I Was Attacked By A Rabid Kangaroo...

Uh yeah, that's me. And a rabid kangaroo.

I haven't written because I had a tragic altercation with a rabid kangaroo. I was manhandled. It was horrible. This is a photo from the actual manhandling (above) and one of the kangaroo after he molested me (below).

This picture was taken before he lit his cigarette.

Oh alright, it really didn't happen, but the truth of why I haven't written is much more ugly and sordid.

I mean, I had the perfect excuse in Australia because we had that whole 1984 interweb, non-connectedness thing where it took like 2 hours to check e-mail and really I could’ve written you all personal postcards and sent them through the mail from Sydney and you would’ve gotten them in your mail box before I’d get a post up.

And that was understandable.

And God bless you, you all suffered through that. You stayed with me. But see, this is where it all went wrong – I absolutely could’ve blogged when we got to our hotel on the beach in Venice, CA where I had perfectly acceptable 2008-era wireless internet. I could have but I didn’t because…I went to the beach.

A lot.

See in CA it was 88 degrees and sunny and we stayed right on the beach and the air smelled like salt and fish and I was intoxicated by the spray of the ocean and the fact that the girls would sit for hours and just play happily in the sand with their sand toys. Well, you can imagine, it was pure heaven and so in my bliss, I didn't write you.

And yes, I could’ve blogged at night but see, my husband’s project with "the famous people" has grown and I am now writing on that project and so at night I was working with my husband while our children dreamed and the ocean banged away on the beach. And there was something nice about that and our quiet talks about scripts and dialogue and our half drunk bottles of wine and even though it was work, it was lovely and so, I just kept doing it and neglecting you.

I was thinking about you, but I was neglecting you, for sure.

And everyday I said, “I’ll blog about this today” because all these wacky things were happening and I kept writing them down in my journal to share with you but then I would hear it was 55 degrees and rainy in NYC and I would think about the California bloggers - like Evil Chef Mom who grows her own lemons and avocados and soybeans or whatever in her backyard, which I find profoundly irritating since I don't have a backyard and even if I had one would not be able to grow lemons anyway and I'm convinced she's just showing off and that other California blogger, Undomestic Diva who has lately been prattling on about how her air conditioning is broken and how prone to perspiring she is, and it's all so damn insensitive to us East Coasters who are still wearing wool socks and turning on our heaters.

And as I was thinking about these bloggers as I looked out at the cloudless sky and the roller bladers in bikinis, the deep tan settling into my skin and I wondered how these two ever dragged theselves out of the amazing weather to write a blog post at all. And then flumoxed by this question, I went to the beach in the skimpiest clothes I had and baked in the sun, while the kids picked up shells and clams and ran naked in and out of the water.

Oh and speaking of nudity and skimpy clothes – I wanted to buy one of those cheap beachy dresses they sell on the beach for like $5, but David said they looked like hoochie dresses and that there are classier ways to be sexy and then, in a fit of conservatism that is remarkably not his style, he accused me of having the taste of a “stripper” which perhaps is a compliment if your husband is, oh i don't know, Flav O Flav, but not so much if your married to David.

Suffice to say – I didn’t buy the beachy dress.

So, anyway, that is why I didn't write before now and I apologize for leaving you high and dry. I came back with some great recipes, some fun news which deserves its own post and some of the best sausage I’ve ever had in my life. More on all that over the weekend.

Until then, know I’m glad to be back…

Xxxooo YM