I am learning how to live on a lot less sleep, and have even managed to cook a meal once or twice. Life is returning to normal…ish. Plus, you know, a baby. My return to work date is looming, and I am both excited for it and dreading it. I miss my co-workers and using that part of my brain. I also do not want to relinquish the care of my precious baby to anyone whose name does not rhyme with Yumasaurus. But it must be done, and thus we have begun the fascinating and grueling process of finding a nanny.
We have posted a couple of ads, and the response has been varied. Some are easy to weed out. One of my first questions is, “Are you allergic to cats?” because, hi, those are our other babies. You cannot avoid the cat fur and love in our house. I’ve had one or two people tell me they’d be o.k. as long as they don’t touch the cats. And I must respond with “How about if they touch you?” because Tatum is very jealous of the baby, and demands equal attention and rubs all over you constantly if you deign to hold the baby and not him.
I also am not interested in smokers, which is pretty common among new moms. And while the correct answer to the question, “Do you smoke?” is “No” that no must be honest. I had one lady tell me, “Oh, no.”
…
“But if I do have a cigarette, it’s only at night. Socially. I would never smoke in front of the kids.”
Needless to say I didn’t invite her over for an in-person interview.
The grandmother who was unable to furnish any references besides her daughter was also rejected, as were all the university students who think they’d be a perfect fit for my 9-5 job, except they are in class during the day so they are only available on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6:00 PM to 8:00 PM, except on the second Tuesday of every month when they have their drum circle that they are absolutely dedicated to and couldn’t possibly give up.
So far the front-runner for me is a Tibetan woman who says she likes to cook traditional Tibetan and Indian food. (Note we are not asking the nanny to cook, she was just talking about what she likes to do in her free time.) I was drooling, while The Funasaurus, who has a real issue with food that is mushy, looked on in horror. He, meanwhile, has a strong preference for the hot, young, yoga instructor who looks like Katie Holmes circa the post-Dawson’s Creek but pre-Tom Cruise era. Except skinnier. And Toned-er. Never mind that she is only available through August, those could be a glorious eight months or so.
We continue to interview.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Update on Some Very Bad Cats
Thank you for all the supportive comments. I am glad to hear from multiple sources that it gets easier. These days I’m just trying not to be too jealous of a swing…currently my daughter seems to prefer being in it than in my arms. This is both frustrating and also very convenient for getting other things done.
I had big plans to tell you all about the Ordeal of Tatum, but I am tired, so the abbreviated version is: the little poophead disappeared about a week after we brought Miss Thang home from the hospital. We were pretty sure he got outside somehow, and for five days I would sob hysterically on the couch at 3:00 in the morning as I listened to the coyotes howl just outside our front door, convincing myself that I was truly unfit to be a mother if I couldn’t even keep a cat safe. Tatum is cute but dumb, and I believe any sort of survival skills have been bred right out of him. It is also getting cold in Colorado, and Tatum does not possess much fur, so I was sure he had turned into a kitty popsicle for added coyote nibbling pleasure.
We all mourned the little stinker, even Sugar, who started crying at the door whenever we left, which was a habit she had back in the day that convinced us to get her a playmate in the first place. She would never admit it, but she missed Tatum a lot. I was…more open about my distress. The Funasaurus was sent out to troll the neighborhood whistling and offering faux mice to the wind many times.
On the fifth night, around 3:00AM, I thought I heard him cry as I was feeding Miss Thang. I made The Funasaurus get up and check outside. The night was apparently cold, but Tatum-less. Around 6:00AM I was SURE I heard him. So I sprang out of bed half-naked, with Miss Thang still attached, and ran all over calling him. (As fast as one can run with a newborn attached to your boob.) He was in the basement, just sitting on the other side of the door, all, “What took you so long?” He then proceeded upstairs where he snarfed some food and promptly demanded a mouse.
I called the 24-hour vet to see if we needed to bring him in for dehydration, and she asked if he was refusing food or acting lethargic. I moved out of Sugar’s way as Tatum chased her up the stairs, and decided we probably didn’t need to go in.
So he is home, safe, loved, and obnoxious as ever. He’s also quite jealous of Miss Thang, and has developed this habit where he demands to be held whenever she is being held. Fortunately, my parents have been down to help me out a lot, and while my mom helps with diapers and burping, my dad carries Tatum around (when he’s not throwing faux mice for him) and everyone feels useful and loved.
Now we just need to convince Sugar that when the baby finally goes to sleep we all need to go to sleep. Currently she sees it as her opportunity to cuddle with her very poke-y claws.
I had big plans to tell you all about the Ordeal of Tatum, but I am tired, so the abbreviated version is: the little poophead disappeared about a week after we brought Miss Thang home from the hospital. We were pretty sure he got outside somehow, and for five days I would sob hysterically on the couch at 3:00 in the morning as I listened to the coyotes howl just outside our front door, convincing myself that I was truly unfit to be a mother if I couldn’t even keep a cat safe. Tatum is cute but dumb, and I believe any sort of survival skills have been bred right out of him. It is also getting cold in Colorado, and Tatum does not possess much fur, so I was sure he had turned into a kitty popsicle for added coyote nibbling pleasure.
We all mourned the little stinker, even Sugar, who started crying at the door whenever we left, which was a habit she had back in the day that convinced us to get her a playmate in the first place. She would never admit it, but she missed Tatum a lot. I was…more open about my distress. The Funasaurus was sent out to troll the neighborhood whistling and offering faux mice to the wind many times.
On the fifth night, around 3:00AM, I thought I heard him cry as I was feeding Miss Thang. I made The Funasaurus get up and check outside. The night was apparently cold, but Tatum-less. Around 6:00AM I was SURE I heard him. So I sprang out of bed half-naked, with Miss Thang still attached, and ran all over calling him. (As fast as one can run with a newborn attached to your boob.) He was in the basement, just sitting on the other side of the door, all, “What took you so long?” He then proceeded upstairs where he snarfed some food and promptly demanded a mouse.
I called the 24-hour vet to see if we needed to bring him in for dehydration, and she asked if he was refusing food or acting lethargic. I moved out of Sugar’s way as Tatum chased her up the stairs, and decided we probably didn’t need to go in.
So he is home, safe, loved, and obnoxious as ever. He’s also quite jealous of Miss Thang, and has developed this habit where he demands to be held whenever she is being held. Fortunately, my parents have been down to help me out a lot, and while my mom helps with diapers and burping, my dad carries Tatum around (when he’s not throwing faux mice for him) and everyone feels useful and loved.
Now we just need to convince Sugar that when the baby finally goes to sleep we all need to go to sleep. Currently she sees it as her opportunity to cuddle with her very poke-y claws.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Queen for a Day..and then Another Day
Hi hi. I am still here. Barely. I got four consecutive hours of sleep last night, which is the most sleep I’ve gotten in a month, and so I am feeling fabulous and productive this morning.
Motherhood is kicking my ass. We started a blog for family and friends with pictures of Miss Thang. I try to remain optimistic and light there, since we are not trying to strike fear into the hearts of our loved ones. But I plan on being a little more candid here. Overall, I think we’re doing pretty good. And each day IS getting a little easier, if only a tiny bit so. But it’s really fucking hard, too. There are so many decisions that have to be made while running on a nominal amount sleep and major amount stress. Who is it o.k. to whip out a boob in front of? Should I try and force this itty-bitty shirt over my screaming child’s head, or risk letting her freeze to death? Can I keep my mouth shut when yet another random person tries to give me advice that I already have heard fourteen times? Is it o.k. to try and grab a bite to eat when I’m starving if my child is still sobbing hysterically? Should I bother to try and clean the mold off of the dishes that are piling up in the sink, or just invest in paper plates someday when I make it back to the grocery store?
See what I mean? Candid. I am not open to criticism, thanks anyway.
Meanwhile, apparently the world outside continues to turn, but I am not really aware of it. I have lost track of days, but I am happy I get ten weeks of maternity leave to invest in this baby. Each day I learn a little more, and get a little closer to this tiny person. I do not know how women go back to work sooner. Really, my hat is off to you if you have done that. Also, I have a newfound respect for single mothers. That is an inconceivable notion to me. I do not think I could have physically or mentally gotten this far without The Funasaurus. Seriously, if you were raised by or know a single mom, perhaps you should buy her something very expensive and sparkly for Thanksgiving. And then again for Chanukah and Christmas. Also perhaps a crapload of liquor.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, we are actually hosting this year. And by “hosting” I mean, “we will unlock the door to our house and let my mom come in with all the supplies and cook in our kitchen.” Of course, we have a new gas stove, and we are smelling quite a bit of natural gas when we turn the oven on. The Funasaurus and I have blissfully gone about cooking (mostly chocolate chip cookies) in our exhausted new-parent stupor, but my mom is somewhat concerned about the natural gas. She has these silly concerns about blowing up our new little family, apparently that’s not part of her Thanksgiving day plan. So I have tried to call the builder, who told me to call the gas company, who told me to call this other number, who have told me they’d call back sometime to schedule a day to come out and test our oven.
I have doubts about whether this will happen before Thanksgiving. In which case, I am starting to wonder if we are going to have to just start popping little Cornish game hens one by one into our toaster oven starting around Miss Thang’s 3:00AM feeding on Thursday morning. That should be awesome.
Next up, the story of Tatum, the little shit we can’t live without.
Motherhood is kicking my ass. We started a blog for family and friends with pictures of Miss Thang. I try to remain optimistic and light there, since we are not trying to strike fear into the hearts of our loved ones. But I plan on being a little more candid here. Overall, I think we’re doing pretty good. And each day IS getting a little easier, if only a tiny bit so. But it’s really fucking hard, too. There are so many decisions that have to be made while running on a nominal amount sleep and major amount stress. Who is it o.k. to whip out a boob in front of? Should I try and force this itty-bitty shirt over my screaming child’s head, or risk letting her freeze to death? Can I keep my mouth shut when yet another random person tries to give me advice that I already have heard fourteen times? Is it o.k. to try and grab a bite to eat when I’m starving if my child is still sobbing hysterically? Should I bother to try and clean the mold off of the dishes that are piling up in the sink, or just invest in paper plates someday when I make it back to the grocery store?
See what I mean? Candid. I am not open to criticism, thanks anyway.
Meanwhile, apparently the world outside continues to turn, but I am not really aware of it. I have lost track of days, but I am happy I get ten weeks of maternity leave to invest in this baby. Each day I learn a little more, and get a little closer to this tiny person. I do not know how women go back to work sooner. Really, my hat is off to you if you have done that. Also, I have a newfound respect for single mothers. That is an inconceivable notion to me. I do not think I could have physically or mentally gotten this far without The Funasaurus. Seriously, if you were raised by or know a single mom, perhaps you should buy her something very expensive and sparkly for Thanksgiving. And then again for Chanukah and Christmas. Also perhaps a crapload of liquor.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, we are actually hosting this year. And by “hosting” I mean, “we will unlock the door to our house and let my mom come in with all the supplies and cook in our kitchen.” Of course, we have a new gas stove, and we are smelling quite a bit of natural gas when we turn the oven on. The Funasaurus and I have blissfully gone about cooking (mostly chocolate chip cookies) in our exhausted new-parent stupor, but my mom is somewhat concerned about the natural gas. She has these silly concerns about blowing up our new little family, apparently that’s not part of her Thanksgiving day plan. So I have tried to call the builder, who told me to call the gas company, who told me to call this other number, who have told me they’d call back sometime to schedule a day to come out and test our oven.
I have doubts about whether this will happen before Thanksgiving. In which case, I am starting to wonder if we are going to have to just start popping little Cornish game hens one by one into our toaster oven starting around Miss Thang’s 3:00AM feeding on Thursday morning. That should be awesome.
Next up, the story of Tatum, the little shit we can’t live without.
Monday, November 09, 2009
OMG
I am somebody's mother.
Introducing Miss Thang.
I'm sorry posting has been light. (read: nonexistant.) Parenting has been as hard as I expected. It's rewarding in unexpected ways, and this little person is amazingly time-consuming for being all of seven pounds plus change.
More to come, I just wanted to let you know I survived labor (mostly) and there is a new princess in town. I'm not even sorry to share the title.
Introducing Miss Thang.
I'm sorry posting has been light. (read: nonexistant.) Parenting has been as hard as I expected. It's rewarding in unexpected ways, and this little person is amazingly time-consuming for being all of seven pounds plus change.
More to come, I just wanted to let you know I survived labor (mostly) and there is a new princess in town. I'm not even sorry to share the title.
Friday, October 09, 2009
One Track...zzzzzzzzz
My brain is dead, making me kind of incompetent at things like walking, let alone writing. I do still want to write, but every time I get the slightest inkling the pregnant corner (is there a corner? I think it might have taken over the whole thing more like a supreme dictator) part of my brain goes, “Or you could nap.” And, really, napping is so amazing it is better than any drug you could ever possibly imagine. I love it so much.
Everything around here is also babybabybaby, and I didn’t really like those people before I got pregnant, so I’ve been reluctant to put it out on the interwebs that I am, indeed, that person now. I am all about the BabyCenter chat rooms, the pediatrician interviews, the measuring my cervix doctor appointments, the buying/borrowing plastic shit that I don’t really comprehend but apparently cannot raise a baby without, the packing my bags for the hospital, etc. I am also trying to stay employed, which is harder than it sounds when you factor in the aforementioned brain deadness, napping, and all-consuming baby lifestyle.
I feel like these are very first-world problems. Whaaa, I still can’t have brie and cabernet. Life is so hard. Also, how do you feel about cloth diapering?
Meanwhile The Funasaurus left for Seattle this morning for work, and I feel like we are perhaps tempting the universe just a little bit by sending him hundreds of miles away when I am less than two weeks away from my due date (and we know how much the universe likes to accommodate my plans) so I am trying not to panic and just squeezing my legs together really tightly for the next three days.
Last night I changed the sheets on our bed, and decided to put down a garbage bag underneath the sheet on my side in an attempt to save our mattress should my water break while I am sleeping. It could happen. I sleep a lot these days. I think I might have mentioned…? Anywhos, I woke up around 1:45 AM, sure that my water had broken, given that my hip (I can only sleep on my side now) was rather damp. I woke up, excited to tell The Funasaurus that his trip was cancelled. Also we were having a baby. But then I got up and walked and felt oddly dry everywhere else besides my hip and thigh. I did not quite understand what was going on, plus it was the middle of the night so I was only semi-conscious, so I decided to go back to bed to see what would happen. I woke up again three hours later, again with a wet hip and thigh, but nothing else, and suddenly a little lightbulb flashed in my brain and I realized that my water was probably still intact, but that I was drenched in sweat because I was sleeping on a plastic bag under nice, warm covers, OMG I AM AN IDIOT.
So the bag was removed and I remained dry for the rest of the night and The Funasaurus left and now I’m wondering what to eat for dinner that has the least likelihood of causing labor. Any suggestions?
Everything around here is also babybabybaby, and I didn’t really like those people before I got pregnant, so I’ve been reluctant to put it out on the interwebs that I am, indeed, that person now. I am all about the BabyCenter chat rooms, the pediatrician interviews, the measuring my cervix doctor appointments, the buying/borrowing plastic shit that I don’t really comprehend but apparently cannot raise a baby without, the packing my bags for the hospital, etc. I am also trying to stay employed, which is harder than it sounds when you factor in the aforementioned brain deadness, napping, and all-consuming baby lifestyle.
I feel like these are very first-world problems. Whaaa, I still can’t have brie and cabernet. Life is so hard. Also, how do you feel about cloth diapering?
Meanwhile The Funasaurus left for Seattle this morning for work, and I feel like we are perhaps tempting the universe just a little bit by sending him hundreds of miles away when I am less than two weeks away from my due date (and we know how much the universe likes to accommodate my plans) so I am trying not to panic and just squeezing my legs together really tightly for the next three days.
Last night I changed the sheets on our bed, and decided to put down a garbage bag underneath the sheet on my side in an attempt to save our mattress should my water break while I am sleeping. It could happen. I sleep a lot these days. I think I might have mentioned…? Anywhos, I woke up around 1:45 AM, sure that my water had broken, given that my hip (I can only sleep on my side now) was rather damp. I woke up, excited to tell The Funasaurus that his trip was cancelled. Also we were having a baby. But then I got up and walked and felt oddly dry everywhere else besides my hip and thigh. I did not quite understand what was going on, plus it was the middle of the night so I was only semi-conscious, so I decided to go back to bed to see what would happen. I woke up again three hours later, again with a wet hip and thigh, but nothing else, and suddenly a little lightbulb flashed in my brain and I realized that my water was probably still intact, but that I was drenched in sweat because I was sleeping on a plastic bag under nice, warm covers, OMG I AM AN IDIOT.
So the bag was removed and I remained dry for the rest of the night and The Funasaurus left and now I’m wondering what to eat for dinner that has the least likelihood of causing labor. Any suggestions?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Once Upon a Funasaurus Marrying a Princess Pregnancy Idiot
Today The Funasaurus and I celebrated two years of marriage (when did that happen?) by eating burgers and chocolate cookies for dinner. We like to stay sophisticated like that.
Remember how I told you that my child seems to favor Beyonce, particularly the “Single Ladies” song? That was well-proved again after watching tonight’s episode of Glee, and its many iterations of that song, making my child sit up and wiggle each time the uh-oh-oh comes on. (Yes, I totally watch that show, just like everyone else. It is unexpectedly living up to the hype. Way to make musical theater mainstream, Fox. Who knew you could pull it off?) Apparently my child is not the only one.
I seriously cannot get enough of this video. Feel like my child is doing more or less the same thing on my bladder these days. I only hope she is that cute.
Speaking of the child…I am 36 weeks along. I am due in late-ish October, but potentially she could come sooner. Since we haven’t gotten around to getting a car seat yet (I hear we might want one of those) I’m hoping she continues to just stay where she is, abusing my bladder, for just a little bit longer.
The symptoms only get worse from here on out, though, including my pregnancy brain. The thing which led me to believe that it would be a good idea to try and catch a wasp that was in my house and save its little life by putting it outside today. Let me just tell you now so that you do not make such a silly assumption, wasps are indeed fucking ungrateful little bastards. Ungrateful little bastards with very pointy, venomous butts.
The full story starts with Sugar making some very excited noises in the stairwell today, and after a few minutes, I got curious as to what had made her excited enough to leave the Pooping Pigeon Show for such an extended amount of time. I find her and Tatum staring and pawing excitedly at the stairwell where a wasp is casually wandering along like he owns this ‘hood. As trips to the emergency vet clinic danced through my head, I waddled as quickly as I could to the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, and decided to try and capture the thing and release it outside. The capture went well, the cats’ disappointment was palatable, and I waddled quickly to the front door, where I shook the towel…but nothing fell out. Feeling fairly badass by this point, I blithely looked around the towel instead of running for cover like one should know to do when one has captured, terrified, pissed-off, and forcibly removed a wasp from its ‘hood. Naturally, the little fucker was still clinging to the towel, looking for someone upon whom to unleash his rage.
Look no further, wasp! I am here, bloated and stupid and poking my sausage-like finger nearly in your face. Merry Christmas.
So that stung a lot. The towel is still outside, and I panicked, sure that I had somehow damaged my unborn child forevermore. I called the doctor, but only got a voicemail. So I called urgent care, but they said they couldn’t help unless I came in. I wasn’t sure if I was dying or perhaps overreacting just a little. I called my pediatrician friend, left a I’m-trying-to-be-cool-but-please-help! voicemail, and finally turned to Google, who assured me that unless I was having an allergic reaction, I, and my baby, were probably fine. Love u, Google.
This evening I went outside to collect the towel, and I’ll be darned, but the wasp’s corpse was still on the thing! So I tried to wipe it off, but wasp corpses are very clingy. Except it’s not really a corpse, because it suddenly sprang to life, not very excited about being wiped against the cement step.
Pregnancy brain is a very real thing, folks. It makes you something beyond moronic. Even morons tend to understand the concept of “once bitten, twice shy.” Take note. Also, please send Benadryl.
Remember how I told you that my child seems to favor Beyonce, particularly the “Single Ladies” song? That was well-proved again after watching tonight’s episode of Glee, and its many iterations of that song, making my child sit up and wiggle each time the uh-oh-oh comes on. (Yes, I totally watch that show, just like everyone else. It is unexpectedly living up to the hype. Way to make musical theater mainstream, Fox. Who knew you could pull it off?) Apparently my child is not the only one.
I seriously cannot get enough of this video. Feel like my child is doing more or less the same thing on my bladder these days. I only hope she is that cute.
Speaking of the child…I am 36 weeks along. I am due in late-ish October, but potentially she could come sooner. Since we haven’t gotten around to getting a car seat yet (I hear we might want one of those) I’m hoping she continues to just stay where she is, abusing my bladder, for just a little bit longer.
The symptoms only get worse from here on out, though, including my pregnancy brain. The thing which led me to believe that it would be a good idea to try and catch a wasp that was in my house and save its little life by putting it outside today. Let me just tell you now so that you do not make such a silly assumption, wasps are indeed fucking ungrateful little bastards. Ungrateful little bastards with very pointy, venomous butts.
The full story starts with Sugar making some very excited noises in the stairwell today, and after a few minutes, I got curious as to what had made her excited enough to leave the Pooping Pigeon Show for such an extended amount of time. I find her and Tatum staring and pawing excitedly at the stairwell where a wasp is casually wandering along like he owns this ‘hood. As trips to the emergency vet clinic danced through my head, I waddled as quickly as I could to the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, and decided to try and capture the thing and release it outside. The capture went well, the cats’ disappointment was palatable, and I waddled quickly to the front door, where I shook the towel…but nothing fell out. Feeling fairly badass by this point, I blithely looked around the towel instead of running for cover like one should know to do when one has captured, terrified, pissed-off, and forcibly removed a wasp from its ‘hood. Naturally, the little fucker was still clinging to the towel, looking for someone upon whom to unleash his rage.
Look no further, wasp! I am here, bloated and stupid and poking my sausage-like finger nearly in your face. Merry Christmas.
So that stung a lot. The towel is still outside, and I panicked, sure that I had somehow damaged my unborn child forevermore. I called the doctor, but only got a voicemail. So I called urgent care, but they said they couldn’t help unless I came in. I wasn’t sure if I was dying or perhaps overreacting just a little. I called my pediatrician friend, left a I’m-trying-to-be-cool-but-please-help! voicemail, and finally turned to Google, who assured me that unless I was having an allergic reaction, I, and my baby, were probably fine. Love u, Google.
This evening I went outside to collect the towel, and I’ll be darned, but the wasp’s corpse was still on the thing! So I tried to wipe it off, but wasp corpses are very clingy. Except it’s not really a corpse, because it suddenly sprang to life, not very excited about being wiped against the cement step.
Pregnancy brain is a very real thing, folks. It makes you something beyond moronic. Even morons tend to understand the concept of “once bitten, twice shy.” Take note. Also, please send Benadryl.
Friday, September 18, 2009
September? When Did That Happen?
Fucking pigeons and their pooping habits. I have enough pink onsies, if someone would like to send me a BB gun as a baby gift, I will gladly accept it. Currently the pigeons seem to enjoy taunting my cats, and are pooping at least once an hour on my window and it makes me throw up a little every time it happens.
Speaking of windows, we still do not have window coverings. I wear a baseball cap to work, now, because the glare from the windows behind my computer is so bright. I also am still not so fond of showering (although to his credit, The Funasaurus did apply window frosting to our bathroom windows, so we are no longer giving nudie shows to potential neighbors every time we shower, so there goes that excuse for lack of hygiene) and between that, the baseball cap, and the three t-shirts I have in rotation that still fit over my enormous midsection, I am a sexy, sexy sight to behold. I am also so bloated that I had to wrench my wedding ring off because of circulation issues, and while I am very emotional about not getting to wear those right now, The Funasaurus really has nothing to fear as far as my lack of marital status symbol goes, for the few times a week I do venture out into public.
Meanwhile at work my boss has given her two week notice, and they have brought on a new director to our division, so I am subtly trying to ingratiate myself to him (fortunately, he lives in another state, or I might have baked him cookies) because I feel like taking off several weeks and delegating my work to other competent people is kind of spectacularly crappy timing right when there are huge shifts in management going on. At least there’s still work to do.
On that note, I should probably get back to it. That and/or a strawberry popsicle. Work and popsicles are (happily) not mutually exclusive concepts.
Speaking of windows, we still do not have window coverings. I wear a baseball cap to work, now, because the glare from the windows behind my computer is so bright. I also am still not so fond of showering (although to his credit, The Funasaurus did apply window frosting to our bathroom windows, so we are no longer giving nudie shows to potential neighbors every time we shower, so there goes that excuse for lack of hygiene) and between that, the baseball cap, and the three t-shirts I have in rotation that still fit over my enormous midsection, I am a sexy, sexy sight to behold. I am also so bloated that I had to wrench my wedding ring off because of circulation issues, and while I am very emotional about not getting to wear those right now, The Funasaurus really has nothing to fear as far as my lack of marital status symbol goes, for the few times a week I do venture out into public.
Meanwhile at work my boss has given her two week notice, and they have brought on a new director to our division, so I am subtly trying to ingratiate myself to him (fortunately, he lives in another state, or I might have baked him cookies) because I feel like taking off several weeks and delegating my work to other competent people is kind of spectacularly crappy timing right when there are huge shifts in management going on. At least there’s still work to do.
On that note, I should probably get back to it. That and/or a strawberry popsicle. Work and popsicles are (happily) not mutually exclusive concepts.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Blogging. That Thing I Used to Do.
I know, I suck, it’s been weeks since my last entry. At first I was procrastinating writing because a sudden glitch came up with our new house. Our lender almost blew the whole deal for us, and I was a bundle of superstitious nerves and decided not to share with the internets, lest it jinx our plans.
Then the loan did go through, and suddenly it was like, oh, hey, we need to pack an entire house. Naturally work blew up for both of us at that exact moment as well, so we have been super busy. Plus, I don’t move as quickly as I used to, what with the enormous growth in my midsection. As a neighbor kid recently pointed out I am “GETTING REALLY FAT!” and I think I would have bitten his head off and eaten it had I been able to waddle over there fast enough. But then I decided to forgive him because the kid doesn’t seem to own pants. I’ve only ever seen him in oversized adult t-shirts that he likes to wear as dresses. Middle school’s going to be rough enough on him, I’m afraid.
We spent last weekend moving, and it was a process of organizing boxes, mediating between my mother and mother-in-law who…are very different people, and trying to ignore hearing the movers say, “Just risk it!” in Spanish, as they lifted my desk over the top of the stairs. Happily, my desk, computer, and files made it, the family is more or less in tact, and I did not go into early labor, which all bodes very well for our future in the new house.
The pigeons, on the other hand, are less awesome. They like to poop. A lot. Right onto my office window. Which I’ve had to keep open because we don’t have air conditioning and it’s fricking hot, especially upstairs. I’ve given up nursing a healthy paranoia of H1N1, and have reverted to the more retro Avian Bird Flu, as I’m sure that if it exists in any form in Colorado, it’s smeared in greenish-yellow gobs on my window screen. And Sugar has licked it.
Sometimes I fantasize about curling up in a ball under a clean, soft blanket with a bucket of organic chocolate ice cream and perhaps a bottle of antibacterial soap for the rest of my pregnancy.
I also fantasize about curtains, because we don’t have window coverings yet, so every morning is a bit of an adventure getting showered and dressed in our spacious new home with tons of oversized windows. Fortunately, the house right outside the windows of our bedroom and bathroom happens to be vacant, but it’s always a bit of Russian roulette with when the open house tours starts for the day.
On that note, I should probably go to bed. Or I will be tempted to sleep in in the morning. … I say, as though I am not tempted to sleep in every morning. I really hope this baby will continue to let me sleep 10+ hours a night when she is out of my womb. That would be nice.
Then the loan did go through, and suddenly it was like, oh, hey, we need to pack an entire house. Naturally work blew up for both of us at that exact moment as well, so we have been super busy. Plus, I don’t move as quickly as I used to, what with the enormous growth in my midsection. As a neighbor kid recently pointed out I am “GETTING REALLY FAT!” and I think I would have bitten his head off and eaten it had I been able to waddle over there fast enough. But then I decided to forgive him because the kid doesn’t seem to own pants. I’ve only ever seen him in oversized adult t-shirts that he likes to wear as dresses. Middle school’s going to be rough enough on him, I’m afraid.
We spent last weekend moving, and it was a process of organizing boxes, mediating between my mother and mother-in-law who…are very different people, and trying to ignore hearing the movers say, “Just risk it!” in Spanish, as they lifted my desk over the top of the stairs. Happily, my desk, computer, and files made it, the family is more or less in tact, and I did not go into early labor, which all bodes very well for our future in the new house.
The pigeons, on the other hand, are less awesome. They like to poop. A lot. Right onto my office window. Which I’ve had to keep open because we don’t have air conditioning and it’s fricking hot, especially upstairs. I’ve given up nursing a healthy paranoia of H1N1, and have reverted to the more retro Avian Bird Flu, as I’m sure that if it exists in any form in Colorado, it’s smeared in greenish-yellow gobs on my window screen. And Sugar has licked it.
Sometimes I fantasize about curling up in a ball under a clean, soft blanket with a bucket of organic chocolate ice cream and perhaps a bottle of antibacterial soap for the rest of my pregnancy.
I also fantasize about curtains, because we don’t have window coverings yet, so every morning is a bit of an adventure getting showered and dressed in our spacious new home with tons of oversized windows. Fortunately, the house right outside the windows of our bedroom and bathroom happens to be vacant, but it’s always a bit of Russian roulette with when the open house tours starts for the day.
On that note, I should probably go to bed. Or I will be tempted to sleep in in the morning. … I say, as though I am not tempted to sleep in every morning. I really hope this baby will continue to let me sleep 10+ hours a night when she is out of my womb. That would be nice.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Cross-Wired
Today I called a service that I like to call StupidCast to set up a new phone and internet line at our new house. It was a typical conversation with them, involving lots of emphatic NOs from me, lots of uncertain math by them, and a general desire to poke out my brains with a blunt object through my right eyeball by the end of it all.
Somewhere in the middle of that gawdawful conversation we had to come up with an installation date, and it just so turned out to be the same day as the birthday of the daughter of the lady I was talking with.
Her daughter is turning 13.
Fine.
She still acts like a little girl.
Fine. Can we talk about what eight-hour time span I can expect a technician to show up and butcher our wiring?
She still has kittens on her walls.
FINE, did you remember to include my precious DVR in that order?
She just got her first period.
Fi...WTF?
It’s about time to have THAT talk with her. You know, the one where…
YES, I KNOW. The things we don’t think about when we decide to have a baby, ha ha. (Except for now I am thinking about it. Thinking about talking to my unborn child about bleeding and mood swings and teenage pregnancy and OMG I really need a fucking rock to crawl under about now.)
In less-traumatic news, I have been hearing about people who play their kids classical music. Early start learning and all that. There is much controversy over volume levels, are earphones on the stomach effective, and the advantages of Mozart over Beethoven. I have chosen to eschew all of the above, and instead, when I rediscovered my iPod the other day, had myself and my engorged belly a little dance party to “Put a Ring on It” by the classic artist, Beyonce. Tonight, when Beyonce’s song “Halo” came on, the kiddo started kicking. Possibly coincidence, possibly my influence condemning her to a lifetime of poppy hip-hop. Here’s hoping she’ll have a little more rhythm than her mom.
Also, if you are looking for a very awesome baby gift, look no further: Sushi Booties. You’re welcome.
Somewhere in the middle of that gawdawful conversation we had to come up with an installation date, and it just so turned out to be the same day as the birthday of the daughter of the lady I was talking with.
Her daughter is turning 13.
Fine.
She still acts like a little girl.
Fine. Can we talk about what eight-hour time span I can expect a technician to show up and butcher our wiring?
She still has kittens on her walls.
FINE, did you remember to include my precious DVR in that order?
She just got her first period.
Fi...WTF?
It’s about time to have THAT talk with her. You know, the one where…
YES, I KNOW. The things we don’t think about when we decide to have a baby, ha ha. (Except for now I am thinking about it. Thinking about talking to my unborn child about bleeding and mood swings and teenage pregnancy and OMG I really need a fucking rock to crawl under about now.)
In less-traumatic news, I have been hearing about people who play their kids classical music. Early start learning and all that. There is much controversy over volume levels, are earphones on the stomach effective, and the advantages of Mozart over Beethoven. I have chosen to eschew all of the above, and instead, when I rediscovered my iPod the other day, had myself and my engorged belly a little dance party to “Put a Ring on It” by the classic artist, Beyonce. Tonight, when Beyonce’s song “Halo” came on, the kiddo started kicking. Possibly coincidence, possibly my influence condemning her to a lifetime of poppy hip-hop. Here’s hoping she’ll have a little more rhythm than her mom.
Also, if you are looking for a very awesome baby gift, look no further: Sushi Booties. You’re welcome.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Down the Rabbit Hole
We have started attending baby classes at the hospital. There’s a special kind of birth control! So far we’ve learned about the many, many things that can go wrong, and this is all well-before the kid’s old enough to start lighting up in the bathroom shrouded in an ever-subltle cloud of incense and patchoulli.
In one exercise the instructor had all the expectant mothers get together and write a list of the best and worst parts about being pregnant. We made a valiant effort to come up with a few things for the “Best” side, so that the paper wouldn’t be completely uneven. Our “Worst” side was definitively longer. Although one smug woman looked up over her perfectly round little belly and finally admitted, “Gee, I just haven’t experienced any of that. I was never sick, I still sleep through the night, and I haven’t had any heartburn at all.” I thought the fact that the rest of our little group managed to not attack her for that little comment like a pack of savage heartburned dogs shows just how civil our society has become. There’s hope for our children.
Then we got back with our partners and the instructor read off their list of “Best Things About Pregnancy.” It began with “Huge boobs.” Hope may have faded just a little.
I have also started having yet another completely new symptom of pregnancy. It feels almost like…longing. For…
wait.
for.
it…
running.
So I know I am officially crazy. I have jogged, off and on, for about 15 years. Never once have I really felt a sense of enjoyment from it. I was not built to run, I never got endorphins or whatever that good stuff is that you atheletic-y types speak of. It was shit the whole time. Jogging was convenient, free, and something I could force myself to do before I had completely woken up, and therefore it stuck. Not for any sense of feeling good about it. And now, all of a sudden, seven months into pregnancy and lumpy and bloated and waddle-y, I am like, Hey. Remember when I used to be thin and could move quickly? That was kind of…nice.
WHO HAVE I BECOME?
I am chalking it up to Restless Leg Syndrome. We now have two body pillows in between me and The Funasaurus to help keep his shins intact through the night. This’ll all be easier when the baby comes, right?
In one exercise the instructor had all the expectant mothers get together and write a list of the best and worst parts about being pregnant. We made a valiant effort to come up with a few things for the “Best” side, so that the paper wouldn’t be completely uneven. Our “Worst” side was definitively longer. Although one smug woman looked up over her perfectly round little belly and finally admitted, “Gee, I just haven’t experienced any of that. I was never sick, I still sleep through the night, and I haven’t had any heartburn at all.” I thought the fact that the rest of our little group managed to not attack her for that little comment like a pack of savage heartburned dogs shows just how civil our society has become. There’s hope for our children.
Then we got back with our partners and the instructor read off their list of “Best Things About Pregnancy.” It began with “Huge boobs.” Hope may have faded just a little.
I have also started having yet another completely new symptom of pregnancy. It feels almost like…longing. For…
wait.
for.
it…
running.
So I know I am officially crazy. I have jogged, off and on, for about 15 years. Never once have I really felt a sense of enjoyment from it. I was not built to run, I never got endorphins or whatever that good stuff is that you atheletic-y types speak of. It was shit the whole time. Jogging was convenient, free, and something I could force myself to do before I had completely woken up, and therefore it stuck. Not for any sense of feeling good about it. And now, all of a sudden, seven months into pregnancy and lumpy and bloated and waddle-y, I am like, Hey. Remember when I used to be thin and could move quickly? That was kind of…nice.
WHO HAVE I BECOME?
I am chalking it up to Restless Leg Syndrome. We now have two body pillows in between me and The Funasaurus to help keep his shins intact through the night. This’ll all be easier when the baby comes, right?
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Le Cinema
It’s Friday already—hooray! Too bad I still have a lot of work to do. But! If you don’t have anything else going on this weekend, I highly suggest going to see 500 Days of Summer. The Funasaurus and I saw it last weekend, and we both really enjoyed it. For some reason it was only playing in the indie movie theater around here. I didn’t really understand that, there are previews for it all over regular television channels. And it had a very similar feel to Juno and Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist, which were both very hipster and whatnot, but still major motion pictures. In any case, I am not complaining. I love a chance to go to a slightly gothic theater that serves alcohol (even if I cannot partake in said alcohol) and stand in line with people who are obviously much cooler than I am.
There was a torrential downpour coming down when we came out of the theater last weekend, which would have been very romantic had I not been feeling so pregnant and cranky and cold. But we made it home, soggy but pleased with ourselves for having ventured outside the neighborhood for the first time in what felt like a very long time.
This weekend I was kind of hoping to see another movie. I heard Up was good but sad. I am not sure my very pregnant nerves can take intentionally sad. Any other recommendations?
There was a torrential downpour coming down when we came out of the theater last weekend, which would have been very romantic had I not been feeling so pregnant and cranky and cold. But we made it home, soggy but pleased with ourselves for having ventured outside the neighborhood for the first time in what felt like a very long time.
This weekend I was kind of hoping to see another movie. I heard Up was good but sad. I am not sure my very pregnant nerves can take intentionally sad. Any other recommendations?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Speedy Summer
The move is looking more and more official, which is both awesome and completely overwhelming. I do not care to pack while I am pregnant. Come to think of it, I do not care to pack even when I am not pregnant. Pregnancy is just an awesome excuse for everything. Fortunately, though, once our massive amounts of crap are collected into boxes, those boxes can go into our new basement (WHOOHOO) and stay there, unpacked, forevermore, should I so chose. Or should apathy so chose. Whichever.
I am so excited for a basement I cannot even tell you. The views of the mountains and two sinks in the bathroom are also very awesome.
Yesterday I got to go to the doctor and drink what basically tasted like the syrup form of Tang to test my body to see how well it could process sugar, and thus see if I was at risk for diabetes. Happily, my body processed it fine. At least my pancreas did. The sugar kind of went to my head and I got wretchedly light-headed, so I got to spend a pleasant forty minutes resting horizontally on a little table in a doctor’s exam room, trying not to faint. Just how I like to spend MY Monday mornings. But, as I said, no sign of diabetes, so I had an ice cream sundae to celebrate last night.
Tatum has become disgruntled as the amount of space on my lap seems to be dwindling, though that doesn’t stop him from still trying to sleep there. Today he got a kick in the face through my stomach, which woke him up. While it wasn’t that much force, (I’m not sure he bothered to open his eyes completely) I was kind of excited. Get him, little girl! He plans on chewing on you when you get here, so I say it’s never too early to learn to kick him in the face.
Otherwise, life is much the same as usual. The Funasaurus is playing a lot of volleyball, Sugar is too good for the rest of us, and the liquor store seems to be managing to stay open, even without my weekly withdrawals of chardonnay. Now if the tornado sirens would just stay off for a couple of days….
I am so excited for a basement I cannot even tell you. The views of the mountains and two sinks in the bathroom are also very awesome.
Yesterday I got to go to the doctor and drink what basically tasted like the syrup form of Tang to test my body to see how well it could process sugar, and thus see if I was at risk for diabetes. Happily, my body processed it fine. At least my pancreas did. The sugar kind of went to my head and I got wretchedly light-headed, so I got to spend a pleasant forty minutes resting horizontally on a little table in a doctor’s exam room, trying not to faint. Just how I like to spend MY Monday mornings. But, as I said, no sign of diabetes, so I had an ice cream sundae to celebrate last night.
Tatum has become disgruntled as the amount of space on my lap seems to be dwindling, though that doesn’t stop him from still trying to sleep there. Today he got a kick in the face through my stomach, which woke him up. While it wasn’t that much force, (I’m not sure he bothered to open his eyes completely) I was kind of excited. Get him, little girl! He plans on chewing on you when you get here, so I say it’s never too early to learn to kick him in the face.
Otherwise, life is much the same as usual. The Funasaurus is playing a lot of volleyball, Sugar is too good for the rest of us, and the liquor store seems to be managing to stay open, even without my weekly withdrawals of chardonnay. Now if the tornado sirens would just stay off for a couple of days….
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Getting Fatter and Sleepier
If I owe you an email or a phone call or a kick in the pants and have neglected to do so over the past two weeks, I am sorry. I had great intentions to get back on the blogging train with more regularity once the pregnancy was public knowledge, but my work had other ideas. Ideas which have kept me up until 2:00 AM, burning comma-shaped holes in my eyeballs and making me deliriously mourn the days of hour-long naps. On the plus side, I do feel more productive than I’ve felt in a while!
I do not feel that pregnancy is a valid excuse to buzz off early, after I discovered that my boss was conducting a conference call while hemorrhaging. As in, losing massive amounts of blood whilst navigating the temperamental world of WebEx. She claims she has not yet had time to go to the doctor. I claim I could not make this shit up if I tried.
Were that not enough, The Funasaurus also got a bee in his very expensive bonnet and we’ve been in the process of refinancing our house and/or deciding whether to up and move to a bigger house before the baby’s born. As in, you know, the next two and a half months. Because we don’t have enough going on, already. We’ll have extra money to pay for this move because babies don’t cost anything and we get lots back in taxes, right? Right? Hello?
Completely unrelated, I am terribly flattered that PassionSearch.com has singled me out as their latest target market worthy of unreasonable amounts of spam, but I feel I must warn them that their marketing research did a terrible job. If you do not come bearing cookies & cream ice cream I have no passion for you.
And if I have not already told you, I am spending my days enjoying my last bits of solitary princess-dom, occasionally sharing with Sugar. There is a new princess on the way, the ultrasound did show girl parts, and I am getting the impression that she will be getting more royal treatment than I will. Le sigh. I am not sure I am ready for the Queen Mother title. I don’t really want to wear those kinds of hats.
I do not feel that pregnancy is a valid excuse to buzz off early, after I discovered that my boss was conducting a conference call while hemorrhaging. As in, losing massive amounts of blood whilst navigating the temperamental world of WebEx. She claims she has not yet had time to go to the doctor. I claim I could not make this shit up if I tried.
Were that not enough, The Funasaurus also got a bee in his very expensive bonnet and we’ve been in the process of refinancing our house and/or deciding whether to up and move to a bigger house before the baby’s born. As in, you know, the next two and a half months. Because we don’t have enough going on, already. We’ll have extra money to pay for this move because babies don’t cost anything and we get lots back in taxes, right? Right? Hello?
Completely unrelated, I am terribly flattered that PassionSearch.com has singled me out as their latest target market worthy of unreasonable amounts of spam, but I feel I must warn them that their marketing research did a terrible job. If you do not come bearing cookies & cream ice cream I have no passion for you.
And if I have not already told you, I am spending my days enjoying my last bits of solitary princess-dom, occasionally sharing with Sugar. There is a new princess on the way, the ultrasound did show girl parts, and I am getting the impression that she will be getting more royal treatment than I will. Le sigh. I am not sure I am ready for the Queen Mother title. I don’t really want to wear those kinds of hats.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Family Gathering
The Funasaurus has a Crazy Uncle. Crazy Uncle is a unique soul with a Master’s degree in poetry from some fancy university, which he has forsaken on his quest to idealize the downtrodden working class. He has spent the last thirty years or so as a janitor, to be among his people. He also has decided not to drive and does not own a car. That’s all well and fine, until some family function inevitably comes up, and everyone is all, “I suppose we should invite Crazy Uncle” and then we have to draw straws for who has to go fetch Crazy Uncle and give him a ride to said function.
Enter: Fourth of July, 2009. Location: Funasaurus extended family’s farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The Funasaurus’ mom volunteered to pick up Crazy Uncle (seeing as how it’s her brother) and then managed to somehow shirk that responsibility me and The Funasaurus, adding, “Oh, and he is bringing some friends.”
Super duper. Because Uncle Crazy’s friends are always an interesting set. More often than not they are homeless, much younger than he is, and full of baby mama-esque drama. Up we pulled to the little apartment that Uncle Crazy is sharing with his friends from Ohio (they took the Grehound) who are, indeed, homeless, and madly in love. And very eager to display their love in the front lawn of said apartment. They piled in, and The Funasaurus and I attempted conversation. “So how do you guys know Crazy Uncle?”
“Through my wife,” explained Homeless Dude, who is busy fondling the woman who is, apparently, not his wife.
“Ah”
We are still unsure as to how they know each other.
We got to the house, and we went in to start preparing potato salad and other traditional 4th-esque food. The rest of the extended Funasaurus’ family is quite normal, and very friendly. They even invited my parents down so that we didn’t have to choose between families, which makes life very easy.
Eventually it was time to eat, and after selecting the perfect hamburger with slice of American cheese, I waddled out to their fabulous deck (I say “waddle” because I have gained ten pounds in the last week or so. TEN. POUNDS.) where one table wass full, with people like The Funasaurus and my dad sitting around yukking it up, and the other table is half-empty, only hosting Crazy Uncle and friends thus far. I sucked it up and took one of the empty seats at the table with Crazy Uncle & co.
Moments later, The Funasaurus’ mom came out of the house, followed by my mom. I watched them both assess the deck situation, and eyeball the one remaining seat at my table. “Oh, here, I’ll let you sit with your daughter!” exclaimed The Funasaurus’ mom benevolently to my mom, as she darted off towards a lone deck chair. And thus my mother got to join me at the Table of Incomplete Sentences. At least my mom got wine.
There were a few false starts at conversation, but eventually we mentioned something about the radio, and Homeless Dude got all excited about a local radio station in Ohio. “Do you work at the radio station?” asked my mom.
“No.”
…
“So, then, what do you do, if you’re not at the radio station?”
“A lot of things.”
At least he was consistent in his curt, useless answers.
“He does landscaping with his dad,” Uncle Crazy offered, appreciative of our attempt at conversation.
“Not that much. We do more roofing,” countered Homeless Dude.
Uhg, that must be hot in the summer,” I said, polishing off my lemonade.
“Not really,” said Homeless Dude. “I take off my shirt.”
We weren’t quite sure what the appropriate response was to that, so I looked around for more lemonade, while my mom studiously nursed her Chardonnay.
“I used to be a stripper,” added Homeless Dude, when apparently we did not respond to his shirtless comment in the way he wanted.
I watched my rather prim mother nearly choke on her Chardonnay out of the corner of my eye.
Coincidentally, the conversation died shortly after that, so we excused ourselves to go admire the flowers at the far end of the yard. “I wish I could give you some of this,” said my mom, swirling the dregs of her Chardonnay as we walked. That is why she is my mother, and why I love her very much.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. We got to give Crazy Uncle & co. a ride home, and then a ride to WalMart, where they decided they would prefer to be for fireworks viewing. The Funasaurus and I drove home, comparing notes and watching the fireworks across the horizon from our vantage point on the highway. When they’re that far away, going 75+ miles an hour doesn’t really make a huge difference. Among other things, we agreed we should probably get our child a very large car seat. Safety first, and all that. If it just happens to be chauffeuring-prohibitive, that’s just an added bonus.
Enter: Fourth of July, 2009. Location: Funasaurus extended family’s farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The Funasaurus’ mom volunteered to pick up Crazy Uncle (seeing as how it’s her brother) and then managed to somehow shirk that responsibility me and The Funasaurus, adding, “Oh, and he is bringing some friends.”
Super duper. Because Uncle Crazy’s friends are always an interesting set. More often than not they are homeless, much younger than he is, and full of baby mama-esque drama. Up we pulled to the little apartment that Uncle Crazy is sharing with his friends from Ohio (they took the Grehound) who are, indeed, homeless, and madly in love. And very eager to display their love in the front lawn of said apartment. They piled in, and The Funasaurus and I attempted conversation. “So how do you guys know Crazy Uncle?”
“Through my wife,” explained Homeless Dude, who is busy fondling the woman who is, apparently, not his wife.
“Ah”
We are still unsure as to how they know each other.
We got to the house, and we went in to start preparing potato salad and other traditional 4th-esque food. The rest of the extended Funasaurus’ family is quite normal, and very friendly. They even invited my parents down so that we didn’t have to choose between families, which makes life very easy.
Eventually it was time to eat, and after selecting the perfect hamburger with slice of American cheese, I waddled out to their fabulous deck (I say “waddle” because I have gained ten pounds in the last week or so. TEN. POUNDS.) where one table wass full, with people like The Funasaurus and my dad sitting around yukking it up, and the other table is half-empty, only hosting Crazy Uncle and friends thus far. I sucked it up and took one of the empty seats at the table with Crazy Uncle & co.
Moments later, The Funasaurus’ mom came out of the house, followed by my mom. I watched them both assess the deck situation, and eyeball the one remaining seat at my table. “Oh, here, I’ll let you sit with your daughter!” exclaimed The Funasaurus’ mom benevolently to my mom, as she darted off towards a lone deck chair. And thus my mother got to join me at the Table of Incomplete Sentences. At least my mom got wine.
There were a few false starts at conversation, but eventually we mentioned something about the radio, and Homeless Dude got all excited about a local radio station in Ohio. “Do you work at the radio station?” asked my mom.
“No.”
…
“So, then, what do you do, if you’re not at the radio station?”
“A lot of things.”
At least he was consistent in his curt, useless answers.
“He does landscaping with his dad,” Uncle Crazy offered, appreciative of our attempt at conversation.
“Not that much. We do more roofing,” countered Homeless Dude.
Uhg, that must be hot in the summer,” I said, polishing off my lemonade.
“Not really,” said Homeless Dude. “I take off my shirt.”
We weren’t quite sure what the appropriate response was to that, so I looked around for more lemonade, while my mom studiously nursed her Chardonnay.
“I used to be a stripper,” added Homeless Dude, when apparently we did not respond to his shirtless comment in the way he wanted.
I watched my rather prim mother nearly choke on her Chardonnay out of the corner of my eye.
Coincidentally, the conversation died shortly after that, so we excused ourselves to go admire the flowers at the far end of the yard. “I wish I could give you some of this,” said my mom, swirling the dregs of her Chardonnay as we walked. That is why she is my mother, and why I love her very much.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. We got to give Crazy Uncle & co. a ride home, and then a ride to WalMart, where they decided they would prefer to be for fireworks viewing. The Funasaurus and I drove home, comparing notes and watching the fireworks across the horizon from our vantage point on the highway. When they’re that far away, going 75+ miles an hour doesn’t really make a huge difference. Among other things, we agreed we should probably get our child a very large car seat. Safety first, and all that. If it just happens to be chauffeuring-prohibitive, that’s just an added bonus.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
It Always Comes Back to the Goats
My favorite maxi-dress that has been a staple of my pregnant summer wardrobe shrank in the wash. I am…devastated. Also, continuing to wear it in all its shrunken glory because I just don’t know what else to do. I hate pants.
Recently I have found myself working late into the night, and yet somehow just falling more and more behind. (I haven’t even been napping all that much.) It has gotten frustrating, and the downside of working from home is that you’re never removed from work. So while The Funasaurus watches his beloved True Blood, I sit upstairs in my office snarling at my computer and cursing invoices everywhere for not being able to process themselves. This has led to near anxiety attacks, and because I now have a new life priority (Try Not to Birth Crazy Baby) and cannot resort to old calming techniques (boxed wine) I decided to Fuck It today and went swimming with a friend this afternoon, and then out to dinner with some neighbors tonight. (Happy birthday not-Wassie, as I had you in my phone for so long. I did finally change it.) Then I watched TV with The Funasaurus for the first time since we’ve been home from California. I feel very Zen. I will not feel Zen tomorrow when my boss asks how far I’ve gotten, but I am not thinking about that for now.
I find myself fantasizing about my goat herd, and thinking this would be an awesome summer to be a pregnant herder, because I wouldn’t have to walk very far because we’ve gotten so much rain there’s a ton of grass and green growth everywhere. Including noxious weeds. And the goats would eat all my stupid pokey thistle and that’d be great because I really hate bending down to pull those suckers out. Goats would solve everything.
I wanted beehives too, but it turns out I am not as loving towards the bees as I professed to be, because I hacked back this huge bush in our alleyway that was just swarming with happy little fuzzy honeybees because it was scratching my car’s paint. Stupid bush. Fortunately, there’s a ton of these bushes growing in the vacant lots to both the north and south of us, so hopefully the bees will find their way there and not die off causing me all sorts of traumatic post-bush-hacking-grief.
I get traumatized easily these days. This is valuable information to share, actually. Please think about dropping a) kittens b) rainbows c) unicorns d) thistle-eating goats into any conversations we might have in the next couple of months. You are much more likely to get a non-hormonally-charged response out of me.
Recently I have found myself working late into the night, and yet somehow just falling more and more behind. (I haven’t even been napping all that much.) It has gotten frustrating, and the downside of working from home is that you’re never removed from work. So while The Funasaurus watches his beloved True Blood, I sit upstairs in my office snarling at my computer and cursing invoices everywhere for not being able to process themselves. This has led to near anxiety attacks, and because I now have a new life priority (Try Not to Birth Crazy Baby) and cannot resort to old calming techniques (boxed wine) I decided to Fuck It today and went swimming with a friend this afternoon, and then out to dinner with some neighbors tonight. (Happy birthday not-Wassie, as I had you in my phone for so long. I did finally change it.) Then I watched TV with The Funasaurus for the first time since we’ve been home from California. I feel very Zen. I will not feel Zen tomorrow when my boss asks how far I’ve gotten, but I am not thinking about that for now.
I find myself fantasizing about my goat herd, and thinking this would be an awesome summer to be a pregnant herder, because I wouldn’t have to walk very far because we’ve gotten so much rain there’s a ton of grass and green growth everywhere. Including noxious weeds. And the goats would eat all my stupid pokey thistle and that’d be great because I really hate bending down to pull those suckers out. Goats would solve everything.
I wanted beehives too, but it turns out I am not as loving towards the bees as I professed to be, because I hacked back this huge bush in our alleyway that was just swarming with happy little fuzzy honeybees because it was scratching my car’s paint. Stupid bush. Fortunately, there’s a ton of these bushes growing in the vacant lots to both the north and south of us, so hopefully the bees will find their way there and not die off causing me all sorts of traumatic post-bush-hacking-grief.
I get traumatized easily these days. This is valuable information to share, actually. Please think about dropping a) kittens b) rainbows c) unicorns d) thistle-eating goats into any conversations we might have in the next couple of months. You are much more likely to get a non-hormonally-charged response out of me.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
This Post Brought to You By My Old Friends, Exhaustion and Panic
We are back from California. We got in yesterday, just ahead of some massive thunderstorms. Thank goodness for small blessings. After five nights sleeping in five different locations, four nights of late-night partying (or just delays in travel), driving all over San Francisco and Napa, and a wedding full of incredible wine that I was not allowed to drink, I do not think my nerves would have handled turbulence well.
Happily, the wedding went well, I managed to squeeze into my bridesmaid dress and keep my bouquet strategically placed over the alteration-oopsie for all the pictures, and got a lot of cuddling in with old friends. And now I am back on terra firma for a good long while.
But a big congratulations goes out to my Tweedle-Dum, you were a gorgeous bride, and I know you will be just as gorgeous in England for wedding number two. I continue to be insane with jealousy.
Work piled up while I was gone, and I have spent today alternating between panicking, working, and napping. Which doesn’t really help the panicking so much, but sometimes I am unable to stay awake. Somewhere amidst the chaos, I have also discovered this website: http://www.lets-panic.com/ and jeebus, but where have YOU been hiding my whole life? Or, at least, the last five months? If you have a baby, or have ever thought about having a baby, or have ever stumbled across someone who might have a baby in you life, go read and laugh until you get uncomfortable at how something so tongue-in-cheek can hit so very close to home.
And now I really should get back to work. It’s going to be another late night. At least my toothpaste is now back in a logical spot in the medicine cabinet instead of buried deep in the nether-regions of a much-abused suitcase under a pile of dirty laundry.
Happily, the wedding went well, I managed to squeeze into my bridesmaid dress and keep my bouquet strategically placed over the alteration-oopsie for all the pictures, and got a lot of cuddling in with old friends. And now I am back on terra firma for a good long while.
But a big congratulations goes out to my Tweedle-Dum, you were a gorgeous bride, and I know you will be just as gorgeous in England for wedding number two. I continue to be insane with jealousy.
Work piled up while I was gone, and I have spent today alternating between panicking, working, and napping. Which doesn’t really help the panicking so much, but sometimes I am unable to stay awake. Somewhere amidst the chaos, I have also discovered this website: http://www.lets-panic.com/ and jeebus, but where have YOU been hiding my whole life? Or, at least, the last five months? If you have a baby, or have ever thought about having a baby, or have ever stumbled across someone who might have a baby in you life, go read and laugh until you get uncomfortable at how something so tongue-in-cheek can hit so very close to home.
And now I really should get back to work. It’s going to be another late night. At least my toothpaste is now back in a logical spot in the medicine cabinet instead of buried deep in the nether-regions of a much-abused suitcase under a pile of dirty laundry.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Progress Brought to You Mostly Via Ice Cream
I’m running out of time, we leave this evening for California. We’re going to another wedding, and this one should be extra-fun because a ton of our college friends are all flying in for it, so we are going to have a mini-reunion in Napa. Sadly, there is no wine tasting for me, but pregnant ladies get first crack at the buffet, don’t they?
For anyone who’s curious, I’m 22 weeks along, meaning we’ve passed the halfway mark. I can feel the baby move now, which is exciting because it just about killed me to go a month in between doctor’s visits where she’d tell me yes, everything is still going o.k., you’re o.k., the baby’s o.k., please stop worrying.
The second trimester has been a cake-walk compared to the first, although there are still some adjustments. For example, I only just realized that I am probably not going to fit into the bridesmaids dress for this weekend. Dilemma. And not being allowed to climb all over my stomach does not compute in Sugar world, so there are a lot of late night battles about cuddling, not with my poor husband, but with my love-sick pokey cat. I get a lot of purring in my ear mixed with, “Why don’t you love me???”s. If you think this is bad, cat, wait until I shut you out completely, because somehow I am not confident that you will not climb all over the baby. I am also a little nervous about Tatum chewing on the baby. He’s very into chewing these days. Especially on exposed skin for some odd reason. The cat’s not normal.
I know a lot of people love pregnancy and have magical experiences with it. I’ve had a few glittery moments, but there have been just as many whacked-out, oh-my-god-I’m-pubescent-again-and-can’t-control-my-emotions moments, leading me to wake up my husband just to pick a fight, and post obscure Sylvia Plath quotes on my Facebook status, hoping that someone out there in that cruel, cruel world will understand my pain. It just runs so deep. Sometimes. Sometimes I'm totally normal.
The fascinating thing, though, is with this time around (as compared to when I was fourteen) there’s actually a part of my brain that clings to the real world and is like, “Holy obnoxious, woman, snap out of it. You are bat-shit crazy. I cannot even compute what is wrong because, actually, nothing is wrong.” I drown that part of my brain with tears and more cookies & cream ice cream.
On the upside, The Funasaurus is very awesome about picking up more cookies & cream on a regular basis and listening to me go bonkers without laughing outright at me. Or divorcing me. So that’s nice. Plus, I don’t have to clean the litter boxes anymore! SCORE. 10 points in favor of pregnancy! I like feeling like I have a little buddy everywhere I go now; I’m never lonely. Especially now that I can feel movement. I just can’t believe how fast it’s all going.
For anyone who’s curious, I’m 22 weeks along, meaning we’ve passed the halfway mark. I can feel the baby move now, which is exciting because it just about killed me to go a month in between doctor’s visits where she’d tell me yes, everything is still going o.k., you’re o.k., the baby’s o.k., please stop worrying.
The second trimester has been a cake-walk compared to the first, although there are still some adjustments. For example, I only just realized that I am probably not going to fit into the bridesmaids dress for this weekend. Dilemma. And not being allowed to climb all over my stomach does not compute in Sugar world, so there are a lot of late night battles about cuddling, not with my poor husband, but with my love-sick pokey cat. I get a lot of purring in my ear mixed with, “Why don’t you love me???”s. If you think this is bad, cat, wait until I shut you out completely, because somehow I am not confident that you will not climb all over the baby. I am also a little nervous about Tatum chewing on the baby. He’s very into chewing these days. Especially on exposed skin for some odd reason. The cat’s not normal.
I know a lot of people love pregnancy and have magical experiences with it. I’ve had a few glittery moments, but there have been just as many whacked-out, oh-my-god-I’m-pubescent-again-and-can’t-control-my-emotions moments, leading me to wake up my husband just to pick a fight, and post obscure Sylvia Plath quotes on my Facebook status, hoping that someone out there in that cruel, cruel world will understand my pain. It just runs so deep. Sometimes. Sometimes I'm totally normal.
The fascinating thing, though, is with this time around (as compared to when I was fourteen) there’s actually a part of my brain that clings to the real world and is like, “Holy obnoxious, woman, snap out of it. You are bat-shit crazy. I cannot even compute what is wrong because, actually, nothing is wrong.” I drown that part of my brain with tears and more cookies & cream ice cream.
On the upside, The Funasaurus is very awesome about picking up more cookies & cream on a regular basis and listening to me go bonkers without laughing outright at me. Or divorcing me. So that’s nice. Plus, I don’t have to clean the litter boxes anymore! SCORE. 10 points in favor of pregnancy! I like feeling like I have a little buddy everywhere I go now; I’m never lonely. Especially now that I can feel movement. I just can’t believe how fast it’s all going.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Hard to Top That Last Post
So, yes. I am pregnant. Am with Funasaurus child. We are super excited, although I will admit to a couple of weeks of shock as this was not exactly planned. At all. I like to think of it as a testament to the fact that we have a really awesome sex life. Or, at least, did, right up until I got knocked up and my libido shut down like an American auto factory. Nothing is sacred when you are pregnant, as you shall find out.
On a more sincere note, thank you all for the outpouring of support. I have to say, one of the best parts of this whole thing so far (besides, you know, adding to the Funasaurus gene pool) is getting commenters out of the woodwork. Hey y’all! It was very cool to hear from you. Thanks again.
Pregnancy is a wild ride, and a very awesome trump card. If The Funasaurus wants to go out to restaurant X and I want to go to restaurant Y, we go to Y. I AM CARRYING YOUR CHILD. Also: CRAZY. Don’t fuck with a pregnant lady. He wants to watch an action flick and I want to watch Pride & Prejudice AGAIN, we buckle up for some 19th century repressed British love.
Work now knows, so I felt comfortable putting this information out on the intrawebs. I survived the first trimester and did not get fired, so I call that a success, even though I have had mountains of work to catch up on, thanks to my new habit of napping three hours a day.
Hopefully this explains the recent slowness in posting; it is hard to remember anything, anymore, that isn’t very baby-related. I miss wine, I miss sushi, and I miss sleeping on my stomach. Although the first two have saved me a ton of cash, and the sleeping thing probably explains some of my need to nap all the time, so I am not as lame as you might have first thought. Maybe.
Otherwise, things are pretty much the same. Sugar is pissed that I’ve been traveling so much. Tatum continues to chew on everything, including our most recent ultrasound pictures. I have almost made my way through the Twilight series, instead of my most recent book club books. And The Funasaurus is trying to convince me that it’s totally a good idea to name our firstborn child after Disney’s The Little Mermaid. That, or Thorkill. So far, a consensus has not been reached on names. We are open to suggestions.
On a more sincere note, thank you all for the outpouring of support. I have to say, one of the best parts of this whole thing so far (besides, you know, adding to the Funasaurus gene pool) is getting commenters out of the woodwork. Hey y’all! It was very cool to hear from you. Thanks again.
Pregnancy is a wild ride, and a very awesome trump card. If The Funasaurus wants to go out to restaurant X and I want to go to restaurant Y, we go to Y. I AM CARRYING YOUR CHILD. Also: CRAZY. Don’t fuck with a pregnant lady. He wants to watch an action flick and I want to watch Pride & Prejudice AGAIN, we buckle up for some 19th century repressed British love.
Work now knows, so I felt comfortable putting this information out on the intrawebs. I survived the first trimester and did not get fired, so I call that a success, even though I have had mountains of work to catch up on, thanks to my new habit of napping three hours a day.
Hopefully this explains the recent slowness in posting; it is hard to remember anything, anymore, that isn’t very baby-related. I miss wine, I miss sushi, and I miss sleeping on my stomach. Although the first two have saved me a ton of cash, and the sleeping thing probably explains some of my need to nap all the time, so I am not as lame as you might have first thought. Maybe.
Otherwise, things are pretty much the same. Sugar is pissed that I’ve been traveling so much. Tatum continues to chew on everything, including our most recent ultrasound pictures. I have almost made my way through the Twilight series, instead of my most recent book club books. And The Funasaurus is trying to convince me that it’s totally a good idea to name our firstborn child after Disney’s The Little Mermaid. That, or Thorkill. So far, a consensus has not been reached on names. We are open to suggestions.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Moving Right Along
I’m back in Delaware, and while most of the sights and smells are right and good…there is no strawberry pie. Which is tragic. That’s what happens when grandmom moves into an assisted living home, I suppose. It’s probably best for my ever-expanding midsection, but not so great for nostalgia’s sake.
On the other hand, I get to stay with my aunt and uncle in a nice queen bed from this decade, so that’s a plus. And I went and bought a bag of cookies to stash under said nice queen-sized bed so as not to tempt them from their Weight Watchers regime, but still get my refined sugar fix.
My grandmother is as feisty as ever, and still interested in playing bridge, but she’s more forgetful than I have ever seen her, and more tired. She still gave me a hard time for leaving even though she was falling asleep for her afternoon nap. And apparently ratted me out to my aunt that “she knows I have a busy social life and need to see my friends,” even though I explained to her I have to work on this trip, and had to get back to for a conference call. Nothing like a little guilt to make you feel right at home.
Still, the weather’s warm and we had a yummy summertime rainstorm this afternoon. I love warm rain. If it rains in Colorado, it gets really cold. I’m seeing my friend and her new baby for dinner tonight (grandmom wasn’t totally wrong about my social calendar) and quite likely driving through the old Dairy Queen on the way home. And maybe past my old house. Then I need to figure out the rules to cribbage, because my forgetful grandmom is kicking my ass at bridge.
On the other hand, I get to stay with my aunt and uncle in a nice queen bed from this decade, so that’s a plus. And I went and bought a bag of cookies to stash under said nice queen-sized bed so as not to tempt them from their Weight Watchers regime, but still get my refined sugar fix.
My grandmother is as feisty as ever, and still interested in playing bridge, but she’s more forgetful than I have ever seen her, and more tired. She still gave me a hard time for leaving even though she was falling asleep for her afternoon nap. And apparently ratted me out to my aunt that “she knows I have a busy social life and need to see my friends,” even though I explained to her I have to work on this trip, and had to get back to for a conference call. Nothing like a little guilt to make you feel right at home.
Still, the weather’s warm and we had a yummy summertime rainstorm this afternoon. I love warm rain. If it rains in Colorado, it gets really cold. I’m seeing my friend and her new baby for dinner tonight (grandmom wasn’t totally wrong about my social calendar) and quite likely driving through the old Dairy Queen on the way home. And maybe past my old house. Then I need to figure out the rules to cribbage, because my forgetful grandmom is kicking my ass at bridge.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Is It Really Summer? Because It Feels More Like November. Maybe December.
I spent the weekend in San Francisco freezing my ass off, because although I have LIVED in the Bay Area and spent much time in The City, I forgot to bring my coat when I left Denver last week because it was EIGHTY DEGREES. Surely, I thought, the sweatshirt I packed would be enough. I was… incorrect. So I spent the weekend borrowing vests, coats, scarves, and wraps from various friends, and feeling ridiculously unprepared.
But otherwise the weekend was fun. I saw high school friends, college friends, and my brother and sister-in-law. I ate a ton of good food, and didn’t drink nearly enough wine, and only lamented that fact a little bit, since I was so busy stuffing my face with more fresh strawberries. One of my best girlfriends from high school got married at a gorgeous venue amongst the redwoods in Los Gatos. She’s now in Jamaica at the exact same resort I was at just a year ago. I nearly cried in jealousy. Then I ate more strawberries.
This week The Funasaurus is gone, playing volleyball in Minnesota because, why not? I will spend the week doing laundry, going out with friends, and repacking so that I have time to pick The Funasaurus up from the airport on Saturday night in time to have him turn around and take me back to the airport on Sunday morning to fly out again. That should give us just enough time to be like, oh yeah, you’re cute. We should hang out sometime. Maybe when I get back the following week.
Now I’m stuck trying to meal plan for myself. It’s a pain to cook for just one person. The meal plan may include a lot of Chipotle. Any other suggestions?
But otherwise the weekend was fun. I saw high school friends, college friends, and my brother and sister-in-law. I ate a ton of good food, and didn’t drink nearly enough wine, and only lamented that fact a little bit, since I was so busy stuffing my face with more fresh strawberries. One of my best girlfriends from high school got married at a gorgeous venue amongst the redwoods in Los Gatos. She’s now in Jamaica at the exact same resort I was at just a year ago. I nearly cried in jealousy. Then I ate more strawberries.
This week The Funasaurus is gone, playing volleyball in Minnesota because, why not? I will spend the week doing laundry, going out with friends, and repacking so that I have time to pick The Funasaurus up from the airport on Saturday night in time to have him turn around and take me back to the airport on Sunday morning to fly out again. That should give us just enough time to be like, oh yeah, you’re cute. We should hang out sometime. Maybe when I get back the following week.
Now I’m stuck trying to meal plan for myself. It’s a pain to cook for just one person. The meal plan may include a lot of Chipotle. Any other suggestions?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Donut Love
An old friend I just reconnected with via Facebook is an up-and-coming celebrity (?) in the donut world. Apparently Dunkin’ Donuts had a contest to create a new kind of donut, and my friend is a finalist!
Here’s the link if you would like to see all the fabulous new potential concoctions:
https://www.dunkindonuts.com/Donut/?icid=don_000027
If you’re inspired to vote, my recommendation would be to vote for my friend’s donut, Frozen Assets. It sounds yummy.
Here’s a little article about her:
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=84504676251&h=SiRZt&u=ehN3Q&ref=mf
I’ll stop the deep fried pastry pimping now, and we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow—when I’m in California. Oh, California. I am so conflicted about you. As I recently said on Twitter, going back to California is like going back to an ex-boyfriend. Familiar, alluring, even sexy, and oh so totally wrong for me.
Here’s the link if you would like to see all the fabulous new potential concoctions:
https://www.dunkindonuts.com/Donut/?icid=don_000027
If you’re inspired to vote, my recommendation would be to vote for my friend’s donut, Frozen Assets. It sounds yummy.
Here’s a little article about her:
http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=84504676251&h=SiRZt&u=ehN3Q&ref=mf
I’ll stop the deep fried pastry pimping now, and we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow—when I’m in California. Oh, California. I am so conflicted about you. As I recently said on Twitter, going back to California is like going back to an ex-boyfriend. Familiar, alluring, even sexy, and oh so totally wrong for me.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
OMG. I'm, Like, One of Them
I did it. Curiosity killed me, or whatever. I joined Twitter. I am kind of feeling overwhelmed by technology these days, and didn’t really need another reason to push work even further into the wee hours of the morning because I am too busy toodling around on the internet during normal working hours. But some co-workers recommended it, and I am inclined towards things geared towards an ADD mentality, so I signed up.
This will be a trial period, however. I am not so enamored of Twitter as I have been of Blogger, or Facebook, or other unnamed internets-y distractions. So I’m giving it one month before I cancel the account and get back to my regularly overscheduled life. In the meantime, if you’re on Twitter, let me know! I assume it’s more entertaining the more people you follow. Or if you have any suggestions of clever, witty people who are capable of expressing themselves in a sentence or two, that’d be great. I have not yet mastered the art.
Now I need to get back to work. I suppose I am also taking recommendations on self-discipline techniques. That, or preferred caffeinated beverages.
This will be a trial period, however. I am not so enamored of Twitter as I have been of Blogger, or Facebook, or other unnamed internets-y distractions. So I’m giving it one month before I cancel the account and get back to my regularly overscheduled life. In the meantime, if you’re on Twitter, let me know! I assume it’s more entertaining the more people you follow. Or if you have any suggestions of clever, witty people who are capable of expressing themselves in a sentence or two, that’d be great. I have not yet mastered the art.
Now I need to get back to work. I suppose I am also taking recommendations on self-discipline techniques. That, or preferred caffeinated beverages.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Full Musical Disclosure
This weekend while driving around The Funasaurus and I had our usual battle of the radio. I always veto sports radio. The Funasaurus always vetoes NPR, especially when they start playing world music. Then I veto a station playing The Eagles, and The Funasaurus vetoes the station playing commercials, even though they have promised Duffy when they return. And then we inevitably settle on the local hip-hop station. And as fate would have it, it was a flashback weekend, and so the next song to come on the radio was “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss” by P.M. Dawn. Memory bliss, indeed! Possibly one of the awesomest songs to come out of the 1990s.
Which has set me on a feeding frenzy of all things early-90s hip-hop to reheat my iPod, which I haven’t touched in about a month. Today, I rediscovered Color Me Badd. Go download “All 4 Love” right now. Thank me later.
I also suggest “Don’t Walk Away” by Jade, “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, “7” by Prince, “Don’t Be Cruel” by Bobby Brown, and “Snow” by Informer. Are you horrified, yet? I have plenty more where that came from, oh yes, I do.
I realize about 90% of my readers (hypothetically speaking. Not sure I have any left.) have now lost all respect for me, whatsoever. Which is fine. If you read this blog, you are probably aware of the fact that I am fond of sharing humiliating personal anecdotes on a regular basis. However, the other 10% of you can email me for the full playlist.
It totally includes “Motownphilly.”
Which has set me on a feeding frenzy of all things early-90s hip-hop to reheat my iPod, which I haven’t touched in about a month. Today, I rediscovered Color Me Badd. Go download “All 4 Love” right now. Thank me later.
I also suggest “Don’t Walk Away” by Jade, “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, “7” by Prince, “Don’t Be Cruel” by Bobby Brown, and “Snow” by Informer. Are you horrified, yet? I have plenty more where that came from, oh yes, I do.
I realize about 90% of my readers (hypothetically speaking. Not sure I have any left.) have now lost all respect for me, whatsoever. Which is fine. If you read this blog, you are probably aware of the fact that I am fond of sharing humiliating personal anecdotes on a regular basis. However, the other 10% of you can email me for the full playlist.
It totally includes “Motownphilly.”
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
A Unique Job
Ya, I know, I kind of checked out of the blogosphere there. Mostly it involved working too much and dressing up like a panda.
And then giving a presentation whilst wearing a panda mask that I altered with a pair of kiddie scissors so that I could see out of the eyeholes, and apparently when you do not pay top dollar for a panda mask, you do not get top quality. Nay, you get acrylic fur haphazardly stuck to mesh, and when said mesh is cut, you get faux panda fur in your nose and eye sockets, which you will then proceed to pull out in furry eye boogers for the next 72 hours. I’m sure that was healthy.
But I survived. And the panda mask kind of survived. And my job survived, despite the fact that I was so delirious from lack of sleep that I had to ask for help in the middle of my own presentation. You know, the one I put together? Awesome.
In feline news, Tatum has taken a turn for the old, and is suddenly much less eager to get up, even for mice, in the mornings. And then he cuddles on my lap all day, and makes himself so happy he just purrs and purrs and snots on my white pants and that…is not cute. He has also not slowed down in his eating, despite slowing down in his energy level, so his already-significant posterior has gotten much more FAT. Causing me to have to dump him from my lap every now and then so that I can get some feeling back in my legs.
Sugar, meanwhile, has taken up Tatum’s goat-like tendencies, seeing as how he’s too busy sleeping, and ate all of the little arrow stickers The Funasaurus was using to mark up a document the other night. If we leave salmon or steak out her highness wants nothing to do with it. But neon blue post-it stickies? Nom nom nom. We’re waiting to see how this plays out with her digestive track.
The fun times never end around here.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Pandas and Bad Metaphors
Let’s say my job has taken a turn for the more…creative and I am currently in need of a panda costume. For a work event. Or, at least, I could do with a panda mask. Any suggestions or previous Halloween costumes I could borrow out there?
On a completely different topic, my sister-in-law has become obsessed with romance novels, and has recently convinced me to read one. It felt very much like a King Sized Milky Way bar for my brain. It had no redeeming nutritional or literary value whatsoever, in fact, I perhaps feel slightly lazier for having digested it, but dear God it felt so good going down. I had no idea such an abundance of soft core porn had its own section in Borders! How did I miss out on this genre in my angsty, honry teenage years? This seriously could have saved me a lot of lame poetry-writing. Or perhaps induced more dirty poetry. I don’t know. Either way, the world would have been better off.
I feel so unfaithful to my book club. I think I am supposed to be reading some Pulitzer Prize-winning Icelandic author right now. Instead I am snorting literary crack in the back alley where commas are poured liberally and without structure, like powder on a mirror.
It just tastes so sweet.
On a completely different topic, my sister-in-law has become obsessed with romance novels, and has recently convinced me to read one. It felt very much like a King Sized Milky Way bar for my brain. It had no redeeming nutritional or literary value whatsoever, in fact, I perhaps feel slightly lazier for having digested it, but dear God it felt so good going down. I had no idea such an abundance of soft core porn had its own section in Borders! How did I miss out on this genre in my angsty, honry teenage years? This seriously could have saved me a lot of lame poetry-writing. Or perhaps induced more dirty poetry. I don’t know. Either way, the world would have been better off.
I feel so unfaithful to my book club. I think I am supposed to be reading some Pulitzer Prize-winning Icelandic author right now. Instead I am snorting literary crack in the back alley where commas are poured liberally and without structure, like powder on a mirror.
It just tastes so sweet.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Drivel
Hi, I’m still alive. (barely.) Life has been a weird combination of boring and busy. Busy as in, I feel like I don’t have any free time any more, boring as in I’ve been doing absolutely nothing with all that time that’s worthy of a blog entry.
On Monday I had this bizarrely realistic dream, wherein I was driving a friend’s stuff across the country. The “stuff” included one dog and one full-sized alligator in their respective crates. I was not happy about being roped into this task, and at one point in California I got out of the car in a parking lot to take a little break and let the animals out. I was drinking out of a water bottle and looked over at the alligator and thought to myself, “Don’t they usually live in the water? I bet the poor guy’s thirsty.” So I poured a little water into his mouth, and he seemed to like it. And I remember having the distinct thought, “Well, at least THIS’LL make a good blog entry!” as I gave an alligator little sips of water from a water bottle in a parking lot in California.
Then I woke up and briefly pondered writing that blog post, but then quickly deemed it Too Lame because, hello, it’s a dream, and went on waiting for something better to happen. Clearly, my week has not gotten more exciting, so you get the dream. Happy Friday.
I worked a convention downtown two days this week, and while it is very exciting for someone who normally works from home to see: People! Coworkers! Clothes that are not pajamas! It is also very hard for that person to get up early enough to be completely showered and dressed and make-upped in time to DRIVE somewhere to begin their workday. How did I ever used to do that on a regular basis? How do you people do it? Two days later I am exhausted and still wearing pajamas at 11:00 AM.
In less-pitiful sounding news, it is snowing here AGAIN, and really, when we’re halfway to May, I have to ask, what’s the point? I am not skiing this weekend, and half of everyone I know is flying in or out of Denver today, and it’s really all quite inconvenient. Happily, I only have to run to the grocery store and am comfortable driving in the snow (should it ever start accumulating on the roads) but I have now added Emergen-C to the grocery list, gearing our immune systems up for the battle that I know is to come with the pending 70-degree weather.
On Monday I had this bizarrely realistic dream, wherein I was driving a friend’s stuff across the country. The “stuff” included one dog and one full-sized alligator in their respective crates. I was not happy about being roped into this task, and at one point in California I got out of the car in a parking lot to take a little break and let the animals out. I was drinking out of a water bottle and looked over at the alligator and thought to myself, “Don’t they usually live in the water? I bet the poor guy’s thirsty.” So I poured a little water into his mouth, and he seemed to like it. And I remember having the distinct thought, “Well, at least THIS’LL make a good blog entry!” as I gave an alligator little sips of water from a water bottle in a parking lot in California.
Then I woke up and briefly pondered writing that blog post, but then quickly deemed it Too Lame because, hello, it’s a dream, and went on waiting for something better to happen. Clearly, my week has not gotten more exciting, so you get the dream. Happy Friday.
I worked a convention downtown two days this week, and while it is very exciting for someone who normally works from home to see: People! Coworkers! Clothes that are not pajamas! It is also very hard for that person to get up early enough to be completely showered and dressed and make-upped in time to DRIVE somewhere to begin their workday. How did I ever used to do that on a regular basis? How do you people do it? Two days later I am exhausted and still wearing pajamas at 11:00 AM.
In less-pitiful sounding news, it is snowing here AGAIN, and really, when we’re halfway to May, I have to ask, what’s the point? I am not skiing this weekend, and half of everyone I know is flying in or out of Denver today, and it’s really all quite inconvenient. Happily, I only have to run to the grocery store and am comfortable driving in the snow (should it ever start accumulating on the roads) but I have now added Emergen-C to the grocery list, gearing our immune systems up for the battle that I know is to come with the pending 70-degree weather.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Cumple-ing Some Anos
I can hear The Funasaurus watching T.V. downstairs. Either our sound is fucked, or American Idol is slaughtering a perfectly decent Kylie Minogue song. Like, brutally.
In happier news, today I put decade # 3 under my belt. Facebook has boosted me into superstardom with its birthday reminder, and I have never felt more popular or remembered. Plus, also, my brother is the awesomest brother ever, and has a memory like an elephant. Remember this post? He definitely did. Today an enormous box of Voss water was delivered to my doorstep. It is not just any sibling that will hunt down overpriced Norwegian water and send you a crate to celebrate making it through another year. Awesome.
And then The Funasaurus sent me flowers that look like a very large cupcake. I don’t have a picture, yet, but trust me, it’s coming. And it will be awesome. Because there is not much more I love in the world than cupcakes and flowers. Except, perhaps, for sparkly earrings. Which The Funasaurus also gave me and much like a bird, I have spent most of the evening transfixed by the sparkle.
Super rad birthday. I hadn’t even noticed that I’m getting old and my hair’s turning gray and there are definite signs all around that I am becoming a grown-up and whatnot.
In happier news, today I put decade # 3 under my belt. Facebook has boosted me into superstardom with its birthday reminder, and I have never felt more popular or remembered. Plus, also, my brother is the awesomest brother ever, and has a memory like an elephant. Remember this post? He definitely did. Today an enormous box of Voss water was delivered to my doorstep. It is not just any sibling that will hunt down overpriced Norwegian water and send you a crate to celebrate making it through another year. Awesome.
And then The Funasaurus sent me flowers that look like a very large cupcake. I don’t have a picture, yet, but trust me, it’s coming. And it will be awesome. Because there is not much more I love in the world than cupcakes and flowers. Except, perhaps, for sparkly earrings. Which The Funasaurus also gave me and much like a bird, I have spent most of the evening transfixed by the sparkle.
Super rad birthday. I hadn’t even noticed that I’m getting old and my hair’s turning gray and there are definite signs all around that I am becoming a grown-up and whatnot.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
I Guess It Rains Popcorn in Aaaaaaafricaaaaaaaa
The problem with a) being sick and b) having crappy weather is that I don’t leave the house much these days. Around 1:00 today I finally broke and went to Panera for a quick soup in a bread bowl, just to see some people. I don’t think the people were very excited that I proceeded to hack all over their restaurant because the cold aggravated the tickle in my throat. But the soup was good and I got to pretend like I was a member of society for about ten minutes.
Tatum and Sugar, on the other hand, love the sickness and the cold. Because they don’t get sick or cold, what with different immune systems and a cozy little house that I have kept at a balmy 72 degrees recently. They just get a very lethargic Me, who is willing to take naps with them just about daily. Of course, napping is not great for my work schedule, and has thus led to a couple of late nights as I scramble to not fall too far behind on work projects. Which only leads to more napping the following day. It’s a bad cycle. For me. For Tatum and Sugar it’s a very awesome cycle.
In other news, a good friend who just got back from Egypt sent me a lovely Ankh pendant from somewhere near the pyramids. I have always had a thing for Egypt. (Could any country be more the opposite of Norway?) When I was very young, I obsessed about Cleopatra and King Tutankhamen, and in grade school I decided I wanted to be an Egyptologist and go about digging up pyramids in the desert. I practiced my archaeological skeelz in the schoolyard and found some burnt bits of corn. At the time I supposed there had been a large popcorn party or something, and those were the remnants that had been microwaved too long. In actuality, I think I learned later it had been a corn field that had been burned down and covered in asphalt to make the playground. I think a massive, field-sized popcorn party is a better story, but I digress. I am very excited about my new little pendant, and I need to find a silver chain to put it on so I can wear it as a necklace. Anyone have a good suggestion as to where to buy a silver chain?
Tatum and Sugar, on the other hand, love the sickness and the cold. Because they don’t get sick or cold, what with different immune systems and a cozy little house that I have kept at a balmy 72 degrees recently. They just get a very lethargic Me, who is willing to take naps with them just about daily. Of course, napping is not great for my work schedule, and has thus led to a couple of late nights as I scramble to not fall too far behind on work projects. Which only leads to more napping the following day. It’s a bad cycle. For me. For Tatum and Sugar it’s a very awesome cycle.
In other news, a good friend who just got back from Egypt sent me a lovely Ankh pendant from somewhere near the pyramids. I have always had a thing for Egypt. (Could any country be more the opposite of Norway?) When I was very young, I obsessed about Cleopatra and King Tutankhamen, and in grade school I decided I wanted to be an Egyptologist and go about digging up pyramids in the desert. I practiced my archaeological skeelz in the schoolyard and found some burnt bits of corn. At the time I supposed there had been a large popcorn party or something, and those were the remnants that had been microwaved too long. In actuality, I think I learned later it had been a corn field that had been burned down and covered in asphalt to make the playground. I think a massive, field-sized popcorn party is a better story, but I digress. I am very excited about my new little pendant, and I need to find a silver chain to put it on so I can wear it as a necklace. Anyone have a good suggestion as to where to buy a silver chain?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Giving My Immune System the Finger
This weekend was awesome and not-so-awesome, in a you can have your cupcake, but you can’t eat it, too kind of way. My parents celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary on Saturday. My brother and his wife were in town, so we drove up to the mountains and met them (after a gorgeous day of skiing, apparently. We got an insane amount of snow on Thursday.) for a mind-blowingly delicious four-course dinner. And given the fact that I have inherited my fondness for the pressed, fermented grape from the ‘rents, we were not without Very Delicious Wine for the entire weekend.
Or, so I deduced from the miniscule sips I pilfered in between feeling woozy from the Superman-strength cold medication I was taking and a heedful of snot. (Note: Superman-strength medicine and alcohol still do not mix in a happy way, for me.) I also heard the food was excellent, and it certainly looked pretty, although I really couldn’t taste much due to the fact that my taste buds were swimming in mucus.
Anybody still reading?
I am not letting any lady-like tendencies get in the way of my descriptions of agony and want. I need you to know how crappy my immune system truly has been this winter, if I am to garner an appropriate amount of sympathy.
Sunday was another ski day, and while the plan was to ditch the un-skiing-inclined Funasaurus in the hotel room and make some glorious, glorious turns with the fam, I instead spent Saturday night hacking up a lung, and could barely make my ears pop going down the stairs. I decided jumping on a ski lift might make my head explode, and so instead we went to the movies while my family skied without me.
I Love You, Man was about as funny as the previews led us to believe, so it wasn’t a total waste. But it was hardly a powder day on the mountain, either. Sunday night was a repeat of Saturday, with another gourmet dinner and some incredible wine. Which I again heard was divine. Le sigh.
But once again my father proved his awesomeness by tipping heavily and procuring the restaurant’s jar of honey so that I could take it back to the hotel with me after I spent the whole meal pounding tea. I seriously chugged that shit straight out of the bear’s head, it felt so good on my throat.
The Funasaurus again proved his awesomeness by not divorcing me after I snotted out the window of his car when I ran out of tissues.
But all sickness aside, we had a blast with my family. There was laughing and surprises and talks of the future, and there may even be a chance that my brother and sister-in-law will make it out for a holiday this year. Which would be really, really awesome. Here’s hoping.
Or, so I deduced from the miniscule sips I pilfered in between feeling woozy from the Superman-strength cold medication I was taking and a heedful of snot. (Note: Superman-strength medicine and alcohol still do not mix in a happy way, for me.) I also heard the food was excellent, and it certainly looked pretty, although I really couldn’t taste much due to the fact that my taste buds were swimming in mucus.
Anybody still reading?
I am not letting any lady-like tendencies get in the way of my descriptions of agony and want. I need you to know how crappy my immune system truly has been this winter, if I am to garner an appropriate amount of sympathy.
Sunday was another ski day, and while the plan was to ditch the un-skiing-inclined Funasaurus in the hotel room and make some glorious, glorious turns with the fam, I instead spent Saturday night hacking up a lung, and could barely make my ears pop going down the stairs. I decided jumping on a ski lift might make my head explode, and so instead we went to the movies while my family skied without me.
I Love You, Man was about as funny as the previews led us to believe, so it wasn’t a total waste. But it was hardly a powder day on the mountain, either. Sunday night was a repeat of Saturday, with another gourmet dinner and some incredible wine. Which I again heard was divine. Le sigh.
But once again my father proved his awesomeness by tipping heavily and procuring the restaurant’s jar of honey so that I could take it back to the hotel with me after I spent the whole meal pounding tea. I seriously chugged that shit straight out of the bear’s head, it felt so good on my throat.
The Funasaurus again proved his awesomeness by not divorcing me after I snotted out the window of his car when I ran out of tissues.
But all sickness aside, we had a blast with my family. There was laughing and surprises and talks of the future, and there may even be a chance that my brother and sister-in-law will make it out for a holiday this year. Which would be really, really awesome. Here’s hoping.
Monday, March 23, 2009
It's Not Hard to Entertain Me
Today I invented hats. As I have gotten quite used to the 70 degree weather we’ve had around here the past two weeks, today’s sudden drop to 50 degrees felt like an arctic blast. On my way to the store, I was lamenting the fact that neither my sweatshirt nor my jacket had a hood. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” I thought, “if there were such a thing as an independent hood. Something that I could put on my head to keep it warm when none of my apparel came with a hood attached.”
Then I realized I had just invented a hat, and swore to myself never to tell anyone the story of how stupid I could be. Clearly that resolve lasted about five hours.
This weekend I took a photography class with my boss. It was not a work-related thing, so much as a we just found out we have the same camera and no real concept of how to use it-thing. I’m not sure what I was expecting from a class called “Photo Safari” but it somehow came as a surprise to me when the teacher explained that we would be spending the afternoon walking around outside taking pictures. I was not wearing good walking shoes, and I had not applied sunscreen. Nor did I have a hat. (But you can’t blame me, there, I hadn’t invented those, yet.) So I am now sunburned, blistered, and sore, because I also didn’t think to leave my heavy purse in the car, so I lugged it around on my shoulder (along with my makeshift camera bag) and now my back hates me.
Bonus: my boss thinks I’m a big, fat pansy because I kept having to sit down and rub my shoulder and feet. Brilliant idea, all around.
In better news, another good friend of mine had a baby on Friday, so I have been scouring Facebook all weekend for pictures of various newborns. I think the part I like the most is how deliriously happy all the parents look (if you can see past the dark circles under their eyes). It’s nice to see your friends so blissed-out, even when they’re exhausted. Congratulations, H, N, and M. Little S is darling.
Then I realized I had just invented a hat, and swore to myself never to tell anyone the story of how stupid I could be. Clearly that resolve lasted about five hours.
This weekend I took a photography class with my boss. It was not a work-related thing, so much as a we just found out we have the same camera and no real concept of how to use it-thing. I’m not sure what I was expecting from a class called “Photo Safari” but it somehow came as a surprise to me when the teacher explained that we would be spending the afternoon walking around outside taking pictures. I was not wearing good walking shoes, and I had not applied sunscreen. Nor did I have a hat. (But you can’t blame me, there, I hadn’t invented those, yet.) So I am now sunburned, blistered, and sore, because I also didn’t think to leave my heavy purse in the car, so I lugged it around on my shoulder (along with my makeshift camera bag) and now my back hates me.
Bonus: my boss thinks I’m a big, fat pansy because I kept having to sit down and rub my shoulder and feet. Brilliant idea, all around.
In better news, another good friend of mine had a baby on Friday, so I have been scouring Facebook all weekend for pictures of various newborns. I think the part I like the most is how deliriously happy all the parents look (if you can see past the dark circles under their eyes). It’s nice to see your friends so blissed-out, even when they’re exhausted. Congratulations, H, N, and M. Little S is darling.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Your First Lesson: Do Not Eat Lysol
Some of our very best friends in the whole world just had a baby on Monday. I still cannot believe we are now of the age where people are getting knocked up intentionally. But if any two people should have ever procreated, well, go K & E. She’s the most darling squishy-faced thing I’ve ever seen. At least from what I can tell in the two pictures on Facebook. I am desperate to meet her, but am not holding out good odds that it will be anytime soon, because The Funasaurus is sick AGAIN and I am not sure a) he will be completely well by the time it’s convenient to visit or b) that I won’t have caught whatever variation of the plague seems to be mutating around our house these days.
Every day after my darling husband leaves for work, I Lysol every doorknob, light switch, and handle in our house. I love him, but I do not kiss him these days. I feel we are both slightly grumpier for this alteration in our habits. (But I’m not sick! … yet.)
Meanwhile, I don’t think it’s a good situation for Tatum, either, as the knucklehead is fond of chewing on our toilet handles. I imagine he’s consumed more than his fair share of Lysol recently, as much as I try to keep the bathroom doors closed.
He’s developed an interesting habit, though, and I’m not sure if it’s a Lysol-induced trance or just his own newest quirk, but I’m still trying to decide if it’s endearing or annoying. It’s a fine line with that cat. He is still obsessed with his faux mice, and has become deeply interested in playing fetch at the most inopportune times. (Try EVERY SINGLE TIME I’m on a conference call.) He brings me the mouse, and when I do not respond in a timely enough (1.6 seconds) fashion, he starts howling, and pawing at me. Then the pawing turns to clawing. And soon enough, he finds himself caught in the fibers of whatever pants/shirt I am wearing. But instead of backing off and trying again, he goes for the lazy (?) way out and leaves his claws where they are and just hoists himself up to them. Which usually brings him to my lap, wherein he immediately is like, HEY! SOFT! and throws himself down and falls asleep. So Tatum has turned uber cuddly, and takes about 20 naps a day in my lap. Which is cute. Until the howling and clawing start again. Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to get caught again and then excited about his next nap, so I’ve learned to just wait for it to cycle through until he’s snoring peacefully on my knees so that I can unmute my line.
Welcome to the world, EGM. I’m totally o.k. with it if you ever want to chew on my stupid cat. I’m not sure he’d notice.
Every day after my darling husband leaves for work, I Lysol every doorknob, light switch, and handle in our house. I love him, but I do not kiss him these days. I feel we are both slightly grumpier for this alteration in our habits. (But I’m not sick! … yet.)
Meanwhile, I don’t think it’s a good situation for Tatum, either, as the knucklehead is fond of chewing on our toilet handles. I imagine he’s consumed more than his fair share of Lysol recently, as much as I try to keep the bathroom doors closed.
He’s developed an interesting habit, though, and I’m not sure if it’s a Lysol-induced trance or just his own newest quirk, but I’m still trying to decide if it’s endearing or annoying. It’s a fine line with that cat. He is still obsessed with his faux mice, and has become deeply interested in playing fetch at the most inopportune times. (Try EVERY SINGLE TIME I’m on a conference call.) He brings me the mouse, and when I do not respond in a timely enough (1.6 seconds) fashion, he starts howling, and pawing at me. Then the pawing turns to clawing. And soon enough, he finds himself caught in the fibers of whatever pants/shirt I am wearing. But instead of backing off and trying again, he goes for the lazy (?) way out and leaves his claws where they are and just hoists himself up to them. Which usually brings him to my lap, wherein he immediately is like, HEY! SOFT! and throws himself down and falls asleep. So Tatum has turned uber cuddly, and takes about 20 naps a day in my lap. Which is cute. Until the howling and clawing start again. Fortunately, it doesn’t take him long to get caught again and then excited about his next nap, so I’ve learned to just wait for it to cycle through until he’s snoring peacefully on my knees so that I can unmute my line.
Welcome to the world, EGM. I’m totally o.k. with it if you ever want to chew on my stupid cat. I’m not sure he’d notice.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I Was Almost Waiting for the Bunny to Gag from the Ridiculousness of It All
There is nothing in the world more adorable than kittens. Except maybe baby deer. I am a sucker for those really oversized eyeballs. Thus, I give you something so sweet it will rot your teeth:
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Who Have We Become?
I spent Saturday scrapbooking and playing cards with my mother because I’m apparently skipping my young adult life and jumping straight into middle age. Today I drowned the loss of my youth in cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory with a girlfriend, and felt oddly happy about the whole thing…there wasn’t even any wine.
Shit, supposedly I’m not even thirty for another month.
I am, quite seriously, contemplating a nose ring. I feel as though working from home would allow me the flexibility to experiment with this typically questionable workspace-appropriate form of self-mutilation. I’m thinking a little blue sparkle above my right nostril. Something a little more permanent than the aftermath of sniffing my blueberry scented glitter pen. (As unintentionally effective as that is.)
I am also feeling robbed of an hour of my weekend with this whole spring forward B.S. Why can’t they ever do it at, like, 4:00 on a Monday afternoon? Because then it would *POOF* magically be time for happy hour! That would be ideal. I shall put a letter to Mr. Obama on my to-do list, as I’m sure the nuances of daylight savings time comes a close second to our tailspinning economy on his list of priorities.
In other less-exciting (to me) news, The Funasaurus beat his post-apocalyptic game tonight, wherein he has spent the last many nights and weekends of 2009 attempting to liquefy half-naked people wielding small knives with his super-soaker-esque automatic weapons and heavy artillery. I did not…approve, although it seems to make him quite happy, and he’s still trying to convince me they were out to kill him. He told me he saved some children somewhere along the way, so I let him continue to play. The win was bittersweet, though, as somewhere in the excitement and remote-hurling the sound function was lost on his Playstation, and so the ending came in silence, and if there was a song of victory, he missed it. I would ask for a moment of silence for his loss, but I think The Funasaurus is OVER silence, and is looking for some action-packed soundtrack music, already.
Baby, this one’s for you.
You really should read my blog more often.
Shit, supposedly I’m not even thirty for another month.
I am, quite seriously, contemplating a nose ring. I feel as though working from home would allow me the flexibility to experiment with this typically questionable workspace-appropriate form of self-mutilation. I’m thinking a little blue sparkle above my right nostril. Something a little more permanent than the aftermath of sniffing my blueberry scented glitter pen. (As unintentionally effective as that is.)
I am also feeling robbed of an hour of my weekend with this whole spring forward B.S. Why can’t they ever do it at, like, 4:00 on a Monday afternoon? Because then it would *POOF* magically be time for happy hour! That would be ideal. I shall put a letter to Mr. Obama on my to-do list, as I’m sure the nuances of daylight savings time comes a close second to our tailspinning economy on his list of priorities.
In other less-exciting (to me) news, The Funasaurus beat his post-apocalyptic game tonight, wherein he has spent the last many nights and weekends of 2009 attempting to liquefy half-naked people wielding small knives with his super-soaker-esque automatic weapons and heavy artillery. I did not…approve, although it seems to make him quite happy, and he’s still trying to convince me they were out to kill him. He told me he saved some children somewhere along the way, so I let him continue to play. The win was bittersweet, though, as somewhere in the excitement and remote-hurling the sound function was lost on his Playstation, and so the ending came in silence, and if there was a song of victory, he missed it. I would ask for a moment of silence for his loss, but I think The Funasaurus is OVER silence, and is looking for some action-packed soundtrack music, already.
Baby, this one’s for you.
You really should read my blog more often.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Eastern Philosophy
I spent Saturday meditating with my boss. We actually drove to Boulder for a little retreat thing-y. I feel as though it would have gone better had I not A) fallen asleep and B) thought to eat something before I went. A rumbling stomach in a room full of Very Serious and Very Silent Hippies is akin to a frat party in a graveyard. I was a little nervous Buddha himself was going to come back for another life just to sush me.
Happily, my boss is forgiving, I think the fact that she had a raging case of pinkeye led her to be slightly less judgmental overall, and the day was deemed a success. I sped home with all of my newfound nirvana to hit the bars to celebrate a friend’s birthday that night. Gotta ying that yang.
Global warming is upon us here in Colorado, and as I read the news about all of my beloved East Coast being blanketed in several feet of snow, I have opened up the windows to let some of this glorious 70+ degree sunshine right in. The house was getting a little stale. While this is devastating for our snowpack and mountains, I have decided to be very zen about the whole thing (maybe Buddha did make an appearance?) and embrace this t-shirt weather. It makes it easier knowing that I have been too busy throwing baby showers and channeling Buddha to ski recently. I think if I was up in Summit County I’d probably cry.
Happily, my boss is forgiving, I think the fact that she had a raging case of pinkeye led her to be slightly less judgmental overall, and the day was deemed a success. I sped home with all of my newfound nirvana to hit the bars to celebrate a friend’s birthday that night. Gotta ying that yang.
Global warming is upon us here in Colorado, and as I read the news about all of my beloved East Coast being blanketed in several feet of snow, I have opened up the windows to let some of this glorious 70+ degree sunshine right in. The house was getting a little stale. While this is devastating for our snowpack and mountains, I have decided to be very zen about the whole thing (maybe Buddha did make an appearance?) and embrace this t-shirt weather. It makes it easier knowing that I have been too busy throwing baby showers and channeling Buddha to ski recently. I think if I was up in Summit County I’d probably cry.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Royal Baking Lessons
Apparently if you leave shit in the oven too long, it not only cooks to be very well done, but it mutates into something brand new, entirely. I was…not expecting that, when I discovered the oven had been left on yesterday. Who’s hungry for overcooked rolls? Apparently I wasn’t, as I had forgotten all about my damn baking project, and only realized perhaps something’s wrong when an odd smell finally made me gag, whilst sitting in my office.
Crisis somewhat averted. The damage to the oven is still unknown, but it appears to be in normal working order, so that’s good.
Meanwhile I’ve taken to eating string cheese and microwaveable things. Fortunately, The Funasaurus is a good sport and just laughed at me, instead of divorcing me for nearly bringing the house down with toxic fumes.
We are strong, if somewhat ill. At least it was warm enough today to open some windows and get some fresh air in the house.
Tatum and Sugar seem to have not noticed, happily, and continue to be obsessed with a new toy I brought home from the pet store. It kind of looks like a raccoon tail at the end of a string. What’s funny is Sugar has gone all jungle cat on it, and pounces about frantically, and gleefully drags it all over the house, raccoon fur flying everywhere. Tatum, on the other hand, has gone metrosexual on us, and when he manages to extricate it from Sugar’s Fangs of Death, he just wraps his legs around it and washes it and washes it and washes it, until the colors are just so and the tireless grooming finally makes the raccoon rings line up neatly. I’m debating getting him a man bag the next time I’m at PetCo and/or Nordstroms.
Crisis somewhat averted. The damage to the oven is still unknown, but it appears to be in normal working order, so that’s good.
Meanwhile I’ve taken to eating string cheese and microwaveable things. Fortunately, The Funasaurus is a good sport and just laughed at me, instead of divorcing me for nearly bringing the house down with toxic fumes.
We are strong, if somewhat ill. At least it was warm enough today to open some windows and get some fresh air in the house.
Tatum and Sugar seem to have not noticed, happily, and continue to be obsessed with a new toy I brought home from the pet store. It kind of looks like a raccoon tail at the end of a string. What’s funny is Sugar has gone all jungle cat on it, and pounces about frantically, and gleefully drags it all over the house, raccoon fur flying everywhere. Tatum, on the other hand, has gone metrosexual on us, and when he manages to extricate it from Sugar’s Fangs of Death, he just wraps his legs around it and washes it and washes it and washes it, until the colors are just so and the tireless grooming finally makes the raccoon rings line up neatly. I’m debating getting him a man bag the next time I’m at PetCo and/or Nordstroms.
Monday, February 23, 2009
I Had a Life This Weekend. That's Something.
How is it not still Friday afternoon? This was one of the fastest weekends of my life. I’m not quite sure where all the time went, and I’m pretty sure I was awake and sober (enough) for most of it. I went out for dinners, I went to game nights, I went to surprise parties, I hosted a baby shower (no chocolate was injured on my watch), and all-in-all, had a nice time. I just wish I could have sat down somewhere in there.
My cold is mostly gone, my back is feeling much better, I just now have some wretched, wretched cramps. So help me but if you try to tell me that PMS is a social construct I will cut you.
In happier news, I ate at an awesome restaurant on Friday. Fresh, affordable Indian food—super yummy. If you live anywhere near I-25 and Arapahoe, I highly suggest going to Bombay Bowl. They are basically an Indian version of Chipotle, and I haven’t been so excited about a new restaurant in a very long time. Go! Thank me later.
My cold is mostly gone, my back is feeling much better, I just now have some wretched, wretched cramps. So help me but if you try to tell me that PMS is a social construct I will cut you.
In happier news, I ate at an awesome restaurant on Friday. Fresh, affordable Indian food—super yummy. If you live anywhere near I-25 and Arapahoe, I highly suggest going to Bombay Bowl. They are basically an Indian version of Chipotle, and I haven’t been so excited about a new restaurant in a very long time. Go! Thank me later.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Mmm, Wine
As I headed into week three of my head cold, I decided that I could no longer use The Sniffles as an excuse to be a complete and utter lump, and finally made it over to run on the treadmill at my sister-in-law’s house. About seven minutes into my jog, I felt an odd sensation. My entire back was seizing up. I jumped off the treadmill (and here I use the term “jump” loosely, because what I did really more resembled “bailing in an exceedingly ungraceful way”) and limped home like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, were he more petite and muscle-less.
By the afternoon I had exhausted my supply of people to whine to in the middle of a weekday, so I sucked it up and went to the store for some extra-strength Alleve. Which I’ve been popping like candy ever since.
I have taken this as a very serious sign from the universe that I am not to jog ever again. I wish the sign wasn’t so painful and long-lasting.
Um. Mostly that’s it. This week has mostly been about whining and canoodling back rubs out of my husband. I took a break from the pills yesterday to go to a happy hour with a girlfriend, and found that enough Pinot Noir can hold its own against any sort of OTC painkiller. I was relaxed and happy and more flexible than ever last night!
Sadly, hangovers are kind of not really great at all for back pain. I found solace, again, in the Alleve this morning.
Also, this I decree: I think I am giving up on The Office. It’s a funny show, but I’m really fucking sick of them only bothering to air a new episode every third week. I don’t love it that much. I hear 30 Rock is better, anyway.
By the afternoon I had exhausted my supply of people to whine to in the middle of a weekday, so I sucked it up and went to the store for some extra-strength Alleve. Which I’ve been popping like candy ever since.
I have taken this as a very serious sign from the universe that I am not to jog ever again. I wish the sign wasn’t so painful and long-lasting.
Um. Mostly that’s it. This week has mostly been about whining and canoodling back rubs out of my husband. I took a break from the pills yesterday to go to a happy hour with a girlfriend, and found that enough Pinot Noir can hold its own against any sort of OTC painkiller. I was relaxed and happy and more flexible than ever last night!
Sadly, hangovers are kind of not really great at all for back pain. I found solace, again, in the Alleve this morning.
Also, this I decree: I think I am giving up on The Office. It’s a funny show, but I’m really fucking sick of them only bothering to air a new episode every third week. I don’t love it that much. I hear 30 Rock is better, anyway.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Cuteness Prevails
Further evidence that the handful of functioning synapses in Tatum’s brain don’t always connect: today Tatum fell twice and ran into at least one wall. Once fall was this morning, into the shower, while it was on. Tatum does not like it when we get in the shower, and makes his disapproval known by sitting on the bathtub edge in between the shower curtain and the liner and pawing at your shadow. And then licking the liner. As I don’t feel this is the most nutritionally sound decision he could be making, I often yell at him, which causes him to pause momentarily and then go back to pawing harder. Today he pawed so hard I felt him land on my feet, just as I was rinsing shampoo. He was gone before I could rinse the suds from my eyes.
After I screamed, I peeked around the curtain to find him looking very surprised and a little damp. It took him about ten seconds to recover before I felt him pawing at the shower curtain liner again.
This afternoon he fell off my desk while attempting to clean himself while balanced on my day planner. It was not a normal cat fall, where they somehow manage to land on all four feet and sulk away to wallow in their I-meant-to-do-that recovery. Tatum fell on his butt, taking a mess of papers and day planner with him, and then sat there looking surprised, again, for the second time today.
At least he’s cute.
Speaking of awesomely cute, I saw Coraline this weekend. I am a sucker for gothic-y, stop-animation movies anyway, (love me some Tim Burton) but this one was one of the best I’ve ever seen. I was nervous about getting vomit-y with the 3D glasses, not having the best equilibrium in the world, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I am excited at the advancement in 3D technology from the blue and red glasses days. The movie totally tapped in to some long-lost little girl fantasies, other worlds and all that. I loved it. And I love the animations. And I love a heroine who doesn’t need a romance to make a good story. (As much as I like romance, I’ve read enough Twilight recently to get my fill.)
I will also admit that I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic this weekend. It was…not great. The book was only o.k., and the movie was nowhere near as good as the book. It was choppy, the romance was not very well developed or understandable, and I don’t understand why they kept dressing Isla Fischer in dead bits of Muppets. Even she looks horrified. She knows she’s prettier than that. The clothes (dead bits of Muppet aside) were fun to look at though, and Jeebus but let’s put THIS GUY in more movies with lots of slow close-ups, hmm?
After I screamed, I peeked around the curtain to find him looking very surprised and a little damp. It took him about ten seconds to recover before I felt him pawing at the shower curtain liner again.
This afternoon he fell off my desk while attempting to clean himself while balanced on my day planner. It was not a normal cat fall, where they somehow manage to land on all four feet and sulk away to wallow in their I-meant-to-do-that recovery. Tatum fell on his butt, taking a mess of papers and day planner with him, and then sat there looking surprised, again, for the second time today.
At least he’s cute.
Speaking of awesomely cute, I saw Coraline this weekend. I am a sucker for gothic-y, stop-animation movies anyway, (love me some Tim Burton) but this one was one of the best I’ve ever seen. I was nervous about getting vomit-y with the 3D glasses, not having the best equilibrium in the world, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I am excited at the advancement in 3D technology from the blue and red glasses days. The movie totally tapped in to some long-lost little girl fantasies, other worlds and all that. I loved it. And I love the animations. And I love a heroine who doesn’t need a romance to make a good story. (As much as I like romance, I’ve read enough Twilight recently to get my fill.)
I will also admit that I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic this weekend. It was…not great. The book was only o.k., and the movie was nowhere near as good as the book. It was choppy, the romance was not very well developed or understandable, and I don’t understand why they kept dressing Isla Fischer in dead bits of Muppets. Even she looks horrified. She knows she’s prettier than that. The clothes (dead bits of Muppet aside) were fun to look at though, and Jeebus but let’s put THIS GUY in more movies with lots of slow close-ups, hmm?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Why I Love the Internets
If you like to watch good commercials:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM
If you are a word nerd:
http://savethewords.org/
(There was a stiricide incident on a recent episode of the office. I just had no idea there was a name for it!)
Mostly I love this site for their usage of the words in a sentence.
Perantique: adj. very old or ancient
ex. Your momma is so perantqiue, she knew Burger King when he was just a Burger Price.
HA! So. Awesome.
If you are looking for more koalas and or news-ish stories, (although this one made me cry):
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25038852-2862,00.html
Um. That’s it. I thought I had more, but I am still weepy over the little thirsty koala. Also, I can't shake this cold, and am kind of digging day 12 of the Dayquil. It just gets better and better.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM
If you are a word nerd:
http://savethewords.org/
(There was a stiricide incident on a recent episode of the office. I just had no idea there was a name for it!)
Mostly I love this site for their usage of the words in a sentence.
Perantique: adj. very old or ancient
ex. Your momma is so perantqiue, she knew Burger King when he was just a Burger Price.
HA! So. Awesome.
If you are looking for more koalas and or news-ish stories, (although this one made me cry):
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25038852-2862,00.html
Um. That’s it. I thought I had more, but I am still weepy over the little thirsty koala. Also, I can't shake this cold, and am kind of digging day 12 of the Dayquil. It just gets better and better.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Stories That Would Be Better with Less Explanation
I got an email today that I really wish had not been a “reply to all” so much as “New Title"d because it would have been way awesomer out of context. It came to me from somebody I don’t know (Did I mention I joined the homeowner’s board for my little corner of the neighborhood? Because I did. Which vaguely translates to a watered-down version of high school student council for everyone who was so not cool enough to actually get voted into a nominal, gossipy position of almost-no-power-at-all 20 to 40 years ago.) and the entire email read:
Thank you Jeannette.
Thanks you! Mark.
It was a thankful email, full of names I don’t know. It just made me feel like the universe was encouraging the appreciation of random strangers. Hello, you, person! Thank you. Thank you Ginny, Alistair, and Edwina! (Apparently the strangers in my brain are all about eighty-nine.)
In truth, it was a thank-you note to a contractor sent from a person who’s also on the board, whom I have yet to meet, who forgot that his automatic email signature would provide a nice parallel structure to his message.
Totally not as awesome a story as the universe's sudden interest in gratitude.
I also feel like I was violated a bit by not one but TWO cats today. First, I went for a jog on my sister-in-law’s treadmill. Being worn out from almost ten full minutes of doing something that looked like a drunken power walker, I sat briefly to cool off. Her normally aloof cat came running over to stuff her nose into all my sweaty bits, including my crotch. After four years of running in crazed fear if I got within her twenty-foot comfort zone, I felt like this was maybe rushing our physical relationship just a tad.
Then, as I sat here typing, I felt the gentle kneading on my scalp that The Funasaurus knows to break out as foreplay because it feels so good it’s practically orgasmic. Except then my giddy little brain was like, “Um, Funasaurus = not at home.” So I glance at the back of my chair and come weirdly close to the uber-dialated, googly eyes of Tatum, going nuts in my ponytail with his paws. It felt so wrong. And I had to re-do my ponytail, so double loss right there.
This post took a weird turn. Come back next week.
Thank you Jeannette.
Thanks you! Mark.
It was a thankful email, full of names I don’t know. It just made me feel like the universe was encouraging the appreciation of random strangers. Hello, you, person! Thank you. Thank you Ginny, Alistair, and Edwina! (Apparently the strangers in my brain are all about eighty-nine.)
In truth, it was a thank-you note to a contractor sent from a person who’s also on the board, whom I have yet to meet, who forgot that his automatic email signature would provide a nice parallel structure to his message.
Totally not as awesome a story as the universe's sudden interest in gratitude.
I also feel like I was violated a bit by not one but TWO cats today. First, I went for a jog on my sister-in-law’s treadmill. Being worn out from almost ten full minutes of doing something that looked like a drunken power walker, I sat briefly to cool off. Her normally aloof cat came running over to stuff her nose into all my sweaty bits, including my crotch. After four years of running in crazed fear if I got within her twenty-foot comfort zone, I felt like this was maybe rushing our physical relationship just a tad.
Then, as I sat here typing, I felt the gentle kneading on my scalp that The Funasaurus knows to break out as foreplay because it feels so good it’s practically orgasmic. Except then my giddy little brain was like, “Um, Funasaurus = not at home.” So I glance at the back of my chair and come weirdly close to the uber-dialated, googly eyes of Tatum, going nuts in my ponytail with his paws. It felt so wrong. And I had to re-do my ponytail, so double loss right there.
This post took a weird turn. Come back next week.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Don't Worry, I Read the Second Book This Afternoon
It was a busy weekend from going to jewelry parties (no thanks, I’m here for the free wine, quit with the sales pitch, already) to going to baby showers (anyone who thinks that it’s a good idea to waste a perfectly good candy bar in order to make it look like fecal matter in a diaper that will only end up in a landfill anyway does not share my affinity for candy bars… or my affinity for not discussing poop) to watching the Superbowl (yay for good friends, I did not even have to bust out book #2 of the Twilight series to keep myself entertained) to playing bridge with my parents (Jeebus, I’m old) to kissing The Funasaurus.
That last item may not seem monumental to you, but I typically do a lot of Funasaurus smooching, and I have cut myself off for the last WEEK because he came down with a bit of a sore throat and a cold and I had no desire to partake in that crap. Sunday we deemed him “fine enough” and got back to the kissing already. Monday I woke up with a sore throat. Happily, this germ has not been debilitating so much as annoying, so I’ve been chugging tea and eating soup for lunch. Wheee. My life is awesome.
Actually, it did get pretty awesome last night when I went out for Ethiopian. Good lord, but I love Ethiopian food. It was really well prepared, too. I wanted to go back tonight. But we’re refraining, and waiting until next week to go back. My friend who joined me for dinner was headed to trivia night at a bar afterwards, and I was invited. Because of the annoying cold-ish like thing I have festering in my throat, I decided to decline. Also because I suck at trivia and hate feeling like a moron who does not retain useless (nor useful, really) facts. Then I found out that one of the categories last night was The Muppets.
Opportunity came knocking, and I turned it down for tea. GAH.
That last item may not seem monumental to you, but I typically do a lot of Funasaurus smooching, and I have cut myself off for the last WEEK because he came down with a bit of a sore throat and a cold and I had no desire to partake in that crap. Sunday we deemed him “fine enough” and got back to the kissing already. Monday I woke up with a sore throat. Happily, this germ has not been debilitating so much as annoying, so I’ve been chugging tea and eating soup for lunch. Wheee. My life is awesome.
Actually, it did get pretty awesome last night when I went out for Ethiopian. Good lord, but I love Ethiopian food. It was really well prepared, too. I wanted to go back tonight. But we’re refraining, and waiting until next week to go back. My friend who joined me for dinner was headed to trivia night at a bar afterwards, and I was invited. Because of the annoying cold-ish like thing I have festering in my throat, I decided to decline. Also because I suck at trivia and hate feeling like a moron who does not retain useless (nor useful, really) facts. Then I found out that one of the categories last night was The Muppets.
Opportunity came knocking, and I turned it down for tea. GAH.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
My Husband Tolerates This Only Because He Knows I Know He Loves American Idol
Today, instead of exercising, I went out for a sushi lunch. Then I had a cheesesteak for dinner. Then, because we were out of our typical cachés of refined sugar, The Funasaurus and I dropped everything and went to the grocery store at 9:00 to buy cookie mix. One stick of butter and one egg and one oven preheated to 350 degrees later, we had a heaping pile of gooey chocolate chip cookies.
And I blame winter for my current state of icky-feeling.
I am impressed with the number of people who’ve commented on the Twilight series, both in and out of my comments section. Diane, you’re totally in the minority. Everyone else who hasn’t read it, I suggest you bury your inner feminist and literary critic deep, deep in some flannel pajamas and channel your inner angsty teenage girl and just enjoy the story. That’s why we read fiction, right? For the delicious feeling of imperfection perfected? Blood-sucking angel-of-the-night aside, the romance is impossible. It would be creepy and possessive and shallow in real life, but enveloped in an over-romanticized small town in the thicket of the Pacific Northwest rainforest in 14 point font, it’s just lovely. Think of it as bon-bons for your brain. There is no substance to it, and you might feel ridiculous for ingesting it, but dear God it feels so good going down.
Um. That’s it. Mostly it’s cookies and young adult fiction and body image issues around here these days. Pretty much I’m back in high school without the PE uniform. At least that’s something.
And I blame winter for my current state of icky-feeling.
I am impressed with the number of people who’ve commented on the Twilight series, both in and out of my comments section. Diane, you’re totally in the minority. Everyone else who hasn’t read it, I suggest you bury your inner feminist and literary critic deep, deep in some flannel pajamas and channel your inner angsty teenage girl and just enjoy the story. That’s why we read fiction, right? For the delicious feeling of imperfection perfected? Blood-sucking angel-of-the-night aside, the romance is impossible. It would be creepy and possessive and shallow in real life, but enveloped in an over-romanticized small town in the thicket of the Pacific Northwest rainforest in 14 point font, it’s just lovely. Think of it as bon-bons for your brain. There is no substance to it, and you might feel ridiculous for ingesting it, but dear God it feels so good going down.
Um. That’s it. Mostly it’s cookies and young adult fiction and body image issues around here these days. Pretty much I’m back in high school without the PE uniform. At least that’s something.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Monday Night Is a Dark, Dark Time
1) I did. I’m not even sorry. I read Twilight this weekend. It was awesome. I squashed any feminist inklings I had deep into my pink slippers and singed them shut with chamomile tea and have ever since been fantasizing about unhealthy, passionate attachments to very pale and strong Funasauri with sharp teeth.
2) Sugar has been uncharacteristically playful and talk-y today. And I realized that sometimes I like it a lot when she is a little more feisty and less-lounge-y princess-y. I like it when she does something with her life, when she doesn’t let these four very small walls bear down on her and turn her into a slug and instead reaches out and creates action of her very own, turning her slightly crazy-eyed and purr-y.
I would like to be crazy-eyed and purr-y.
I became obsessed with the idea, and finally, after much grumping about work, I decided to put a plan into action. I would do something. I was off on an adventure. I managed to take about four steps outside this evening before The Universe was like, “You don’t want an adventure, you big pansy,” and I was unable to breathe because it was, like, four whole fucking degrees outside and this princess got chilly. The tea is being re-heated as I type.
I told myself I would wait until next weekend to read New Moon, but this is already turning out to be an extraordinarily long week. I may not make it.
2) Sugar has been uncharacteristically playful and talk-y today. And I realized that sometimes I like it a lot when she is a little more feisty and less-lounge-y princess-y. I like it when she does something with her life, when she doesn’t let these four very small walls bear down on her and turn her into a slug and instead reaches out and creates action of her very own, turning her slightly crazy-eyed and purr-y.
I would like to be crazy-eyed and purr-y.
I became obsessed with the idea, and finally, after much grumping about work, I decided to put a plan into action. I would do something. I was off on an adventure. I managed to take about four steps outside this evening before The Universe was like, “You don’t want an adventure, you big pansy,” and I was unable to breathe because it was, like, four whole fucking degrees outside and this princess got chilly. The tea is being re-heated as I type.
I told myself I would wait until next weekend to read New Moon, but this is already turning out to be an extraordinarily long week. I may not make it.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Geriatric-like Hope
I went skiing with my parents this weekend. Skiing with your parents has multiple benefits. Hot chocolate, and often lunch, are free. Your ego is stroked. My, your technique looks lovely, dear. After nearly 30 years, that shit doesn’t get old. You’re not so tired at the end of the day because really, you took a couple of easy slopes at a mellow pace with a couple of 60-somethings and then called it a day around noon because their knees were hurting.
Except for the fact that I am so out of shape that I was actually very tired. And my knees hurt for the first time. When did I get so old?
I found out a friend’s sister qualified for the Boston marathon today. I qualified for discounted rates on car insurance, I think.
On a different topic, I was surprised at the interest generated from the internets in seeing my debut as an unkempt grocery store rep, so I promise that if I ever manage to find said video, I will be sure to post it for your viewing pleasure. Don’t hold your breath. I am not sure King Soopers posts much to YouTube.
Also and P.S. Congratulations Mr. Obama. I’m very happy for you. And very glad I got to watch the inauguration from the warmth of my house (well, to be technical, my neighbor’s house, seeing as how my frickin’ cable [hate you so much, Comcast] went out at a particular key moment) and was not standing outside in the blistering cold trying to catch a glimpse of a Jumbotron somewhere. Though I probably would have tried to if I lived anywhere near D.C.
Except for the fact that I am so out of shape that I was actually very tired. And my knees hurt for the first time. When did I get so old?
I found out a friend’s sister qualified for the Boston marathon today. I qualified for discounted rates on car insurance, I think.
On a different topic, I was surprised at the interest generated from the internets in seeing my debut as an unkempt grocery store rep, so I promise that if I ever manage to find said video, I will be sure to post it for your viewing pleasure. Don’t hold your breath. I am not sure King Soopers posts much to YouTube.
Also and P.S. Congratulations Mr. Obama. I’m very happy for you. And very glad I got to watch the inauguration from the warmth of my house (well, to be technical, my neighbor’s house, seeing as how my frickin’ cable [hate you so much, Comcast] went out at a particular key moment) and was not standing outside in the blistering cold trying to catch a glimpse of a Jumbotron somewhere. Though I probably would have tried to if I lived anywhere near D.C.
Monday, January 19, 2009
I Could Have Showered
The other day I realized that I had not been to the grocery store in about two weeks, and was kind of over the whole living off of tuna fish and stale tortillas-thing. So I decided to take a quick break from work and make a dash for, at the very least, some cereal. I actually contemplated throwing on some makeup, but figured there was likely no one worth a few strokes of mascara at King Soopers at 2:00 in the afternoon on a weekday.
(Fore*shadow*ing. See definition of:)
I made my way through the aisles pretty quickly, and was gazing at an end display of paper towels when I noticed a woman who had bothered to make the effort to appear decent before she went out that day, sort of standing behind me, pointedly. I tried to subtly squeeze my cart over, giving her room to pass. She did not pass. I glanced over my shoulder and immediately made eye contact with her. Probably because she was staring at me.
“How are you today?” she asked through a perfectly lipsticked mouth.
“Fine, how about you?” I mean, what else do you say to that, even if it is odd that a woman in heels in a grocery store, lacking a grocery cart, is making idle conversation with you in front of the paper towels?
“Good! We’re filming a commercial,” she replied cheerily, nodding at a large camera, professional lighting, and multiple artistic-y people dressed in black scurrying around near the vitamins right in front of me, which I had somehow missed up until that point. Apparently, paper towels can be quite riveting.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your way!” I made a mad dash into the closest aisle, horrified that I had just parked my grocery cart, complete with new mop handle, in the middle of a King Soopers commercial.
The lady with perfect lipstick followed me in her high heels saying, “Actually, I want you to be in it.”
The attention whore in me had about half a second of joy at finally being “discovered” before my brain kicked in and was like, “Dude, NO makeup. Also, perhaps, maybe you could have brushed your hair this morning?”
“Oh, that’s o.k.,” I told her, walking away quickly. There is no way I would let anyone take my picture looking that crappy. I also am not fond of how I tend to look on video, ever. It’s never quite what I see in my mind’s eye.
“I’ll give you a $25 gift card,” the woman said.
I turned around and wheeled my cart up to the camera, ready for my close-up. As they lectured me on what to say “We’re looking for more than yes/no answers, here,” I took a cue from Scarlett O’Hara and pinched my cheeks and bit my lip to try and bring a little color to my winterized, ashen face.
With the cameras rolling, they asked me what I liked about King Soopers. I froze. It was not, really, a shocking question. What did I think they were going to ask in a commercial about King Soopers? But my mind went blank. I stared blankly, proving that one does not need to have much more than an IQ of 4 to be a shopper at said grocery store. “uh.” “erm.” I glanced at my cart. The mop handle did nothing for me. The organic peanut butter, on the other hand….
“Organic!” I peeped. The cameraman, the interviewer, the lady who had recruited me, and everyone else who was watching all looked at each other like, “Wow, that totally does not make any sense. At all. Way to pick ‘em, lipstick lady.”
“Organic stuff. King Soopers has a nice selection of organic…(produce? Meat? Seafood? Yogurt? Cereal?) stuff.” Was all I could think of to repeat. “Also, it’s close to my house. I’d really just shop at any place that’s close to my house.”
Apparently, that was not the answer they were looking for. They kept prying, so I went back to my first phrase and just repeated “organic stuff” a couple more times. Look at me go! I am so organic! I’m practically a hippie, as far as they are concerned. Too bad I forgot my canvas totes and would be taking my wholesome pesticide-free-range food home in plastic bags.
“How about in these economic times? Have you had to make any changes to your spending habits? Has King Soopers been able to accommodate those?” asked the interviewer guy, gently leading the moron to the type of answers he was expecting.
“Oh. Uh. Yes. Also, your prices are good. Um. So, like, when I lost my job (ed. note: this was almost two years ago and had nothing to do with the current economic crisis, but I decided not to bore them with those details) we had to cut back and I was able to find cheaper alternatives in the store. The generic stuff is just as good. Also I like your organic stuff.”
I watched the interviewer guy try not to roll his eyes.
“Also, you’re cheaper than Safeway,” I threw out, in a horrifyingly desperate attempt to appease lipstick lady so that she would still give me my gift card.
It was brutal, but they did finally give me my gift card. Then they took my picture. I bit my lip one more time to try and bring some color in, and I think I managed to make it bleed. That should be a fantastic photo for their campaign.
Look for a bleeding princess on your local television, eschewing normal grooming habits for going out in public, or listen for her on your local radio station, promoting the proximity of King Soopers to her house and stuff.
(Fore*shadow*ing. See definition of:)
I made my way through the aisles pretty quickly, and was gazing at an end display of paper towels when I noticed a woman who had bothered to make the effort to appear decent before she went out that day, sort of standing behind me, pointedly. I tried to subtly squeeze my cart over, giving her room to pass. She did not pass. I glanced over my shoulder and immediately made eye contact with her. Probably because she was staring at me.
“How are you today?” she asked through a perfectly lipsticked mouth.
“Fine, how about you?” I mean, what else do you say to that, even if it is odd that a woman in heels in a grocery store, lacking a grocery cart, is making idle conversation with you in front of the paper towels?
“Good! We’re filming a commercial,” she replied cheerily, nodding at a large camera, professional lighting, and multiple artistic-y people dressed in black scurrying around near the vitamins right in front of me, which I had somehow missed up until that point. Apparently, paper towels can be quite riveting.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll get out of your way!” I made a mad dash into the closest aisle, horrified that I had just parked my grocery cart, complete with new mop handle, in the middle of a King Soopers commercial.
The lady with perfect lipstick followed me in her high heels saying, “Actually, I want you to be in it.”
The attention whore in me had about half a second of joy at finally being “discovered” before my brain kicked in and was like, “Dude, NO makeup. Also, perhaps, maybe you could have brushed your hair this morning?”
“Oh, that’s o.k.,” I told her, walking away quickly. There is no way I would let anyone take my picture looking that crappy. I also am not fond of how I tend to look on video, ever. It’s never quite what I see in my mind’s eye.
“I’ll give you a $25 gift card,” the woman said.
I turned around and wheeled my cart up to the camera, ready for my close-up. As they lectured me on what to say “We’re looking for more than yes/no answers, here,” I took a cue from Scarlett O’Hara and pinched my cheeks and bit my lip to try and bring a little color to my winterized, ashen face.
With the cameras rolling, they asked me what I liked about King Soopers. I froze. It was not, really, a shocking question. What did I think they were going to ask in a commercial about King Soopers? But my mind went blank. I stared blankly, proving that one does not need to have much more than an IQ of 4 to be a shopper at said grocery store. “uh.” “erm.” I glanced at my cart. The mop handle did nothing for me. The organic peanut butter, on the other hand….
“Organic!” I peeped. The cameraman, the interviewer, the lady who had recruited me, and everyone else who was watching all looked at each other like, “Wow, that totally does not make any sense. At all. Way to pick ‘em, lipstick lady.”
“Organic stuff. King Soopers has a nice selection of organic…(produce? Meat? Seafood? Yogurt? Cereal?) stuff.” Was all I could think of to repeat. “Also, it’s close to my house. I’d really just shop at any place that’s close to my house.”
Apparently, that was not the answer they were looking for. They kept prying, so I went back to my first phrase and just repeated “organic stuff” a couple more times. Look at me go! I am so organic! I’m practically a hippie, as far as they are concerned. Too bad I forgot my canvas totes and would be taking my wholesome pesticide-free-range food home in plastic bags.
“How about in these economic times? Have you had to make any changes to your spending habits? Has King Soopers been able to accommodate those?” asked the interviewer guy, gently leading the moron to the type of answers he was expecting.
“Oh. Uh. Yes. Also, your prices are good. Um. So, like, when I lost my job (ed. note: this was almost two years ago and had nothing to do with the current economic crisis, but I decided not to bore them with those details) we had to cut back and I was able to find cheaper alternatives in the store. The generic stuff is just as good. Also I like your organic stuff.”
I watched the interviewer guy try not to roll his eyes.
“Also, you’re cheaper than Safeway,” I threw out, in a horrifyingly desperate attempt to appease lipstick lady so that she would still give me my gift card.
It was brutal, but they did finally give me my gift card. Then they took my picture. I bit my lip one more time to try and bring some color in, and I think I managed to make it bleed. That should be a fantastic photo for their campaign.
Look for a bleeding princess on your local television, eschewing normal grooming habits for going out in public, or listen for her on your local radio station, promoting the proximity of King Soopers to her house and stuff.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Do Your Thang
So I may not write much anymore, and I don't have much to show for my time. Mostly I've been sleeping. Sleeping insane amounts of hours. I am pretty sure I'm turning into a koala. Sleep, and also, the Cupid Shuffle.
I've become obsessed with this weak, modern version of the Electric Slide! I got the song in my head out of NOWHERE, and it won't go away. I downloaded it to my iPod, I've Cupid Shuffled across my (oops) work papers in my bitty office, I've been singing Down down do your thang to The Funasaurus as he wakes up in the morning; nothing is helping.
Though I have found a tutorial by Cupid himself, wherein he teaches his latest dance craze to you via hand-held recorder in what appears to be a Burger King, focusing on his upper torso and not so much his feet. I get it, Cupid: left, right, kick. I am rhythmically challenged, not fucking stupid.
Sometimes I wonder if I am, perhaps, understimulated on a day-to-day basis.
I've become obsessed with this weak, modern version of the Electric Slide! I got the song in my head out of NOWHERE, and it won't go away. I downloaded it to my iPod, I've Cupid Shuffled across my (oops) work papers in my bitty office, I've been singing Down down do your thang to The Funasaurus as he wakes up in the morning; nothing is helping.
Though I have found a tutorial by Cupid himself, wherein he teaches his latest dance craze to you via hand-held recorder in what appears to be a Burger King, focusing on his upper torso and not so much his feet. I get it, Cupid: left, right, kick. I am rhythmically challenged, not fucking stupid.
Sometimes I wonder if I am, perhaps, understimulated on a day-to-day basis.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)