Rae: Have you seen that photo of the guy with the tattoo of the cat’s butt hole where his belly button is?
Me: What? No! is that a real thing?
Rae: Oh yes. Yes it is.
Me: He didn’t give a fuck about tomorrow, man.
Rae: Yeah. He wasn’t really thinking about later that afternoon.

If you haven’t seen it yet, Anna Jane Grossman interviewed a bunch of bloggers, including me, for an article called “Your Blog Can Be Group Therapy.” Have a look.

Hello! I have three quick questions for you regarding which sites you’d most enjoy reading if I were to launch more sites. Would you like to help me decide? If so, thank you. That’s very nice of you, don’t you think?

Update: Whoa! That was fast. Thanks so much for your help, you helpful crew, I got all the responses the survey thing allows, re-upped for more, and then you filled the new quota too. For those of you feeling stifled, I’ll ask some more detailed questions in the coming weeks. What I found out, if you’re curious, is that you guys want it all, baby. Except men’s fashion. Seriously, fuck men’s fashion.

So Esquire’s list of 75 Skills Every Man Should Master has been everywhere lately. It’s a good read, and most of the stuff is applicable to both genders. Here’s my little list of seven things every woman should know how to do, because I lack the stamina to come up with seventy-five:

1. Entertain unexpected company. Invest in a cheeseboard, and then keep a big jar in your cupboard filled with bags of dried apricots and cranberries, almonds, hazelnuts, and a few bars of exceptional chocolate. All of it will keep for a while, if you can refrain from devouring everything while you watch an episode of Lost.

Now, in three minutes, you can dump out some fruit and nuts, chop up a chocolate bar, and arrange it all to maximum effect on the cheeseboard. If you have decent cheese in the fridge, it’s a bonus. Pow! You’re Martha Stewart.

2. Comfort someone in mourning. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And then as much silence as you can muster.

3. Celebrate. Good stuff is happening all around you. Pour a glass of champagne, pass around a box of chocolate, and say something memorable.

4. Break up with a poisonous friend. I had this friend in junior high, and every time I told her I liked a boy, she suddenly became very attentive towards him. I was too young to realize what was going on at the time, but by high school, and the fourth or fifth crush she’d pinched, I caught on.

Most of us have a friend or acquaintance who always leaves us feeling just a little bit worse. Maybe your mortifying missteps become her favorite amusing anecdotes. Maybe she throws her arm around your boyfriend’s shoulders with suspicious frequency. Maybe she guilt-trips you into piling a few favors atop your already hectic schedule. Whoever she is, stop calling her. Tell her you’re busy — so very busy — until 2050 or so.

5. Give a good blowjob.

6. Dribble a basketball, throw a football, kick a soccer ball. This stuff comes up. If you can’t do anything athletic at all, you start to look like the kind of girl who spends too much time getting mani-pedis.

7. Apologize convincingly. I was wrong. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.

If that doesn’t work, you may need to genuflect.

Dear people conveying their dogs in strollers,

Stop it.

At first we thought you had a baby in there, as is often the case when people are pushing strollers through parks. But then, we noticed your baby was an extraordinarily active little thing. In fact, your baby seemed to be kicking and punching at the weird stroller enclosure, perhaps even throwing its tiny body against the mesh. My god! Do you need help?! What is wrong with your baby?

Oh. We see now. Your baby is, in fact, a Labrador Retriever. That’s rather disquieting. Perhaps it’s one of those dogs with some sort of unfortunate injury? The kind of sweet little dog that needs wheels on its hindquarters to walk? Well, that’s understandable then, I mean…

But wait. Your dog just jumped out of the stroller and began bounding around the park. He’s rather fat, but otherwise perfectly able bodied. So what the hell, nutter?

Are you unable to control your dog on the city streets with a mere leash, though you’re now allowing that same dog to gad about amongst small children? You’re aware that the phrase “he’s my baby,” when applied to animals, is meant as a joke? Or do you also plan to breast-feed?

In conclusion, let your dog run. That’s what dogs do. If you want to put something in a stroller, get an iguana.

Sincerely,
Margaret Mason

Mother’s Day is this Sunday! Fortunately, the Mother’s Day Gift Guide is up on Mighty Goods and Mighty Junior. Order something perfect today, so Mom won’t have to settle for a “gift-pack” of Toblerone from the corner convenience store on Sunday.

This video made me happy cry.
A girl dancing with her little-girl self.

Right before I got pregnant, we decided we wanted to own a home. We tentatively put bids on a couple of San Francisco fixer uppers. The first one was a unit in an empty six-unit building, and we offered asking price.

We waited anxiously while the owner ignored us for a week, and then he countered $30,000 above asking. We asked our agent, “Were there other offers?” He said no. We asked our agent, “Where does this guy live?” And then we drove over and punched him in the teeth.

Next, we fell hard for the top floor of a Victorian with hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, window seats, and wish-granting fairies who lived in the dumbwaiter. It was a tenancy in common, which means you share a mortgage with total strangers. I kid you not. In many cases, you may not even meet the people with whom you will share the house and a mortgage before you put in a bid.

If your bid is approved, you take out life insurance on each other in case something happens to one of you. Later, they hire someone to kill you so they can afford to own the whole building. Anyway, we wrote a heartfelt letter about raising our children there, bid a ludicrous amount over asking, and came in seventh out of thirteen bidders. I still feel bewildered.

It was around this time that we happened across a perfect little cabin in the wine country, and decided we could afford the modest mortgage and still pay rent on our apartment in the city. We bought a vacaaaation home. I say this with a long cigarette holder perched between my fingers as I bathe in organic cream.

The nearby town used to be a resort destination in the 1920s and ’30s, and in some ways, it still has that feel — like a big summer camp for grown ups, except most people living there are locals now. And the locals, they make life a lot more fun.

Once, on a morning walk with Hank, we noticed one of our neighbors had stuck a decaying boar’s head on a post in the driveway, Lord of the Flies style. Presumably to warn the other boars? Perhaps so they can dance around it at night chanting? I’ve been meaning to ask. Maybe I’ll take some muffins over.

Recently, we saw these excellent flyers posted everywhere:

In case you can’t make that out, it goes a little something like this:

$REWARD$
For information
Leading to the
Beatdown of
whoever tryed to
steal my G.M.C. Truck
in between 11:00 PM 5-9
And 7:30 AM 5-10-08
Call (number painstakingly obscured in Photoshop)
$REWARD$
I will find you!

Of course, this happened last month, not seven days from now, but shut up. You knew what he meant.

I’ve decided Information Leading to a Beatdown is the highest classification of information. The essence of news you can use: News you can use to assault someone.

In short, we finally found a place to call home. And if you touch our car, you know what to expect.

We visited the Presidio Social Club last night and it turns out the restaurant has a secret menu. I did a little research when we got home and found this interesting secret menu PDF of other restaurants in the Bay Area that also have tricks up their sleeves. I especially want to try the Swan Oyster Depot’s sashimi plate.

Here’s one for national chains. Do any of you know of similarly comprehensive lists for other big cities?

Heather just published her very first book, Things I Learned About My Dad (in therapy). It’s a collection of essays about fatherhood, and if you ever wondered how I feel about my dad, mine’s in there too. As is Alice’s. In fact, her essay about fatherhood and Star Wars also appeared in this month’s Wondertime magazine. (That’s why I have an 8.5″ x 11″ photo of Alice dressed as Princess Leia stuck to the side of our fridge. Also, one in my night stand drawer, but I digress.)

I’m excited for Heather right now, because I know something very big is about to happen. Sometime soon, a stranger will ask what she does. Instead of saying, “Well… do you read… like… how do I put this. Uh, I’m a blogger?” she can look them straight in the eye and say, “I’m a writer.”

And a damn good one too.