posted by Momo Fali on June 9, 2009
Long-time readers may remember these pictures my son drew of me and my husband. Let’s see if he’s advanced in the last year, shall we?
This is me. I am happy that he gave me legs that go all the way to my neck, but my square hair-cut isn’t very flattering. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mommy Scissorhands.
This is my husband. As you can see by the size of his pecs, he’s been working out. The look of shock on his face is probably a reaction to the fact that I cleaned the bathrooms, because with as hairy as he is, those drains can get pretty clogged. Maybe I should give him a trim.
posted by Momo Fali on June 7, 2009
I turned 38 last week. During the last month I experienced the following. I am sharing this with you so you will recognize the signs that you’re nearing forty…
– If you pull a shoulder muscle in your sleep.
– Which leads to your husband buying you a Tempur–Pedic pillow for your birthday and you’re actually happy about it.
– If you find a gray hair.
– In your chin.
– If you fall asleep on the couch at roughly the same time you went out to keg parties in college.
– When you go shoe shopping and consider how comfortable the high-heels are, versus how high the high-heels are.
– If someone asks, “Is that a tattoo?”
– And you reply, “No, it’s a spider vein.”
And, you really know you’re nearing forty…
– When you take all of the above and completely own it.
– Because the best thing about getting older is knowing that life is too short to give a damn.
posted by Momo Fali on June 4, 2009
So, what do you think of my new design? Don’t answer that if you don’t think it’s awesome. Because A) It is ALL KINDS of awesome and B) It’s my birthday.
If you want something pretty and shiny, go see her. I LOVE her. Even if she did speak a lot of Greek and code and I just sat there and scratched my head and then she totally knew I was scratching my head and just MADE this. Amazing. She is so talented. My only talent is being able to hang a spoon on the end of my nose.
posted by Momo Fali on June 3, 2009
Day before yesterday I laughed at someone for stepping on a dead baby bird. I didn’t find the dead bird funny, but rather the picture of grace which is the person slipping on a city sidewalk. I like to watch people fall. I love AFV. It’s kind of a sickness.
So guess who came to visit me yesterday? Karma. While working in the yard (okay, not so much working in the yard as spraying Round-Up on clovers that have apparently been sneaking steroids through the gate) I stepped on a dead baby bird.
You would think that was the worst thing I’ve ever stepped on.
Long ago, on a cruise, after a few too many drinks with mini-umbrellas and a certain ingredient that rhymes with “bum”, I left the ship’s dance club with friends. I was wearing high-heeled sandals that were killing my feet and decided to walk the carpeted halls barefoot.
As we rounded a corner, my bare foot landed squarely in a pile of someone’s fresh vomit.
It may have been 12 years ago, but I am still telling myself that it was just a spilled strawberry shake.
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