Milk trucks and douche-ins.

Last night on the way home, MP started singing to the 80s compilation CD [High School Musical 1986] my friend Finn put together for the Hawaii trip. Berlin’s “Metro” was on.

MP: Hey! Riding on the Milk Truck.

ME: Riding on the Milk Truck?

MP: No, MET Truck. Riding on the MET Truck. [Riding on the Met-ro]

ME: Met Truck?

MP: You know. Met. Like you MET someone? Like you go to the truck to meet people?

ME: Ooh, MET.

MP: Yeah. Met.

All the way home it was “Riding on the Met Truck, Riding on the Met Truck, Riding on the Met Truck” sung to her own tune and tempo, which got faster and faster the closer we got to home.

She also thinks “Sunglasses at Night” is Corey Hart singing about a Diet Shake. [ … the Guy in Shades = Diet Shake]

My absolute favorite though, is “Row Your Boat.”

Row, row, row your boat
Gently through the stream
Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary
Like a butter dream.

I had a friend in high school who thought Sade’s “Smooth Operator” was actually “Oooooo Baba-retta.” Oh yeah. She was serious. She also thought the Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” was “Rock the Cat’s Paw” — the Cat’s Paw being a local bar.

And what’s that song with the line, “Blinded by the light … Dressed up like a douche-in in the middle of the night …?”

Douche-in? Is that like a Sit-in? Where we all sing douche protest songs and quote Gloria Steinem? And drink vinegar and water? Or maybe it’s a Halloween song? About trick-or-treating?

I never DID know what that meant.

Mixtape Monday!

If you’re REAAAALLY bored, and want to see what’s in my iPod, head on over to Myra’s place at We Make Three — she’s featuring me on her awesome weekly series, Mixtape Monday! Which is seriously one of the coolest ideas I’ve seen on a blog.

Love it — thanks Myra!

For those about to rock.

Oh hai. I’m sitting at LAX after the second leg of my trip home was CANCELLED. Which means I will be visiting FIVE, count ’em, FIVE airports within 24 hours. Kona, LAX, Oakland, SLC and finally home. Not exactly what I had in mind today, but at least I have my laptop and ma Doogs to keep me entertained.

It’s going to take me a few days to organize my thoughts, not to mention the gazillion photos from everyone, so in the interim, I leave you with this. A video that shows exactly how old we are (that’s me in the front passenger seat). Just a word of warning, the sound is terrible, so turn it down.

We will rock you. Or something like that.

No rest for the weary.

In about eight hours, Grandpa Bobo, MP and I will be leaving Denver and making the long drive home.

Oh, how I’ve missed the blog and ma Doogs!

I’ll be picking up where I left off with last week’s little Road Tweeting experiment, but in the meantime, if you’ve never traveled with a four-year-old, here’s a taste from Day One of the D-Town trip.

See you soon!

We interrupt this blog to annoy you.

So, it’s lunchtime and I’m in the car, heading to Taco Time. (I knooow …) I’m hitting the SCAN button on the radio, channel surfing for anything other than country. It’s slim pickens.

“And now, Slim Pickens and his Booger Nine, playing to the tune, ‘I just caint seem to get the one I want …'”

~ Bobo-ism (from waaay back)

At one point my hand leaves the toggle to reclaim the steering wheel and make a turn. I’ve lost interest in my tune quest. After a few minutes, the sound of JACKHAMMERS captures my attention. And then sawing, nail pounding and drilling. INSIDE the car.

Holy disorientation, distraction and near rear-endage.

“We’re hard at work building a new radio station,” explains a quick voice-over. “and we’ll be up and running soon …”

Oooh, I get it. BUILDING a new radio station. Apparently, in the meantime, I’m to listen to the melodic stylings of Builder Bob. 24/7. I’m all for innovative marketing. It was clever for about 60 seconds.

Someone, somewhere in town, is actually LISTENING to this, I think. And not changing the station. Incredible. I wonder if there’s such thing as Sitemeter for radio stations. If, somehow they KNOW when people are listening. And for how long.

Radio Exec #1 Arm Pump: “YES! The Construction theme’s a HIT! Check out this guy on S. 19th Avenue — he’s been listening for 53 minutes!

Radio Exec #2: “What about this Mommypie chick? She’s been on for 23!”

Well, CHAH.

If I Ever Get Married …

(and that’s a biiigg IF)

THIS is how I want Mr. Pie to see me.

To look right past the baggy sweats.

And the scary fro in the morning and the few extra pounds and the frazzly crazy OCDin’ mess I can be.

To see that inner goddess I KNOW is there. Somewhere.

THIS is what I’m holding out for.

I don’t think that’s asking for too much, do you?

Thanks to Mama’s Losin’ It for this little blind date with Trace.

Blind Date with Trace.

Someone smells a reality show …

Groovy Hippie Guy Plays A Tune

So, gymnastics Friday. Didn’t see much of the Track Mommies, which is always nice. Gigi’s mom and I WERE treated to a little chamber music, however.

First a little background. There’s the main floor and the observation deck. Most parents choose to sit on the main floor. Gigi’s mom and I, along with a few other moms, always sit up on the observation deck. There’s one groovy hippie guy who’s up there each time as well, always in the background with his older daughter. They rarely interact with other parents, choosing instead to keep to themselves, sitting on the floor playing backgammon, messing with tools spread out on newspaper, or doing some random odd thing.

Friday he was … PLAYING THE CELLO.

BADLY.

In a small space. More importantly, in a small PUBLIC space. Apparently completely oblivious of his surroundings.

It’s not like it would make a difference if he were playing WELL. The point is, who does this??

The instrument was smaller, so I’m guessing it was his daughter’s. Maybe he was giving her lessons? Which is weird ’cause he sounded like an eight-year-old himself.

I was SO bummed I didn’t bring my camera. It was such a bizarre scene, I totally would have taken a photo. I’ll do my best to reinact …

So, he was all

And his daughter was all

And we were all

And then Bobo showed up. My dad knows no difference between “indoor voice” and “outdoor voice.” He sat down, looked at Groovy Hippie Guy behind us and

he was all

Can’t take him anywhere. No, seriously.

I have to remember to bring my camera each week to record GHG’s activities. I just don’t know how to get away with it.

I’m on a mission.

Speaking of Things That Blow …

So it’s lunchtime.

I pull into a parking space at Subway, park the car, pull out the key, look over and see THIS out the passenger side window …

… right before HAVING A CORONARY.

This is a van. A van with a kid painted on the side. A van that, upon closer inspection, belongs to a music store.

Or simply, Holy Freakin’-Car-Jacking-Trumpet-Blowing-Window-Peeking-Crap-My-Pants Van.

Don’t DO this to me, people.

The Artist Formerly Known as MommyPie

Here’s my contribution to Make Me Laugh Monday … a bit of a lazy post after the Easter weekend, but this link is good for a chuckle. Don’t forget to come back and share your new identity …

Today, I will be known as Mimi Skye. 

Leave a case of Jack Daniels in the dressing room. And a bowl of blue M&Ms. ONLY the blue.

The Secret Life of Parents

2008 is a milestone year around here. This is the year my old friends and I all turn 40. Crazy.

Saturday night I went to the first, of what I’m sure will be many, 40th b-day celebrations. This one was at the home of a married couple I’ve known since high school – in fact, they’ve been together since high school. Now, more than two decades and a set of 12-year-old triplets later, they’re still throwing the best parties.

Most faces were familiar; a few were new. Like the older gentleman and his wife who, after a few drinks and a little polite conversation, told me I reminded them of a heroine in a Jane Austin novel.

“How is it,” they wondered aloud, “that a woman as charming and engaging as you hasn’t found anyone yet? We MUST find you a man!”

At any rate, let’s say the night was roughly 98 percent Married with Children. And of course, Le Token Single Mama. Which is okay, because I actually love hanging out with cool couples.

After much wine, cheese, sushi (not for me thank you), and even a few bottles of Dom (uh, not FROM me, thank you), the music got louder, and before I knew it, yours truly was belting out Should I Stay or Should I Go … into a mic. In the livingroom. The Clash never sounded so … dog howlingly bad.

But SO barkin’ fun.

It wasn’t long before things progressed to one of those side-splitting, pee-your-pants, hysterically memorable nights.

If you’ve ever heard of Guitar Hero (and if you haven’t, don’t feel badly – it was new to me too), Rock Band is a step above (check out this recent CNN report) – it’s this amazing video game that incorporates two guitars, a drum set and a mic. Band members all ‘play’ (and sing) along with rock songs, trying not to miss a note. (I had my turn at bass guitar too.) I am so NOT a video game person, but I gotta admit, this puts Scattergories and Pictionary to shame. (Holy Dork.) I snapped a few shots with my camera phone, that sadly, turned out way too crappy to post, which bums me out because I wanted to share the night’s awesome rock star goodness …

So there you have it – the more things change, the more they stay the same. Well, kinda. What do you think your parents were doing all those years ago, while you were at home with a sitter?

Uh, scratch that – mine were probably at some 70s wife swapping key party.

This was much better.