Rogan + Rudd = Teenage Marketing Gold

I watched this with my kids.

Their remarks:

"You can't say Super B*wl?"

"Is that ad going to be on during the Super B*wl?"

"Two minutes! That's a very expensive ad."

"We've gotta watch that ad."

#itsworking

Good-Bye, Money

Hello, Braces. x2.

Daughter 1 goes in on Monday. Daughter 2 will follow on the 12th.

I am a generous mom.

Dream Log

Thursday
I was having dinner at my former home with clients I've never met. I was flipping through a book about burgers when I suddenly realized that one of the clients had given the book to my boss. Unimpressed, my boss had discarded it. "It's a great book," I lamely enthused, then excused myself to visit the washroom. When I flushed the toilet, it overflowed into my sister's room (disjointed shift to our childhood home). I tried to rescue clothes and toys from the sopping shag carpet.

Friday
My mom was missing. Her bank activity suggested she was in Connecticut.

Saturday
I was vacationing with my mom and a South American fellow in the filthiest rental I've ever seen. The walls were striped with thin strands of mold. Due to a poorly-healing wound (real), my mom couldn't get off the bed (probable). The contents of her luggage were strewn around her bed (likely). The South American offered to help her as I reached up to touch the strands of mold. South American Guy suddenly appeared at my side, holding a tiny dog dyed bright green. The dog's name was Greedy (cool dog name I will remember for future reference).

Sunday
I was at the old Momentum office on Delmar. My Aunt Kathy (deceased) had left a baby boy in my care (not a true story). Actually, she abandoned him. I went to the third floor to look for a diaper, but no one would help me. The whole floor had this industrial vibe, with bicycles hanging from the ceiling. A couple of girls were playing basketball. They totally ignored me. Anne Corn was there as a temp (high school friend with a penchant for burning crosses in her arm). I went to the bathroom and tried to wash off the baby in a sink, but he pooped. It was thick and sticky and clogged the drain, so I moved to the next one. He pooped again. Next sink! Ladies filtered in and out, completely ignoring me. I desperately scraped the poop off the poor little guy's body and wrapped him in a discarded bath towel. He smiled. I woke up in a panic, only to realize that I'd slept through my alarm clock for AN HOUR. Consequently, my girls were late for school. And I was late for work.

Bragging Rights

My kids just told me their class ranks at Kirkwood High School.

Madeline, my junior, is 10th in her class.

And after one semester, Julia is 16th. 

My buttons are bursting.

This Morning

Tad stopped by my desk and asked how I was.

Tim popped in. "How's it going?" he asked.

I had a check-in with my boss. The deck 
I'd been writing was blown up. Again.
The client presentation? Just a few hours away.

I suggested that everyone involved should
violate themselves with a big blue marker.

I cried at work

Twix Vindicated

Mouse? Dead. In one pitiful piece. Deposited on a basement step.


Thank you, Twix. I'm sorry I doubted your mousing prowess.

Lordy, Lordy

I was sitting on the couch watching Project Runway All-Stars (don't judge) when what did I see scamper out from under my bedroom door? A MOUSE. An adorable, whisker-twitching, inquisitive rodent. Naturally, I jumped up on the couch. Then, I fetched the cat. "Twix!" I yelped. "Catch that mouse!" Twix is a house cat without front claws. But she has caught a mouse before. Two months ago, I left the side door open to allow a fresh coat of paint to dry, so she darted out, caught a mouse and dashed back in. Good job, Twix. And gross. Seriously.

So guess what. Twix didn't want the mouse. I guess. I mean, she raced under the bed right away, which was encouraging. But I suspect she was merely sulking. I ran outside and implored my neighbors. "Matt! Elliott! There's a mouse in my house!" Matt retrieved a trap from his own home, peanut buttered and everything. Elliott trailed in, brandishing a Captain America shield. I asked Matt to help me move my bed. If a mouse was under there, I sure didn't want to be the one to find it. "You never can tell what you're going to find when you move a lady's bed," Matt warned his young son. What we found was the cat. But no mouse. Twix bolted out to hide in the basement. Then Matt tried to set the trap. It snapped. I screamed. Elliott must think I'm a loon. Two more tries, and the trap was set. As I walked them out, Matt offered the services of his first-grader Harper to collect the soon-to-be deceased. 

Now, I sit. Watching the door. Pensively. The mouse must be in my closet, because I saw him again, peaking out to see if the coast is clear. It is not, little man. It is not. R.I.P. ASAP.

This is going to be a fantastic day

We had an awesome show last night. I couldn't believe how great we sounded. But I had a glass of wine. Then a cocktail. And a chocolate milk stout. And a Pabst. We didn't go on till 11:30. I didn't get home till 2:30. This morning, I lost my right contact lens in my eye for about 20 minutes. Which was especially delightful, seeing as my lenses didn't soak long enough for the wicked cleaning solution to break down into saline. I left the house late. My car needed gas.

Time to write copy!

Show tonight!

Acorns to Oaks is a really cool band.
My band Bulletpop is opening for them.
Here.

"I should be homeless."

Seeing this
Formerly Homeless Stars

Reminded me of this
Crystal Waters Parody

Strawberry Rainbow Ra

Yesterday, someone told me I looked like Strawberry Shortcake.

Today, someone said I look like Rainbow Bright.

Tomorrow?

Happy Birthday, David Bowie

"Where Are We Now?" by David Bowie


When I was a freshman at a midwestern state school, my dorm room was plastered with David Bowie posters. (MY side of the room, anyway.) I listened to all of his music. Saw all of his movies. I was a bit obsessed.

Now, after so much silence, he's back. The video is, um, creepy. But elegantly so. Just like Bowie. It's his birthday today. 66 and still rocking. I should be so lucky.

New album? March. Can't wait.

What I wouldn't give for a child that would willingly work out the kinks in my poor back as I work into the night. #hugeinconvenience

Co-Creationism

The belief that humanity, life, the Earth, and the universe are the creation of a supernaturally-connected protagonist.

http://www.momentumww.com/#/belief

My throat hurts. Is it because I'm coming down with something? Or I really don't want to drive to Pepper's for my friend's birthday karaoke party? God, I'm a crappy friend.

Good Movie Guaranteed

Choosing a movie is tough at my house.

My teen daughters are precocious, yet oddly Puritanical. For example, when a sex scene starts on HBO's "Girls," Madeline presses the Menu key. Listens. Then clicks back when she thinks it's over.

So when Julia and I decided to watch a movie On Demand, we were in a fix. Every film was rated R. Which could mean anything. Nudity. Graphic violence. Horror. Julia won't even curse in front of me. And she's 14!

So we switched to the rental listing. Same issue. Either too juvenile ("Mr. Popper's Penguins"), or too questionable ("The Cabin In The Woods"). Then, we found it. "Safety Not Guaranteed." It was rated R, but Aubrey Plaza's in it. From "Parks and Recreation." She has that whole "I want you to think I'm cool though I'm secretly self-conscious" thing down. Love her.

"Julia, you might have to see violence," I warned her.

"I saw a guy get a sword rammed through the back of his neck and out of his mouth on a cable preview," she reminded me.

"There might be junk. In 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall,' you see Jason Segel completely naked. Like, dancing-around-naked." She wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. "Shall we chance it?"

No answer. She must have been really apprehensive about potential junk-spotting.

But guess what. "Safety Not Guaranteed" got an R for language. Two or three F-bombs, that's it. The characters were somewhat predictable – the awkward nerd girl, the shy Indian, the shifty boss – but the storyline was not a tired retelling of hipster angst. It had intrigue, lost love, painful revelations and time travel. I don't want to spoil it, so just watch it. Not a glimpse of junk, I promise.

http://safetynotguaranteedmovie.com

I will never weigh this much again.

And no, this isn't a hollow promise, like all of the weight-based lamentations of yore.

I have gained so much weight this year, it's ridiculous.

And so it has begun. My third attempt to follow The 17-Day Diet. Which is truly just a common-sense diet. Because that's the most important factor, after all. Sense.

We shall meet on January 17th, Scale. January 17th.