An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Of dares and double-dog dares

So last week I get a call from a producer at the Bonnie Hunt show, and after we talk for a few minutes she says, “Do you think you could show Kourtney Kardashian how to change a diaper?”

Just let that sink in for a second.

I twittered my thoughts about it earlier, but I never thought that teaching Kourtney Kardashian how to change a diaper was on my lifelist, but THERE IT IS. Right up there with chest-bumping Danny DeVito and seeing if I can get Martha Stewart to hold my gum while I taste test her trademark homemade sorbet.

So that’s what I’m doing tonight during a taping of the show that airs I believe on Thursday, and I’ll let you know if there are any changes to that schedule. But that’s not even what this post is about, although I could probably just end it right there: you guys, I get to meet Kourtney Kardashian today and teach her how to wipe someone else’s butt. WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?

Let’s just hope it’s not one of Marlo’s diapers, DO NOT EVEN GET ME STARTED on what that kid did as our flight was descending into LAX. And because I had changed both of her blow-out messes last time we did this three weeks ago, it was Jon’s turn to maneuver his abnormally large body plus dripping poopy diaper inside that claustrophobic air hole they call an airplane bathroom. Let’s just call it what it really is: an upright coffin.

Thing is, he was taking forever, and I wasn’t even worried that maybe he’d banged his head against the wall and blacked out because of the turbulence. No. No, I was just hoping, praying that when he came to and realized where he was and walked back to his seat that he wouldn’t make eye contact with Peter Frampton.

Half of my audience just went, who?

Dude, PETER FUCKING FRAMPTON. A quick wikipedia search will tell you that his album Frampton Comes Alive was the top selling album of 1976, and my most vivid memory of him, really, is listening to this certain adult contemporary radio station in Memphis on rainy Sunday afternoons in the 80’s and singing, “Baby, I love your way” really loudly into a hairbrush with a backdrop of pink and teal flowered wallpaper. I’m sure that’s the exact scenario he had hoped that song would inspire, right after world peace.

But he played a HUGE influence in Jon’s childhood. ENORMOUS. Here, let me let Jon tell you in his own words:

Summer. 1977. My older brother Tom brought home Frampton Comes Alive. My first time ever being allowed to touch a double album. I was in love with “Do You Feel Like We Do” and would put on headphones (that we bought for my dad for his birthday; a sweet pair of vented Koss) and assume the position of drummer or of Frampton himself. I knew every note. The little riff on the Fender before the crowd roar as Peter went for the talkbox and started teasing with a few Do You Feels before releasing with Like We Do and the crowd roaring approval. I first faked the drum parts via air drumming and then later did stellar air guitar work. I wore that album out, but I was very careful to clean it before and after playing so my brother would be none the wiser. That album was my first leap into thinking that I could possibly one day play music in front of people.

So when we find out that he is sitting two rows in front of us on the plane to LA, both Jon and I instinctually Twitter the hell out of it as we’re sitting in the terminal, and I’m joking that I’m going to start singing “Baby, I love your way” while we board, because I BET HE’S NEVER HAD TO ENDURE THAT from a stranger.

And Jon is talking about how he’s trying to force me to keep my shirt on, and I’m all BUT MY NURSING BRA, SO HOTT, and someone replied back, really? you have a hot nursing bra? And guys, I only have one that fits me the right way, so even if it was hot back when I started wearing it twelve weeks ago, I’m guessing the frayed straps and sagging elastic make it look less like something you’d find at Victoria’s Secret and more like something you’d see Meatloaf using to wipe the sweat off of his forehead.

And that’s when I casually glance over my shoulder and see Peter Fucking Frampton SITTING RIGHT THERE BEHIND US in the terminal. And he’s on his laptop. And he’s looking at Twitter.

Slllooooooowww moooootionnnnn, oooohhhhh nooooooo.



Jon starts doing the satan ventriloquist thing where his lips aren’t moving, and he’s going FIND HIM ON TWITTER RIGHT NOW, WOMAN. So I do a quick search and, phew! He doesn’t follow me or Jon, as if he ever would, I know, but the feeling was still one of a close call. Except at the time, if he had done a search on his name he would have seen all the replies of people urging and double-dog-daring me to karaoke his music as we board the plane. Note: I couldn’t bring myself to do it. In theory, a great idea, right? In reality, the making of a total douchebag.

So we get settled into our seats, and we’re both checking our phones before they close the cabin doors and tell us that we have to turn off all electronic equipment, and right then I get a direct message from one of our Internet friends nemeses, Mike Monteiro. And he says that if I can get a picture of Peter Frampton holding a “I hate Mike Monteiro” sign then he’ll give me free T-shirts for life (see selection here, we already own a few, including the utterly tasteless “Jackson 4” shirt that I wear around the house when I don’t want to put on a nursing bra, and Tito ends up crying tears of milk all day long, bless his heart.)

Jon looks at me, and I look at Jon, and after maneuvering the baby around a bit, we find a pen and I MacGyver a sign on a drink napkin:

Delta Airline cocktail napkin

It takes me a few minutes to get the nerve up, but I finally hold my breath, hop down the aisle a bit and there I am face to face with Peter Frampton. And next thing you know, I can barely even remember, I’m frantically going MY HUSBAND IS A HUGE FAN AND I LIKE YOU TOO AND WE HAVE THIS FRIEND WHO HAS A CRIMINAL RECORD AND MIGHT CUT ME IN THE THROAT IF I DON’T GET HIM A PHOTO, DO YOU THINK—

And he politely cuts me off and says, “Not now, please, maybe later.”

Oh you guys, I don’t think I have ever been more mortified. MORTIFIED. I felt so stupid, so so so dumb, DUMBITY DUMB DUMB, and spent the entire plane ride jabbing that pen into my skull. So when we’re landing and Marlo shits all over herself and Jon, all I can think is, oh God, please Jon, whatever you do, please do not look at Frampton! DON’T DO IT! LOOK DOWN, LOOK DOWN! And what does he do? HE GRINS AT FRAMPTON. He GRINNED! At FRAMPTON!

And then after landing as everyone is gathering up their luggage I do nothing but avoid looking anywhere near his direction. That’s it. I spent a good ten minutes of my life avoiding eye contact with Peter Frampton. Whoever is in charge at the time, I want that on my tombstone.

And after we get our stroller and car seat and are taking our time walking toward baggage claim, we keep going back and forth about how dumb I feel, and Jon’s all DUDE! PETER FRAMPTON! He’s still reminiscing about that summer in 1977 unaware that I want to shrivel up and die, and OH MY GOD, I am not even kidding, when we get to the baggage claim Peter Frampton is the only one from our flight standing around the carousel. Turns out God doesn’t just like to fuck with you through your appliances. He likes to fuck with you through Frampton.

I immediately sprint with the stroller and the baby to a remote hiding place behind a column next to the door, thinking, okay, he’ll never see me here, and Jon! OH MY GOD! JON! MY HUSBAND. FATHER OF MY CHILDREN. HE WALKS UP TO FRAMPTON. And I’m screaming whispers from my hiding place, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP! STOP! And I can’t hear anything from where I’m standing, but dear lord god in heaven, my husband is over there right in front of Frampton playing air guitar, swaying his hips, and pumping his hand in the shape of devil horns above his head.

Please just picture that in your head.

Remember, Jon is six feet three inches tall, weighs sixty pounds when he’s soaking wet, and his hair looks like Kramer’s.

I think I fell over dead, or maybe I just blacked out, but I don’t remember at least five minutes of my life. The sweat on my upper lip was so thick that I could have poured it into a 64-oz Big Gulp and had enough left over to water my yard.

And just as I come to, just as my vision starts to correct itself, I look up right as Frampton is exiting the terminal with his family not two feet in front of me. And you guys, this still doesn’t seem real, I’m still processing what happened, but right then he lifted up his right arm and waved at Jon. And then he stopped a few inches in front of Marlo’s stroller and said, “You have a beautiful baby there.”

Marlo, honey, do you have any idea how many 45-yr-old men are insanely jealous of you as this moment? FRAMPTON ACKNOWLEDGED YOU.

We talked about pretty much nothing else yesterday, Jon every other minute singing another Frampton song, pretending to play guitar, sending email to all his high school buddies going, LOOK AT ME NOW! And then when we climbed into bed at the hotel to settle in for the night, Jon frantically poked my snoozing body and said, DUUUUUUUUDE LOOOOOOOK!

Long story to say no, sadly, I didn’t get Mike his sign, so he’s going to have to settle for this:

  • Peter Frampton doesn’t follow me on twitter, either.

    Too, too funny, Dooce!

    If you got a picture of Khloe Kardashian holding Mike’s sign he’d get you the tshirts?

  • The Kardashian’s are a guilty pleasure for me. I love the way their family is so careless physically with each other, that’s how my husband and three kids are too…um…weird, basically. Slapping each other’s butts ( my daughter Lola calls her butt her Buttina, as in ‘butt-eye-na’ and her girlie parts her Lavina ) laying on top each other, flashing each other, etc.
    Of course, now that my boys are older the flashing thing- not so much.

  • Anonymous

    so lame

  • Lacrema

    OK, two things: One, I hope that you really are using Marlo as a live prop, and she has the leakiest, nastiest, poopspolsion diaper for K to change. Two, the whole silent scream thing? Needs to be accompanied by flares to work, and if it’s a husband you’re trying to communicate with, it’s only effective if accompanied by an amazing play on ESPN (or, for Jon, I guess, some sort of Steve Jobs breaking news-press conference).

  • Rachel

    Wow, Peter was right, that is one beautiful baby!

  • Hilarious. You should definitely counter with Kourtney Kardashian holding the Mike sign. That’s at LEAST worth a 10% coupon code, dontcha think, Mike?

  • Jen

    The best part of following you on Twitter is that you always blog the whole story! I was laughing so hard when you said SHHH and totally excited to know what happened!

  • OMG- I’ve GOT to get on Twitter.
    Way fucking cool.

  • Victorias Secret makes nursing bras. I’m not even kidding.

  • becky

    I refreshed your page 100 times waiting to find out the whole story to your tweets. You never fail. Keep rockin!

  • Wait! The Frampton story blocked out the Kardashian ass wiping for a bit, my whole head is spinning! Now I have to get Twitter AND TIVO.

  • This is coming from someone who is half-Armenian herself – you might need to teach Kourtney to double-up one baby wipes, since the Armenian ass isn’t like other white asses.

  • Abby

    My brother, a 19 year-old college sophomore, would have been just ask excited as you and Jon. It isn’t about being a certain age, it is about good taste in music! My brother has had Peter Frampton cds since he was about 8.

    P.S. Marlo is SO cute!

  • amie

    I have been a terrible crank all day, but this just made me laugh out loud. Thank you! I actually spit my drink out!

  • nicoleballet

    ::inserts excessive Wayne’s World quotes here::

  • Kelsey

    As an avid follower of your tweets, I am so pumped to finally hear the end of this story! And like brandy, #34, was slightly afraid that somehow Frampton would end up with poop on him! And the explanation of Jon looking like he has Kramer hair…Almost sprayed Diet Coke all over my computer.

    Thanks for brightening my day!

  • That is GLORIOUS!

  • How cool is that! I love Peter Frampton!

  • Anonymous

    Bwahahaha.. One of my favs. I love that you’re not afraid to show us all your dorky, completely-human side. I was literally laughing aloud at my desk. My co-workers have yet to figure out what ‘Dooce’ is.. they just know that’s what I’m doing when I’m chuckling.

    BTW.. Frampton rocks. And y’all were totally caught. You KNOW he went back and read the whole twitter thread. NICE.

  • i would have died but MAN do you have a kick arse hubby for saving the day…i mean it takes the sting away a bit, don’t ya think?

    i will now and forever rationalize a celebrity’s shun with “oh they must be working on their current cd” because of your delightful story.

    thank YOU!

  • Nancy in MN

    Almost as exciting as meeting Donnie Osmond!!

  • Rita T.


    Peter Frampton is now, not only following you on Twitter he is replying to you!!!

    Even more Awesomer (I know that’s not a word, but it should be)!

  • Dooce, let me blow your mind for one moment:


    Are you still upright? It’s the most awesome thing ever. Frampton plays with the local orchestra every fall. Frampton gives concerts constantly. FRAMPTON TAKES HIS DAUGHTER MIA TO THE DOCTOR, AND I WORKED THERE.

    I, however, had no nerve, and completely pretended as if I didn’t know who he was. I’m sure he could tell, based on the sweaty pits and lack of bladder control.

  • –>That was a great story. I saw a few of your tweets about Frampton but missed that you were on the plane with him.

    I have been there too when asking celebrities for their autograph or picture but luckily they all agreed to me before I whipped out a sharp object and started to threaten them. ha!

  • The Peter Frampton conclusion to the story: fantastic.
    The Marlo conclusion to the story: even more so.

  • yes. i love this. you guys are awesome.

  • OMG, I was cringing with you there, Dooce, but OMG, I was laughing so hard, too!

  • barbalute

    AAAAAAAAAggggg…oh my word, I just snorted diet Coke with lime up my nose when I saw that picture of Marlo and that sign. Frampton rocks and so do you! Heeelarious.

  • Anonymous

    Where is Leta in all of this? She’s beautiful tooooo.

  • How in the hell did you recognize him???? I never would have known that was the golden hottie from my youth.

  • 7-11 is now putting together a new flavor of Big Gulp.

    The Big DULP- Dooce’s Upper Lip Perspiration. It will sell millions.

  • Erika


  • As one Jeff Albertson might agree, “Best. Post. Ever.”

  • Nhiro

    Dude, did you just about die? Awesome story. I saw Joan Rivers the last time I landed in LAX and I kept thinking that if I even so much as looked in her direction, she would tell me my outfit was awful and that I needed a makeover pronto.

  • oh baby, look at you now!

  • “…the stars are out and shining, but all I really want to know, oh won’t you show me the way, every day…” The total tsunami of memories Peter conjures up. “I wonder if I’m dreaming, I feel so unashamed…”

  • OhComeOnHeather

    Peter Frampton? awesome story.

    but DUDE! Kourtney Kardashian?!? Can you sell-out any more than that? That totally sucks. I know half the people who read this probably don’t know who that is because she’s a nobody – famous for being famous. Jesus. I hope it’s worth the money. She’s not even your friend! or your friend of a friend! or your friend of a friend of a friend who needs your help because you’re obviously the only person she doesn’t know who can successfully PUT ON A DIAPER. #26 shouldn’t be stooping to the bowels of the “D List” for a some (really crappy) fucking publicity. And don’t lay out that ‘we need the money’ bullshit either. Nobody needs money THAT badly.

  • Figtron

    Tell Jon I did the exact same thing when my two older brothers brought home “Frampton Comes Alive”. I was seven. It was like crack on vinyl.

    Tell him I understand his indescribable need to mimic said idol’s motions. I would have done the same thing, only much less elegantly. I would have been screaming unintelligibly in some dead language, and thrashing my hair while throwing DOUBLE devil signs.


  • r0ckaby3

    Two completely unrelated comments: Don’t you love the snuzzler? Best baby invention since our first son was born in 2005. Secondly, DS #2 is the same age as Marlo, and we were having the amazing crap blowouts until I started using pocket cloth diapers. I know, crazy. Putting poo in my washer only once every other day is way better than doing it 10 times a day.

  • G-d, you make me laugh.

    Thank you.

  • That just cracked me up. I was wondering what had happened with Peter Frampton. I’m sorry you didn’t get the picture.

    rock on,

    I would do the same thing to you if I saw you on a plane. Just letting you know. be prepared.

  • That just cracked me up. I was wondering what had happened with Peter Frampton. I’m sorry you didn’t get the picture.

    rock on,

    I would do the same thing to you if I saw you on a plane. Just letting you know. be prepared.

  • Sarah

    Great story! Marlo is gorgeous – whenever you post pictures I shamelessly send my husband the links and ask him how he could possibly tell me he doesn’t want kids yet. And now that Peter Frampton has recognized that, maybe that will be his turning point. Here’s to hoping.

    Amazing how ridiculous we all become when talking to celebrities, or even quasi-celebrities of whom we personally are massive fans. I had a moment like that when I met David Sedaris, probably my all-time favorite author. My husband still teases me about how dumb I was.


    That is too cool for words. That is even more impressive than #26.

  • AND THAT MY DEAR FRIENDS IS WHY I PAY THE PRICE FOR ADMISSION to this here blog! (So way better than that weird guy email from last week that still creeps me out when I think of it).

    That was absolutely, hugely, terrificly funny as hell Heather! I had tears rollin’ imagining you turning white as a ghost as Frampton told you not now, LOL. You’ve got guts woman (and all for some silly tshirts too…ok, they’re cool, so I don’t blame you).

    And your lovely dorky husband. Did he get an autograph or will the tweet suffice? GO PRINT IT OUT NOW!!!!!!!!!!! Frame it…too cool to have up in your office.

    And I was following it all on Twitter, which makes it even better. Have a safe flight home. First Rick Springfield (which I have no clue how you managed to hold yourself back from) and now this. Your brushes with greatness just keep a comin’.

    Btw, these have to be the best two sentences you’ve ever written:

    “Turns out God doesn’t just like to fuck with you through your appliances. He likes to fuck with you through Frampton.”

  • And now he’s following you guys on Twitter.

    Your reach continues to astound me.

    Yay, you.

  • Maggie

    hehe. I am a new reader of yours (appx: 2 months, although I creepily read most of your archives while drinking a bottle of wine in bed one Saturday morning with my two furry children, think dogs, laughing out loud). I was in a different Western city this weekend, but I can imagine that I might have been just as excited to have seen your family in the airport. However, after your incidents, I think I am thankful that this did not occur – I say this because you have bruises on your head from poking a pen in it and I don’t. Thanks for the daily laughter!

  • gina

    Have I mentioned today how jealous I am of you? You got to meet Bonnie Hunt ! I loved her in “Return to Me”.

  • I find the Bonnie Hunt thing SO WEIRD. The producers are sitting around trying to think of a great segment and someone is all “We should teach that knocked up Kardashian girl how to change a diaper!! But who should do it???” The whole thing just seems so…..awkward! And, are they going to have you do it on an actual baby? An actual baby who NEEDS their diaper changed? And where will they find this baby? And how long will they have been in the status of needing their diaper changed prior to your segment???

  • Lauri

    Oh my god – you are toooo funny – I would never have the nerve to talk to him, much less go on like nothing happened if he rejected me – you are truly gifted – and I agree with Frampton – she’s a beautiful baby…

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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