Yo Soy Mostaza

Mustard had a blast in Mexico. He was off and running from the second we got off the plane exploring the beach and making friends with the locals. He certainly didn't need me to shuttle him around. I barely saw him, actually.

His favorite thing at the beach was climbing the palm trees. He thought it was hilarious to perch up there and holler out "Yo Soy MOSTAZA!" at all of the people lounging below. Mostaza, which is Spanish for Mustard, rhymes with Mufasa. And he loved saying it all Lion Kingy. Over and over again. It was SO annoying.

I was like, "Yo Doofus, I'm trying to take a nap down here. You're driving me crazy!" He wasn't about to let me rain on his parade so he gave me a cold look and said, "I'm sorry, am I confusing you? I am not 'Doofus'. YO. SOY. MOSTAZAAAAAA!" And then he doubled over laughing at how hilarious he thinks he is.


He has no respect for me. None whatsoever.

After an insufferable amount of time, he gave up the tree (and the shouting) and decided to get a game of Soccer going with some of the local kids. He played goalkeep, and did a surprisingly good job for someone who is only 5" high and has no arms or legs.


After his game, he grabbed a fruity drink and chilled out. Thank goodness. It isn't often that he's quiet ...



I asked him if he wanted to go shopping with me. And surprisingly, he said yes. I didn't think he'd be interested in it at all. But he said he was up for it ... but only if we didn't look at lame chick stuff. I told him I wasn't making any promises, and to get his lazy butt up and come get ready.

Here we are on our way back to the room to get ready. Obviously, we're both actively Bringing Sexy Back.


(Just a side note - See my visor? It's pretty sweet, eh? I was napping on the beach one day, and Camie poked me with a stick and said, "Hey! Here comes your Club walking down the beach." Groggily I looked up, and said, "What? These 3 old women? In the visors?" She nodded. "You think that just because they have visors, and I have a visor that we're in the same club?" I asked. Obviously pleased with her joke she nodded again and said "Yup!" I said, "A of all, that is SO not my club. And Secondly, I can't believe you woke me up just to piss me off. You totally suck." Let me just say that one of us now has a burned forehead, and it isn't the person that had a VISOR.)

So Mustard, oh sorry - MOSTAZA - and I headed into town to check out the Mexican wares. By and large it was a bunch of junk. A fact that one vendor refreshingly acknowledged when he said, "Hey guys, there's more crap inside". I gave him points for honesty. Mustard started off strong, admiring these little bobble-head turtles. He thought they were adorable and he ran all over the display table trying to keep all of their heads bobbing!


He kept this up until the shop owner glared at me and said, "BASTA!" Which translated, means "STOP IT, you annoying Gringos." After that, Mustard had no interest in shopping, and he dragged along behind me as if this were the worst torture he had ever endured in his life.

I was just about to tell him that it was his choice to come, and if he didn't like it, he could try to make his way back to the hotel himself. And it would be pretty interesting seeing a bottle of mustard hail a bus, so good luck with that you little whiner-face. When suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks and breathed, "Soooooo AWWWESOME!!!" I turned to see what he was looking at and saw this:


"Mexico is the COOLEST country!" he cried. And since he was transfixed by this wrestling poster, I happily left him to stare at it while I finished my shopping.


Speaking of things that transfixed Mustard, he was ADDICTED to the MTV. I mentioned before that MTV plays videos all of the time in Mexico. Both Mustard and I couldn't get enough. Here Mustard is rockin to Kanye's "Stronger" video while we are getting ready to go out.



Now, you'd think that Mustard's night life would be a little dull. But, oh no, he went out practically every night. Hooking up with his "hombres". Seriously, he'd say that (he's such a nerd!) "I'm going out with my hombres tonight. I think we're going to that beach-side club we saw earlier. I hope there are some Honeys there." I was like, "Whatevah. Just so I don't have to bail you out of jail."

These are Mustard's "Hombres" ...


They're all a little too spicy for my taste. Trouble makers, every one of them. I prefer his American friends: Tartar, Ketchup, and Mayo. But I've given up trying to control Mustard ... he does what he wants when he wants.

So that's it. Mexico was AWESOME! Mustard stayed out of jail, didn't get detained by the HazMat people in and out of the country, and all in all made the trip even more fun. Not surprising since he always makes things more fun ... that's just how he rolls.

Introducing Mustard Skywalker

Last week when Mustard and I were in Arizona, I sat my slacker family down and said, "Listen. I've been to all of the malls here. Arizona no longer holds any mystery for me. There's only one thing left in this state that I need to see. Tomorrow morning, we're all getting up early and we're going to the Grand Canyon."

"But it's really far!" they cried.

"No matter." I responded coolly. "I've made an executive decision. Mustard, prepare yourself. Tomorrow we're going to the Sky Walk. It's this cool glass bridge that extends, unsupported mind you, out over the Grand Canyon. And it's got a glass floor so you can look down like 4000 feet. It's going to totally freak us out!"

Mustard's little head whipped around so fast he almost twisted off his safety seal, "Did you say Sky Walk?" I nodded. "So once we go on this thing, we will be 'Sky Walkers'?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"This is going to be so awesome! Road Trip! .... Star Wars style." And he skated off singing the Imperial March.

"Whatever you say, little dude." I said, rolling my eyes.

Accordingly, we got up bright and early and started out on our trek. Mustard hasn't gone on a road trip before and he enjoyed it. He played the license plate game, and slug bug, but most of all he liked sitting up in the front "with the men".



He loved to watch the GPS navigation map and say, "Stay on target! Stay on target!" And then my brother would chime in with, "UH! But I was going to go down to Tosche Station to pick up some power converters!"

I guess it's because he's only had me to hang out with (and heaven knows I'm no male role model) but he really bonded with my dad and brother. They had all kinds of man talk going on up in the front seat. Football, yard work, power tools. That kind of junk. It was good for him. And I was happy to let them jabber away up there, while I chatted with my mom in the back seat about sophisticated topics such as books and the rockin swing coat I got in Mexico.

Mustard especially took to my dad. Here they are when we stopped for sodas having a veritable father-son talk.


It really was a long drive, and the last TWENTY MILES on a dirt road didn't help any. But we finally arrived at Grand Canyon West.

The Hualapai Tribe runs the show charging a pretty penny, but ultimately delivering an enjoyable experience.

Mustard enjoyed the entertainment provided by this native dancer and flute dude. But he was disappointed that they wouldn't play "Freebird". I had to let him pick out a Dream Catcher from the gift shop before he perked up again.


We boarded a bus to take us to the various vista points: Eagle Point, the Sky Walk, and Guano Point.


For some reason Mustard kept saying "Guano" over and over again. "Guano. Guano. Haha. Guaaanoooo." He is such an idiot.

We arrived at the Sky Walk and had to relinquish ALL of our personal effects before being allowed to go out onto the bridge. But it was seriously cool! It was hard to realize just how high we were, with no cars or people below to put it all into perspective. But occasionally a hawk would be sailing around below and then I'd grip the rail a little tighter and say, "Damn kids, we're like crazy high! If we fell from here we'd definitely die." They don't call me Captain Obvious for nothing.

Here's the Sky Walk ...


It was all very peaceful as we enjoyed the canyon winds and the raw power of the nature below us. Peaceful, that is, until Mustard got out there.

"YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!!!!" he cried making light saber noises and thrashing around all over the bridge.

"Mustard, what are you doing?"

"I'm fighting the Dark Side, woman!" more thrashing and saber thrusts. "And HELLO!" he paused his slide tackles to tell me sincerely, "My name is now Mustard SKYWALKER!"

Condimentially Speaking ...

I had a little snafu with my condiments this weekend. I really like to have hot dogs on occasion, especially when the weather is warm. I suppose it reminds me of baseball games and hot afternoons walking around DC. So I went to the grocery store and bought the dogs. When I got home I realized that I'd forgotten the buns and that I was also out of relish.

So I went back to the grocery store. But can you believe it - there wasn't a single jar of relish to be found in the entire store! I was shocked! After 20 minutes of moving ketchup bottles aside to see if they concealed relish somewhere in there I picked out some buns and headed home -- sans relish and tres annoyed.

Relish or not, I started making my hot dogs. I put the dogs in to cook while I prepared my bun with the condiments. Mayonnaise? Check. Ketchup? Check. Mustard? Check - sort of. My bottle of mustard was still sealed shut and I absently tried to peel off the plastic seal. It wasn't very easy, so I had to give the bottle a little more attention. I noticed that the seal was a little dingy. What kind of mustard has a dingy safety seal? Looking at the label I noted that this was Smiths brand mustard. Smiths? Smiths is a grocery store in Utah. As far as I know, there are no Smiths grocery stores anywhere within 2000 miles of me. That could mean only one thing: I had purchased the mustard while I still lived in Utah.

I haven't lived in Utah for SEVEN YEARS! This bottle of mustard has traveled with me through no less than 5 moves. It made it in the initial cross-country move when everything I owned in the world was crammed into a Volkswagen Jetta. It's followed me through two counties and five different apartments. Somehow it made it into boxes during the frenzied Thanksgiving Day escape from seriously crazy roommates that left me living in a basement for 3 weeks. It's been there throughout graduate school, traumatic relationships, and my days as an international jet setter. This isn't just mustard! This could very well be the longest relationship I've ever had!

There's no expiration date (it was probably packaged before the FDA required silly things like expiration dates) so technically I could still eat this mustard, I suppose. But at this point that seems like a bad idea. It's clearly moved out of "condiment" category into the "keepsake" category and I'm not sure what I should do with it. Should I put it in the box that has my High School Letter and debate club medals? Most likely, it will sit on my counter until I regretfully chuck it into the garbage. I'm not sure what having 7+ year mustard says about a person, but it certainly illustrates that I should be careful about what I buy because I'll likely keep it around longer than I plan.

Suffice it to say, what was meant to just be lunch turned into an unexpected time capsule which taught me - well, I don't know what about myself - other than that I really prefer my hot dogs to have relish and mustard.

Blogging at Sword Point

I've been in the habit of taking a nice little snooze on my sofa after work for the past couple of days. Tonight I was heartily snoozing away, when I felt a little prickle at the end of my nose. I peeled a eyelid open to see Mustard sitting on my chest poking his sword-shaped sandwich toothpick into my nose region.


(He's been hauling this sword around with him everywhere ever since he got it at last week's Peep Show. He pokes anything that comes within a 6 inch radius of him.)

"Quit it." I said. And closed my eyes again.

Poke.

"Go ahead. Keep it up." I threatened sleepily.

POKE.

"Seriously, Mustard. I'm napping here. Don't you know that my naps are nothing to trifle with?"

POKE! POKE! POKE!

"Alright." I said, giving up. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"You've been promising to post my Peep Show pictures for a week now." He said testily. "And here you are, SLEEPING. Which you know, is exactly the opposite of POSTING."

I groaned. "You're right, you're right. I know you're right. But I don't think you understand how time consuming my hobbies have gotten lately. The online dating, and the real dating, and then having a job that actually requires me to work at it!? And don't even get me started on the gym."

"Blah, blah, blah. So what if you're spending 2 hours at the gym every night? Sure, you need it, but I don't see why your fat ass should have to come between me and my fans." He snorted.

"Fans? What fans? Need I remind you that you, dear Mustard, are a glorified condiment? Don't be giving me a hard time for being dedicated." I snorted right back.

"Pshish." He waved his sword in an irritating la-di-da kind of way, and said, "Honey, I may be a condiment, but without me you'd be one of those run of the mill middle-aged single girl rant blogs. Talk about overdone! AND ... need I remind you how many times people say to you, 'Hey, what's up with Mustard?' So don't go acting like you're ALL THAT. We both know where the talent lies in this operation."

"You," I grumbled, "are such an irritating little .... "

"Yes," he cut in with his winning little smile, "But you know you love me anyway. You are my Number One fan! And of course, I am totally like YOUR Number One fan. So will you pleeeeaaase post my pictures now?" he wheedled.

I sighed and said, "Fine. But only because I do owe it to MY fans. Now get off of my chest. And never stick that sword anywhere near my face again."

He grinned, hopped down, and said, "Okay, Okay. It's a deal. NOW! Less talking! More Typing!"

So now, I present you with some highlights of the Peep Show. Camie does a much better job chronicling the event.

Ok here is Mustard, Rockin the Socks off his "Fans" with an Axel Rose inspired scarf, a princess crown (cuz he's kind of a diva), some metallic pants (which he hated!), and his sandwich sword (which he has not set down once.)



Mustard is backed up by some peep bunny back up dancers ... but really, this is just a place for him to be his regular exhibitionist self.

When he wasn't Rockin the Mic, Mustard was swapping trade secrets with this Viet Cong Chook, in the Peep Ode to Torture and the Vietnam Prison Camp.



While the rest of us were laughing and chatting, I walked over to where Mustard and the Viet Cong Chook were whispering, and I swear to you I heard Mustard say, "Really? So you just drip water on their foreheads for hours and that classifies as torture? Huh. I wouldn't have EVER imagined such a thing." That was when I knew it was time to go before he got any more ideas.

Later in the car, Mustard expressed his disappointment in me that I hadn't chosen this theme to portray him in all of his manly manlitude. I told him I didn't care. I like rock concerts. Deal with it.

And actually, since he's practicing dealing with things, he's going to have to deal with the fact that those are all of the pictures I'm going to post. What can I say? Lazy is the new Pink.

Mustard and I Celebrate Guy Fawkes, Bonfires, and Smores

I'm telling you, I have to watch Mustard every minute. I came home from work today, Guy Fawkes Day, to find him in him already in his Guy Fawkes costume.



I was like, "geez Mustard, can you relax for a few minutes? Let me eat some dinner? Maybe take my shoes off? I told you we'd celebrate ... but chill, man, chill!"

But he was worse than a damn puppy yapping around my heels while I put my chicken nuggets in the oven. "Don't you think those nuggets would be better Flame Roasted? Doncha? Doncha?" I didn't.

Ever since I told him about how fun Guy Fawkes Night is he's been driving me nuts. Personally, I think he just wants to light things on fire. He's such a boy that way! If you aren't familiar with this most excellent English holiday it involves burning things in effigy and fireworks - which is basically the recipe for an awesome holiday, people. Leading up to the day kids ask for money ("A Penny for the Guy?" ) to buy their Guy effigies or fireworks. Apparently, Fall is the international season for sanctioned child begging; Americans ask for candy, English ask for money. Go figure.

Anyway, Mustard is WAY excited to light some stuff on fire. (I didn't have the heart to tell him that his costume was pretty creepy, but I made him take it off for the burning part, I didn't want him to have an accident since he's plastic and all.) I asked him if he had prepared our Guy effigy while I was at work. He had:



I said, "Alrighty then, let's get this party started! Mustard, prepare the traitor!"



Mustard said, "Guy Fawkes, I hereby skewer you in the name of the Parliament People, and Burning, and S'mores!" And he was soundly skewered. "Wench Gretchen, prepare the bonfire!"

"Don't call me wench, if you want to keep doing this."

"Sorry. Bonfire Mistress, Is the bonfire prepared to receive the traitor?"

"It is." And it was.


"Then cast him in!" Mustard cried. (he's really enjoying this. It's making me mildly concerned. )

As Bonfire Mistress I cast poor Guy Fawkes to his toasty doom .....


Guy, you are smelling delicious. And your flames are quite impressive!

Ever the classy executioner, Mustard chants, "Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn!"


As Bonfire Mistress, I declare Guy's final moments of flamitude should be carried out in the sink.

"Burn! Burn! Bur ... Wait, don't stop burning!!! .....


..... Hey, Mistress Bonfire .... he's going OUT! What do we do? "

"Nothing Mustard, we just say 'Happy Guy Fawkes Night' and clean up the mess you made."

"Not me. If you need me, I'll be taunting the carcass. .... HA! Stupid Guy Fawkes ... I fart in your general direction. "

"Ok, have a good time. But don't quote Monty Python, it really shows your age. (And your lameness). AND If you make any S'mores out of the body, be sure you share. And don't touch the stove, it's still hot and you'll melt."

Seriously, I have to watch him every second.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day Everyone!

Wherein Mustard's Effort to Make Trouble Makes Good

Let me set the scene for you. It's evening. I'm chillin' in one corner of the couch watching E!. Mustard is in the other, rolling his eyes. Camie comes home after another long, busy day, and proceeds to do her homework.

When Camie came in and surveyed the scene, Mustard perked up. He looked from me, to her, and slowly started to get that squinty-no-good look in his eye that he gets when he's thought of a way to make my life hell. After she went upstairs he nudged my butt with his foot and said, "Hey, do you remember that roommate you had in college? Amanda or whatever her name was?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

"Remember how she watched TV 24/7?"

"Yeah, I remember that. What about it?"

"You guys thought she was a total loser cuz she was always watching TV. Remember?"

"Weeellll, I wouldn't say we thought she was a total loser. But she sure did watch a lot of TV."

"Don't kid yourself, sister. You thought you were SO fancy with your busy schedule and crowd of buddies. As far as you were concerned she was practically toxic from all of that TV" he smirked.

"What's your point?" I asked.

"My point is this." And he paused to fix his I'm-a-total-jerk-and-I'm-about-to-punk-you-GOOD expression on his little face before saying, "The shoe's on the other foot now, my dear."

"WHAT?! What are you even talking about? I don't watch nearly as much TV as Amanda did," I cry outraged.

Mustard just raised his eyebrows. (Damn those damning eyebrows!!)

"Seriously! I don't!" I can feel myself backpedaling.

Mustard looked pointedly from me, and my well-worn spot on the couch, to the TV, and back at me again. And then he said, "Have you, or have you NOT already seen this episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians" pause ... pause ... pause (While I squirm ... squirm ... squirm) "THREE TIMES?"

"FINE! FINE! You're Right! I'm a loser! Are you happy now? A loser who watches way more TV than is good for me. Sob!" And I stormed off the couch, throwing my TV Watching Blanket over Mustard's head to show him what a little poo he is, and stomped upstairs to find something productive to do.

And that's how I ended up volunteering at the DC Central Kitchen twice this month. And even though I was slightly coerced into doing it, and I've only gone once so far (next time is on Christmas Day, hello Super Fun!) volunteering there is turning out to be the BEST THING I've done ALL YEAR LONG!

So there Mustard! You Prince of Poo-ville. You can take your attempts to make me feel like a loser and cram them in your little twist-top face. I am now officially NOT a loser. AND ALSO officilally a lover of the community. Nyah!! [yes I AM sticking my tongue out at you.]

Mustard Resolves

"GRETCHEEEEEEEEEE - breath - EEENNNNNNN!!"

Mustard is yelling at me from the Living Room again.

I am trying to ignore him because he is watching one of the ubiquitous "Decade in Review" shows, and he's very concerned that A) my decade wasn't as productive as it should have been and B) that I start making preparations STAT to not waste the decade to come.

Personally, I think -- and I always think this, so there's nothing new here -- but I think he's full of crap. This decade was chock-a-block packed with excitement. Except for 2007 - that year was totally forgetable.

"GRETCHEN! Since you are too old and decrepit to join me when I call for you, you best be preparing yourself for my imminent arrival."

Oh great. He's coming upstairs to disturb my peace.

"Alright little miss. We've got to have a serious talk."

"I already know what you're going to say, so you might as well spare us both the lecture." I respond. Everyday its some new suggestion: Hey, you know what you should do? Bungee Jumping! or Stock Car Racing! or Cliff Diving in Buenos Aires. Mustard doesn't inhabit the same plane of reality that the rest of us do where there are such things as jobs and meals to prepare.

"Oh? You think you know, do you?" he counters.

"I think I have the general idea," I say while filing my nails. "Perhaps something along the lines of how my life would be so great if I would only start a fight club with the women at church. The details vary, of course, but the absurdity remains the same."

"A fight club at church!? THAT IS GENIUS!! Think of the scrunchies flying! The hymnal backhanding alone would be phenomenal! You know those ladies would love to claw each others eyes out every once in a while. Why, oh WHY don't you have the gumption to put into practice things like this?" He gets a sad, pleading look on his face, "You are wasting your natural talents, Gretchen. It. is. a. Tragedy."

I shrug and start filing the left hand.

"You pain me. You really do," Mustard whispered before pausing to collect himself. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and stoically said, "Well. You are right. That is generally the kind of thing I would be PROUD to see you do. But after almost TEN years together I like to think that I have learned how to work within the confines of your timid little life. And so, I was not going to suggest something awesome like a Brazilian Rainforest Expedition or that amazing fight club idea, instead I was going to suggest that I help you set your New Years resolutions. Heaven knows you need help setting good goals."

"My goals are fine!" I say.

"Oh really? And what was your New Years Resolution last year?"

"Um. To meet straight men?" I smile hopefully.

"Exacty. To meet straight men. And how many straight men did you meet this year?"

"Like fift---"

"WITHOUT counting co-workers!" he cut in. "We're talking about eligbile for dating men."

"Oh. Probably like ... well there was ... and ..." I say while mentally counting and discarding. "Let's call it two."

"Two? Aren't you exaggerating a little bit? Yes. I thought so. You met ONE. One straight man. And he was a weirdo. Your specialty, so I'm not surprised. But the point remains. You had ONE goal this year and you failed. Miserably. Clearly, someone has to help you. And unfortunately, I, once again, am left holding the bag."

"Don't feel obliged to do me any favors, my dear Mustard. I'll have you know that I've already put together my New Years Resolutions. And they are quite good, if I say so myself."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "Astonish me."

"Well, you know how I got this new job, right? And I've been working my booty off, and not getting anything else done?"

"Go on."

"Well I've decided that this year's theme will be Balance."

"Gretchen. PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAAASE say that you are getting a subscription at a trapeeze gym! That takes tons of balance!"

"No, moron. That's not the kind of balance I'm talking about." I shake my head. The lad never loses hope, you can say that for him. "I'm going to bring balance back into my life by, you know, having a life? Rather than working 24/7."

"Fine. Boring, but fine. I need specifics."

"Well, for one, I WILL be better about going to the gym. And I will make my food more often rather than eat out. And I might even start blogging on a regular basis. The key is to take baby steps. I can't be as involved in my hobbies as I used to be. But I'd imagine I could manage to blog about 52 times this year."

"Only 52 times? That's only once a week!"

"Yeah, but I also want to develop another hobby. And if I'm spending all of my time working and at the gym and making dinner there isn't very much time left for blogging and one other thing, now is there?"

"No. I guess not, but it all depends on what that other thing is going to be. What's it gonna be? What's it gonna BEEEEEE?!" Charming Mustard jumped up on my lap and put both hands on my cheeks while he waited to find out. And just like that, my inner resolve crumbled.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. I'd like to do something more exciting. Perhaps YOU can choose a safe not too time-consuming or travel requiring hobby for me to undertake."

A huge grin spread over Mustard's face and he planted a big smooch on my forehead before hopping off my lap and marching around the middle of the room punching the air and singing, "FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUB! FIGHT CLUUUUB!"

Why am I such a softie? A fight club. Geez. Let's hope both Mustard and I get through this year in one piece. That SHOULD be my New Year's resolution.

WWMD?

Earlier this evening my cellphone beeped to tell me I'd gotten a text message. I automatically groaned. Mustard looked up from the model plane he's building and said, "What was that for?"

"It's my text message stalker. He sends me the most pointless texts. I Haaaaaate it." I replied. Mustard just shrugged and turned back to his model, but it occurred to me that I need a little bit of advice on how to squelch this stalker. Ruthless advice would be best. And who better to give ruthless advice than our own dear Mustard?

"Listen," I said, "you're a guy, er ... sort of. Maybe you can help. This is the fourth text I've gotten from him today. Every single one of them said, 'Morning' - even the one I got at 8:45 at night. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Did you respond?" he asked.

"No. He doesn't give me anything to respond to! What am I supposed to say back? Hi? I have to pay 10 cents a text, and I don't want to say hi to him at all, let alone pay 10 cents to say hi. In fact, ALL of his texts are a greeting of some sort: 'Hey', 'Yo girl', 'What's up?' A couple of times I tried to get some conversation going by responding back with 'Hey, what are you up to?' and do you want to know what he said to me? '6 2 200!' Which took me about 5 minutes to figure out means 6'2" 200lbs."

Mustard raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I know. RETARDED, right?"

"Mentally" he agreed.

"I finally started being mean to him and saying things like, 'Do you ever say anything beside different variants of hello?' and do you know what he wrote back? 'Yes.' That was it! Just 'Yes.' And he's still sending these hello-style texts. Its been about two weeks now. I don't respond and he won't stop!" I concluded.

"Well, Gretchen, I'm glad you've come to me for advice." and he drew up a little closer. "You think you're being mean by sending a nicely worded message subtly highlighting that his texting style is irritating, but what you don't understand is that giant morons don't understand subtle. You're essentially saying, 'tee-hee-hee, silly boy, you say hi a lot.' but what his giant moron ears hear is, 'You are clever and charming and I love it that you say hi all the time because I'm as needy as you are!' This form of female-male conversation is pretty common. I'm surprised you don't speak idiot-man fluently by now."

I grinned. This is exactly what I needed to hear.

"But it looks like what you've got on your hands here is actually pretty rare. Looks like you've got a genuine ass face loser. Can I say ass face? No? Well sorry. You might need to get a little more comfortable with profanity if you want my advice in the future. Anyway, the point is that this guy seems like he's a real tool. A doofus. An idiotic twit. A ..."

"Right, I get it. How do I get rid of him?"

"You've got to spell it out for him. Don't let there be any room for confusion or misunderstanding. You've got to idiot proof it. Obviously.... Because he is an idiot." he clarified, in case he hadn't spelled it out well enough for me.

"I see." and I did. His logic is irrefutable. "And what if he keeps texting me?" I asked not relishing the idea of the straightforward message I would have to send.

"If that fails then you think, What Would Mustard Do?"

I looked at him expectantly. What would Mustard do?

He looked back with a "no-duh" look on his face and said, "Swear at him. Then block him. Then swear again, for emphasis. Man! It's like you don't know me at all!" And he turned back with a humph to glue the propeller onto his plane.

I sighed, picked up my phone, and chanting "WWMD, WWMD" sent a VERY straightforward text.

Beach DOs and DON'Ts

Mustard, Maria and I hit the OC beach on Saturday, and it couldn't have been more perfect. It was HOT, like skin-searingly hot. And HUMID, like wear your scuba mask humid. But when you're at the beach, that's just how you like it. That's how I like it anyway.

I'm a Pro Beach Goer. And as a PBG, I'd like to share some do's and don'ts with you. It's my duty to make sure your trip is as awesomely excellent as possible. Not that any trip to the beach isn't going to be great ... I mean, you're at the BEACH! ... but these tips will just make it better for everyone.

The DOs and DON'Ts of The Beach

DO think these waves are MASSIVE for the East Coast.


DON'T be timid getting in. Mustard's such a coward! Dipping his little Mustard toes into the surf like this certainly doesn't declare "Spicy Bold", does it?



DO go wild and get the sauce knocked out of you by that raging surf! (Don't drown though, that would really dampen the entire trip, for you and everyone else.)



DON'T mind people laughing loudly and Nelson-ishly (HA-HA!) at you if you do get pummeled by the surf. I'll admit I laughed at that wuss Mustard, but I shouldn't have because moments later I got rocked myself. Taken down so fiercely my ponytail holder was RIPPED from my hair. Which brings me to my next tip ...

DO bring a spare ponytail holder, as not all of us can be a sexy beach tart with perfectly sun/salt tossled locks.



DON'T linger after romping in the waves, or else that towel hogging punk Mustard will push you off of your own beach mat and hijack your iPod. He's such a little punk!



DO Flirt with the locals. They know all of the do's and don'ts of beach life. ....


DO cover up. Use as much cloth as it takes.


DON'T not cover up. There's no country in the world where backfat is ok.


DON'T ever underestimate the power of matching shoes to anchor a relationship.




DO get a Banana Chocolate Shake from Dumser's. The only thing you'll be sorry about is when it's gone.



... or if you share it with your vacuum-lipped friend, Mustard. You'll be sorry you did that.


DO win stuffed animals from the many carny games up and down the boardwalk. And coordinate them with your outfit.


DON'T wear your daughter's clothing.

Follow these DOs and DON'Ts and you will have as great a time as I did! In my official capacity as a PBG, I guarantee it!

7 Things About Mustard

Julie tagged Mustard to tell us 7 things we don't know about him. Since Mustard doesn't have any fingers with which to type, I agreed to be his scribe. Here is the transcript:

"Ok, Mustard, we need 7 things that people don't know about you yet."

"Hmm. Let me think. Ok. Well, first of all, I'm AWESOME. And then there's number two in which I am AWESOME. And Thirdly, some friends are apt to describe me as Totally Freaking Awesome."

"No, no, none of those are going to work. You've got to be serious about this. You can't just say that you are awesome for all seven things. Try again."

"Well I think that's limiting my creative output."

"Too bad. Think of something else."

"Fine. .... Alright, here's one. I like Kung Fu movies."

"My, my. That's a surprise."

"Are you being sarcastic? Just write it down."

"No, that's a good one. Keep your pants on, I'm writing it down."

1. I like Kung Fu movies

"OK, what's number 2?"

"Well, I love racing. Racing is my favorite."

"Racing? Like car racing?"

"Sure, cars, running, eating, drinking whatever. I like to win and the best way to win is to race."

2. I love racing to win at anything.

"OK, that's a pretty good one. Think of another."

"OH! Here's one. When you're at work I like to print out pictures of trees and nests and stuff and then prop them up on the window sill and see if I can trick any birds to try to land there. It's hilarious when they smack into the window going full speed. hahaha!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, it's SO funny. Next time you have a sick day we'll do it. I can teach you how to do some wicked good bird calls."

"You're a little bit of a sick-o, you know that, right?"

"What? They don't get hurt. It gets boring here all day. Besides they like it. It's like a wake up call."

3. I spend my days taunting birds so they'll run into the windows.

"What's next Hannibal Lecter? Maybe think of something less violent. Like your favorite music or color or something."

"Ok. Let's see. My favorite music is smooth jazz. And my fav- "

"WHAT? You're favorite music is SMOOTH JAZZ?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Everything. Everything is wrong with that. Smooth Jazz is like the opposite of good music. Where did you even hear any smooth jazz?"

4. Inexplicably, I like Smooth Jazz.

"Hey! I didn't say 'inexplicably'. Erase that. Don't be such a hater. ANYWAY, as I was saying, my favorite color is blue. Like the blue on my label. I think it complements my skin tone very well. Don't you?"

"Oh yes, you're ravishing, dahling. Ravishing!"

5. My favorite color is royal blue.

"Alright, you have five. You're in the home stretch. Try to think of two more."

"Hmmm. This is kind of hard. Any more suggestions?"

"Er, Boxers or Briefs? Ewww - strike that, I can't even think about that. Let's stick with pet peeves. Got any of those?"

"Do I have pet peeves? I am entirely comprised of pet peeves. Let's see. My worst pet peeve is when people put the toilet paper roll in so it drapes behind rather than over the top. May the Hammer of Thor protect you if you ever take to installing it that way."

6. I hate it when the TP roll is put in backwards.

"Ok, but what are you doing worrying about toilet paper?"

"I use it as a jungle vine when I'm playing Tarzan in the bathroom. When it drapes from behind there's no traction, so the roll just unrolls and I can't get a good swing in. It's totally annoying."

"Uh-huh. I see. Ok. Let's finish this up. I think I've learned just about enough about you for one day."

"Alright. My seventh thing is that I'm totally AWESOME!"

"Didn't I tell you that you couldn't use that one?"

"You said I couldn't use it for ALL of them. Not that I couldn't use it for one of them. And besides it's the truth."

"Man, I hate it when you are right."

7. I am totally AWESOME!!

And there you have it. 7 things you may not have known about Mustard, and frankly probably never wanted to know about him. Boy, am I glad we're done with that exercise. I think I like him better when he's entertaining himself by strutting around the apartment practicing wrestling poses.

Mustard and Gretchen Write a Chirstmas Letter

"Hey Mustard," I hollered, "Come in here. I need you!"

"WHHHHYYYY?" he hollered right back.

"We have to write our Christmas letter and I need your help!" I said, still hollering.

It took a minute but I soon heard him commentating as he sock-skated his way from the kitchen to the living room. "Woosh! Woosh! And its that Ice Devil Mustard coming in from the outside!" before he burst into the room and with a giant Risky Business Slide slammed into me on the couch.

"oooophhFFF, Get off me!" I said, pushing him off my lap and onto the seat next to me.

"So!" he settled in looking at the computer screen, "Whatcha got so far?"

"Not much. I can't really remember this year."

"Well, that makes sense. You're old and senile" he said matter of factly.

I gave him a look that said, Watch it mister. Sadly, idle threats don't really phase Mustard, so outloud I said, "I remember that it was a great year -- infinitely better than 2007 -- but what in the world did we do?"

"Well, we ... uh ... oh yeah! This Spring we went ... no, no, that was last year. .... Shoot! You're right! What DID we do this year?"

"Exactly" I said drily.

"This can't be right. We had a rockin year. At least I had a rockin year. Your life was probably pretty boring" he said. "Let's think about this. OK. For one thing we moved to Capitol Hill during that monsoon. That was awesome."

"Oh yeah! That move was crazy, but living here IS Totally Awesome. Mini high-five for moving!" And we high fived. "OK. What else did we do?"

"We went to the beach for that week long vacation in May" he said.

We looked at each other and said in unison: "BEST VACATION EVER!" And then sighed deeply as we remembered its amazingness. Then I said, "And then, remember going to the beach every weekend in August? Good times."

"True dat" he said. "And remember when you got your braces off? But then you put them back on two weeks later cuz you were a super fussy-pants and then had to have them on for six more months?" He laughed while I glared, "You weren't expecting to look like a doofus for ALL of 2008, were you?!"

"Oh Yeah? Well shut up, cuz I'm getting them off -- FOR REAL THIS TIME -- on the 29th!"

He grinned and said, "Suuuuure you are. I'll believe it when I see it."

"ANYWAAAAAAAY. It wasn't the biggest mover-and-shaker of a year. We've established that. But it was still a fun year, true?"

"Very true, Jeeves, very true" he said.

"What was your favorite part?" I asked him.

"Oh, that has to be when you went to Las Vegas and that -- "

"STOP!!"

"And you were like, 'Bathtub???!?! WTF? Who ASKS that?' and --"

"Mustard! For real!!!! We are NOT talking about that."

"Sorry I'm laughing so hard! But your face was so classic!"

"Its not my fault people say stupid stuff to me! Will you please stop laughing? Really. Its not that funny."

"Hoooo! Sorry!" he said wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"You are really not helping with this Christmas letter. You're just bringing up all of the things I'd rather NOT remember about 2008" I said.

"Sorry, sorry. What would you rather remember? Lame stuff like your favorite movie?" he asked a touch scornfully.

"Sure! That's the kind of stuff you look back on and laugh about. Not embarrassing things that should STAY IN VEGAS."

"Alright, fine, little Miss Boring Face. My favorite movie was Tropic Thunder. That retarded scene? Classic!! What was yours?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course that would be his favorite.

"Mmmm" I said while I mentally thumbed through the movies I saw this year. "I have no idea. There were a bunch I liked."

"Listen Missy, you gotta pick. That's the whole point. Otherwise, its no fun, and I get to tell another embarrassing story from 2008 that you'd rather not remember."

"OK!!! Geez. You play dirty! My favorite movie was probably TheDarkKnightWall-ESex&TheCityWanted."

"Um-hum." I could tell he wasn't very thrilled with that cop-out answer. But they were all REALLY good! "Favorite song?" he asked.

I effected a Family Feud voice and said, "iTunes SAYS! White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes. Good choice iTunes - I do really like that song! Yours?"

And he busted out singing:
"She got them Apple-bottom jeans"

I promptly joined in, "Boots with the fur! The whole club was lookin at her!"

Simultaneously we both got off the couch and dancing we sang, "She hit the floor. Next Thing you know. Shawty got Low Low Low Low Low Low Low!!"

And that's pretty much where the letter writing ended, and the dance party began. It was a great year for us! We hope you had a fantastic time too!

Mustard's Guide to Beach Fashions

Mustard and I went to Ocean City, MD on Saturday for Maria's birthday bash. The day was hot. The waves were amazing. The chocolate-banana shake I got was out of this world! I'm a Pro-Beach Goer, so I know a spectacular beach experience when I see one. And THIS was a spectacular beach experience.

As a PBG, one of my sacred duties is to make sure that you, fair readers, make the most of your beach trips. By and large this is a pretty easy duty since simply being at the beach will guarantee that your quality of life just went up around 300%. But still, I want to do what I can to make sure you really relish your time there. And I'm sure you'll agree with me that if you're not dressed appropriately for the occasion ... well, it kinda ruins the whole thing.

So, Mustard, being the philanthropic guy that he is agreed to help me model some of the most stunning beach fashions.

Here I am, in a Whoops-I-Ate-Too-Many-Cheeseburgers-This-Week One Piece bathing suit and matching board shorts. All jiggly parts should be restrained if at all possible. Double-knit Lyrca is your friend, ladies.


Mustard caught a ride with me as we cruised the Boardwalk seeking the best fashions The OC has to offer.



We were certainly not disappointed.

Perhaps you'll recognize the designer ripped jeans below from the Spring Fashion Show in Milan? They were all the rage there, and now they've come here for us to covet. So chic! So trashy! So in love!


Haute Couture isn't for everyone though, I understand. So here are some perennial beach fashions that even the most fashionably backward of us can easily don:

The Shell Necklace (Shark tooth can be substituted for the shells, if you want to convey a tough-guy image):


The Beach Hair Wrap:

Both are completely ESSENTIAL to proper beach accessorizing. Don't leave your beach mat with out them.

Some people just have an innate sense of Beach Fashion. Don't you just hate them!??! This fellow has got the whole package working for him: Flowing shirt, fanny pack, glasses dangling artfully from their lanyard, almost concealed knee-brace, fishing hat dangling casually from that gorgeous fanny pack, and socks pulled up as high as they can go? YES! And PLEASE! C'est Magnifique! Iloveyou! MUAH!


One of the great things about the beach is that if you only have clothes from the 80s you'll fit RIGHT IN! This is the land that time forgot. So pull out that banana clip and wear it with pride. You'll feel right at home surrounded by the 80s fashions below:

Here we've got some v. fashionable sunglasses.

For him:

And for her:




Wish you had somewhere to wear your terry cloth sweatband? What about your day glow footwear? Check, and Check.



And of course, no beach wardrobe is complete without an evening look. Sophisticated, glamorous, sparkley, laced up, AND coordinates with your beer cup? Perfection!


I need hardly mention that the one thing you should always be wearing at the beach is a smile! A perma-grin, like the one Maria is modeling here is your best option.


Now go out there and get your Beach on with confidence, my little fashionistas!