Equilibrium

(First, a warning to my readers with delicate sensibilities.  This post is full of lewd jokes and double [even triple!] entendres.  So, if you're made uncomfortable by this kind of talk [DAD], then please look at this instead.  All others please proceed.)

Friends, I have good news and bad news.  The bad first.

The Mariners are trading Doug Fister, whose name has brought me endless joy and jokes, to the Detroit Tigers.

Awww, come on!  Hasn't Detroit been fisted enough?

Now the good news:  In exchange we are picking up Charlie Furbush.  Did you catch that, subtle readers of this subtle blog?  We traded FISTER for FURBUSH.  I guess one in the fist really is worth fur in the bush.

Everyone likes a freshly shaved Furbush.

A Few Of My Favorite Things

Among other things, I really appreciate:

1.  Baseball, and
2.  Jokes about body fluids

So you can imagine my delight when I saw this ad in the "ladies'" room at Safeco Field last night.

That there is an ad for tampons that uses a sports metaphor in a spatially appropriate and effluvially hilarious way.  Hurrah, Playtex!   I salute (if not purchase) you!

Mother's Day II: Red Dawn

O.K., people.  An admission before I begin smugly reporting my Mother's Day indulgences.

I dyed my hair red.  Bad red.  Shitty, fake-looking, clown red.  It made sense in theory, is awful in practice, and, should the appointment-making gods smile on me, will be gone by this time next week.  We will not speak of this again.  Dammit.

O.K.!  Mother's Day!

Slept in.  Family snuggles.  Breakfast.  Massage.  Wine.  Tacos.  Presents.  Mariner's game.  Sad toddler.  Happy toddler.  Home.  Wine.  Take out Chinese.  Wine.  Black Swan.  Wine.  Books.  Bed.

I was happy because I couldn't see myself.  She was quietly freaking out at the crowds, noise, and Mama's hair.

Liv hadn't mooshed abrasions into my face in a long time.  She did today.  Plus, she's strong now, and my neck still hurts from counterbalancing against the pressure of her desperate, burrowing snuggles.

So we plied her with french fries with lots of tipsip (catsup) and her first diet Pepsi...

... then took her to the playground, bought her a Mariners bear, and found her smile.  She spent the rest of the game screaming, clapping, dancing, and randomly spouting "YAY, MARNERRS!" and "ICHIWO!"

Ergo = (forced snuggles - face abrasions) = AWESOME!

Happy Mother's Day!  Love, Little Biscuit and Big Red

Mother's Day Magic

Up early to play with Livy.  Snuggles.  Breakfast chili with tortilla chips and lots of cheddar.  Funny card.  Awesome gift (digital picture frame because all I want to do when Livy sleeps is look at pictures of her).  Walk around the neighborhood by myself in the sunshine.  Our first Mariners game of the season and the first of Livy's life.  Fantastic seats in the Terrace Club.  Losing streak-ending victory.  Wine.  Ballerina Dinosuar.  Wine.  Play time.  Wine.  Baby bedtime.  Jammies.  Chocolate fondue.  Cheesy romantic comedy.  Books.  Snuggles.  Bed.

I'll meet you back here for a do-over next year.

Happy Mother's Day TO ME, suckas.

The coziness of the Ergo helped her tolerate wearing her hat.

The ensemble.

Baby's first wordS:  "CHONE!  CHONE!  IT DOESN'T START WITH A 'C'!"

Too much baseball can tucker a girl out.

But it's nothing a little Ballerina Dinosaur can't fix.

Clutchosaurus Rex.

Buy Me Some Peanuts, Crackerjacks, and EVERYTHING ELSE!

Soon, we'll take you out to the ballgame, biscuit.  Soon.

I hate shopping at Babies [backwards] R Us.  It's too big, expensive, poorly organized, and offers miserable customer service and dirty bathrooms.  I try to only buy things there that I can only easily get there, like a new organic mattress pad (ironically packaged in non-recyclable, heavy plastic that offgasses more than I do on chili night) because I ruined Livy's last one in the dryer.  And that's when I saw this hat.

Damn you, Babies [backwards] R Us!  Livy tips her hat, and I tip my king to you.  Check and mate.

Better alternatives if you're in the Seattle, specifically Ballard/Greenwood/Phinney area:

Me 'N Moms - Consignment shops with everything available under the sun

Childish Things - Consignment shop with great clothing and baby slings

Rising Stars - Consignment shop with some new, swanky, local, organic-type thingies.  It's small and looks like selection is low, but I always find something wonderful when we're there.

Top Ten Toys - My favorite toy store ever.  This store specializes in high-quality educational and creative play toys.  Merchandise tie-ins, aggressive advertising, and the stench of cheap, molded plastic is pleasantly, wonderfully absent.  It's everything that the [backwards] R Us stores could never be.

Clover Toys - This shop is a little more expensive than I generally prefer, but it's so beautifully curated that it's worth the trip.  I find that their baby selection is a little skimpy, but when Livy's older we're destined to drop some serious coin here on big-kid toys.

Secret Garden Bookshop - A delightful store whose offerings are geared mostly toward kids, but we almost always end up buying grown-up books there, too.  It's both charming and well-stocked with interesting and unusual titles.

With these plus the Goodwill on 65th and 8th and the Value Village on Holman Road, I'm ashamed of having bought Livy's cap at B[b]RU.  But, in the end, we're all glad I bought it somewhere.

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

Chone "CHONE!" Figgins has decided to create a charitable foundation.  It's name?

"Get Figgy With It."

This is officially either the worst or the best thing I have ever heard in my entire life.  "Get Figgy With It" has ignited a whole new feeling in me.  It's somewhat near to delight, and somewhat kin to disgust.  I can't describe it.  It's like the moment when hysterical laughter becomes hysterical crying, somewhat like pleasure but also a lot like pain.

If Foucault were still with us, he'd have a lot to write about Chone and this visceral reaction to his encouragement for us all to "Get Figgy With It."  Frankly, it's an intellectual pairing I'd love to see.

"He's no Doug Fister, but he'll do."

More Reasons to Love Baseball

I made a big boner.

Merkle's Boner

I am known for my expensive muff.

Snodgrass's Muff, also known as the $30,000 muff

Thanks to Ken Burns, who provided me many unintended giggles during our viewing of Baseball.

Currently

We are drinking 3-Buck-Chuck and watching Ken Burns's Baseball while Olivia sleeps peacefully wedged into a crack in her crib.  One of us may have overinduldged.  I won't say who.

O.K., it's me.

I'm wondering if it's stupid and white and pretentious to name any future Me Show child Satchel.  I'm also marveling at what a darling little Keebler elf Bob Costas is.  I could just eat him up, but then who would put the marshmallows in my Lucky Charms?  Who?  WHO? 

Oh.  Right.  Good Point.

And I know I'm destined to take a ration from angry grandmothers and Californians for my lack of posting this week.  So, penitently, I offer this up to the altar of loving family and friends.  It's an oldie (from September!  Gasp!), but really a goodie.

Do you remember these guys?

Then you'll recognize the muse for this:

Poor, exploited baby.  One day, when she's older and if we're rich, she'll go all Menendez on our asses, and we'll richly deserve our untimely end.  Until then, game on! 

Yip yip yip yip yip yip Family!

Everyone Loves Chone! Nobody Loves Chone!

From Mariners 2010 Annual:

"Players like David Ecksktein [sic] and Dustin Pedroia are often complimented on getting the most out of what they've been given, physically, but perhaps no one in baseball does more with less than Figgins.  An untimidating 5'8", he has taught himself a level of plate discipline that allowed him to lead the American League in walks a year ago, despite the fact that he has no power whatsoever."

Welcome to Seattle, Chone, where you are greeted with constant reminders of all that you lack!  We're happy to have you!

First day of school.  They grow up so fast!

We think you're great, even though your parents got an F in spelling and you're short and have no power whatsoever!  WELCOME HOME, CHONE!

Amendments and Updates

1.  You already know about my delight in the Mariners signing Chone Figgins, my favorite funny-named baseball player, but did you also know that Milton Bradley, my 3rd favorite funny-named baseball player, just signed to become a Mariner, too?  Viva!  Viva!  Now we only need the Royals' Coco Crisp (#2 with a bullet) to become a Mariner, and my baseball life will be complete.

With the talent and the disposition to suit his name:  Milton Bradley

2.  I completely forgot that Susan Sarandon played Sister Helen Prejean in Dead Man Walking. 

Now that is one hot nun supreme, friends.  I'm in a good position to judge, too, because she was my first client when I was selling rare books on Madison Avenue.  She was perfectly luminous even in yoga pants and a puffy coat, and she smelled like an angel.  I am embarrassed to have left her off of the hot nun list.  Please, Ms. Sarandon, forgive me this oversight.  I know not what I do.

3.  And that -

- is one cute baby.

Let Us Now Praise Famous Chones

Friends, I have excellent news.

CHONE!  CHONE!  CHONE!

Chone Figgins has just signed with our very own Seattle Mariners.

Now, some of you may not know how strongly I feel about Mr. Figgins even though this fact was featured earlier this year in an article in The Seattle Weekly written by the brilliant Damon Agnos.  I encourage you, then, to visit the article and learn a few tips on heckling in Seattle in the process. 

I have loved heckling Chone (prounounced "Shawn" by his mother and phonetically to rhyme with "bone" by me) for years, especially reminding him that "IT DOESN'T START WITH A C!"  I've had so much pleasure attending games specifically to phonetically scream his name over and over again at the top of my lungs that you'd expect my daughter to look like him.  Yeah, THAT much pleasure.

Who's your daddy?  No.  Seriously.

Now that he's a Mariner, though, our relationship is going become a lot more complicated.  Obviously I can't heckle him because he's on our team, and obviously I can't quit making fun of his name because it's so funny to do so.  So, what's a heckler to do?

My plan is to support Chone as vociferously as I used to deride him.  "Hooray for Chone!" I will yell!  "Go, Chone, go!" I will cheer!

But hear this:  I will never, ever, ever pronounce that name "Shawn."  Chone it is spelled, and Chone it will remain.

Now and forever.  Permanently and always.  Until death do us part.  Amen.

(Bonus fun fact: Chone's full name is Desmond DeChone Figgins, which means he deliberately chooses his silly name every single day of his life.  Desmond starts with a D, Chone.  IT NEVER STARTS WITH A C.)