Oh my God – me too!!! We should be Facebook friends!

So anyway, I went to St. Martin the other day to wind down, calm down, and lie down. And I don’t know if this is an island thing, a French thing, or a backgammon thing, but there were animals all over the place, whether it was an iguana on the road…

a rooster in the graveyard…

or goats in the French Quarter…

but we were inundated. And no more so than where my travel buddy and I were staying. Our villa was littered with kitties and puppies. It was raining cats and dogs. We were….we were….I can’t think of any more bad puns, so let me just show you, okay?

Here kitty kitty…

The fluff ball was just hanging out in the bushes. No mom. No brothers and sisters. How does THAT happen?

And then this guy showed up on our doorstep and never left except to go to the bathroom…

His ear was mangled and he often laid (lie? lay? lied? line?) around with his tongue positioned in varying degrees of “hanging out”.

Yes, his ear was mangled and his tail was broken…

And no matter how much fine French cuisine leftovers and milk we fed him, he wouldn’t go away.

You know we named him Van Gogh, right?

Coincidentally, I happened to be reading Christopher Moore’s Sacre Bleu, a novel set in Paris which kicks off with the kicking off of Van Gogh. As in “muhhduhh”. It’s hysterical and I highly recommend it. Nearly every famous painter hanging out in Paris at that time is in there, and Moore, as usual, is a genius.

So anyway Van Gogh –the cat, not the murdered painter– wouldn’t leave. Not even when this dog showed up…

Or this dog…

I’m telling you, it was a zoo over there.

Anyway, I don’t expect you to sit through 15 minutes of my vacation (yes I do), but in the highly unlikely event you want to see my attempt at a St. Martin slideshow/movie/humorous caption sequence, it’s all here:

Here’s the link to my vacation movie, in case the above embedded video doesn’t appear.

So, what are your plans for the Summer? And does it involve goat butts, er, I mean, derrieres?

goat butts, er, derrieres, French Quarter, St. Martin.

The post The Animals of St. Martin appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

About that. In case you didn’t already know, there are actually two countries on this 8 mile-wide tropical paradise. The northern French side, where I stayed, is called St. Martin, while the southern Dutch side is called St Maarten. The island so nice, they named it twice.

This is the place with those famous plane landings, where stupid people stand on the beach and get exhausted on when the planes land and blown away when the planes take off.

It’s like going to Venice, Italy, asking the nearest pigeon where the trendiest statue is, and then standing underneath it all day, just to see what it’s like.

It’s not as if St. Maarten doesn’t warn you about these gargantuan pigeons:

Here’s a close up:

And yet, there’s always a crowd standing out there. It’s a major tourist attraction.  Bars flank each end of the beach catering to the slightly saner ones who wish to take pictures from a distance.

The plane arrival schedule is posted on a surf board at the Sunset Bar and Grill.

I captured some of the insanity, so sit back, relax, and enjoy these flights:

The post St Martin, St Maarten and Plane Landings appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

1. Listen to her.

All day. Look her in the eye and pay attention to what she is saying and nod your head and acknowledge her and put your phone down and listen to her and stop texting your friends and pay the hell attention already. You have no idea what a gift this is, listening to your mother. I will be bringing this theme up again later.

2. Leave her alone.

For some moms, removing all children (and anyone else who occupies the house) is the best gift one can provide. Leave the house – in fact, leave town — so she can relax in the knowledge that you will not be coming back any time soon and bothering her with your inane instant gratification-driven questions and comments about YOU and YOUR PROBLEMS and YOUR DESIRES at that moment.

3. You be the Mommy.

Do her job. Or better said, don’t make her job harder by not doing your job. This means do all the chores that she normally has to do because she’s sick and tired of nagging you to do it. Like cleaning your room and picking up your socks and putting them in the hamper (you too, kids, not just Dad), and doing the dishes. And the laundry. And the cat box. And the bed. For God’s sake, make your bed. Make her bed (AFTER you have served Her Majesty breakfast in it, that is). And the diapers. Whatever 42 pain-in-the-ass-things she does every day, YOU do it.

4. Don’t buy her a “thing”; buy her an EXPERIENCE she’ll never forget.

Here’s a unique Mother’s Day idea. Remember back in item #1 when I told you to listen to your mother? There is an actual show with that very name. A real live performance called Listen to Your Mother playing in 24 different cities across the U.S. on or around Mother’s Day where local performers go on stage and read their amazing, personal, funny, moving, and inspiring stories about motherhood. These stories will move you, surprise you, but most importantly, entertain you. Your mother would love it. Your wife would love it. Your Mommy girlfriends would love it.

People who go to this show are so incredibly inspired, validated and empowered, that they will invariably walk up to a cast member or two that they don’t even know and say, “me too.”  It will be one of the most unforgettable twenty-dollar bills you ever spent on the mom in your life. Go to the Listen to Your Mother website and click on “Local Shows” to see if your city is participating in this unique Mother’s Day experience. (Disclosure: I am co-producer of the Sacramento show.)

5. Unless she’s a shrew, diamonds are almost never a bad idea.

Oh I’m sorry, this is on the wrong list. Who put this here? This should have gone on the “5 Lazy (But Effective) Ways to Buy Her Love on Mother’s Day”.

The post 5 Mother’s Day Gift Ideas That Cost You Virtually Nothing appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

image: earthlink

I was going to tell you about Harold, my new pet tse tse fly, and how I came to be mayor of a small town in West Dakota, but then I got this very important email:

I know! I’m totally going to be a spy, y’all!

Oh, I hear your silly cries of warning, that this might be a scam, but I did my research and it’s totally legit. I Googled “ventgloballogistics.net” and everything.

You see, according to one of those WHOIS pages, their domain is registered in the Netherlands and Luxembourg, sooo European. And it’s barely a month old, so it’s a brand new entity, which of course means, I’m on the cutting edge of becoming a big famous international spy. Talk about your ground opportunities!

And then if you scroll down some more you can see the registrant’s name…

I’m not sure where Lekki, Lagos, is, but it’s just one more stop on my very important international spying tour – woo hoo!

And so what if Anna Soto’s email address is from Viet Nam? I’m sure that’s just an outsourcing thing. And her domain, zin.vn? Undoubtedly having to do with Zinfandel Wine in Viet Nam. How exotic is that!

Also? When I lookup their IP Address on the real WHOIS website, it comes up with some dude named Andrey in Russia, so this is a real big international conglomeration they’ve got going on.

So, I’m probably going to be a spy for a Vietnamese Winery in Luxembourg. Or the Netherlands. Or Russia. Or Lekki, Lagos. I’ll keep you posted here on what is undoubtedly going to be a Top Secret assignment overseas for awhile. And since it’s Top Secret, you might not want to tell anyone until I”m back here safe in the United States.

So do you want me to pick you up anything while I’m there, wherever it is?

The post Email from Lekki Lagos a Scam? Pshaw! appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

That’s why I like to mock the ever-lovin’ snot out of them whenever and however I can.

Take for example this comment I got recently which got in my craw, so rather than deleting the comment, I responded…

And then I removed the link to their bogus “make money online” scammy spammy ugly icky seedy website, because that’s why these jerkwads comment in the first place. For that insidious back link. Not on my blog, you bozo.

The post Getting Back at Spammers appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

So many people are asking this question (in fact many people are Googling it right now and ending up here) that I thought I would finally put all doubt to rest once and for all.

So, what is the capital of California?

That’s easy.

It’s either Los Angeles or San Francisco because every time you talk to people from either one of these cities, they act like they are all that and a side of fries piled on a golden platter that floats in the center of the universe. So, it naturally follows that one of those cities is the capital.

Plus, I used to live in Los Angeles. And for ten years, I lived half the time in Los Angeles and half the time in my home town, a little known village in northern California called Sacramento (pronounced: Sak’-ruh-menno)

So this one time, during those ten years of crossing the border between the Northern and Southern Californias every week, I remember meeting a nasally old woman dressed in a horribly expensive gown bedecked with thousands of purple gemstones at a blogger conference in Walla Walla, Florida, and when she gave me her limp hand she said to me, “Oh, you’re the one from California… you live in the capital, right?”

And since I lived in L.A. part-time, my all-that-and-a-side-of-fries attitude probably presented itself and since nobody’s ever heard of my little village in northern California, she was undoubtedly referring to the City of Angels.

Also? It’s capital. Not capitol.

So now you can go and tell all your friends what the real answer is. In fact, go tell all of them right now and see if you don’t get a bunch of ignoramuses contradicting you. Then we’ll all find out who the real dummies are, won’t we.

You’re welcome.

The post What is the Capital of California? appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Ah, the Oscars. Fashion overload at its finest. Timely, too, because it’s Fashion Week here in Sacramento, the wardrobe capitol of…of… the greater Sacramento area.

As some of you already know, I went virtually makeup-less my entire life until recently, taking a loan out on my house to purchase face paint for a three-minute television appearance. So now that I’m an expert on the matter, I was invited to attend a big Clinton Kelly fashion event at Macy’s on Saturday.

I realize that I’m the last person to know who Clinton Kelly is, since he’s been a host on What Not to Wear for the last fifty years.

However, if I had to choose one word to describe this event, it would be: accessible. Because if a middle-aged, frumpified, doesn’t-even-know-which-channel-What-Not-To-Wear-is-on woman like myself can appreciate a Clinton Kelly visit, then anyone can.

Over 400 people, mostly giddy females, were seated (and standed!) in a makeshift fashion venue on the first floor of the Roseville Galleria Macy’s.

Kelly was instantly charming, generous, informative, and hilarious from the moment he came out on stage. Volunteers came up to be analyzed for their fashion sense and Kelly managed to educate and entertain the audience, while commenting, complimenting, and mocking the brave volunteers. And somehow, when he mocked, he mocked with love.

And since I’m a smart-ass, and Kelly is genuinely quick-witted and funny, I managed to maintain my brand and messaging framework while quoting him on Twitter, or…twoting, if you will:

and…

and…

At one point he briefly lost his voice but not so much that he didn’t squeak this out:

For those of you keeping track, that’s TWO Peter Brady references in one blog post, and I think I AM the first one to do that.

Also? Kelly’s tips were practical. And doable. None of that vague pompous tripe you hear from lofty wannabe fashionistas while gaunt stick figures in desperate need of sustenance slouch and glide their way down the runway.

I actually understood what was going on and I don’t know a THING about clothes. One look at my clogs-and-socks-stuffed closet will tell you that. So I left with an order of magnitude greater knowledge and advice about fashion than I showed up with.

For example:

• It doesn’t matter what size you are, anyone can wear a pencil skirt. (You too, ladies).
• How do you camouflage a tummy? Jackets, jackets, jackets.
• Don’t hold off on buying clothes until you lose the weight. Buy clothes that fit your body now.
• If your skin is one of your better features, then it’s okay to wear ivory. Otherwise, you will be engaging in a competition with ivory that you can’t win.
• The purpose of jeans is to make your butt look fabulous.

And kudos to the Macy’s event’s casting folks who gave us a gamut of models on the runway who were all shapes and sizes. You don’t see that everyday and I, for one, appreciated it.

So, Clinton Kelly, I salute you.

When you’re not busy saluting yourself, that is.

Disclosure: I was compensated for this post, but all opinions are my own.

The post Who is Clinton Kelly, Anyway? appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

(see what I did there? kids…cause goat babies are kids and….. oh, never mind.)

Anyway! Today’s “Goat Thing” features goats and goat milk soap and a giveaway – yay!

This fabulous goat milk soap, made from raw organic goat’s milk, comes from Alpine Made, a goat milk skincare product company on the Beiter and Sons’ Farm in Wales, NY.

The farm, owned and operated by Kerry and her husband Eric, is certified by NOFA-NY Certified Organic, LLC.

They nurture the soil, control pests, and maintain animal health organically. You can find out all about it on their about page (which has another awesome goat picture on it, by the way).

So it’s a green farm! Actually, it’s probably more of a white farm right now, kind of like this:

Anyway, you probably want to know about the free goods and how to enter the dang giveaway already.

The Goods (aka What You Will Win):

Your very own, brand new, super exciting 4 pack of goat milk soap featuring Orange Spice, Tea Tree Jojoba, Sage and Mint, and New Skin bar!!!

Who Can Enter:

Anyone with a mailman (or PO Box) in the continental USA.

How To Enter:

You can enter 2 different ways (NOTE: Each entry requires a separate comment as I will be drawing the winner randomly from these comments)

FIRST ENTRY: Leave a comment.

SECOND ENTRY (OPTIONAL): Tweet this giveaway and leave another comment.

Please be sure to include the link to this post and the following twitter handles: @AlpineMade @nannygoats.

If you want the lazy way out, just cut and paste this:

Baa-aaa-aaa! Hey guess what! @nannygoats is giving away @AlpineMade Organic Goat Milk Soap! http://is.gd/y8Ph93

If you want the even lazier way out, just retweet this.

The Drawing

Comments will be thrown into an imaginary hat and drawn at midnight this Friday night (Feb 15) at midnight.

Good luck!

Meanwhile, show your support for organic goat milk soap by…

Following Alpine Made on Twitter

Liking Alpine Made on Facebook

Also? Here’s the link to the  Alpine Made Website.

Images courtesy of Alpine Made and Beiter and Sons’ Farm.

The post Goat Soap Giveaway (Alpine Made) appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

OK, that’s not really why I called you here today.

Remember in my last post how I told you I was producing a show called Listen to Your Mother?

So, the other day, my co-producer (Nichole) texted me to say we were going to be on one of the local morning TV shows to promote LTYM and after all-capping back to her: “OMG, WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR NOTHING FITS OMG OMG OMG”, I decided to enter a second level of panic because frankly, I do not get up early in the morning. Ever. That means setting four alarms to make sure I can get up three hours earlier than usual.

And then I freak out on a third level because, well, you’re supposed to wear makeup when you go on television and I’ve never worn makeup and I don’t know how to use it and do they have makeup people at the TV station or are you supposed to know how to do all that yourself?

Did I mention that I’d never been on TV before and this was going to be live? Eeek!

I don’t know whether to blame my mother or thank her, but she forbade me to wear make-up in junior high school. So by the time I got to high school I had already acquired friends with similar unmade faces and through laziness or ignorance never got into the habit of it.

I never read all the magazines that instructed you on how to paint yourself like a whore, so thirty years later, when I actually NEEDED to paint myself like a whore, I was in a pickle.

I have a friend who has worn makeup since the age of three and knows her way around a powder counter, so I immediately sent a text message to her that went along these lines:

EMERGENCY NEED HELP STOP.

PLEASE ASSIST IN PURCHASE OF MAKEUP STOP.

THEN PLEASE ASSIST IN HOW TO PAINT SELF LIKE WHORE FOR TV STOP.

The next thing I know, we are at the mall, entering a store called Bare Minerals where I am strapped down to a chair, screaming bloody murder as other customers shake their heads in pity.

The porcelain-faced women in white lab coats assault my face with any manner of weapons and teach me how to assault myself as I beg for mercy because they are telling me too many things. Primer? Really? There’s primer involved? Isn’t that for painting cars?

There are too many steps and do you have a pen because I need to write this down. Is there a video?

And why aren’t all the brushes labeled for each different powder and bronzer and… mineral veil? It’s really called mineral veil?

And they laugh at me and take my credit card and give me a starter kit that is usually reserved for twelve-year-olds.

The next phase requires a visit to the Lancome counter where more lab coats and more face-assaulting occurs and my friend disappears with these women as they confer at the eye shadow drawers and whisper amongst the lip liners to decide the fate of my entire face. I am a toy to them — a blank canvas on which to explore and frolic with colors and brushes.

Four hundred dollars later I walk out of the mall with my friend, heavily laden with an arsenal of little boxes and powders and creams and pencils. And many layers of experimental projects covering my countenance.

I spend the next six days practicing this routine and timing myself to figure out how much earlier I have to get up that fateful day. I can’t believe some of you go through this every day of your life – how do you people do it? How do you afford it?

This is what 400 smackers will get you.

Meanwhile, I’m also worrying about how I’m going to get to see the segment of myself on television. We don’t have a DVR.

I know!

Who doesn’t have a DVR?

We don’t. That’s who. So my husband ordered a DVR. People have been hounding us forever to get one and can’t believe we don’t already have one and blah blah blah shut up already we ordered one, okay?

The fateful morning came and I didn’t poke my eye out or anything while getting ready and I met Nichole at the KCRA 3 station and we waited in the green room, having no idea how this thing worked and by the way, no, they do NOT have makeup people just sitting around waiting to help you not be shiny on TV.

Someone came in and called us in that “The doctor will see you now” way and led us into the studio where the anchors were talking into a camera and did you know they don’t have cameramen, just a bunch of robotic machines that come right up to you and put you on TV? Did I mention this was LIVE?

Deirdre Fitzpatrick came away from the anchor desk as robots whirred and aimed at the weatherman and the traffic girl giving their reports. She sat down with us for a couple of minutes, explained how the segment would go, making us feel a little more comfortable. And then BLAM! we were on. And then BLAM! we were off. One of the crew took a picture of us on Deirdre’s cell and we were on our way.

KCRA’s Deirdre FItzpatrick, Nichole, and yours truly.

While the segment itself lasted five minutes, you see my face for maybe one of them. One minute.

Four hundred dollars for one minute.

And the DVR my husband ordered?

Arrived 3 hours AFTER the segment aired.

And they say makeup expires so now I have to find excuses to wear it because I am not paying four hundred dollars for one minute.

So I’ve decided to start a television show and star in it until all my makeup is gone. Yeah, The Nanny Goats Hunters Extreme Makeover. A reality show about the paranormal encounters of plucky backwoods goats seeking fame as runway underwear models and the dramatic challenges they face when the back-stabbing ancient alien judges undermine their efforts. I’ll be host Ryan Seacrest’s hilarious sidekick.

Link to my big television debut.

The post My Fraction of Fifteen Minutes appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

The truth is, I’ve been kind of busy.

With what, you ask?

I’m so glad you asked. Because I just so happen to have some information on one of my projects that I can share with you.

I’m producing and directing a show. Well, co-producing and co-directing a show. A stage show. It’s part of a national live reading series that is appearing in 24 cities (like Austin and Chicago). And Nichole Beaudry and I are bringing it to Sacramento for the first time.

But here’s the cool part: each production’s cast across the country is made up of a diverse set of local performers. And the performers are mostly regular everyday people who have a story about motherhood (whether they are a mother or not).  In other words, people like YOU. And each production donates a portion of the ticket proceeds to a local charity.

Also? Every performance is recorded and uploaded to the LTYM YouTube Channel for the whole planet to see.

The show is called “Listen to Your Mother” and it will be held on Mother’s Day at the Crest Theater. Perhaps you longtime NGIP fans remember that day I went photogging downtown with a bunch of strangers where I caught this photo of the Crest?

I’m not afraid to admit, (yes I am), that I am pee-my-pants excited at the thought of “LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER” appearing on that marquis.

We have partnered with 916 Ink as our local charity. 916 Ink is a youth literacy nonprofit that works with kids to become better writers, and then publish the stories they write. They’re a bit like 816 Valencia, if you’ve ever heard of them.

Anyway, we recently announced our Call for Submissions and this is where YOU come in. If you or someone you know in the Sacramento area has a story about motherhood, and doesn’t completely throw up at the idea of standing on stage, reading a funny or poignant story from their heart, baring their soul in front of hundreds of people, send them to our call for submissions link.

ALSO!! If you or someone you know doesn’t live near Sacramento, but perhaps lives near one of the other 23 cities (like DC, NYC, or Indiana), you can send in your submission to them (if their submission window is still open; dates vary from site to site). Here’s the national LTYM page, you can look for your city there. Knowing you, you’d love it. You should totally check it out.

This whole LTYM concept was started by Ann Imig, a fellow blogger, a wonderfully creative and funny lady that I had the pleasure of meeting at a Blogher conference in Chicago a few years ago and went for a walk with in the nearly intolerable, yet pillowy, August heat where I took this picture of her:

Ann Amig, of Ann’s Rants, and national director of Listen to Your Mother.

LTYM started with one show in one city (Madison Wisconsin, Ann’s hometown) and has since grown to 24 cities this year. Nichole, my co-producer, was in San Francisco’s cast last year and she fell in love with it so much, she wanted to bring it here and ask me to co-prod. Co-prod. Hey, has someone already coined that term? I’m totally using that phrase! That’s my phrase. I’m coining it right here and now. You saw me coin it, right? Everyone saw me coin it?

Yeah, I’m the co-prod now.

The post Listen to Your Mother, Sacramento appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Anyway, I’ve reached the point in life where I’m no longer trying to impress you all with my freakish good looks, so freakish pictures in general is what you have to look forward to from now on.

And today we feature my tinea versacolor. Which sounds awesome, right? Like some new high definition cinema experience.

Tinea Versacolor is actually the medical term for the Creeping Mahungus. Which is the clinical term for Haole Rot (pronounced “Howley rot”). All these terms sound so fabulous, they should really be considered for any marketing campaign.

Supposedly, I may have picked it up from the beach sand – too many days playing beach volleyball has not only left me with a rotator cuff injury, but also with a delightful fungal thing that crops up every year or so. You get these pinkish spots and if you tried to tan, you’d have these white spots where the fungus resides. “Haole” is a Hawaiian term for Gringo, white people, so Haole Rot means “white people rot”, because of the white spots. Nice, right?

It starts off with one spot, maybe two and if you leave it alone (for like a year) the spots have sex with each other and breed like rabbits. Then, instead of one spot, you have this mess:

Since it’s a fungus, you can apply Selsun Blue on it a few times and it can go away for awhile, but when you forget to do that, and you let it get out of control like I did this last time, then you have to go to the doctor to get a prescription for Ketoconazole which can do things to your liver. And not good things. So try to stay ahead of YOUR tinea versacolor with Selsun Blue.

And wish me luck with my liver.

By the way, is it me, or does the splotch way over on the side look like a puppy paw print? Did you know tinea versacolor is also known as Dermatomycosis furfuracea? Did you catch that? Furfurcea? FUR FUR? As in puppies? Who knew a fungus could be so cute? Awwwwwwwwwwwwww……

And Another Thing…

Long time fans of NGIP know that I hate telemarketers. I have complained about them on

more

than

one

occasion.

And then along comes my friend, Bryan Logie, who has invented a way to blacklist those automated “robocallers” or “robodialers”. And he has submitted his invention to the Federal Trade Commission for a Robocall Challenge. He calls it the RoBlocker.

You can check it out on his submission page, and let him know the answer to this: What do you think about having a device that would allow you to block any amount of numbers, even those with no actual number, with the push of just a button? AND… If such a device wasn’t free, what would be the most you would be willing to pay for it?

Feel free to leave your comment over there. Or just bitch about telemarketers in general.

The post Tinea Versicolor: There’s a Fungus Among Us appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Link to Holiday Goat Video

The post Goat Thing: Christmas Edition 2012 appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

And even though his sense of humor can be borderline toilet and borderline fowl and borderline sick and twisted, the twelve-year-old boy in me finds his that’s-what-she-said stories hysterical.

Also? I don’t mean to brag (yes I do), but my back cover blurb on his new book, Things Go Wrong for Me,  joins other blurbs from such luminaries as Jennifer Lawson (The Bloggess), Jenny McCarthy, and Suzy Soro (Hollywood, Where Hot Comes to Die).

I sat down with Rodney recently to ask him about his new book, Things Go Wrong for Me.

Me: Rodney, welcome to Nanny Goats in Panties. And congratulations on the publication of Things Go Wrong With Me. What possessed you to undertake such a project? And could you scoot closer to the microphone before speaking?….Thanks.

Rodney:  First, thank you for having me. Secondly, that’s exactly what I say to prostitutes before paying them. Thirdly, I forgot where I was going with this. Let me re-read the question…

DONE.

Well, my publisher, Ross Cavins, is a friend of mine and who has written his own book (and has several on the way). I read and reviewed his first one on my blog, and used to write for a comedy writing site he had called Scrivel.com.

He messaged me on Facebook about reading an upcoming book proof of his and after I blew him off for a month or two, he asked me again. And again. It was exhausting trying to ignore him at that point. He is nothing if not persistent.

Long story short I said something like, “Man, I’d love to write a book” and – BAM – my neighbor was shot. Just kidding. That was added in for shock effect.

BAM – the idea to write a book was born.

The thing we realized though that – with my blog over the age of 5 and roughly 1,100 blog posts written, most of the stories were already done. Although I have a fairly large audience, a LOT of what I have written has very rarely been looked at.

As a result, most – if not all – of the stories in the book are NEW to a lot of my regular readers and pretty much ALL of them have been rewritten. Since my style relies heavily on visual, we decided to go full color with the book. It’s a little more money, but the book really is beautiful on the page.

Me:  Is it true that you were chunky as a child? Have you thought about starting a chunky child charity? I ask because the alliteration begs to be trademarked.

Rodney: Great. I’ve been sitting here for 10 minutes going ‘chunky child charity, chunky child charity.’ You’re so mean to me sometimes.

Yes. I was very fat. VERY fat. BUT, as you can see from my book trailer, I’m quite the specimen now except for my tragic hair loss which is totally evident when I bend my head down in the video. Ugh. Makes me so upset I want to eat a box of Yodels.

Me: Your blog name is Mental Poo. Yet your Twitter handle is moooooog35. Yet further, your domain name is midgetmanofsteel. So, does the medication help your multi-personality disorder?

Rodney: Not enough, apparently.

In the book, I explain the origin of “Moooooog.” Midgetmanofsteel, Mental Poo and the elusive ‘hand with lipstick’ will have to wait for a sequel or something.

Me: And finally, are you ever going to tell us what that song is that you’re humming in your book trailer video?

Rodney: Okay. Here goes, since no one has guessed it.

When I created the video, I was going for kind of the opening sequence to “Dexter” style movie. So I start humming the theme song to Dexter.

However, I’ve realized by the end of the video that it actually sounds like I’m singing “Cherish” by Kool and the Gang which makes as much sense as the Dexter thing because I’m shaving my junk. Which I cherish. See how that all ties in there?

Me either.

Me: Is there anything else you want to say to NGIP fans before we go?

Rodney: First, YOU? The best. I’m sure as your readers know (me being one of them) that aside from having some odd goat in underwear fetish, that you are an amazing person and I REALLY NEED TO THANK YOU for helping me out. I still remember times when you’ve emailed me directly saying “I love your comment but I CAN’T POST IT because of the language.” There were probably 100 of those. I keep them printed out in a sealed envelope in a safe deposit box. I’ve always loved you, Margaret. Always have. Always will.

I’ve said too much.

Seriously, though? Thank YOU and thank you to your faithful followers for giving me the chance here. I hope you enjoy the book as much as I’ve enjoyed telling the stories. And, YES, the stories ARE all true. Not kidding. It’s so sad.

But you? You’re the best. Thank you so much!!

Things Go Wrong with Me is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. The Kindle version is just $2.99 until December 21st.

 
Also? His last name isn’t really pronounced “luh cracks”. It’s “lack serks”.

Kidding again. It’s “La Croy”.

Link to Book Trailer Video

The post Things Go Wrong for Me. (Not Me…Him) appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

If you would like to donate to Sandy Hook School Support Fund, please visit their United Way page.

The post National Blogging Day of Remembrance for Sandy Hook Elementary School appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

As some of you know, Nichole Beaudry and I co-founded a network of bloggers here in Sacramento and this week, we held our December Meetup/Toys for Tots Drive at a nightclub in El Dorado Hills, CA, called Reunion (if you click the link, turn down volume if at work or the baby’s asleep).

Our Social Media Manager, Stephanie Porter, discovered it, secured it, and the next thing you know, we are taking over their entire VIP booth section the other night and talking blog.

Here’s the part that’s going to cause me to stand out in the rain:

Reunion is a classy looking joint geared toward 30-50 year-olds.

They host a Happy Hour with $4.00 Cosmos and a $6.00 buffet and this buffet? We’re not talking nachos and cocktail weenies, people. (Sample cocktail buffet menu)

Delicious buffet food for $6.00 until 9pm.

And here’s how awesome and nationally famous Sacramento Bloggers has become: people traveled from as far away as Salt Lake City to attend. I’m not kidding. Cobi (of Saga Girls) flew in the day of the event (a Wednesday, mind you) and left the next morning.

Stephanie and sisters Cobi (from Salt Lake City) and Sadie.

Wednesday nights also brings…..wait for it…… dueling pianos!

… and big-ass disco balls. So, if that dueling piano guy on the left’s head was the Earth, then the disco ball would be… Jupiter.

They made a custom drink for us called The Blog. Or The Blogger. I’m not sure. My hearing ain’t so good.

And then there’s the view of the El Dorado Town Hills Center Lake (probably not its real name) from the patio…

My husband gave me a bunch of toys for the Toys for Tots drive, so it was raining Ironmen..

What it was not raining was regular human men because even though our last meetup produced many males, we musta scared ‘em off or the one guy that did show up musta notta got the memo. You know, that man memo that goes out like the Batman symbol in the sky that women can’t see which is how every male communicates with each other:

(to be read in a scary Boris Karloff-like voice)

If you’re a guyyyyyy, I wouldn’t go to the Decemberrrrrr Bloggerrrrrr meeeeeeetup if I were youuuuuu….just sayin’…..

Nevertheless, Jeremy of Budget Travel Adventures didn’t see the Bat symbol in the sky and braved the very female group that night.

Where’s Waldo – I mean, Jeremy

Anyway, as much as I don’t want you to know about it, Reunion is a fabulous place with a Happy Hour you really should try some time. While Wednesdays are casual, they do have a dress code the rest of the week. I told you this place was classy.

Another view from the patio

The post Reunion Nightclub: The Best Kept Secret…Until Now appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Granted, it was in Daytona Beach, Florida, which is clear on the other side of the country from me. And the 24-performance run at their local ”Enchanted Forest” Halloween Hayride event was cut short by Superstorm Sandy, but still.

My play was performed.

I wrote a spoof on “The Hare and the Tortoise” and I wasn’t going to tell you about it because initially, there was no recording of it.

But somehow, miraculously, a recording surfaced. And the high school drama teacher forwarded it to me. It’s the very first run-through. And there’s no lighting. And it’s windy as all get out. I could barely hear the lines, and that was probably only because I knew the script.

And it was magnificent.

I can’t tell you the feeling I had watching this virtually inaudible play. To strain your ears and witness strangers in the dark speaking the words you wrote is amazing. These kids were amazing. The audience was amazing. People actually laughed. At least I think they laughed. The wind kinda drowned everyone out.

Nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a famous playwright now, so without further ado,  I give you…”The Hare and the Tortoise (A Spoof)”, performed by the Seabreeze High School Drama group:

Link to video.

Also? By random coincidence, the souvenir T-Shirts designed for this year’s hayride event:

How cool is that? It’s a sign, right?

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to work on my Tony Award acceptance speech.

The post Broadway, Here I Come appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

If anyone knows the original source for this photo/mashup, let me know so I can give proper credit.

The post Goat Thing: Goat to Cow, Come In Cow appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Yes, I’ve been bitching and moaning about Sacramento for a long time. And pretty much doing nothing about it. Apparently, I expect “them” to do something about it. And I’m enabled by the fact that sometimes, someone does.

Remember when I bemoaned our sports arena gracing the name of a fraudulent magic bracelet maker? The world mocked us. This company did not pay their bills for such a privilege, yet still enjoyed the free advertising because the arena owners allegedly couldn’t afford to take the sign down. And TV and radio people were still calling it Power Balance Pavillion – GAHHH!! Australians called it “Placebo Pavillion” and “Snake Oil Arena”. Finally, blessedly, another company came along and saved us from ourselves. Thank you, Sleep Train!

And remember that time I came back from New York singing the praises of food trucks and how cool they were and why doesn’t Sacramento have them? Since then, a movement began (even though city ordinances continue to virtually outlaw them) and now we’ve got food trucks growing on trees.

I even whined about how Sacramento didn’t have a blogging community and it eventually occurred to me and another blogger to start it ourselves and now we have Sacramento Bloggers.

So you see, sit on your ass and complain about something long enough and somebody else fixes it. Well, except for the Sacramento Bloggers. I did help fix that.

I’ve been to some faboo big parties in my day, none of which occurred in Sacramento. Until this past weekend.

Which means that somebody has done something about that, too. And it wasn’t me. Because my job is primarily kvetching. I’m a kvetcher.

Enter, Reason To Party, an organization that throws “parties with a purpose”. I was invited to cover this recent gala event at the Elks Tower to benefit the Verge Center for the Arts.

So, what was so great about this party? Well, if you’d sit still for one lousy minute, I’ll tell you: It was the closest thing to a “cool city” party, I’ve ever seen here in this red-headed stepchild of a city.

When you entered the lobby to check-in, members of Core Dance Collective were strewn about, moving around, silently dancing, posing. Like animated decorations. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to talk to them. And they were everywhere: in the lobby, on the stairs, in the ballroom, adding color and raising the coolness factor.

A VIP ticket gave you access to a champagne reception on the 14th floor in the ironically-named Rail Bridge Cellars Penthouse Lounge and Wine Tasting Room. And more dancers. I think there were like, 147 of them.

The Penthouse Lounge

The Verge Center provided a couple installations for the party, one of which was interactive where you stood behind a glass wall with cutouts for your head and your images were projected onto a screen on another far wall in the ballroom.

That’s Amy, of Limit Reached, on the left, who came with me to the gala event.

And there was this room with circles of straw or hay or something where masked women tiptoed in circles.

And Wrings, a local band I’ve never heard before but totally enjoyed, performed for more than 400 guests.

That’s right, they sold 400 tickets. Who does that? To me, it’s a sign that they are definitely on to something.

As stated on their website, Reason to Party is a “movement to make philanthropy fun, cool and accessible”. They “design unique events to raise funds, inspire awareness of worthy causes, and cultivate future philanthropic leaders”.

That last part means helping to grow young philanthropists. And I’m pretty sure I was old enough to be nearly everyone’s mother. So many young people there, all dressed up and donating their dollars, supporting local culture…it’s enough to bring a tear to this cynic’s eye. That is, if I were a crying person. Which I’m not. But that’s another blog post.

Until recently, Sacramento partied like it was 1999. But now that young people don’t even get that reference, they might very well take over this city and make it chic, man.

The Reason to Party staff are primarily young, native Sacramentans who seem to have a passion to change this town into something hip (trendy? phat? I don’t know, what are the kids saying these days? Groovy? Are they saying groovy?). And instead of blowing this popsicle stand, I may have to stick around now and watch it happen. (Link to Reason to Party Facebook Page).

I told you they were everywhere. I think I got one stuck on my sleeve and accidentally brought it home with me.

…

By the way, if you’re floating down the aquaduct in an innertube and you see a Fitbit engraved with “This belongs to Klutz McKluttzerstein”, could you grab it for me? There’s a reward.

The post Finally. A Reason to Party in Sacramento appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Twinkie the Kid, before the shut down.

The Kid, formerly known as Harold Blumenspiegel, was accosted by the media and probed for his reaction to the day’s events and what he thought his future held.

“I’m not dead yet,” he slurred. “With a shelfph-life of forty-seven years, how could I poshblee be dead?” He then began to babble incoherently and passed out into a pile of stale Wonder Bread crusts.

“This is just a travesty,” said  Gladys Blumenspegel, Twinkie the Kid’s mother when interviewed on the Baked Goods Network News program, “Afternoon Delights”.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, said tear-sogged Mrs. Blumenspiegel. “Harold supported three wives, twenty-six children, and God knows how many great-grandchildren, those poor little cream puffs. It breaks my heart to know that people in the world will be Twinkie-starved.

But the Kid says differently. A disturbed, but slightly more coherent Kid held a press conference from the dumpster-ridden, pastry wrapper-laden alley where he was originally discovered today by reporters.

He sat in his own crumbs, cowboy hat askew, propped up against a rusty dumpster and delivered his own announcement to the world that the Twinkie wasn’t going anywhere.

“500 million Twinkies were sold last year, my friends,” said the Kid. “The American people will not tolerate an outright stoppage. This kind of clear demand for my delicious cakes will result in a bidding war among investors to purchase me and my cream-filled goodness.”

Not everyone agrees. Opportunists, like Fruit Pie the Magician and Chauncey Choco-dile, were seen lurking nearby in trench coats and selling Twinkie-related merchandise at extortionist prices touting them as “limited collectibles”.

“He’s a dead man,” said Fruit Pie, his eyes shifting about nervously as he patted his pockets. “And it’s about time, that cocky cowboy has had it easy for way too long. He was a one-trick pony. I came in eight different flavors. Where was the love for me all those years? Why are all the microphones getting shoved in HIS greasy face? Say, wanna buy a Twinkie watch? I can get you a good price. I got this baby for our 40th anniversary.”

After the Kid said he’d take questions during the press conference, one reporter asked him, “Do you have plans to bring your co-mascots with you where ever you go? Is this the demise of Ding Dongs and Ho Hos?”

“I don’t know about those guys,” the Kid said. “It’s a bread eat bread world out there. Every man for himself, you know what I mean?”

Neither King Ding Dong nor Happy Ho Ho could be reached for comment.

The post Hostess’ Twinkie the Kid Proclaims: “I’m Not Dead Yet” appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

Anyway, that’s not why I called you here today. No, today I want to tell you how this last Tuesday was a first for me in that I’ve never voted on Election Day before. I mean, I’ve voted a time or two (literally), but never at an actual polling station.

That’s right, this apathetic voter has previously voted exclusively by mail or as the government pejoritavely puts it: “absentee”. As in, you weren’t actually THERE, so we will count your votes LAST so that you won’t feel like you are part of the process.

So this year with my barely-read Official Voter Information Guide in hand, I went to the polls.

Our polling station’s voter incentive program kicks ass. Sometimes, it’s a celebrity appearance, or a really cool toy, but this time they had pies for the first 100 people to show up. Or something like that.

Man, I couldn’t wait to get in there and line up with my fellow Americans and exercise my rights. Standing shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors and poke a chad or two.

So the check-in guy hands me my ballot in a manila folder marked “super top secret ballot holder” or whatever and I say, “Uh, I’ve never done this before.” And this guy looked at me like he didn’t know what it meant for a middle-aged English-speaking white woman to utter such words.

“In person, I mean.”

The young man just kept staring. I was waiting for him to hand me my chad poker, or give me more instructions, and I opened up the folder to see a chad-less ballot. GASP! Oh no! It was more like a Scan-Tron-like, fill-in-the-bubble thingie.

This was a disaster of terrifying proportions. Like a girl who dreams of her big wedding day with overblown romantic expectations, I had always imagined my first time to be special. I fully expected poking to be involved. Instead, my new mission was to stay inside the lines. I had not prepared for this.

However, I am not without mindful resources. Adapt or die, I always say. I bucked up and did what I always do when confronted with unfamiliar situations: ask a bunch of stupid questions.

“So what do I use to fill in the bubbles with?”, I asked.

The woman next to him waved a pen in the air, but wouldn’t give it to me.

“Uhhhh, do you have those in the stations?”

Seriously, I can’t believe how stupid I get sometimes. Of course they had them in the stations. Where else would they be? Jeez.

My already blown chadpoking dreams deteriorated even further when another woman directed me away from the polling booths to a desk.

A desk!

And not just a desk, but a small corner of a desk because of some stupid machinery sitting on it.

Booo! Hissss!!!!

Now, when I am at a restaurant I have no problem asking for a booth when they start leading me to a table in the middle of the room with a centerpiece that takes up the whole table so you can’t actually eat off it.  But I have this childhood-instilled fear of authority and so I sat down and pouted like a child facing the corner with her back to the class who’s in trouble for asking the teacher stupid questions.

And another thing! Where were my privacy curtains? Didn’t they use to have those, too? What’s this world coming to, for Pete’s sakes?

Then there was the woman in front of me in the ballot scanning line who voted for two people for President and was sent back to the principal’s office to be scolded and given another ballot. Ha Ha! What a dummy. Yet they let her have a booth. Life is so unfair sometimes.

I waited outside for my husband to emerge from the polling place and enjoyed the scenery of the park-like setting, or as I like to call it, “Duck Butt Pond”.

I slapped that sticker on with pride and drove around town to show it off before heading home because I never had a “I Voted” sticker before.

What, is it upside down? Did I put it on the wrong side? I put it on the wrong side didn’t I? Gawd, how embarrassing. I’m a newbie, get off my back. At least I voted.

The post I Voted: A Polling Station Review appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.