cicadas. hurricanes. earthquakes. I must really love my husband…

So cicadas. Yeah. Do you have them? Because we do and they are seriously terrifying on a biblical river of blood, ten plagues kind of way. They make this horrifically loud noise, thousands of them all at once and then suddenly shut up. All at once. They are also roughly the size of a VW bug. Okay, maybe that might be a slight exaggeration but they are big and horrible. Clearly, along with clowns, they are the work of Satan.

Seriously? This is smaller than actual size:

A mere two months ago Jen B. Shaw was nearly MURDERED IN HER CAR by cicadas. I mean, really. They have no shame! So anyway, today I was headed out to see some of my best East Coast gals at the Disney Summer Social, and you know that means I got all kinds of fancy. Like, I bathed and wore pants that zip and button and everything! It was just like the old days when I would go out clubbing except there was far less glitter and platform heels and far more toddler tv shows happening in order to you know, bathe.

I decided to go whole hog for this event and dust off my curling iron. And I mean that literally. I had to dust it off, it’s been that long since it was used! There I am jamming away to Simon and Garfunkel’s Only Living Boy in New York (because I rock hard like that) and suddenly I hear the chirping. I freeze. It’s not outside…it’s in the room with me! Do I run from the room or try to find it? It’s so loud and the chips are echoing thoughout the bathroom. I think it’s over in the corner between the shelf and the bathtub…I man up and take a peek. As soon as I get close it stops.

I decide to be a big girl and just curl my hair and head on out to “The big Mickey party” as the Boss had been calling it. There I stand, harmonizing with rocking vocals of S&G when the mutherf^&**())(*^&^ cicada FLIES AT MY HEAD.

I’ll give you a minute to absorb what I just told you.

You breathing okay?

Obviously I drop the hot curling iron-somehow escaping without a burn- and race from the loo screaming like a three year old being forced to put on shoes. Oh. my. gawd.

After I drank a gallon of vodka I had enough courage to go back in. Coffee of course being the morning vodka of moms. I heard nothing. I thought I was safe. I started getting ready again. The evil cicada launched it second attack at my head.  I dropped the curling iron again, this time it landed into the sink as I flattened myself against the wall.

And then the little sucker made a mistake. Instead of attacking me, it headed for the curling iron. The very hot curling iron.


Rest in peace you fried evil flying monster.


Now I need a new curling iron.


This week we’ve had an earthquake, flying pestilence and now we prep for a hurricane. With my in-laws. Because we live with them. I must really love my husband.

Sometimes I forget that Tori Spelling isn’t my real life friend.

“Sometimes I forget that Tori Spelling isn’t my real life friend.” These words were uttered to me by my friend Windizzle as we huffingly pushed our strollers up the big hill from the Panda Bears to the visitors center at the National Zoo. We’d just seen the Spectacle Bear and I had totes blown the kids away with all my knowlege of the little dude. Thanks Diego.

(Skyping with little cousin KK of the Ohio Contingent the other day, she was just prattling on about gymnastics and school and all I kept thinking was Sheesh! K, when are you going to do something worthwhile with your life? Like, quit school and live in a treehouse with your sister, hang with a baby jaguar and start doing some good…like saving the spotted owl or something! Meanwhile K is just droning on about how she reads at a third grade level and she’s not even in second grade yet. Whatever. How many baby seals did you save today, K? Slacker.)

(Can you even put a whole paragraph in parenthesis? I. Just. Did.)

I mocked Windizzle when she said she thought Tori was her friend. I mean, hello? News flash: she’s not. But the Dizz handed me sTORItelling told me to read it then Mommywood and before you can say “hello Charlie!” Dizz and I are texting during Tori & Dean and I was all like OMG Tori is JUST LIKE ME!!!

I mean, Stella and Mr. Max are the same age and he lurves her. Max has guncles as do her kidlets. I also wear glasses (sometimes, although you’ll never see it),we both love to decorate, plan events, and basically be in charge…it’s like we are the same.person.

And then there’s Twitter, which gives crazy people like me access to her! I tweet her on the reg because Diz was right, and I too sometimes forget that she is not my real life friend, and ya know what…sometimes – sometimes she tweets back. Can you stand the rain, people? That is the very definition of awesomesauce.

She’s just so weirdly normal, I mean other than the tons of money and Hollywood legacy she is just one of us working moms, loving her kids like crazy, trying to make it work with her man. I am totally picking up what she’s putting down.

Not to worry Tori, I’m far too lazy to be a real stalker. And if we ever met it would just be a ‘love your shoes’ fest. But if I ever move home, I am so looking you up. We could have a playdate. And by play date I mean a glass of champagne and a giggle or two. Keep on keeping on T. Love your friend, Minky