into a room without feeling the overwhelming urge to grab the nearest container of cleaner, get down on my hands and knees and scrub (even if that means scouring the bathroom floor with a tube of toothpaste).

I know I've been failing to keep up with my blog, just as I've been failing to keep up with grocery shopping, the news, and the Kardashians. The main reason is that I simply cannot focus on anything. I am in a constant state of distraction. All I can do is feel my belly ball up like a frightened armadillo and wonder if this is it. If this is the beginning of The End. I've already called in my reinforcements (aka, my mom and dad), my overnight bag is packed, all the baby's clothes are washed and waiting to be worn, and I've sworn to Jeff that the other night he purchased my absolute last six-pack of O'Douls. Cannot tell you what a great feeling that was.

And so, I'm not going to try to write a blog entry because it will be a rambling, nonsensical mess (as opposed to my usual entries--linear, focused and rational, with only the occasional jibe directed at David Coulier.) But just in case you can't get enough of my usual stuff, I'm going to redirect you to a side-project I've been working on....

An article for GalTime about Rollie's infamous brand of humor. And I got to discuss it with none other than Soleil Moon Frye. I figured it would be cheesy to tell her that I used to have Punky Brewster sneakers. And they glowed in the dark. Maybe during our next interview....

Rollie Suave, Part II

It's official. Rollie is girl-crazy.

Yesterday I was without a car, and so I decided to walk to our neighborhood pool in the morning so that we could make it home before the heat of the day resulted in our collective spontaneous combustion. Rollie rode his bike in front of me, Elsa was strapped into the jogger, clad in her favorite (hand-me-down and hence too big and baggy) Dora bathing suit.

As we neared the pool, I heard splashing, giggles and squeals coming from over the privacy hedge.  Rollie, who had been pedaling vigorously so he could splash through a dirty puddle, came to a halt, eyeing the hedge with wary yet keen interest.

Rollie: Who was that?

Me: I don't know, Bud. Sounds like someone beat us to the pool.

Rollie: Are they friends?

Me: They aren't friends we know, but that doesn't mean they can't be our friends.

More splashing, squeals and giggles. The tone and timbre telling me that these friends were most definitely female. Which I think Rollie also realized, because I could have sworn he puffed up his chest a bit, sat a little taller on his bike, and started pedaling toward the sound. Kinda like how a peacock would, if peacocks rode bikes with training wheels.

Members Only...Without The Cool Jacket

Sorry I've been slacking lately....

Actually, the main reason I haven't written much in the past week is that I haven't really been home. I've been lost inside my local Costco, you see.  Wandering around for days, surviving solely on free samples of cocktail wieners, cream puffs and a special blend of vitamin water and my own tears. It was a terrifying, dismal ordeal that I am just now comfortable discussing.