This puts my crazy Montauk Monster to shame

Okay, WTF, man?

Apparently there's a 12 mile long Arctic goo monster that's devouring birds and jellyfish.

Swimmers are next.

SING IT, SISTA.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - I love this woman. (The question the reader asks is also genius.)

STEVE BURNS IS MY NEW GOD

Because the tot is zeroing in on 18 1/2 months without much in the way of verbiage, we've decided to ditch the old (naming whatever it was he was "dat!"-ing, talking to him like a slightly hard of hearing adult) and try a new technique: "mirroring". It goes a little something like this -

Boy: "Dat?"

Me: "That's a hat! You want to wear the hat? You looooove to wear Daddy's hat! Should I put Daddy's hat on your head? You look GREAT with that hat on your head! Look at you in that hat! Do you want to put the hat on my head? Look at mama, wearing a hat! Oh, you want to wear the hat again? Here's the hat! Oh, you want to wear the hat while drinking some juice? Here's some juice! I love juice! Mmmm, juice is good! Juice, juice, juice while wearing a hat, hat, hat! How fun is that?!"

I guarantee Ma Ingalls didn't do this bullshit all day.

I know it's an important technique and I'll do my best to keep it up but damn it's exhausting. I always assumed that language was something children just picked up, like the immersion French classes we took in high school. If you talked to your kid on a regular basis, answered his questions, read to him, eventually he'd get the drift. I've encountered some really shitty parents over the years and their kids seem to talk okay. Our kid: lots of attention, mountains of books, a decent balance of encouragement and let-him-be... still no talk. What the what, man?

Other than that, things are awesome with a side of swell. The boy is hella cute and happy as a lark. Matt's kicking ass with Book 2 (and a supergeeky side gig that I don't fully understand) and getting geared for Book 1's big rollout in November. I just sold two more pieces to SELF - they'll be out in December. Nothing to get too excited about, unless you're me. I'm still at the stage in my writing where every validation, no matter how small (which these pieces most definitely are), is worth celebrating. I'm like the actor newbie who gets cast as an extra and tells everyone he knows that he's in a movie. But eff it, I'm still psyched! My dream magazine (BUST) also requested a writing sample for a pitch I sent in which is awesome, awesome. Now I just have to work up the courage to do bigger assignments (with bigger pay) 'cause Mama needs a new pair of everything.

DON'T YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS LIST-Y LIKE ME?

I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I will never be interviewed by Vanity Fair. Which is a shame because I live for their MY STUFF column. (The one where they ask the insanely wealthy to jot down a list of their possessions, which always seem to include Gap T-shirts.) Since I never met a list I didn't like...

WHERE DO YOU LIVE
A 750-sq-foot Big City apartment with gorgeous views and an ugly kitchen.

FAVORITE ART
Calder. Eggleston. Anyone who shoots anything with a Polaroid. Paint-by-numbers from the 1940's if I can find them.

SHEETS
Target. On sale.

STATIONERY
Random bits I accumulated while interning at a local shop. Knowing my love of all things ephemeral, they once sent me to a paper goods trade show at the Javits Center. I posed as a buyer and collected years worth of gorgeous samples. I combine them with bits and pieces to make homemade cards.

FAVORITE GADGET
No gadgets for me, thanks. I tend to blank out when faced with an operating manual. (If pressed, I'll say my iPod, if only for the Savage Love podcast.)

CAR
The subway.

FAVORITE NEIGHBORHOOD RESTAURANT
Yum Yum Bankok. Basil noodles with tofu, please.

FAVORITE COCKTAIL
If I'm feeling fancy, a sidecar. For hanging with my peeps, a margarita. For daily knockback, a half a glass of pinot gris.

PETS
2 obnoxious cats.

SHAMPOO
Whole Foods' 365 store brand. No parabens.

PERFUME
Demeter Tomato.

TOOTHPASTE*
Colgate Total.

HAIR PRODUCT
Aveda Brilliant.

JEANS
Gap 1969 organic cotton.

SNEAKERS
In my head, Converse. In reality, Merrill.

WATCH
Still looking for my ideal one. Something big and old and menswear-y.

T-SHIRT
My husband's.

FAVORITE DESIGNERS
Anyone who sells at Anthropologie.

COFFEE MAKER
Bodum.

NAIL POLISH
What's that?

NECESSARY EXTRAVAGANCE
A sitter.

FAVORITE HOTELS
We stayed in a castle in Ireland on our honeymoon that was pretty friggin' sweet.

FAVORITE PLACES
Edinburgh. Ireland. Any bakery.

FAVORITE COLORS
Orange, pumpkin, squash. In other words, nothing I can actually wear.

FAVORITE MOVIE
FAME (for the early 80's grit), PAN'S LABYRINTH (for the awesomeness), RAISING ARIZONA (because son, you've got a panty on your head)

*This is my favorite category in the magazine. The people always list some obscure French brand with lavender or sea kelp...

THE TIME IS 3 HOURS PAST NAP TIME

The boy has discovered that he can reach my head with his foot when I'm rocking him to sleep.

This is not going to end well.

WHAT, YOUR KID CAN'T SAY BYE-BYE?

I'm back from the land of open skies and mega malls! I cozied up to the local Target, ate fast food for the first time in years (Lion's Choice AND Mickey D's! My conscience, she is heavy - but damn those fries were good) and stayed immensely grateful to the Toddler Gods for giving me a boy who loves travel. We stayed in four different places in one week and the kid handled it like a champ, albeit an occasionally screamy one.

I always have mixed emotions about leaving the Midwest. I love, love, looooove my family and nothing brings back those anxiety producing "I'm really a grown up" feelings like airport goodbyes. At 37 you'd think I'd get a grip but leaving my folks still kills me. That said, I have an irrational and unwarranted loathing of the suburbs. I get the appeal - safe, good schools, living spaces that include a washer and dryer - and my Midwestern friends have managed to avoid the dreaded cookie-cutter housing sprawl, opting for older (read: awesome) digs. But driving past the chewed up farmland, watching the historical downtown disentigrate - all those gorgeous limestone buildings, wasted! - just makes me want to cry. I doubt we'll stay in NYC forever but I wish there was a happy, hipster medium between the Big Apple and the (always-in-my) Heartland. I miss seeing sky.

The boy turned a year and a half while we were visiting, which we totally didn't celebrate. (We didn't even see a movie! Free babysitting and no movie!) Aside from the screaming and the fury and the misplaced sense of entitlement, 18 months suits the little guy. He's got a head full of strawberry blond ringlets for which he'll hate me when he's 13, and a big, flashy grin. The walking that I was so worried about 2 months ago? Dude practically runs these days. We're hoping his verbalizations happen the same way. He's still not saying much (in words, anyway. He says PLENTY, babble-wise) so we're having Early Intervention take another peek. It feels awfully Helicopter Parent to hover over every developmental thing but at 18 months you expect the kid to be saying something. He communicates great - who needs words when you can point to what you want? (Or better yet, just go get it.) I've also become an expert on his body language. I can tell by the timing of his freakout whether he wants a drink or a book or to go outside. If I were an observer I'd tell myself to stop giving the kid what he wants in order to force him to talk. Sounds reasonable. Unfortunately that logic holds no sway after 5 minutes of this sanity-blowing bullshit:

Boy, pointing to cup: "Dat! Dat!"

Me: "Juice. Say Juice".

Boy, pointing more vigorously: "Dat! DAT!"

Me: "Juice! J-J-J-Juice. Say Juice. Juuuuuice."

Boy, looking at me like I'm an idiot: "Daaaat! Dat!"

Me: "Juice? You want the juice? Say Juice! Just say Juice!"

Boy, growing red faced: "Dat! Dat, dat, dat, dat!"

Cue frustrated sobbing/flailing/screaming until juice is handed over. Lather, rinse, repeat (and repeat and repeat).

Sometimes he mouthes the word like he wants to say it. I've found him alone in his room, pointing to pictures in a book and announcing them in gibberish. His babble is multi-syllabic and follows conversational tone - it's clear that he thinks he saying something. But the only real words he says are "mama", "dada", and "good", and mama and dada are only said if prompted. ("Say mama!") He knows who I am - if asked, he'll look right at me - and last time he was evaluated he came out tops, cognatively. So why no speakee? I want to be all zen and "children develop at different rates" but there's a15 month old on the playground with a 30 word vocabulary - IN SPANISH, TOO - and damn if his father doesn't live to rub my nose in it. (What, your kid can't say hi? Say hola, Jacob!") It's hard to walk the line between doing what's best for your kid and letting him be who he is...

THINGS ALISHA LOVES, EARLY SUMMER EDITION!

Inspired by a friend who sent me her list. (I'm not procrastinating on my writing if I'm writing, right?)

- Kale

Seriously, I will put it in anything. Except maybe booze. For now.

- Really large men in really small Speedos

My gym has a really awesome pool. It's often filled with buff, hairless Broadway boys who wear their banana hammocks with ease. But occasionally a less streamlined example of the male species decides to brave the waters in something barely-there and when he does, I can't help but applaud. I'm not saying it's pretty, but it takes balls (look, there they are!) to let it all hang out. (ba-da-CHI!)

- This email conversation

To make it clear, I have no interest in the recently deposed Miss California. I don't care that she posed nude for Jesus or that she hates the gays. But I definitely gets a thrill when bitches get their comeuppance. Ever treated someone like shit? Read this and you'll feel miles better. (Start from the bottom and read up for the full effect. It's short.)

- The mysterious Louis Vuitton tote

Okay fashionistas - one of you has to know this. Every so often I come across a style maven toting a LV bag that appears to be made from an old ad for their luggage. It's made out of canvas... square... Ringing any bells? It's awesome and I will never be able to afford it no matter how magically I think, but I like knowing it's out there.

- The Sound of Young America on PRI

Jesse Thorn floats my boat. Not only does he have one of the smoovest radio voices around, his at-home interview show (it's recorded in his den) never fails to be either interesting or hilarious (usually both) making it a Must Listen on dish night. (In other words, me and Jesse is tight.) You can download podcasts on iTunes (early favorites: Ira Glass, Rob Corddry, Dan Savage - who also has an awesome podcast - and the guys behind the book "Holy Headshot!") Fast forward through the obnoxious theme song (the show's only flaw) and try not to Google image the host. *Note to self: generally speaking, radio personalities are on the radio for a reason...

- This extremely creepy story

Okay, seriously. What the hell is this thing? (Warning, the picture is scary. Not "cover your eyes" gross, but definitely brow furrowing.)

- The fact that there's a Two Boots opening up a block away

For non-New Yorkers, Two Boots is the world's greatest pizza place. Californians have their In-N-Out (bastards!), Topekans have Bobo's (bastards!), but New Yorkers with a hankering for a cornmeal crusted slice of awesome head to Two Boots. They offer a variety of pizzas named after pop culture characters (Mr. Pink, Nelson, The Dude) and a fantastic plain slice, all thin and crunchy and spicy sauced. They've been tottering on the brink of Open for a month now. Any day... (Midwestern tourists, do not make this rookie mistake! It is called a "slice", not a "piece", of pizza. Just ask my poor mom. Also, tourists in general - no backpacks worn on the front of the body. It automatically identifies you as an out of towner, I don't care what the guidebooks say. Back me up, locals.)