Just Another Feather in my Cap

January 26, 2010

Contest Update: Let us all take a moment to bow our heads and offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the fact that I'm not a cruise director. Or your financial planner. Or the President of The United States. Honestly, if I find this ass contest to be so overwhelming and difficult to manage, what on earth would I do in a position of actual leadership and authority?

I'd hide under my desk and eat Cheez-its all day. That's what I'd do.

So basically, if you're not Bootchez, Maraiya, Morgan, or Smdc, you have until the end of the day to send me an updated picture. Kelly, you can still be in it, too.

Bum's the Word is really carrying the lead. I've said it before and I'll say it again--the girl is playing to win.

****

And in other news: I recently embarrassed the living hell out of myself. Shocking, I know.

Yesterday morning I picked James up from school, and since it was my afternoon to be in the office, we headed out toward his babysitter's house. As we turned onto Main Street, James casually said, "So Mom. Ya know my new teacher? The one with the really hairy hands? And the really hairy fingers? My teacher who looks like a werewolf?"

"Uhhh, no. I don't know about that teacher. What does he teach you?" I asked, thinking that James might have been talking about a substitute.

"I don't know what he teaches, but he has hairy fingers and hairy hands and he lets us play with his prickly ball. He's just like a werewolf."

At this point, my mind was officially racing. "Did he teach your gym class today?"

"No," James replied. "He's my new teacher at church."

"At church? You have a new teacher at church who's super hairy and lets you play with his prickly ball?"

And James was all, "Yup."

Since I tend to overreact, jump to conclusions, and generally assume the worst about people, my heart was thumping, my pits were sweating, and I was mentally cycling through our Ward list, trying to decide which man is the hairiest, creepiest, and downright evilest.

In a moment of desperation, I dialed my friend Danielle, who's three-year-old son Andrew is also in the class. Here's brief recap of our conversation...

Danielle: Hello?

Me: Try to stay calm while I tell you this. It's completely crazy.

Danielle: Okay.

Me: There's some really nasty creep teaching James and Andrew's Sunday school class. He's super hairy and he acts like a werewolf. And apparently (said in a whisper) he's letting the kids play with his prickly ball. I can't tell you why he only has one ball, but Danielle, this is the worst thing ever. We have to find out who this is. I swear I'll call the cops.

Danielle: It's Matt.

Me: I don't even know a hairy, creepy Matt! They have a stranger in there with three and four year-olds? This is HORRIBLE!!!

Danielle: My husband Matt.

Me: Oh.

Danielle: James gave Andrew a prickly, rubber ball for his birthday.

Me: Right. Welp, send Matt my love!

Just another feather in my cap, people. Just another feather in my cap.

Coming Right Up

January 25, 2009

Contest update later today!

(I believe it's quite obvious that I'm the worst contest administrator ever. But we're still having fun, right?)

Amy did Dallas

January 23, 2009

Welp, I'm back from quick trip to Dallas, and what can I say? It was a good, old-fashioned, buttload of fun. I laughed, I snarfed, I inadvertently walked around the old neighborhood with a 12-inch booger on my shirt, and I saw (almost) everyone who I wanted to see. The weather was great, James and Maggie were A+ travelers, and in the span of five days there was only one case of emergency oral surgery. What more can a girl ask for?

We got into town late on Saturday afternoon, and as we stepped off the plane, even Maggie was taken aback by the sight of the sun. Well at least I think she was taken aback by the sight of the sun--you know, since the child has spent the greater part of her first three months in the dark confines of my uterus, the dark confines of winter in Maine, and WalMart.

On Sunday morning, I decided to take the kids to church at our old ward (that's Mormon speak for "congregation"). I wanted to hug my friends, show Maggie off a bit, and let them see that James still displays moderate-to-severe behavior problems every Sabbath morning. We walked into the building ten-or-so minutes late--because some things never change--and had to wait in the hall since they were already passing the sacrament (Mormon speak for "communion") in the chapel.

Lucky for me, my friends can't seem to tell time either, so while we waited in the hall I ran into all kinds of fabulous church goers--Cynthia, Tristina, Mary, Sarah, Carrie, Rob, and so on and so forth. We were standing around, chatting and laughing--reverently of course--when James tugged on my skirt and said, "Mom, my stomach hurts."

And being the awesome mother that I am, I was like, "That's nice, James."

And he was like, "Mom, it really hurts."

And I was all, "Not now James, Mommy's very busy talking about her episiotomy."

And then, he looked at me with some very troubled eyes and said, "Mom. My..."

Unfortunately, those were the only words he could muster up before he helplessly vomited all over my skirt, my legs, my shoes, the carpet, and the fabulous textured walls that run up and down both sides of the hallway.

Some friends laughed, some friends ran, Sarah stuck James's head in a trash can, and good ol' Cynthia sopped up the mess before I could even gather to wherewithal to process what had just happened. As she scrubbed the wall, Cynthia was like, "Man, you really don't make this stuff up, Amy."

No. No, I don't. It's all true.

I threw my shoes in the trash, and took James back to my friend Beth's house, where he spent the rest of the day hurling in the bushes, on the grass, on the dining room floor--but never once in the toilet.

There couldn't have been a more suitable way to say, "Hello, Dallas! I'm back!"

On Monday morning we went to the zoo. On Monday afternoon Beth's two-year-old son knocked out his front tooth at the park. On Tuesday he had oral surgery. And on Wednesday we flew back to Boston in a Beth-induced food coma.

Honestly, it was the most fun I've had in a long, loooong time. Friends are golden.

Week 2: The Competition is Fierce

January 15, 2010

Click on over to the Fantastic Asstastic Gallery and cast your votes. Remember, you can vote for your three favorite behinds until Tuesday night, and then, the four bums with the fewest number of votes will be eliminated.

Contestants, you can send your Week 3 photos any time between now and next Wednesday. And, as you all know, in AmyLawsonLand deadlines are fun and flexible.

Oh, and FYI, this is a very special week. We'll call it "Amy does Dallas." In other words, I'm headed back to my old stomping grounds so I can eat at The Burger House and shop at Central Market. And see my friends.

If anyone wants to hang around and compare cellulite, I'll be at the park, I'll be at Beth's house, I'll be at the zoo (because I can't get enough of those monkeys with the crazy bare asses), and I guess I'll be at church.

Wiggle Room

January 13, 2009

I'm swamped at work.

SWAMPED.

Got that?

So...if you haven't sent me your follow up picture, you can definitely sneak it in today. And you should.