Potty Training

Hello I’m potty training. Which means that I am loosing my patience, I’m sick of doing laundry, and stir crazy as hell from staying in my house all. Day. Long.


Berlyn and I have never done anything half-assed. When we transition her into a new phase of her life we go all out. Like when we were getting her to sleep through the entire night, we just took three days and said, deal with it nugget, mamma and daddy need to sleep or else we turn into fire monsters, and when we stopped nursing, wait nope, that was gradual. Oh, but when I started her on a sippy cup it was like BAM! SIPPY CUP TIME! and when it was time for a big girl bed, it was BOOM! BIG GIRL BED. So, we figured this potty thing should be fairly easy, and I could be all POW! POTTY TRAINED! 


But I’m not really in the mood any more and I’m only a day and a quarter into it. Yesterday was officially day 1. and we got rid of all her diapers and stocked up on Ariel and Cinderella undies. But before her nap she had 8 accidents and I was all ready to slap a diaper back on her and go to the mall to buy something shiny for myself for giving it a good college try. But the second half of the day went much better, and this morning she stayed dry for 2 and a half hours, so perhaps it’s working. Except the part that isn’t working is the fact that I have to pay attention and actually do stuff. I’m so used to convenience of a diaper catching all her business, now I have to! And there’s pee on my carpet, and I don’t know what I’m going to do when she has to take a dump, what if she decides to play with it? And smears it on the dog?

 Is 10:30 in the morning too early to start drinking?

…and then my pug barfed.


Right as I was going to write this terribly amusing blog post about a lemonade stand, a rhinoceros, and a lady named Marge, my dog decided to hurl. I was just about to pop open the lid to my lap top when she looked over at me with her sad glossy black eyes and then proceeded to barf all over my rug. Afterwards she stood over it for a second or two, and I could tell by her posture that she really wanted to sniff it and possibly eat it. Well, no siree, sister, we are not a family of barf-eaters! So get your furry little behind outside, while I try to salvage what’s left of our sad, sad rug. 

As I was cleaning her vomit piles, I wondered, what the heck made her sick? She eats the same exact thing everyday. EVERYDAY. SAME. THING. Oh, and not only that, but she does the same thing EVERYDAY. It’s always: wake up, scratch, lick stuff, go on a walk, eat, lay down for 6 hours, scratch, lick stuff, go on another walk, and then lay down. My first thought was that she’s hungover, but then I was like, when does she have time for drinking binges? She has a pretty ridged, and hectic schedule as is, she can’t possibly fit that in. Then I thought Oh, shit, she’s preggy. That little tramp. But double no. Because she’s a virgin, and she’s fixed. Then I started to feel like a bad mom. Poor pug never gets to experience life. She’s stuck in my home, no sex, no alcohol. No wonder why she threw up on my rug, she’s sick of it, and I don’t blame her, I’d be sick of it too if all I did was lay around on a stack of pillows all day with interruptions for licking stuff and eating. Wait, no. I take it back. No, Zoey, you pretty much have my dream job.

I’m so Embarrassed

Embarrassment has always seemed to find me. Like that time when a pack of 7th grader boys voyeuristically watched me use a tampon for the first time, or when I fell down a flight of stairs at college, and my skirt flipped over my head and everyone saw my laundry-day thong, or when I feverishly yelled out, “GRETCHEN!!” GRETCHEN, I miss you so much, where have you been!?” Only to find out that it wasn’t Gretchen, but an incredibly tiny man with long hair. 

Ahh, yes, embarrassment, we were once good friends, we found ourselves together often; at parties, in public speaking classes, and in whole-school assemblies, but now that I’ve grown up, embarrassment and I have grown apart.  

Either I’ve adapted because of the whole survival of the fittest thing, or I’ve matured, and farting in front of the lady giving me a pedicure is not embarrassing, but a natural part of life. But don’t fret, because I increased her tip by five dollars due to the proximity of my fart to her face.  But truth be told, I don’t embarrass much these days. Except for lately I’m worried that my daughter might hold the key to my embarrassment, and I have a very strong feeling that she’ll be really good at mortifying me. 

Here are a few excerpts of recent conversations I’ve had with Berlyn. Thankfully we were alone each time, but you never know when an unsuspecting ear will be lurking, waiting to hear all about Berlyn’s observations:

BERLYN: I’m two!

ME: That’s right Berlyn, you’re two!

BERLYN: Momma’s 37!

ME: No. Momma’s not 37. And now we’re heading to the mall to buy some La Mer

Really, Berlyn? I look 37? 

BERLYN: Noooo! You don’t look 37. 

ME: Thanks sweetie, I appreciate that, but I’m still getting the La Mer.


And while driving…

BERLYN: Momma’s Naked!

ME: No child, Momma’s not naked right now, she has pants, and a shirt on. But if I were naked I’d probably get a special visit from Mr. Police Officer who would take me to a place called jail, and then take you off to child protective services. And that would make mommy really, really sad. 


While I was in the bathroom…

BERLYN: Momma’s wiping her butt!

ME: Yup. 

Because that time it was true. 

Your turn. I’ve told you like 6 embarrising things about me, now tell me some embarrising things that have happened to you so I don’t feel so bad.

Free City Sweats

I love sweatpants, and my day just really isn’t complete until my jeans are tugged off by a pack of rabid rocwillers, and my jeans are replaced with a sturdy pair of sweatpants that are snapped into place with a sturdy elastic waist, can I get an AMEN? Oh, the joys of pants with elastic waists. Makes me all teary-eyed just thinking about it. 

But a vast majority of people (and by vast majority I mean, like 7) are coming to my site in hopes that I have some information on where to buy Free City Sweats, because you’re fancy, and Target sweatpants just won’t do. Because Jessica Simpson and Marc Jacobs are NEVER photographed wearing Target sweatpants. Gawd!  



I wrote about sweatpants a really long time ago, and since then the Free City sweats have become as elusive to find as the Northern Hairy-nosed Wombat. But I will tell you this: 

If you live near L.A. you’re in luck, because Free City is sold at Fred Segal and Ron Herman. If you don’t live in L.A., then no sweatpants for you!! Just kidding, I’m not the sweatpant nazi, instead I give you this: the Free City Website. I know, I know,  I’m a total genius to be pointing you towards the company’s website. But that’s like the only place they sell those suckers. Talk about exclusive. 


Easter Family Photos




Berlyn decided the sun was too bright. So we got her her glasses, and she actually wore them, instead of sticking them in her nose holes

Berlyn decided the sun was too bright. So we got her her glasses, and she actually wore them, instead of sticking them in her nose holes


Egg hunt!

Egg hunt!

How did I get stuck holding the basket?

How did I get stuck holding the basket?


family photo!

family photo!

Nightstick Grandma

Um, hello? I totally know that Easter was two days ago, and I know you’re all OVER it. And you’re surly because your hoard of Cadbury Eggs were eaten by your pet rooster, and now you have to wait a whole year to eat them again. AND now your rooster has the runs and is crapping foil puddles everywhere. BUT- I have to show you something so delicious that I think you’ll find it amusing enough to pull you right back into the Easter spirit again. 

Instead of the kids in our family doing an Easter egg hunt, my brother, aka the genius, decided the adults should do the Easter egg hunt this year! My daughter is the only ‘child’ in the family right now, and it’s kinda boring watching her scuttle around the lawn in search of eggs filled with candy that I won’t let her eat anyway. Because I’m mean. And I want it all for myself. And I’m trying to divert her from an unhealthy and cationic relationship with sugar, because Lord knows I’ve been there. 

So we sent them off on their hunt with well wishes and the hopes that they would return victorous. 


Awwh, look at them, they’re all so proud and delighted!

But wait. You ask, what is the elderly one on the end doing with a nightstick and a bullet proof vest on?

Well half way through the egg hunt, we hit a lull, and the crowd was getting restless. In attempts to boost moral, my security gaurd cousin dipped into his trunk and pulled out a snappy outfit for Grandma. 


And with her new found confidence she got from holding the nightstick, and her knowledge her lady parts were adequately protected, she went on to win the hunt! She was so emphatic and thirsty for eggs, however, that she banged down neighbors’ doors and stole candy and eggs from sweet little innocent children. We had to give her a tranquilizer and have her locked up for the remainder of the afternoon. But after we removed the vest and took away her nightstick, she returned into the sweet little grandma we all know and love.


Yup, just a typical holiday gathering with my family.



I went to a Passover Seder Dinner Wednesday night. It put me in touch with my inner Jewishness. All the talk of lahiem and matzo, got me wanting to not only to partake in a Seder dinner every Passover, but also to crash a few Bar Mitzvahs and join in on spinning the dradle every now and again.


I am a Christian, and going to a Seder dinner brings into sharper focus what this holiday represents, and helps me to remember that this whole Easter season is bigger than a giant marshmallow peep, and it’s even bigger than Reese’s peanut butter eggs. Still, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to eat this sucker for breakfast:



Passover Puppets

While doing some on-line shopping I happened upon this website and found these Passover Puppets. How cute are these?


And right in time for the Easter Holiday. If you’re not familiar with the 10 plagues of Exodus you can get these sassy puppets and help to learn your Old Testament history. I’m pretty fond of the frog one. He’s ready to not only infiltrate your land, but also to give you a heart warming high five.

Like those puppets wern’t enough of a good time, I lingered on the website and found this jem too:


And yes, if you’re my friend, and you’re expecting, be expecting me to gift  you with this bad boy at your baby shower. Not only is is flattering but also incredibly creepy. You’re welcome.

Ohhh ooooh, I found one more thing:


It’s the Go Girl, for when hovering above the germs while peeing is too much of a quad work out.

You just cup it over you lady-parts and viola, you have your very own pink rubber penis, AND you can pee standing up. Now, it’s not for me, I prefer to do the hover-squat, because I never turn down a good mini-work out to my thighs, but if your a germ-a-phobe and perfectly okay with sporting a pink phallic thingie over your thingie then, you Go Girl.

I Have to Write a Book First

I want to go on a book tour. 

I guess I’d have to write a book first. 

But what would I write about?

I can’t give advice, I haven’t been through enough to warrant myself as an authority. 

I don’t have anything meaningful and inspirational to talk about. 

I think the most appealing thing about writing a book is the fancy book tour. 

I’d stay in Four Seasons all over the country, be jet-lagged, wear dark sunglasses, and order eggs benedict from room service. But  chances are, when I get to the book store there would probably only be two people in line, and they’d be all, I heard there might be free slushies


My book sucks, and I haven’t even written it yet.