Happy Happy

1. The donations for little Emily have been staggering. Staggering. I’m so happy to be a part of such an unbelievably generous outpouring of support for sweet Emily.

2. Speaking of generous, Kate Szabone, the maker of the fabulous earrings I featured here last week, emailed me yesterday to let me know that she is donating all of her past and future profits from her loop hoop sales from my referrals. So, if you are in the market for some lovely delicate hoops, be sure and tell Kate I sent ya. (Thanks, Kate, for being SO AWESOME.)

3. Wito did great at Mother’s Day Out. The caregivers told me he never cried, but occasionally looked out the window, trying to find us. (D and I both dropped him off. Double heart-rippage!) I will admit that he has been very clingy for the past couple of days - usually a boy who doesn’t like to be held, he is perfectly content in my arms since Monday. (Again with the HEART-RIPPAGE.) Plus, when he wants to be held, he says “Hold you! Hold you, mommy!”

(Riiiipppp.)

4. RAMÓN UPDATE. I’m approaching my 2-month anniversary of guitar lessons and LOVE IT. I am currently tackling my very first “study” (What? I’m supposed to play THIS?) with the help of my awesome guitar teacher. Maybe I will make a video once I have the study mastered, which could be 2010.

5. Today is Wito’s first visit to the zoo! Smelly animals await!

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.

Barracuda

Hair Thursday will be postponed until next week, giving Whoorl ample time to mourn the loss of her dearly beloved subtle layers, resulting from an extremely rare miscommunication with her unbelievably awesome stylist. She requests time to become acquainted with her new Ann Wilson quasi-mullet hybrid.

Currently, Whoorl’s mental state is touch and go. She was last seen drinking many glasses of wine, repeatedly murmuring “Is this your doing, Ramón? Is it? I’m just trying to understand, are you my magic man?”

Whoorl’s front quarter sections of hair will be dearly missed. Respects may be paid throughout the day in her comments section.

Hey Nancy, is that my hair twin?

Blame Ramón

This song is sung to the melody of Tyrone by Erykah Badu.

If you have never heard of this song:

1) Watch the video and please familiarize yourself. Feel free to follow along.
2) We obviously have NOTHING in common.
3) I might need to re-evaluate our friendship.

I’m getting tired of his shit
My fingers are really hurtin’
See every time I pull him out
I gotta play lame ass chords on Ramón
See why can’t I play a damn D, sometimes
See I’ve been practicing all day
For a long time
I just want it to be
So easy
Like it needs to be, baby
But he must like to kick my ass
I think I’m gonna crap

I think ya better blame Ramón
(Blame him)

And tell him come on, help Whoorl learn her shit (come on, come on)

You need to blame Ramón
(Blame him)

And tell him I said come on

Now every time I have a chance to write a post
He comes beckoning with sweet promises of most
Oh, well hold up
Listen Ramón
I have shit to do
Cause Miss Whoorlie is always dealin’ with poo
And you know it’s true

Every time I try to play
I gotta turn the DVD on
To keep Wito engaged and not let him stray
While I practice the day away

Wito thinks Rachel is his mom
Because she’s da bomb
I must remain calm
Guitaraddiction dot com

I like you
But I must tell you the truth
Ramón wants to give
the internet da boot

So, you better blame Ramón
(Blame him)

And tell him come on, help Whoorl learn her shit (come on, come on)

You need to blame Ramón (OHEEEOHEEEOONNN)
(Blame him)

Hold on…but he sure is some fun

Introducing…

Ramón Alejandro Django. (Django is pronounced “Jango”. Also, RAD for short.)

He’s a total sadist and I can’t feel my fingers. I hate him.

The end.

Guitar Hero

Last week, I changed my New Year’s resolution. I originally wanted to start crocheting so I could make hats like this, but I just couldn’t get myself super excited at the prospect. (Maybe because I can BUY them with one lazy click of my mouse!) (Wait, I don’t have a mouse. Whatever, look at how cute Wito looks!)

I still wanted to do something with my hands, in order to help pull me away from my computer. (Internet BAD, Music GOOD!) So, I decided to learn to play the guitar.

Now, I’m not a total stranger to musical instruments, as I kicked SOME TRI-STATE ASS with my clarinet as a young lady.

Jealous much? 9 years old under the influence of something. (Most likely, Benny Goodman.)

I also started flute lessons in my late twenties, and let me tell you, there is nothing more humbling than showing up in your $500 J. Crew suit after selling a trillion dollars worth of pharmaceuticals that day, only to be sandwiched in between two eight-year-olds with braces. (Keep rocking the flute, Brittany and Jessica! Drugs BAD, Music GOOD!)

However, I have absolutely NO experience with string instruments. But I’m ready! Bring on the blistered fingers and utter frustration!

(I am hoping that having an extremely gifted guitarist as a father might give me an edge. GENES, DON’T FAIL ME NOW.)

To put it simply, I love music. My family loves music, and Wito LOVES music. In fact, he experienced his first jam with my father over the holidays.

Jam from whoorl on Vimeo.

The kid has an affinity for Hammond organs, no?

After much discussion and searching with my father (who will now be called GURU Stu Tu), my first guitar arrived today.

Isn’t he handsome?

So, I’m asking the internet a favor. Check in on my progress once in awhile. Keep me in line. Hold me accountable. And especially, expect a nothing short of a fabulous recital next December when I participate in Neil’s 3rd Annual Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert. I guess I better start practicing.

WAIT! What should I name him? (He was made in Spain, maybe something Spanish?) Oh help me, wise friends.