We were watching some lame made for TV movie and one of the main characters - the boyfriend of the female protagonist - *almost* had a lisp. You only almost noticed it every once in awhile but it wasn't ever completely obvious and it wasn't constant...either way, he's in a movie, he really shouldn't have a lisp...I mean really. But the Unsupportive Louse was the one to point this out first, adding how lame a boyfriend he is.
Which means I can use it against him.
So I ask the requisite female question - "Are you saying you wouldn't love me if I developed a lisp?"
"I'd still love you," he says - OOOHH!! How sweet!! Has all the eggnog gone to his head?? - "But I wouldn't take you out in public." That's more like it.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Selective Memory
Two recent conversations regarding California friends we may see over the holidays I’ve had with the Unsupportive Louse
#1:
“Do you remember Andrea?”
“No.”
“She came to your parent’s party, she’s tall, thin –“
“Is she the sorority one?”
“No, from high school – she was my best friend, remember? She gave us the bed set for Energizer Bunny?”
“Uh…”
“Short brown hair? We went to her wedding? Her husband was Connor? They just got divorced?”
“Oh…oh…uh…yeah, I remember…I think.”
***
#2:
“Do you remember Daphne, my—“
“Yes.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of someone else, I think you’ve only met her once.”
“Nope, I’m sure – short girl, long black hair, right?”
“Uh…yeah. Really? That was like 3 years ago.”
“Yeah, she was wearing a red shirt and a black skirt.”
I stare incredulously.
“The shirt was low cut. She has huge boobs and was showing massive cleavage, what do you expect?”
#1:
“Do you remember Andrea?”
“No.”
“She came to your parent’s party, she’s tall, thin –“
“Is she the sorority one?”
“No, from high school – she was my best friend, remember? She gave us the bed set for Energizer Bunny?”
“Uh…”
“Short brown hair? We went to her wedding? Her husband was Connor? They just got divorced?”
“Oh…oh…uh…yeah, I remember…I think.”
***
#2:
“Do you remember Daphne, my—“
“Yes.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of someone else, I think you’ve only met her once.”
“Nope, I’m sure – short girl, long black hair, right?”
“Uh…yeah. Really? That was like 3 years ago.”
“Yeah, she was wearing a red shirt and a black skirt.”
I stare incredulously.
“The shirt was low cut. She has huge boobs and was showing massive cleavage, what do you expect?”
Friday, December 11, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Friday, Tip #12
Hire a two-year old to help you make your holiday pies/cookies/candies/cakes/whatever. You will be shocked at the extra exercise you get cleaning up flour, chasing down your measuring cups, returning to the cupboard five times for the same thing because there was imminent danger or massive distractions the previous four trips, running to the oven when the timer goes off so the two-year old does NOT in fact open it first, as he is declaring he will, etc.
As an added bonus, if (or rather, when) your goodies don't taste *quite* right...you'll eat fewer and save even more calories! Hurray!
P.S. On a completely unrelated note, the Energizer Bunny is available for hire, and we promise any money he makes will be spent on his Christmas presents. Or college education if there happens to be any left over...
As an added bonus, if (or rather, when) your goodies don't taste *quite* right...you'll eat fewer and save even more calories! Hurray!
P.S. On a completely unrelated note, the Energizer Bunny is available for hire, and we promise any money he makes will be spent on his Christmas presents. Or college education if there happens to be any left over...
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Energizer Psychopath
I may be raising a psychopath.
We’re driving down the road to the store and the little Energizer Bunny is in his carseat, “Look, Momma, blue car.”
“Follow blue car, Momma.”
“Okay, I’ll follow the blue car, kiddo.”
“Momma following blue car.”
“Truck, Momma! Like Daddy’s truck, Momma!”
“You’re right, it IS just like Daddy’s truck.”
“Siiilver truck” (silver is a hard word)
“Red light, Momma! Red light, stop!”
“Yep, I’m stopping, kiddo.”
“Green light, Go!”
A lull of an entire twenty seconds, towards the end of which I was starting to stare at him in the mirror to make sure that he was indeed still breathing. And then…
“Momma?”
“Yes, baby?” (Just because he speaks in full paragraph form does not mean I have to stop calling him baby.)
“Wanna run someone over, Momma.”
We’re driving down the road to the store and the little Energizer Bunny is in his carseat, “Look, Momma, blue car.”
“Follow blue car, Momma.”
“Okay, I’ll follow the blue car, kiddo.”
“Momma following blue car.”
“Truck, Momma! Like Daddy’s truck, Momma!”
“You’re right, it IS just like Daddy’s truck.”
“Siiilver truck” (silver is a hard word)
“Red light, Momma! Red light, stop!”
“Yep, I’m stopping, kiddo.”
“Green light, Go!”
A lull of an entire twenty seconds, towards the end of which I was starting to stare at him in the mirror to make sure that he was indeed still breathing. And then…
“Momma?”
“Yes, baby?” (Just because he speaks in full paragraph form does not mean I have to stop calling him baby.)
“Wanna run someone over, Momma.”
Friday, December 4, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #11
If you must eat fast food, don't buy an entire meal. Just buy the sandwich or whatever it is you want. It's more than enough calories...I mean, you can check on their websites ahead of time if you're not sure, but come on, we all know they are.
So skip the fries and soda, get a cup of water instead. And steal fries from your husband's meal (who cannot possibly be convinced to give them up...but then again, I don't try THAT hard) like I do. Think of it this way, you're helping HIM to stay slim too, even without giving them up altogether!
So skip the fries and soda, get a cup of water instead. And steal fries from your husband's meal (who cannot possibly be convinced to give them up...but then again, I don't try THAT hard) like I do. Think of it this way, you're helping HIM to stay slim too, even without giving them up altogether!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
And they say E-mail Can't Convey Emotions!
The Walking Guilt Trip tells me the other day that old family friends of ours (who moved to Georgia long before I even moved to San Diego for only my second of five very different lives I’ve led…) will be in San Francisco at the same time I will be in Northern California (ie Christmastime)
My first thought was, “Great…and why do I care?” This I stated, in somewhat less rude terms.
It finally comes out that perhaps they would like to see The Energizer Bunny. This I understand.
So I e-mail her today, telling her I’m planning out the billion different little meetings I have to shove into a 6 day period during which we also have Christmas, Christmas Eve, 2 separate extended family gatherings and friends from both my and the Unsupportive Louse’s childhood to see, and wanted to know more information about this trip these old folks I haven’t seen or talked to since I was a teenager are planning – when will they be there, are they renting a car, where will they be staying, yada yada yada. Here is my mother’s full response:
***@mindspring.com and I do not know exactly when they plan to be in SF
Full. Response.
I love my mother.
My first thought was, “Great…and why do I care?” This I stated, in somewhat less rude terms.
It finally comes out that perhaps they would like to see The Energizer Bunny. This I understand.
So I e-mail her today, telling her I’m planning out the billion different little meetings I have to shove into a 6 day period during which we also have Christmas, Christmas Eve, 2 separate extended family gatherings and friends from both my and the Unsupportive Louse’s childhood to see, and wanted to know more information about this trip these old folks I haven’t seen or talked to since I was a teenager are planning – when will they be there, are they renting a car, where will they be staying, yada yada yada. Here is my mother’s full response:
***@mindspring.com and I do not know exactly when they plan to be in SF
Full. Response.
I love my mother.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Friday, Tip #10
You PROBABLY have today off, right? Let's just assume you do.
SO, now that we've all gorged ourselves on excessive amounts of turkey, cranberries, stuffing, candied yams, green bean casserole, homemade bread, creamed corn, potatoes au gratin, apple pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie, and cherry pie (and that was only for "dinner" - let's not forget about the breakfast out so we didn't have to do those dishes and the "taste-testing" up until dinner, plus the multiple late night snacks since we MUST eat Thanksgiving dinner hours before we'd normally be eating dinner...), now that we've all done that, let's use our day off wisely.
Take a long walk, play some pick-up football, throw a frisbee, actually use the basketball hoop out in front of your house despite the fact that your kids (and neighbors) will give you odd looks, jump in the leftover leaves that fell after the last street pick-up and will thus remain until Spring, and of course, wash all 358 dishes piled on your counter from yesterday.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
20 Things I'm Thankful For This Thanksgiving
Twenty things I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving –
1. The Energizer Bunny for being the most perfect, most beautiful child ever, and the only thing capable of making Mommy sound like a total sap.
2. The energy to keep up with the Energizer Bunny…or at least if not “keep up,” not keel over as he runs me ragged day after day.
3. The Unsupportive Louse’s never-ending support.
4. The Walking Guilt Trip’s multiple guilt trips. I’m not sure if I could cope with a let-down without a guilt trip added on top.
5. The Mooch and the rent that I actually got from him this month, allowing us to actually eat turkey on Thanksgiving day and not some ground turkey I had to press into the shape of a turkey to make myself believe I could afford a real turkey.
6. The Princess’s best friend’s family who are keeping her from being lonely and deserted on Thanksgiving.
7. The PILLs who are sure to keep the Energizer Bunny alive if we are ever incapable of doing so ourselves (financially or otherwise).
8. The many friends I have who keep leaving me to move on to bigger and better people, places or things. No, I’m not bitter. Thankful is the word you’re looking for. Really.
9. The house I absolutely love in the neighborhood I used to go out of my way to run through because it’s so beautiful and I was so jealous of everyone lucky enough to live here.
10. The terrible economy for causing some poor couple to have to short sell their house, thus allowing me to live in a beautiful house in a perfect neighborhood and no longer be jealous of every one here.
11. The thousands of squirrels still managing to burrow into our house with new holes practically every day, reminding me that if I am ever truly too broke to buy food, I can always just kill one of them.
12. The job I still have that keeps me from having to eat squirrel on a daily basis.
13. The boss at the job I still have for being an all-around good guy. And not being sucked in by the other boss I have who is just really not an all-around good guy.
14. The President for believing that science is in fact…a science…and not decreasing the budget for said science, hence allowing my position to still exist, hence keeping me in a job, and possibly curing your mother’s/aunt’s/cousins/great-uncle’s neighbor’s multiple sclerosis. In 87 years. When they’ve already been dead for 62. But your niece’s step-cousin’s goddaughter’s son will care.
15. Facebook for allowing me to occasionally avoid real work while at the job I still have, but managing to make it look like I’m working in case either boss stops by, AND keeping me in touch with all the friends who have left me for more “important” things like school, jobs, family. More important than me? Really?
16. The wonderful mass transit system in Ann Arbor which keeps us from having to buy parking at the University, which would be sure to put us in the poorhouse within a month., and from slowly destroying the earth one smoke fume at a time.
17. The Engine of Chaos and Destruction (as the Unsupportive Louse loves to call our dog) for not destroying too many things or eating too much food from the counters, my backpack, my lunch bag, the diaper bag, or the pantry this year. And only eating one cup of butter at a time because I can’t imagine the smell the puke would have made if you’d eaten all four sticks from the counter.
18. Krista, the bitchy female cop who my first husband slept with, for sleeping with him, so that I could divorce him and move off of that god-awful Long Island and meet the fantastic new man that is the Unsupportive Louse and thus live this fantastic life.
19. My writing critique group, for keeping me from sounding like a total dumbass every day of the year. Well, in my writing anyway.
20. The massive sarcasm and wit I’m gifted with. (It’s a gift, I swear it.)
1. The Energizer Bunny for being the most perfect, most beautiful child ever, and the only thing capable of making Mommy sound like a total sap.
2. The energy to keep up with the Energizer Bunny…or at least if not “keep up,” not keel over as he runs me ragged day after day.
3. The Unsupportive Louse’s never-ending support.
4. The Walking Guilt Trip’s multiple guilt trips. I’m not sure if I could cope with a let-down without a guilt trip added on top.
5. The Mooch and the rent that I actually got from him this month, allowing us to actually eat turkey on Thanksgiving day and not some ground turkey I had to press into the shape of a turkey to make myself believe I could afford a real turkey.
6. The Princess’s best friend’s family who are keeping her from being lonely and deserted on Thanksgiving.
7. The PILLs who are sure to keep the Energizer Bunny alive if we are ever incapable of doing so ourselves (financially or otherwise).
8. The many friends I have who keep leaving me to move on to bigger and better people, places or things. No, I’m not bitter. Thankful is the word you’re looking for. Really.
9. The house I absolutely love in the neighborhood I used to go out of my way to run through because it’s so beautiful and I was so jealous of everyone lucky enough to live here.
10. The terrible economy for causing some poor couple to have to short sell their house, thus allowing me to live in a beautiful house in a perfect neighborhood and no longer be jealous of every one here.
11. The thousands of squirrels still managing to burrow into our house with new holes practically every day, reminding me that if I am ever truly too broke to buy food, I can always just kill one of them.
12. The job I still have that keeps me from having to eat squirrel on a daily basis.
13. The boss at the job I still have for being an all-around good guy. And not being sucked in by the other boss I have who is just really not an all-around good guy.
14. The President for believing that science is in fact…a science…and not decreasing the budget for said science, hence allowing my position to still exist, hence keeping me in a job, and possibly curing your mother’s/aunt’s/cousins/great-uncle’s neighbor’s multiple sclerosis. In 87 years. When they’ve already been dead for 62. But your niece’s step-cousin’s goddaughter’s son will care.
15. Facebook for allowing me to occasionally avoid real work while at the job I still have, but managing to make it look like I’m working in case either boss stops by, AND keeping me in touch with all the friends who have left me for more “important” things like school, jobs, family. More important than me? Really?
16. The wonderful mass transit system in Ann Arbor which keeps us from having to buy parking at the University, which would be sure to put us in the poorhouse within a month., and from slowly destroying the earth one smoke fume at a time.
17. The Engine of Chaos and Destruction (as the Unsupportive Louse loves to call our dog) for not destroying too many things or eating too much food from the counters, my backpack, my lunch bag, the diaper bag, or the pantry this year. And only eating one cup of butter at a time because I can’t imagine the smell the puke would have made if you’d eaten all four sticks from the counter.
18. Krista, the bitchy female cop who my first husband slept with, for sleeping with him, so that I could divorce him and move off of that god-awful Long Island and meet the fantastic new man that is the Unsupportive Louse and thus live this fantastic life.
19. My writing critique group, for keeping me from sounding like a total dumbass every day of the year. Well, in my writing anyway.
20. The massive sarcasm and wit I’m gifted with. (It’s a gift, I swear it.)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Be A Good Person
Do some early on-line bidding type Christmas shopping and support the family of a sweet little 2-year old boy with neuroblastoma, Thursday (the 26th) through the 6th of December.
http://supahmommy.blogspot.com/2009/11/jadens-jingle-bell-bonanaza-home-page.html
Or "catch" Santa Claus (or other holiday character) on camera (to benefit Jaden) here
http://supahmommy.blogspot.com/2009/11/jadens-jingle-bell-bonanaza-home-page.html
Or "catch" Santa Claus (or other holiday character) on camera (to benefit Jaden) here
Monday, November 23, 2009
A Love Letter
Dear Unsupportive Louse,
Despite our agreement that when I make dinner, you do the dishes, and when you make dinner, I do the dishes, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven on Sunday night when I'm not home and then not even saving any for me when you knew I was expecting dinner when I got home barely qualifies as making dinner at all, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to do the dishes that you've been avoiding for the last five days.
Love always,
Your pissed wife
Despite our agreement that when I make dinner, you do the dishes, and when you make dinner, I do the dishes, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven on Sunday night when I'm not home and then not even saving any for me when you knew I was expecting dinner when I got home barely qualifies as making dinner at all, and it certainly doesn't mean I have to do the dishes that you've been avoiding for the last five days.
Love always,
Your pissed wife
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Blatant Advertisement
I've "discovered" an awesome new ecards website...and I'm kinda in love with it. I may or may not have gone through my e-mail address book and sent a card to everyone I could think of because they're kind of hilarious.
I may have even sent people cards I think THEY should use. Yes, yes, I did.
To stop myself from further embarrassment and/or harassment, I'm just going t
o harass all of my wonderful blog readers for a moment.
http://www.someecards.com
I may have even sent people cards I think THEY should use. Yes, yes, I did.
To stop myself from further embarrassment and/or harassment, I'm just going t
o harass all of my wonderful blog readers for a moment.http://www.someecards.com
Friday, November 20, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Friday, Tip #9
Next week is Thanksgiving. So we're all planning out our Thanksgiving menus. Obviously we all fully intend on cooking way too much and gorging ourselves on what we've cooked. That's fine, it's tradition, it's way too hard to get people to ignore tradition, I wouldn't even think to try. (Especially since I'd be even more hypocritical than normal...)
So, instead of pretending we won't eat too much on Thanksgiving this year, plan to not eat quite as much in the week leading up to it. Add more salad or other vegetables to your menus and less meat, fewer desserts and healthier snacks, less soda and juice and more water and milk. But it'll be easier this week, because every time you think about that stale cookie left out on your office counter, picking up the soda can, ordering dessert, or leaving off the vegetables in place of more entree, you can remind yourself - Thanksgiving is SO MUCH MORE worth the extra calories!!
So, instead of pretending we won't eat too much on Thanksgiving this year, plan to not eat quite as much in the week leading up to it. Add more salad or other vegetables to your menus and less meat, fewer desserts and healthier snacks, less soda and juice and more water and milk. But it'll be easier this week, because every time you think about that stale cookie left out on your office counter, picking up the soda can, ordering dessert, or leaving off the vegetables in place of more entree, you can remind yourself - Thanksgiving is SO MUCH MORE worth the extra calories!!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Real Men Don't Cuddle
Warning- possible TMI. But you'll get over it.
We got home from a friend's house this weekend, at which I was the designated "DD" and the Unsupportive Louse was the designated "Parent Who Doesn't Get Out Enough so Gets Wasted at a Dinner Party" and put the Energizer Bunny to bed. As it's almost 11 o'clock, he actually falls asleep fairly quickly.
SO...I ask the Unsupportive Louse, "Are you too drunk to...?" and wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
"I have noooOO idea." (when he's drunk, he frequently puts weird emphasis on his words, and I'm pretty sure he has no idea he does this.)
"hmph" Since he only continues to lay unmoving, I try to figure out the answer without him guessing what I'm trying to do. This is much more difficult than it sounds.
Apparently he figured it out anyway because he wraps his arms around me and says,
"Sometimes I just want to cuddle."
Who's the man in this relationship anyway??
And now some words of wisdom from the Energizer Bunny, which are clearly very important, as he's typed them all in caps. If you would like to learn to read Energizer Bunny's language, please send your name, address, and 3 easy payments of $39.95 made payable to "Fictional Penney" and we guarantee your book and complimentary CD will arrive in approximately 6 months.
J L CXHXRCTJVKYBVCTJ RXEZTWQCRZTWEXYTVI6CREXRMC EXHZGWQF
H HBHJYTFJGJH.KJHHBNNMNNNNN BHYYYYYHN NH NB CF[;PO ONGHDSASDH./,FSXSW2
We got home from a friend's house this weekend, at which I was the designated "DD" and the Unsupportive Louse was the designated "Parent Who Doesn't Get Out Enough so Gets Wasted at a Dinner Party" and put the Energizer Bunny to bed. As it's almost 11 o'clock, he actually falls asleep fairly quickly.
SO...I ask the Unsupportive Louse, "Are you too drunk to...?" and wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
"I have noooOO idea." (when he's drunk, he frequently puts weird emphasis on his words, and I'm pretty sure he has no idea he does this.)
"hmph" Since he only continues to lay unmoving, I try to figure out the answer without him guessing what I'm trying to do. This is much more difficult than it sounds.
Apparently he figured it out anyway because he wraps his arms around me and says,
"Sometimes I just want to cuddle."
Who's the man in this relationship anyway??
And now some words of wisdom from the Energizer Bunny, which are clearly very important, as he's typed them all in caps. If you would like to learn to read Energizer Bunny's language, please send your name, address, and 3 easy payments of $39.95 made payable to "Fictional Penney" and we guarantee your book and complimentary CD will arrive in approximately 6 months.
J L CXHXRCTJVKYBVCTJ RXEZTWQCRZTWEXYTVI6CREXRMC EXHZGWQF
H HBHJYTFJGJH.KJHHBNNMNNNNN BHYYYYYHN NH NB CF[;PO ONGHDSASDH./,FSXSW2
Friday, November 13, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #8
Put down the fuuuulipping leaf blower and pick up a fuc*ing rake.
You do not need to use gas to blow the leaves off your tiny ass front yard. Mother Nature is CRYING people, while you’re all getting fatter! It doesn’t take THAT much longer to rake, plus you actually get EXERCISE doing it (I know, the horror!) and you don’t make all the neighborhood dogs go crazy. Bonus!
(And P.S. – if you choose to use a leaf blower? Don’t choose to do so at 7am on a Saturday morning. ‘Cause if you wake up the Energizer Bunny? You’re watching him until I get up. And I’m sleep deprived, so when I sleep in…I sleep IN.)
You do not need to use gas to blow the leaves off your tiny ass front yard. Mother Nature is CRYING people, while you’re all getting fatter! It doesn’t take THAT much longer to rake, plus you actually get EXERCISE doing it (I know, the horror!) and you don’t make all the neighborhood dogs go crazy. Bonus!
(And P.S. – if you choose to use a leaf blower? Don’t choose to do so at 7am on a Saturday morning. ‘Cause if you wake up the Energizer Bunny? You’re watching him until I get up. And I’m sleep deprived, so when I sleep in…I sleep IN.)
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Would you still love me if...?
When my radio alarm went off this morning, the hosts were discussing what apparently everyone and their mother has heard about (except me, because as a California hippie, I don’t watch TV and therefore effectively sequester myself from the gossip line that is the news) – this man who had to have his entire face removed because of some bizarre nasal infection.
I vainly searched (for almost an entire minute) for the photo of the dude, but eh, you’ve probably all seen it anyway. Besides, it might look odd if my boss walked by and there was a picture of a faceless man on my monitor.
So anyway, these people are describing the horrors this man went through and I just have to ask the Unsupportive Louse: “Would you still love me if I had my nose and eyes and practically my whole face removed?”
Without a second’s hesitation (despite the fact that he was in the other room and hadn’t heard any of the radio discussion) he answers:
“Yes, but I’d sleep around.”
I vainly searched (for almost an entire minute) for the photo of the dude, but eh, you’ve probably all seen it anyway. Besides, it might look odd if my boss walked by and there was a picture of a faceless man on my monitor.
So anyway, these people are describing the horrors this man went through and I just have to ask the Unsupportive Louse: “Would you still love me if I had my nose and eyes and practically my whole face removed?”
Without a second’s hesitation (despite the fact that he was in the other room and hadn’t heard any of the radio discussion) he answers:
“Yes, but I’d sleep around.”
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
November is NaNoWriMo!
What I'm saying is...I have more important things to do this month than entertain you people. That's all.
That's right, go on now.
Shoo, shoo.
(Um...but come back soon, k?)
www.nanowrimo.org
Friday, November 6, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #7
If you’re like me, you always eat all the leftover Halloween candy that didn’t get passed out to the kids on Halloween night.
AND if you’re like me, you always buy an extra bag of candy, *just in case* there TONS of kids this year.
So, NEXT YEAR, my advice to you is to make that extra bag of “candy” those little brown bags of pretzels that are sold right along side all the not-nearly-as-good for you sorts.
Then, when you fill up your candy basket, leave the pretzels out. Only put the “real” candy in first. Then, when there’s an entire bag of Halloween goodies left, it’ll just be pretzels, and NOT an entire bag of mini-Snickers. (With Halloween wrappings so you can’t possibly pass them off as treats for the NEXT season, and they therefore must be eaten immediately.)
AND if you’re like me, you always buy an extra bag of candy, *just in case* there TONS of kids this year.
So, NEXT YEAR, my advice to you is to make that extra bag of “candy” those little brown bags of pretzels that are sold right along side all the not-nearly-as-good for you sorts.
Then, when you fill up your candy basket, leave the pretzels out. Only put the “real” candy in first. Then, when there’s an entire bag of Halloween goodies left, it’ll just be pretzels, and NOT an entire bag of mini-Snickers. (With Halloween wrappings so you can’t possibly pass them off as treats for the NEXT season, and they therefore must be eaten immediately.)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Female Pill
My mother and father-in-law (whom I like to think of collectively as the Pills) came to visit. While I sincerely do like my in-laws, they still are slightly insane, as all people are required to become once entitled with the words "in" and "law." And, after all, if a girl can't make fun of her in-laws, what would be left in life??
So I would like to share with you a few REAL conversations with my mother-in-law -
at the dinner table, halfway through the meal that my mother-in-law cooked because she loves being the Unsupportive Louse's mommy...
me (to the Unsupportive Louse) - "How was your presentation today?"
UL - "Eh. It's done."
Female Pill - "You don't like it?" it becomes clear after a moment that she's referring to the food we've been eating for the last fifteen minutes, and not actually anything to do with the question I just asked.
UL - "N--" even the Unsupportive Louse is smart enough to catch this...responding 'no' could be disastrous -- "Penney was just asking about my meeting at work. I was just saying I was glad it was over."
Female Pill - "Oh. well, if you don't like it, there's always leftover chicken in the fridge."
I simply blink in her direction. Best not to defend or deny a non-statement. Ignore.
after our heater broke...on a weekend...while they were visiting and the highs were in the 40s (...by the way, if you're interested in offering sympathy...or money...we had to pay $517 to have it fixed)
Female Pill - "This space heater actually works great." This said with a shocked expression on her face, despite the fact that I've already told her as much two times already. "It was really quite chilly when we first came down, but now the whole downstairs is rather nice." I casually glance at the thermostat, which is in the living room while she and the space heater are in the kitchen; it reads 72 degrees. I keep the house at 66 all winter.
me - "I told The Unsupportive Louse we might just have to use the space heater all winter if it ends up costing too much to fix the real heater; just leave it downstairs during the day and move it upstairs overnight."
Female Pill, laughing at my obvious stupidity - "You'd have to all strap one to your backs and take it with you everywhere you went!"
Did she follow the conversation...or did I just miss something?
at a restaurant where the in-laws very generously treated us to lunch - we're just ordering drinks -
me - "Can we get a milk for the little one" (pointing towards the "little one")
Waitress - "We don't have milk."
me - "You don't have milk?"
Female Pill - "They don't have milk?" A pause during which I request water instead. "They really don't have milk? What kind of restaurant doesn't have milk?" We're at Buffalo Wild Wings. For all intensive purposes a sports bar. That kind of restaurant doesn't have milk.
Two minutes later, the drinks arrive. The Female Pill picks up The Energizer Bunny's plastic cup with straw. "Don't you want some milk, Energizer? Why don't you drink some milk?"
me - "It's not milk."
Female Pill - "Oh. It's not? Is it water then?"
the males are talking about football, and begin discussing a former USC player who went to high school with the Unsupportive Louse and was drafted in the tenth round or something and was all annoyed about it...my silly little female brain didn't follow the whole conversation (possibly more to do with the Energizer Bunny than the femininity of my brain, but let's not split hairs) here's what I DID hear -
Male Pill - "Was he a year below you at school? Or was he in your class?"
Unsupportive Louse - "Uh, I think he was younger. I never had any classes with him." UL went to a fairly small private school
FEmale Pill - "Yes, he was." all three nod knowinlgy. Conversation continues surrounding the horror of being the tenth round draft pick, using dude's name continuously. I no longer remember dude's name. Blame the female brain if you must.
FEmale Pill, pretty much out of nowhere, in the middle of a sentence, breaks in, "Didn't you go to high school with him?"
So I would like to share with you a few REAL conversations with my mother-in-law -
at the dinner table, halfway through the meal that my mother-in-law cooked because she loves being the Unsupportive Louse's mommy...
me (to the Unsupportive Louse) - "How was your presentation today?"
UL - "Eh. It's done."
Female Pill - "You don't like it?" it becomes clear after a moment that she's referring to the food we've been eating for the last fifteen minutes, and not actually anything to do with the question I just asked.
UL - "N--" even the Unsupportive Louse is smart enough to catch this...responding 'no' could be disastrous -- "Penney was just asking about my meeting at work. I was just saying I was glad it was over."
Female Pill - "Oh. well, if you don't like it, there's always leftover chicken in the fridge."
I simply blink in her direction. Best not to defend or deny a non-statement. Ignore.
after our heater broke...on a weekend...while they were visiting and the highs were in the 40s (...by the way, if you're interested in offering sympathy...or money...we had to pay $517 to have it fixed)
Female Pill - "This space heater actually works great." This said with a shocked expression on her face, despite the fact that I've already told her as much two times already. "It was really quite chilly when we first came down, but now the whole downstairs is rather nice." I casually glance at the thermostat, which is in the living room while she and the space heater are in the kitchen; it reads 72 degrees. I keep the house at 66 all winter.
me - "I told The Unsupportive Louse we might just have to use the space heater all winter if it ends up costing too much to fix the real heater; just leave it downstairs during the day and move it upstairs overnight."
Female Pill, laughing at my obvious stupidity - "You'd have to all strap one to your backs and take it with you everywhere you went!"
Did she follow the conversation...or did I just miss something?
at a restaurant where the in-laws very generously treated us to lunch - we're just ordering drinks -
me - "Can we get a milk for the little one" (pointing towards the "little one")
Waitress - "We don't have milk."
me - "You don't have milk?"
Female Pill - "They don't have milk?" A pause during which I request water instead. "They really don't have milk? What kind of restaurant doesn't have milk?" We're at Buffalo Wild Wings. For all intensive purposes a sports bar. That kind of restaurant doesn't have milk.
Two minutes later, the drinks arrive. The Female Pill picks up The Energizer Bunny's plastic cup with straw. "Don't you want some milk, Energizer? Why don't you drink some milk?"
me - "It's not milk."
Female Pill - "Oh. It's not? Is it water then?"
the males are talking about football, and begin discussing a former USC player who went to high school with the Unsupportive Louse and was drafted in the tenth round or something and was all annoyed about it...my silly little female brain didn't follow the whole conversation (possibly more to do with the Energizer Bunny than the femininity of my brain, but let's not split hairs) here's what I DID hear -
Male Pill - "Was he a year below you at school? Or was he in your class?"
Unsupportive Louse - "Uh, I think he was younger. I never had any classes with him." UL went to a fairly small private school
FEmale Pill - "Yes, he was." all three nod knowinlgy. Conversation continues surrounding the horror of being the tenth round draft pick, using dude's name continuously. I no longer remember dude's name. Blame the female brain if you must.
FEmale Pill, pretty much out of nowhere, in the middle of a sentence, breaks in, "Didn't you go to high school with him?"
Monday, November 2, 2009
Date Night!!
I go to pull on my cute little short date-night skirt, proudly look down at my long sexy, freshly shaved…crap.
I forgot to shave a leg. Not my legs. One LEG. Singular.
And this isn’t like in high school when I shaved one leg every other day so they were always practically perfect, AND on weekends I shaved them both, both days anyway.
No, no, this is “Penney has an Energizer Bunny, has been working 60 hours a week and hasn’t had a date night in a month” legs. This is bad. One leg is smooth and glistening. The other leg? Hairier than a porcupine on Rogaine.
I didn't have time to dry-shave (I have the Energizer Bunny, I'm always running late)...so I pulled on knee high socks and hoped nobody looked at the six inches of left leg that was now showing.
The Unsupportive Louse didn't notice, so I'm taking that to mean no one else did either!
I forgot to shave a leg. Not my legs. One LEG. Singular.
And this isn’t like in high school when I shaved one leg every other day so they were always practically perfect, AND on weekends I shaved them both, both days anyway.
No, no, this is “Penney has an Energizer Bunny, has been working 60 hours a week and hasn’t had a date night in a month” legs. This is bad. One leg is smooth and glistening. The other leg? Hairier than a porcupine on Rogaine.
I didn't have time to dry-shave (I have the Energizer Bunny, I'm always running late)...so I pulled on knee high socks and hoped nobody looked at the six inches of left leg that was now showing.
The Unsupportive Louse didn't notice, so I'm taking that to mean no one else did either!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #6
Stop drinking soda/pop/soda pop/coke/whatever you call it. For real. The NYPD uses Coke to disintegrate blood from the street. You want to put that crap directly into your stomach? It eats through blood, people! It's terrible for you!
I just don't keep soda in the house. (Though this also may have to do with the rather tight grocery budget...) Either way, the Energizer Bunny knows what "al-kee-hul" is, but not soda. And no, that doesn't say anything about my parenting skills, so stop thinking it!
(Oh, and don't just buy bottled water instead. Save the money and the earth, use your damn tap, people survived for thousands of years drinking straight from the ground, you'll survive drinking from your tap.)
I just don't keep soda in the house. (Though this also may have to do with the rather tight grocery budget...) Either way, the Energizer Bunny knows what "al-kee-hul" is, but not soda. And no, that doesn't say anything about my parenting skills, so stop thinking it!
(Oh, and don't just buy bottled water instead. Save the money and the earth, use your damn tap, people survived for thousands of years drinking straight from the ground, you'll survive drinking from your tap.)
Friday, October 23, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #5
Take MY dog for a walk. Sure, sure, you think taking your dog for a walk would be just as good, and I'm not saying it wouldn't help, but taking my dog is way better. I promise.
You won't just get a brisk 15 minute walk, you'll be required to stay outside, for a minimum of 30 minutes, and it won't just be walking. You'll have the pleasure of increasing stamina by chasing squirrels, birds, dogs and cyclists; increasing bicep strength by playing a random game of tug of war; and increasing heart rate by dealing with intolerant strangers after a tug of war the prize of which is said strangers. She will also force you to continue this shirade well into the depths of sub-zero winter.
She is for rent. Will consider adoption to a loving...er...tolerable home.
You won't just get a brisk 15 minute walk, you'll be required to stay outside, for a minimum of 30 minutes, and it won't just be walking. You'll have the pleasure of increasing stamina by chasing squirrels, birds, dogs and cyclists; increasing bicep strength by playing a random game of tug of war; and increasing heart rate by dealing with intolerant strangers after a tug of war the prize of which is said strangers. She will also force you to continue this shirade well into the depths of sub-zero winter.
She is for rent. Will consider adoption to a loving...er...tolerable home.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Silent Treatment
When I get mad, I get PISSED. I yell, I scream, I stomp my feet and throw things and break things and hit things...
When the Unsupportive Louse gets mad, he sulks. He introverts himself and ignores the world and maybe pounds a drink or five...but mostly, he gives me the silent treatment. (Which of course pisses me off more, because all I want to do is yell at him.)
The Unsupportive Louse likes to point out to me that my version of mad is a terrible example to set for the sweet little, as yet still innocent, Energizer Bunny.
And damn if he doesn't have a point.
So the other day we got so ticked at each other that he actually raised his voice at me (haha!!) and I thought to myself, "Fine, I'll be a wonderful example since you can't seem to handle your job and give you a little taste of your own stupid silent medicine at the same time. See how YOU like it." This all thought in a very mature and not-at-all snotty or whiny tone. Of course.
I say nothing in response to his almost-yelling. Other than to go away and leave me alone. Which doesn't really count. Besides, I didn't yell it.
He proceeds to invite The Mooch to drown his sorrows in cheap vodka with him, then very loudly begins to relate all our recent sexual encounters to him. (The Mooch is getting free alcohol and therefore will endure pretty much anything.) And since the Unsupportive Louse knows I'm attempting to give him the silent treatment, and he's actually still really really ticked at me (possibly deservingly, but whatever), he KNOWS I can't come down and stop him without admitting defeat AND apologizing. Which I am not likely to do.
So not only did I not get to yell and scream, I also had to listen to my most embarassing moments told to my BROTHER, which will certainly be passed on to my MOTHER (after all, if the Mooch had to endure it, may as well make me endure whatever The Walking Guilt Trip can give me.)
Screw this good example shit.
When the Unsupportive Louse gets mad, he sulks. He introverts himself and ignores the world and maybe pounds a drink or five...but mostly, he gives me the silent treatment. (Which of course pisses me off more, because all I want to do is yell at him.)
The Unsupportive Louse likes to point out to me that my version of mad is a terrible example to set for the sweet little, as yet still innocent, Energizer Bunny.
And damn if he doesn't have a point.
So the other day we got so ticked at each other that he actually raised his voice at me (haha!!) and I thought to myself, "Fine, I'll be a wonderful example since you can't seem to handle your job and give you a little taste of your own stupid silent medicine at the same time. See how YOU like it." This all thought in a very mature and not-at-all snotty or whiny tone. Of course.
I say nothing in response to his almost-yelling. Other than to go away and leave me alone. Which doesn't really count. Besides, I didn't yell it.
He proceeds to invite The Mooch to drown his sorrows in cheap vodka with him, then very loudly begins to relate all our recent sexual encounters to him. (The Mooch is getting free alcohol and therefore will endure pretty much anything.) And since the Unsupportive Louse knows I'm attempting to give him the silent treatment, and he's actually still really really ticked at me (possibly deservingly, but whatever), he KNOWS I can't come down and stop him without admitting defeat AND apologizing. Which I am not likely to do.
So not only did I not get to yell and scream, I also had to listen to my most embarassing moments told to my BROTHER, which will certainly be passed on to my MOTHER (after all, if the Mooch had to endure it, may as well make me endure whatever The Walking Guilt Trip can give me.)
Screw this good example shit.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Purple What??
Adventures on a Bike, Part 4
I don’t wear underwear under my exercise pants. Whatever, I’ve said it, it’s true, and I don’t care if you think I’m weird. I think you’re gross getting your underwear all shoved up your crack while stretching/running/biking/toning/jazzercising/curving/whatever. So there. Now, on to the important part of the story.
After work every day, I change out of my jeans or other much-less-dressy-than-you-wear-to-work pants (and underwear) and change into my biking pants. I then put my jeans in my backpack and ride my wonderful purple bike home.
For my birthday, the Princess, my darling though somewhat spoiled “baby” sister (of 25…again…years), got me a bike basket. The first week with my new fancy shmancy bike basket on the back of my bike, I get down with my backpack stuffed full of jeans and think to myself, there’s really no reason to carry this extra weight on my back now that I have this ever-so-useful bike basket! So, OUT come the jeans, straight into the basket and off I go riding home.
Now, it just so happens that my birthday closely correlates to the beginning of the undergraduate school year here on beautiful University of Michigan campus. Meaning, the undergrads are back. (Ugh.) So I got about a billion odd looks on the way home. This is standard. I believe between the ages of 18 and 22, developing and perfecting as many ugly, odd, dirty, bizarre looks as possible is almost as important as underage drinking and promiscuous sex. So fine, whatever, I got funny looks.
I arrive at home, get down off my pretty purple bike and go to grab my jeans from my new oh-so-practical bike basket. And yes, there is my lacy purple thong hanging not only out of my jeans, but out of the basket altogether, caught by one simple thread to maximize the viewing pleasure of undergrads and commuters alike, dancing along in the wind behind me.
I don’t wear underwear under my exercise pants. Whatever, I’ve said it, it’s true, and I don’t care if you think I’m weird. I think you’re gross getting your underwear all shoved up your crack while stretching/running/biking/toning/jazzercising/curving/whatever. So there. Now, on to the important part of the story.
After work every day, I change out of my jeans or other much-less-dressy-than-you-wear-to-work pants (and underwear) and change into my biking pants. I then put my jeans in my backpack and ride my wonderful purple bike home.
For my birthday, the Princess, my darling though somewhat spoiled “baby” sister (of 25…again…years), got me a bike basket. The first week with my new fancy shmancy bike basket on the back of my bike, I get down with my backpack stuffed full of jeans and think to myself, there’s really no reason to carry this extra weight on my back now that I have this ever-so-useful bike basket! So, OUT come the jeans, straight into the basket and off I go riding home.
Now, it just so happens that my birthday closely correlates to the beginning of the undergraduate school year here on beautiful University of Michigan campus. Meaning, the undergrads are back. (Ugh.) So I got about a billion odd looks on the way home. This is standard. I believe between the ages of 18 and 22, developing and perfecting as many ugly, odd, dirty, bizarre looks as possible is almost as important as underage drinking and promiscuous sex. So fine, whatever, I got funny looks.
I arrive at home, get down off my pretty purple bike and go to grab my jeans from my new oh-so-practical bike basket. And yes, there is my lacy purple thong hanging not only out of my jeans, but out of the basket altogether, caught by one simple thread to maximize the viewing pleasure of undergrads and commuters alike, dancing along in the wind behind me.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #4
A great way to add more whole grains to your diet is to start using whole wheat flour in your cooking and baking. Whole wheat is not only better for you, it's also more filling, and will keep you full longer.
As an added bonus, nothing tastes nearly as good, so you're sure to eat less of it. This tip will save you both calories AND money!
*added tip - don't substitute the entire amount of whole wheat flour for the standard bleached flour, start with a max of half and half. Unless you want to save a LOT of calories. And perhaps feed the dog something special tonight.
As an added bonus, nothing tastes nearly as good, so you're sure to eat less of it. This tip will save you both calories AND money!
*added tip - don't substitute the entire amount of whole wheat flour for the standard bleached flour, start with a max of half and half. Unless you want to save a LOT of calories. And perhaps feed the dog something special tonight.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Repairs Needed
Adventures on a Bike, Part 4
Undergrads are dumb. Phew, now that I’ve said that, I can continue to type with much less bitterness.
It’s not even vaguely unusual for an undergrad with earbuds in or phones to their heads or deep in a ever-so-important conversation about who Emma slept with last night, AGAIN… to not be able to hear me coming by. I quite frequently hop curbs or ride on the grass to avoid them. Sometimes even when they don’t have good excuses they don’t hear me. Whatever, they’re dumb, we’ve established this. All people not biking hate bikers, this has also been established and therefore all people side with the undergrads for their right to the sidewalk over dumb cyclists. Fine. I accept. (And freely admit that when I’m not the one on the bike, I hate them too…) So I always make accommodations without rolling my eyes too openly.
But one particular sweet red-headed, ear-budded Freshman (she just looked too naïve not to have been a freshman) could not have treated me worse if she’d tried to. She’s walking along a ridiculously wide stretch of sidewalk, looking down at her Ipod or other brand-name MP3 player, absolutely ignorant of the world around her. The sidewalk is so wide, I don’t even try to warn her.
Of course at the last second, as I’m about to pass her on the right, she glances up, see someone walking towards her and jumps 3 feet in the air at the massive shock of actually coming face-to-face with another human being and scuttles out of their way, directly into mine. I swerve and slam on my brakes, avoiding cute undergrad altogether, but making loud contact with a parking meter.
She stops and offers me a bandaid. I can only stare at her. What am I going to do with a bandaid?? Plus, I’m still standing. Bandaid…really? She then asks me what happened. I choose to pretend to be mute.
After I have made sure she is a respectable distance away from me, I begin again.
A few minutes later, I begin sailing down my favorite hill, on a street little traveled by either cars or pedestrians. As I’m nearing the end, I spot a car turning the corner and I squeeze my brakes to slow myself down…and I don’t. I squeeze harder. I can tell I’m slowing down, but certainly not much. To avoid certain death, I turn the corner myself and gradually stop.
Apparently my collision with a parking meter frayed the wire to my front brakes so badly that the brakes were no longer even touching the wheel.
If you find my little co-ed, please inform her she owes me $10.07 plus mental damages.
Undergrads are dumb. Phew, now that I’ve said that, I can continue to type with much less bitterness.
It’s not even vaguely unusual for an undergrad with earbuds in or phones to their heads or deep in a ever-so-important conversation about who Emma slept with last night, AGAIN… to not be able to hear me coming by. I quite frequently hop curbs or ride on the grass to avoid them. Sometimes even when they don’t have good excuses they don’t hear me. Whatever, they’re dumb, we’ve established this. All people not biking hate bikers, this has also been established and therefore all people side with the undergrads for their right to the sidewalk over dumb cyclists. Fine. I accept. (And freely admit that when I’m not the one on the bike, I hate them too…) So I always make accommodations without rolling my eyes too openly.
But one particular sweet red-headed, ear-budded Freshman (she just looked too naïve not to have been a freshman) could not have treated me worse if she’d tried to. She’s walking along a ridiculously wide stretch of sidewalk, looking down at her Ipod or other brand-name MP3 player, absolutely ignorant of the world around her. The sidewalk is so wide, I don’t even try to warn her.
Of course at the last second, as I’m about to pass her on the right, she glances up, see someone walking towards her and jumps 3 feet in the air at the massive shock of actually coming face-to-face with another human being and scuttles out of their way, directly into mine. I swerve and slam on my brakes, avoiding cute undergrad altogether, but making loud contact with a parking meter.
She stops and offers me a bandaid. I can only stare at her. What am I going to do with a bandaid?? Plus, I’m still standing. Bandaid…really? She then asks me what happened. I choose to pretend to be mute.
After I have made sure she is a respectable distance away from me, I begin again.
A few minutes later, I begin sailing down my favorite hill, on a street little traveled by either cars or pedestrians. As I’m nearing the end, I spot a car turning the corner and I squeeze my brakes to slow myself down…and I don’t. I squeeze harder. I can tell I’m slowing down, but certainly not much. To avoid certain death, I turn the corner myself and gradually stop.
Apparently my collision with a parking meter frayed the wire to my front brakes so badly that the brakes were no longer even touching the wheel.
If you find my little co-ed, please inform her she owes me $10.07 plus mental damages.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Sweet Little Old Lady
Adventures on a Bike, Part 2
You know no one likes a biker. It’s true. You people in cars hate waiting for cyclists. You people walking hate having to move aside for a bike to fly past. It’s just a fact. So if I get a dirty look now and then, I deal with it and get on with life.
One particularly nice, early summer day, I’m riding along, thinking how blessed I am that I live in such a beautiful town with such fantastic people (the undergrads weren’t around, remember) and have such a perfect family. Nothing can ruin my mood.
I throw my hands out wide “king of the world” Titanic style, speeding down the hill a la Meg Ryan just before she gets slammed by a truck in that movie with Nicholas Cage from a million years ago, and when I slow down at the end, I’m coming up upon a sweet little old lady.
“Excuse me!” I sing it out sweet and in-love-with-life style.
No response. Nothing new. Plus, she’s old so she’s probably deaf.
“Excuse me, ma’am, coming by on your right!”
Still no response, but she’s enough on the left that it’s fine for me to ride right on by, I just don’t want to shock the living daylights out of poor old granny.
One last try as I pedal by, not too fast, not too slow, “Good evening, ma’am! Coming by!”
“Shit!” she yells as I pass by her. If this was all I’d heard, I would have continued to assume I’d misheard, just as I immediately did. But no, she continued.
“Fuc*ing bikers! Should all go to Hel*!”
Apparently all is NOT right with the world. Old ladies do NOT swear when all is right with the world. Do they?
You know no one likes a biker. It’s true. You people in cars hate waiting for cyclists. You people walking hate having to move aside for a bike to fly past. It’s just a fact. So if I get a dirty look now and then, I deal with it and get on with life.
One particularly nice, early summer day, I’m riding along, thinking how blessed I am that I live in such a beautiful town with such fantastic people (the undergrads weren’t around, remember) and have such a perfect family. Nothing can ruin my mood.
I throw my hands out wide “king of the world” Titanic style, speeding down the hill a la Meg Ryan just before she gets slammed by a truck in that movie with Nicholas Cage from a million years ago, and when I slow down at the end, I’m coming up upon a sweet little old lady.
“Excuse me!” I sing it out sweet and in-love-with-life style.
No response. Nothing new. Plus, she’s old so she’s probably deaf.
“Excuse me, ma’am, coming by on your right!”
Still no response, but she’s enough on the left that it’s fine for me to ride right on by, I just don’t want to shock the living daylights out of poor old granny.
One last try as I pedal by, not too fast, not too slow, “Good evening, ma’am! Coming by!”
“Shit!” she yells as I pass by her. If this was all I’d heard, I would have continued to assume I’d misheard, just as I immediately did. But no, she continued.
“Fuc*ing bikers! Should all go to Hel*!”
Apparently all is NOT right with the world. Old ladies do NOT swear when all is right with the world. Do they?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #3
At every meal, make sure you have more fruit or veggies on your plate than meat. The FDA recommends 5-6oz of meat/beans/protein per day. PER DAY. Do you know how much that chicken breast weighs? Probably 7 or 8 with the way they're going these days. And don't forget about what you had for lunch...
If I make large slabs of meat for dinner, I only make 3 - one for the Unsupportive Louse, one for the Mooch and I share mine with the Energizer Bunny (who only needs a total of 2oz per day). As an added bonus, this also teaches the small child all about sharing. And if the Unsupportive Louse is really hungry after he's eaten his slab of meat, he can eat some half-chewed, slobbered on pea-sized bites from the Energizer Bunny's plate. Shockingly, this prospect keeps him lean too.
If I make large slabs of meat for dinner, I only make 3 - one for the Unsupportive Louse, one for the Mooch and I share mine with the Energizer Bunny (who only needs a total of 2oz per day). As an added bonus, this also teaches the small child all about sharing. And if the Unsupportive Louse is really hungry after he's eaten his slab of meat, he can eat some half-chewed, slobbered on pea-sized bites from the Energizer Bunny's plate. Shockingly, this prospect keeps him lean too.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Adventures on a Bike - Red Hot Spandex Biker Shorts
As biking season is quickly coming to an end, I thought it might be fun to write a little series of blogs about the exciting adventures I’ve had this year.
Adventures on a Bike, Part 1
I’m riding along one day, when I get that eerie tingly feeling, the one you feel when you’re sure someone is watching you. I glance back over my shoulder and see a rusty blue pickup truck slowing down and pulling into the right lane, closest to the sidewalk, but no people. I shake my head, thinking I must be going crazy…er.
Not ten seconds later, I see the old pickup ease next to me, going maybe 10 miles an hour. I wrinkle up my forehead wondering what this could be about and try to sneak another glance at the truck without falling off my bike. As I do, the passenger side window rolls down.
The driver leans waaay over and yells out the window at me, “Damn, you look ree-eal good on that bike!” I could only laugh.
Not many people can pull off red hot, short short, spandex biking shorts, but apparently you are acquainted with one of the few. Aren’t you proud?
Adventures on a Bike, Part 1
I’m riding along one day, when I get that eerie tingly feeling, the one you feel when you’re sure someone is watching you. I glance back over my shoulder and see a rusty blue pickup truck slowing down and pulling into the right lane, closest to the sidewalk, but no people. I shake my head, thinking I must be going crazy…er.
Not ten seconds later, I see the old pickup ease next to me, going maybe 10 miles an hour. I wrinkle up my forehead wondering what this could be about and try to sneak another glance at the truck without falling off my bike. As I do, the passenger side window rolls down.
The driver leans waaay over and yells out the window at me, “Damn, you look ree-eal good on that bike!” I could only laugh.
Not many people can pull off red hot, short short, spandex biking shorts, but apparently you are acquainted with one of the few. Aren’t you proud?
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #2
Pretend you're broke. For most of us, this won't be a problem. But, if it is, just pretend you're me. Really broke. Budget $50 per week for groceries to feed four people - two grown men, one ravenous energizer bunny and yourself. This needs to be a very strict budget, it's best if you take fifty dollars in cash to the store and know if you go over the limit, you will be shockingly embarrassed.
In no time at all, you'll find yourself avoiding most snacks, the chips and candy aisle altogether, and practically all meat as well. This will do wonders for your waistline.
In no time at all, you'll find yourself avoiding most snacks, the chips and candy aisle altogether, and practically all meat as well. This will do wonders for your waistline.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Dead Man Walking
Some of you...okay, maybe a few...or all right, maybe none, but I'd like to think it's some, so just let me, k? Anyway, some of you may have noticed that I've been rather absent from the world of blogging recently. Emotionally withdrawn perhaps. I've been posting mostly consistently, nothing different than normal, but I haven't been...well, whoring myself out on YOUR blogs nearly as much.
Let me tell you why. And then you, of course, will forgive me.
The fact is, I've been working (you know, the work in my "real" life) a lot of late nights. Not staying at work late, but rather, leaving work at the normal hour, after an 8 hour day, picking up the Energizer Bunny, (who runs up to the door every day yelling, "I be good t' baby, Momma!" as he is no longer biting/hitting/kicking/punching the baby), making a well-rounded dinner (things like mmmmacaroni and cheese and Hamburger Helper....mmmm delicious!), taking the wondrous dog for a walk, tucking the Energizer Bunny in to bed (who will continue to play/talk/read to himself for at least another hour) and then going BACK to work. And staying for an hour or two.
Unfortunately for me, my work is not sitting down in front of a computer screen. It's on my feet, moving, thinking, calculating, blah blah blah kind of work. It's draining, people, that's what I'm telling you, it's draining.
So I get home 12/12:30 about to keel over. Not exactly my ideal time to write comments on others' blogs. Believe, you don't want the comments I could come up with on such a dead body and brain. But really, to be honest, I'm not reading your blogs at midnight anyway. Sorry, dudes, just don't love you QUITE that much.
If I read your blogs at all these days (omm...if you're reading this, OF COURSE I READ YOUR BLOG!!!) I read them as contraband at work. Much more exciting that way, I promise. But really also not a good time to comment...
So I'm not commenting on your blogs as much. But you wouldn't want me to anyway. 'Cause here's the thing. Not only am I tired and cranky? I'm also sex-deprived.
When the hell am I supposed to have sex with a 2-year old running around and the late night work requirement!? There's just no time for it. And I like me some sex. Sex puts me in a good mood.
But when I'm not getting any? I'm in a PISSY mood. BAD BAD BAD mood Penney. Just ask the Unsupportive Louse. Even he's smart enough to stay away from sex-deprived Penney. And it's been like 6 weeks or something ridiculous. (Okay, that's a huge exaggeration, but it's been 6 weeks since I could do it any day I wanted...and 2 years, 2 months, 24 days since I could do it any time I wanted...)
And to make it worse? I'm not even getting paid extra for this crap!!
If I read your blogs at all these days (omm...if you're reading this, OF COURSE I READ YOUR BLOG!!!) I read them as contraband at work. Much more exciting that way, I promise. But really also not a good time to comment...
So I'm not commenting on your blogs as much. But you wouldn't want me to anyway. 'Cause here's the thing. Not only am I tired and cranky? I'm also sex-deprived.
When the hell am I supposed to have sex with a 2-year old running around and the late night work requirement!? There's just no time for it. And I like me some sex. Sex puts me in a good mood.
But when I'm not getting any? I'm in a PISSY mood. BAD BAD BAD mood Penney. Just ask the Unsupportive Louse. Even he's smart enough to stay away from sex-deprived Penney. And it's been like 6 weeks or something ridiculous. (Okay, that's a huge exaggeration, but it's been 6 weeks since I could do it any day I wanted...and 2 years, 2 months, 24 days since I could do it any time I wanted...)
And to make it worse? I'm not even getting paid extra for this crap!!
Friday, September 25, 2009
Fabulous Fitness Fridays, Tip #1
Due to both the healthcare/insurance "crisis" and the obesity epidemic, I - as a still slim, young...ish adult - feel compelled to offer my valuable lifestyle advice and (obviously) healthy habits with middle, blog-reading America.
Therefore, I will begin Fabulous Fitness Fridays with tried and tested tips on how to stay skinny or skinnyify yourself in no time.*
(I cannot promise I will manage to post a tip every Friday, but I CAN promise that if I don't, I will blame either the Energizer Bunny or the Unsupportive Louse, guaranteed.)
*no guarantees...and yes, skinnyify is a word. Where have you been?
SO, what you've ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!! TIP #1!!
Don't skip meals. It only makes you hungrier and more likely to eat unhealthily. (dude, good word.)
When I'm considering skipping lunch, I grab an easy snack, like a 660 calorie chocolate chocolate chip muffin leftover from that morning's meeting.
Therefore, I will begin Fabulous Fitness Fridays with tried and tested tips on how to stay skinny or skinnyify yourself in no time.*
(I cannot promise I will manage to post a tip every Friday, but I CAN promise that if I don't, I will blame either the Energizer Bunny or the Unsupportive Louse, guaranteed.)
*no guarantees...and yes, skinnyify is a word. Where have you been?
SO, what you've ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!! TIP #1!!
Don't skip meals. It only makes you hungrier and more likely to eat unhealthily. (dude, good word.)
When I'm considering skipping lunch, I grab an easy snack, like a 660 calorie chocolate chocolate chip muffin leftover from that morning's meeting.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Family Dinner
Had the Walking Guilt Trip over for dinner. It was very nice. Happy little extended family.
After dinner, The Walking Guilt Trip and I commense the necessary mother/daughter "small talk."
"How's your book coming?" she asks.
"Actually, I finished it." I hesitate to give my mother any good news without a justification, soI quickly amend, "Only the first draft, of course."
"Are you going to send it out to Publishers, then?" (Any publishers out there, please forgive my mother, she doesn't know what she speaks of. I wouldn't think so highly of myself as to send you any manuscript without an agent first accepting it as halfway decent.)
"It's just a first draft, Mom, I still have to revise it like 16 times before I can send it out."
"Not if you're good enough." Is it just me, or does anyone else now assume they're not "good enough" either??
Rather than blow a gasket as I might normally do, only to have a ridiculous guilty conscience later, I try to calmly explain why this comment may offend me. "It's not good enough Mom, and can you understand how telling me that if I was good enough it could be published right away might make me feel more like I've failed at something rather than accomplished something?"
I thought I was AVOIDING a guilt trip...hahaha The Walking Guilt Trip knows no boundaries! She began to CRY. On cue. Immediately. "Oh Penney, can't I do anything right?"
Oh glorious guilt trip! YOU MADE YOUR MOTHER CRY!
After dinner, The Walking Guilt Trip and I commense the necessary mother/daughter "small talk."
"How's your book coming?" she asks.
"Actually, I finished it." I hesitate to give my mother any good news without a justification, soI quickly amend, "Only the first draft, of course."
"Are you going to send it out to Publishers, then?" (Any publishers out there, please forgive my mother, she doesn't know what she speaks of. I wouldn't think so highly of myself as to send you any manuscript without an agent first accepting it as halfway decent.)
"It's just a first draft, Mom, I still have to revise it like 16 times before I can send it out."
"Not if you're good enough." Is it just me, or does anyone else now assume they're not "good enough" either??
Rather than blow a gasket as I might normally do, only to have a ridiculous guilty conscience later, I try to calmly explain why this comment may offend me. "It's not good enough Mom, and can you understand how telling me that if I was good enough it could be published right away might make me feel more like I've failed at something rather than accomplished something?"
I thought I was AVOIDING a guilt trip...hahaha The Walking Guilt Trip knows no boundaries! She began to CRY. On cue. Immediately. "Oh Penney, can't I do anything right?"
Oh glorious guilt trip! YOU MADE YOUR MOTHER CRY!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Vasectomy, anyone?
I left the Unsupportive Louse alone with the Energizer Bunny for 3 hours last weekend. WHAT was I thinking?? THREE WHOLE HOURS?
They had dropped me off at a meeting because we'd all been in the general vincinity just before it began, and they were going to pick me up if the timing was convenient to naps, snacks, whatever else is involved in the life of an Energizer Bunny. Otherwise, I would just walk or bus home. A fine plan.
So, my meeting ends. I call, the Energizer Bunny is desperate to see me; they're excited to come pick me up. Wonderful.
Two minutes later, the phone rings -
"Hey, everything okay?" I ask
The Energizer Bunny is screaming in the background. "FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME!" Click.
Hm.
I begin the 3 mile walk home.
15 minutes later, I get a text message -
"I'm getting a vasectomy tomorrow"
Obviously such a procedure needs to be performed immediately, no time to delay!
I call.
The Energizer Bunny is crying in the background. "He's being unreasonable!!"
"He's 2."
"So!?"
"He's frustrated. He's having trouble trying to communicate with you."
"Tell him to speak English!"
"He's 2."
"EXACTLY! He's had TWO YEARS to learn! It doesn't take two years to learn a language!"
I pause. How does one respond to such a rational statment? "Give him a little more time. Try to be patient with him for now."
"Just come home before I strangle him." Click.
I speed up.
Ten minutes later I'm almost home. I call to make sure they're both still breathing.
The Energizer Bunny is wailing in the background. "Where are you!?"
"Almost home. Why don't you guys walk to meet me?"
The Unsupportive Louse suggests such an outing to the Energizer Bunny. The wailing stops.
"Yes. Go find Mommy."
"Fine." Click. Sigh.
Two mintues later, I hear the creaking, wobbling wagon the Energizer Bunny adores. No wailing. This must be a good sign. The wagon turns the corner.
The Unsupportive Louse spots me. The wagon is flung down the sidewalk toward me. "He's all yours." He turns around and walks away.
The Energizer Bunny jumps into my arms and yells over his shoulder, "I luuub you, Da-dee!"
The Unsupportive Louse later tells me that The Energizer Bunny gets his "insanity" from me. Hm.
They had dropped me off at a meeting because we'd all been in the general vincinity just before it began, and they were going to pick me up if the timing was convenient to naps, snacks, whatever else is involved in the life of an Energizer Bunny. Otherwise, I would just walk or bus home. A fine plan.
So, my meeting ends. I call, the Energizer Bunny is desperate to see me; they're excited to come pick me up. Wonderful.
Two minutes later, the phone rings -
"Hey, everything okay?" I ask
The Energizer Bunny is screaming in the background. "FIND YOUR OWN WAY HOME!" Click.
Hm.
I begin the 3 mile walk home.
15 minutes later, I get a text message -
"I'm getting a vasectomy tomorrow"
Obviously such a procedure needs to be performed immediately, no time to delay!
I call.
The Energizer Bunny is crying in the background. "He's being unreasonable!!"
"He's 2."
"So!?"
"He's frustrated. He's having trouble trying to communicate with you."
"Tell him to speak English!"
"He's 2."
"EXACTLY! He's had TWO YEARS to learn! It doesn't take two years to learn a language!"
I pause. How does one respond to such a rational statment? "Give him a little more time. Try to be patient with him for now."
"Just come home before I strangle him." Click.
I speed up.
Ten minutes later I'm almost home. I call to make sure they're both still breathing.
The Energizer Bunny is wailing in the background. "Where are you!?"
"Almost home. Why don't you guys walk to meet me?"
The Unsupportive Louse suggests such an outing to the Energizer Bunny. The wailing stops.
"Yes. Go find Mommy."
"Fine." Click. Sigh.
Two mintues later, I hear the creaking, wobbling wagon the Energizer Bunny adores. No wailing. This must be a good sign. The wagon turns the corner.
The Unsupportive Louse spots me. The wagon is flung down the sidewalk toward me. "He's all yours." He turns around and walks away.
The Energizer Bunny jumps into my arms and yells over his shoulder, "I luuub you, Da-dee!"
The Unsupportive Louse later tells me that The Energizer Bunny gets his "insanity" from me. Hm.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Mother-of-the-Year
The grown-ups (very loosely used, since it does, after all, include my brother The Mooch) in the household came down with what can only be attributed to food poisoning after our rainy labor day garage barbecue (hey, the best laid plans can't be completely foiled by a little rain...) While I might be more willing to credit carbon monoxide poisoning to our illness, as the majority of charcoal produced barbecue smoke poured into our kitchen from the garage door throughout the entire affair, I would assume the small child would be most prone to said poisoning, and thus must toss out that idea altogether.
So the Energizer Bunny, having refused the delicacy commonly known as a hamburger for dinner, remained ever so energetic while any and all caregivers were stuck in the (thankfully three separate) bathrooms throughout the day. Not to be vulgar or anything, but, there is nothing like taking care of a two-year old while requiring to alternatively hurl and shit oneself. Really. You should try it.
Following a desperately long day praying to the porcelain god after doing nothing even vaguely close to deserving such a pleasure, one must make sacrifices. I am sorry to relate to you now that my sacrifice was the safe care and well-being of the Energizer Bunny.
We went to bed before him.
That's right, folks. We plopped him down in bed, gave him some books and blocks, and told him to be good. Tucked ourselves in good and tight and drifted off to dreams of happier days while our child fended for himself in the other room. I hereby nominate myself for Mother-of-the-Year.
You'll be glad to know he's still alive AND the house is still standing.
Please don't tell The Walking Guilt Trip.
So the Energizer Bunny, having refused the delicacy commonly known as a hamburger for dinner, remained ever so energetic while any and all caregivers were stuck in the (thankfully three separate) bathrooms throughout the day. Not to be vulgar or anything, but, there is nothing like taking care of a two-year old while requiring to alternatively hurl and shit oneself. Really. You should try it.
Following a desperately long day praying to the porcelain god after doing nothing even vaguely close to deserving such a pleasure, one must make sacrifices. I am sorry to relate to you now that my sacrifice was the safe care and well-being of the Energizer Bunny.
We went to bed before him.
That's right, folks. We plopped him down in bed, gave him some books and blocks, and told him to be good. Tucked ourselves in good and tight and drifted off to dreams of happier days while our child fended for himself in the other room. I hereby nominate myself for Mother-of-the-Year.
You'll be glad to know he's still alive AND the house is still standing.
Please don't tell The Walking Guilt Trip.
Monday, September 7, 2009
They’re Baa-ack
The problem with living in a college town is that you have four months of gorgeous summer to forget that you live in a college town. (Ironically, this is also the problem with living in Michigan in general…four solid months of warm weather that allows you to forget that the other eight are below zero.)
All summer long, you can walk, drive, bike, eat, shop without a care in the world.
And then comes September. Anywhere you look there’s exposed skin and mid-afternoon underage drinking, I-pods and earbuds and excess stupidity. Kids who have had nothing better to do all summer but run to amplify the perfectness of their still teenage bodies and lay out for endless hours to improve their tans, and of course spend Mommy and Daddy’s money on new clothes, shoes, Coach bags and enough make-up to camouflage a cow.
In no time we can add to this clever group the infamous leggings/Uggs combination, since winter immediately follows the return of undergrads in this glorious town we call Ann Arbor.
And now they’re back. They’re walking in the middle of streets and throwing red Dixie cups at passers-by. They’re tossing footballs over cars and playing their ipods loud enough to get the cops called. They’re wandering around like lost little doe-eyed sheep when alone but confident as vultures in large groups. They’re obnoxious.
And what’s worse? Their parents are here too. For this first fantastic week before Labor Day, the parents drive their sweet babies to their new big city school.
And their parents are the ones who, rather than stop or just keep going at a crosswalk will slow down to the point where I have to fully stop on my bike, then continue along their way once they’ve made sure I’ll have to work extra hard to make it home today. Their parents are the ones who demand different seats in the restaurants because “this table has a little something on it” or “that table has better lighting.” Their parents are the ones who unload their luggage into the middle of the street while their precious little angel is carrying a bookshelf up the stairs in her miniskirt and heels, and then wonder what all the drivers are getting annoyed at.
To ensure me that all of Ann Arbor is excited for the return of the undergrads, I actually saw my three favorite Ann Arborites today, for the first time this year. The bikini wearing, bicycle riding homeless man. And the pinkie holding, tie-dye shirt wearing unicyclist couple. Ahh...college towns.
All summer long, you can walk, drive, bike, eat, shop without a care in the world.
And then comes September. Anywhere you look there’s exposed skin and mid-afternoon underage drinking, I-pods and earbuds and excess stupidity. Kids who have had nothing better to do all summer but run to amplify the perfectness of their still teenage bodies and lay out for endless hours to improve their tans, and of course spend Mommy and Daddy’s money on new clothes, shoes, Coach bags and enough make-up to camouflage a cow.
In no time we can add to this clever group the infamous leggings/Uggs combination, since winter immediately follows the return of undergrads in this glorious town we call Ann Arbor.
And now they’re back. They’re walking in the middle of streets and throwing red Dixie cups at passers-by. They’re tossing footballs over cars and playing their ipods loud enough to get the cops called. They’re wandering around like lost little doe-eyed sheep when alone but confident as vultures in large groups. They’re obnoxious.
And what’s worse? Their parents are here too. For this first fantastic week before Labor Day, the parents drive their sweet babies to their new big city school.
And their parents are the ones who, rather than stop or just keep going at a crosswalk will slow down to the point where I have to fully stop on my bike, then continue along their way once they’ve made sure I’ll have to work extra hard to make it home today. Their parents are the ones who demand different seats in the restaurants because “this table has a little something on it” or “that table has better lighting.” Their parents are the ones who unload their luggage into the middle of the street while their precious little angel is carrying a bookshelf up the stairs in her miniskirt and heels, and then wonder what all the drivers are getting annoyed at.
To ensure me that all of Ann Arbor is excited for the return of the undergrads, I actually saw my three favorite Ann Arborites today, for the first time this year. The bikini wearing, bicycle riding homeless man. And the pinkie holding, tie-dye shirt wearing unicyclist couple. Ahh...college towns.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Terrible, Horrible, No good, Very Bad Day
So I wrote this blog last week and then a ridiculous combination of my work computer hating blogger, blogger hating Word and my laptop hating the internet, I was completely unable to post. So whatever, pretend it's over a week ago and once you're done reading, you can go ahead and skip back to the present.
Thank God I got those awards last week ‘cause otherwise, I just might have had to slit my wrists. Or possibly moved to Australia. No, really. My day was THAT bad.
It was an accumulation of a week’s worth of crap ending in one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I told the Unsupportive Louse I was moving to Australia. He said they don’t have internet in Australia. I’m quite sure they do; you wouldn’t even notice the difference.
First, our basement flooded. The air conditioning was leaking. And the earliest “non-emergency” appointment we could get was five days later. (An all day appointment, of course.) We therefore had to leave it off…through the boiling, humid weekend. The ONLY boiling, humid weekend we have had all summer.
And when we went to pick up the dehumidifier someone offered to us, someone else had taken (stolen?) it from their driveway. Jackholes. Of course we then discovered mold on the couch down there because it was so freaking humid. And a light shorted out after literally DRIPPING with condensation. We had to turn the HEATER ON to dry it out. In 95 degree weather.
Granted, it was only 62 degrees in the basement (a part of the problem) but F#*@ I don’t even let us use the heater in the WINTER, much less the summer!!
And the Energizer Bunny learned to say something that sounds suspiciously like “bucket.” (perhaps better written Buck It?)
It was also his first week at a new daycare, and I’m certain that will make a good impression.
Not only that, he’s decided to show us how pissed he is about having to change daycares by biting the other kids. And then laughing. (Oh, but he knows how to get away with it; he always looks very sweet and contrite when he tells me he’s sorry he bit the baby.)
So I spent an excessive amount of time settling the sweet, contrite, biting Energizer Bunny in at daycare Thursday morning and when I got to work an HOUR AND A HALF late, I have a concise little e-mail waiting from my boss. “Let’s meet as soon as everyone gets in.” AS SOON AS EVERYONE GETS IN. SHIT.
As if this can get worse, the meeting was all about a huge mistake I made that I cannot live down for the life of me. Awesome. I’m fairly certain I could get fired over this.
Oh but no, it doesn’t end there, it gets worse. I TOLD you God hated me!
I pick the Energizer Bunny up and flop myself on the couch immediately upon arriving home. He commences to tell me “Water down dere, Momma. En ba’ement, Momma. Buck It. Water en ba’ement.” He narrates everything he sees or thinks these days. Adorable really. Except when it includes words like bucket and reminders of your quickly decaying life.
“Momma, hole up dere. Hole Momma’s seel-ing. Flour on floor. Make cake wi’ dat. Momma, make cake?” He comes running to the living room to beg me to make a cake, but my mind is still stuck on that damn hole. I wish I could just sit on the couch. I wish I could ignore it. I wish there was an explanation, but…?
Oh, yeah. There’s a hole in the ceiling. A hole the size of my fist. (The “flour” is the fine chalky white bits of paint and drywall all over the floor.) It would seem we have new friends who would like to share our home. Squirrels. They’ve clawed through the mesh over a vent on the outside of the house.
AAAHHHH!
I’d love to have a shoulder to cry on.
Just my luck, the Unsupportive Louse arrives home at this very moment. He does some hairpulling, some “hemorrhaging money” and “shoulda stayed in the studio” yelling, and then lets me go garden to relax myself.
Day’s over, right? Oh no, not yet. God has more in store for you!!
I knocked a beautiful, bright green tomato right off the vine. The Energizer Bunny then pulled a second, tiny green tomato off the vine. “I he’p, Momma. I pick ‘mato! Turn red now!”
Now here’s the clincher. The beautiful pumpkin plant that had several tiny little starter pumpkins on it last week…now has 2 GOURDS. No mistaking them, they’re not pumpkins, they’re gourds. Whatever, I know a pumpkin is a gourd, that’s not what I’m talking about. These are stupid, useless, warty yellow gourds. I bought pumpkin seeds.
Really, God? What must I do??
Thank God I got those awards last week ‘cause otherwise, I just might have had to slit my wrists. Or possibly moved to Australia. No, really. My day was THAT bad.
It was an accumulation of a week’s worth of crap ending in one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I told the Unsupportive Louse I was moving to Australia. He said they don’t have internet in Australia. I’m quite sure they do; you wouldn’t even notice the difference.
First, our basement flooded. The air conditioning was leaking. And the earliest “non-emergency” appointment we could get was five days later. (An all day appointment, of course.) We therefore had to leave it off…through the boiling, humid weekend. The ONLY boiling, humid weekend we have had all summer.
And when we went to pick up the dehumidifier someone offered to us, someone else had taken (stolen?) it from their driveway. Jackholes. Of course we then discovered mold on the couch down there because it was so freaking humid. And a light shorted out after literally DRIPPING with condensation. We had to turn the HEATER ON to dry it out. In 95 degree weather.
Granted, it was only 62 degrees in the basement (a part of the problem) but F#*@ I don’t even let us use the heater in the WINTER, much less the summer!!
And the Energizer Bunny learned to say something that sounds suspiciously like “bucket.” (perhaps better written Buck It?)
It was also his first week at a new daycare, and I’m certain that will make a good impression.
Not only that, he’s decided to show us how pissed he is about having to change daycares by biting the other kids. And then laughing. (Oh, but he knows how to get away with it; he always looks very sweet and contrite when he tells me he’s sorry he bit the baby.)
So I spent an excessive amount of time settling the sweet, contrite, biting Energizer Bunny in at daycare Thursday morning and when I got to work an HOUR AND A HALF late, I have a concise little e-mail waiting from my boss. “Let’s meet as soon as everyone gets in.” AS SOON AS EVERYONE GETS IN. SHIT.
As if this can get worse, the meeting was all about a huge mistake I made that I cannot live down for the life of me. Awesome. I’m fairly certain I could get fired over this.
Oh but no, it doesn’t end there, it gets worse. I TOLD you God hated me!
I pick the Energizer Bunny up and flop myself on the couch immediately upon arriving home. He commences to tell me “Water down dere, Momma. En ba’ement, Momma. Buck It. Water en ba’ement.” He narrates everything he sees or thinks these days. Adorable really. Except when it includes words like bucket and reminders of your quickly decaying life.
“Momma, hole up dere. Hole Momma’s seel-ing. Flour on floor. Make cake wi’ dat. Momma, make cake?” He comes running to the living room to beg me to make a cake, but my mind is still stuck on that damn hole. I wish I could just sit on the couch. I wish I could ignore it. I wish there was an explanation, but…?
Oh, yeah. There’s a hole in the ceiling. A hole the size of my fist. (The “flour” is the fine chalky white bits of paint and drywall all over the floor.) It would seem we have new friends who would like to share our home. Squirrels. They’ve clawed through the mesh over a vent on the outside of the house.
AAAHHHH!
I’d love to have a shoulder to cry on.
Just my luck, the Unsupportive Louse arrives home at this very moment. He does some hairpulling, some “hemorrhaging money” and “shoulda stayed in the studio” yelling, and then lets me go garden to relax myself.
Day’s over, right? Oh no, not yet. God has more in store for you!!
I knocked a beautiful, bright green tomato right off the vine. The Energizer Bunny then pulled a second, tiny green tomato off the vine. “I he’p, Momma. I pick ‘mato! Turn red now!”
Now here’s the clincher. The beautiful pumpkin plant that had several tiny little starter pumpkins on it last week…now has 2 GOURDS. No mistaking them, they’re not pumpkins, they’re gourds. Whatever, I know a pumpkin is a gourd, that’s not what I’m talking about. These are stupid, useless, warty yellow gourds. I bought pumpkin seeds.
Really, God? What must I do??
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
"Yes, Mother, I'd love to carpool."
So, The Walking Guilt Trip called me today.
Her first words were, "Do you want to carpool this weekend?"
Crap. This weekend. What is this weekend??
I racked my brain, I swear to GOD I racked my brain as hard as I could before I meekly curled myself into the fetal position and whispered, "What is this weekend?" At this point my mind pretty much beats itself, but The Walking Guilt Trip doesn't accept the abuse as true guilt, she prefers to do the dirty work with her own two hands...or her own two lips as the case may be.
"Well, it's fine if you don't want to go. I only asked because you'd said you wanted to go, but there's no reason for you to go if you don't want to. I just thought you'd might like to, but I don't want to force you."
"Go to what, Mom, you still haven't told me where we're supposed to be going?"
"Well, I did tell you, I told you when I asked you if you want to come, but obviously if you don't remember it's not important enough to you. So I'll just go by myself. It will be fine, I'm sure I'll know someone." If this sounds sweet and innocent to you, you're not adding the dripping sarcasm that is vaguely veiled as only a mother with the power to disguise guilt trips can vaguely veil anything.
"I'm sorry Mom, I just can't think of what it was you asked me to do this weekend. When did you ask?"
"I asked at least two months ago, you've had plenty of advance notice. If you planned something else, of course, that's fine, you don't have to go. Don't cancel anything on my behalf, I know you've got more important things to do." First, I'd like to point out that asking a longer time ago does not in fact make it more memorable in my mind. Two months ago in Michigan was practically winter, how am I supposed to think about anything that far away?? I have a two-year old, a husband who's lucky to remember my name, a live-in brother who can't even remember what month it is, and I'm supposed to remember something my mother asked me, in passing, I'm sure, AT LEAST two months ago? AND remember that it's this weekend?
So now, in an attempt to protect my poor brain from overdosing on guilt, I start throwing out things I think she may have mentionned to me a few months ago..., "Is it apple picking time? Do you want to go to that new restaurant that's supposed to be opening...is it already open? Did I miss that? Crap, sorry if I did. Was there a car show you wanted to go see? Wait, was that last weekend? Om, never mind. What about the art museum, is that opening back up already? Oh, no, I think I saw people going in there recently, didn't I?"
WRONG strategy.
"Yes, the restaurant opened last month, I already went with Karen since you were so busy, and the car show was a few weeks ago, remember, I brought The Energizer Bunny a little car back? I had to go by myself to that, no one was available that day. I'm not sure what you were doing, but I'm sure you would have called if you'd really wanted to go. And the Art Museum has been open for awhile now, but they already took down their special exhibit. I'm sure it will come back sometime, they usually rotate every few years, I'll just go next time."
I never did figure out what I was supposed to be carpooling to this weekend.
Her first words were, "Do you want to carpool this weekend?"
Crap. This weekend. What is this weekend??
I racked my brain, I swear to GOD I racked my brain as hard as I could before I meekly curled myself into the fetal position and whispered, "What is this weekend?" At this point my mind pretty much beats itself, but The Walking Guilt Trip doesn't accept the abuse as true guilt, she prefers to do the dirty work with her own two hands...or her own two lips as the case may be.
"Well, it's fine if you don't want to go. I only asked because you'd said you wanted to go, but there's no reason for you to go if you don't want to. I just thought you'd might like to, but I don't want to force you."
"Go to what, Mom, you still haven't told me where we're supposed to be going?"
"Well, I did tell you, I told you when I asked you if you want to come, but obviously if you don't remember it's not important enough to you. So I'll just go by myself. It will be fine, I'm sure I'll know someone." If this sounds sweet and innocent to you, you're not adding the dripping sarcasm that is vaguely veiled as only a mother with the power to disguise guilt trips can vaguely veil anything.
"I'm sorry Mom, I just can't think of what it was you asked me to do this weekend. When did you ask?"
"I asked at least two months ago, you've had plenty of advance notice. If you planned something else, of course, that's fine, you don't have to go. Don't cancel anything on my behalf, I know you've got more important things to do." First, I'd like to point out that asking a longer time ago does not in fact make it more memorable in my mind. Two months ago in Michigan was practically winter, how am I supposed to think about anything that far away?? I have a two-year old, a husband who's lucky to remember my name, a live-in brother who can't even remember what month it is, and I'm supposed to remember something my mother asked me, in passing, I'm sure, AT LEAST two months ago? AND remember that it's this weekend?
So now, in an attempt to protect my poor brain from overdosing on guilt, I start throwing out things I think she may have mentionned to me a few months ago..., "Is it apple picking time? Do you want to go to that new restaurant that's supposed to be opening...is it already open? Did I miss that? Crap, sorry if I did. Was there a car show you wanted to go see? Wait, was that last weekend? Om, never mind. What about the art museum, is that opening back up already? Oh, no, I think I saw people going in there recently, didn't I?"
WRONG strategy.
"Yes, the restaurant opened last month, I already went with Karen since you were so busy, and the car show was a few weeks ago, remember, I brought The Energizer Bunny a little car back? I had to go by myself to that, no one was available that day. I'm not sure what you were doing, but I'm sure you would have called if you'd really wanted to go. And the Art Museum has been open for awhile now, but they already took down their special exhibit. I'm sure it will come back sometime, they usually rotate every few years, I'll just go next time."
I never did figure out what I was supposed to be carpooling to this weekend.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Double-Mint Famous
I left you hanging yesterday, and I know you're concerned. I told you I'd been nominated for TWO (not one, but TWO) awards, and I only expanded upon one of them. I don't want you to die of curiosity, so I'll hurry to get this blog finished up and posted (between "real" work of course...but if it makes you feel better, I don't plan on leaving my desk for lunch...again...you'd BETTER love me for this!)
I've decided it isn't in fact blogger.com that hates me (that would just be silly, now wouldn't it?) but in fact it is my work computer that hates blogger.com (which makes complete sense) and it is my work computer that is not allowing me to post the damn picture in the MIDDLE of the fricking blog instead of at the top. But whatever. I endeavor to NOT CARE.
AHA!!! I am RIGHT! My laptop let me move the very same picture my work computer refused to let me move!! My work computer DOES hate blogger.com!! I cannot say I'm surprised, but slightly offended none the less.
So, this award is also from Rick at The Daley Rant because he loooooves me. (It's all right, you don't have to admit it, I already know) Or because he's lazy. But I prefer the former. So, on to the rules
- each Superior Scribbler must nominate 5 Superior Scribblers
I rebel. I'm nominating 3. This is because I decided not to doubly nominate people, or nominate people who had already been nominated and it seems this decreases my pool considerably. So 3 (extremely deserving people, I might add) it is.
- each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and blog that has won the award.
That Girl From Shallotte
Mindful Drivel
Brit Out of Water
- each Superior Scribbler must show the award on their blog (check) and link to this post
- each Superior Scribbler must add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List (check)
- each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on their blog. I'm not entirely sure why, but they're here anyway.
Now, I must say, this one did not command me to actually TELL these people that I nominated them...SOOO tempted not to and wait until they see it for themselves. Visit my blog and THEN you will be worthy!!!
All right fine, I'll tell them. Wouldn't want to upset them, after all...
I've decided it isn't in fact blogger.com that hates me (that would just be silly, now wouldn't it?) but in fact it is my work computer that hates blogger.com (which makes complete sense) and it is my work computer that is not allowing me to post the damn picture in the MIDDLE of the fricking blog instead of at the top. But whatever. I endeavor to NOT CARE.
AHA!!! I am RIGHT! My laptop let me move the very same picture my work computer refused to let me move!! My work computer DOES hate blogger.com!! I cannot say I'm surprised, but slightly offended none the less.
So, this award is also from Rick at The Daley Rant because he loooooves me. (It's all right, you don't have to admit it, I already know) Or because he's lazy. But I prefer the former. So, on to the rules
- each Superior Scribbler must nominate 5 Superior Scribblers
I rebel. I'm nominating 3. This is because I decided not to doubly nominate people, or nominate people who had already been nominated and it seems this decreases my pool considerably. So 3 (extremely deserving people, I might add) it is.
- each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and blog that has won the award.
That Girl From Shallotte
Mindful Drivel
Brit Out of Water
- each Superior Scribbler must show the award on their blog (check) and link to this post
- each Superior Scribbler must add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List (check)
- each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on their blog. I'm not entirely sure why, but they're here anyway.
Now, I must say, this one did not command me to actually TELL these people that I nominated them...SOOO tempted not to and wait until they see it for themselves. Visit my blog and THEN you will be worthy!!!
All right fine, I'll tell them. Wouldn't want to upset them, after all...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
It's Okay, You Can Have my Autograph
Dude, I'm famous! Some very important bloggers made up very important awards and I have been nominated. Obviously I am famous. Not only that, I've been nominated for TWO blogging awards!! Take that, Unsupportive Louse, this blogging crap *isn't* just a waste of time! HA!!
Good thing too, 'cause I apparently am trying really hard to get myself fired this morning, so maybe I can use this whole famous thing to make a buck. Or two. I don't know, but I needed the pick-me-up, so thank you very important bloggers for making up very important awards.
To keep you in desperate suspense, as any good writer is prone to do, I will only address one of the awards now. (And well, I am at work...you know, the "real" job..., and did already get a good flogging this morning, I'm not sure how much more I can really handle, so it might be prudent to stick to one for the moment...)
Ok, because Blogger.com knows I'm having a crappy day, it has decided not to let me put the little award picture down here. It has decided it will stay at the top of the blog. So whatever. It'll stay at the top. See if I care.
Now, for my tasks.
1- Thank the person who nominated you. check. You can thank him too, if you'd like, for making your favorite blogger famous and possibly, even you, by association of course.
2- Copy the logo and paste it in your blog. Uh done, but not here, cause life sucks at me. (I don't suck at life, I swear, it just sucks at me)
2- Copy the logo and paste it in your blog. Uh done, but not here, cause life sucks at me. (I don't suck at life, I swear, it just sucks at me)
3- Link to the person who nominated you for this award. Rick at The Daley Rant was crazy enough to nominate me. He also has a cool query letter blog for any aspiring writers out there (and really, aren't we all?)
4- Name seven things about yourself that people might find interesting.
4.1- I haven't eaten lunch yet, but I HAVE eaten two gi-normous cookies. (Despite the fact that I cannot help myself but to eat any and all sugary products placed vageuly near me, I am not yet ginormous myself. I'm trying to stave it off with running and biking...but give it 15 years, I'm still young.)
4.2 - I have insomnia. I blame this on actually being a REAL night person (which is wholly different from you people who *think* you're night people...) who goes to bed early only because I have to get up early. If it were up to me, I'd stay up until 4 every morning and not get up until 11 or 12. Hence, going to be at 10:30 is very difficult for me.
4.3 - I'm addicted to Facebook. Like, for real. I may have checked it three times while writing this blog. So far.
4.4 - Last week I was told by a high school friend on Facebook that I looked like I was still in high school and I'm still giddy about it.
4.5 - When I was little, I wanted to be a psychiatrist, an artist, an author, a teacher and a scientist. All at the same time. I was sure I could swing it. (Science teacher who does a few real experiments on the side, draws while the students are working, writes at night and sees patients on weekends. Duh. And I didn't just make that up now, I really thought it through back then.)
4.6 - I had my whole life planned when I was little, down to marrying someone with the last name West (at age 23, of course) so that I didn't have to change my name or choose my real last name over my step-father's last name (as a middle name) which I knew would upset him. I hate to upset people. My first college boyfriend's last name was West. When I discovered this (on our third date, whatever, it's not like it was a one-night stand, I just didn't know his last name, all right? Get over it.) anyway, when I discovered it, I was sure it was either a sign I should marry him instantly or get the hell out of town as quickly as I could. (In the end, I did neither.)
4.7 - I'm still that insane.
5. Nominate seven "Kreativ" bloggers.
6. Post links to said Kreativ bloggers.
I'm just gonna combine 5 and 6, cause I think they're only split up so previously mentionned Very Important Blogger could have seven rules.
5/6.1 Chief
5/6.2 Azucar (sorry, don't know how to get the accent on the u...)
5/6.3 Kel
5/6.4 Amy
5/6.5 Backpacking Dad (I don't know his name)
5/6.6 Different Girl (also don't know her name)
5/6.7 Kate
7. Comment on Kreativ bloggers blogs so they know they've been nominated.
While I'd prefer for them to have to return to my blog and read it to find out that they've been nominated to be as cool as me, I'll do this, since it's a rule. And I'd hate to break a rule. It might upset someone.
By the way, I spent way more time deciding which 7 to use for this award and which 5 to use for the other award, considering they're Very Important Awards *made up* by Very Important Bloggers.
And, with that in mind, I would like to post a link to a very, very profound comment.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Why I Still Love My Ex
Now, I do desperately love my Unsupportive Louse, despite any minor flaws he may, at some inopportune moments, exhibit. The thing is, he’s very different from the previous Mr. Penney…VERY different – macho vs nerdy, clean-shaven vs scruffy, illiterate vs bookwormy, lightweight vs alcoholic, EAE sports player vs role playing gamer. So many important ways that they’re so very different. But really, on almost all counts, the Unsupportive Louse is a better pick, and I’m not just saying that because he might deign to read my measly little blog one of these days, no, it’s really true.
However…the Macho ex-Jerk was far and away (I mean, by like…a billion times) better at communicating. Oh yeah, I know, I went to marriage counseling, I KNOW communicating is one of the MAJOR “needs be” of marriages…the Unsupportive Louse just happens to suck at it. He does try, he really does, but when you start from next to nothing, trying doesn’t get you much better too fast. And the thing is, the Macho ex-Jerk LOOOVED to talk. He was one of those who’d call me on his way home from work (which was a 10 minute drive) because he had SOOO much to talk about (even though he’d called me three times throughout the day), and then he’d still be talking to me as he walked in the door and never stop while he hung up his phone. We talked about anything and everything and anyone and everyone and all their anything and everythings too. Now, I’m not saying we never fought, cause that’d be just one huge f-ing lie, but we’d talk about it afterwards anyway.
So every once in awhile I start to question myself, if I couldn’t make a marriage work with this guy who was GREAT at communicating (though, as it turns out, talking doesn’t necessarily equate to communicating…), why oh why do I ever think I can make it last with one who is just absolutely terrible at it? Which gets me into the what-ifs. What if it was actually all my fault? (which, clearly, it isn’t, since after all, nothing is…but for the sake of argument, I let my brain ramble on occasion.) What if I had realized sooner that he’d stopped talking so much; what if I’d realized that the lack of talking was a sign of distress in the relationship and not just due to the overuse of his cell phone minutes that I bitched him out about a time or two? And what if, on some very critical day six years ago (because this kind of willpower couldn’t have lasted longer than a day), I had decided NOT to be a demanding, obsessive compulsive bitch…would that have changed everything? Would I have never had to go through the devastation and depression of that divorce? And if I hadn’t…would I be happy now?
And now, that’s the key question. Where my what-ifs really get me. Could I have been happy forever with the Macho ex-Jerk if things had just been a little different? Because the thing is, I’m not a quitter. I’d have never left even if I was slit my wrists miserable (and I was close there near the end), but it’s just not my way. I’m damn stubborn when I want to be, and getting divorced?? NOT on my list of things to do. I HATE the fact that I’m divorced. Even though I’m happily married again, I can’t stand anyone knowing this huge failure in my past. Plus, I did actually love the dipshit. So I’d still be there if he hadn’t made his fateful pronouncement one gloomy night…
So my damn overactive brain starts wondering the what-ifs on occasion and my damn overactive guilty conscience (thanks, Mom) starts telling me I’m an ungrateful wife for even considering the what-ifs (because, believe me, I’m much happier now than I ever could have been stuck on Long Island – forgive me if you’re unfortunate enough to live there – with the Macho ex-Jerk for the rest of my life.)
Recently I had the wonderful fortune of remembering all over precisely why I still love the Macho ex-Jerk so much.
The Macho ex-Jerk’s best friend, the best man at our wedding, the only guy to do more than slap him on the back when he told him we were getting married, the guy close enough to him that they both asked each other to check up on their wives while they were sent to die in Afghanistan (don't worry, they didn't die), the guy who actually teared up at our goodbye party… just had a baby. Let me add here that he totally cussed the Macho ex-Jerk out for his dumbassed-ness when we were separated, and TOTALLY chose me when we divorced (you KNOW you have to split up your friends in the divorce papers as well as the towels, the photo albums, the gigantic plastic souvenir cups, the toothpaste...)
So, MeJ’s best friend had a baby who came 8 weeks early and weighs only 2lbs13oz, is doing well considering, but they’re asking for everyone’s thoughts etc.
(And by the way, he e-mailed me to tell me, because I still have custody of his friendship, even if I no longer have the towels, photo albums, toothpaste or gigantic plastic souvenir cups.) I think to myself, perhaps the Macho ex-Jerk would like to know this, would like to send his wishes. So I forward the e-mail. What a nice person I am. I’ve done my good deed of the day. I pat myself on the back and begin to think some what-ifs just to get a healthy dose of guilt.
Macho ex-Jerk e-mails back, (and I quote)
“That’s nice. We don’t talk anymore.”
Because I can’t handle such a stupid response, and certainly can’t let sleeping dogs lie, I write back
“Uh, duh, that’s the point, I thought you might like to send your regards to your BEST FRIEND. Fuckhead.”
“I’m glad he’s doing well, but I’ve moved on in my life.”
Yes, and moving on definitely means you can’t be a nice person for three goddamn seconds and send well wishes to the best friend you ever had when his first child is in danger of DYING*. And all because he told you you were a dipshit for divorcing your gorgeous, intelligent, far too good for you wife five years ago. (And since MeJ’s best friend is now my property, I know from him that this is indeed the only rift that caused their best friendship to completely crumble.) What an asswipe.
And this makes me realize what a good man the Unsupportive Louse truly is, who would not only never be stupid enough to divorce his gorgeous, intelligent, maybe not quite too good for him wife, he would also never give up his best friend in the divorce (unless, of course, I really wanted her) and even if he did, he’d never be so much of a dick as to ignore the peril of her as yet unborn children. Which is why I love the Macho ex-Jerk so – he’s able to remind me how much better my life is now and how absolutely miserable I would have been if all the “what ifs” were “indeed trues.”
*Author' note - Baby is actually doing great, not dying, just a bit of overdramatism. I'm sure you're not used to it, since it so infrequently occurs in my blogs.
However…the Macho ex-Jerk was far and away (I mean, by like…a billion times) better at communicating. Oh yeah, I know, I went to marriage counseling, I KNOW communicating is one of the MAJOR “needs be” of marriages…the Unsupportive Louse just happens to suck at it. He does try, he really does, but when you start from next to nothing, trying doesn’t get you much better too fast. And the thing is, the Macho ex-Jerk LOOOVED to talk. He was one of those who’d call me on his way home from work (which was a 10 minute drive) because he had SOOO much to talk about (even though he’d called me three times throughout the day), and then he’d still be talking to me as he walked in the door and never stop while he hung up his phone. We talked about anything and everything and anyone and everyone and all their anything and everythings too. Now, I’m not saying we never fought, cause that’d be just one huge f-ing lie, but we’d talk about it afterwards anyway.
So every once in awhile I start to question myself, if I couldn’t make a marriage work with this guy who was GREAT at communicating (though, as it turns out, talking doesn’t necessarily equate to communicating…), why oh why do I ever think I can make it last with one who is just absolutely terrible at it? Which gets me into the what-ifs. What if it was actually all my fault? (which, clearly, it isn’t, since after all, nothing is…but for the sake of argument, I let my brain ramble on occasion.) What if I had realized sooner that he’d stopped talking so much; what if I’d realized that the lack of talking was a sign of distress in the relationship and not just due to the overuse of his cell phone minutes that I bitched him out about a time or two? And what if, on some very critical day six years ago (because this kind of willpower couldn’t have lasted longer than a day), I had decided NOT to be a demanding, obsessive compulsive bitch…would that have changed everything? Would I have never had to go through the devastation and depression of that divorce? And if I hadn’t…would I be happy now?
And now, that’s the key question. Where my what-ifs really get me. Could I have been happy forever with the Macho ex-Jerk if things had just been a little different? Because the thing is, I’m not a quitter. I’d have never left even if I was slit my wrists miserable (and I was close there near the end), but it’s just not my way. I’m damn stubborn when I want to be, and getting divorced?? NOT on my list of things to do. I HATE the fact that I’m divorced. Even though I’m happily married again, I can’t stand anyone knowing this huge failure in my past. Plus, I did actually love the dipshit. So I’d still be there if he hadn’t made his fateful pronouncement one gloomy night…
So my damn overactive brain starts wondering the what-ifs on occasion and my damn overactive guilty conscience (thanks, Mom) starts telling me I’m an ungrateful wife for even considering the what-ifs (because, believe me, I’m much happier now than I ever could have been stuck on Long Island – forgive me if you’re unfortunate enough to live there – with the Macho ex-Jerk for the rest of my life.)
Recently I had the wonderful fortune of remembering all over precisely why I still love the Macho ex-Jerk so much.
The Macho ex-Jerk’s best friend, the best man at our wedding, the only guy to do more than slap him on the back when he told him we were getting married, the guy close enough to him that they both asked each other to check up on their wives while they were sent to die in Afghanistan (don't worry, they didn't die), the guy who actually teared up at our goodbye party… just had a baby. Let me add here that he totally cussed the Macho ex-Jerk out for his dumbassed-ness when we were separated, and TOTALLY chose me when we divorced (you KNOW you have to split up your friends in the divorce papers as well as the towels, the photo albums, the gigantic plastic souvenir cups, the toothpaste...)
So, MeJ’s best friend had a baby who came 8 weeks early and weighs only 2lbs13oz, is doing well considering, but they’re asking for everyone’s thoughts etc.
(And by the way, he e-mailed me to tell me, because I still have custody of his friendship, even if I no longer have the towels, photo albums, toothpaste or gigantic plastic souvenir cups.) I think to myself, perhaps the Macho ex-Jerk would like to know this, would like to send his wishes. So I forward the e-mail. What a nice person I am. I’ve done my good deed of the day. I pat myself on the back and begin to think some what-ifs just to get a healthy dose of guilt.Macho ex-Jerk e-mails back, (and I quote)
“That’s nice. We don’t talk anymore.”
Because I can’t handle such a stupid response, and certainly can’t let sleeping dogs lie, I write back
“Uh, duh, that’s the point, I thought you might like to send your regards to your BEST FRIEND. Fuckhead.”
“I’m glad he’s doing well, but I’ve moved on in my life.”
Yes, and moving on definitely means you can’t be a nice person for three goddamn seconds and send well wishes to the best friend you ever had when his first child is in danger of DYING*. And all because he told you you were a dipshit for divorcing your gorgeous, intelligent, far too good for you wife five years ago. (And since MeJ’s best friend is now my property, I know from him that this is indeed the only rift that caused their best friendship to completely crumble.) What an asswipe.
And this makes me realize what a good man the Unsupportive Louse truly is, who would not only never be stupid enough to divorce his gorgeous, intelligent, maybe not quite too good for him wife, he would also never give up his best friend in the divorce (unless, of course, I really wanted her) and even if he did, he’d never be so much of a dick as to ignore the peril of her as yet unborn children. Which is why I love the Macho ex-Jerk so – he’s able to remind me how much better my life is now and how absolutely miserable I would have been if all the “what ifs” were “indeed trues.”
*Author' note - Baby is actually doing great, not dying, just a bit of overdramatism. I'm sure you're not used to it, since it so infrequently occurs in my blogs.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
OCD - Obsessive Compulsive Dogsitting
We’ve been dogsitting for some friends…we’ll call them Mr. Communicative and Mrs. Cleanly (I’m actually laughing out loud as I type that…even though I’ve known I was going to type it...)
Anyway, Mr. Communicative and Mrs. Cleanly’s house…well, let’s just say Mrs. Cleanly is ironic. Very, very, very ironic.
But as I’m looking around at the disaster that is their home, I think…my God, this could happen to anyone! One day the shirt you throw at the laundry basket tumbles off the top of the pile, the next day the closest door won’t close, and then suddenly half the room is full of clothes. So many clothes that even when you do a load or two, you’re overwhelmed and can’t even convince yourself to finish folding them all. Or maybe you don’t have time to because your two-year old is being anything but helpful and quite enjoying strewing the newly cleaned clothes around the remaining uncluttered sections of floor. So you stop. And then they’re covered with dog hair and wrinkled and pretty much dirty again anyway.
And the day you’d thrown that first shirt that overflowed the laundry basket was the day of your child’s birthday party, and at that party he received such an inordinate number of gifts that you literally don’t have room to store them all in your home, and your living space is quickly being encroached upon by toys that are actually “away.” Not to mention the toys that are quickly and easily dumped by joyous hands: blocks, cars, balls…everywhere.
And while you’re busy worrying about the tragedy that is your laundry situation, suddenly the kitchen rebels from lack of attention and the dishes overflow the sinks, the counters are covered with food stains, the stove is protesting by flinging grease and garbage, paraphernalia, crap piles any open space. (The easiest thing to do in this instance is blame your husband, of course, and try to convince HIM to clean it, thus washing your hands of the situation altogether...)
And suddenly your house looks just like theirs. And then maybe some evil “friend” will write a nasty blog to nationally publish your disgrace as a housekeeper too.
Needless to say, I came home from feeding the dogs and began organizing toys, scrubbing counters, cleaning the stove, polishing the table, swiffer-ing the floor, and yelling at the Unsupportive Louse for letting things get SO out of control. (After all, it is CLEARLY his fault.) He raised his eyebrows at me and went back to his video game.
Anyway, Mr. Communicative and Mrs. Cleanly’s house…well, let’s just say Mrs. Cleanly is ironic. Very, very, very ironic.
But as I’m looking around at the disaster that is their home, I think…my God, this could happen to anyone! One day the shirt you throw at the laundry basket tumbles off the top of the pile, the next day the closest door won’t close, and then suddenly half the room is full of clothes. So many clothes that even when you do a load or two, you’re overwhelmed and can’t even convince yourself to finish folding them all. Or maybe you don’t have time to because your two-year old is being anything but helpful and quite enjoying strewing the newly cleaned clothes around the remaining uncluttered sections of floor. So you stop. And then they’re covered with dog hair and wrinkled and pretty much dirty again anyway.
And the day you’d thrown that first shirt that overflowed the laundry basket was the day of your child’s birthday party, and at that party he received such an inordinate number of gifts that you literally don’t have room to store them all in your home, and your living space is quickly being encroached upon by toys that are actually “away.” Not to mention the toys that are quickly and easily dumped by joyous hands: blocks, cars, balls…everywhere.
And while you’re busy worrying about the tragedy that is your laundry situation, suddenly the kitchen rebels from lack of attention and the dishes overflow the sinks, the counters are covered with food stains, the stove is protesting by flinging grease and garbage, paraphernalia, crap piles any open space. (The easiest thing to do in this instance is blame your husband, of course, and try to convince HIM to clean it, thus washing your hands of the situation altogether...)
And suddenly your house looks just like theirs. And then maybe some evil “friend” will write a nasty blog to nationally publish your disgrace as a housekeeper too.
Needless to say, I came home from feeding the dogs and began organizing toys, scrubbing counters, cleaning the stove, polishing the table, swiffer-ing the floor, and yelling at the Unsupportive Louse for letting things get SO out of control. (After all, it is CLEARLY his fault.) He raised his eyebrows at me and went back to his video game.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Quote of the Week
My favorite quote of the week – The Mooch asks “Where’s The Walking Guilt Trip?”I answer “Omm…she’s laying out on the dock…been there for awhile…she kinda looks dead.”
The Princess - “Think we should make sure she’s okay?”
Me - “I don’t know, she’s probably fine.”
The Mooch – “She already paid?”
Me - “Yup.”
The Mooch – “I’m sure she’s fine.”
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Please Excuse My Absence
The Unsupportive Louse and I took the Energizer Bunny (after a full day of jumping off the dock, throwing rocks, swimming, building a bonfire and roasting marshmallows, an hour and a half past his bedtime, our two year old says, "No mommy, no nigh' nigh'. I go 'wimming.") to a cabin on a lake close to Lake Michigan this past week, with my mother (The Walking Guilt Trip - never had a guilty conscience? Don't believe that my sweet little mother could give you one? I DARE you to try to avoid one. Double dog dare you.), my brother (The Mooch - we'll just say something seems to come up quite frequentlywhen the rent is due...) and my half-sister* (The Princess - it's not her fault, would you NOT accept being lavished with gifts? No, you'd probaly greedily take any gifts sent your way, and the more gifts you got, the more used to getting gifts you'd become.).
Top 10 Things I learned at the lake:
1. Teaching a two-year old to skim rocks is really just teaching a two year old that it’s okay to throw rocks.
2. I hate the TV…hate, hate, hate the TV. (Now, I knew previously that I didn’t like having the TV on all the time; would prefer to do something productive or exercise-y…but now I know that I HATE having the TV on in the background constantly. I hate thinking whatever the chauvinistic doctor on MASH said is more important than what I’m saying.)
3. The water in the lake will stay the same temperature two days in a row, but will feel shockingly colder when it’s 83 degrees and breezy than it did when it was 61 degrees and raining.
4. It is smart not to dive into a lake while wearing a bikini, with mother, brother, sister, and two year old watching. No worries about the husband watching.
5. When I am with my siblings and my mother, I will always revert to pre-pubescent behavior. It does not matter how old I will get, how many children I have or how mature I become in my “normal” life.
6. It would be stupid, ridiculously, undeniably stupid, to forget to bring bug spray (or DEET as you non-California types call it) to a cabin by a tiny inland lake. Stupid.
7. Black labs are thieves.
8. It is best to go skinny-dipping when you are certain no one is watching.
9. Leeches come in many sizes. They are not all huge “as seen on TV.” And the microscopic ones can make it pretty much anywhere.
10. You can’t catch fish if you’re terrified of worms.
*growing up, she was my sister, now she is my half-sister. The change occurred when her father realized that I since I had moved far away (to NY with the ex) and was all but out of my sister’s life, he no longer needed to pay me any attention and my sister determined he was right, he is, after all, not my father. She also loved my first husband. When we divorced, I think the other half of her went with him.
Top 10 Things I learned at the lake:
1. Teaching a two-year old to skim rocks is really just teaching a two year old that it’s okay to throw rocks.
2. I hate the TV…hate, hate, hate the TV. (Now, I knew previously that I didn’t like having the TV on all the time; would prefer to do something productive or exercise-y…but now I know that I HATE having the TV on in the background constantly. I hate thinking whatever the chauvinistic doctor on MASH said is more important than what I’m saying.)
3. The water in the lake will stay the same temperature two days in a row, but will feel shockingly colder when it’s 83 degrees and breezy than it did when it was 61 degrees and raining.
4. It is smart not to dive into a lake while wearing a bikini, with mother, brother, sister, and two year old watching. No worries about the husband watching.
5. When I am with my siblings and my mother, I will always revert to pre-pubescent behavior. It does not matter how old I will get, how many children I have or how mature I become in my “normal” life.
6. It would be stupid, ridiculously, undeniably stupid, to forget to bring bug spray (or DEET as you non-California types call it) to a cabin by a tiny inland lake. Stupid.
7. Black labs are thieves.
8. It is best to go skinny-dipping when you are certain no one is watching.
9. Leeches come in many sizes. They are not all huge “as seen on TV.” And the microscopic ones can make it pretty much anywhere.
10. You can’t catch fish if you’re terrified of worms.
*growing up, she was my sister, now she is my half-sister. The change occurred when her father realized that I since I had moved far away (to NY with the ex) and was all but out of my sister’s life, he no longer needed to pay me any attention and my sister determined he was right, he is, after all, not my father. She also loved my first husband. When we divorced, I think the other half of her went with him.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Know a Good Lawyer?
I have had my first official bike accident.
The good news - It wasn't July 16th.
I was riding on the sidewalk.
I hit them, they didn’t hit me.
The bad news – I hit a pedestrian.
It was totally her fault – she was one of those weavers; the ones who can’t decide which part of the sidewalk they really want to claim. I find these types tend to scare easily. Don’t ask me ask…stuck in their daydreams maybe? So I followed my normal protocol, and using my “indoor voice” I said “On your right.”
She responds not.
“On your right.”
She begins to veer to the right, completely unaware of me. Shit.
“ON YOUR RIGHT!” The distance between us becoming dangerously small, not leaving me enough time to change to an “on your left,” I felt the need to yell at her.
The dumbass jumped a mile as if there was no warning, no groaning rusty tires, no squeaking breaks, no previous mention of “on your right…”
Landing from her short flight, she threw herself to the right. Of course. And I mean THREW herself, clearly trying to avoid certain peril and instead throwing herself directly in it’s path – the path of my bike.
As I flew over my handlebars, the only thing I could think was whether one could be sued for hitting a pedestrian with their bike.
Yet the first words out of my mouth were: “That would be your right.”
Obviously I had a concussion. I would never say such a thing under normal circumstances. (I swear.)
As I then contemplated the bump on my head, the grass in my hair and the dirt in my pedals, it occurred to me that I had too much work to do to spend the day in the ER, and decided to go the way of Natasha Richardson*…which required me appearing sane, if only momentarily.
“Are you okay?” I was still staring at the sky, not having the energy to force my muscles upright again. But after a few minutes of addressing the sky with the reciprocated polite concern and personal bone palpation, I decided she was not the suing type. I road my bike on the street (almost) the rest of the way to work. I figured God couldn’t hate me enough to let me have two accidents in one day… Perhaps that was pushing it…but again, obviously I had a concussion.
*I know it's dumb to use a pop-culture reference in a blog, especially one that is ALREADY out dated, but whatever - so if you don't remember, she's the English actress, married to some other unknown European actor that fell and hit her head skiing, told the paramedics to shove it, and later died of a brain injury. Now you're all caught up.
The good news - It wasn't July 16th.
I was riding on the sidewalk.
I hit them, they didn’t hit me.
The bad news – I hit a pedestrian.
It was totally her fault – she was one of those weavers; the ones who can’t decide which part of the sidewalk they really want to claim. I find these types tend to scare easily. Don’t ask me ask…stuck in their daydreams maybe? So I followed my normal protocol, and using my “indoor voice” I said “On your right.”
She responds not.
“On your right.”
She begins to veer to the right, completely unaware of me. Shit.
“ON YOUR RIGHT!” The distance between us becoming dangerously small, not leaving me enough time to change to an “on your left,” I felt the need to yell at her.
The dumbass jumped a mile as if there was no warning, no groaning rusty tires, no squeaking breaks, no previous mention of “on your right…”
Landing from her short flight, she threw herself to the right. Of course. And I mean THREW herself, clearly trying to avoid certain peril and instead throwing herself directly in it’s path – the path of my bike.
As I flew over my handlebars, the only thing I could think was whether one could be sued for hitting a pedestrian with their bike.
Yet the first words out of my mouth were: “That would be your right.”
Obviously I had a concussion. I would never say such a thing under normal circumstances. (I swear.)
As I then contemplated the bump on my head, the grass in my hair and the dirt in my pedals, it occurred to me that I had too much work to do to spend the day in the ER, and decided to go the way of Natasha Richardson*…which required me appearing sane, if only momentarily.
“Are you okay?” I was still staring at the sky, not having the energy to force my muscles upright again. But after a few minutes of addressing the sky with the reciprocated polite concern and personal bone palpation, I decided she was not the suing type. I road my bike on the street (almost) the rest of the way to work. I figured God couldn’t hate me enough to let me have two accidents in one day… Perhaps that was pushing it…but again, obviously I had a concussion.
*I know it's dumb to use a pop-culture reference in a blog, especially one that is ALREADY out dated, but whatever - so if you don't remember, she's the English actress, married to some other unknown European actor that fell and hit her head skiing, told the paramedics to shove it, and later died of a brain injury. Now you're all caught up.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Vampire Porn
I don't like science fiction. I don't like it (most of it...I'm certain the Unsupportive Louse will out me for liking some of it if I don't fess up) because there's no good explanation. Aliens look like blue people. Yes, I'm sure the life that developed on a completely different planet looks exactly the same for us except those three eyes and that pesky blue colored skin. Dumb. Just dumb.
I especially hate vampires. I think whoever invented vampires was an uneducated, wholly unimaginative retard. (I know, I know, I should say what I really mean...I'm always trying to be so nice to people, I swear.) But really, they're a separate species from humans, right? That happens to be exactly the same except for elongating teeth and a propensity for blood. Uh huh. And don't forget their undead human slayers. 'Cause that makes them more believable. By the way, teeth are a calcified solid - how exactly do they elongate? And what does drinking blood do? And why vampire blood? They've already got the shit in their veins - why can't they just drink their own? Really, how does this make any sense? And what's the deal with the sun? I mean, I'd believe it if they told me they'd get really burnt really fast, but die immediately? Incinerate on contact? Turn straight into ash? REALLY?? So whatever, they're dumb, but you can like 'em if you must, that's fine.
On a very related note (oh, it is, you'll see) I also hate romance novels. I mean, every once in awhile I enjoy me a little romance slumming, but Danielle Steel-esque romance? BLOWS. I mean, middle aged women, done nothing with her life but serve her husband and pop out some babies and now her husband is leaving her for a ridiculously younger woman (who, in the end, will discover that he's a douchebag after all and leave him all alone, only to realize that his first wife might have been the one he wanted all along...) and first wife has since moved on to find a man and a career. Barf. Just barf. And every one is exactly the same barf. (ah, whatever, she's got enough followers, I'm not hurting her business any)
So...a few months ago, a friend of mine (who we will call "Creative" because...well, she's creative) sent me a box of books. I asked the Unsupportive Louse to grab me a book from the box, and he comes up with a vampire romance novel. For real. A friggin' vampire sex book. Oh hell no. If I hadn't momentarily grown a conscience and not wanted to send him back downstairs for a different one, I might have just burnt the book right then and there. I suppose I probably did as much with my mocking comments for the first three chapters.
But...uh, as it turns out? I like it. Oh, fine, fine, I love the stupid things. I even went out and bought a few more. Told my husband it would be a good thing if I got a few for my birthday. Really crazy stuff. Like, can't put it down, considering sending out mass e-mails to see if anyone has the ones I skipped in between. But that would be tantamount to admitting I maybe kinda sorta liked the thing... (and while clearly a TOTAL understatement) I've been a feminist science fiction hater for far too long to take it all back now.
But JR Ward? You can consider this your shout out. Your writing must be awesome, because I hate vampires and I'm not too keen on romance and I LOVE your damn vampire porn!
I especially hate vampires. I think whoever invented vampires was an uneducated, wholly unimaginative retard. (I know, I know, I should say what I really mean...I'm always trying to be so nice to people, I swear.) But really, they're a separate species from humans, right? That happens to be exactly the same except for elongating teeth and a propensity for blood. Uh huh. And don't forget their undead human slayers. 'Cause that makes them more believable. By the way, teeth are a calcified solid - how exactly do they elongate? And what does drinking blood do? And why vampire blood? They've already got the shit in their veins - why can't they just drink their own? Really, how does this make any sense? And what's the deal with the sun? I mean, I'd believe it if they told me they'd get really burnt really fast, but die immediately? Incinerate on contact? Turn straight into ash? REALLY?? So whatever, they're dumb, but you can like 'em if you must, that's fine.
On a very related note (oh, it is, you'll see) I also hate romance novels. I mean, every once in awhile I enjoy me a little romance slumming, but Danielle Steel-esque romance? BLOWS. I mean, middle aged women, done nothing with her life but serve her husband and pop out some babies and now her husband is leaving her for a ridiculously younger woman (who, in the end, will discover that he's a douchebag after all and leave him all alone, only to realize that his first wife might have been the one he wanted all along...) and first wife has since moved on to find a man and a career. Barf. Just barf. And every one is exactly the same barf. (ah, whatever, she's got enough followers, I'm not hurting her business any)
So...a few months ago, a friend of mine (who we will call "Creative" because...well, she's creative) sent me a box of books. I asked the Unsupportive Louse to grab me a book from the box, and he comes up with a vampire romance novel. For real. A friggin' vampire sex book. Oh hell no. If I hadn't momentarily grown a conscience and not wanted to send him back downstairs for a different one, I might have just burnt the book right then and there. I suppose I probably did as much with my mocking comments for the first three chapters.
But...uh, as it turns out? I like it. Oh, fine, fine, I love the stupid things. I even went out and bought a few more. Told my husband it would be a good thing if I got a few for my birthday. Really crazy stuff. Like, can't put it down, considering sending out mass e-mails to see if anyone has the ones I skipped in between. But that would be tantamount to admitting I maybe kinda sorta liked the thing... (and while clearly a TOTAL understatement) I've been a feminist science fiction hater for far too long to take it all back now.
But JR Ward? You can consider this your shout out. Your writing must be awesome, because I hate vampires and I'm not too keen on romance and I LOVE your damn vampire porn!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
July 16...
Only two little ants in the kitchen this morning...I'm going to assume this is a good sign...I think. And I made it to work alive. Even braved riding my bike.
But today is the lab picnic. And the lab picnic happens to be in Dexter. Where my dad grew up. Where my dad is now buried. (We were living in California when he died.) How ironic would it be for my little evil fairy godmother to have me knocked off right next to his grave??
Or perhaps that's just too much coincidence.
But today is the lab picnic. And the lab picnic happens to be in Dexter. Where my dad grew up. Where my dad is now buried. (We were living in California when he died.) How ironic would it be for my little evil fairy godmother to have me knocked off right next to his grave??
Or perhaps that's just too much coincidence.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Superstitious
I'm educated, I'm intelligent, I'm liberal, I'm a scientist, I'm trained to question anything I haven't seen supporting data for. But I'm superstitious.
Not COMPLETELY superstitious; it's not like I think I need to throw salt over my shoulder to avoid bad luck or that saying "Bloody Mary" three times fast at midnight will cause Bloody Mary herself to pop out of the mirror and come get me (...not that I would try it...) I'm ridiculously superstitious on just one point. It's not one that you've ever heard of, I promise. But I'm sure this one is true.
I'm pretty damned sure that if there is an invasion of ants in my kitchen on the morning of July 16 (yup, tomorrow) I am going to die. I know, you're a little shocked. You thought it was going to be something little and amusing. Well, it is amusing really, but the whole death thing is a little over the top, don't you agree?
Here's the deal. 28 years ago, on July 16 1981, after my mother discovered a massive ant infiltration in the kitchen, my father left the house to ride his bike to work. He'd had a meeting scheduled that morning, so despite my mother's pleas for him to stay and help clean up the nasty little buggers, he left. And never made it to that damn meeting.
Now you agree I've got a pretty good reason for this stupid, overly dramatic superstition, huh?
Want to know why it's even worse? Every year, every single freaking year after that, there were ants in our kitchen on July 16. Like a little reminder. Like some cruel supernatural being was having a little laugh somewhere.
There were three little scavenger ants in my kitchen today. If they find anything, a single damn crumb (and I'd like to point out that I'm sitting here writing my mandatory blog and therefore NOT cleaning...rather leaving the scrubbing to the Unsupportive Louse who, true to his name, does not understand my ridiculous superstition), there's sure to be a mass attack tomorrow. And then I'm going to die. Possibly on my bike on my way to work. Or perhaps that vindictive little god will laugh in my face and crash my bus when I try to avoid destiny by not riding my bike.
But here's the thing, if I were a malicious celestial being, I'd wait until it was really appropriate. And when my dad died, he had TWO kids, my older brother and I. I've still only got the one. So perhaps my three little scavenger ants are just a friendly warning to enjoy life while I'm here and I won't in fact die this year, but possibly next year, or maybe two years from now...
But if there are no future blogs, you'll know why.
Not COMPLETELY superstitious; it's not like I think I need to throw salt over my shoulder to avoid bad luck or that saying "Bloody Mary" three times fast at midnight will cause Bloody Mary herself to pop out of the mirror and come get me (...not that I would try it...) I'm ridiculously superstitious on just one point. It's not one that you've ever heard of, I promise. But I'm sure this one is true.
I'm pretty damned sure that if there is an invasion of ants in my kitchen on the morning of July 16 (yup, tomorrow) I am going to die. I know, you're a little shocked. You thought it was going to be something little and amusing. Well, it is amusing really, but the whole death thing is a little over the top, don't you agree?
Here's the deal. 28 years ago, on July 16 1981, after my mother discovered a massive ant infiltration in the kitchen, my father left the house to ride his bike to work. He'd had a meeting scheduled that morning, so despite my mother's pleas for him to stay and help clean up the nasty little buggers, he left. And never made it to that damn meeting.
Now you agree I've got a pretty good reason for this stupid, overly dramatic superstition, huh?
Want to know why it's even worse? Every year, every single freaking year after that, there were ants in our kitchen on July 16. Like a little reminder. Like some cruel supernatural being was having a little laugh somewhere.
There were three little scavenger ants in my kitchen today. If they find anything, a single damn crumb (and I'd like to point out that I'm sitting here writing my mandatory blog and therefore NOT cleaning...rather leaving the scrubbing to the Unsupportive Louse who, true to his name, does not understand my ridiculous superstition), there's sure to be a mass attack tomorrow. And then I'm going to die. Possibly on my bike on my way to work. Or perhaps that vindictive little god will laugh in my face and crash my bus when I try to avoid destiny by not riding my bike.
But here's the thing, if I were a malicious celestial being, I'd wait until it was really appropriate. And when my dad died, he had TWO kids, my older brother and I. I've still only got the one. So perhaps my three little scavenger ants are just a friendly warning to enjoy life while I'm here and I won't in fact die this year, but possibly next year, or maybe two years from now...
But if there are no future blogs, you'll know why.
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