beach bag bingo

Because I am an obsessive collector, organizer and seasonally-aware  decorator, I am a keeper of bags. Bags - in their various forms such as totes, purses, packs, carriers, and eco-friendly grocery sacks - offer me a way to take the things I want/need/obsess about wherever I go but in a neat & practical [and seasonally appropriate] manner. Whenever there is a free or inexpensive bag available, I snatch it immediately because I know I will find a use for it in my world.

So imagine my delight when Bob from Personalized Tote Bags contacted me with the offer of a free bag in exchange for my blog post. [THIS IS WHERE I TELL YOU I DID GET SOMETHING aka my fabulous free Bad Mom beach bag FOR WRITING THIS POST]  Imagine no more - here are words & photos describing my delight.

I call this a beach bag, even though I rarely visit the actual beach, because it looks all jauntily nautical with the weathered stripes, rope handle, and immense volume capable of holding multiple towels, water bottles, sunscreens, snacks, books, sand toys and snorkeling gear. I used it yesterday for a simple trip to the zoo and though I equipped it for myself and two kids, I didn't even come close to loading it. I kept thinking I should throw in a few jackets in case we developed a chill during the 95 degree day, because the bag still had so much room and felt sturdy enough to pack more stuff in. (Note the metal grommets around those sassy rope handles).

Next time I might hide a neighbor kid in here to save on entrance fees.
P.S. Zipper top! Excellent for discouraging pickpockets in crowded places.
And for being certain none of my 1.2 million necessities falls out.

I particularly love that this bag is cut with curves so I don't look like I'm carrying a gigantic rectangle, and the straps are long enough to put over my shoulder and still hold the bag above my waist. It's like the Personalized Tote Bags people know how real women want to look and feel when toting stuff around. (Bob did not tell me to say that. In fact, he didn't even tell me I had to write a nice post; he just sent me the bag and said "Please link to us").

I was hoping for a more renegade font for Bad Mom but a) it was free and b) the cursive does soften the sentiment; maybe Bob was afraid people would think I really am bad. That's sweet.

This particular bag - Stylish Beach Tote - retails for $27.99 (monogram included), which I think is a decent deal considering its size and sturdiness. Also, the bottom is flat so easy to set down without discombobulating all the contents. I have to say I don't love that it is made in China and I (the practical organizing queen) could use a few more pockets inside, but otherwise everything else about the bag is better than I expected. I am considering the Stylish Laptop Bag in their clearance section; apparently I am all about Stylish this summer.

I recommend a visit to Personalized Tote Bags if you're in the market for, you know, a personalized tote bag. There is something for everyone, even the not-crazy/obsessive collectors/organizers.


(Thanks, Bob!)

camptacular

I did, indeed, go camping yet again despite my vehement assertion that

I just read this brilliantly descriptive post at Practice of Madness about her recent venture into the wilderness. Interestingly, she experienced many things I have during a camping trip - getting lost, driving where most vehicles shouldn't be driving, being cold, feeling fury at the love of one's life - yet she was remarkably positive in her retelling. Generally, I take the martyr route when recounting my tales of being in Hell the woods. There is just so much this princess cannot take about such an outing.

Right after school was out this summer, Stu & I packed the kids plus a friend for each (to keep them company if/when we had to send them away from camp for bickering) into my Multi-Activity Vehicle [notminivan], which was equipped with a storage box on top and a trailer behind. If I am to give up precious summer vacation time to getting dirty and stinky and missing True Blood, I will have pillows and chairs and books and decent dishes and lots of good food & drinks.

We drove 3 1/2 hours southeast to a place that I was under the impression gets warm in the middle of June as it is called "High Desert." Well. I left 60 degree overcast weather so I guess 70 degrees was an improvement but I was glad I brought layers. Of course that didn't mean I refrained from complaining about the chilly evening, followed by complaining about the campfire smoke burning my eyes when I tried to sit five inches from the flames. Pretty starry skies what?

My joys in camping mainly come from watching people I love enjoying camping - the kids relish the freedom of riding their bikes around the campground with walkie-talkies; Stu feels all manly and capable collecting wood, starting & maintaining the fire, and cooking meals. (He once felt all manly and capable setting up the tent but I long ago squashed that quaint tradition by requesting a cabin or yurt at the campsite).

What do I do on this 'vacation'? I do my best to not bitch incessantly about the situation, I keep our supplies tidy & organized, I read a lot [I try to appreciate the Being in Nature thing by reading outside], and I take pictures. And if I'm allowed to be a truly bad mom, I will write blog entries or post updates & photos on Facebook.

We have one more excursion planned for this summer (because I so love my family! And hope this earns me points toward more momcentric trips to places where I don't have to sleep near dirt and get to shower daily), and I will try to look harder at the bright side like the author at Practice of Madness.

Stay tuned for notes from Cape Disappointment.

tilt

everything feels wrong.
our world
has tipped off its axis.
we push and pull in opposite directions,
forgetting we're on the same side.

what we thought was real
exploded
what we knew was real
disappeared
our guides have been taken away,
and it's hard to think
with our hearts torn out.

I would pull our world back
singlehandedly
but I'd rather do it
with you.

for the man I cherish,
on the occasion of my most recent mental breakdown

not a stalker, exhibit 43

just wanted to say

i think you're really awesome

(hit send or delete?)

this haiku based on actual incidents

of vegas and bunions

In the past ten days, I have lived two wildly different lives. 

Jetsetter

Stu & I stayed here, in a junior suite (our first regular-people room smelled strongly of smoke, and because I did not do a Lindsay-style rant when I brought it to their attention we were rewarded). I took this picture from ghostbar, where supposedly fabulous people hang out inside for $400 per table. We hung out outside for free, standing.

Before heading up to this hot spot, we joined friends for dinner at N9ne downstairs. With our cocktails, onion ring appetizer, and Mediterranean salad & Oscar filet mignon entrees, the bill was something along the lines of a portion of our children's college savings so far. But that is how we gamble - on food, which turned out sublime; I find that far more satisfying than dropping cash into slot machines or onto card tables where I am only guaranteed a watered-down drink and visions of life in a cramped apartment with Nicolas Cage.

Later we went to Rain where, as you can see, NO DRUGS OR NUDITY were allowed. Just in case we forgot. Our common sense.

I stood in line while Stu ran up to our room to drop off souvenirs from our evening at Crazy Horse Paris (which I have been wanting to see for years - we tried to get tickets in Singapore and when we were actually in Paris but no go. We shared our tiny stageside table with the darling groom-to-be Dirk and his friend Dustin from Boise, who I believe were impressed that people as old and married as we could be funny and even kind of interesting). During my brief-but-felt-like-eternal wait on the Rain line, I met the implausibly named [and coiffed] Demarius. He began our interaction with "That is a very unique tattoo" breathed on my neck in his Antonio Banderas accent. I managed to maintain a respectable conversation despite such diversions as "I am sure your students have crushes on you" and "You are a very hot mom" and the capper, "So...You do not so much party as you just have a cocktail or some wine?" After five hours of my dodging innuendo, Stu reappeared and jokingly asked Demarius if I was bothering him. Then we escaped into the mania of the nightclub. It was 2 a.m.

Bubbles were the most innocuous part of the entertainment. There were flames above our heads, bungee acrobats and a suspended ribbon dancer, go-go waifs gyrating on platforms, and performance artists sending sparks over the dance floor by grinding on each other's metal outfits. Like with an actual grinding tool.

Couchsitter

Last week, I had my second bunion removed and have been spending most of my hot mom life sleeping or perusing trashy magazines. Like the first time, surgery went fine despite my high anxiety, and recovery is going alright despite my OCD. Luckily I have a husband & friends who understand my insane way of asking for help, which is to not ask, and just do stuff for me. Even the crazy stuff, like helping me into regular clothes though it doesn't make sense at 7 p.m., or setting up my vast reading station though I'm just going to fall asleep within five minutes of sitting down.

To shake things up Vegas-style, I did have some exciting drama Thursday when I passed out in the morning and threw up twice, prompting a 6-hour ER stay to determine the cause. But alas, the SW Washington ER is not nearly as thrilling as the George Clooney TV version; no one there looked remotely like precious Carter, nobody rushed in bleeding or cursing or shooting up the place, not a bit of dramatic music played during any of my myriad tests. However, on the positive side, I was not diagnosed with a rare & mysterious illness - just plain old low blood sugar/low blood pressure + stupidity on my part. 

Though I am not [yet] back to drinking raspberry lemon drops by the gallon or dancing under fire until 3 a.m., I have brazenly worn my tight Merlotte's t-shirt to Blockbuster and chatted extensively with my secret boyfriend. WILD.

I know.