My dear friend Patti moved away over year ago, and I'm having a hard time dealing with that. She used to live around the corner from me, and we were in each other's homes daily. This makes her home in Connecticut seem like the other side of the world.
So, yesterday, I got a wild hair and downloaded Skype.Have you tried this? You can have a Star Trek Video conversation on the computer. Like, you can actually see the other person! Love.(Cathy, do you have Skype?)
It's a very distracting sort of conversation. I found that I was so thrilled to see Patti's sweet face, and her new haircut, and her kids and husband,,,,that I was having a hard time thinking of things to actually say. Plus, also, too...I could see myself in the little window thingy, and I kept wanting to play with my hair. It was like being on TV. The extrovert in me was a bit giddy with the experience.
My family, who are all about as technologically backwards as me, kept coming up behind me to put their face in the frame on my TV show to say HI to Patti.
When I got off the Skype, I wanted to call Patti on the phone, so we could talk about all the things that slipped my mind with the wonder of seeing the person I was speaking to. It was that distracting.
However, it was also so very fun that I then had to Skype Kara, who only lives across town. Oddly enough, Kara didn't have a Skype account, but her daughter did. Her daughter is, like, 9.
With Tim going off to work and Abandoning Me, I could have all kinds of Skype fun to keep me occupied. In fact, I could have lunch with the ladies, long conversations, and great girlfriend time without ever leaving the house!
Who loves her computer?
Showing posts with label Rambling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rambling. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A dignified piercing
I finally darkened the door of a tattoo parlor. Shocking at my age. Although, in my defense, I chose one in Eagle (an upscale neighborhood) rather than an establishment on the seedier side of town.
I've talked about getting a tattoo for years, but was never willing to commit. Ink under one's skin seems so permanent; and the artistic submission requires such absolute trust. I'm not really comfortable giving that kind of submission under the best of circumstances. Bestowing it upon some pierced and tattooed stranger is a bit of a reach.
But I went.
The purpose of this particular visit was to acquire a tastefully subtle piercing. Jewelry makes me happy.
Although,
I know a woman who voluntarily pierced twin peaks (shall we say?) of decidedly feminine and extraordinarily sensitive tissue. I confess to a certain fascinated horror at the contemplation of that particular procedure. I've seen the handiwork, though, and it does lend an exotic flair.
For myself, I was after something....else.
I chose a navel piercing. A delicate diamond gracing my waistline...just there...to draw the eye inward, and contribute to the illusion of a tiny waist.
My sister, Amanda, took me, and promised to hold my hand.
The proprietress greeted me with a look of disdain reminiscent of a teenager rolling her eyes. After hearing my intention, she explained that this kind of thing hurts, and often results in "some pretty gnarly infections" that may take up to a year to heal. Then she turned her back to me and went about her noble and valuable tasks. If she expected to throw me off with this kind of rude and appalling behavior, she nearly succeeded. My inner rebel took over, though, and I decided that a snot-nosed-brat was not going to keep me from my goal. She was, however, going to wield the piercing tool.
This sort of piercing is not to be undertaken lightly. Nor ought it to be undertaken without a round of antibiotics.
There is a clamping tool employed on the flesh prior to the actual impalement. This I was not prepared for. I averted my eyes, grimaced in agony, and squeezed the fragile bones in my little sister's hand.
"Kelly, she hasn't really started yet," Amanda whispered.
Which was strictly true. The clamp was uncomfortable in the way that childbirth is uncomfortable. They pull all this flesh way out from the body and snugly secure it with clamps for the purpose of aligning the piercing implement.
Then she drove the stake through my skin. It didn't break through without resistance. Indeed, my valiant flesh put up quite a fight, before the little nail was gained passage. That was unpleasant.
"You gonna faint?" the tattooed woman thoughtfully inquired.
I was actually closer to punching her in the nose, but that hardly seemed fair.
Amanda paid for my fun, as my 40th birthday present.
It was quite a little adventure. I'm glad I did it.
I have had repeated "gnarly" infections.
And I will never,
ever,
in a million years,
get a tattoo.
I've talked about getting a tattoo for years, but was never willing to commit. Ink under one's skin seems so permanent; and the artistic submission requires such absolute trust. I'm not really comfortable giving that kind of submission under the best of circumstances. Bestowing it upon some pierced and tattooed stranger is a bit of a reach.
But I went.
The purpose of this particular visit was to acquire a tastefully subtle piercing. Jewelry makes me happy.
Although,
I know a woman who voluntarily pierced twin peaks (shall we say?) of decidedly feminine and extraordinarily sensitive tissue. I confess to a certain fascinated horror at the contemplation of that particular procedure. I've seen the handiwork, though, and it does lend an exotic flair.
For myself, I was after something....else.
I chose a navel piercing. A delicate diamond gracing my waistline...just there...to draw the eye inward, and contribute to the illusion of a tiny waist.
My sister, Amanda, took me, and promised to hold my hand.
The proprietress greeted me with a look of disdain reminiscent of a teenager rolling her eyes. After hearing my intention, she explained that this kind of thing hurts, and often results in "some pretty gnarly infections" that may take up to a year to heal. Then she turned her back to me and went about her noble and valuable tasks. If she expected to throw me off with this kind of rude and appalling behavior, she nearly succeeded. My inner rebel took over, though, and I decided that a snot-nosed-brat was not going to keep me from my goal. She was, however, going to wield the piercing tool.
This sort of piercing is not to be undertaken lightly. Nor ought it to be undertaken without a round of antibiotics.
There is a clamping tool employed on the flesh prior to the actual impalement. This I was not prepared for. I averted my eyes, grimaced in agony, and squeezed the fragile bones in my little sister's hand.
"Kelly, she hasn't really started yet," Amanda whispered.
Which was strictly true. The clamp was uncomfortable in the way that childbirth is uncomfortable. They pull all this flesh way out from the body and snugly secure it with clamps for the purpose of aligning the piercing implement.
Then she drove the stake through my skin. It didn't break through without resistance. Indeed, my valiant flesh put up quite a fight, before the little nail was gained passage. That was unpleasant.
"You gonna faint?" the tattooed woman thoughtfully inquired.
I was actually closer to punching her in the nose, but that hardly seemed fair.
Amanda paid for my fun, as my 40th birthday present.
It was quite a little adventure. I'm glad I did it.
I have had repeated "gnarly" infections.
And I will never,
ever,
in a million years,
get a tattoo.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Check me for ticks
Tim is a really classy guy. He dresses well, prefers the finer things in life, and accessorizes his clothing. He also has discovered an appreciation for Country Western music. This tickles my funny bone. I grew up in Idaho, and Tim's a California boy. I grew up going to rodeos, and he grew up a fashion model. I'm very glad he's straight. When he puts on tight jeans and Cowboy boots, I just think he's sexy.
Last night we went to see Brad Paisley in concert with about 12,000 people in Wranglers.
It was a great concert.
Brad Paisley just seems like a super nice guy, and a heck of a guitar player.
Darius Rucker was one of the opening acts. Do you know who he is? He was the lead singer for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have loved his music for years. He sang old songs and new ones....and then he sang Prince's "Purple Rain." Another thing about Tim is that he is Prince's Biggest Fan. Ever. Tim has seen Prince in concert 8 times. I am not even making that up. So, when Darius Rucker launched into that classic hit, I thought he was going to lose Tim right there. However, I think he maybe did the song better than Prince. Don't tell Tim I said that. Seriously, though, it was amazing.
The whole evening out was fun. We took Michael out with us. Michael is getting to be almost like a real person. Who knew a 15-year-old was going to be such a delight? Having both Michael and Tim with me was like having two dates.
Before the concert, we went out to dinner, where we had an interesting experience. If you call being flipped-off and cussed-out "interesting." Which I do. There were two women at the table adjacent to ours. We were paying them no mind whatsoever. Suddenly, they arose, without ordering, and made their way to the door. We would still not have noticed them, had they not begun to stare at us with daggers in their eyes, and mouth vile words at us, while gesturing enthusiastically with their middle fingers. It was quite a display. There was pointing and glaring, and general unladylike display which left us in no doubt as to their sentiments. We were baffled as to their cause. Then they stormed out of the restaurant. That was it.
Maybe they didn't like Californians. Or women with two dates.
Last night we went to see Brad Paisley in concert with about 12,000 people in Wranglers.
It was a great concert.
Brad Paisley just seems like a super nice guy, and a heck of a guitar player.
Darius Rucker was one of the opening acts. Do you know who he is? He was the lead singer for Hootie and the Blowfish. I have loved his music for years. He sang old songs and new ones....and then he sang Prince's "Purple Rain." Another thing about Tim is that he is Prince's Biggest Fan. Ever. Tim has seen Prince in concert 8 times. I am not even making that up. So, when Darius Rucker launched into that classic hit, I thought he was going to lose Tim right there. However, I think he maybe did the song better than Prince. Don't tell Tim I said that. Seriously, though, it was amazing.
The whole evening out was fun. We took Michael out with us. Michael is getting to be almost like a real person. Who knew a 15-year-old was going to be such a delight? Having both Michael and Tim with me was like having two dates.
Before the concert, we went out to dinner, where we had an interesting experience. If you call being flipped-off and cussed-out "interesting." Which I do. There were two women at the table adjacent to ours. We were paying them no mind whatsoever. Suddenly, they arose, without ordering, and made their way to the door. We would still not have noticed them, had they not begun to stare at us with daggers in their eyes, and mouth vile words at us, while gesturing enthusiastically with their middle fingers. It was quite a display. There was pointing and glaring, and general unladylike display which left us in no doubt as to their sentiments. We were baffled as to their cause. Then they stormed out of the restaurant. That was it.
Maybe they didn't like Californians. Or women with two dates.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Gravity is a man
There was a middle aged woman in my mirror this morning. That was unsettling.
I attained my 40th birthday this Summer with a sense of accomplishment and optimism. Tim smuggly informed me that "the wheels come off at 40," which I took to be an amusing colloquialism, and not a resounding gong of certain forboding. Alas. Who knew the reality would begin immediately?
So, there I stood, confronting that middle aged reflection.
It needed makeup, badly. But not too much makeup, because makeup gets caked in the creases.
And, it needed support. 40 means that there is a redistribution of available self to puzzling, and sometimes alarming, areas. Take, for instance, back fat. This phenomeonon has nothing to do with over-weight, and everything to do with over-40. It is, in my opinion, unkind.
So far, my neck has stayed smooth, though I expect that will change. And my upper arms don't yet waggle. But there's a drooping atop the knees that brings to mind an elephant. There's other droopings, too. I honestly think that Gravity is a man because it's persistant, reckless, and its had its hands all over every woman I know.
I read somewhere, years ago, that older women are more sexy and confident. I think this is true. It may be self-delusional because our eyesight is going. Maybe it's the lack of a memory. Perhaps it's that everyone around is also aging, and I no longer compare myself to fasion models and celebreties.
I think it's got a lot to do with a better knowing of one's self. I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin, and I'm much easier in my expectations of what I ought to be. Heck, if my jeans fit without a muffin-top, I'm having a good day.
If you look closely at the teenagers and the covers of your magazines, you see hungry girls who aren't ever sure if they're pretty enough. You see tiny waists, and smaller minds. You see a future that will take their bodies just where mine's a-goin.'
The defining factors, though, are those things you can't see. A pretty face certianly doesn't make a woman kind, and I suspect great legs won't make her sexy.
My momma's 60, and she's dang hot. It's mostly because she's a good woman, with a kind heart, and also great hair. Maybe great hair is the secret.
Whatever the secret, I think I'm middle aged now. I'll keep you abreast (if I can keep one at all) of the changes as they manifest. I know you're just dying to hear.
I attained my 40th birthday this Summer with a sense of accomplishment and optimism. Tim smuggly informed me that "the wheels come off at 40," which I took to be an amusing colloquialism, and not a resounding gong of certain forboding. Alas. Who knew the reality would begin immediately?
So, there I stood, confronting that middle aged reflection.
It needed makeup, badly. But not too much makeup, because makeup gets caked in the creases.
And, it needed support. 40 means that there is a redistribution of available self to puzzling, and sometimes alarming, areas. Take, for instance, back fat. This phenomeonon has nothing to do with over-weight, and everything to do with over-40. It is, in my opinion, unkind.
So far, my neck has stayed smooth, though I expect that will change. And my upper arms don't yet waggle. But there's a drooping atop the knees that brings to mind an elephant. There's other droopings, too. I honestly think that Gravity is a man because it's persistant, reckless, and its had its hands all over every woman I know.
I read somewhere, years ago, that older women are more sexy and confident. I think this is true. It may be self-delusional because our eyesight is going. Maybe it's the lack of a memory. Perhaps it's that everyone around is also aging, and I no longer compare myself to fasion models and celebreties.
I think it's got a lot to do with a better knowing of one's self. I'm a lot more comfortable in my own skin, and I'm much easier in my expectations of what I ought to be. Heck, if my jeans fit without a muffin-top, I'm having a good day.
If you look closely at the teenagers and the covers of your magazines, you see hungry girls who aren't ever sure if they're pretty enough. You see tiny waists, and smaller minds. You see a future that will take their bodies just where mine's a-goin.'
The defining factors, though, are those things you can't see. A pretty face certianly doesn't make a woman kind, and I suspect great legs won't make her sexy.
My momma's 60, and she's dang hot. It's mostly because she's a good woman, with a kind heart, and also great hair. Maybe great hair is the secret.
Whatever the secret, I think I'm middle aged now. I'll keep you abreast (if I can keep one at all) of the changes as they manifest. I know you're just dying to hear.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Pattti's Pretty Picture Prep:
The bridal shower was really more fun than any party has a right to be. I shall give you the grizzly details once I have photos to go along with my story. Patti took a gazillion pictures, and I took zero. We'll wait for hers.
In a related story:
We are now back to being married at the church. This is an exciting new development. Tim had himself a heart-to-heart with one of the Pastors in Charge, and explained the irony of our situation. That Tim is level headed and articulate.
We'll be in premarital discipleship for the next months, and we'll still get married in two weeks. That's the deal.
I'm off this morning to get my hair trimmed. Perhaps also my roots will be touched up. My hair is very, very bleached out from sun and chlorine. And also from bleach. You will see evidence of this in the upcoming photos.
To all of you who have said, "Hey if you need any help, just give me a call." Now is the time. Beginning bright and early this Wednesday, my moving and cleaning kicks into high gear. I need Yard help, Packing fragile things help, Truck driving loads to donate help, And general pep talks.
Alrighty Then. I need more coffee before my sister picks me up for the Salon....
In a related story:
We are now back to being married at the church. This is an exciting new development. Tim had himself a heart-to-heart with one of the Pastors in Charge, and explained the irony of our situation. That Tim is level headed and articulate.
We'll be in premarital discipleship for the next months, and we'll still get married in two weeks. That's the deal.
I'm off this morning to get my hair trimmed. Perhaps also my roots will be touched up. My hair is very, very bleached out from sun and chlorine. And also from bleach. You will see evidence of this in the upcoming photos.
To all of you who have said, "Hey if you need any help, just give me a call." Now is the time. Beginning bright and early this Wednesday, my moving and cleaning kicks into high gear. I need Yard help, Packing fragile things help, Truck driving loads to donate help, And general pep talks.
Alrighty Then. I need more coffee before my sister picks me up for the Salon....
Friday, July 24, 2009
Livin the dream
I didn't think it was remarkable, that a mom would be accessorized while cooking breakfast. We grew up with June Cleaver, after all. Michael has two buddies over this morning, and they commented at some length regarding my dress, and jewelry, and the Orange Juice in a wine glass. Life is just too short to be tacky, in my opinion. Besides, have you ever worn a maxi-dress? It's better than throwing on a pair of sweats. It as comfortable as being naked, if you want the truth. Now you know why they are so popular.
It's Friday, which brings me joy. This weekend should be a blast. Besides the usual freaking out over all that needs to be done, we are going to a concert. A rock concert. Journey and Heart are playing together. I think that everyone probably knows Journey songs, right? I just can't think of any right now.
.........Just right this very moment I hung up on a telemarketer. Do you hang up on those people? I don't think it counts as rude to slam the phone down when someone is calling to interrupt my life to give them money. Do you think it's rude?
I had the loveliest conversation this morning with Jenine. She is a vibrant, joyful mom of 8. The whole Jon and Kate people have nothing on Jenine. You TV people should do a Mike and Jenine Plus 8 show. She's so cool. This lady just gave birth to AnnaLee Grace, and their eldest is off to college in a few weeks. Jenine home schools, and cooks every meal from scratch. Also? She's terrifically sexy, and I'm not even gay. She's beautiful and intelligent, and a fantastic dancer. I might have to hate her. Maybe if I spend some time with her, she'll rub off on me.
At least I'm accessorized.
It's Friday, which brings me joy. This weekend should be a blast. Besides the usual freaking out over all that needs to be done, we are going to a concert. A rock concert. Journey and Heart are playing together. I think that everyone probably knows Journey songs, right? I just can't think of any right now.
.........Just right this very moment I hung up on a telemarketer. Do you hang up on those people? I don't think it counts as rude to slam the phone down when someone is calling to interrupt my life to give them money. Do you think it's rude?
I had the loveliest conversation this morning with Jenine. She is a vibrant, joyful mom of 8. The whole Jon and Kate people have nothing on Jenine. You TV people should do a Mike and Jenine Plus 8 show. She's so cool. This lady just gave birth to AnnaLee Grace, and their eldest is off to college in a few weeks. Jenine home schools, and cooks every meal from scratch. Also? She's terrifically sexy, and I'm not even gay. She's beautiful and intelligent, and a fantastic dancer. I might have to hate her. Maybe if I spend some time with her, she'll rub off on me.
At least I'm accessorized.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
You know how I'm real humble? Well, surprisingly, I'm on this Greek goddess kick. I can't make up my mind whether I want to be Aphrodite, or Hera. It's a tough decision.
This is what I'm thinking my hair should do to go along with the Greek goddess dress.
I don't like gladiator sandals. They aren't pretty. I'm thinking that if I'm to be a goddess, I can wear any shoes I want. Or maybe none at all. I'd be a barefoot beauty, if I were a real goddess.
Why can't I just dress up a little, like a normal person? Not me, I have to go in costume.
Are you all familiar with my cape?
How about my hat collection?
My wigs?
It isn't natural.
So, here I go again. I'm on Broadway, and it's not even a public, televised ceremony. It's private, for Pete's sake.
Does Tim know what he's getting into? That is your question.
Fortunately, Tim is a tad bit flamboyant, too. I'll have to get a photo for you of his Pimp-Daddy vehicle.
This is what I'm thinking my hair should do to go along with the Greek goddess dress.
I don't like gladiator sandals. They aren't pretty. I'm thinking that if I'm to be a goddess, I can wear any shoes I want. Or maybe none at all. I'd be a barefoot beauty, if I were a real goddess.
Why can't I just dress up a little, like a normal person? Not me, I have to go in costume.
Are you all familiar with my cape?
How about my hat collection?
My wigs?
It isn't natural.
So, here I go again. I'm on Broadway, and it's not even a public, televised ceremony. It's private, for Pete's sake.
Does Tim know what he's getting into? That is your question.
Fortunately, Tim is a tad bit flamboyant, too. I'll have to get a photo for you of his Pimp-Daddy vehicle.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Whirling Dervish
I'm going to go lounge by the pool this afternoon. In truth, I have 87 gazillion emails in my inbox, and 72 million messages in my voice mail. If I owe you some manner of response, please know that it's very likely that I love and appreciate you and I am not going to get back to you until September.
Tim is having a procedure on his knee next week. Which is great, given how we are real bored this Summer, with absolutely nothing to do. I'm glad I've had so much practice sitting in waiting rooms, while people I love are sliced and diced.
Who is sarcastic?
Also, I think I have a wart. Warts are not very ladylike. How do you get them? Mine is on the palm of my hand, which I find both gruesome and fascinating. Wouldn't that be gross if I got lots of them on the palm of my hand? I'd be like a braille message. That gives a whole new meaning to the term "talking with my hands."
Oh dear.
I'm glad we've had this little talk.
Tim is having a procedure on his knee next week. Which is great, given how we are real bored this Summer, with absolutely nothing to do. I'm glad I've had so much practice sitting in waiting rooms, while people I love are sliced and diced.
Who is sarcastic?
Also, I think I have a wart. Warts are not very ladylike. How do you get them? Mine is on the palm of my hand, which I find both gruesome and fascinating. Wouldn't that be gross if I got lots of them on the palm of my hand? I'd be like a braille message. That gives a whole new meaning to the term "talking with my hands."
Oh dear.
I'm glad we've had this little talk.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Bridezilla, Part I
I am so glad that I worked today, because, really, could my time have been better spent?
As I merchandised books for the reading public at large, I worked at composing the invitation to our reception. How does one properly do that?
"Announcing the marriage of..." No, that won't work. We won't be married by the time we send it.
How about, "Pretty soon, Tim and Kelly will be married at a ceremony that you are not invited to. As a consolation, we'd love to have you come over to the reception."
Too informal.
Or, "Tim and Kelly and their passel of brats would like to buy you a drink. Come on by..."
It's no easy task. We don't want you to come to the wedding, we just want to have a little shindig. Preferably from 6:00-6:30, and then you can all go home so we can be newlyweds.
Hit the lights on your way out.
Thanks for coming.
This is turning into the party of the century. In my imagination, anyway.
There's cake and decorations and food and flowers and wine and people and discounted rooms at a local hotel for those of you coming from out of town....I'm dizzy. Somebody help me.
Clearly, I have no time for a job.
But I'm tan, and I have a nice ring.
In case you forgot.
As I merchandised books for the reading public at large, I worked at composing the invitation to our reception. How does one properly do that?
"Announcing the marriage of..." No, that won't work. We won't be married by the time we send it.
How about, "Pretty soon, Tim and Kelly will be married at a ceremony that you are not invited to. As a consolation, we'd love to have you come over to the reception."
Too informal.
Or, "Tim and Kelly and their passel of brats would like to buy you a drink. Come on by..."
It's no easy task. We don't want you to come to the wedding, we just want to have a little shindig. Preferably from 6:00-6:30, and then you can all go home so we can be newlyweds.
Hit the lights on your way out.
Thanks for coming.
This is turning into the party of the century. In my imagination, anyway.
There's cake and decorations and food and flowers and wine and people and discounted rooms at a local hotel for those of you coming from out of town....I'm dizzy. Somebody help me.
Clearly, I have no time for a job.
But I'm tan, and I have a nice ring.
In case you forgot.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Global Cooling, cool criminals, and also my birthday
I am thinking that tomorrow I will have a mid-life crisis.
Tomorrow marks the end of my 39th year on this planet, and the beginning of my 40th. That's a good time to date a blond, and drive a muscle car. Don't you think? I'm going to get on that.
For my birthday, I am going to work. This is something I haven't done on a Monday for a couple weeks, on account of my child's hospital antics. After work, I am going out to dinner with a handsome blond man, and about four children. He actually owns a muscle car, so there you have it. I'm all set.
Michael is gaining weight like a good boy. He has another doctor appointment this week, and I hope they pronounce him fit for duty. I will then have him mow the lawn. See how devilish are my ways?
Today is Father's Day. I allowed Tim to barbecue for me, in celebration. I may never have to cook again, once I marry this fellow. That's very exciting. Why is August so far away? I so need to be married. I Do.
In other news: I am still tired, which I find very irritating. Also, Spring seems to have cancelled Summer this year. What global warming? It's below 60 degrees, and quite blustery today. This is entirely unacceptable for Birthday Weather.
We must all do our part to stop this cooling trend. Cease carpooling. Cease recycling. Cease public school. Do whatever it takes to bring back Al Gore!
Kara and I went shopping on Saturday, and plus also too, we spent money. Old Navy, Target, Kohl's, this is where we worked our magic. It's the Ghetto Mall, and we had a blast. We totally owned those clearance racks.
She took me out to lunch, and we got carded for ordering Mohitos. You know how happy I am when I get carded. It's why I drink.
Oh, wait! I totally forgot to tell you about Don's run-in with the police. Don and his buddy got questioned by the police because they were accused of a crime.
For real!
It was all very exciting. We had neighbors out in their front yards, a police car in front of our house, and interviews with all the witnesses. It was just like back when I was married, only less stressful.
I suppose the only reason it was exciting was that I knew they were innocent, and that the accuser was drunk or insane. Probably drunk. Grandly irascible, and largely illogical, anyway. The officer could certainly see that the accuser was off his rocker.
So it was kind of fun to have that little adventure. Don wanted to know if he now had a criminal record. I told him that he'd actually have to commit a crime. Hopefully he won't.
Now that we've covered that coherent and cohesive line of thinking, I'm going to bed.
Tomorrow marks the end of my 39th year on this planet, and the beginning of my 40th. That's a good time to date a blond, and drive a muscle car. Don't you think? I'm going to get on that.
For my birthday, I am going to work. This is something I haven't done on a Monday for a couple weeks, on account of my child's hospital antics. After work, I am going out to dinner with a handsome blond man, and about four children. He actually owns a muscle car, so there you have it. I'm all set.
Michael is gaining weight like a good boy. He has another doctor appointment this week, and I hope they pronounce him fit for duty. I will then have him mow the lawn. See how devilish are my ways?
Today is Father's Day. I allowed Tim to barbecue for me, in celebration. I may never have to cook again, once I marry this fellow. That's very exciting. Why is August so far away? I so need to be married. I Do.
In other news: I am still tired, which I find very irritating. Also, Spring seems to have cancelled Summer this year. What global warming? It's below 60 degrees, and quite blustery today. This is entirely unacceptable for Birthday Weather.
We must all do our part to stop this cooling trend. Cease carpooling. Cease recycling. Cease public school. Do whatever it takes to bring back Al Gore!
Kara and I went shopping on Saturday, and plus also too, we spent money. Old Navy, Target, Kohl's, this is where we worked our magic. It's the Ghetto Mall, and we had a blast. We totally owned those clearance racks.
She took me out to lunch, and we got carded for ordering Mohitos. You know how happy I am when I get carded. It's why I drink.
Oh, wait! I totally forgot to tell you about Don's run-in with the police. Don and his buddy got questioned by the police because they were accused of a crime.
For real!
It was all very exciting. We had neighbors out in their front yards, a police car in front of our house, and interviews with all the witnesses. It was just like back when I was married, only less stressful.
I suppose the only reason it was exciting was that I knew they were innocent, and that the accuser was drunk or insane. Probably drunk. Grandly irascible, and largely illogical, anyway. The officer could certainly see that the accuser was off his rocker.
So it was kind of fun to have that little adventure. Don wanted to know if he now had a criminal record. I told him that he'd actually have to commit a crime. Hopefully he won't.
Now that we've covered that coherent and cohesive line of thinking, I'm going to bed.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
On drug use, and my life
Morphine looks like lots of fun. I don;t think I've ever had it, myself. Michael was quite entertaining on the stuff. He was talking about random things that made no sense, but kept his visitors rapt with attention. One such turned out to be a case where he misplaced a word. He was talking about Tennessee, a place he's never been. The next day, when asked what inspired him, he clued us in to the fact that he really had meant "surgery", but couldn't think of the right word. Yvonne brought him a shirt which says, "I Survived Tennessee".
He's eating. It's a good thing, I'm told. That boy is skin and bones. We have a follow-up visit with the surgeon this afternoon. Shall we can her the "Tennesseean"?
I am groggy this morning. It's the allergy meds, I think.
We're all about drugs around here. Zyrtec, Morphine, caffeine... we're fun.
I'm having this sense of falling down Alice's Rabbit hole. Here I am all stressed about finances, working, and trying to pay for my children's lacrosse habits....yet, discussing new furniture, massive home additions, and speakers by the pool. It's surreal.
Have you ever read Alice In Wonderland? You really should. I believe that was something of a drug-induced tale, come to think of it. Opium, or some such. The story is profound, and the applications to real life analogies nearly endless.
Right now I feel like Alice. Life is a parade of fantastical sights, and that elusive white rabbit, and his clock, keep leading me deeper.
As long as the Queen of Hearts doesn't decapitate me, I'll probably come out alright.
It's hard to keep anything like perspective though, with my feet in two different worlds.
He's eating. It's a good thing, I'm told. That boy is skin and bones. We have a follow-up visit with the surgeon this afternoon. Shall we can her the "Tennesseean"?
I am groggy this morning. It's the allergy meds, I think.
We're all about drugs around here. Zyrtec, Morphine, caffeine... we're fun.
I'm having this sense of falling down Alice's Rabbit hole. Here I am all stressed about finances, working, and trying to pay for my children's lacrosse habits....yet, discussing new furniture, massive home additions, and speakers by the pool. It's surreal.
Have you ever read Alice In Wonderland? You really should. I believe that was something of a drug-induced tale, come to think of it. Opium, or some such. The story is profound, and the applications to real life analogies nearly endless.
Right now I feel like Alice. Life is a parade of fantastical sights, and that elusive white rabbit, and his clock, keep leading me deeper.
As long as the Queen of Hearts doesn't decapitate me, I'll probably come out alright.
It's hard to keep anything like perspective though, with my feet in two different worlds.
Monday, June 01, 2009
5,4,3,2,1
I got new carpet in the living room. Now the entire floor is a coffee stain color, rather than just splotches. I am very excited about this development.
Have you ever noticed that one never gets one's house in good order, until one decides to move? Why is that?
My house, and the piles of stuff, are continuing to instill a sense of panic whenever my mind touches on all that needs to be done. I am moving in two and a half months.
Tim teases me about the way I count down to exciting events in my life. Anticipation is more than half the fun, I think. Remember those construction-paper chains we'd make when we were 5? The kind where you pull off one link a day until Christmas? I would totally do that. I have a little calendar in my bible that counts down the days until I'm married. I cross off each day in the evening. I am seriously like a little kid in that.
The construction job at Tim's is progressing quite rapidly. While I was in the hospital, so much happened! The walls are framed in, the tub is in the bathroom, and the trusses have been perched on top of it all. It's a real, live house. I would count down to the completion of that, but no one really knows when a construction job will be done. Least of all the home owner.
Good thing there's not much going on around here, eh? Additions, hospital stays, moving, marriage, school, work, and general parenting. I'm tired just thinking about being me.
Michael is needing to gain back 10-15 pounds. Once that appetite returns, you should hide your small children, as they are likely to look like a welcome source of protein to this skinny kid. I'd love to give him a bit of my extra. Alas. It's coming off, though. Trauma is great for weight loss.
Geez, what I wouldn't do for a date! I've seen my man most every day, but I have not had him to myself for a long time. Did I tell you that he's taking me to see Romeo and Juliet? I'm counting down to that one. Which should not surprise you at all.
Do you know what word I've been thinking about? "Bovine." I love words. This particular one is slightly random, perhaps. Who can figure out the workings of the mind? Bovine. There is no discernible reason for that, except that the word popped into my mind, and tickled my fancy. I need to figure out how to work that into my conversation today. This should not bee too difficult. I am in Idaho, after all.
Perhaps I could add another unrelated topic. Or perhaps not. I shall release you from my spell. Go in peace.
Have you ever noticed that one never gets one's house in good order, until one decides to move? Why is that?
My house, and the piles of stuff, are continuing to instill a sense of panic whenever my mind touches on all that needs to be done. I am moving in two and a half months.
Tim teases me about the way I count down to exciting events in my life. Anticipation is more than half the fun, I think. Remember those construction-paper chains we'd make when we were 5? The kind where you pull off one link a day until Christmas? I would totally do that. I have a little calendar in my bible that counts down the days until I'm married. I cross off each day in the evening. I am seriously like a little kid in that.
The construction job at Tim's is progressing quite rapidly. While I was in the hospital, so much happened! The walls are framed in, the tub is in the bathroom, and the trusses have been perched on top of it all. It's a real, live house. I would count down to the completion of that, but no one really knows when a construction job will be done. Least of all the home owner.
Good thing there's not much going on around here, eh? Additions, hospital stays, moving, marriage, school, work, and general parenting. I'm tired just thinking about being me.
Michael is needing to gain back 10-15 pounds. Once that appetite returns, you should hide your small children, as they are likely to look like a welcome source of protein to this skinny kid. I'd love to give him a bit of my extra. Alas. It's coming off, though. Trauma is great for weight loss.
Geez, what I wouldn't do for a date! I've seen my man most every day, but I have not had him to myself for a long time. Did I tell you that he's taking me to see Romeo and Juliet? I'm counting down to that one. Which should not surprise you at all.
Do you know what word I've been thinking about? "Bovine." I love words. This particular one is slightly random, perhaps. Who can figure out the workings of the mind? Bovine. There is no discernible reason for that, except that the word popped into my mind, and tickled my fancy. I need to figure out how to work that into my conversation today. This should not bee too difficult. I am in Idaho, after all.
Perhaps I could add another unrelated topic. Or perhaps not. I shall release you from my spell. Go in peace.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
To boldly go....
...Where no man has gone before.
Which, given my celibate decade-long history, could suggest rather a tawdry post. Alas, the reference is pure Star Trek.
I am really excited about the new movie, and we are going to see it, sans children, Friday night. The Summer movies are a reason for heart palpitations, in my book. Of course, so is Tim, and this Summer particularly, given the approaching marriage. Did I mention that he seems to like me? No, I mean it. Demolition/construction begins on his house tomorrow. He is building rooms for my boys, and also a bathroom, and also a bit of storage. Because he loves me.
Last weekend we saw Wolverine. Do not believe those silly reviewing people, because the movie was great. Lots of explosions and comic book violence. Plus, Logan was totally hot in the movie, and the quality acting was superb-ish. I give it lots of thumbs up.
I am on the edge of my seat waiting for the new Harry Potter, too. Half of my readers are now convinced that I am going to Hell for saying that. Harry Potter is the Bomb.
Also, the new Night at the Museum is coming out soon. That first one was a funny kids movie. We're taking all the young'uns in a couple weeks. I'll give you some sort of review as we see these grand silver screen adventures. I know that's why you read these blogs; For the intelligent pop culture dialogue.
I am a trekie, and there's no help for it. In college I once went to a Star Trek Convention. For real. It was rather an accident, because we totally heard that it was being held at a big hotel downtown, so we crashed it. I don't remember who "we" was. In case you were going to ask.
I have watched Star Trek over the years in the same way that other people watch their soap operas. Back when I had a TV, anyway. It's a pretty serious fixation. Now, they've made me another movie. I heart them.
Movies are really a very fine invention. Which probably indicates that I will be a TV addict once we move in with Tim. TV is like a mini movie. You know how I've taken to watching 24? It's this really long movie, that we watch bit-by-bit, every week. How cool is that?
This is what happens to people who live without a TV. In case you were wondering.
In other news: I have been spending my days with Lacrosse and work. Which is very surprising. Just to spice up my days, I bark at my children for leaving the house in a constant mess.
Sometimes I beat them.
Just kidding.
I tried to wrestle Michael tonight, and he picked me up in the air, and threw me over his shoulder, and carried me like a bag of wheat. He is very strong, and I am apparently helpless in the face of his power. So I hope he behaves. Because if he needs a spanking, I'm in trouble.
Which, given my celibate decade-long history, could suggest rather a tawdry post. Alas, the reference is pure Star Trek.
I am really excited about the new movie, and we are going to see it, sans children, Friday night. The Summer movies are a reason for heart palpitations, in my book. Of course, so is Tim, and this Summer particularly, given the approaching marriage. Did I mention that he seems to like me? No, I mean it. Demolition/construction begins on his house tomorrow. He is building rooms for my boys, and also a bathroom, and also a bit of storage. Because he loves me.
Last weekend we saw Wolverine. Do not believe those silly reviewing people, because the movie was great. Lots of explosions and comic book violence. Plus, Logan was totally hot in the movie, and the quality acting was superb-ish. I give it lots of thumbs up.
I am on the edge of my seat waiting for the new Harry Potter, too. Half of my readers are now convinced that I am going to Hell for saying that. Harry Potter is the Bomb.
Also, the new Night at the Museum is coming out soon. That first one was a funny kids movie. We're taking all the young'uns in a couple weeks. I'll give you some sort of review as we see these grand silver screen adventures. I know that's why you read these blogs; For the intelligent pop culture dialogue.
I am a trekie, and there's no help for it. In college I once went to a Star Trek Convention. For real. It was rather an accident, because we totally heard that it was being held at a big hotel downtown, so we crashed it. I don't remember who "we" was. In case you were going to ask.
I have watched Star Trek over the years in the same way that other people watch their soap operas. Back when I had a TV, anyway. It's a pretty serious fixation. Now, they've made me another movie. I heart them.
Movies are really a very fine invention. Which probably indicates that I will be a TV addict once we move in with Tim. TV is like a mini movie. You know how I've taken to watching 24? It's this really long movie, that we watch bit-by-bit, every week. How cool is that?
This is what happens to people who live without a TV. In case you were wondering.
In other news: I have been spending my days with Lacrosse and work. Which is very surprising. Just to spice up my days, I bark at my children for leaving the house in a constant mess.
Sometimes I beat them.
Just kidding.
I tried to wrestle Michael tonight, and he picked me up in the air, and threw me over his shoulder, and carried me like a bag of wheat. He is very strong, and I am apparently helpless in the face of his power. So I hope he behaves. Because if he needs a spanking, I'm in trouble.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Brief....but, boxer
I have things to tell you. I've been blogging in my head, which is less than helpful when you can't read it, I know. Sorry 'bout that.
I've got to go to the gym, anf thence to work, so I'll have to make a point of facinating you later.
Remind me to tell you about how much fat I have, because that is riveting news.
I'm off to buffet my body and make it my slave.
I've got to go to the gym, anf thence to work, so I'll have to make a point of facinating you later.
Remind me to tell you about how much fat I have, because that is riveting news.
I'm off to buffet my body and make it my slave.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
In which I discuss food, friends, and, surprisingly, Tim
If you are what you eat, then I am dead fish and seaweed, because this has been the week of the formerly-wet menu.
I have eaten sushi twice and trout once, and I am eagerly anticipating another lunch date, for yet more sushi. Because, for a poverty stricken single mom in a depressed economy, I sure eat out a lot.
I am also still neither sick, nor well. I am sort of scratchy in my voice, and taking large quantities of Vitamin AirBorne. But it's still no more than a threat. I refuse to admit that I have any sort of a cold. Tim's got a heck of a cold, though, poor guy. No man should be that good-looking when he feels so rotten. He walked in oozing attitude this evening.
I said, "Gosh how do you feel?"
"Terrible. Thanks for asking." He's always polite, even when grumpy.
"Are you 'terrible' because of something specific? Or just 'terrible' on principle?" I thoughtfully asked him.
"Principle."
"Well, then, at least you can admit it." I commented.
But, though he always seems to be a man who sticks to his principles, he certainly didn't stick to the 'terrible' very well. He was laughing and making macabre jokes about his own death. He can be quite amusing, what with the dry sense of humor, and the virus.
Today I saw my friend Jessie and her baby girl.
Jessie is one of those from the Old Group. The Old Group is a cult of sisterhood that evolved from a rather innocent beginning. A bible study, truth be told.
Years ago, when dinosaurs walked the earth, and I was married, I met on a weekly basis with a group of women. We would study our bibles, and discuss our lives, and mostly confide the darker sides of ourselves. We made casseroles when one among us had a baby....which was frequently. We cleaned one another's homes, helped each other move, and fumbled through some really devastating times. We laughed a lot. Cried quite a bit, too. We ate frequently, hid the children during a tornado, and partied on the Island. Ah, good times. We did all this, and more, for 10 years. Every. Single. Week. Well, not the tornado, that only happened once.
The result is, as I irreverently called it, a Cult of Sisterhood to rival the Ya-Yas. (If you aren't familiar with the Ya-Yas, then you need to get the movie right this instant. It's The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, and it was written about us. Only we have more bible, and less hard liquor. Well, more bible, anyway.)
So, as I was saying, I saw Jessie today. And while I was at her house, Heidi called from Virginia. Heidi is in the cult, too.
(Are you girls going to be mad at me for calling it a 'cult'? Remember the time we really were called that by the pastor's wife at my church? Oh, that was almost very funny! Perhaps I shall save that indelicate story for another day.)
I am now so far from the original idea of the story, that I have no idea where I was really going with it. Except, I like Jessie a lot. Heidi's great, too. So are the rest of ya'all. Group hug! I raise my NyQuil to salute you, my friends.
I have eaten sushi twice and trout once, and I am eagerly anticipating another lunch date, for yet more sushi. Because, for a poverty stricken single mom in a depressed economy, I sure eat out a lot.
I am also still neither sick, nor well. I am sort of scratchy in my voice, and taking large quantities of Vitamin AirBorne. But it's still no more than a threat. I refuse to admit that I have any sort of a cold. Tim's got a heck of a cold, though, poor guy. No man should be that good-looking when he feels so rotten. He walked in oozing attitude this evening.
I said, "Gosh how do you feel?"
"Terrible. Thanks for asking." He's always polite, even when grumpy.
"Are you 'terrible' because of something specific? Or just 'terrible' on principle?" I thoughtfully asked him.
"Principle."
"Well, then, at least you can admit it." I commented.
But, though he always seems to be a man who sticks to his principles, he certainly didn't stick to the 'terrible' very well. He was laughing and making macabre jokes about his own death. He can be quite amusing, what with the dry sense of humor, and the virus.
Today I saw my friend Jessie and her baby girl.
Jessie is one of those from the Old Group. The Old Group is a cult of sisterhood that evolved from a rather innocent beginning. A bible study, truth be told.
Years ago, when dinosaurs walked the earth, and I was married, I met on a weekly basis with a group of women. We would study our bibles, and discuss our lives, and mostly confide the darker sides of ourselves. We made casseroles when one among us had a baby....which was frequently. We cleaned one another's homes, helped each other move, and fumbled through some really devastating times. We laughed a lot. Cried quite a bit, too. We ate frequently, hid the children during a tornado, and partied on the Island. Ah, good times. We did all this, and more, for 10 years. Every. Single. Week. Well, not the tornado, that only happened once.
The result is, as I irreverently called it, a Cult of Sisterhood to rival the Ya-Yas. (If you aren't familiar with the Ya-Yas, then you need to get the movie right this instant. It's The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, and it was written about us. Only we have more bible, and less hard liquor. Well, more bible, anyway.)
So, as I was saying, I saw Jessie today. And while I was at her house, Heidi called from Virginia. Heidi is in the cult, too.
(Are you girls going to be mad at me for calling it a 'cult'? Remember the time we really were called that by the pastor's wife at my church? Oh, that was almost very funny! Perhaps I shall save that indelicate story for another day.)
I am now so far from the original idea of the story, that I have no idea where I was really going with it. Except, I like Jessie a lot. Heidi's great, too. So are the rest of ya'all. Group hug! I raise my NyQuil to salute you, my friends.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Celibacy, drugs, and rock n roll
I got carded tonight.
Buying cough syrup.
I rolled my eyes somewhat, at the cashier, and then stated, rather than asked, "You're kidding."
"Kids nowadays are gettin' high off it." This cashier had missed her calling, she needed to have the name "Alice," and be employed in a diner somewhere. Her hair was poorly dyed at home, and the eye makeup was not working for her.
I tried very hard not to roll my eyes again. "No kid needs to get high off of Robitussin. There are far more suitable substances available, without the hideous cherry flavor."
She told me, "They make that Meth from it."
"Yes," I told her,"I've seen the recipe." A revelation that did little to dispel her fears. "This is ridiculous, I only need succor from a persistent virus."
She required my birth date, and graciously consented to sell me the controlled substance.
My liver seems to be holding up well, despite the assault that cough syrup provides. I've bravely decided that a cold glass of white wine would ease my suffering sufficiently to compensate for the risk to my internal organs. I've always been courageous in that way.
This merry virus seems to be both infectious and quick. Everyone I've spoken with in the past few days drops to their sick-bed within 24 hours.
I'm still fighting it with regular Airborne, and cold medicine for good measure. In truth, it has not grasped hold of me firmly, but continues to dance at the back of my throat, looking for opportunity to pounce. I'm not quite sick, and not quite well.
As we left the aptly called "drugstore," I told the boys, "Just say 'no' to cough syrup."
As if they need to be told that. Neither one will swallow the stuff, no matter how sick they feel.
Perhaps I should employ reverse psychology. I'll tell them that the stuff is dangerous, and apt to get them high. Then it will have more appeal.
"Hey little boy, want some candy?"
Buying cough syrup.
I rolled my eyes somewhat, at the cashier, and then stated, rather than asked, "You're kidding."
"Kids nowadays are gettin' high off it." This cashier had missed her calling, she needed to have the name "Alice," and be employed in a diner somewhere. Her hair was poorly dyed at home, and the eye makeup was not working for her.
I tried very hard not to roll my eyes again. "No kid needs to get high off of Robitussin. There are far more suitable substances available, without the hideous cherry flavor."
She told me, "They make that Meth from it."
"Yes," I told her,"I've seen the recipe." A revelation that did little to dispel her fears. "This is ridiculous, I only need succor from a persistent virus."
She required my birth date, and graciously consented to sell me the controlled substance.
My liver seems to be holding up well, despite the assault that cough syrup provides. I've bravely decided that a cold glass of white wine would ease my suffering sufficiently to compensate for the risk to my internal organs. I've always been courageous in that way.
This merry virus seems to be both infectious and quick. Everyone I've spoken with in the past few days drops to their sick-bed within 24 hours.
I'm still fighting it with regular Airborne, and cold medicine for good measure. In truth, it has not grasped hold of me firmly, but continues to dance at the back of my throat, looking for opportunity to pounce. I'm not quite sick, and not quite well.
As we left the aptly called "drugstore," I told the boys, "Just say 'no' to cough syrup."
As if they need to be told that. Neither one will swallow the stuff, no matter how sick they feel.
Perhaps I should employ reverse psychology. I'll tell them that the stuff is dangerous, and apt to get them high. Then it will have more appeal.
"Hey little boy, want some candy?"
Here She Comes, Again
There is noting quite like awaking at 5:30 am to put a spring in your step.
Coffee, though, is the Great Equalizer. It makes one feel rested until nearly noon, if administered in large quantities.
Today is looking a bit long-ish from here. The house is less than clean, and there is a list of duties that will pull me hither and thither until the sun goes down. Which? Sounds a little like a Country Western tune.
The whole daylight saving thing means that the sun is in evidence until 7:30 around here. This has the welcome effect of extending my quotient of daily alertness well into evening. Which is a boon. During the winter months, I am ready for bed by 5, and can barely keep awake for dinner. During the daylight months, I need far less sleep. Summer's a comin'. And the livin' is easy.
Which? Brings to mind Porgy and Bess.
Usually, I get really excited about the Summer at about this point in the year. Summer has often meant leisurely days at the local puddle with Kara. There's SPF 30, picnic lunches, and bugspray.
Tim's pool is also a delightful possibility. There is no need of bugspray, there. And he will refill our drinks while we bake in the sun. And perhaps he'll cook for us on the grille.
This year is unclear to me as yet. Like looking into one of those swirly-foggy crystal balls (which I do so much of). I wonder if I'm going to be working much? Or if we'll still be trying to get thru Math and History? Or if I'll have any time at all for lounging in the sun? Summer's only fun if it's a break from real life. If I have to continue with real life, while everyone else is having fun, I'm going to get grumpy.
Which doesn't bring to mind any songs at all.
Speaking of songs,
wouldn't it be amusing to compose an entire blog post with song titles? You know, in my spare time.
It's a Hard Knock life, for us.
But don't worry, be happy.
The sun will come out Tomorrow.
Oh dear. I'm annoying even myself.
Coffee, though, is the Great Equalizer. It makes one feel rested until nearly noon, if administered in large quantities.
Today is looking a bit long-ish from here. The house is less than clean, and there is a list of duties that will pull me hither and thither until the sun goes down. Which? Sounds a little like a Country Western tune.
The whole daylight saving thing means that the sun is in evidence until 7:30 around here. This has the welcome effect of extending my quotient of daily alertness well into evening. Which is a boon. During the winter months, I am ready for bed by 5, and can barely keep awake for dinner. During the daylight months, I need far less sleep. Summer's a comin'. And the livin' is easy.
Which? Brings to mind Porgy and Bess.
Usually, I get really excited about the Summer at about this point in the year. Summer has often meant leisurely days at the local puddle with Kara. There's SPF 30, picnic lunches, and bugspray.
Tim's pool is also a delightful possibility. There is no need of bugspray, there. And he will refill our drinks while we bake in the sun. And perhaps he'll cook for us on the grille.
This year is unclear to me as yet. Like looking into one of those swirly-foggy crystal balls (which I do so much of). I wonder if I'm going to be working much? Or if we'll still be trying to get thru Math and History? Or if I'll have any time at all for lounging in the sun? Summer's only fun if it's a break from real life. If I have to continue with real life, while everyone else is having fun, I'm going to get grumpy.
Which doesn't bring to mind any songs at all.
Speaking of songs,
wouldn't it be amusing to compose an entire blog post with song titles? You know, in my spare time.
It's a Hard Knock life, for us.
But don't worry, be happy.
The sun will come out Tomorrow.
Oh dear. I'm annoying even myself.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Sushi on speed-dial, and ER
We women are a complex breed. We nave needs that defy logic, financial ability, and even, occasionally, ourselves. This is no news flash.
Women need chocolate.
Red wine.
Romance.
Sushi.
A really nice handbag.
If you are not getting these things, and you are female, then You Are Grumpy. Everyone else knows it, I am just tellin' ya.
You need different things, if you are male. Dr. Laura says you need food, fornication, and football. Or something along those lines. Actually, I believe she says something more like "food, sex, and a hobby" but I like my way better. It's possible that you are grumpy, too.
The good news, around here, is that I choose what is best for my family. I have sushi on speed dial.
The unfortunate side to this is that my children also have a taste for the finer things in life, and they steal my sushi.
Last night, for instance.
Last night was a wonderful evening with people I care about, but it was a different evening than I had envisioned. The plan was that I'd grab sushi, meet Kara at my house. We'd enjoy wine, and food, and candlelight and music. We're very romantic, Kara and I.
As I pulled in to the sushi place, I got a frantic call from another friend who needed me to meet her daughter at the emergency room. Which I was happy to do.
Parenthetically......I love when really close friends can call on me for crisis moments in their lives. In order to have that kind of relationship, one must invest years. You basically earn the right to have that kind of drop-everything kind of love. This particular friend has earned the right...in spades.
So, I called Kara, who met me at the emergency room (dropped everything, though I rather expect it was for the sushi). She took the children (all three of them), and she also took the sushi. She came back to my messy house with the music and wine and children. Love her. I went to the emergency room.
The point of my story changed, didn't it? That's because I began it last night before I left the house, and I'm finishing this morning. I could go round and round about the doctors, the bad TV in the hospital, and the fact that my children ate my food whilst I was away. They didn't eat all of it, but they were tempted to. Aren't children supposed to loath raw Japanese fish? There was some left when I got home, so I managed my fix after all.
Anyway, I'm not really going to try any harder to blend my trains of thought, because it just isn't working.
The ER turned out ok. I think she's going to grow up quite happily, and go on to great things.
Women need chocolate.
Red wine.
Romance.
Sushi.
A really nice handbag.
If you are not getting these things, and you are female, then You Are Grumpy. Everyone else knows it, I am just tellin' ya.
You need different things, if you are male. Dr. Laura says you need food, fornication, and football. Or something along those lines. Actually, I believe she says something more like "food, sex, and a hobby" but I like my way better. It's possible that you are grumpy, too.
The good news, around here, is that I choose what is best for my family. I have sushi on speed dial.
The unfortunate side to this is that my children also have a taste for the finer things in life, and they steal my sushi.
Last night, for instance.
Last night was a wonderful evening with people I care about, but it was a different evening than I had envisioned. The plan was that I'd grab sushi, meet Kara at my house. We'd enjoy wine, and food, and candlelight and music. We're very romantic, Kara and I.
As I pulled in to the sushi place, I got a frantic call from another friend who needed me to meet her daughter at the emergency room. Which I was happy to do.
Parenthetically......I love when really close friends can call on me for crisis moments in their lives. In order to have that kind of relationship, one must invest years. You basically earn the right to have that kind of drop-everything kind of love. This particular friend has earned the right...in spades.
So, I called Kara, who met me at the emergency room (dropped everything, though I rather expect it was for the sushi). She took the children (all three of them), and she also took the sushi. She came back to my messy house with the music and wine and children. Love her. I went to the emergency room.
The point of my story changed, didn't it? That's because I began it last night before I left the house, and I'm finishing this morning. I could go round and round about the doctors, the bad TV in the hospital, and the fact that my children ate my food whilst I was away. They didn't eat all of it, but they were tempted to. Aren't children supposed to loath raw Japanese fish? There was some left when I got home, so I managed my fix after all.
Anyway, I'm not really going to try any harder to blend my trains of thought, because it just isn't working.
The ER turned out ok. I think she's going to grow up quite happily, and go on to great things.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Such is life
I watched the game on Sunday, because you have to in these great United States. I was primarily concerned with the food and wine, and also with the second-hand smoke at half time.
My days are a blur of activity. I stumble from responsibility to avoidance like a drunken sailor on leave. I begin doing dishes then swerve to work for a few hours, then drop by Kara's for a glass of wine. This lifestyle doesn't work for me. I am getting nothing much accomplished, and I suffer from the lack of a set schedule. To say nothing of the financial slump.
The weather mirrors my bipolar moods. It's Springtime and freezing, or warm and overcast. Nothing fits. I was going to try for a therapeutic depression, but I don't really have time.
I like a bit of predictability to rebel against. If I have a day of homeschool, and kids to watch, then I can decide to jog off to the thrift store for fun. But when there's a to-do list jumbled up with no certainty, I end up fragmented and unproductive. It gives me a headache.
My sister got married yesterday. Which fits nicely into the unpredictable nature of life just now. She and her boyfriend have been together for years, and are expecting their third child. Why they chose to stop off at the courthouse on a Monday with no pomp and circumstance is beyond me. But, there you have it. Matrimony.
I want to get married one of these days. Monday would work for me. Or Tuesday, for that matter. I'm not inclined to be picky. But I'm really in no mood to be a blushing bride. There's too much to do, and besides, I'm tired. And did I mention that I have a headache?
Tim's fine. Thanks for asking. He's an interesting person. I'd love for you to meet him. He's very good to me. And good for me. We work well together. Plus, also, he's hot.
The boys are getting used to me working. They are becoming quite the little home-makers. I appreciate their patience. D is doing his basketball, and loving it. He has practice tonight, in fact. Both boys begin Lacrosse in a few weeks. Have I told you all about this? They are athletes extraordinaire.
My cousin, Johanna, is not here. This week is her birthday, and she should be here. I can't find her new phone number, either. Someone please tell her to call me. K? Thanks.
Ok, I need to take the young'un to basketball practice.
Until we meet again......
My days are a blur of activity. I stumble from responsibility to avoidance like a drunken sailor on leave. I begin doing dishes then swerve to work for a few hours, then drop by Kara's for a glass of wine. This lifestyle doesn't work for me. I am getting nothing much accomplished, and I suffer from the lack of a set schedule. To say nothing of the financial slump.
The weather mirrors my bipolar moods. It's Springtime and freezing, or warm and overcast. Nothing fits. I was going to try for a therapeutic depression, but I don't really have time.
I like a bit of predictability to rebel against. If I have a day of homeschool, and kids to watch, then I can decide to jog off to the thrift store for fun. But when there's a to-do list jumbled up with no certainty, I end up fragmented and unproductive. It gives me a headache.
My sister got married yesterday. Which fits nicely into the unpredictable nature of life just now. She and her boyfriend have been together for years, and are expecting their third child. Why they chose to stop off at the courthouse on a Monday with no pomp and circumstance is beyond me. But, there you have it. Matrimony.
I want to get married one of these days. Monday would work for me. Or Tuesday, for that matter. I'm not inclined to be picky. But I'm really in no mood to be a blushing bride. There's too much to do, and besides, I'm tired. And did I mention that I have a headache?
Tim's fine. Thanks for asking. He's an interesting person. I'd love for you to meet him. He's very good to me. And good for me. We work well together. Plus, also, he's hot.
The boys are getting used to me working. They are becoming quite the little home-makers. I appreciate their patience. D is doing his basketball, and loving it. He has practice tonight, in fact. Both boys begin Lacrosse in a few weeks. Have I told you all about this? They are athletes extraordinaire.
My cousin, Johanna, is not here. This week is her birthday, and she should be here. I can't find her new phone number, either. Someone please tell her to call me. K? Thanks.
Ok, I need to take the young'un to basketball practice.
Until we meet again......
Monday, January 26, 2009
Fast, but not quick
I haven't eaten today, and I'm hungry. When I'm hungry, I get sluggish. When I'm sluggish, I get moody. When I'm moody, I get mean. And the shin bone's connected to the knee bone.
M is still on math. He's invested several hours in it. A bit of focus would go far in that young man's scholastic endeavors.
D has been bored for hours.
I'm still in PJs.
All in all, it's not bad as days go. It could be worse. It will be worse, if I don't generate more hours at the grindstone.
Lacrosse starts soon. It's a season unto itself around my house. I love the sport, and I love that the boys are so into it.
Right now D is in Basketball. He's the team captain, and he's so cool. Saturday was his first game. His team won 24-4. My kid scored 14 points. Who's a proud mom?
I am kind of a bookworm, yet I'm raising a couple meat heads. How is that possible? They're jocks. Athletes. Hotshots.
Someone should shower soon. By 'someone' I mean me. I talked my man into a date this evening, so I need to clean up a bit. I don't go out in public without makeup so much anymore. My man is a handsome one, and he takes tremendous care with his appearance. I have gotten sloppy over the years, and I'd be very embarrassed to run into him looking all frumpy.
For years, no one cared if I had hairy legs. No one cared if my hair had been in a ponytail for a month straight. No one noticed if I was hideously ugly, because no one looked very close.
Now, there's someone I want to make proud. Isn't that a twist? I remembered that I used to enjoy dressing up, doing my nails, and smelling fresh. Now, I'm back to it, and it's very much fun. Maybe I'll write a fashion blog about classic couture on a thrift store budget. What do you think? Would anyone read it?
It would be a great excuse for shopping more.
M is still on math. He's invested several hours in it. A bit of focus would go far in that young man's scholastic endeavors.
D has been bored for hours.
I'm still in PJs.
All in all, it's not bad as days go. It could be worse. It will be worse, if I don't generate more hours at the grindstone.
Lacrosse starts soon. It's a season unto itself around my house. I love the sport, and I love that the boys are so into it.
Right now D is in Basketball. He's the team captain, and he's so cool. Saturday was his first game. His team won 24-4. My kid scored 14 points. Who's a proud mom?
I am kind of a bookworm, yet I'm raising a couple meat heads. How is that possible? They're jocks. Athletes. Hotshots.
Someone should shower soon. By 'someone' I mean me. I talked my man into a date this evening, so I need to clean up a bit. I don't go out in public without makeup so much anymore. My man is a handsome one, and he takes tremendous care with his appearance. I have gotten sloppy over the years, and I'd be very embarrassed to run into him looking all frumpy.
For years, no one cared if I had hairy legs. No one cared if my hair had been in a ponytail for a month straight. No one noticed if I was hideously ugly, because no one looked very close.
Now, there's someone I want to make proud. Isn't that a twist? I remembered that I used to enjoy dressing up, doing my nails, and smelling fresh. Now, I'm back to it, and it's very much fun. Maybe I'll write a fashion blog about classic couture on a thrift store budget. What do you think? Would anyone read it?
It would be a great excuse for shopping more.
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