That BBC Interview Interrupted by Children

I have great empathy for that sober-as-a-judge professor who was interrupted by his two younglings Friday morning during his BBC interview on the very serious nature of South Korea’s volatile political climate. (I also feel sorry for the background mom or caregiver–if she was the nanny–I hope she still has her job.) If you haven’t seen it already, it’s a riot — here’s a link:

Anyone who works from home can relate to this, altho’ not to the viral degree of this poor professor. Take, for example, the day I was trying to close a contract with a new client, and a certain elderly relative who shall remain nameless walked into my office with a fresh jar of their urine for me to inspect. As I wildly gestured that I was on a “Go To Meeting” call, this relative got more insistent about shoving said urine into my line of sight, as if I could magically diagnose a kidney or bladder infection by looking at pineapple juice. The silver lining was my friend Chrissy’s text message reply to my rant about it–a fluorescent stick figure cartoon re-enactment (via her new drawing program in the iPhone software upgrade).

Chrissy’s iPhone epic drawing – I snort laughed when I got it.

And then there was the time I was holding a business meeting in my dining room at my previous house. Jack was about two at the time, announcing for all to hear in his adorable third-person speak, “Jack farted! Again?” That story made it into the Wall Street Journal feature article I was in about the challenges of working from home. And to this day, no matter how much I yell, scream, create signs, send text message warnings, or use my menacingly quiet Batman voice when I’m dead serious, Jack bounds into my office the moment he returns from school, eagerly greeting me, initiating our secret handshake, and sharing his day.

Someday, about six years from now, I’m really going to miss those disruptions…


That Time Ron Jeremy Broke My iPhone in Las Vegas

The Sister Wives & I hit Las Vegas this past week to attend the “Perfect Physique” movie premiere for Sister Wife Maura’s brother, TJ Hoban. We flew on Spirit Airlines, which deserves its own scathing blog, so watch for that.

While in Vegas, I demanded we do some exploring, rather than lay by the pool all day, since that equates to me and my milky white skin sitting inside of a hot, boring cabana while everyone else gets tan. I had high hopes we’d hit the mobster museum. After all, I happen to own one of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre bricks, courtesy of Jan Gabriel, who had an entire episode on The History Channel about possessing them and how they cursed his life. (Sister Wife Carolyn muttered, “But of course you own a St. Valentine’s Day Massacre brick…”) Then the cab driver randomly happened to mention that Las Vegas had an erotica museum. It was meant to be. It wasn’t a hard sell for the Sister Wives, pardon the phrase.

The Las Vegas Erotica Museum--the most unusual museum I've toured thus far.

The Las Vegas Erotica Museum–the most unusual museum I’ve toured thus far.

The museum was everything you could imagine. The three Sister Wives who joined me agreed. But one of the campiest exhibits was the Ron Jeremy Fortune Teller machine. Naturally, I needed to experience this.

The Ron Jeremy Fortune Teller Machine, Complete with Ron Jeremy's Voice Over.

The Ron Jeremy Fortune Teller Machine, Complete with Ron Jeremy’s Voice Over.

In my excitement to snap a picture of the animatronic version of Ron Jeremy, my iPhone dropped to the floor. Shattered. Damn. It became the most expensive, memorable fortune I’ve ever had prognosticated for me. And then Ron Jeremy told me I needed to invest another $5 to get the “real” fortune. Oh, Las Vegas…the three-card monte of my life.