The BFF search begins

So I've been hard at work these past 2 weeks, auditioning new best friends. I've decided that most likely, I'm going to promote from within. Just to keep the learning curve to a minimum. (1) There are a lot of important things that I don't have time to teach a new BFF, like when my birthday is. (3)

One of my leading contenders is Hope, aka Lolita Travelsalot, a friend since our La Leche League days, 12 years ago. You know her as my baycation partner in crime, and also from BlogHer '08.

That's Hope on the left, and btw, this is the picture to
be used in my obituary.

Pros:

• Fabulous wardrobe that she's willing to share, and even pretends will fit me, even though, c'mon, look at her!
  
• Willing to drink before noon.
• Long shared history. I've spent the past week looking for the most adorable picture of Noa and her middle daughter dressed like bumblebees for their dance recital when they were 4.
  
• Not only remembered my birthday but even took me out for lunch.
  

Cons: (4)

• Because she's so gosh-darned awesome, her schedule is pretty full. I hate to break this to you, but I'm a fairly high maintenance friend.
  

And so the search continues . . .

1) My husband mentioned that until my post last week, he thought *HE* was my best friend. Isn't that cute? Although, funny story: I was reading this book called How to Have a New Husband by Friday (2) and it mandated that you shouldn't complain about your husband to your friends. Which begs the question, who should I complain about my husband to? Total strangers on the street? Grocery clerks? Not a well thought out book, I think we can agree.
2) Which was utter tripe, and I took a lot of crap for reading it, even though it was just for potential blog fodder.
3) It was last Monday by the way, and a tremendous number of contestants neglected to so much as send a card and were immediately disqualified.
4) Besides, you know, working too hard and caring too much.

SG searches for a new best friend.

Linda, my real life BFF, has put her house on the market, six months earlier than planned. (1)

So the search for a new BFF has moved up my to-do list. Originally I had planned to hold informal auditions over the summer, maybe organize some kind of reality show in August, and reach a final decision, probably with some kind of bridging ceremony, in the fall. But if I'm to have a new best friend in place the day Linda moves, I need to get started yesterday. And considering I'm still working several hours a day on a post I started last August (2) I think we can all agree timeliness is not my best quality. (3)

(Although if you did agree, you're automatically out of the running. My BFF would never say something like that about me. )

And just so we're clear, if you think you know how this is going to end, with some preachy dialogue about how true friendship can survive, and for the love of all things holy, she's only moving 40 minutes to the west and she already lives 20 minutes to the east now, and what's 20 minutes more? No. At the end of this series, I will have a new best friend, and visit Linda weekly and reminisce about the good old days. And take Linda's five calls a day even when I'm out with my Linda2.0 so as to remind her that she's fine, but not quite as good as her predecessor, until I cause another poor soul to move out to the middle of nowhere as well.

Let's get looking. I can't imagine there isn't a line around the block already.



1)Marinka helpfully pointed out last week that Leesburg, where Linda is moving, sounds made up, so I asked for a forwarding address. It's 123 Main Street. And her new number is 867-5309. So there, Marinka!

2) It was about a dinner party I had with David, Vuboq and some guy whose name I don't even remember anymore. I was going to title it Queer Eye for the ShallowGal and we made pizzas on the grill topped with produce from the garden and it had one funny line about confusing it with a 6 year old's birthday, and this picture & caption:

It may look unorthodox
but I can guarantee that his elbow hasn't been in his nose or his butt.

So if today's blog accomplishes nothing else, I got that monkey off my back. (2.1)


2.1) But not this monkey:

AKA something about my trip to Nicaragua.
Yes. It's an actual monkey on my back. In Nicaragua.
See how I made that transition seamlessly? This stuff takes time, people!

3) What's the most important thing aboutwritingablogpost?TIMING! That joke never gets old.

You think you're busy?

You should see Eli's to-do list. He dictated it to me at competition practice this morning.

Keep your fingers crossed that he gets it all done
cause once you fall behind on drawing hearts, basically you never catch up.

Wrong Word Wednesday

Keeping in mind all the usual niceties about how English is hard, my Spanish / Korean / Farsi isn't any better, how I always try to have a nice blog . . .oh fuck it. Get a load of this note I found today on the community bulletin board:

OK, admit it. On first glance (1) your first thought also was that this woman was offering a weekly blowjob. And your second thought was how much time contracting that job out would free up in your week. I know for a fact that I'm not the only pervert on the internet.

1) Unless you're my friend Bethanny who found the note and only noticed that Janet was offering prizes. You'll be reading more about Bethanny soon in my upcoming series (2) where I write about the auditions I'm having to replace my BFF Linda who is fucking leaving me to move to Leesburg.
2) I'm telling you now, possibly spoiling the suspense because I guarantee that by the end of the week I will tweet "I had the best idea for a blog and now I can't remember it."

How to do a science experiment, ShallowGal style

This post is written to honor Susan, aka WhyMommy, who is simultaneously the smartest and the strongest woman I know. Kick some cancer ass Susan!

Not to put too fine a point on it, but really, I think we can all agree that all science experiments boil down into one of 2 camps:

1) Those conducted with mentos and diet coke
2) Those conducted without mentos and diet coke.

And I'm sure you can guess where I pitched my virtual tent.

Purpose of experiment: Show Susan how much we love her by comparing the reaction of mentos with diet coke as compared to the reaction of mentos with generic diet soda.

Hypothesis: That somebody will have a meltdown before the end of this experiment. Probably Noa. And that kids will want to eat the mentos. Also I'll taste the remaining diet coke and decided that with a little rum, it's still drinkable. Yes those are all hypothesis. Hypothesi? Hypothesises? (1) And that generic diet cola will not have as big a reaction cause honestly, it tastes more like diet pepsi than diet coke. (2) Hey! Can one of you kids go run to the 7-11 and buy diet pepsi, cause coke vs pepsi would be a better experiment. What do you mean you're only five? You know where the 7-11 is. Yes, the place where Mommy buys lottery tickets. It's not too far. No I have to stay here and guard the mentos. Fine. We'll save that experiment for next year's science fair.

Observation: That sure enough, all of the kids wanted to eat the mentos. And upon realizing they were the mint flavored ones, they spit them out. And stuck them in the generic cola before I had my camera ready, and created only a mini-geyser, thus ruining the entire experiment. And resulting in a mass meltdown.

Conclusion: Mentos/diet coke science is way harder than you think. (3)


1) C'mon Spell-check, a little help here.
2) Or diet shasta. Remember that crap?
3) Still, I expect at least a ribbon since I properly followed the Hypothesis / observation / conclusion model.

How to prolong your stay in Immigration & Customs, a play in one act

Scene: Dulles Airport, Immigration and Customs. 2am.

Amy (to posse): Listen up. We've been on the move for 19 hours, and I know you're exhausted. All we need to do is go thru these next two checkpoints, get our bags, catch the shuttle to the car and Bob's your Uncle. So you know the rule here; nobody, and I mean, NOBODY says anything to the nice immigration officer or the nice customs person unless asked a direct question. They DO NOT CARE about our vacation. Capiche?

Noa: Can I tell them you got drunk on rum and swam naked in the pool?

Amy: Anything they need to know, I will tell them.

Nice Immigration Man (Studies form, shakes head, writes a large letter A on our form) You were on a Nicaraguan farm? And you admitted to it? You're going to need to go to agricultural customs for additional inspection.

Amy, PCSguy and Posse drag over to Agricultural customs.

Nice Agricultural Customs Officer: Because you were on a farm, I'm going to need to disinfect all your shoes.

Amy: Really?

NACO: Oh sure. We don't want to infect our agriculture with foreign germs. (She pulls out a bucket and starts spraying shoes) Did you have a nice vacation?

(Kids nod, possibily following instructions, but more likely wondering who Uncle Bob is, and how many delinquent birthday presents he owes them.)

NACO: And your flight? How was that?

(Kids smile and nod and I try to make some excuse about how they're not really rude or stupid, just tired)

NACO: Well thank you for being honest on your customs form.

(Kids nod again)

NACO (to Eli:) Your turn. Can I have your shoes?

Eli: Sure. But watch out for the brown stuff. It's monkey diarrhea.

Spring Break

Guess where the Shallow family is going for Spring Break. Seriously, guess.

Wrong. Here's a hint.

Your hint is that this particular bookstore carries
exactly ZERO guidebooks about my destination.

Tomorrow at 4 am, the entire Shallow family will head off to the airport for the 5 hour flight to Panama, followed by a 2 hour flight to Managua followed by a 3 hour drive to fulfill my almost sixteen-month-long dream of going to Nicaragua.


I'm taking 3 kids to a place that they aren't writing guidebooks about yet. Yes, I know it's the second poorest country in the Americas. Yes, Nicaragua has active volcanoes, earthquakes and malaria. Trust me, my mother googled it all.

But it also has this.

And this

and this.

So I think we'll be just fine.

I won't be blogging while I'm gone. I'm going dark. (1) And sorry, Servant of the Most High. I'll be turning off comments while I'm gone. Go spam someone else.



1) I wish I could say it's because I want to completely focus on the kids, but honestly I just doubt there's wifi in Nicaragua. Also this way the dog sitter won't download porn on the kids computer. (2)
2) I know it was you Al, and I'm over it. Just don't do it again.