Since I've been staying at home, being all domestic and stuff, I've learned all kinds of interesting things about myself that I never knew before. I don't know, maybe the drugs are finally starting to wear off, or maybe the effects are just kicking in...
1. I make a kick ass grilled cheese sandwich. I mean, it's GOOD. Like restaurant good. I didn't know that. I've made grilled cheese for Chris and the kids, but I'd never eaten one I'd made before. Since being home all day, I get really hungry for lunch, and you can only eat Chef Boyardee so many times before you have to cave and make real food (yeah, grilled cheese counts as real food). I don't know why it's so good, probably because I'm awesome, so it only stands to reason my grilled cheese is as well.
2. No matter how many loads of laundry I do, there's always more. Always. No matter what. The other day, I spent the whole day doing laundry. When I finally finished, I was strutting around, so proud that I'd finally conquered the Battle of the Laundry. To my utter dismay, there was a sock...ONE freakin sock...in the basket. I don't know how it got there. I don't know where the other one was, I didn't have any extras, everything I'd folded had a match. I'm convinced that there is some evil sock gnome that is just not playing fair. When I find him, I'm going to punch him in the face. I'm just sayin...
3. The UPS guy is even more exciting now than he was before. A couple days ago I got a package from Pottery Barn (more on that in a minute). And while I was excited about my package, I was thrilled to see the UPS guy. I was all, Hai! How are you today? He's all, here you go ma'am, have a nice day. I'm all, wait! Don't you want to have a cup of coffee? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich! He's all, no thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day. He starts pulling the door closed and I'm like, wait! Don't go! Talk to me! Are you enjoying the weather? I just moved here from Maine, it's cold there. My favorite color is green. I like sunsets and puppies, please don't go, please talk to me! He's all walking quickly to his truck, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm not following him, which I totally am. By the time he gets to his truck, he's at a near sprint. Maybe I scared him, I don't see why though. I just wanted some human contact. I get kind of lonely during the day. And it's not like I was going to chase the truck ALL the way down the street...
4. I love, love, love Pottery Barn. I'm trying to make my whole house an homage to the perfection that is Pottery Barn. Last night I was looking at their catalog for the zillionth time, trying to decide if $129 for velvet drapes was really too much to spend, and Chris was like, you know the whole house doesn't HAVE to be from Pottery Barn. I was like, YES IT DOES. YOU SAID I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO AND I WANT POTTERY BARN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? He's like, um...first, you're nuts. Second, I like it too, but don't you think it's a little expensive? I scoffed, it's not like I get a paycheck anymore. The least you can do is pay me in Pottery Barn. He's all, but we have a mortgage now...blah, blah, blah. I love Pottery Barn. I want more Pottery Barn things in my house. That's all I have to say about that.
5. I'm still as crazy as before (as evident by this completely rambing nonsensical post). I still break out into dance in public. I still bust a move in the kitchen when I'm making dinner. I still burst into song randomly. The other day we were in the car and Chris was talking to the kids about the Panama Canal (I forget why, but I readily admit it's an odd subject to be discussing in the car...or at all, for that matter), and I'm just contently looking out the window, when all of a sudden, Panama! Panama-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! PANAMA! You know, a la Van Halen? It just kinda came out. Kat started laughing, and I was like, what? She's like, mom, you're nuts. Ain't that the truth.
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random crap. Show all posts
Airline fun
So the other day, well not really the other day, more like two months ago (I just didn't post it because I'm super lazy and have been totally enthralled in my own personal drama...read: moving 1800 miles), I told you I'd tell you about Chris almost getting arrested by TSA. Here goes.
Ok. So. Chris and I were traveling to Georgia to get some painting and stuff done on the house. The whole trip really started poorly because I'd had a huge fight with the kids' dad, his car died, which meant that he couldn't watch the kids while we were gone, so we had to let him borrow our car while we were gone and have him pick us up at the airport when we got back. Of course now, like 2 months later, it really doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time, it was. The tension was so thick in the car, you could've cut it with a knife. So Chris and I were already pretty stressed when we got to the airport. We tried to check in through the little self-check-in kiosk, but it of course didn't work. When we got to the counter, the grouchy little man was all, did you try the self-check-in? I was like, yes, we did. It didn't work. He lets out this big obnoxious sigh, and walked the 4 feet around the counter to help us. When the tickets were printed, we noticed that our seats weren't together. We asked if he could fix that for us. Now, keep in mind, we aren't world-class travelers, but we do travel quite a bit. We had a long distance (1800 miles) relationship for over a year, so flying isn't a new thing. Anyway, we always sit together, and no airline, ever, has had a problem fixing our seats. Well, this douchebag did. He was all, I can't change your seat without permission. I'm like, well, get permission. The guy's all, ma'am, we don't do that. I was like, it's fine, we'll just ask at the gate. Then the guy goes into this 10-minute diatribe about how they don't do that. I was like, dude. Whatever. We'll ask at the gate. We good here? We got through security and made it to the gate with time to spare. Then it went really bad.
Now, Chris is just about the most charming person on the planet. He always gets what he wants, he's polite, charming, smooth talking, the whole deal. He never raises his voice, and people always bend over backwards to help him. This time? Not so much. We walked up to the desk and Chris all, excuse me, ma'am? I just have a quick problem I'm hoping you can help me with. You see, I would like to sit with my wife on the plane, but our seats aren't together. The gentleman downstairs said that you might be able to help me. This woman, snorted and said, No. I can't. Chris said, do you think you could check again? She was like, No. Chris raises his eyebrows, takes a deep breath and says, is there some reason we can't sit together? She sighs and says, I'd have to change someone's seat. And I'm not doing that without asking them. Chris says, well, can we ask them? She's all huffy at this point, and snaps, Fine. Then she picked up the phone and called the angry little man that we'd already talked to downstairs, who apparently was a "manager", if manager meant douchebag. They talk for a second on the phone and then she smirks at Chris, and says, no. You can't change seats. Chris opened his mouth to say something, then she walked away...like mid-conversation. We were like, uh...what the fuck? If the day hadn't already been absolute crap, we probably start laughing. I didn't find it even remotely funny. I burst in to tears. I was like, I can't sit next to some stranger on the plane! I hate flying and you know how I feel about enclosed spaces! I can't do this, please don't make me do this! Chris was like, I know baby, I'm gonna fix it. They always change it for us. This lady is just a bitch, I'll fix it. Don't cry. So I walk over and sit in the chairs, totally pouting.
The lady didn't come right back, so Chris patiently waited at the counter for her. When she finally came back, she was helping other people, so Chris continued to be patient. When she was done helping everyone, making phone calls and trying her level best to ignore Chris, she finally was like, can I help you, sir? Now, I didn't hear what else was said, I was too busy pouting in the chair. The next thing I knew, Chris was walking quickly toward me, shaking his head. I was like, what happened? He was like, that fucking whore just threatened to call TSA on me! This, I found a little funny. Apparently, he asked to speak to a manager, and she said, if you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to report you to TSA. You can explain to them why you're terrorizing me. She picked up the scary red phone to call them, and he walked away. I feel sure I'm not making it sound nearly as scary as it actually was...
So maybe the moral of the story is, airline personnel, quit being dicks. Don't use TSA as a threat so you don't have to deal with people. TSA is there for security, not for your personal bodyguard. Because here's the truth, that lady was a straight up bitch, she didn't even TRY to help us, she was rude and absolutely unprofessional. Chris didn't so much as raise his voice, and she was nothing but nasty. That's not TSA's fault, nor is it their problem. Or maybe the moral of the story is to never fly with Delta again, EVER (we usually use AirTran because they're cheaper and have THE best customer service of any airline we've ever used, and Delta has never given us anything but problems), no matter how cheap they are. Or maybe the moral of the story is, don't bother with airline personnel, just put on your best sad face and manipulate total strangers into doing what you what them to. Which is what we ended up doing.
Once we were on the plane, Chris said to the lady in the seat next to his, ma'am, my wife is terrified of flying, and may have a panic attack if she can't sit next to me. Can you please switch seats with her? She didn't seem to be too happy about it, but one look at me, complete with red puffy eyes, sniffling and wet cheeks, she moved. I slept the whole flight.
Ok. So. Chris and I were traveling to Georgia to get some painting and stuff done on the house. The whole trip really started poorly because I'd had a huge fight with the kids' dad, his car died, which meant that he couldn't watch the kids while we were gone, so we had to let him borrow our car while we were gone and have him pick us up at the airport when we got back. Of course now, like 2 months later, it really doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time, it was. The tension was so thick in the car, you could've cut it with a knife. So Chris and I were already pretty stressed when we got to the airport. We tried to check in through the little self-check-in kiosk, but it of course didn't work. When we got to the counter, the grouchy little man was all, did you try the self-check-in? I was like, yes, we did. It didn't work. He lets out this big obnoxious sigh, and walked the 4 feet around the counter to help us. When the tickets were printed, we noticed that our seats weren't together. We asked if he could fix that for us. Now, keep in mind, we aren't world-class travelers, but we do travel quite a bit. We had a long distance (1800 miles) relationship for over a year, so flying isn't a new thing. Anyway, we always sit together, and no airline, ever, has had a problem fixing our seats. Well, this douchebag did. He was all, I can't change your seat without permission. I'm like, well, get permission. The guy's all, ma'am, we don't do that. I was like, it's fine, we'll just ask at the gate. Then the guy goes into this 10-minute diatribe about how they don't do that. I was like, dude. Whatever. We'll ask at the gate. We good here? We got through security and made it to the gate with time to spare. Then it went really bad.
Now, Chris is just about the most charming person on the planet. He always gets what he wants, he's polite, charming, smooth talking, the whole deal. He never raises his voice, and people always bend over backwards to help him. This time? Not so much. We walked up to the desk and Chris all, excuse me, ma'am? I just have a quick problem I'm hoping you can help me with. You see, I would like to sit with my wife on the plane, but our seats aren't together. The gentleman downstairs said that you might be able to help me. This woman, snorted and said, No. I can't. Chris said, do you think you could check again? She was like, No. Chris raises his eyebrows, takes a deep breath and says, is there some reason we can't sit together? She sighs and says, I'd have to change someone's seat. And I'm not doing that without asking them. Chris says, well, can we ask them? She's all huffy at this point, and snaps, Fine. Then she picked up the phone and called the angry little man that we'd already talked to downstairs, who apparently was a "manager", if manager meant douchebag. They talk for a second on the phone and then she smirks at Chris, and says, no. You can't change seats. Chris opened his mouth to say something, then she walked away...like mid-conversation. We were like, uh...what the fuck? If the day hadn't already been absolute crap, we probably start laughing. I didn't find it even remotely funny. I burst in to tears. I was like, I can't sit next to some stranger on the plane! I hate flying and you know how I feel about enclosed spaces! I can't do this, please don't make me do this! Chris was like, I know baby, I'm gonna fix it. They always change it for us. This lady is just a bitch, I'll fix it. Don't cry. So I walk over and sit in the chairs, totally pouting.
The lady didn't come right back, so Chris patiently waited at the counter for her. When she finally came back, she was helping other people, so Chris continued to be patient. When she was done helping everyone, making phone calls and trying her level best to ignore Chris, she finally was like, can I help you, sir? Now, I didn't hear what else was said, I was too busy pouting in the chair. The next thing I knew, Chris was walking quickly toward me, shaking his head. I was like, what happened? He was like, that fucking whore just threatened to call TSA on me! This, I found a little funny. Apparently, he asked to speak to a manager, and she said, if you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to report you to TSA. You can explain to them why you're terrorizing me. She picked up the scary red phone to call them, and he walked away. I feel sure I'm not making it sound nearly as scary as it actually was...
So maybe the moral of the story is, airline personnel, quit being dicks. Don't use TSA as a threat so you don't have to deal with people. TSA is there for security, not for your personal bodyguard. Because here's the truth, that lady was a straight up bitch, she didn't even TRY to help us, she was rude and absolutely unprofessional. Chris didn't so much as raise his voice, and she was nothing but nasty. That's not TSA's fault, nor is it their problem. Or maybe the moral of the story is to never fly with Delta again, EVER (we usually use AirTran because they're cheaper and have THE best customer service of any airline we've ever used, and Delta has never given us anything but problems), no matter how cheap they are. Or maybe the moral of the story is, don't bother with airline personnel, just put on your best sad face and manipulate total strangers into doing what you what them to. Which is what we ended up doing.
Once we were on the plane, Chris said to the lady in the seat next to his, ma'am, my wife is terrified of flying, and may have a panic attack if she can't sit next to me. Can you please switch seats with her? She didn't seem to be too happy about it, but one look at me, complete with red puffy eyes, sniffling and wet cheeks, she moved. I slept the whole flight.
Sadly, Santa didn't leave me any Xanax
So Christmas is over (huge sigh of relief). We got through the day with no tears, which was fantastic. The days leading up to Christmas were pretty difficult. I had a couple of days there that I could hardly even get out of bed. I just felt so completely done with everything. I think it was a mix of the stress of moving, being a little homesick, Christmastime, our house not being finished, the whole mess of everything just kind of fell down on me. Christmas day though, we decided there'd been enough wallowing time, and we went to go see some of Chris' family that I'd never met before. They were so wonderful, saying all kinds of wonderful things like, baby, that dawg bit the fool out of me!, and well, he was just fussin and fussin at me, but I didn't pay him no nevermind, or well ain't you just the prettiest thang. I really love Southern accents, and his family his very, very Southern. They were just so kind and welcoming, and just so much better than I thought they'd be. Like his Aunt, who is the one who said that the dog bit the fool out of her, is so sweet. She said to me and the kids, y'all just call me MeMaw. Which is awesome, because 1. I've never had a MeMaw, and 2. MeMaw is an awesome name.
So in the post-Christmas haze, we're attempting to get back to normal. I've decided that I'm not going to be depressed, and I'm not going to be lonely. I'm certainly not going to be bored, the kids are making sure of that. They've been fighting. A lot. Like constantly. I feel like I've been anointed the new warden of asylum. Like this morning, they were fighting because Kat was making thank you cards, David was playing his Playstation. Kat asked David how many presents her uncle got her (so she could make sure to include them all in her note). He said 2, she thought it was 3. They started screaming at each other about it. Or like last night, they were playing Battleship. Kat told David that she wanted him to tell her again all of the numbers he'd already called so she could mark them down (or some such thing), David said no, Kat said yes, and they nearly came to blows about it. I don't know if it's too much candy, not enough sleep, Christmas, or a combination of all three, but those two have lost their damn mind. And I'm not too far behind.
I find myself missing the time when I have too much to do before they get home from school, or the blissful quiet that settles over the house as they leave for the bus stop in the morning, having a cup coffee in the morning without anyone nagging at me, the mundane tasks that I do during the day...when I'm COMPLETELY ALONE. Incidentally, there are 8 more days until they go back to school, I hope. This morning, my dreams of peace and solitude were shattered. See, the state of Georgia says that the kids need some special form filled out by their doctor, verifying that they've had all their shots, etc. It can't be a Maine shot record, it has to be a Georgia shot record. So they don't need shots, just to have a Georgia doctor say that they had their shots in Maine. Confused yet? Me too. Anyway, this has to be done within 30 days of when the kids start school, so their appointments are this week. When their new pediatrician called to verify the insurance information, they told me that the number I gave them is inactive, essentially they have no insurance. When Chris transferred down here, apparently, his insurance didn't. There was some crap about how this center uses a different carrier, I don't know, I glazed over at the thought of another week of the kids bickering. Well, anyway, the lady is all, let's just reschedule so your husband's work can get this all settled. I was like, NO! The school says if this isn't done by January 5, they can't go back to school! She was like, ma'am, if there's no insurance on file, you'll have to pay cash. I was like, fine, I don't care. I'll pay cash. She was all, well...it's going to be at least $250 per child, you may end paying well over $500 for this. A small price to pay for my sanity.
So in the post-Christmas haze, we're attempting to get back to normal. I've decided that I'm not going to be depressed, and I'm not going to be lonely. I'm certainly not going to be bored, the kids are making sure of that. They've been fighting. A lot. Like constantly. I feel like I've been anointed the new warden of asylum. Like this morning, they were fighting because Kat was making thank you cards, David was playing his Playstation. Kat asked David how many presents her uncle got her (so she could make sure to include them all in her note). He said 2, she thought it was 3. They started screaming at each other about it. Or like last night, they were playing Battleship. Kat told David that she wanted him to tell her again all of the numbers he'd already called so she could mark them down (or some such thing), David said no, Kat said yes, and they nearly came to blows about it. I don't know if it's too much candy, not enough sleep, Christmas, or a combination of all three, but those two have lost their damn mind. And I'm not too far behind.
I find myself missing the time when I have too much to do before they get home from school, or the blissful quiet that settles over the house as they leave for the bus stop in the morning, having a cup coffee in the morning without anyone nagging at me, the mundane tasks that I do during the day...when I'm COMPLETELY ALONE. Incidentally, there are 8 more days until they go back to school, I hope. This morning, my dreams of peace and solitude were shattered. See, the state of Georgia says that the kids need some special form filled out by their doctor, verifying that they've had all their shots, etc. It can't be a Maine shot record, it has to be a Georgia shot record. So they don't need shots, just to have a Georgia doctor say that they had their shots in Maine. Confused yet? Me too. Anyway, this has to be done within 30 days of when the kids start school, so their appointments are this week. When their new pediatrician called to verify the insurance information, they told me that the number I gave them is inactive, essentially they have no insurance. When Chris transferred down here, apparently, his insurance didn't. There was some crap about how this center uses a different carrier, I don't know, I glazed over at the thought of another week of the kids bickering. Well, anyway, the lady is all, let's just reschedule so your husband's work can get this all settled. I was like, NO! The school says if this isn't done by January 5, they can't go back to school! She was like, ma'am, if there's no insurance on file, you'll have to pay cash. I was like, fine, I don't care. I'll pay cash. She was all, well...it's going to be at least $250 per child, you may end paying well over $500 for this. A small price to pay for my sanity.
I am one pathetic loser
My mom has finally joined the 21st century and decided to create a Facebook account. I've been bugging her about it for months. A lot of times I'd do my daily updates (which include anything from nonsensical ramblings to what's going in our lives) on Facebook and then forget to tell her about stuff. Or she'd be like, oh, so and so is moving and I'd be like, yeah, I know, I saw it on Facebook. It was just a pain in the ass. So anyway, she joined Facebook, and the other day we were talking about how it's going to be an adjustment for me to move to a place where I don't know anyone, and she says, in a way that only your mother can, you know, you're a lot nicer on Facebook than you are in person. I was like, ehh, what? She clarified that I'm just more open on Facebook, and more friendly. In person, not so much. I'd like to be really offended, but I think she may be on to something there.
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
Logic just can't trump cupcakes
Yesterday Chris and I were grocery shopping in Wal-Mart (which I really hate to do because it takes 73 hours) and I realized that our cart was overflowing. We had a smorgasbord of crap. Chris and I grocery shop like our parents are gone for the weekend.
We completely walked right by the fruits and vegetables, well, we did buy a bag of apples, so that's a little redeeming, but generally, if it doesn't come in a can, or isn't of the corn or French style green bean variety, we're really not interested. We made a bee-line for the bakery. I was like, ooo, cupcakes! Have you ever had their cupcakes? SO, SO good. Anyway, I'm standing in front of the cupcakes which all have a little plastic ring thing on them, because apparently Wal-Mart thinks that children and not adults eat cupcakes, and I start to grab the cupcakes on top, which happened to be Hannah Montana. Chris says, I don't want Hannah Montana cupcakes. I'm like, they're all chocolate, it's just the ring on top that's different. He says, no, I don't want to have stupid cupcakes, I want good ones. So he made me dig all the way in the back for Transformer cupcakes. Mind you that we don't keep the ring, we take it off and throw it away, we don't even give it to the kids, but damnit, he doesn't want stupid cupcakes, he wants Transformer cupcakes! Whatever dude, don't ever say that I'm anal.
So after we've found suitable cupcakes, we hit the cereal aisle. When I see the best cereal on the planet is back I let a squeal and bump into a lady as dive toward the shelf. Count Chocula. Which by the way, I wish they'd stop only making it during Halloween season. It's the best cereal ever with its little chocolate bats and marshmallow ghosts. Once fall is over and I know that they're going to stop selling it soon, I buy literally about 10 boxes, it makes me so sad that I can't buy it year-round (General Mills are you listening?). Chris got Captain Crunch, some special one that turns the milk green, which is a little cool and a little gross at the same time. We loaded up on Diet Coke, I bought a can of Vienna sausages and a bunch of other crap I can't even remember, which is sad because it came to $143.
The most ridiculous thing about all this is, I don't let the kids eat any of that crap. They don't eat cookies and cupcakes or sugary cereal. I try to make them eat a balanced diet. It's for me and Chris. It's really not surprising that we have what doctors like to call a little bit of a weight problem. And before you tell me that I should set a better example, save it, I'm not interested. Don't use your logic on me, we're talking cupcakes and Count Chocula here. How can you even argue with that?
We completely walked right by the fruits and vegetables, well, we did buy a bag of apples, so that's a little redeeming, but generally, if it doesn't come in a can, or isn't of the corn or French style green bean variety, we're really not interested. We made a bee-line for the bakery. I was like, ooo, cupcakes! Have you ever had their cupcakes? SO, SO good. Anyway, I'm standing in front of the cupcakes which all have a little plastic ring thing on them, because apparently Wal-Mart thinks that children and not adults eat cupcakes, and I start to grab the cupcakes on top, which happened to be Hannah Montana. Chris says, I don't want Hannah Montana cupcakes. I'm like, they're all chocolate, it's just the ring on top that's different. He says, no, I don't want to have stupid cupcakes, I want good ones. So he made me dig all the way in the back for Transformer cupcakes. Mind you that we don't keep the ring, we take it off and throw it away, we don't even give it to the kids, but damnit, he doesn't want stupid cupcakes, he wants Transformer cupcakes! Whatever dude, don't ever say that I'm anal.
So after we've found suitable cupcakes, we hit the cereal aisle. When I see the best cereal on the planet is back I let a squeal and bump into a lady as dive toward the shelf. Count Chocula. Which by the way, I wish they'd stop only making it during Halloween season. It's the best cereal ever with its little chocolate bats and marshmallow ghosts. Once fall is over and I know that they're going to stop selling it soon, I buy literally about 10 boxes, it makes me so sad that I can't buy it year-round (General Mills are you listening?). Chris got Captain Crunch, some special one that turns the milk green, which is a little cool and a little gross at the same time. We loaded up on Diet Coke, I bought a can of Vienna sausages and a bunch of other crap I can't even remember, which is sad because it came to $143.
The most ridiculous thing about all this is, I don't let the kids eat any of that crap. They don't eat cookies and cupcakes or sugary cereal. I try to make them eat a balanced diet. It's for me and Chris. It's really not surprising that we have what doctors like to call a little bit of a weight problem. And before you tell me that I should set a better example, save it, I'm not interested. Don't use your logic on me, we're talking cupcakes and Count Chocula here. How can you even argue with that?
Old things new again
The other night I watched the new Melrose Place. I was a huge fan of the show back in the 90's when it originally aired. When Chris and I moved in together, they had just started showing the original Melrose on Soap Network, and we DVR'ed them and watched them every night. He was pretty skeptical at first, he'd never watched the show and thought it sounded pretty awful. My response was, awfully fantastic! Watching all the old ones again, I loved it just as much, it was just as cheesy, just as ridiculous, and just as awesome. Anyway, by the time we watched the whole series, he grudgingly admitted that it was not only highly addictive and entertaining, but so trashy it made you want to shower after watching it. Now, that's what I call great t.v. Anyway, I'm digressing. As I was watching this new Melrose, I was thinking about all the other things that keep coming back that we're trying to improve. Is that always a good thing? Can you improve on an original?
For instance, leg warmers. I rocked the leg warmers back in the day. My favorite ones were white with red cats on them. I wore them with black stirrup leggings, a baggy hot pink shirt, pulled low on one side so my shoulder and sports bra showed, and about 12 belts over the shirt. And as much as I was on the cutting edge of fashion in the 80's, I was horrified this week when I saw that not only leg warmers, which really was bad enough, but ARM warmers were in fashion. Arm warmers? Seriously? That's not an improvement on the orginal, that's just stupid. People wear them with t-shirts and tank tops. Dude, if your arms are cold, wear a long-sleeved shirt.
Sometimes making old things new again is a good thing, like when you find a great vintage bag, or you bring back a killer retro t-shirt. Some things are better left in the past, like jelly shoes, acid washed jeans and yes, leg warmers. And sometimes, when you try to improve on a good thing, you get a big pile of steaming crap. We'll see how the whole Melrose 2.0 fares, let's hope it doesn't turn out to be an arm warmer debacle.
For instance, leg warmers. I rocked the leg warmers back in the day. My favorite ones were white with red cats on them. I wore them with black stirrup leggings, a baggy hot pink shirt, pulled low on one side so my shoulder and sports bra showed, and about 12 belts over the shirt. And as much as I was on the cutting edge of fashion in the 80's, I was horrified this week when I saw that not only leg warmers, which really was bad enough, but ARM warmers were in fashion. Arm warmers? Seriously? That's not an improvement on the orginal, that's just stupid. People wear them with t-shirts and tank tops. Dude, if your arms are cold, wear a long-sleeved shirt.
Sometimes making old things new again is a good thing, like when you find a great vintage bag, or you bring back a killer retro t-shirt. Some things are better left in the past, like jelly shoes, acid washed jeans and yes, leg warmers. And sometimes, when you try to improve on a good thing, you get a big pile of steaming crap. We'll see how the whole Melrose 2.0 fares, let's hope it doesn't turn out to be an arm warmer debacle.
I AM crafty! Who knew?
Friday I got it in my head that I should refinish the buffet. I spent the afternoon trying to sand the finish off it. First, sanding sucks, even with an electric sander. It's so, so boring. I got the top about 3/4 done when I sent Chris a text that said, Screw this. I'm done sanding. I'm thinking at this point that maybe home projects aren't really my thing, I have no patience for it. When Chris got home from work he tried to show me how "easy" it was to sand. It was still messy and boring as hell. So I told him where he could put his sander and decided to just paint it instead. I went to Home Depot and got my primer and paint, then we spend about an hour and half in the drawer pull aisle. Debating on the merits of brushed metal compared to silver or embossed silver. For real. I think that we just need to have a constant argument going. He finally said, Babe, seriously, I don't care. Just pick something. Good enough, sounds like a win to me.
So I got home and was all re-enthused about painting it. I started priming it and the phone rang. It was our pastor (also a huge football fan). It was opening weekend of college football, and he didn't get the channel that his team's game was on, so Chris invited him to watch it at our house. Keep in mind my house was a disaster. Dust everywhere from sanding all day, drawers emptied out, painting sheets all over the floor, it was an enormous mess. He says, you don't mind, right? Heh. It was ok though, it made me get my ass in gear. There was no way I was going to let my pastor and his wife come to my house like that. You should see her house, it's right out of Southern Living, it's so, so beautiful. I have total house-envy. So, I got up early Saturday morning and finished the buffet (it's gorgeous, by the way), got the house cleaned and out back together, showered and was ready in time to watch the Georgia game with Chris. Then I got the best compliment...EVER. The pastor's wife said, Oh, I love your house, you really have style. It's very...Pottery Barn. I could have died and gone to heaven right then. I played it cool though, I was like, Oh, thank you, it's nothing. Inside I was totally going, omgomgomgomg YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Success! I mean, my love for all things Pottery Barn is really no secret.
That's what it looks like now. I didn't take a before picture, mostly because I didn't think it would turn out this good and I didn't want to have any proof that I messed it up.
So maybe I don't hate home projects after all, maybe I just needed some validation. Or maybe projects that include an electric sander just inherently suck. Or maybe I just really have no patience. Either way, it was a big accomplishment, and I really love it. I celebrated by doing absolutely nothing for the next 48 hours.
So I got home and was all re-enthused about painting it. I started priming it and the phone rang. It was our pastor (also a huge football fan). It was opening weekend of college football, and he didn't get the channel that his team's game was on, so Chris invited him to watch it at our house. Keep in mind my house was a disaster. Dust everywhere from sanding all day, drawers emptied out, painting sheets all over the floor, it was an enormous mess. He says, you don't mind, right? Heh. It was ok though, it made me get my ass in gear. There was no way I was going to let my pastor and his wife come to my house like that. You should see her house, it's right out of Southern Living, it's so, so beautiful. I have total house-envy. So, I got up early Saturday morning and finished the buffet (it's gorgeous, by the way), got the house cleaned and out back together, showered and was ready in time to watch the Georgia game with Chris. Then I got the best compliment...EVER. The pastor's wife said, Oh, I love your house, you really have style. It's very...Pottery Barn. I could have died and gone to heaven right then. I played it cool though, I was like, Oh, thank you, it's nothing. Inside I was totally going, omgomgomgomg YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Success! I mean, my love for all things Pottery Barn is really no secret.
That's what it looks like now. I didn't take a before picture, mostly because I didn't think it would turn out this good and I didn't want to have any proof that I messed it up.So maybe I don't hate home projects after all, maybe I just needed some validation. Or maybe projects that include an electric sander just inherently suck. Or maybe I just really have no patience. Either way, it was a big accomplishment, and I really love it. I celebrated by doing absolutely nothing for the next 48 hours.
Maybe my new house should have padded walls
Yesterday I got the new Pottery Barn catalog. I've read it cover to cover about 47 times. It's a bad habit that I have, drooling over things that I can't afford/shouldn't buy because my husband will divorce me. Only this time it's worse. I have in my head this beautiful blank canvas in which I can do anything I want to. I've already chosen the paint colors, the faucets, tiles, carpets, the whole 9. Problem is, we don't have a house yet. And we're not moving until June. Perhaps it's a little early, but I think it's just because I like to plan. Chris says it's because I'm a total control freak and am neurotic like nobodies business.
I mean, yeah, I clean my ears at least 5 times a day. I'm not exaggerating. I clean them every time I go into the bathroom. We go through q-tips like normal people go through toilet paper. I don't know why, I guess I just like having clean ears. And I won't drink Diet Coke out of a 2-liter bottle if it's less than 25% full. I measure this by the label. It it's under the label, it's no good. I pour it out. If it's under the label it doesn't have as many bubbles, and I really like carbonation. This of course drives Chris crazy because it's a "waste". I think it's a waste that no one has figured out how to make the last bit of Diet Coke bubbly.
But it's not like Irefold laundry after it's put away if it's not done right, make sure that all the towels and wash clothes are facing the same way, wash the dishes in water so hot it melts your skin off, think bleach is the best smell in the world and would bathe in bleach if I thought I wouldn't die. Ok, so maybe I'm neurotic. But that's part of my charm. I'm still going shopping for household items for a house we don't have. Why? Because if I don't, I feel like I'm losing control, I start wringing my hands and pacing. I break into a cold sweat and start sputtering sentence fragments and setting things on fire (funniest movie ever reference). I start pulling at my hair and rocking back and forth in the corner.
On second thought, maybe I should skip the Pottery Barn catalog and start shopping for anti-psychotics.
I mean, yeah, I clean my ears at least 5 times a day. I'm not exaggerating. I clean them every time I go into the bathroom. We go through q-tips like normal people go through toilet paper. I don't know why, I guess I just like having clean ears. And I won't drink Diet Coke out of a 2-liter bottle if it's less than 25% full. I measure this by the label. It it's under the label, it's no good. I pour it out. If it's under the label it doesn't have as many bubbles, and I really like carbonation. This of course drives Chris crazy because it's a "waste". I think it's a waste that no one has figured out how to make the last bit of Diet Coke bubbly.
But it's not like I
On second thought, maybe I should skip the Pottery Barn catalog and start shopping for anti-psychotics.
Things I didn't know in the 4th grade
Because it's back to school and apparently that means that being a sloth isn't as cool as it was all summer, we've been trying to eat at the table every night. I think it's a pretty good thing, we get to reinforce/remind about table manners, spend some quality time together, and of course, we get good dinner conversation.
Tonight Chris was asking the kids how their day was, and Davey was telling us about this new Lady Gaga song that he heard on the bus on the way to school, "Love Game". He starts giggling, and says, I totally know what THAT sounds like.
Me: Oh, yeah? What's that?
Davey: Well, I mean...she says she wants to take a ride on a disco stick.
Chris raises his eyebrows, but buries his head in his plate. Apparently I'm taking this one.
Me: And what do you think a disco stick is?
Davey: Mom, c'mon, you know...
Me: No, I really don't. Please tell me.
Davey: You know...private parts?
Me: Do you mean a penis?
At this point Davey's face is near purple with embarrassment, he bursts out laughing, Kat is practically choking on her food she's laughing so hard, and Chris is still conveniently absent from the conversation.
Me (to Chris): Are you gonna jump in here?
Chris: Don't drag me into this, I'm just eating my dinner minding my own business.
Davey: It's totally about sex.
Me: Why do you think it's about about sex, and what the hell would you know about it?
Davey: EVERYONE knows about it. It's not hard to figure out. Disco stick? Hello?
Now, I read "Where Did I Come From?" to the kids, and I explained the birds and the bees, so it's not like they don't know the basics. But clearly, he's getting some other sex talk somewhere else, because I never taught him anything about a disco stick or anything even remotely that vulgar. It is interesting though how these family dinners seem to bring out the best in my kids. It reminds me of a few years ago we were having dinner at the table, when Kat asked me about the dishes I have on the wall. I said, oh, they're antique china. Davey starts giggling, and Chris and I are both like, what? He says, China? Like a girl's china? Chris and I start laughing, and Kat sighs and rolls her eyes. She says, David, you dummy. It's a BAchina. Poor girl, nearly made it to 8 years old thinking that you call a vajayjay a bachina. Not coincidentally, I bought the "Where Did I Come From?" book a few weeks later.
Anyway, Davey wasn't naming names, but I'm thinking that this whole 4th grade thing, is a bad idea. Disco stick. Honestly. I doubt I would've made that connection, but then again, I was 29 before I knew what ZZ Top's Pearl Necklace was about.
Tonight Chris was asking the kids how their day was, and Davey was telling us about this new Lady Gaga song that he heard on the bus on the way to school, "Love Game". He starts giggling, and says, I totally know what THAT sounds like.
Me: Oh, yeah? What's that?
Davey: Well, I mean...she says she wants to take a ride on a disco stick.
Chris raises his eyebrows, but buries his head in his plate. Apparently I'm taking this one.
Me: And what do you think a disco stick is?
Davey: Mom, c'mon, you know...
Me: No, I really don't. Please tell me.
Davey: You know...private parts?
Me: Do you mean a penis?
At this point Davey's face is near purple with embarrassment, he bursts out laughing, Kat is practically choking on her food she's laughing so hard, and Chris is still conveniently absent from the conversation.
Me (to Chris): Are you gonna jump in here?
Chris: Don't drag me into this, I'm just eating my dinner minding my own business.
Davey: It's totally about sex.
Me: Why do you think it's about about sex, and what the hell would you know about it?
Davey: EVERYONE knows about it. It's not hard to figure out. Disco stick? Hello?
Now, I read "Where Did I Come From?" to the kids, and I explained the birds and the bees, so it's not like they don't know the basics. But clearly, he's getting some other sex talk somewhere else, because I never taught him anything about a disco stick or anything even remotely that vulgar. It is interesting though how these family dinners seem to bring out the best in my kids. It reminds me of a few years ago we were having dinner at the table, when Kat asked me about the dishes I have on the wall. I said, oh, they're antique china. Davey starts giggling, and Chris and I are both like, what? He says, China? Like a girl's china? Chris and I start laughing, and Kat sighs and rolls her eyes. She says, David, you dummy. It's a BAchina. Poor girl, nearly made it to 8 years old thinking that you call a vajayjay a bachina. Not coincidentally, I bought the "Where Did I Come From?" book a few weeks later.
Anyway, Davey wasn't naming names, but I'm thinking that this whole 4th grade thing, is a bad idea. Disco stick. Honestly. I doubt I would've made that connection, but then again, I was 29 before I knew what ZZ Top's Pearl Necklace was about.
This one's for you, Dolores
There are a lot of dumb things about Twitter. Like how every morning I feel compelled to share that I must have coffee to function, or sharing the random things that happen during the day (although, in fairness, that's not Twitter's fault as much as it is mine, I blame them for making it so damn addicting). It's kind of like an over-sharing playground with all kinds of random and useless information, which is really most of its appeal. It's also dumb that I only have 140 words to express myself, which is annoying because it's really showed me that I'm very wordy. I didn't know that before. I'm always running out of room on my tweets and have to re-word, then in all of my deleting, retyping, copying and pasting, I usually end up forgetting a word and look like a dumbass who can't spell or has any understanding of the English language.
Twitter can also be very useful. For instance a couple of weeks ago, FedEx said my package had been delivered, but it wasn't at my house. The driver said he delivered it, but it wasn't at my house. So I tweeted about my troubles:
Got an email from FedEx saying my package had been delivered. But it hadn't been. But the driver said it did. But there's no damn package!
11:41 AM Aug 11th from web
FedEx lady said: "Our records indicate that your shipment has been delivered." Dude. It has not been delivered!
11:48 AM Aug 11th from web
Then I saw this:
FedexDolores@miss_merritt Hi this is Dolores with Fedex I'm sorry about your package. Would you like for me to followup with the station for you?
12:01 PM Aug 11th from web in reply to miss_merritt
Huh. Look at that. I tweet and get results...very interesting. Who knew that could happen?
A lot of people apparently. Yesterday, there was this one blogger who was complaining about her broken washing machine, and she was all, don't buy from XYZ company! Like calling for a boycott and such. Apparently then a bunch of her twitteratti (I think I pirated that word from The Bloggess) called this company out and they went to bat for her, so that she'd get her washer fixed. The company apparently send someone right out and it's going to be fixed. How's that for results. Now there were some people who were pissed because she was using her popularity for evil, and said that she shouldn't have called for a boycott, etc. Personally, I couldn't care less how this particular blogger uses her popularity, or whether or not she should call for boycotts. If people are dumb enough to do or not do something because she says so, that's their own issue. I just think it's cool as hell that Twitter produces faster results than calling customer service, waiting in line, or hell, even talking to someone in person.
Problem. Complain on Twitter. Problem resolved. I wonder if it's like a person's job at these companies to monitor stuff like that on Twitter. I wonder if I could that job...all you have to do all day is monitor Twitter...hell, I already do that. Yeah, I need that job.
By the way, so you don't think I hate FedEx, my issue was resolved. It turned out that they'd delivered my package to my next door neighbor's house instead of my house, I got my package, so it was all good. I also didn't even see the message from FedexDolores until like a week later (because I'm still mildly retarded about how Twitter works), so I didn't even get a chance to tell her how cool I thought it was that she contacted me to try to help. So Dolores with FedEx, since I never contacted you to thank you for trying to help, this post is dedicated to you. And Twitter.
Twitter can also be very useful. For instance a couple of weeks ago, FedEx said my package had been delivered, but it wasn't at my house. The driver said he delivered it, but it wasn't at my house. So I tweeted about my troubles:
Got an email from FedEx saying my package had been delivered. But it hadn't been. But the driver said it did. But there's no damn package!
11:41 AM Aug 11th from web
FedEx lady said: "Our records indicate that your shipment has been delivered." Dude. It has not been delivered!
11:48 AM Aug 11th from web
Then I saw this:
FedexDolores@miss_merritt Hi this is Dolores with Fedex I'm sorry about your package. Would you like for me to followup with the station for you?
12:01 PM Aug 11th from web in reply to miss_merritt
Huh. Look at that. I tweet and get results...very interesting. Who knew that could happen?
A lot of people apparently. Yesterday, there was this one blogger who was complaining about her broken washing machine, and she was all, don't buy from XYZ company! Like calling for a boycott and such. Apparently then a bunch of her twitteratti (I think I pirated that word from The Bloggess) called this company out and they went to bat for her, so that she'd get her washer fixed. The company apparently send someone right out and it's going to be fixed. How's that for results. Now there were some people who were pissed because she was using her popularity for evil, and said that she shouldn't have called for a boycott, etc. Personally, I couldn't care less how this particular blogger uses her popularity, or whether or not she should call for boycotts. If people are dumb enough to do or not do something because she says so, that's their own issue. I just think it's cool as hell that Twitter produces faster results than calling customer service, waiting in line, or hell, even talking to someone in person.
Problem. Complain on Twitter. Problem resolved. I wonder if it's like a person's job at these companies to monitor stuff like that on Twitter. I wonder if I could that job...all you have to do all day is monitor Twitter...hell, I already do that. Yeah, I need that job.
By the way, so you don't think I hate FedEx, my issue was resolved. It turned out that they'd delivered my package to my next door neighbor's house instead of my house, I got my package, so it was all good. I also didn't even see the message from FedexDolores until like a week later (because I'm still mildly retarded about how Twitter works), so I didn't even get a chance to tell her how cool I thought it was that she contacted me to try to help. So Dolores with FedEx, since I never contacted you to thank you for trying to help, this post is dedicated to you. And Twitter.
School daze
This whole getting on a schedule thing sucks. I've really enjoyed sleeping late, having lazy afternoons, and I've especially enjoyed sleeping in. Oh, did I say that already? So school started yesterday, and so began the school-time morning ritual. Only this year is sucks even more usual. As great as it is to want your kids to be clean, it also means that they start to actually enjoy showering, which means 2 kids, 2 showers, 1 bathroom...mommy doesn't get to use the bathroom...like ever. I get up at 5:30 when Chris leaves for work and stumble around until I get my coffee. Kat has decided that she needs at least an hour and a half to get ready, so she gets up at 6:00. She's also taken to showering in the morning instead of at night (when it was much more convenient). She says that her curls don't look right in the morning if she showers at night, so she has to shower and blow dry her hair before school. Personally, I think her hair looks exactly the same, morning or night, but what do I know? I tried to tell her that, but she rolled her eyes at me and said I just don't understand. She's taking fourth grade fashion very seriously. She's meticulously choosing her outfits, right down to the coordinating hair accessories. For instance, this morning, we had a whole conversation about whether the brown headband would work better than the black headband.
Anyway, after she's done hogging the bathroom, I get Davey up at 6:30. He's really digging the whole clean hair thing, so he also has to take a shower in the morning. He's been showering right before bed and then again in the morning and I'm walking a fine line between bitching because he's using so much hot water and being happy because I don't have to fight with him to bathe. He's also being a little fashion maven, he just tries to hide it a little better than his sister. He said this morning that he was wearing that particular shirt because it was black, which goes with everything, and that his belt matched his pants, but he was sure to slip a not that I care at the end. To which I replied, no, of course not.
I spend the majority of the morning making lunches, putting away dishes, and wandering around aimlessly because my coffee hasn't kicked in yet. I did get some laundry put away this morning, and it is the second day in a row that my bed was made, which is kind of nice. Most people would really like the slow pace of the morning, not having to rush around to get the kids ready, and would probably take the opportunity to have a little "me time" since you can't really do much else but wait. But I find it annoying that I can't be sleeping and exceptionally annoying that I can't even think about getting into the bathroom until almost 7:30, when I need to leave at 8:00. Yesterday I tried to do my hair, I barely got the flat iron plugged in before one of the kids was in getting in my way. I eventually gave up. Today I didn't even bother to try. For the past 2 days I've just worn a hat. I'm thinking that this new attention to cleanliness and vanity by the kids is gonna make me a hat person, which is cool because I like hats. And it'd be kind of cool if people were like, Merritt, I love that hat. You're such a hat person! Yesterday my ex said, do you know you're wearing a $60 baseball hat? (it's a True Religion hat) I was like, yeah, I got it on sale, what do you care? He was like, I don't, I'm just making an observation. I like it, it suits you. Which I guess is kind of like saying I'm hat person. Either that or he's looking for a way to get out of paying child support this month...perhaps I should check into that.
Anyway, after she's done hogging the bathroom, I get Davey up at 6:30. He's really digging the whole clean hair thing, so he also has to take a shower in the morning. He's been showering right before bed and then again in the morning and I'm walking a fine line between bitching because he's using so much hot water and being happy because I don't have to fight with him to bathe. He's also being a little fashion maven, he just tries to hide it a little better than his sister. He said this morning that he was wearing that particular shirt because it was black, which goes with everything, and that his belt matched his pants, but he was sure to slip a not that I care at the end. To which I replied, no, of course not.
I spend the majority of the morning making lunches, putting away dishes, and wandering around aimlessly because my coffee hasn't kicked in yet. I did get some laundry put away this morning, and it is the second day in a row that my bed was made, which is kind of nice. Most people would really like the slow pace of the morning, not having to rush around to get the kids ready, and would probably take the opportunity to have a little "me time" since you can't really do much else but wait. But I find it annoying that I can't be sleeping and exceptionally annoying that I can't even think about getting into the bathroom until almost 7:30, when I need to leave at 8:00. Yesterday I tried to do my hair, I barely got the flat iron plugged in before one of the kids was in getting in my way. I eventually gave up. Today I didn't even bother to try. For the past 2 days I've just worn a hat. I'm thinking that this new attention to cleanliness and vanity by the kids is gonna make me a hat person, which is cool because I like hats. And it'd be kind of cool if people were like, Merritt, I love that hat. You're such a hat person! Yesterday my ex said, do you know you're wearing a $60 baseball hat? (it's a True Religion hat) I was like, yeah, I got it on sale, what do you care? He was like, I don't, I'm just making an observation. I like it, it suits you. Which I guess is kind of like saying I'm hat person. Either that or he's looking for a way to get out of paying child support this month...perhaps I should check into that.
School of Rock
This has been one of the craziest weeks on record. I have so much to say, I just can't say it...yet. I have a few things I need to do first, because I really want to make sure I handle this the right way. I've tried a dozen times to write, but there's just so much going on right now...
Anyway. This is the last week before school starts, which is truly unbelievable. 4th grade. That's just crazy. I remember 4th grade. It was the year that I had a Guns N' Roses t-shirt that said "Axl was here" spray painted on the back in hot pink. It was also the year that I started teasing my bangs, tight-rolling my jeans, slouchy socks with high tops and wearing 83 jelly bracelets per wrist. Clearly, 4th grade was really the beginning of my descent into badassery.
The kids' didn't make nearly as many bad fashion choices as I did at their age. Kat's doing this whole preppy/punk thing. One of her favorite outfits is a green plaid skirt, a pink collared shirt with a green plaid tie. Popped collar and low blue Converse. It's actually pretty cute. Davey went with his old standby, cargos and t-shirts. He's also hitting the rock t-shirts pretty hard (taking after his momma), for school he got The Ramones, Kiss, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Alice Cooper. I told him that he was only allowed to wear a band shirt if he knew at least one song from the band. So he's been working on his rock education, which he just eats right up. I think he's either going to be a rocket scientist or a rock star. Either one is fine with me.
I know I'm kinda off and a little rambly today, and I apologize. I have my head in a million different places. Soon, very soon I can share...and I can't fucking wait!
Anyway. This is the last week before school starts, which is truly unbelievable. 4th grade. That's just crazy. I remember 4th grade. It was the year that I had a Guns N' Roses t-shirt that said "Axl was here" spray painted on the back in hot pink. It was also the year that I started teasing my bangs, tight-rolling my jeans, slouchy socks with high tops and wearing 83 jelly bracelets per wrist. Clearly, 4th grade was really the beginning of my descent into badassery.
The kids' didn't make nearly as many bad fashion choices as I did at their age. Kat's doing this whole preppy/punk thing. One of her favorite outfits is a green plaid skirt, a pink collared shirt with a green plaid tie. Popped collar and low blue Converse. It's actually pretty cute. Davey went with his old standby, cargos and t-shirts. He's also hitting the rock t-shirts pretty hard (taking after his momma), for school he got The Ramones, Kiss, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Alice Cooper. I told him that he was only allowed to wear a band shirt if he knew at least one song from the band. So he's been working on his rock education, which he just eats right up. I think he's either going to be a rocket scientist or a rock star. Either one is fine with me.
I know I'm kinda off and a little rambly today, and I apologize. I have my head in a million different places. Soon, very soon I can share...and I can't fucking wait!
Dude, it's a blanket with ARMS. What don't you get?
I consider myself to be a pretty fashionable person. My taste is pretty classic. I like throwing in some new/trendy things with classics to kind of make my own style. I love hats and scarves, and spicing up a otherwise bland outfit with a hat or scarf (around the neck, as a headwrap, whatever. Bonus: scarves hide a multitude of sins). Like today, I'm wearing jeans, a black tank top and a crochet hat that my daughter convinced me to buy because Tori Spelling has the same one. I'm unsure if it makes me look like an out of work artist or a just a 30 year old trying to too hard. I also saw the same hats on the girls on that horrible show, Degrassi, that seems to keep being on my tv. I asked Kat if she thought I looked retarded this morning, and she said, No way. You're the coolest mom ever. No one else's mom would ever wear that hat. Hrm, maybe that was the problem.
Anyway, I try not to jump on every fashion trend, but some just sucked me in. For instance, I still wear Uggs. And I love them. And I don't care that it's way past their expiration date. They're warm and comfortable and they're kick ass. Kat wears hers with shorts, which at least I don't do. There are some trends that I wouldn't be caught dead in, like the whole MBT trend. Have you seen these things? They look like moonboots, only uglier. I won't be getting any, and I don't care how fashionable they become or how much they work your calves. I like my calves jiggly and unsculptured thankyouverymuch.
Then there are other trends that I just don't see the problem with. Case in point, the Snuggie. For some reason, Snuggies are horrible offensive to some people, and I just don't get it. Hello? It's a blanket with arms! What's not awesome about that? Now, I don't have one (yet) because Chris says they're stupid and it would make look like a retard, that and it's August, too hot for blankets. It's not like I'm gonna wear it to the grocery store or out to dinner, so it doesn't even really count as fashion. It's for watching tv and not freezing to death. Ever been to the North Pole? That's how it is here from November to April. Can't warm up, no matter how high you turn the heat on. And really, it's inconvenient to have to pull your arms out of your blanket to get a drink or change the channel. Solution? The Snuggie. I seriously don't see the problem here. People say that the Snuggie is like huge fashion don't, MomLogic said it's "the world's biggest 'fashion don't'." I like MomLogic and all, but it's not a fashion don't. It's not even fashion. It's a blanket. With arms. And I don't care how you spin it people, that's kick ass. Granted, they were talking about Snuggies for dogs, so taken in context maybe...nope. Still a blanket with arms. Still kick ass, even for dogs. Dogs get cold too people. This is one trend that I'll be jumping on.
Anyway, I try not to jump on every fashion trend, but some just sucked me in. For instance, I still wear Uggs. And I love them. And I don't care that it's way past their expiration date. They're warm and comfortable and they're kick ass. Kat wears hers with shorts, which at least I don't do. There are some trends that I wouldn't be caught dead in, like the whole MBT trend. Have you seen these things? They look like moonboots, only uglier. I won't be getting any, and I don't care how fashionable they become or how much they work your calves. I like my calves jiggly and unsculptured thankyouverymuch.
Then there are other trends that I just don't see the problem with. Case in point, the Snuggie. For some reason, Snuggies are horrible offensive to some people, and I just don't get it. Hello? It's a blanket with arms! What's not awesome about that? Now, I don't have one (yet) because Chris says they're stupid and it would make look like a retard, that and it's August, too hot for blankets. It's not like I'm gonna wear it to the grocery store or out to dinner, so it doesn't even really count as fashion. It's for watching tv and not freezing to death. Ever been to the North Pole? That's how it is here from November to April. Can't warm up, no matter how high you turn the heat on. And really, it's inconvenient to have to pull your arms out of your blanket to get a drink or change the channel. Solution? The Snuggie. I seriously don't see the problem here. People say that the Snuggie is like huge fashion don't, MomLogic said it's "the world's biggest 'fashion don't'." I like MomLogic and all, but it's not a fashion don't. It's not even fashion. It's a blanket. With arms. And I don't care how you spin it people, that's kick ass. Granted, they were talking about Snuggies for dogs, so taken in context maybe...nope. Still a blanket with arms. Still kick ass, even for dogs. Dogs get cold too people. This is one trend that I'll be jumping on.
Hey, at least I don't wear Uggs with shorts like some people I know, or wear crochet hats because a 9 year old told me it was cool...no wait I do that. Nevermind.
Fragments
Friday again, another installment of fragments. I'd love to say that this week just flew by, but it really didn't. It really, really didn't.
******
Coolest saying ever: nuggets of wisdom. It reminds me of poop. If wisdom was poop, or if nuggets meant poop, I don't know. Nevermind. Made more sense in my head.******
Every August, Davey goes to football camp. It's run by the high school football coach (who incidentally was the coach and gym teacher when I was in high school). David looks forward to this camp all spring and summer long. Well, there was a message on the answering machine, they'd cancelled it. Didn't say why. The poor kid is heartbroken. The lady who called said, in lieu of football camp, we're willing to offer you a free week at the outdoors camp. Ok, first off lady, it isn't free. I already paid my $100. Second, "in lieu of" a stupid saying. Third, outdoor camp and football camp are so not the same thing. Now look what you made him do.
It's a sign he made. Supper bumed. Poor kid is so distraught he can't even spell. I think he was going for super bummed. I'm also not sure why the P on the guys' chest is backwards. Might have to check into that.
******
Actual conversation via text message:
Me: Do I make you happy?
Chris: Of course you do.
Me: What if I had an unfortunate accident with a wood chipper and I lost the bottom half of my body, and we could never have sex again. Would I still make you happy?
Chris: In the unlikely event that you were critically injured in a wood chipper accident, yes, you'd still make me happy.
Me: What if I had to talk around on my hands? Or pull my torso behind me?
Chris: Yes. I would still be eternally grateful that I was with you.
Me: What if I had to use my chin to walk because the wood chipper gave me gangrene and I had to have my arms cut off and I inched around like a caterpillar?
Chris: In that incredibly morbid event, I would still be happy. Not happy that you were a human inch worm, but happy to be with you.
Me: Ok good. Just checking.
******
I spent some time going through my archives this week, fixing old links, making sure everything was pretty and all cleaned up. If you notice that I missed something or something is not working, let me know, granted I may tell you go to hell, but that's a risk we're gonna have to take. If you're interested in going down the rabbit hole a little further check them out. It's kind of interesting to see how I used to try to be a good little mommy blogger. I even tried the no swearing policy. Then it went to shit and I decided to stop trying to be something I'm not. I went back and tried to change all the "fricking" and "friggin" to fucking, because c'mon. Who am I trying to kid?
******
How was your week?
*******
Check out more Friday Fragments with Mrs4444.
Fragments
So I've been looking for something "catchy" for a weekly post. I thought about doing Flashback Fridays, but then as I started writing these stories, almost all of them started with, this one time, when I was drunk/high (did I not tell you I used to be a total juvenile delinquent?) and since I have to preserve some modicum of integrity, albeit, not much obviously, I just can't tell those stories. Then I considered doing the Wordless Wednesday thing, but the only pictures I ever see are from Cake Wrecks or I Can Has Cheezburger, so that wouldn't work. Then I thought about doing Monday Magic, would be like all about some great new crafting project or some kick ass recipe that I made, then I remembered that I sincerely suck at crafting and I can't boil water without burning it. The only thing that I could really come up with was Friday Fragments, which is about the random thoughts that I've had throughout the week, the random things that just need to be shared and really don't need a whole post. Brilliant, right? Yes, because I'm really good at being random. Just work with me here.
With an afro:
How was your week?
Here we go.
- You know where I'm not going? BlogHer. If you haven't heard about it, it's this big conference in Chicago that (mostly) women go to. They do all kind of networking, get all kinds of goodies, learn to be even more awesome. It sounds really cool, but I'm not going. And I probably never will. I don't really like people, especially new people. And I don't like being away from home without my family. I'm totally needy and dependent that way. Plus Chris is cheap and I can't see him ever agreeing to pay for a trip about blogging. He's supportive, just not THAT supportive.
- As much as I try to be one of the cool kids, I'm actually not. I really, really don't get twitter. Yeah, I can twitter, send my little tweets and such. But I just don't get it. And when I reply to people, they don't reply to me, so I don't know if it's because people don't really like me and think that I'm retarded, or twitter people are just mean. Sometimes I tell myself that they just can't see my tweets because if they could, and they didn't reply, and they did think I was just retarded, that would just feed my inferiority complex, and then I'd get put back on anxiety medication, and it would just be a big mess. You can still follow me though. That would make me feel a little better.
- You know what word I'm really digging today? Clusterfuck. Great word, way underused.
- I almost got hair extensions put in. I'm so sick of trying to grow my hair out. I called a salon and even made an appointment. Then I told Chris how much they were going to be ($400) and after he stopped having an aneurysm, he told me I'd better be damned sure I wanted them. So to help make up my mind, I played around on thehairstyler.com, one of those sites where you take a picture of yourself and then try on hair. It was so much fun it was scary.
Some sexy stripper hair:
With an afro:Channeling Princess Leia (on crack):
How was your week?
UPDATE 7/28/09: Apparently great minds really do think alike. There is a fabulous blog (which you should totally check out), Half-Past Kissin' Time, and she has this great weekly thing called, ding, ding, ding! Friday Fragments! She's been doing it for awhile, so I wanted to give her props (since she did it first). Here I am thinking that I had the best idea ever, I found her blog today and the best idea ever was someone else's first. Who knew?
Self-imposed writer's block
I'm not usually a procrastinator, but there are a few things that I will put off as long as humanly possible, like putting away laundry, cleaning the bathroom, having an enema and writing my short story. I know, likening writing a short story to having an enema is really bad, especially if you profess to love writing (and I do). Here's my problem: I'm fucking terrified. I mean, flat out, no excuses, full on terrified. It's just a contest, and I know the chances of me winning are slim to none, but part of me wants it so bad I could scream. The winner gets their story published in the magazine and wins $3,000. The other part of me wants to curl up in a ball and rock back in forth until the deadline for submissions passes. What if they hate it? What if they said , this is the worst piece of garbage I've ever seen. What if I did win, and everyone said, Man, you really suck, I can't believe they printed that shit. Even though I have a blog and I write on it all the time, I get ridiculously scared of writing actual stories and having people read them. Yeah, I can bitch about stuff and tell funny stories about my family, but to tell a real story is different. When I was in high school, there was this column in the local newspaper, the premise was a teenager from the Northern part of the state wrote their opinion on an issue, and a teenager from the Southern part of the state wrote their opinion about the same issue. I was asked to do it. I said no. The thought of someone reading my stuff was too overwhelming. Which is retarded because I was the editor of my school newspaper, and I wrote stuff all the time. I don't know what the issue is/was, it's like anytime I get close to being able to write for real, I freak out.
I "hired" Chris to be my "agent", to get me motivated and keep on me so I actually write this story. I've fired him about a dozen times, he says I'm not allowed fire him. Something about a union contract or something.
I want to say to myself, oh you can do this! You'll bang it right out. But I just don't feel that way. I feel like puking. And I haven't even started yet. I see that evil cursor blinking at me and it makes me want to cry. Whatever happens, win or not win, even if it turns out to be the biggest pile of shit on the planet, I feel like I have to do this. I've used every excuse there is: the kids need me (they'd rather watch tv than have me fuss over them), there's housework to do (the kids have chores now, they even vacuumed this morning!), I don't have a laptop and it's too hard to write at the desktop (Chris bought me a laptop), I don't know what to write about (I have intricate plot lines scribbled in notebooks all over my house), I've just run out of excuses. Anyway, today (with great trepidation) I'm starting my story.
P.S. If any of you say, aww, you can do it! I believe in you! In the comments, I'm totally kicking your ass.
P.P.S. However if you really want to gush about my awesomeness, who am I stand in your way?
P.P.P.S. Just kidding about that last part.
P.P.P.P.S. Ok, I'm not really kidding, you can gush.
I "hired" Chris to be my "agent", to get me motivated and keep on me so I actually write this story. I've fired him about a dozen times, he says I'm not allowed fire him. Something about a union contract or something.
I want to say to myself, oh you can do this! You'll bang it right out. But I just don't feel that way. I feel like puking. And I haven't even started yet. I see that evil cursor blinking at me and it makes me want to cry. Whatever happens, win or not win, even if it turns out to be the biggest pile of shit on the planet, I feel like I have to do this. I've used every excuse there is: the kids need me (they'd rather watch tv than have me fuss over them), there's housework to do (the kids have chores now, they even vacuumed this morning!), I don't have a laptop and it's too hard to write at the desktop (Chris bought me a laptop), I don't know what to write about (I have intricate plot lines scribbled in notebooks all over my house), I've just run out of excuses. Anyway, today (with great trepidation) I'm starting my story.
P.S. If any of you say, aww, you can do it! I believe in you! In the comments, I'm totally kicking your ass.
P.P.S. However if you really want to gush about my awesomeness, who am I stand in your way?
P.P.P.S. Just kidding about that last part.
P.P.P.P.S. Ok, I'm not really kidding, you can gush.
It's not like I asked him to put it on his forehead
I have three tattoos (as I mentioned in my 100 things post), a vine around my ankle, a sun on my shoulder and the chinese symbol for tranquility on the inside of my wrist. The one on my shoulder was my first act as an adult. Register to vote? Nah. Buy cigarettes legally? Nah. Get a tattoo to piss your parents off? Hell yeah! The one on my wrist was at a time when I felt I needed a constant reminder to stay calm and be tranquil. It doesn't really work, but it looks cooler than a string around my finger. I love tattoos. I love them on other people, and I love mine, except the one around my ankle because really, there's no need for a fat girl to have a big blue vine around her ankle, it only makes her leg look more like a tree trunk. It's really not sexy. Granted, when I got it, it was in an alcohol and drug induced state, and I really wasn't thinking about things like, I wonder if I'll regret this when I'm 30 or I bet this will just draw more attention to an already heavy leg. That's probably why there are laws against getting a tattoo if you're intoxicated. Intoxication makes you do things you wouldn't normally do, go figure. So anyway, I was talking to Chris about getting another tattoo. I said I was thinking about getting another one, and I thought that he should get one too. Now this isn't the first time that we've talked about him getting one. When I got the one on my wrist, he went with me and was thisclose to getting one, but he totally chickened out, that was 3 years ago. I said, wouldn't it be cool if you got a tattoo about me, like my name or something? He was like, I'm not putting your name on me. Ehhh, what the fuck? Why the hell not?
Apparently there's some man law that, thou shall not tattoo a woman's name on you, even if she's your wife. He says that even though he has no plans on divorce and wants nothing more to be with me forever (aww, sweet, right? Wait for it...), there's always a chance that we'll get divorced or I'll die and he'll be stuck with my name on his body forever (there it is!). Are you kidding me? Not only is he thinking about our divorce but he's also considering my death? So I'm getting, Oh I love you so much, but if you die, I'm gonna be able to pick up any chicks with your name tattooed on my arm? That's just wrong.
Ok, I totally get that a tattoo is a big deal for some people, it's a forever kind of thing. You can get them removed, but that sounds like an immense pain in the ass, so you really need to be sure before you get a tattoo. And it's not like he's like, I don't want a tattoo at all. He does, he just can't decide what he wants, well that and he's afraid it's gonna hurt a lot (which it totally doesn't). So surely getting something about the love of his fucking life should inspire him, I mean it's not even like my name is Betty or Jane or a name that is even sounds like other names. Maybe Merritt means excellence, to be worthy of, goodness, perfection (which it totally does according to the thesaurus) and he just spelled it more fancy with an extra r and t. And it's not like I think it should say I heart Merritt (like with a picture of a heart, like I heart NY), that's dumb. It could say, Merritt is the best and hottest wife ever, or Merritt is the most wonderful woman on the planet, or Merritt is the love of my life and I've tattooed her name on my arm to show the world that there will never be another woman for me, although that may be too long. Some girls like flowers and candy, I like tattoos. Am I nuts?
What do you think? Would you want your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend to tattoo your name on him/her? Would you be offended if they said they wouldn't?
Apparently there's some man law that, thou shall not tattoo a woman's name on you, even if she's your wife. He says that even though he has no plans on divorce and wants nothing more to be with me forever (aww, sweet, right? Wait for it...), there's always a chance that we'll get divorced or I'll die and he'll be stuck with my name on his body forever (there it is!). Are you kidding me? Not only is he thinking about our divorce but he's also considering my death? So I'm getting, Oh I love you so much, but if you die, I'm gonna be able to pick up any chicks with your name tattooed on my arm? That's just wrong.
Ok, I totally get that a tattoo is a big deal for some people, it's a forever kind of thing. You can get them removed, but that sounds like an immense pain in the ass, so you really need to be sure before you get a tattoo. And it's not like he's like, I don't want a tattoo at all. He does, he just can't decide what he wants, well that and he's afraid it's gonna hurt a lot (which it totally doesn't). So surely getting something about the love of his fucking life should inspire him, I mean it's not even like my name is Betty or Jane or a name that is even sounds like other names. Maybe Merritt means excellence, to be worthy of, goodness, perfection (which it totally does according to the thesaurus) and he just spelled it more fancy with an extra r and t. And it's not like I think it should say I heart Merritt (like with a picture of a heart, like I heart NY), that's dumb. It could say, Merritt is the best and hottest wife ever, or Merritt is the most wonderful woman on the planet, or Merritt is the love of my life and I've tattooed her name on my arm to show the world that there will never be another woman for me, although that may be too long. Some girls like flowers and candy, I like tattoos. Am I nuts?
What do you think? Would you want your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend to tattoo your name on him/her? Would you be offended if they said they wouldn't?
The soundtracks of our lives
I love music, every kind of music. It's also one of the few topics that I know a lot about. For instance, remember that show, Rock N' Roll Jeopardy, which is like regular Jeopardy but way better because it's about rock? Yeah, I own at that game. I'm like a fountain of useless knowledge when it comes to music. Sure, I know albums, artists, all that stuff, but I also know lyrics. If they still had Name That Tune, I'd own at that too. We'll be flipping through the radio stations, and I'll immediately know the song on just about any channel, and of course I always sing along...even though I can't sing for shit. Since I was little, I've had this love for music, and it's always been a big part of my life. Growing up, my dad was one of those sometimes distant dads, who just didn't always know how to relate to a girl. The only way we really communicated for a long time was through music. He'd taught me all about classic rock, the original "guitar heroes", he'd introduced me to all the greats, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, all of them. It was just easier to talk about music than other stuff. So it's natural that I've always used music as a kind of soundtrack for my life. When I was really angry, I'd listen to Riders on the Storm (The Doors). When my first boyfriend broke up with me and I was sure that I would never love again and my life was over, I made a mix tape of just The Rose (Bette Midler) and Love Hurts (Nazareth), just put them back to back, so I could have 120 minutes in uninterrupted wallowing. I could listen to anything and think of a place or time where it would've applied to my life. Some may call it vain, I call it awesome. I think it could have something to do with me being a drama queen and thinking that I should totally have my own soundtrack. So even though it may not be weird for me to have my own soundtrack, I think it may be a little weird when I start making soundtracks for other people.
See, in my head, I've made a soundtrack for Barack Obama. I figure they'll make a movie about him, and I want to do the soundtrack. I don't have all the specifics worked out yet, but I've got some ideas. For instance, I see him telling his staff about how important votes will be, every vote will be hard fought, etc. Then it will cut to the volunteers fanning out over the communities, signing up voters, shaking hands, telling people about Obama, and in the background Waiting on the World to Change (John Mayer) will be playing. Ok then, in another scene, on election night, it will show people's reactions, spliced in with his acceptance speech, and then his voice will fade out and be replaced by Signed, Sealed, Delivered (Stevie Wonder). Genius right? Lastly, I see the final scene of the movie, the part where they show a still frame of the actor playing Obama (which totally is going to be Will Smith), and then the screen dims for a second, and real-life pictures of his presidency, the First Lady, his children, the heart warming pictures of the whole family, and all the while in the background you'll hear Bob Marley's voice singing Redemption Song. How awesome is that? That's a kick ass movie right there. Of course that's only three tiny parts of the movie, to make it really work I'd need a whole script, someone to buy the script, a studio to finance it, actors, producers...but I'm totally on top of the soundtrack.
See, in my head, I've made a soundtrack for Barack Obama. I figure they'll make a movie about him, and I want to do the soundtrack. I don't have all the specifics worked out yet, but I've got some ideas. For instance, I see him telling his staff about how important votes will be, every vote will be hard fought, etc. Then it will cut to the volunteers fanning out over the communities, signing up voters, shaking hands, telling people about Obama, and in the background Waiting on the World to Change (John Mayer) will be playing. Ok then, in another scene, on election night, it will show people's reactions, spliced in with his acceptance speech, and then his voice will fade out and be replaced by Signed, Sealed, Delivered (Stevie Wonder). Genius right? Lastly, I see the final scene of the movie, the part where they show a still frame of the actor playing Obama (which totally is going to be Will Smith), and then the screen dims for a second, and real-life pictures of his presidency, the First Lady, his children, the heart warming pictures of the whole family, and all the while in the background you'll hear Bob Marley's voice singing Redemption Song. How awesome is that? That's a kick ass movie right there. Of course that's only three tiny parts of the movie, to make it really work I'd need a whole script, someone to buy the script, a studio to finance it, actors, producers...but I'm totally on top of the soundtrack.
How was your weekend?
Friday I woke up to the sun shining, the birds singing, it was a beautiful day. It's been raining for so long here, I desperately wanted (and needed for my own sanity) some sunshine, so I said, screw it, I'm not working today. I called my boss and told her that it was just too nice of a day to be stuck inside and I was taking the day off. I got her voicemail, so I think she had the same idea I did. I spent the day outside with the kids, they played in the sprinkler, I channeled my inner diva:I sat in my lounge chair, my hair wrapped in a scarf like an old Hollywood movie star, my oversized sunglasses and my chilled beverage by my side and read sTORI Telling by Tori Spelling (which if you haven't read it, is a deliciously fun read). Of course because there's been no sun since March, my pasty pale ass got sunburned, but that's ok, at least I wasn't working.
Saturday, I spent the morning cleaning and then went shopping with Chris for sheets. We decided that instead of buying sheets we'd have a screaming match that ended in me literally walking for a mile to cool off, a pack of cigarettes (I know, I know, I suck), and some really ridiculous drama, but more on that tomorrow.
Yesterday was another beautiful, sun-filled day. We took the kids swimming, I even went in the pool. I put on a bathing suit for the first time in over a year, which was a bit traumatizing. I really think that we should go back to the 1800's style bathing suits, with the almost knee-length shorts and full coverage tops. Ahh, those were the days big girls could prance around by the pool without their cellulite scaring small children. Sigh. Anyway. We decided that since we were on a roll for family fun day, we'd rent some movies, unwittingly subjecting them to inappropriate adult topics. We rented Bedtime Stories and Yes Man for the kids. Bedtime Stories was cute, it was a Disney movie, so there were no surprises. Yes Man, good movie, but not really for kids. I'm not giving away any plot points or anything, but if you don't want to know anything that happens, stop reading. It was rated PG-13, which is usually not bad, but there was one scene that Jim Carrey's old lady neighbor propositions him. He has to say yes, which has it's own ickyness. So she throws him on the bed and the camera shows his face, she's, ahem, going down. Then you see her put her false teeth in a glass by the bed. I'm laughing hysterically, because it's really, really funny. The scene ends, and I think we're in the clear and Kat says gross. I didn't say anything, surely she can't know what that was all about, right? And if she does, well, I'm not having that conversation yet. "Gross" works for me. Then Davey says, Mom, what's she doing? Why'd she take her teeth out? Ehhh...there's really no good answer here. I was like, she must've lost her contact on his pants and then had to take her teeth out to brush them. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to say? Oh, she's performing oral sex on him, and apparently he likes it. You see, oral sex is... Yeah, that's probably not a good idea. I don't know if he believed me or not, but he didn't question it, so I just breathed a sigh of relief and let it go.
So that was my weekend, sunburned, almost divorced and exposed my kids to totally inappropriate oral sex references. How was your weekend?
Saturday, I spent the morning cleaning and then went shopping with Chris for sheets. We decided that instead of buying sheets we'd have a screaming match that ended in me literally walking for a mile to cool off, a pack of cigarettes (I know, I know, I suck), and some really ridiculous drama, but more on that tomorrow.
Yesterday was another beautiful, sun-filled day. We took the kids swimming, I even went in the pool. I put on a bathing suit for the first time in over a year, which was a bit traumatizing. I really think that we should go back to the 1800's style bathing suits, with the almost knee-length shorts and full coverage tops. Ahh, those were the days big girls could prance around by the pool without their cellulite scaring small children. Sigh. Anyway. We decided that since we were on a roll for family fun day, we'd rent some movies, unwittingly subjecting them to inappropriate adult topics. We rented Bedtime Stories and Yes Man for the kids. Bedtime Stories was cute, it was a Disney movie, so there were no surprises. Yes Man, good movie, but not really for kids. I'm not giving away any plot points or anything, but if you don't want to know anything that happens, stop reading. It was rated PG-13, which is usually not bad, but there was one scene that Jim Carrey's old lady neighbor propositions him. He has to say yes, which has it's own ickyness. So she throws him on the bed and the camera shows his face, she's, ahem, going down. Then you see her put her false teeth in a glass by the bed. I'm laughing hysterically, because it's really, really funny. The scene ends, and I think we're in the clear and Kat says gross. I didn't say anything, surely she can't know what that was all about, right? And if she does, well, I'm not having that conversation yet. "Gross" works for me. Then Davey says, Mom, what's she doing? Why'd she take her teeth out? Ehhh...there's really no good answer here. I was like, she must've lost her contact on his pants and then had to take her teeth out to brush them. Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to say? Oh, she's performing oral sex on him, and apparently he likes it. You see, oral sex is... Yeah, that's probably not a good idea. I don't know if he believed me or not, but he didn't question it, so I just breathed a sigh of relief and let it go.
So that was my weekend, sunburned, almost divorced and exposed my kids to totally inappropriate oral sex references. How was your weekend?
What would you do with an extra 3 hours and 20 minutes a day?
So it’s day 2. So far no one has died, no one has lost any limbs, and I haven’t smoked. I found out today that not smoking means I have a shitload of time on my hands. I spent an average of 3 hours and 20 minutes smoking every day (10 minutes per cigarette, 20 times a day). Today I:
- Cleaned my entire house. Twice. Before 9 a.m.
- Went grocery shopping and bought 732 boxes of Little Debbie snacks. I’ll worry about being fat later.
- Found out that I really, really hate it when people change the radio station too often.
- Found out that it irritates me even more when it’s my ex doing the station changing.
- Watched three episodes of Touched By An Angel on the Hallmark channel and cried. I DVRed the rest of the season.
- Spilled a whole glass of Diet Coke in the living room. It got all over the curtains, which gives something to do tomorrow.
- Helped Chris grill hotdogs. Then he told me to go away and take my “opinions” with me. I merely pointed out he’d set the rolls on fire. I thought it was helpful. He disagreed.
- Accidentally stuck my tongue in a fan.
I’m thinking I may take on a new hobby. I have way too much time on my hands. Any suggestions? At this rate, I’ll either be in the hospital trying to loosen my straps or will have figured out how to make cold fusion.
