My Head. It Has Not Been Reattached.

Well, hello! Here I am. Headless.

Things haven’t really simmered down on the home front nor the Hair Thursday front. I returned Friday from Oklahoma, where Wito was cared for (read: spoiled rotten) while I was prancing around New York with TV makeup on.

I ask of you, television guest or high class hooker?

It’s a tough call, my friends. I’m sure the makeup was spot-on for the cameras, but the six business men who shared an elevator ride with me in my trench coat afterwards probably assumed the latter. You should have seen me walking into my hotel, just waiting for the manager to pull me aside, all Pretty Woman-style. (Excuse me, madam. Where do YOU think you’re going?)

Although, I’m happy to say I would have kept those false lashes on for the rest of my life if I had the chance. (Dear unbelievably awesome hair and makeup team, any chance I could get you to move to California? I make really good margaritas! Love, Whoorl.) As for the television appearance, I will let you know as soon as I get an air date so we can all laugh together at my rambling in front of a live studio audience.

Gulp.

Speaking of the television show, did I mention that the week before my trip to New York, field producers were sent to my house to film an at-home interview, as well as some additional footage of my day-to-day activities? One of those day-to-day activities was me bloggity blogging on my computer, and only in the middle of filming my hands typity-typing did I realize that my nails were possibly atrocious.

Guitar lessons + nails = Not Pretty. ZOMFG.

My living room was completely inundated with bright lights, microphones, people, cords, did I mention people? Yes, people staring at me while I talked about lord knows what. It was truly an surreal experience.

Fast forward to the present. Wito has had a fever of 102-103.5 for the past 36 hours. He’s a sick little dude, and I am taking him to the pediatrician in a couple of hours. My house is in its normal post-weekend state (DEMOLISHED) and guess who’s coming over in 5 hours?

ABC NIGHTLINE.

It’s clearly a slow news week. Let’s recap - messy house, sick baby and Oh, OH! Nothing to wear. Send help.

(At least my nails are manicured this time around. Positive thinking RULES.)

A Word Of Caution

Ketel One martinis + The New York Times anticipation = Ouch.

Ladies and gents, I’ve had a crazy week. You see, I’ve been on vacation with my family, which included a little bit of this:

La Cucaracha from whoorl on Vimeo.

(Wait, doesn’t everyone have a 6-foot statue of Captain Hook included in their vacation rental?)

A little bit of this:

And, a little bit of this:

Look at those cheeks. MONCH MONCH MONCH.

Meanwhile, my job responsibilities over here are morphing a bit, and of course, the New York Times article made its appearance and rendered this site inoperable for several hours.

As much as I would like to pretend that I calmly waited for Thursday morning’s arrival by speaking phrases such as, “The NYT’s Thursday Style section is quite a treat and the piece should be just delightful, my dears. Now, pass the bubbly, Ronald!”, that’s not exactly how it went down.

On Wednesday, the butterflies made their presence known. The interview and photo shoot were both so exciting, but I really had no idea about the size and scope of the article. By 4pm, I had decided with the utmost certainty that the title of the article would be:

NEUROTIC WOMAN POLLS INTERNET ON HAIR CHOICES WHILE CHILDREN STARVE.

My family decided I was in need of some adult beverages. Now, I usually have no issues with drinking a martini (need to create a new, exciting dinner? Try drinking a martini! Just watch the cooking improvisation unfold!), but the adrenaline building in my body created some sort of catalyst, hurling me into the galaxy of drunkity DRUNK.

(Two martinis! Just two!)

(Drunk, I tell you!)

D and I returned home around 10:30pm, I set the alarm for 6:00am (our local coffee shop only sells 5 copies of the NYT and I HAD TO HAVE ONE. Or three.), and clumsily plopped my head on the pillow.

Whoah. Spinning.

I groggily mumbled “UGH”, grabbed my pillow and trudged into the living room, where I attempted to watch the nightly news with one hand covering my left eye. You know, to reduce the television rotation.

(Two martinis! Just two!)

(Lightweight, I tell you!)

I must have succumbed to one hell of a deep slumber because I woke up at 2am on the couch, completely disoriented and apparently very hot, evidenced by my turning the thermostat ALL THE WAY in one direction to cool off the room.

I made it to the bedroom, crashed into bed and immediately fell asleep.

What happened next can only be described as moderately painful. The alarm went off. My mouth was dry. It felt incredibly hot in the bedroom. I stumbled into the living room, or what felt like the fiery pit of hell, looked at the thermostat and the room temperature was registering a balmy 86 degrees. I had turned the thermostat the wrong direction.

(Two martinis! Just two!)

(Idiot, I tell you!)

Did any of you see the Sex and The City episode where Miranda drinks 1,000 martinis with the extremely good-looking detective and wakes up with the worst hangover in the history of mankind?

That was me.

Still not getting a crystal clear visual?

How about this.

Luckily, I made it to the coffee shop in one piece. Wearing jeans, my pajama top, and smelling of vodka. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have PAID anyone to believe that was me in the photo.

Let this be a lesson to you all. Butterflies and alcohol do not mix. Go forth and spread the word, my friends.

Why I Said Goodbye To Twitter

1. I read this.

2. I noticed my laptop was open. A LOT.

3. My whoorl posts were decreasing.

4. My ParentDish posts were decreasing.

5. I wasn’t reading any blogs.

6. Yet, I was spending twice as much time on the internet.

Doing what, you ask?

Twittering. Lots of twittering. I honestly had no idea how much cumulative time I was spending reading and writing on Twitter. So, I quit. Cold turkey.

(I really miss it.)

However, the instant decrease of LOP (Laptop Open Position) has been incredible. Thus, I am happy. The End.

(Although, my old Twitter pals! How are you? Have you had a good week? Any interesting tidbits? GOOD GOD, THE THINGS I WANT TO TELL YOU THAT I CAN’T WRITE HERE! THE EXCITEMENT!)

*shutting laptop*

My Favorite Thing

This week’s Friday Flashback is all about favorite items from childhood. Please focus your attention to the following photo:

What is this raggedy, waffle-weaved piece of fabric? And why is it the shape of Nevada?

Friends, this is my blankie. Or, more specifically, what’s left of my blankie. (8 square inches.)

Once pale yellow with satin edges, I slept with this bad boy for 6 or 7 years of my life, until the fateful day when my parents told me it was time to say goodbye.

Say goodbye?! To my blankie?! The one that I escorted around the house all day? The blankie that I rubbed across my face when I was sad and lonely? The one that I slept with wrapped around my pillow to ensure constant face-to-blankie interaction every night of my LIFE?

I wasn’t going down without a fight. I wanted an explanation! A parental mission statement including, but not limited to, how throwing away a harmless blanket would better my life!

Or so I thought.

I threw my beloved blankie in the trash at the promise of a Dilly Bar.

A fucking 39-cent Dilly Bar from Dairy Queen.

Whoorl: Poster Girl for Bribery.

However, as my parents were loading my little sister into the car for our Dairy Queen extravaganza, I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off a small corner of the blanket.

(HA! A blankie AND a Dilly Bar! I outsmarted The Man! TAKE THAT!)

So, I’ve had this piece of blanket for my entire life. I don’t sleep with it or have any interaction with it really; it just sits in the closet with my sweaters, but I would be absolutely crushed if I ever lost it.

What’s your favorite childhood item? If you blog about it, be sure and leave a link in my comments so we can read it. In the meantime, check out these other childhood faves!

Girl’s Gone Child
Sweetney
Her Bad Mother
Mrs. Flinger
Oh, the Joys
Mamalogues
Izzy Mom

Where Were You When…

The topic for this week’s Friday Flashback is What big cultural event occurred during your childhood/youth that you recall clearly? What was its impact on you?

Several “big” events immediately popped into my mind - the Challenger explosion (I was home sick from 6th grade watching the Price is Right- specifically, the yodeling mountain climber- when the show was interrupted by video images of the fiery explosion), Charles and Diana’s wedding (I watched it in my aunt’s basement in the wee hours of the morning, marveling at Diana’s train floating down the aisle and wishing to marry a prince one day), and Ronald Reagan’s assassination attempt.

However, the most vivid memories I have as a child were pop culture and fashion-related. (C’mon. Does that surprise you? It’s WHOORL we’re talking about here.)

Do you all remember these events as well as I do?

Watching the birth of MTV, with the inaugural video being Video Killed The Radio Star.

Classifying myself as a Valley Girl. “Like, you are tubular to the max.”

Hiding behind a pillow while viewing Thriller for the first time.

Drinking my first Jolt Cola.

My first pair of Jellies shoes.

Wanting to mack down with Charlie Sheen in Lucas. (That makes me cringe a little.)

Mix and matching the “perfect” Units outfit while getting ready for school.

The Three Men And A Baby ghost hiding in the curtain rumor. Freaked my shit out.

Dude, one word. FROGGER. (Also, did any of you play River Raid on Atari? My dad scored the highest score ever. We had to take a photo of him standing next to the good ol’ RCA television to send in. I would KILL for that photo right now.)

I remember distinct details of the above mentioned. What about you, though? What events from your youth are emblazoned on your brain? Anything goes!

Don’t forget to check out these other participants, as I can promise their posts are way more poignant than my banter about Jolt Cola. (Although, that shit was WICKED COOL. Admit it.)

Sweetney
Her Bad Mother
Mrs. Flinger
Mamalogues
Oh the Joys

Hair Thursday Coming Soon…Packing Hysteria Takes Precedence

Hair Thursday is going to be late due to the fact that I’m leaving for Boston at 5:45 IN THE MORNING. I’m not sure if you have noticed with Daylight Savings Time, but 5:45 IN THE MORNING is a very dark time. Very night-like.

My current packing situation looks like this:

In clockwise order from top left: D’s pile of shit, Whoorl’s pile of shit, Wito’s pile of shit.

This East Coast weather thing has me all sorts of confused. Temperature in the 40’s, possibly the 50’s, possible rain, possible snow, possible sun, possible wind gusts, possible GOD HELP ME JUST TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR.

All of my shoes were meant to be worn on bare feet. I don’t have socks, people. This is one of the side effects of living in the land of warm sunshine. You abandon socks! The liberation!

I was advised to bring gloves. Negative, Ghostrider. In fact, I don’t even own a winter coat that isn’t under 6 years old.

Anyhoo, mass confusion at this here point in time.

Maybe I’ll finish Hair Thursday tomorrow night when it’s midnight and I’m wondering why I can’t sleep.

(Another stressful issue: It is almost midnight in Boston! Yet, I just ate dinner here! Confusion!)

This Is Going To Be A Problem

Hello! I came this close to flashing my nether regions to my neighbors this morning!

I also went grocery shopping! Without my wallet! This unfortunate fact became crystal clear while standing in the checkout line. Did I mention it was 5pm? Clearly not the best time to interact with the masses while wrangling a toddler, since most early evening grocery shoppers HATE BABIES.

Let’s drink. And eat candy.

I’m forming a bad habit. A habit that involves Haribo Gummi Bears, which frankly, is surprising, given the lack of candy around our house.

You see, D hates candy. He loves chocolate, but the sugary Willy Wonka-type stuff makes him quite surly. In fact, I have a theory that he’s suppressed some horrible, nightmarish memory involving candy from his childhood. I mean, he’s just so WEIRD about it, all up in my face, “Did you BUY those Lemonheads? Huh? How did THAT happen?”

Freak.

During a parental visit several years ago, we happened upon a fantastic candy shop. Of course, MY family (owners of the infamous candy drawer) started salivating like dogs at the thought of salt water taffy, imported black licorice (blech, but my dad loves it) and old school delights. As we sprinted towards the candy baskets, D stood outside the entrance looking like he had just smelled a vicious fart. I asked him what his deal was, and he responded, “I think I’ll just wait out here. I mean, it’s CANDY.” (insert judgemental snobbery)

LIKE ENTERING THE CANDY SHOP WAS SO BENEATH HIM. He stood outside the entire time. (Probably checking out his reflection in the candy shop window.)

Sometimes, I wonder about my mental faculties on the day I accepted his marriage proposal.

However, I must admit, I think he’s on to something. Whenever I eat candy, I always feel like shit afterwards- my stomach cramps, my head aches, etc. So, we just don’t buy it. The end.

Well, as I was perusing the aisles of Target a couple of weeks ago, I notice some Haribo Gummi Bears beckoning me from afar. I figured what the hell, threw them in the cart, and brought those puppies home with me.

Somehow, these Gummi Bears have become candied encouragement while practicing my guitar. (Did I mention I am taking classical guitar lessons? And that it’s killing me slowly? Yet, I CAN’T QUIT YOU, RAMÓN.) Every time I screw up (which is A LOT OF THE TIME), I pop one in my mouth and carry on like a wayward son.

My whole point is this:

My tummy hurts. Send help.

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