Friday, January 29, 2010



I don't know about y'all, but out my's cold! Perfect time of year for a movie marathon. In my house we are on a Star Trek movie marathon. That means nap-time for me, while my boys geek-out about space ships and galaxies far away.

For you, I would like to recommend my current favorite movie-maker, Danny Boyle. Here's the list:

Shallow Grave
A Life Less Ordinary
28 Days Later
28 Weeks Later
Sunshine (Cillian Murphy. I've done marathons just based on him)
Slumdog Millionaire
and my very favorite.......
The Beach (cause it totally reminds me of life in Montezuma)

Which leads me to my actual topic, music. If you havn't heard M.I.A. yet, you need to. She's a 34 year old artist born in Sri Lanka, raised in India and London. She's amazing and she's a m.m.m. (mom making music). Check her out.........

Thursday, January 21, 2010


My dad brought home my first record one day. Being the country girl that I was, I had never heard it before. And actually, now that I think about, it might have been for Arwen. But I remember the feeling of the tight plastic wrapper. I remember the Brand-new vinyl smell, and the bright Van Gogh (whom I'm I sure I also didn't know) colors which popped out at me as I inspected it. I laid the needle down carefully and listened to the whole thing. And then I listened again, and again, and again. It spoke to me. I became a singer. I became a music lover. Listening to music in it's entirety is something that I sometimes forget. Sometimes I only do it when I'm trapped in a car, or in some other place where I can't multi-task. But sitting down and really IS stopping to smell the roses. This week, the rose is Cyndi Lauper.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

ARWENTOWN by Arwen Bouton


(I do not have a picture of me to place here, Sarah, because in addition to be a cleaner, fixer, cooker, lover, dog trainer, teacher, nurse, insurance expert - I am also the photographer!)
I am a reluctant housewife. Not sure how I landed here and not sure if there are any preparations that could have been taken to make this seem more natural. The only thing I am sure of is that I love this family and sometimes love just enslaves you.
Here is a Monday in Arwentown:
Wake up with the covers being ripped off of me by my child, who is giggling - make note to self to finish upstairs so that we can have separate sleeping quarters sooner than later.
Medicate golden retriever for some staph infection that cost this family $200.00 dollars last week and continues to disrupt my little world. Clean slime off hands, discover there are no paper towels or dish towels.
Coffee and cold grits all around. Every dish is dirty. Clean smoothie off front of cabinet and door before it dries. Drop coffee, clean inside cabinet that maybe housed vermin.
Take call from insurance company. Remember to call Obama personally and demand something better than this racket…obviously the insurance company has a conflict of interest. It is cancer and they are indeed complicated codes but that doesn’t mean we need to talk about it or pay extra. $2300.00 is not really in my checking account and it was not like it was the husband’s idea to have an MRI on his entire torso.
Assess the laundry, which is located (god help us for less than a year) in the kitchen (also question the sad fool who made that domestic decision). Conclude that there is time later to make the noise stop with the washing machine.
Take call from the proprietress of Fosmopolitan in regards to our other residence that seems to be underwater. Wonder if it is more alarming that I have NO response or that there is an actual body of water - Puget Sound - feet from the house that I have lovingly restored and spent every dime on for the last two years. Nothing. Not a temperature increase, no change in my breath, heart rate seems low.
Shower – get out to wipe said child’s bottom – twice. “I just did not know I was all done.” Re-enter shower only to have both dogs escape front door. “I thought they needed out mama.” Give up on shower, going to have to call the conditioner that didn't get rinsed out a spa treatment.
Get dressed from laundry basket, find clean-ish socks and wonder if Smartwool should not use me as a sock tester as all of the heels are busted. Or change their name to Arwool.
Gather garbage from last night's drinking and carpet removal. Decide that the planks covered in scrap metal from the 1940’s will never do. "Oh, Dennis. Want to come to Olympia and put in a real quick floor?” Anything is better than looking at oatmeal colored sick-and-wrong carpet from 1991.
Clean up dog poop. I do love these dogs, I think. Draw up a plan (in my head) for a dog poop incinerator. Spend the five million I make from the sale of the patent in about ten minutes. Enjoy that the only poop left is on my Dansko and that I have paid all my friends and families mortgages off and still have money left to take everyone on an eco-cruise to a tropical island.
Call insurance company back and threaten to call the Insurance Commissioners Office if the $2300.00 dollar claim is not re submitted.
Call the Insurance Commissioner’s Office and ask the husband if he needs me to bring him lunch.
Realize there is a head of cabbage to create lunch from. Start Trader Joes list. Somehow manage to include a tarot card reading on there – as if knowing the future would help here.
Feed the child who is not giggling anymore but kicking the dogs and walls, walking on the rough cut plank floors that are now exposed for probably ever. Use duct tape to get the four hundred slivers out of her foot, consider using the tape to muffle the screams.
Relocate dogs, the husband’s lunch and have a four second stare down with what may be the third or fourth coffee. Coffee loses this one.
Try to get a map from google – forty minutes later paper jam cleared. Start new list for TJ’s that now includes a heartless trip to Target for criminally priced printer ink. It was not using ink whilst being jammed.
Drop lunch off at the capitol – hope that works out for him, see that husband’s hair is matt finish and mine is very shiny or whatever you want to call it. Also notice that I have one eyebrow on. Write in chalk, while driving, on the dashboard to get MAC Omega this month. Promise to be more attractive by next week.
Get stuck in traffic and lose stare down with the Filling Station, an old gas station converted to an espresso trap. Drip coffee for me and hot chocolate for the voice in the back of the “tan van named dan”.
One hour session with our new therapist Lynn at the South Sound Attachment Center. That is a whole different blahg.
Trader Joes for $198.00 (goal was $200.00). Can’t wait to have a stare down with La Ferme Julien Rouge 2008 – ASAP. Hello, this the new “four buck chuck” but actually six bucks. Only two meltdowns in the store: she only wanted to stick her hand in the coffee grinder while it was on. The other about why I “only buy Stilton, not GORGANZOLLLLLA, please mama.” Lying on the floor, yelping and kicking at the shopping cart and a wheelchair of a brave shopper. Grocery shopping sucks alone but this is something else.
Get home to find new neighbors – twin ten year old boys with a frickin’ eight week old dalmatian puppy. They will need to move to a different neighborhood. Peel the child off the dog and try to unload five bags of groceries with one dog throwing up mid un-load. Apparently, my wonderful dachshund cannot drink water with out hurling. Finish unload, make snack for child with actual groceries. Let the big dog lap up the little dogs previously driven water. I can’t really watch.
Set iPod up for more manic track one and track ten. Feel like this is absolutely not part of the media freeze. Maybe she will learn to read by the track numbers. Let her belt it out as I re-medicate big dog. And somehow manage to download Snood. Play two games with mouth open and feel insanely guilty the entire time. Should be selling treasures on eBay and working on grants for charity. Need to make dinner. Need to start stare contest with vino. Need to look up how to sell on eBay. Browse for cashmere tunics instead. Bath in the guilt, which reminds me to give the girl a bath.
Clean bathtub and get iPod disconnected long enough to get the girl naked and in the tub. Wash hair and actually rinse her conditioner. Marinate kiddo long enough to get this blahg started. She comes out looking like a “raisin, mama.”
Listen to pretend conversation from kiddo to Adeline and Maddy on my dead iPod from 2004. Feel guilty that we have moved (and are all unattached) to Olympia. But glad that she has her imagination intact.
Wine o’clock. Husband, despite being nauseated from this weekend’s chemo, will be home in three or four hours and food is the least that I can do for him. Passing thought of Martin Luther King, Jr. preaching and marching while undergoing treatment for prostate cancer.
Get the naked one dressed in new PJs that her Honna sent her "because Honna knows that the ones you get me are itchy, mama. Honna knows everything, mama. Honna even knows my mailman.” Tell it.
Start grill, which is out of gas and super dirty - as am I, but like that is going to slow this train down. Get a glass of La Ferme Julien and decide that the broiler inside will work just fine. Remember that I turned the tank off last time I cleaned the grill. Return to grill and step in dog poop. Refuse to cry.
Set up iPod with Barbie’s Diamond Castle find myself singing twice. Load glasses. Back to the guest blahg thing for Sarah because I am about to ask her to babysit for the entire month of April and maybe August if she can swing it. I have to do some travel research for my when boat comes in.
Fusion dinner happens. Sweet potatoes made with love because I have no skills on this one. Spinach with goddess dressing and sunflower seeds and gorgonzola and broiled mahi mahi and some ancient grains (that’s not the exp. date, that's what the bag says). No tuna for the rest of the week. One meltdown “Where is the Stilton I told you to buy me?” Really? Clears plates and earns the kid six sort of wet Raisinettes and more La Ferme for the mama. Open a La Croix to breath. Husband comes home, we are still in love after five years of marriage, so he pretends to like his cold dinner.
Lunch made for over priced kinderhaus (seriously think it should come with a canvas tote or travel mug - the school not the lunch). Stare down a Starbucks VIA that fell on the floor, barely walk away. But manage.
Sukey and the Mermaid, Serendipity book called Creole, Country Mouse/City Mouse (also the next name of my store if I am ever drunk (rich) enough to do that again) and then the salt negative ion gimic light is on and the melatonin hits and the real light is on and I get to actually read my big girl book – People of the Book. Until I pass out just waiting to have the covers ripped off and do it again. And if you are not asleep yet you should be.
Note: In lieu of advice (that I will take way too personally) and flowers (that little girls in Colombia have to grow with pesticides), just send me a nanny who can remodel this house and turn my last nickel into a million. Really.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Did I say that?

Warning: this story is completely inappropriate for young ones, my older and/or more conservative relatives and anyone with more class than me.

"Let the world know you as you are, not as you think you should be, because sooner or later, if you are posing, you will forget the pose, and then where are you?" ~Fanny Brice

If you haven't had a morning that you wake up with "fuuucckkkk" running through your mind, consider yourself blessed and better off than me. It used to be drinking and dialing, then it was drinking and texting. Now, there is drinking and Facebooking. I've always said that the only reason I have a big mouth is to make up for my small stature. The social media gods don't seem to buy that excuse. I have heard all the warnings, read all the articles: sarcasm doesn't translate in work emails, don't over share on Facebook, texts get taken out of context, etc. I should have taken notes.

A recent Facebook flub had me eating my words, and my keyboard. I was in the middle of a late-night conversation, fueled by wine (another shitty excuse). I then started a chat via the world wide web. First mistake. When asked what I was doing by my online "friend", I casually replied back to him that I was "in the middle of a three-way gang bang". Obviously, this wasn't true (hard to type and gang-bang, I would guess). And not to blow my smutty image, but I don't even really know what a gang bang is or what makes it different than an orgy (I do now, thanks to Wikipedia). Then I mixed sexual scenarios by throwing the "three-way" in the mix. The truth is I had no place talking about any of it. I thought I was being funny and witty, flirty even. Not sure on what planet I think people use that kind of talk for flirting, but anyway. It was so out of context for so many reasons, I knew there was no way this was going end well for me.

The horrifying part is that this guy has not even met me. Not in real life anyway. All he has met is my carefully constructed social media persona, complete with witty remarks and meticulously selected "tan and happy" photos. With one casually dropped "gang bang" comment I had fucked the whole thing up.

My mom, who for the most part is a good sport about my antics, was a little taken aback. "You need to apologize to him right now. I mean it, Sarah. Right now. You hang up this phone and get on your computer. That is no way to talk to a man. I raised you to have a little grace." It was like she was picking me up from school and had caught me being naughty on the playground, only this playground had a lot more kids on the jungle gym. Personally, I just wanted to drop the whole thing. Mom's scolding won out, though, and I wrote a quick, "ha ha, sorry for being not that funny at all" note. If coming across as trampy and crude wasn't enough, now I could seem obsessive.

The part that is funny is realizing that in order to get me you kind of need the whole picture. It definitely has me thinking about friends vs. "friends". Having not met him, I have no idea if he was appalled or amused. I may never know. That's the wacky thing about social media; no avoiding eye contact when you see him at the grocery store the next day. My real-life crew thought it was hysterical. "Sarah being Sarah", was the gist of the reactions. They have come to expect the quirkiness and my tendency to push the verbal envelope simply for a reaction. They know I am all talk. Hell, some might say it's a part of my charm.

I guess the question is whether I can get away with being the real, authentic me on Twitter or Facebook without the eyelash batting to back it up. Do I translate onto the muted glow of a computer screen or should I keep my crass comments for the bad lighting of a dive bar? If I'm not my true self on those social media platforms, is there any point? I know I gag when I read the sugary ramblings of the housewives who try to sound delighted that they are pregnant again. They try to convince me through their daily status updates that a weekend of laundry, cooking and cleaning ending with "hubby snuggling" is magical. Please. I might accidentally talk about sexually derogatory situations, but they are blatantly lying. Who's offensive now?

This should be easier, for God's sake. I have a degree in communications. What I did learn is, even if your Facebook is more like Fauxbook, think five seconds before you hit "send". That, and I'm probably not the best candidate for online dating.

Saturday, January 16, 2010


I can't stop staring at this bottle of La Marca Prosecco. I have a lot to do and yet here I am, opening the refrigerator door and gazing at the robin's egg blue label. It has me daydreaming about spring blossoms and morning dew.

At under $20, it looks fancier than it is (like most of my favorite things). Cheers!

Friday, January 15, 2010

Who puts the Fosmo in Fosmopolitan?

Fosmopolitan is getting a mini-makeover. Starting tonight, or as soon as I can figure out how to embed youtube videos, I'm adding the voices of some other Fosmos (and former Fosmos, too!). They are my family, the women who have made me who I am. It's time to for a little less teary stories and a little more... well, we'll see what they come up with . First up is Phoebe Skye, my older sister and one of my best friends. She gives me music, advice and everything else a sister should. In return, I give her all the clothes I don't wear anymore.


I bought three records this week. I like to call them records, cause it makes me feel "hip". In my head, the word record always has an English accent. I don't think my husband has ever been more proud of me. Three records! As we know, in my home, music is our most valuable asset, and I haven't contributed much. But I love music! Listen to my new records and you will see that I am heavily influenced by the people in my life......

patty griffin
lykke li
& pearl jam

All over the map, but excellent in my humble opinion.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Blessed be the Boutons.

You call it madness, but I call it love. -Don Byas

Arwen peered into the bottom of my purse and said, "This is the shit you should put on your blog. Put the real shit on there." My oldest sister was referring to the remnants of powdered donuts that were smashed into the lining of my bag. "I had a bad morning! I needed a treat," I retorted, defensively snatching my bag back. Always telling me what to do.

Sorry, Arwen. I won't be showing the messy trenches of my purse today. I will, however, do as you say. Five years ago you married the love of your life on New Year's Eve. I showed up from Oregon with a bleeding heart and completely unprepared for the toast I would give. As usual, chaos circled the entire family's heads like preying vultures. Between drinking my feelings and re-hashing my lost relationship to anyone who would listen, I had to try and figure out why anyone in their right mind would even get married. In a rare moment alone with Drew I asked him why he was marrying you. He told me, "When I am with Arwen, I am home. It doesn't matter where we are or where we are going. With her, I am home." Oh, Drew. Such a good man. I can't lie: I still wonder why someone so calm and brilliant joined our family, but I am grateful that he did. In that one statement I knew he adored you in a way that could never be imitated.

You and Drew are the "real shit". There is no powdered sugar coating your lives. There is no hiding in the dark crevices, crushed. You, your husband and your darling daughter live out loud.

It was you who said, "Five years ago tonight I got to marry the best man and now here we are on a blue moon getting ready to watch Mary Poppins with the best girl. You never know what's ahead." Isn't that the truth.

Happy Anniversary!