Have you had your fiber today?

So I’ve been in San Diego this weekend celebrating my oldest sisters birthday. My parents made the trek down from the Bay Area as well, and my sides hurt from having spent most of the weekend laughing. It’s hard to describe my parents. They are both forces of nature, fiercely bright and completely insane. When my friends meet the two of them, they look at me and go “Oooooooohhhhhh…now I get it.” And then they spend the rest of the time talking to my mom and dad, who are infinitely more fascinating than I am.

They are the type of parents who like to share everything with their kids. Good wine, food, and new health trends. I always call my mom the original hippie, as she was into alternative medicine and recycling long before it was a way of life. Even now, she still comes over bearing gifts of digestive honey, books on herbal remedies and baking soda in bulk…you can use that stuff for EVERYTHING.

For instance, my mother, recently having found that her cholesterol was high, has been taking copious amounts of fiber to bring her levels down. As anyone knows who takes a fiber supplement, this causes a rather alarming cleansing effect. As in, if you’re not regular, you will be now! and with great enthusiasm! your time in the bathroom will be well spent and efficient!

And my mother finds this a reason to celebrate. And feels as though we should all be having such successful bathroom visits. So much so that she’s been chasing us around all weekend with her tablets saying “DO YOU NEED SOME FIBER?” No, mom, I don’t. My father, however, has acquiesced, I think just to shut her up and regain some peace in his life. He pulled me aside yesterday and said “Do what you can to avoid the tablets. No one’s colon needs that kind of activity.” Good times.

My mother is not one to give up easily. Though she’s not in her own home, she is around her children and so feels the need to boss us all around a little bit. It’s fantastic, because we’re all old enough now to say “no” but she chooses to ignore that…completely. For instance, a conversation we had this morning. Before coffee.

“Jen…here are some fiber tablets…have them with your breakfast!”
“No thanks, mom.”
Long pause.
“Well, why not? Don’t you want to be able to poop?”
“You know, I manage to do that just fine without help…thanks.”
“Well, I doubt that. Just have some! It’s lovely!”
“Ummm, I’m fine. But thank you.”
“Well, here are two tablets, just in case you decide to have it. Do you want some orange juice to wash them down with?”
“Seriously mom, I’m o.k. without them.”
“No, you’re not. What do you know?”

I could have gone on to argue that I knew quite a bit, seeing that that's my JOB, thank you very much, but it would have been pointless, and she clearly wasn’t going to leave me in peace until I had swallowed the pills.

And so I did.

And while I haven’t been running for the bathroom with as much feverish distress as I had feared, I’m very happy to have brought empire waist shirts, as the bloat is rather astonishing.

Thank God I’m going home tomorrow.

Big, brass balls

So, most of you know that I have a thing for giraffes. I won’t spend a lot of time waxing poetic over how much I love them, how they are magnificent and beautiful and how I would have one as a pet if Mountain View zoning laws would permit it. Just think of how much money you would save on tree trimming! I could ride it to work!

Anyways, I love them.

So I was walking down the sidewalk in La Jolla this weekend and spotted a giraffe sculpture outside of an art gallery. And it was GORGEOUS. I thought to myself “That would look AMAZING in the backyard!” and so I snapped a photo, which I do when I see something I want to reference later. Observe, and tell me that it wouldn’t look stunning poking out from some shrubbery:



Charming, right?

My family was up ahead, heading down an alley towards the beach. I ran to catch up to them and as I was passing the giraffe saw something out of the corner of my eye that brought me to a dead halt. “No, it can’t be THAT?!” I thought, but it was.

I ran up ahead, grabbed Holly and said “You’ve got to see this…and more importantly, you need to cover me because I’m about to act like a 12 year old girl and take a horribly immature photograph.”

Behold:



Those, my friends, are some huge, brass balls. It brings up some questions for me. Namely, WHO PUTS REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS ON A GIRAFFE SCULPTURE? Was there a penis under there? I didn’t get a chance to check as suddenly there was a crush of people on the sidewalk and I didn’t think feeling up a giraffe was appropriate to do a) in front of an audience and b) in front of my niece. What kind of research did the artist do to get the proportions right? And most importantly, WHY?

Holly patiently stood by while I caught this on film and had my mental seizure (for which I thank you, love) and agreed that it was something you didn’t see every day. Why you would want to see it on ANY day is really my concern.

Yet I’d still buy it. Think of it as a conversation starter. Or a way to make the men in your life feel inadequate.

One of the many reasons kids rule...

I FINALLY got my hair cut today (and the cut is quite fetching, I must say). Sitting at the next station were a mother and her 6 year old daughter...she was SO CUTE I wanted to nibble on her arm (the girl...not her mother). I resisted, and instead enjoyed this little conversation she had with her mother. Keep in mind the girl was definitely using her OUTSIDE voice...as in, she was talking REALLY LOUDLY so that everyone in the salon could hear the following exchange:

"Mommy? How old were you when you started swearing?"
"Um...why do you ask?" (the mother was clearly startled).
"Well, you're REALLY good at it...you use SHIT a lot...I just wondered when I could start talking like that?"

The mom just sat there with her mouth open...and turning a pretty awesome shade of crimson.

Neat! Reason #198 to have children...they keep you humble. At least she didn't drop an F-bomb.