My life is like a motorized bar stool

Today I saw what had to be the best story ever in the history of the internet. Kile Wygle of Ohio was arrested for drunk driving on his bar stool. Yes you heard me. Apparently Kile had taken a bar stool, attached it to a lawn mower and was using it as his own little happy hour shuttle. Police responded to reports of a crash, and found he had wrecked his stoolmobile after consuming 13 beers.

Personally I think Kile is a genius. How many times have you been at a bar, had one too many Appletinis and then dreamt of a way of getting home without having to get off your ass? Not to mention the numerous times you may have been mowing your lawn, had a hankering for a brewski and arrived at your local watering hole only to realize there were no seats left for your weary self. Bar stool + Motor = Best invention since the rolling hot dog cart.

Sure attaching a piece of furniture to a gardening tool may not be an obvious fit, but can you blame the guy for following his dream? I give him credit for forging ahead, no matter how many weird looks he got from the neighbors or how many months he may have to spend in jail because he drank a couple of gallons of beer and then got behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.

I feel an affinity with Kile, because I've gotten more than a few eyebrows raised my way because of things I've done. Why, just last week Rigel made that tsk tsk sound at me because I told him I was still going to send out our holiday newsletters even though it was the end of March, and I didn't care what our friends and family thought. So what if they silently berate us for our lateness and then make crude comments lamely disguised as humor when we see them at dinner parties? Sometimes life is all about acting on what is in your heart, or in the case of Kile, what is in that old rusty tool shed out back.

What does it all mean? I'm not sure, except that Kile's story was a completely random but convenient way to warn my family and friends that they'll be getting our holiday card and newsletter in the mail next week. And if you have something to say, you can say it to my face when I drive over to your place on my bar stool.

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tags: motorized bar stool | happy holidays | better late than never

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LA Moms Blog: Help! My Kid's a Vegetarian!

My apologies to my vegetarian friends out there, but I have to confess that when Kira decided to stop eating meat I considered it a parental failure on my part. The fact that I wasn't able to pass on my love of bacon or impart to her the importance of appreciating a good steak? I may as well have deprived her of other important life skills, like learning to walk or knowing how to cry when she wanted something from her father.

Like any good parent, I worry about my kids and the internet. When my husband and I got them their own computer we made sure to put it in the kitchen in plain sight, so that I could keep an eye on them. That way, while I was chopping potatoes I could make sure they weren’t chatting with any 43-year-old men pretending to be 12-year-old girls, or looking at R-rated pictures of Disney stars. You know the ones.

But little did I know that the real danger lurked in things that got sent to them by their own friends. Because it was one such email that had a drastic effect on our lives - a video emailed to my tween by a well-meaning classmate.

Calm down - it wasn't porn. It was a grainy, black and white video of a slaughterhouse. And it turned my daughter into – shudder – a vegetarian...Read More...

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tags: vegetarians | teenagers | teens | tweens | please eat some chicken

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Mischa Barton doesn't feel my pain

A few weeks ago I interviewed Mischa Barton, and for those of you whose first question when I mentioned I'd be having lunch with her was, "Is she anorexic?" the answer is, no. And for the others whose first question was, "Couldn't they find a professional to do the interview?" the answer is again, no, and believe it or not some people actually find my nervous laugh and occasional drooling charming.

There's been a lot of media speculation about her weight, especially since she's been cast in Ashton Kutcher's new series and they've told her to put on a few pounds for the role, but I can tell you the girl is not deathly thin as some of the tabloids will have you believe. She ate almost none of the dumplings and yams she ordered, but then again maybe I made her nervous by saying things like, "Did you know yams are full of carbs?" and then grabbing her stomach with my fat caliper I just happened to have in my purse.

The interview was originally scheduled for 4pm on a Monday, and that Sunday before I spent literally half the day trying to line up someone to watch my girls after school for a few hours. After coming up empty handed, Rigel and I finally resorted to our last-choice scenario: we'd leave them home alone, and I lined up two different neighbors, who were going to be in and out with various obligations of their own, to check in on them at half-hour intervals. The planning and coordinating was exhausting - Rigel thought my Powerpoint presentation I sent out showing schedules and emergency procedures was a little much - but I didn't want to leave anything to chance.

I say last-choice scenario because the whole thing didn't feel right to me. Kira's thirteen in a couple of months and Kiyomi is a mature ten, but I still struggle with leaving them home alone. People have mentioned that thirteen is the age when some teens are hired as babysitters, but personally I can't imagine paying someone to watch my kids who would show up in a Hannah Montana t-shirt and might actually be tempted to steal their Pokemon cards. Sure I've left them alone while I've run to the grocery store, but that was only for 45 minutes and I was less than a mile away. This time I'd be at a swanky restaurant on the other side of town, hanging out with a celebrity and having a free lunch and a nice glass of wine. (Wow - as I typed that last line? I almost forgot I had kids.)

Rigel, on the other hand, didn't see any problem with leaving them alone, and here's where we differ: while he was pointing out how responsible our girls were, and how we didn't have to worry about them getting in trouble - that was the farthest thing from my mind. I didn't think for a minute that they would set the couch on fire, or spray paint the cat, or chug our good vodka through a funnel. No, what I was worried about was the axe murderer that could pry open the patio doors with his five-foot scythe, or the perv who'd been casing our house and was waiting to gain entry by showing Kiyomi a picture of his 'lost kitten.' You laugh, but if you'll remember I nearly called the bomb squad when my laptop battery arrived in an unmarked envelope.

To my relief, I was saved by a friend who had her afternoon freed up and agreed to keep both girls over at her house. But wouldn't you know it - after waiting at the restaurant for 45 minutes that day, her publicist called to say Mischa's dog had to be rushed to the vet with a slipped disc, and we had to reschedule the interview. When I finally did meet with her the next day, I thought about how she had no idea what I had gone through to get there. Not that a 23-year-old should care about my child care woes, but I had the urge to wave a craggy finger in her direction and lecture her on how she'd be old like me some day, worrying about bad people climbing in her windows and stealing her children. Life isn't just pilates classes and glamorous photo shoots and hanging out with Ashton Kutcher at the Ivy. Yeah, I'd show her alright.

But I'm still conflicted with whether or not I should start leaving my girls home alone. What's the correct age? Am I being too paranoid? Is Kiyomi right, and they could fight off an intruder with their hairbrush and a Wii remote? Should I follow through with my plan not to leave them alone until they're 25? Is there really a convict on the loose with a hook instead of a hand?

(Comments from axe murderers or perverts will be deleted immediately.)

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tags: mischa barton | genlux magazine | hey who's watching my kids

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Hot, sexy conversation about nuts, cheese and ham

A couple of weeks ago I was talking to some friends and the subject of Trader Joes came up. Specifically how awful their parking lot is, and after we spent a few minutes sharing our stories and we had a good cry, someone mentioned that no matter how bad it got it was worth it because she couldn't live without her Trader Joes trail mix. Then another person said how much they loved, loved, loved the marinated mozzarella there, and by the time I got done waxing poetic about their nitrate-free lunchmeat we were thinking what a really sorry group of people we were, spending fifteen minutes talking about a supermarket. We vowed to get back to our original conversation about politics, Rihanna and sex and ordered another round of martinis. But then someone had to bring up how Trader Joes has a really "vast, impressive selection of olives," which touched off an whole other conversation about their mochi ice cream. Did I mention we were hot?

It made me think about how people really do like talking about Trader Joes, though, and not just after they've had one too many drinks. And then I found this video on the internet, and I realized how universal the TJ's experience is. I mean, would anyone ever be compelled to make a video about Taco Bell, or about their local gas station?



As you can imagine, this has inspired me to make a short film about my dry cleaners.

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tags: trader joes | things grownups talk about

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