The Beach: An iPhone Photo Essay

We went to the beach with some visiting relatives on Tuesday. The Spitfire is amazing, as seen in the following photo essay. Enjoy!

Later...

 

High Rollin'

When Groupon posted a deal to go and see roller derby live and in person, I clicked without thinking. Because it was a no-brainer. I mean, HELLO! Who doesn't want to go see some hardcore super girl power on wheels (and wearing sequined butt shorts)?

I, of course, had to bring The Dynamo and The Spitfire. It's crucial that you indoctrinate them young. Even more important is that you give them phenomenal derby names. Behold, I give you...

She's pretty good at going along with my harebrained antics.

AND...

Her shirt says "Tasmanian Angel." Fitting. Pun only mildly intended.

I, of course, had to go as "Nancy Shrew." This photo of me doesn't do my fabulousness justice (too bad, I looked H-O-T. No, really - I was wearing hot pink legwarmers).

And my dad (Kahuna Kevin) did not get a last-minute-thrown-together shirt like the rest of us. Sorry, Viejo. 

I had no idea he was a Windsor.

Some of my favorite names from the athletes included "Assaulty Cracker," "Shiva Mi Timbers," "Heidi Evidence," "Bo Toxic," "Ryder Hard," and "Maxxi Bad."

Despite having an awesome evening, I was a bit disappointed that the gates didn't open until the time they claimed it would be starting AND we were forced to watch a full hour of kids attempting to roller derby before the actual game (match? pairing?) began. And there was another hour of the women warming up. Once it got going, though, it was awesome! Besides The Dynamo whining incessantly about wanting to leave (probably because I said no to buying popcorn). She was still cute. In a Tasmanian Angel sort of way.

No discussion of the roller derby would be complete without a visual description of the typical audience members. Behold:

The giant bag of popcorn and plate of cheesy nachos were set aside momentarily.

And a few shots from the actual bout (I finally looked it up):

"The Swarm"

Their rivals: the Diego Rollers. Complete with flyswatters (beeswatters?)

The pack and the jammers ready for a jam.

Lead jammer kicking some booty. "Kina Wahine," mother of 3.

And, because it's flippin' adorable:

Loves!

MOTH3R'S DAY¡

Moms have a thing for flowers, food made by anyone but themselves, and broaches handmade by preschoolers. All moms, no exceptions. It's kinda like how all dads love ties with handprints on them and sports-themed anything.

(Sidenote: I think The Artist feels a little out-of-place when he's wearing a t-shirt featuring a Calder work and another male starts talking to him about how the Chargers just f'd themselves again by playing so-and-so during the fourth quarter and missing the extra point because they went for the conversion and he has to think for a minute about what sport they're discussing.)

Imagine my happiness, then, when Miss Connie's Kinderprep Preschool held a belated Mother's Day program today that included all of "my" mommy obsessions in one fell swoop, in addition to a couple dozen kiddos wearing fluffy dresses and collared shirts.

Fluff & flowers

The Dynamo had several extra special parts. She got to hold the biggest flag during the Pledge of Allegiance, she was a flower who blew wind in her own face with a small fan (because, of course, flowers need air to grow), and was the proud holder of the "M" card in the word "MOTHER". 

Close enough.

Who doesn't like gummy worms?! 

A Trina Turk makeup bag? For me? I like this preschool.

Great day, despite The Urinator's best efforts.

Redo

Seeing as how it's been nearly 2 years since I last posted, I thought it would be a good time to jump back in. That, and the fact that I'm overloaded. Seriously overloaded and in need of an outlet. Not that I have time. Nope. The dog ate that. And then peed on the remnants.

No seriously. I have a puppy. Who likes to eat my 10-month-old. Who is then scolded by my 4-year-old. Who is then sent outside to play with the puppy while I try to get some work done, all the while neglecting said 10-month-old. My average day in a nutshell.

So here's the deal. I'm scrubbing the blog clean and starting fresh in hopes of reinventing it. I would simply start up a new blog, but I'm much too in love with the title of this one - and I don't particularly care if you're not. Navigate elsewhere, Killjoy. (Yup, I just named you that.)

Me- I used to be a real go-getter: a hardworking, globetrotting, exercising, attractive, strong young woman. Now I'm older, run down, and still have flecks of paint on the tips of my surprisingly trim nails from that manicureish thing I got 5 months ago. 6 weeks ago I trimmed my grown-out bangs all by myself and ended up with something a little crooked and a lot unfixable. I work at home where I am nagged all day in multiple languages (mainly Smallchild, Babble, and Yap), and I recently stopped looking for grays because they are no longer hidden, although the bottle of hair dye seems to be.

Next up: what I would do with free time if I had it. Blog, I suppose. Darn. There goes that post, as well as the free time.