In parenting, as in billiards, the real trick is in having a plan for what comes next. And if you don't, a little trash talk can make it seem as if you do. You're welcome.
SK is featured on BlogHer today.
Ask the Suburban Kamikaze
We are totally serious about this
Team Kamikaze: It's like we have to do everything around here. Just because we can.
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The Suburban Kamikaze goes to cooking school and no one is seriously injured
Cooking school credentials will probably not stop the members of my family from complaining about their meal options.
The point is, their complaints can no longer be taken seriously in light of the fact that I am the only one in the family who has even been to cooking school.
I don't want to get too technical about it, but the fact is, there is a right way and a wrong way to stir green beans in a pot and the difference is professional training.
You can read all about it here.
Or you can wait for my forthcoming cookbook: Passive-Aggressive Casserole Recipes and Other Reasons to Stay Out of the Kitchen.
Photo courtesy of Coca-Cola and Bruce Powell photography.
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I don't mean your dog. I would totally read a letter to your dog.
At first I wanted to kill myself. Really? I thought. Has everyone in this country lost their minds? But then I realized: OMG, my Christmas shopping is done.
Because I am buying this book for everyone on my list. Some of them will even appreciate it.
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A LETTER TO MY DOG: NOTES TO OUR BEST FRIENDS
New book featuring top celebrities and their dogs kicks off an online movement that celebrates our love for man's best friend.
Available November 21 from Chronicle Books
(Los Angeles, November 8, 2012) -- There's no love like puppy love. And now, thanks to the new book A Letter To My Dog: Notes To Our Best Friends from Chronicle Books, creators Kimi Culp, Lisa Erspamer and Robin Layton have beautifully captured this powerful relationship for everyone to enjoy. A Letter To My Dog is a heartwarming book featuring stunning photographs by renowned photographer Robin Layton and deeply personal letters written by a variety of dog lovers to their beloved, four-legged friends. This special collection of touching letters and magnificent portraits is a celebration of the loyalty and unconditional love we have for our precious pups. The book includes letters from: Oprah Winfrey, Tony Bennett, Kristin Chenoweth, Colbie Caillat, Cat Cora, Fran Drescher, Hilary Duff, Ken Paves, Chelsea Handler, Mariel Hemingway, Carol Leifer, Tyler Perry, Maria Menounos, Cynthia McFadden, Robin Roberts, Willow Smith, Rumer Willis and more.....
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My friend Dianne, who doesn't even really like dogs all that much, was quick to endorse it:
"Where did you say I could buy it?," she says. "I'm really tired of all those books with too many words."
There are words, I tell her, It's celebrities writing letters to their dogs. Seriously.
"Do the dogs write back?" she says. "Because that should really be a movie."
She is always one step ahead of the culture like that.
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This week in stuff I meant to write
So many of you have been writing to ask me, WTF Suburban? Where the hell have you been? To which I can only reply: Wouldn't you like to know? Because it sounds all sexy and mysterious that way and I am a firm believer in the principle that if you are not actually living a sexy and mysterious life, you should at least pretend to be.
You can read this and other life-changing inspirational nuggets in my forthcoming book: Things I Thought Up While Doing Other People's Laundry.
But it's not all laundry around here. There are also an awful lot of dirty dishes. Mostly because while I am out making the world a better place for sentence construction, or possibly ice skating, the children are as busy as beavers pursuing their dreams of a house made entirely of food crumbs.
I've definitely got some catching up to do. We have already switched over to our sexy winter pajamas here and I still haven't writtten a single post complaining about the weather, or pointing out the fact that Chicago is very cold, while Miami is not.
Mr. Kamikaze says such observations are my specialty. By which I am pretty sure he means he never gets tired of hearing them. But who does?
Here are a few links to hold you over until I can work up a proper rant:
Midwestern Winter Diary: A blizzard runs through it
Forecast calls for cold winter in Chicago; wet oceans
Photo: My Hannah Montana pajama pants: Is there such a thing as too sexy?
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10 Stories In the News I'm Having Trouble Caring About Even a Tiny Little (Yawn) Bit
10. What Rep. Todd Akin thinks a woman's reproductive system can do in the event of rape.
9. What anybody else thinks about what Rep. Todd Akin thinks a woman's reproductive system can do in the event of rape.
8. The Augusta National Golf Club has opened its doors to women. Two of them.
7. Anything else to do with the Augusta National Golf Club. Ever.
6. The price of Facebook shares has slipped to ... something.
5. Morale at Facebook is slipping in reaction to the falling price of its shares, which were trading late Tuesday at ... something.
4. Stuff Mitt Romney does in church.
3. Some celebrity somewhere did something.
2. In advertising news, a new campaign for something shows promise.
1. Somebody's use of Twitter demonstrates the power of social media again.
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Hanging out with my 4,500 new best friends
I returned from BlogHer12 in New York City with a giant stack of business cards and a suitcase full of sex toys, which thankfully, did not spill out all over the baggage carousel in Chicago, where, according to a survey commissioned by the sex toy maker, the people are among the country's "most adventurous."
I'm not sure what that means, but it is a very long winter.
But what really had me buzzing was the amazing collection of people I met over the weekend, in between hanging out, okay, drinking, with some of my already-favorite people. If there is anything more entertaining than spilling $20 Margaritas with the Internet's bossiest funniest blogger, I don't know what it could be. And anyway, it is still in the box.
I also met writers, bloggers and dreamers and expatriate English teachers. I met sexy foodies and travel connoisseurs.
I finally got to meet one of my longtime favorite bloggers who was nice enough to run toward me squealing like a fangirl every time we passed in a corridor, misleading other women into thinking I must be already famous. I was thisclose to being asked to sign someone's breast.
Speaking of already, I had a great time at the copyediting lab where I had the honor of passing along a few things I've learned. Among my key pieces of advice: Get rid of words like already.
"Hypocrite," however, is a perfectly fine word.
I was thrilled to have had their attention, particularly since the BlogHer people set me up for failure by putting me next to the funny and talented AV Flox who was not there to talk about punctuation.
Then again, she also didn't give out red pencils, so I'm pretty sure the thrills evened out.
Is there anything as sexy as a crisply edited sentence and a free red pencil?
Don't answer that. It's a rhetorical question.
-SK
P.S. Be sure to check out the sidebar for a list of people I collected at BlogHer12. If you're not there, it's probably due to:
a) Margarita-induced memory loss. Remind me again what we did?
b) I lost your business card among all the sex toys. Contact me.
from the archives: Never challenge a drinking major to an English contest and other things I learned at BlogHer 09
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Sisters-in-law are like sisters except for the fact that Mom will always love you a little bit more
At least in theory. My sisters-in-law are relentless in their campaign to unseat me from my position as First Daughter. It doesn't help that my mother will let pretty much anyone into the family and refuses to acknowledge an official pecking order.
We are forced to plot against each other like characters in a Shakespearean drama. Or possibly an episode of The Brady Bunch. Except with more swearing and a lot of rum drinks. It's really more of a pirate story, now that I think about it. Picture a family reunion set on Treasure Island. What's weird is that we actually are in Treasure Island.
My point is, the alliances are constantly shifting depending on who is in favor. Also, I am really more of a wine drinker and my baby sister-in-law prefers beer in a can because that is just how she was raised. Also, I do not think she actually keeps any glasses in her house. But we are not here to criticize my sister-in-law's taste in beverages. We are here to criticize my other sister-in-law's overachieving performance as family vacation planner. And by "criticize" I actually mean "lead a round of applause."
She racked up something like a million points with my mom just because she did all the shopping, cleaning and organizing for the family reunion. Also she didn't make any lewd gestures during the family pictures. Not one. She is going to be really hard to beat this year. So she is going to be looking over her shoulder for a while.
Which is just paranoid really.
Photo: Keep your brothers close, but keep your sisters-in-law closer.
from the sister-in-law archives: There are no brunettes in Dallas
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How to rock a bikini at any age
So you don't have the longest legs on the beach and your abs are hiding under a layer of what we will generously call baby fat. Or maybe you've been hitting the juice box a little hard and you've developed a bit of a spare tire.
Don't sweat it: Accessorize. A little urban flair or a fancy French braid will draw attention away from problem areas and have you toddling down the beach with confidence.
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Awkward teenage mating rituals: there's an app for that
When I try to tell my children about the incredible hardships involved in trying to organize a game of spin-the-bottle in the late 1970s, they look at me as if I were Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Back then we had to find our own bottle and spin it by hand before anyone's tongue could find its way down anyone else's throat in the awkward ritual that marked the passage between never-been-kissed and second base.
Then we played down by the creek until Ma called us in for supper.
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The Men are from Mars two-week bikini season shape-up
I am at a gathering of the Suburban Women's Wine Drinking Association when I am asked for an advisory opinion in a case of Spousal Stupidity.
It is a straightforward case of Wrong Answer, Douchebag but with a particularly douchey touch.
A woman had complained to her husband of unexplained moodiness. His diagnosis: "It's because you're fat and the pool is opening next week."
Some of the women are familiar with my eventually bestselling relationship manual, "Men are From Mars but That's No Excuse" and believe the situation calls for a grownup time-out.
"No sex for two weeks, right?" they ask me. But you can tell by their faces that no one thinks this is really going to drive the point home. And neither do I.
"No," I say. "Two weeks of sex with someone else."
Which, in a happy coincidence, is also a great way to get in shape for bikini season.
You're welcome. And you look marvelous.
-SK
Photo: Men are from Mars, but can be found almost anywhere.
from the marriage archives: The Ring of Truth and other so-called tales of Domestic Bliss
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Well-behaved women rarely get their skirts blown up, except in Chicago where it happens all the time
Not everyone will miss the giant Marilyn Monroe who has stood outside the Tribune Tower on Michigan Avenue since last summer.
Some people are prudish about the idea of a 26-foot woman flashing her panties in the middle of downtown. 0thers think it is kind of tacky. Especially since so many people only wanted to take pictures of her underwear. Guilty. But that's just a question of good taste and bad manners, really. Or vice versa. Whatever.
What I don't understand is all of the carping from people who thought it was a bad choice because it had no cultural relevance to the city of Chicago. Really?
To me there is nothing more Chicago-esque than the experience of having your skirt blow up around your head. Unless maybe it is having your skirt blow up around your head while you are eating a hot dog with onions, pickles and tomotoes. No ketchup.
Photos: Her address says Chicago, but her shoes scream "get me out of here." The Forever Marilyn sculpture, by Seward Johnson, will pack her panties for a new city next week.
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When life hands you lemons, take them. You can never have too many lemons.
from the fruit archives: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
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Vacuuming: A Memoir
An excerpt from my forthcoming autobiography:
There were days when I began to doubt my decision to declare the vacuum cleaner off limits to the rest of the family, days when I secretly missed the excitement of never knowing what would turn up inside its twisting and lint-clogged recesses. Miniature weapons, spiral notebooks, international currency: it was like finding a spy novel buried in a landfill.
I never did figure out how they did it. They vacuumed everything in their path, never stopping until the vacuum did. It was a landscape of forgotten toys, half-eaten snacks and dirty laundry. We went through so many vacuum cleaners in those years.
Then one day it came to me as clearly as if it were written in the flowing black ink of my favorite uni-ball Impact 1.0 mm gel pen: They had vacuumed up one of my favorite pens again and there was nothing I could do but dismantle the hose and clear the clog, releasing a cloud of dust that would have to be vacuumed a second time.
It was, as they say, one of those ah-choo moments...
from the vacuum bag: All over but the vacuuming, Tricking your husband into buying a vacuum cleaner on Mother's Day: Priceless
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Is it just me or is it starting to seem like our 80s-era prom dates were just phoning it in?
They rocked their powder blue tuxes, sure.
But I do not remember any prom "proposals" that looked like this.
The only thing 80s guys did in advance of prom night was buy a corsage, wash the car and harbor wild hopes.
The "proposal" usually took place at your locker between classes. Or was delivered through intermediaries bearing notebook paper folded into little squares.
Not that it wasn't perfect.
Today's Romeos are expected to produce a spectacle of choreography and multimedia finesse. They are, after all, trying to impress a generation of girls who still know all the words to the songs from High School Musical and never miss an episode of Glee.
At a bare minimum, there must be balloons or flowers. But 150 of your closest friends spelling it out with light sticks is a better way to go, according to my sources.
Part of me really wants to applaud the teenage girls who made this happen, even if the inspiration is borrowed from television and movie scripts. Part of me is thinking: Yes, it's a huge step forward for romance, but what is it going to cost me?
Note to Boy, Esq.: When I was in high school, the boys had real jobs and prom tickets were $3. Also, my hair looked like that on purpose.
from the romance archives: Top 5 Ways Middle School Boys will get it wrong on Valentine's Day, Match.com Junior High, Flush with Romance
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