And so it begins . . . .

I know that it has been a while since I have taken finger to key to type the wonder that is my life, but honestly, I have not even thought of this blog of late. I know! What a bitch. But I am back, because it must be said that my son has been taken over by the Terrible Twos. And in no particular order, the joys so far:

The Wind-Up Toddler. When picking up a frustrated and angry Owen Patrick, be careful of the full kicking of his feet back and forth. Like a demented gazelle, my son will scissor his legs at such a rapid pace, one would not be surprised if placed in water, he would cross the Atlantic in 2.5 days. Although locked in my arms, and incapable of escape, his legs do not get the message. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Furious feet do you magic! I am afraid to put him in corduroys for fear of fire.

I Shall Slaughter You All. I imagine that being the youngest kid and only boy in daycare has its moments of “Holy cow, I really wish I could take those girls down. Dolls, dolls, dolls, stupid dolls.” And it seems that Owen has finally had enough as he has begun hitting the other kids, I believe the phrase “threw her to the ground” was used this morning, which as a football fan makes me proud, but as a woman makes me call domestic violence hotlines. But I guess this is all “normal toddler behavior”. Seriously, I was wondering if having a hissy fit, and punching some one at work out could be qualified “as normal adult behavior.” Because, that would be awesome.

Although a Bruiser, I Ain’t Stupid. John informs me that at the park Owen will only knock down and push kids that are smaller than him, while he leaves the big kids alone. Smart boy.

You Are an Obsession, You're My Obsession. Owen has two obsessions of late. The first is brushing his teeth. Never has there been a child on this green earth who has loved the tooth brushing so much. We brush his teeth in the bath, first thing. Don’t break out of the order, or you will have deal with the wrath of Owen. “Teeettttt. Teeeetttt. Teeeeetttttttttttt. Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeettttttttttttttttttttt.” Okay, dude, I got it. So I brush his teeth and there is such joy and happiness in his eyes. The second thing, and I am pretty sure this might prove out to be beneficial, is his new fangled love of the potty. “Pppppooooddddyyy. Pooooddddyyy. Poooddddyyyy”. For now all he does is sit on it, with a proud look upon his face. So proud, this morning I asked if he wanted any reading material. He yells poddy, sits down, gets up and repeats 10,000 times. John and I are actually considering this may be the start of a diaper free existence. Can you imagine not wiping the ass of someone else 3 to 6 times a day? Well I can too. And it is glorious.

So there you have it, the first of what I am sure will be many stories of the joys of my son entering his “first adolescence.” Heaven help us.

Movie Review: Wanted

Let it be known that as a mother of an 18 month old, my trips to the movie theater have taken a horrid tumble. Last Saturday due to the blessing of babysitting grandparents, John and I took ourselves to the movies. Our choices were: Get Smart, Wanted and Wall-E. Now Wall-E is a kid’s movie, and since I have a kid, I figured, let’s be adult. So that left Get Smart and Wanted. Now, I loved the old Get Smart, and I love Steve Carrell, but those two shan’t be together in my mind. The only Maxwell Smart is Don Adams, and the only Agent 99 is Barbara Feldon. Nuff said. So that left Wanted. Did you know that Wanted has gotten really good reviews? Well it has. Honestly, I had no clue what it was about. So imagine my surprise when before the movie began the following appeared on the screen in written text:

1000 years ago, a Secret Society of Weavers created a group of assassins called the Fraternity.

A fucking secret society of WEAVERS. WEAVERS!!!! Now, when I think of assassin I think of ninjas, the CIA and Lee Harvey Oswald, I do not think of a group of weavers. I decided to forget about this stupid weaver thing and enjoy the film. And I did, until the following occurred: Morgan Freeman informs James McAvoy how it is that they receive the names of people to assassinate. Okay then. Morgan leads him into a room, and there they stand among a loom. But this is not any loom people, it is THE LOOM OF FATE. Yeah, Morgan Freeman just seriously uttered the words “The Loom of Fate.” You see folks, The Loom of Fate weaves and at some point it will have a double stitch - so if the stitch is on top, it is a zero, on the bottom a one. This binary code yields the name of the person to be assassinated. Again, why don’t we all say it together “The Loom of Fate.” Needless to say, John and I were laughing. You know who else was laughing? No one. You know why, because well the rest of the audience actually must have thought that a loom of fate was a plausible storyline. It would have been better if a secret society of dog walkers had a talking dog. That I would have easily accepted, as opposed to this secret society of weavers protecting The Loom of Fate that gives binary code of people to assassinate.

This movie sucked total balls. I would say it even sucked Donkey Balls. It was like Fight Club for the recipients of frontal lobotomies. I should have seen Wall-E.

The Shipping News

The Shipping News : A Novel by E. Annie Proulx

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
The Shipping News was good for one thing, I know a bunch about knots. Not sure if the entire knot thing at the beginning of each chapter threw me for a loop (hah!), but I would spent a few minutes following the course of the knot to figure it out. Which probably did not help the flow of this book. The Shipping News is beautifully written, and has a few lines that are just awesome, like "Quolye had the big man's love of a petite woman." But I never really got into the characters or the story, although I must say the last 40 pages did enthrall me, but was it worth the preceding 280 pages? I guess the answer is yes. Its an odd story of an island community, sorta reminded me of Northern Exposure a tad. Or my visits to Martha's Vineyard. Oh Islanders, you crazies.


View all my reviews.

Tales of MUNI

Let it be known that yesterday was a day of MUNI reckoning that was headache producing in nature. First let me begin by saying that in the morning, I like my coffee. I like it on the N-Judah, whilst reading and listening to music. So if the train is stationed and not yet going, I go to Java Beach, and order a medium black. Yesterday morning, I entered Java Beach and was happy - the train was parked and there was but one customer before me. However, Mr. Skinny Non-Fat, Non-Dairy, Bagel Toasted Dark, With Oatmeal And Bananas, you made me tap my feet in a fury of activity as I nervously eyed the train. After his seemingly 10 hour order was complete I quickly rattled off my order, received cup, pour coffee, got lid, and don't burn your hand cover, ran to the train as it sat parked and pushed the button. I pushed again. Door open!!! No, it did not. I ran to the next car as its doors closed. Muther fucka. As the Muni took off, I quickly followed. Let me say this, running with coffee is not an easy task. I ran at a good clip finally giving up because "No way will I catch that train." Flash forward to 10 seconds later, "Good lord, I can get that train, look at that line of fools waiting to pay." So I hoofed it again, like a half paralyzed animal due to coffee and my bag, only to be once again greeted by closing doors. Muther Fucka Part Deux. I know the pain of running for a train, only to miss it. But to run for the same train twice, with the same hurt feelings of failure and incompetence is a true horror.

So as the day progressed, and the 5:00 o'clock whistle blew, and I made my way to the Embarcadero Station for my train. Little did I know that June 30, 2008 was the day Cassie McCall would be driven to insanity by the good folks at the Bay Area Transit Authority. It began simply enough, a two car N entered the station. But the second car said "No Passengers". Muther Fucka Part Tres. I made my way to the other car with gaggle of others. Push, push, slam, bam, is that person touching me? Oh my god. So I got out my book, got a decent standing spot, and tried to forget all the body heat circling me like bees buzzing in my ear. The next stop added to the crush of people. At this time, a woman about 55 years old with wild white hair, a 6'0" foot frame and man hands stood behind me. It was at this time, I knew I was in trouble She repeatedly said, "Move in everybody, move in. We can all get in the car." Sorry, lady but currently my ass is being rubbed by the man behind me, my whole left half is sandwiched into the girl beside me like we are Siamese Twins, and you are getting a little too close for comfort. We continued onward, trying to lose myself into my book. Gargantuan woman makes her way beside me and gets out her USA Today paper. She beings to read, while touching my hand. I kid you not. She rested her hand on mine. I moved, she moved, I moved, she moved. Is this really happening? Her paper is on my head. My head! We get to the next stop and another rush of persons onto the train. Ms. Charitable Commuter actually says to the person trying to get on "Come on sir, you can get on too." Bitch, please. So now this guy is on after about two minutes of twister like contortions by the other passengers. We get to the Duboce Park stop, and before me the seated passenger is leaving. Hail Thee Jesus. I sit down, but who else sits down? Yep, Ms. MUNI United. As she sits, her cat hair strewn sweater is on my hand, this does not surprise me. If the was ever a poster child for the Crazy Ole Cat Woman, this lady was it. It is at this time, that the passenger who we let on at the previous stop shouts the following "Hey Man, don't let your frustration out on me, because I AM PRIME TO GO. PRIME!!" Great, now there is a going to be a fist fight. Thanks lady, soooooo happy he got on board. But peace reigns supreme.

Finally it seems that the world of MUNI had gotten off its crazy axis as the cat lady has left, and a young girl sits next to me. I was happy. But a minute into this bliss, came the following "Do you have twenty-five cents?" "No, sorry." Then there came the moaning. The guttural wailing of an insane homeless person and then the talk of purple potatoes. Ah, I don't hear you. Seriously, God, why me? I try to concentrate on my book while the girl next to me chatters, moans and speaks in demon tongue. And then it happens, a seat opens up, I make a beeline and plop down. Finally on my own within the confines of N-Judah ride of crazy. My head is aching, my nerves fried, only to hear "Sorry folks, but this will be our last stop." Oh the humanity. I make my exit, I make my entrance, and finally arrive at my stop. Needless to say, that evening, wine was had. MUNI, you may have won the battle, but I will win the war.