Okay, so he’s pretty dang cute and all, but this movie? This movie is just bloody awful, and by “bloody” I mean seriously, how many severed arms and chopped-off heads can you see and keep your dinner from lurching onto your laptop? You already know that everyone but Antonio is a “red shirt” (obscure Star Trek reference there), and you already know that Antonio is going to save everyone with his mad fighting skillz, so why all the chopped off business? Not necessary.

I decided to just keep my head down and ignore the whole thing, since A)I’m a huge wuss and B)I don’t like it and I’M A HUGE WUSS. So I decided to distract myself with some PRETTY PRETTY PICTURES, such as this unicorn:

Ah, mah lovely unicorn friend. You shall save me, won’t you? With your horn and your rainbows and HOW I LOVE YOU. We shall ride away together into the sunset, nabbing my new boyfriend Antonio from this craptacular movie FIRST, and then we shall fly away and make a home together in the clouds and we will always be together BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.

So I’m facing up to the fact that I’m not a hipster anymore. And neither is the Hubs. Know why?

Because of John Tesh. JOHN FREAKING TESH.

Don’t let those golden locks and well-molded biceps fool you, people. John Tesh is a menace to society, and here’s why.

Apparently John Tesh has a radio show, and we “accidentally” started listening to it the other night. People, he is like the Reader’s Digest of radio: lots of pithy little facts and anecdotes that you really don’t have ANY IDEA how you lived without until this moment, and OF COURSE, you’ll sit through this godawful rendering of “When a Man Loves a Woman” by Michael Bolton to get to the Mayan secrets of weight loss. OF COURSE.

We’re listening, ummm, because there’s something wrong with the radio dial? And we can’t flip over to the alternative channel? Where they play lots of Muse and White Stripes and tell us all superior-like how hip we are just by listening? Yes. Ahem. And suddenly, out of John Tesh’s mouth, the same mouth that kisses Connie Sellecca and composes New Age-y music albums with seagulls in the background, THAT MOUTH, we hear this:

“You might be drinking fecal matter with your soda pop!”

WHAT THE WHAT?!?!? Did John Tesh just say the word “fecal”? As in, POOP? On the radio? FECAL!!!

Oh, yes, yes he did. And he went on to say it roughly 21 more times in the next three minutes, letting us know without ANY doubt whatsoever that our soda is a virtual hotbed of virulent pestilence. BECAUSE OF FECAL MATTER. Apparently, the hard-working peeps at the fast food restaurants aren’t as diligent as they should be cleaning out the soda machines, which means that we are LITERALLY DRINKING POOP.

It’s kind of funny until you realize that YOU ARE LITERALLY DRINKING POOP.

This should have ended right then and there with the tidbit of useful knowledge, but as with anything involving John Tesh, it just keeps going and going until you either completely give in to the Tesh and start wearing the black turtlenecks and Diesel jeans and a floppy circa 1970′s Jackson Browne hairdo, OR, you resist and hunker down in your basement lovingly stroking your original 45 of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”, scarfing down Cheetos and planning your next trip to Comic-Con.

We THOUGHT we had resisted the Tesh Effect (John Tesh! In EFFECT! Booyah!), until I popped open a soda last night and Dean suddenly remarks:

“Remember what John Tesh said about soda last night OH MY GOD.”

We both looked at each other in horror. It was too late.

And somewhere in the night, as seagulls cawed and a sappy piano riff played over and over, The Tesh allowed himself a soft, knowing chuckle.

I have a cold.

I have a sore throat.

My house is messy.

There’s nothing good to eat in my refrigerator.

My dog smells funny.

I can’t reach the remote control.

I’m sleepy.

I haven’t gotten any interesting emails today.

There are giant balls of drifting dog hair all over my carpet and I just vacuumed yesterday.

My bathroom isn’t cleaning itself.

Sigh.

>>>end whine<<<

>>start Oprah-like, rousing, motivational speech<<

>>really, start it<<

>>FOR PETE’S SAKE GET OFF YOUR AS-<<

Tra la la!

I have a cold, but that’s actually good, because nothing tastes good plus AirBorne gives me the runs, so I’ve lost five pounds in three days!

My house is messy, but that means I’ll get the opportunity to teach my children the wholesome value of chores, done without any attitude whatsoever!

My refrigerator does not contain anything good in the way of instantly eatable non-vegetable things, but I have a cold! And therefore do not need to eat! Huzzah!

My dog doesn’t smell funny, you silly! He smells like Faithful Doggy Who Loves Me!

I can’t reach the remote control and I’m sleepy, but that just makes it easier to do some invigorating toe touches and cleansing, Zen-like breathing exercises. I am a health nut!

No interesting emails have come my way yet today, but the day is still young! Plus, who needs interesting emails? Not me! I laugh at interesting emails! Ha ha ha!

Those giant balls of hair everywhere? Oh, you mean those giant balls of LOVE? Of AFFECTION? Of FAITHFULNESS? You mean those?

And yes, my bathroom isn’t cleaning itself but that’s because I plan on some vigorous wiping and scrubbing later today. Always thinking, that’s me! There’s nothing like a little bit of bathroom cleaning to THIS ISN’T WORKING AND NEEDS TO STOP.

Dear readers:

I, uh, I’m not sure what happened here, but let’s just chalk it up to 4 hours sleep, too much Airborne, a whopping dose of Pepto-Bismol, the pilot episode of “Big Love”, and a wicked good piece of homemade English toffee from Bruce’s in Cannon Beach.

We shall never speak of this again.

Love, RedHeadMama

Image by Doc_Brown via Flickr

Got back today, with a leisurely afternoon of Star Wars watching planned (we do that when we get back home early during the day from a long break). As we were finishing up Attack of the Clones around 9 PM, I suddenly had a prickly feeling like “did I forget something?”

Lo and behold, I had forgotten just a teensy little detail. I had misread both today’s date AND the first day of school, and guess what? All those times I had told the kinder that they were starting school on Wednesday? Well, not so much. They’re starting school TOMORROW.

They weren’t too happy (understandably) at first, but they quickly came around to it, and were actually flipping out excited within about five minutes, THANK YOU GOD. So school supplies, lunches, snacks, and cute outfits are all ready.

I think we’re good. Even with a severe calendar malfunction.

– Going down the big bouncy slide filled with water in your back yard that is basically made of awesome, yet is feared beyond all reason because it “makes me pee in the middle of the night.” What. The. Frickity. Frack.

– Going to the park because you have to walk up a hill, so you scream like you are William Wallace being disembowled in “Braveheart”.

– Eating something like pork loin and salad because it’s not made of solid sugar and SWEET BABY JEBUS we’ve got to alert the authorities, because obviously, that counts for abuse.

Little things like that. That’s why, when I see moms frazzled with their busy ten year old boys who are darting all over the place like squirrels on crack, I am actually ENVIOUS. Everyone has their own issues, of course, but I would love to see Henry run around and play and not scream about pine needles or the air being too air-y or some such other nonsencial thing that makes sense only to him and drives me to CrazyTown.

However, I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m turning into one of those crazy, rabid parents that we all vowed we would NEVER emulate. You know what I’m talking about: they yell at the kids to SET IT UP! SET IT UP! and they yell at the ref to GET OUT OF THE WAY! and YOU’RE KIDDING ME! and so on. Last night, I found myself doing this and more; and it was almost like I could see myself doing it yet was powerless to stop. And let’s be totally honest: I didn’t really want to stop. I mean, come on – how many times as a mom do you really get to scream at your kids with little or no guilt attached? Yeah. You’re feeling me now, aren’t you?

Anyway, this meeting was actually quite enjoyable, which for those of you out there with kids and an IEP you know how odd that statement sounds. But I’m serious – it was kinda fun. Henry is on track with his plan, and is actually testing right on par for most things, which both thrilled and surprised me. He is just trucking right along, the sweet little stinkhead.

One of the things we looked at was fourth grade. He’s going to pretty much have the same level of support he has now, but he will be allowed to – get this – have an mp3 player for testing. Here’s the deal: I shared with his teacher a couple weeks ago that he concentrates much better with music. So! Now I get to make a mixtape for my ten year old. I’m thinking some Sabbath, a wee bit of NIN, maybe some Ozzy? Oh, I kid, I kid. He’s a John Denver kind of guy.

Bottom line, the meeting went good, Henry is good, and all is well in the world. I even did a little celebratory jig, which was kind of awkward and embarrassing since I realized two seconds after I did such jig that my fly? It was wiiiiide open. Yeah. Way to poke a hole in that bubble of happiness, universe!

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He awakes
Mood! Bad! Watch! Out!
Stomps to table. No waffles? No pancakes? OATMEAL.
Holds head, screams, they are muffled. Then not so much.
Cat, he hides. Dog, he hides too. Animals know these things.

Morning, Part Two.
By moi.

Something Smells!
Bad!
Smells Like Burning!
Smoke Alarm! It’s On! Loud!
Oatmeal! Burning!

Morning, Part Three.
By you-know-who.

SOMEONE is hiding in the bathroom. Is this a good idea? Yes?
Frenzied hands scrabble underneath the door. They want breakfast.
Oatmeal! Down garbage disposal!
We shall have Lucky Charms instead.