Dear lovely and loquacious blogosphere:
Stop updating your blogs, already. Give a girl a break, will ya?  I’ve got a metric crapload of work to do, not including writing a concise yet scintillating article on wikis (of which I know wittle abowt) and YOU KEEP POSTING.  Which means I have to keep reading.

If you could, I don’t know, step away from the collective computers for three hours so I can Get Shit Done, I’d be much obliged.  It’s hard enough trying to pretend it’s 40 degrees with gale force winds outside, instead of the bright, beautiful 85 degree bliss that is happening two feet from my head. I can smell fresh-cut grass and it’s killing me.  So, seriously. I mean it. Stop.

Thank ye.

You need a pair of these in every color. I’m not kidding.  I bought the pink ones, and so far I’ve worn them power-walking, gardening and toddler-catching. I may even wear them to bed.

I saw them in Famous Footwear* and had giant wave of nostalgia for the wooden ones my grandmother used to buy me every summer. The other thing I remember about them were the blisters I always got, but who cared?  It was the late 70s and I was clopping all over Reading, PA in my super-fine, super grown-up (in my mind) bright red sandals.

*Note: They were $34.99 at FF and they are $28.99 at shoes.com AND free shipping?  I am in serious trouble.

It took Alanis singing “My Humps” to get me to put up a damn post after three months. 

The sheer amount of awesomeness here is too much. 

Seriously. Watch the whole thing.

And I’ll be back soon.  Working on starting another blog.  I think Karmatown has had its run and I’m committed to the perspective that, like the right lip gloss, all I need is a new domain and the world will be aligned again.

Shh...don’t rain on my bubble quite yet, k?

See, this is what I love about my profession.  After staying up past my pathetic bedtime on yet another Wednesday to watch Project Runway, I had been wondering how I might justify my secret little obsession with this show. The name-calling, the design train wrecks, the obviously planned outcomes, Vincent.

I will wonder no more.  My secret is out, because it’s just part of my job.  It’s research! Guidance! Professional development! Every week, I will tune in as Tim Gunn helps me increase client satisfaction and drive new revenue streams! It’s genius, really.

Ah, marketing, how I love thee.  Now if I could just find a way to justify my daily Dunkin’ Donuts obsession.  Ideas?

Eee!  Look what Emerson’s Webby Godmother sent!

Sing-A-Longs & Lullabies for the Film Curious George.  First thing Michael says?

Oh, wow.  We’ve been listening to that on Noggin.

Noggin?  Hmm.  That gives me a portal into his days with Emerson.  Also solves the puzzle about why a full-grown man walks around the house annoying the crap out of me with singing “Glue is the gluey-est, gum is the chewiest, cows are the mooiest, let YOU be your YOUIEST...everywhere you go!”

And what exactly is wrong with Noggin, Booblady? Don’t think your America’s Next Top Model addiction is a secret, either.

So of course Emerson, being the unrelenting music connoisseur that he is, had to check it out.

Oooo. You didn’t tell me Ben Harper appears on this album.

And finally?  The all-important taste test.

Mmm, crunchy.

Folks, we have a winner. What a great surprise.  Thanks, Kathy! We’re going to listen to it tonight.  And I can stop serenading him with REO Speedwagon songs.

For that?  My neighbors thank you.

I got nothing.

Go here instead.  Run, twinkletoes, run!

Nipped from Pink and Green Girl.

Accent: Increasingly Pennsylvania Dutch, according to my mother.  Considering I am a Jersey Girl, born and bred, this is a horrifying discovery.

Booze: Um, yes please?  Seriously, I can’t wait for my first gin & tonic and martini since last April.  Maybe at the same time. Because I’m crazy like that.

Chore I Hate: Vacuuming. No wait, dusting. And cleaning windows. Definitely windows. I will clean toilets before I move furniture, or dust or do windows. Wait, who am I kidding?  Housecleaner!

Dog or Cat: Cat.

Essential Electronics: Hmm, iPod and laptop.  Do battery-operated devices count?  Yes?  Then my digital camera. Get your mind out of the gutter.  That’s solar-powered, anyway.  Just doing my part for the environment, you know?

Favorite Perfume: Burberry Brit Red.  Usually Eau de Curdled Spit-up.

Gold or Silver: Silver.  But white gold if I absolutely MUST. *sigh*

Hometown: Same as Justice Samuel Alito.

Insomnia: HAHAHAHAHA!  One great benefit to having an infant is the ability to fall asleep anywhere, at anyti….zzzzzzzz.

Job Title: I prefer Empress of Marketing, feel like Mistress of Minutia, am stuck with Marketing Manager.

Kids: Mr. Potato Pumpkin Picklejuice Scrumptitoes McDoodles.  Also known as Emerson.

Living arrangements: One house, one husband, one child. Several mice. Countless spiders.

Most admirable trait: Err…trait?  Like good hair or strong nails or something?

Number of sexual partners: Exactly twice as many as Mr. K.  Read into that what you like.

Overnight hospital stays:  Four glorious nights at Hotel Women and Babies during Marathon Induction 2005.

Phobias: Drowning in the ocean. Certain social situations. Teletubbies.

Quote: Eh…this is way too much work.  Can I just quote something from a Journey song and be done with it?

Religion: United Methodist, as a child.  And then again for an hour after giving birth when I thought I was going to die.  Presently agnostic. 

Siblings: One humungous baby brother.

Time I wake up: You mean, what time does He Who Rules the House deem that I should rise to serve him?  Usually 6 am.

Unusual talent or skill: Uncanny ability to remember telephone numbers and social security numbers.  Utterly useless.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: Creamed corn.  Creamed vomit, more like. *gags*

Worst habit: Procrastination. Or picking at my fingers.  Or jiggling my knees.  Or indecision. Let me come back to this one.

X-rays:  When I was little I used to swallow stuff. A lot. Pennies, marbles, pebbles, mostly.  Which always meant a trip to the ER, stomach x-rays followed by a humiliating week of pooping on a baby toilet until I passed it.  And when I watch my son try to stuff both hands, a rattle and his blanket into his mouth at the same time, I know that several stints of mashing baby poops looking for spare change is in my future.

Yummy foods I make: Low-fat blueberry pound cake.  Baked Old Bay potato wedges.  Stir-fry.

Zodiac sign: Libra, baby. Want everything to be pretty and everyone to be happy.  *horks*

I love me some Maine. Especially today.

I was going block quote some of it but, damn.  I’d have to block quote the entire entry. In short, religion. Government. Magical cocaine mixed with ecstacy. Aliens. Funyuns. The Crusades.

Scamper over to read the whole thing.