my blonde logic

18 days for Winter Break, YES I Said 18!!!!

I would like to apologize for not counting my blessings.  Apparently the holidays are supposed to be filled with love and family and friends.  I don't have enough bars in this area, I missed the call that the magical fairies will be in charge this year.  I have reality service.

The first week of break was filled with holiday parties, cookie baking, latkes, candles, presents, family events, and play dates.  All of these activities take their toll.  One by one we all went down.  Thing 1 went first, then Thing 2.  It was when my overload lead to the flu, that was the end.

I knew it was coming, fast and furious.  I was too exhausted to fight the powerful flu.  As I crawled to the couch and planted myself there, Thing 1 and Thing 2 gathered around as if they were looking at the new exhibit at the zoo.  We have never seen this before, what do we do?  Thing 2 brings me a blanket, pillow and stuffed animal.  I spend the day drifting in and out of consciousness.  Suddenly, during my dazed state, Thing 2 puts a thermometer in my mouth.  As this is a very sweet and nurturing gesture, I suddenly realize that she has put the anal thermometer in my mouth.  I am awake and freaking out, I know where it has been.  Thing 2 grabs the thermometer starts crying and drops it on the floor.  Of course it breaks, hopefully the mercury will not affect my performance on Broadway.
If I were Lindsay Lohan I would have been sent away for exhaustion and pampered at some spa.  Instead I get to lie on the sofa and have an anal thermometer in my mouth.

We venture to Florida for the last week of "vacation".  I end 2008 with my final meal at the Grand Luxe, the fancy version of the Cheesecake Factory, in the MALL.  Is this really how I will say goodbye to 2008 next to the oxygen deprived, yes it is. 

Our stay in Florida is very predictable.  Not Zac has to go to the Mall every moment he can, only to be side tracked by the opportunity to visit the new Super Target.  Final answer, Super Target isn't so fabulous.  As with anything there is a level of routine, the kids get popcorn that's too salty, Not Zac looks at the C9 shirts and I check out the new designer for Target bags.  It is relatively exciting for city folk who don't get to do this very often. 

We spend hours at the pool, eat frozen yogurt religiously, visit the local Hibachi restaurant, and the kids don't seem to need sleep.  Oh, all good things must come to an end.

We begin our journey back to the Big Apple.  We board the brand spanking new Jet Blue airplane.  I no longer travel with DVD players and movies just headsets.  We love jet blue, cartoon network can get us to New York without any whining.  We sit in rows 8 and 9.  The plane it ready to take off, our TV's don't work.  Not Zac and I begin to panic.  Out of all of the rows and all of the seats, ours falls into the 4 rows that do not have working TV's.  This can't happen, we don't have a back up plan.

Not Zac discovers 4 seats in the back, only 2 of them are together.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 are now sitting by themselves, next to an unsuspecting gentleman.  I am sitting in front of them and Not Zac is in a row on the other side by himself.  All is well, but I don't realize until later that Thing 2 has had 3 cans of Apple Juice.  Have I mentioned that Thing 1 and Thing 2 have a tendency to get a touch of motion sickness.  Suddenly the gentlemen taps me on the shoulder to alert me that Thing 2 is vomiting all over the place.  Ok, I can handle this.  I clean her up, settle her down and return to my seat.  Then I get another tap, Thing 2 has sneezed out a weeks worth of chlorine.  The gentlemen gives her a tissue.  I thank him profusely.  I settle back down, then suddenly I get the tap again.  Thing 2 is vomiting again.  Is this man a glutton for punishment?  I know I have a middle seat but does he really want to sit next to my monster that is spewing form her orifices? 

We finally arrive back in the cloudy dreary NYC, YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!  It's good to be home.  The first day back to school was awesome!!!!!

Back to "Turkey" Day

Apparently my attempt at cooking a bird like item has had a bit of a ripple affect.  Ideas and offers for tutorials have come flooding in. 

The first suggestion was a turkey bag, not exactly sure how that works.  Apparently, there is this magical bag that to me looks like a giant ziploc. You shove your turkey into a (not yet taxed) plastic bag and wha lah, perfecto.  I didn't have much faith in the bag, it doesn't mention seasonings, or some random rubbing thing, it tells you to put flour in the bag.  Ok, you put flour in the bag.  Does it go in the turkey, on the turkey, or around the turkey.  Way too many gray areas, and the picture is a cartoon.
Next suggestion was to brine the turkey.  No idea what that means or entails.  Apparently this is where the tutorial comes in.  This procedure involves a trip to the ever faithful and thoroughly intimidating, William Sonoma.  My last attempt that involved William Sonoma nearly poisoned the family.
Another suggestion was from my mother, she told me to order a turkey from the caterer.  Normally this would be my automatic go to.  I figured that since the entire country makes a turkey, or at least millions of people do, why can't I.

A few days after the bacon turkey incident, Not Zac and I are out to dinner.  We are at our local restaurant, Sharz.  She usually caters a part of all our holidays and dinner parties.  Not Zac proceeds to tell her that I wanted to make a chicken instead of a turkey.  He tells her this as if I have committed a mortal sin.  Excuse me, since when is the actual type of bird so important?  Do we only give thanks in front of a turkey, are we not as thankful in front of a chicken?  Is the sacrifice of one living creature over another not significant?  He then asks her to make a turkey for us.  Ok, thanks a lot.  There is no appreciation for my hard work or research.  What happened to, you get what you get and you don't get upset?  That tried and true statement has turned into, I get what I want.

As it stands now, our turkey is ordered and set to arrive early Thursday morning.  The powers that be can rest easy knowing that we will make our contribution to the turkey sacrifice.  All hail the turkey farmers!

Tailgate Throwdown

 Someone anyone, please explain to me how men can function in the outside world, but can't within spitting distance of their wives. Our friend Big Blue (Red's husband) sent a Morse code like text to Not Zac inviting him to a football game. There was no info regarding who, when, and how. Not Zac asks me to call Red and find out the details.  Are you kidding me!!  Let's see, my 8 year old can manage to coordinate his own play date, yet the 40 year old can't.  After figuring out that he can text him back, he has discovered the tools to work this out on his own. 
The situation is, the game starts at 4:00, but they get there at 1:00 to tailgate.  I myself am not of the tailgating ilk.  The idea of eating in a parking lot among minivans, doesn't really appeal to me, forget about the bathroom situation. That's what makes horse racing.

Please explain to me like I'm a five year old, how men can figure out how to cook in a parking lot, gather, assign, and transport all of the necessary supplies. They manage to make themselves as comfortable as possible, anticipating the needs and wants of all of those around them.  They discuss appetizers, entrees, and beverages.  Yet when they are in the home, it's as though the kitchen is the lost tomb.  A tomb shrouded by a mystical code, which they can not decipher. They can manage to coordinate themselves to arrive at an athletic event 4 hours prior. Interesting, when you have a dinner reservation with your friend and her husband they can't manage to be ready on time.

There must have a capable button that is only activated when in herds, outside the electric fence of the family.

The Lone Wolf, where did he go?

It has come to my attention that there has been a serious misprint.  Not Zac's infamous Dances With Wolves originally contained "3" wolves in the stencil.  The source that chooses to remain anonymous, revealed that when her teenager did the stencil it contained 3 wolves.  I am sorry to have to bring this news to you.
Not Zac was asked to comment on this turn of events.  There was a bit of back peddling and blame on a stencil mishap.  Still clinging to his master carving ability.

The best pumpkin ever will always carry the stigma of deceit.  Can you still be the self proclaimed "King of Carving", when you have lost one of your pack?

Halloween tip of the day:  always buy candy you don't like, so you are not tempted to eat the leftovers.

It's The "Great Pumpkin"

Two weeks ago we were invited to a pumpkin carving party.  This seemed simple enough, the kids can hang out, eat candy, and carve a pumpkin. 

We didn't have to spend an entire Saturday searching through some god forsaken pumpkin patch.  We did that once, spent a fortune on a pumpkin and it died the next day.  Organic shmanic, it needs to survive to the big day.  

The kids were soo excited, I'm happy its only 3 blocks away.  Any event that involves the car is never fun, us city folk have a bit of a motion sickness issue that has plagued us since forever.
It's time to get down to brass tax.  The kids are getting antsy, they want to carve their pumpkins.  Finally, the carving begins.  Within 2 minutes the only child up to the task is a nine year old girl.  The rest are all adults.  Not Zac has the ability to make anything into a competitive event.  He takes great pride in the fact that he can outrun Thing 1, our 8 year old. 

While using a stencil, I might ad, Not Zac carves his version of Dances With Wolves.  He declares, "my pumpkin is awesome, have you ever seen a better pumpkin?"  Mind you there was a 9 year old in the home style carving competition, with no shame he said his was the best.

A couple of days later I see a Dad on his way to school to carve a pumpkin in Thing 1's class.  How great that this Dad took time out of the work day to carve a pumpkin in his kid's class.  I tell Not Zac, he turns to Thing 1 and states "my pumpkin was better than his, right!" 

I can't believe you are competing with a pumpkin you haven't seen.  I don't see you going into the kids class and carving a pumpkin.  Not Zac's reply is, "I don't have to, I carved the best pumpkin".  Once again the big picture is lost on Not Zac.

Dances With Wolves is now a distant memory.  It lives only on Not Zac's iPhone, ready at the touch of a button to be emailed to all.

J-E-L-L-O

What would you do if a 150 year old, 90 pound, Jewish Grandma offers you a jello mold.  Would you take it or would you tell her nah, not right now?

If you're Not Zac you would make the little old lady holding the shovel sized spatula over the 24 inch diameter jello mold on her original platter from 1950, wait.

Grandma asks, "who would like some jello mold?".  Everyone immediately responds, ME.  All but one, Not Zac.

Like a tsunami hitting the shore, each guest urges Not Zac,  "take the jello mold!!!!!!".  Down at the other end of the table, Not Zac  continues to eat his brisket in concentrated bliss.  In typical myopic Not Zac style his response to generations of onlookers is, "I am not ready for the jello mold".  With all the strength in her 4'8" body, Grandma holds the spatula over the jello mold uttering to those around her "what, he doesn't want my jello mold". 

All 18 guests at the table are sitting with their giant lump of jello mold, moving it around on their plates, praising Grandma for its deliciousness.  All but one, Not Zac.  As Not Zac's mother used to say;  "he will do what you want, he'll just do it when he wants to do it".

Finally, Not Zac is ready for his serving of the jello mold.  The entire table breathes a sigh of relief.  You couldn't take it before Grandma had to harness the power of a super hero in order to prop up her arm over the mountain of fruit filled jello, waiting for his Highness to get around to partaking in the "holy mold".

He looks up from the mound placed in front of him proclaiming; "the jello mold is good".  As if we were all waiting for Tom Collicio to give the final comment. "Grandma, I thought the flavor was there, yet I was confused with how it related to the other items on the plate."

Cousin Ruthie questions his Highness, how could you make her wait?  Not Zac; "at least I actually liked the jello mold!"

Well Hello Mrs. Robinson, Hello Zac (Efron)

**I am turning into Mrs. Robinson
One day as I am searching through the 300 hundred channels of nothing to watch, I see that High School Musical is on the Disney channel, I DVR it.  The love affair begins.  Not only do I suggest we watch it, I am actually watching it.  Not since the Rob Lowe days in the Brat Pack do I find myself draw to such a hot-tie.  The hot-tie I am referring to is Zac Efron.  I have a 5 1/2 year old daughter that I refer to as "Thing 2".  Her brother who is almost 8 is "Thing 1".  As a dutiful mother I have sat through Barbie in Swan Lake, extensive hours of Dora, and everything princess.  Things have started to change, princesses are soo not cool and Dora is for babies.  Oh, thank God!  Thing 2 totally agrees, Zac is yummalicious.

On a visit to Boris and Natasha’s I find myself wresting an issue of rolling stone away from their youngest daughter, Ethel.  I start off kidding, and then the page is turned to my boy Zac and his exposed nipple, game on.  I now find myself putting Ethel (the 6 year old) in a half Nelson.  There is no way Ethel is going to win.  The kids find this hysterical, they don’t understand, I mean business.  I am holding onto this year old issue of Rolling Stone as if my last breath depended on it.  I don't care if you're cute, little, or really want it.  I need it. 

Does my life depend on it?  Am I holding onto a part of my youth?  I think its just because he is yummy.
Men ogle young women all the time, they even marry them after they have divorced the woman that sacrificed her lower abdomen and her girlie parts for his children.  It has become a norm, acceptable and expected.  Do men get away with it because they don’t have eggs with an expiration date.  Demi is my idol, she nabbed herself a young hot-tie.  Of course everyone comments that she looks sooo good.  As if to say if she wasn’t so fab he would have to be out of his mind.
In the end I still have the copy of Rolling Stone with my boy on the cover, sorry Ethel, you'll understand one day.
Moving forward my "Dear Hubby" (the phrase so many use when referring to their spouse) is "Not Zac".
If anyone out there has access to the preview of High School Musical 3, I (my daughter) would really appreciate it.

"C" is for Cookie

“C” is for Cookie (featuring "Not Zac")

Please read the following with extreme sarcasm as this is real life in the “twilight” zone.  The cookies that are referred to are the nestle tollhouse squares

Not Zac: I want a cookie (bellows the 40-year-old man child)
“Are you making cookies?”

Me:  Yes, of course I am doing it telepathically from the couch.

Not Zac:  Do you want to make cookies?

Me:  Do you want me to make cookies?
Do we have cookies”?

Not Zac:  Yes

Me:  Are they expired?

Not Zac:  Cookies don’t expire, they’re fine.  Expiration dates are about marketing they’re not real.

Me:  Ok, then I guess a quick trip to the ER for salmonella is on the agenda

Not Zac:  It doesn’t have an expiration date.

Me:  Seriously, the packaging is only so big; trust me it has an expiration date. Give it to me.
See right here is says use or freeze before sep 04 2008.

Not Zac:  Well then we have 2 more days, its fine.

Me:  Ok turn on the oven.

Not Zac:  Forget it.  I just go buy a cookie at Barnes and Noble.

Me:  So your telling me that instead of pushing a button on the appliance behind you, you would rather take the elevator down 18 floors, walk across the street, take the escalator to the second floor, wait in line and deal with the minimum wage college student that couldn’t care less, for a cookie, rather than push the button on the oven that is directly behind you.

Not Zac:  Yes

Me:  Do you know how to turn the oven on?

Not Zac:  No

Me:  Push the button to preheat the temp

Not Zac:  Where?

Me:  Where it saves pre heat

Not Zac:  Ok I did it.  Now what?  How does it know what temp it should be?

Me:  Push the arrow buttons up or down

Not Zac:  Where does it tell you the temp?

Me:  Next to the clock

Not Zac:  Ok

Me:  Now take the cookies out of the fridge

Not Zac:  Forget it, I’m done

Me:  Listen, you have to learn sometime. What if the kids want you to make then a cookie?

Not Zac:  I’ll go across the street and buy it.

ENOUGH SAID