Monday May 16 - Exit Guy back to work, to a hearing with a crazy person.
Mom and I made a detailed plan for the day which had to end by 2 so she could get to a planned visit in Bucks County.
We visited the new house, returned a gift, visited Pet Smart so she could spoil her three (yes three everybody) Golden Retrievers, and then took Spencer to Cracker Barrel for lunch.
I don't know when it began, but that boy has learned to stuff his face. I mean LITERALLY. Stuff his face.
He was incredibly entertaining to the wait staff, but I think also extremely annoying, considering about half of what he ate and drank ended up on the floor.
Note: Do not eat at Cracker Barrel unless you're really planning to binge eat. Everything is breaded, fried or dipped in something with fat.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Otitis Day & The Nights
Guy's family was in town for our niece's graduation: His dad, brother and fiance and nephew, AND my mother all stayed overnight.
Sunday morning chaos ensued on two fronts:
1. Spencer's crankiness returned from the day before- the beginning of yet another ear infection. He may have been a little "hungover" from his party as well, but he was not a happy camper.
2. Noone seemed to know who was meeting who where to go to the graduation and then a nephew called from a lost night somewhere in Center City, trying to find his way back to the area to make it to the ceremony.
So, we split up: My mother and I took Spencer to the doctor while Guy and family attended our niece's graduation.
Spencer, my mother and I lucked out. The cermony was so slow that Guy called me while they were announcing graduates in the B's. I can only imagine Spencer losing what little toddler patience he has developed and screaming and crying to get down and then get up again to be held over and over. He only cried a little at the docs. We picked up a prescription for him and home we went.
Late Sunday afternoon, my mother took over grandma duty as Guy and I attended the post-graduation party for my niece on the Moshulu - an old ship cum restaurant docked at Penns Landing.
We sat on the deck of the bow sipping drinks (I had my first Malibu Bay Breeze, thanks Lori!) with the family and Guy told pirate stories to our non-college level nephews.
This deck, while offering a wonderful near 360 degree view of the area, had no protective railing. It bugs me. What kind of fools operate a restaurant/bar on a boat that sits like 20-40 feet up from the water and doesn't have protective netting or railing? I'll tell you who: The kind of fools that also serve asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Their retaurant and wine list are rated highly, so apparently their priorities are a little rearranged. I suppose a lost customer here and there just adds to the mystique?
Dinner was excellent though. Guy and I hightailed it out shortly thereafter to get home and give my mom a break.
Sunday morning chaos ensued on two fronts:
1. Spencer's crankiness returned from the day before- the beginning of yet another ear infection. He may have been a little "hungover" from his party as well, but he was not a happy camper.
2. Noone seemed to know who was meeting who where to go to the graduation and then a nephew called from a lost night somewhere in Center City, trying to find his way back to the area to make it to the ceremony.
So, we split up: My mother and I took Spencer to the doctor while Guy and family attended our niece's graduation.
Spencer, my mother and I lucked out. The cermony was so slow that Guy called me while they were announcing graduates in the B's. I can only imagine Spencer losing what little toddler patience he has developed and screaming and crying to get down and then get up again to be held over and over. He only cried a little at the docs. We picked up a prescription for him and home we went.
Late Sunday afternoon, my mother took over grandma duty as Guy and I attended the post-graduation party for my niece on the Moshulu - an old ship cum restaurant docked at Penns Landing.
We sat on the deck of the bow sipping drinks (I had my first Malibu Bay Breeze, thanks Lori!) with the family and Guy told pirate stories to our non-college level nephews.
This deck, while offering a wonderful near 360 degree view of the area, had no protective railing. It bugs me. What kind of fools operate a restaurant/bar on a boat that sits like 20-40 feet up from the water and doesn't have protective netting or railing? I'll tell you who: The kind of fools that also serve asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Their retaurant and wine list are rated highly, so apparently their priorities are a little rearranged. I suppose a lost customer here and there just adds to the mystique?
Dinner was excellent though. Guy and I hightailed it out shortly thereafter to get home and give my mom a break.
Play Catch Up
So much has gone on since my last post, that I'll have to do it in pieces. I apologize for TMI where it occurs.
BBQ Where Are You, The Epilogue
The grill, missing screws, bolts and all the warranty and user guides, arrived on Friday, May 12 at 8 am. Upon this discovery, and then the realization that the grill was actually a floor model, I spent the rest of the day on the phone with Lowe's headquarters, and finally the local store manager, who until this point, was non-existent.
The grill FINALLY arrived at 5pm EST on Friday the 12th, delivered by two hardworking fellows from the Flooring department. How they got this assignment, I dare not wonder.
This grill had a big paint chip on the side grill plate, but luckily for me (WHOOPEEE!), the grill alread residing in my backyard had its plate intact, so the gents kindly switched them and took the offending model back to the store. Alas, I shall never see them again. I HOPE.
The Entertainers
The next 24 hours are a virtual blur: I picked up the giant Elmo head and costume, my mother arrived Friday night, we party-planned, toted the boy around, Guy cooked ribs overnight to soften the meat (I didn't even know we were having ribs, and we also had shrimp!), and a giant blow up toy sat in the yard, accompanied by bounce ball things and a bubble machine.
Saturday we ran around like chickens with...., until it became evident that Spencer, the birthday boy, was not feeling so well. Cranky was he, until he had an excellent nap, during which time, the moonbounce arrived and proceeded to take up the ENTIRE backyard. It was a sight to see. Up went the decorations, out went the plastic utensils, tub of ice, and heating trays.
Guests arrived, music played, glasses clinked and the sun came out, Elmo entertained despite some little ones knowing about the zipper in the back and that he sounded a little too much like me. Spencer smiled and giggled and bounced and crawled, and ultimately did a double-fisted lunge into his cake, right on cue.
Guy and I even took a little time to jump around in the moonbounce until we were totally winded(about 5 minutes). A success by all accounts.
BBQ Where Are You, The Epilogue
The grill, missing screws, bolts and all the warranty and user guides, arrived on Friday, May 12 at 8 am. Upon this discovery, and then the realization that the grill was actually a floor model, I spent the rest of the day on the phone with Lowe's headquarters, and finally the local store manager, who until this point, was non-existent.
The grill FINALLY arrived at 5pm EST on Friday the 12th, delivered by two hardworking fellows from the Flooring department. How they got this assignment, I dare not wonder.
This grill had a big paint chip on the side grill plate, but luckily for me (WHOOPEEE!), the grill alread residing in my backyard had its plate intact, so the gents kindly switched them and took the offending model back to the store. Alas, I shall never see them again. I HOPE.
The Entertainers
The next 24 hours are a virtual blur: I picked up the giant Elmo head and costume, my mother arrived Friday night, we party-planned, toted the boy around, Guy cooked ribs overnight to soften the meat (I didn't even know we were having ribs, and we also had shrimp!), and a giant blow up toy sat in the yard, accompanied by bounce ball things and a bubble machine.
Saturday we ran around like chickens with...., until it became evident that Spencer, the birthday boy, was not feeling so well. Cranky was he, until he had an excellent nap, during which time, the moonbounce arrived and proceeded to take up the ENTIRE backyard. It was a sight to see. Up went the decorations, out went the plastic utensils, tub of ice, and heating trays.
Guests arrived, music played, glasses clinked and the sun came out, Elmo entertained despite some little ones knowing about the zipper in the back and that he sounded a little too much like me. Spencer smiled and giggled and bounced and crawled, and ultimately did a double-fisted lunge into his cake, right on cue.
Guy and I even took a little time to jump around in the moonbounce until we were totally winded(about 5 minutes). A success by all accounts.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Lowest of the LOWES
Do you see this?
I don't see it in my backyard where it's supposed to be.
Let's just say I spent more time on the phone today with complete strangers trying to track down someone with some responsibility than anything else. Oh except wiping Spencer's faucet nose.This grill was supposed to be delivered from between 2-4pm and then assembled.
I've taken to calling him "Booger". How do these little beings manage to produce so much mucus?
Thank you Kleenex with Lotion.
Product Description Writer. That's me. Just a forethought. I may explain in more detail at another time. I HOPE I will explain in more detail...ha ha.
Non sequiturs flow fast and free when you're as sleepy as me.
Hey, Supermarkets, when you decide to rearrange, how about the following:
1. When you temporarily store certain items in holding areas, make sure to put signs in the old shelves telling us silly customers where to find them. You can handwrite them, we understand. We'd just rather not engage you in conversation about where to find the item we just walked by 6 times because it's not where it usually is.
2. Better yet, pay some employees overtime and get your salaried manager heineys scheduled to work late nights to get the job done. Don't you see that in trying to do it all while we're shopping just makes us more tense than we already are? Us customers are in perpetual hurry, even though we don't necessarily have to be anywhere in a dire emergency. We don't want to crash our carts and bump into eachother and have forced contact.
3. Get out of the tiny temp aisles when customers try to roll their oversized carts through. We're the ones paying for the groceries and in turn paying your salaries. Please respect that the customer is always right, regardless of the smug, vain, spoiled looks on our faces.
My laptop battery is near dead. It's good discipline -keeps me from writing too much. It's bad enough I make very little sense. No point inflicting the full brunt on you. At least not tonight.
:)
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Owns a home and a sugar jones
We sold our house. We bought another one. I am an asset holder now. Cool.
Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in buying and selling a home? I figured today that mortgage companies are singlehandedly keeping 81/2 x 14 size paper in production. I have signed so many copies and documents, I don't even know how to sign my name anymore.
T-minus 48 hours to Spencer's birthday and counting. I will be Elmo this weekend. Tomorrow a brand new gas grill is being delivered because we have to cook upwards of 50 hamburgers. I pick up the costume Friday. Saturday I get the cake, and then our backyard becomes the inflatable circus. We got a moonbounce. And, Guy also ordered a blowup jungle gym, a bubble machine and some other bubble-making contraption. We bought a box of 200 Flav-or-Ice popsicles. Guy has eaten about 25 so far.
Oh wait, and I forgot, Guy's dad, brother and fiance and my mother are all staying with us Saturday night because Guy's niece is graduating from Philadelphia University (my alma mater) on Sunday.
I forgot something else entirely. Mother's Day!
Now there's one perk of having kids - you get your own little holiday. sort-of.
I'm not over Tastycakes. Damn that little deli down the street. Curse them!
If you can get a Tangy Taffy - cherry flavor - eat it immediately. They are scrumptious.
My final thought: Sugar doughnuts have a unique consistency: They are light yet squishy. They should be appreciated whenever possible. I would like one right now.
Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in buying and selling a home? I figured today that mortgage companies are singlehandedly keeping 81/2 x 14 size paper in production. I have signed so many copies and documents, I don't even know how to sign my name anymore.
T-minus 48 hours to Spencer's birthday and counting. I will be Elmo this weekend. Tomorrow a brand new gas grill is being delivered because we have to cook upwards of 50 hamburgers. I pick up the costume Friday. Saturday I get the cake, and then our backyard becomes the inflatable circus. We got a moonbounce. And, Guy also ordered a blowup jungle gym, a bubble machine and some other bubble-making contraption. We bought a box of 200 Flav-or-Ice popsicles. Guy has eaten about 25 so far.
Oh wait, and I forgot, Guy's dad, brother and fiance and my mother are all staying with us Saturday night because Guy's niece is graduating from Philadelphia University (my alma mater) on Sunday.
I forgot something else entirely. Mother's Day!
Now there's one perk of having kids - you get your own little holiday. sort-of.
I'm not over Tastycakes. Damn that little deli down the street. Curse them!
If you can get a Tangy Taffy - cherry flavor - eat it immediately. They are scrumptious.
My final thought: Sugar doughnuts have a unique consistency: They are light yet squishy. They should be appreciated whenever possible. I would like one right now.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
The Tao of Bertram
How DARE the DJ play some fake sped up version of "Like A Prayer" ! I mean , really, he'd already fouled (like my TBS/FOX version of the "F" word?) up massively by playing "Love Shack" into "Come on Eileen". Now he was going to insult my every fiber of sensibility by hijacking the one female artist of the 80's I truly respected?
WHATEVER.
I was at Spiny Mcruds or Macrud's - not sure how you spell it. Didn't get a chance to look at the sign because my fashionable "nude" Steve Madden "Violet" pump got caught in a grate outside (first time, thanks). It was already late and my old acting buddy was hauling me over to this joint at 12th and Sansom to see his old roommate and pal, who apparently was this super hot model/actor who bartended there.
I recall him telling me about him - they lived together while he was trying to work on his career acting in NYC. His then roomate, the model, was getting gig after gig (audition after audition - it does take talent to actually SCORE a gig), and he was in some way envious of his roommate's luck. Now, apparently, this super successful person, is living in some NY-nearby-NJ province during the week, and bartending 2 nights a week in my City of Brotherly Love at some local "Irish" bar. I saw the owner and his son, and unless they're "black" Irish, the place should be called either "Fanook Minelli's" or "Faroud Mohammed's", so let's get past the whole "Have another beer, mate!" cultural reference.
For the record: I am in no way disparaging any race or creed or anything; I'm just noting ethnicity for atmosphere and semantic purposes. I also had about 3.5 drinks in the 2 hour span of my time there. This is highly against type for me these days. I apologize if I appear to be insensitive or ignorant in any way. I do not intend to offend.
I digressed. Anyhoo, my point was, this model/actor fella was spending two nights a week down in this joint? Why not work in NYC and make 5-10 times that kind of money for two night's work? According to my drunken friend, it was a convenience on many levels. Since I have no tolerance for that kind of complexity these days, I shook my head. After all, the guy was BLONDE. My acting friend said it was the guy's natural hair color. I had my doubts.
Second Major Digression: I wish I could go to an all-night supermarket and buy some yummy snacks.
Also, it's hard to write while this tired.
So here's this idiot DJ spinning a late night playlist from 2002 or earlier. All I want to do is dance to something really cool. I've gotten out tonight, Guy has given me his blessing to get in touch with my former girly, female fun self and go out on the town. We've checked in at some point to establish my whereabouts and now I'm in this goofy bar that doesn't know if it's Bob & Barbara's or Finnigan's Wake.
The last two songs are unrecognizable but "bumpin," so I decide I want to dance. My acting friend is not really the dancing type, but he concedes and joins me on the steadily emptying floor. I do my thing, dancing and moving like my pre-Spencer self: Trying to be not so self-conscious and let myself just have fun.
We finish struttin', go back to the bar and about 2 minutes later a portly, middle-aged man of color approaches us and begins complimenting us (mostly me) on our dancing abilities. He elaborates, telling us he's from Barbados and that he's been in the States a long time now and most of the time when he goes out, people are cold and don't seem receptive to fun or to talking with him. He says we made him feel there was hope - he felt the energy and fun we were having and felt we were genuine. He repeatedly makes the point that people are in a hurry and don't appreciate what they have; that they just keep going on, in their own worlds, unreceptive and unable to imagine other worlds and other cultures. I try to explain that this is America where noone has to accept anything, and where more often than not, you'll find people wanting you to change your way of life to suit them. It's all about the ME thing. He said that despite that commonality in American culture, there were anomalies and that he wanted to meet as many people as he could - get to know the human race from every perspective and learn to appreciate. He appreciated our vibrance and toasted us with his glass. He said the rest doesn't matter, that it's how we get to relate to eachother.
He felt that appreciation could inspire people to do great things.
When I re-read that, I have no idea what it means, and it's at the heart of what's always perplexed me to no end about the bar scene:
Why do people find the ability to pontificate with such complexity when a bar is near closing, when the alcohol is in full effect and when the secondhand smoke has utterly saturated your skin? I mean there's rambling on drunkenly and incoherently, which everyone has witnessed and can usually escape easily, and then there's this strange phenomenon where people become erudite philosophers with beer breath. You can't really get away, because people in this state are passionate and just coherent enough to stop you and engage you further. All you can do is agree and smile. I did alot of that, and somehow I actually remembered some of what he said. If for no other reason that I hoped in repeating it back, I'd make some sense of it. No such luck.
So, out of courtesy to you, I have taken up YOUR time repeating back to you the very drivel I myself could not interpret.
Perhaps THAT is the truth of it... or...perhaps I should keep a better watch on my alcohol intake.
Goodnight.
WHATEVER.
I was at Spiny Mcruds or Macrud's - not sure how you spell it. Didn't get a chance to look at the sign because my fashionable "nude" Steve Madden "Violet" pump got caught in a grate outside (first time, thanks). It was already late and my old acting buddy was hauling me over to this joint at 12th and Sansom to see his old roommate and pal, who apparently was this super hot model/actor who bartended there.
I recall him telling me about him - they lived together while he was trying to work on his career acting in NYC. His then roomate, the model, was getting gig after gig (audition after audition - it does take talent to actually SCORE a gig), and he was in some way envious of his roommate's luck. Now, apparently, this super successful person, is living in some NY-nearby-NJ province during the week, and bartending 2 nights a week in my City of Brotherly Love at some local "Irish" bar. I saw the owner and his son, and unless they're "black" Irish, the place should be called either "Fanook Minelli's" or "Faroud Mohammed's", so let's get past the whole "Have another beer, mate!" cultural reference.
For the record: I am in no way disparaging any race or creed or anything; I'm just noting ethnicity for atmosphere and semantic purposes. I also had about 3.5 drinks in the 2 hour span of my time there. This is highly against type for me these days. I apologize if I appear to be insensitive or ignorant in any way. I do not intend to offend.
I digressed. Anyhoo, my point was, this model/actor fella was spending two nights a week down in this joint? Why not work in NYC and make 5-10 times that kind of money for two night's work? According to my drunken friend, it was a convenience on many levels. Since I have no tolerance for that kind of complexity these days, I shook my head. After all, the guy was BLONDE. My acting friend said it was the guy's natural hair color. I had my doubts.
Second Major Digression: I wish I could go to an all-night supermarket and buy some yummy snacks.
Also, it's hard to write while this tired.
So here's this idiot DJ spinning a late night playlist from 2002 or earlier. All I want to do is dance to something really cool. I've gotten out tonight, Guy has given me his blessing to get in touch with my former girly, female fun self and go out on the town. We've checked in at some point to establish my whereabouts and now I'm in this goofy bar that doesn't know if it's Bob & Barbara's or Finnigan's Wake.
The last two songs are unrecognizable but "bumpin," so I decide I want to dance. My acting friend is not really the dancing type, but he concedes and joins me on the steadily emptying floor. I do my thing, dancing and moving like my pre-Spencer self: Trying to be not so self-conscious and let myself just have fun.
We finish struttin', go back to the bar and about 2 minutes later a portly, middle-aged man of color approaches us and begins complimenting us (mostly me) on our dancing abilities. He elaborates, telling us he's from Barbados and that he's been in the States a long time now and most of the time when he goes out, people are cold and don't seem receptive to fun or to talking with him. He says we made him feel there was hope - he felt the energy and fun we were having and felt we were genuine. He repeatedly makes the point that people are in a hurry and don't appreciate what they have; that they just keep going on, in their own worlds, unreceptive and unable to imagine other worlds and other cultures. I try to explain that this is America where noone has to accept anything, and where more often than not, you'll find people wanting you to change your way of life to suit them. It's all about the ME thing. He said that despite that commonality in American culture, there were anomalies and that he wanted to meet as many people as he could - get to know the human race from every perspective and learn to appreciate. He appreciated our vibrance and toasted us with his glass. He said the rest doesn't matter, that it's how we get to relate to eachother.
He felt that appreciation could inspire people to do great things.
When I re-read that, I have no idea what it means, and it's at the heart of what's always perplexed me to no end about the bar scene:
Why do people find the ability to pontificate with such complexity when a bar is near closing, when the alcohol is in full effect and when the secondhand smoke has utterly saturated your skin? I mean there's rambling on drunkenly and incoherently, which everyone has witnessed and can usually escape easily, and then there's this strange phenomenon where people become erudite philosophers with beer breath. You can't really get away, because people in this state are passionate and just coherent enough to stop you and engage you further. All you can do is agree and smile. I did alot of that, and somehow I actually remembered some of what he said. If for no other reason that I hoped in repeating it back, I'd make some sense of it. No such luck.
So, out of courtesy to you, I have taken up YOUR time repeating back to you the very drivel I myself could not interpret.
Perhaps THAT is the truth of it... or...perhaps I should keep a better watch on my alcohol intake.
Goodnight.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Control
Well, it has begun. We're officially house hunting.
We saw 7 houses between Saturday and today, which includes a house Guy saw in Pottstown on the way to a client's on Friday.
We went there today to see it, because he's in love with it.
My husband is in love with a house in Pottstown.
I can't believe I'm saying that.
It has a whole bunch of things about it that I like: Privacy, a driveway, quiet, school for Spencer that won't cost as much as college.
But it's in Pottstown. I'd never been there before today. I'm going to pick up and move to a place I'd only just been to today.
Oh, did I mention Guy loves it? At every turn he's mentioning something else that's great about it.
Are all men this hyperfocused? Do they get SO fixated on something that they forget that others have opinions and thoughts or even exist for that matter? Is it like dogs when they get on the scent of an animal they're stalking? Like you can't stop them unless you practically choke them with a leash?
I'm about ready to buy a choke chain and get to work on some obedience around here.
...eeesh!
We saw 7 houses between Saturday and today, which includes a house Guy saw in Pottstown on the way to a client's on Friday.
We went there today to see it, because he's in love with it.
My husband is in love with a house in Pottstown.
I can't believe I'm saying that.
It has a whole bunch of things about it that I like: Privacy, a driveway, quiet, school for Spencer that won't cost as much as college.
But it's in Pottstown. I'd never been there before today. I'm going to pick up and move to a place I'd only just been to today.
Oh, did I mention Guy loves it? At every turn he's mentioning something else that's great about it.
Are all men this hyperfocused? Do they get SO fixated on something that they forget that others have opinions and thoughts or even exist for that matter? Is it like dogs when they get on the scent of an animal they're stalking? Like you can't stop them unless you practically choke them with a leash?
I'm about ready to buy a choke chain and get to work on some obedience around here.
...eeesh!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Did the Amityville Horror house have mold?
I am scared even writing the words Amityville Horror.
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.
What is it with that house?
They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).
I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.
They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.
But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.
Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...
On the way into work this morning I was scared listening to the promo on the radio.
Don't even get me started on the tv trailers. I can't look! I'm serious, I can't!
This is like the first time I can remember ever being scared before I saw a movie.
What is it with that house?
They said slime oozed through the walls (umm, along with blood. eew).
I was wondering, could it have been toxic black mold instead?
I read a report the other day about a guy who had stuff in his lungs, went to about a million docs; half of which said he had cancer and the other half couldn't figure it out. Finally after a special biopsy some specialist was able to determine that it was some kind of bacteria growing in him caused by exposure to black mold.
They tested that house for paranormal activity, satanic spirits, native american burial ground evidence, the function of a well-like structure in the basement originally thought to be a portal to Hell, and anything else you can imagine related to a mass murder followed by a 28-day haunting a year later.
But did they test for mold? Maybe mold spores took over in that house and made everyone crazy.
Did you know there's a service where a DOG comes and looks for mold? There are specially trained pooches called Mold Dogs. They come to your house and sniff around. I wonder what would happen if you put baloney behind a wall or two...
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Of Tribbles and Tasty Cakes
Cheerios=Tribbles
Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.
He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."
Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.
I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.
Ok, tribbles = cheerios:
This is what it looks like in my house these days.
I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...
Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.
Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.
I am having a slightly similar problem with Tastykakes. I had chocolate cupcakes after dinner. Don't tell my husband.
I DARE you to go to the supermarket and walk past the display without at least getting Krimpets.If you don't have Tastykakes in your town, I am very sorry to tempt you with something you can't have. Oh WAIT, you can have them too!
I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.
Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.
Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.
It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.
Ok before I explain that, I must obsess for a moment about Duran Duran again.
Well, more specifically, Simon LeBon.
I am sorry, but the man's smart-alecky smiling face was just on Conan O'Brien and he needs to meet me. Hear me Charlie? You need to meet me. Work it out, ok? Enough with the kissing of cutsie brain-absent post-teens.
He was just so smart lookin with his hair and jacket and scruff.
To quote Paris Hilton's sidekick Nicole, "That's hot."
Yeah, I have an 11 month-old son. Yeah, I'm a grown married woman.
YOU grow up.
I'm giddy. No substances involved.
I will tell you one thing: Having a teen fantasy keeps a person young. Right now I feel like an awkward kid. It's 145am and I'm awake. How old do I think I am, 16? I hope I feel like a teenager all the rest of my life...at least energy wise.
Ok, tribbles = cheerios:
I find them in my son's diapers, in his shoes, in closets, in the bathroom, in my bed...
Do you know that a baby can have a cheerio stuck in his hand for like, hours?
When they haven't learned to relax their hands when not in use, they remain clenched, and lo and behold, hours after lunch, a small, hardened cheerio remnant will fall from his grasp. If I'm lucky, I'll see it happen. If not, I'm likely to find it later in my purse.
Even our dog, Scavenger of Kitchen Floors, has had it with oaty goodness.
He won't even eat one and spit it out.
Yumm. Just look.
I know they're wrong and bad for me. I know it's a lifetime on the hips. I also know that a package of six little chocolate doughnuts and a glass of milk is near perfection.
Of course, if I ate some right now, I'd really be hurting.
Speaking of hurting, EEEW, there's a special on VH1 about the worst sexy songs ever, and there is an R. Kelly video where he is pouring milk on a willing lass. Ok, appetite gone.
It's now 245 am. Goodnight Cheerios, Goodnight Tribbles, Goodnight Tastykakes.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
baglady
It's, oh, wait. I thought it was almost 1245am. Oops it's 145am.
Somebody's mommy (this is how i refer to myself most days) is way overtired and should not be up so late. However, somebody's mommy started looking for Corelle dishes, found them on Amazon.com, and then, naturally, began looking at bags again.
THIS, after finding today(yesterday) what I believe to be an awesome bag. It's an oversize pink terrycloth bowling-type bag with purple piping and accents. It's like a knock-off Juicy Couture bag. It's very girly, and very roomy for all my shmutz.
Will it never cease? Must I always be driven by bag "lust"? Am I doomed and addicted to the thrill of finding the "perfect bag?" This requires further investigation.
***DREAM INTERRUPTION***
Ok sorry, false alarm. Also, my body thinks it's time to go to sleep, as I am typing with one eye open. Now shaking my head like Bugs or Sylvester when an anvil's just landed on a forehead.
Ok, I am too tired to write. Just started thinking about eating fast food.
Ok not making any sense at all now. Every time I type a sentence and stop, I don't have any idea where I started or what I was going to say.
Oh my god this is all nastyness. Good Night little man asleep :)
Somebody's mommy (this is how i refer to myself most days) is way overtired and should not be up so late. However, somebody's mommy started looking for Corelle dishes, found them on Amazon.com, and then, naturally, began looking at bags again.
THIS, after finding today(yesterday) what I believe to be an awesome bag. It's an oversize pink terrycloth bowling-type bag with purple piping and accents. It's like a knock-off Juicy Couture bag. It's very girly, and very roomy for all my shmutz.
Will it never cease? Must I always be driven by bag "lust"? Am I doomed and addicted to the thrill of finding the "perfect bag?" This requires further investigation.
***DREAM INTERRUPTION***
Ok sorry, false alarm. Also, my body thinks it's time to go to sleep, as I am typing with one eye open. Now shaking my head like Bugs or Sylvester when an anvil's just landed on a forehead.
Ok, I am too tired to write. Just started thinking about eating fast food.
Ok not making any sense at all now. Every time I type a sentence and stop, I don't have any idea where I started or what I was going to say.
Oh my god this is all nastyness. Good Night little man asleep :)
Monday, April 04, 2005
Grow Up
I saw the re-formed Duran Duran at the Wachovia Spectrum on Saturday, April 2.
It was to be the moment I'd been anticipating for 20 years: I finally had seats close enough to possibly smell Simon LeBon's sweat. 5th Row, center.
Things couldn't have gone more my way leading in - I lost the rest of my baby weight (thanks to the Norwalk Virus-ha ha) and could now fit into all my "skinny jeans".
I wore a bold, black low-cut tunic with spaghetti straps and a sexy bra underneath to emphasize the remainder of my decolletage. I wore high-heeled boots under my well fitting dark washed boot-cut jeans, my hair was all curly and wild and I'd made sure to try green eyeshadow to really bring out the brown in my eyes.
On this night, Simon LeBon would finally feast his eyes on me. Imagine all the years gone by; I'd become a woman, started a family, grown up and looked great. What a perfect time to attract the gaze of the man I idolized for the better part of my teen years.
Confident and cocky, I waited with my friend to go to our seats when the opening band took the stage. She decided to have a hot dog, I checked out the merchandise. Finally, we sauntered over to the ticket-checker-guy and he pointed us the way to the floor. My heart raced a little as we began the descent. At the bottom of the stairs, the entry to Manna, stood another ticket-fellow with a flashlight. I showed him my ticket. He gazed at it, and began to indicate in the direction I'd just come from.
WHAAAAAAA?
"Go back up up around the stairs. That's section 202. Row 5 is on othe other other side."
Denied.
These were not floor seats. I'd told my friend and friends of hers that they were floor seats. Red-faced, I found our seats and then told my friends I was going to call my husband. By all accounts, they were still pretty darn good seats, but they were NOT near the stage. I had to wear my glasses if I really wanted to see anything. As if it wasn't bad enough not to have good seats: Now I was being reminded of my mortality.
As I went back up the stairs I confronted first ticketman. "Aren't these supposed to be floor seats?" I asked him, confusion and utter disbelief sinking in. He looked at me like I was looney.
Well, I was.
I immediately called my husband and complained. As if he could do something.
Strangely enough, as soon as the shock, humiliation, denial and depression wore off and my near tantrum subsided, it struck me that maybe this was never to happen. I was never meant to be close enough for Simon LeBon to encounter me. On a grand scale I hypothesized that this was a sign of some sort: A message from beyond, telling me it was time to let go of my girlish thoughts and embrace my adult self. It had to mean something, right?
During the encore, Simon introduced the band, then went out into the audience to have someone (a lady, DUH) introduce him. Of course he picked a pretty brunette and got real close and told her what to say because she was basically brain dead standing next to him. Upon completing the task, she was rewarded with a lovely kiss that actually lasted about 15 seconds.
I turned to my friend immediately: "I HATE THAT GIRL. I HATE HER! OH I HATE HER SO MUCH RIGHT NOW."
Great show though.
It was to be the moment I'd been anticipating for 20 years: I finally had seats close enough to possibly smell Simon LeBon's sweat. 5th Row, center.
Things couldn't have gone more my way leading in - I lost the rest of my baby weight (thanks to the Norwalk Virus-ha ha) and could now fit into all my "skinny jeans".
I wore a bold, black low-cut tunic with spaghetti straps and a sexy bra underneath to emphasize the remainder of my decolletage. I wore high-heeled boots under my well fitting dark washed boot-cut jeans, my hair was all curly and wild and I'd made sure to try green eyeshadow to really bring out the brown in my eyes.
On this night, Simon LeBon would finally feast his eyes on me. Imagine all the years gone by; I'd become a woman, started a family, grown up and looked great. What a perfect time to attract the gaze of the man I idolized for the better part of my teen years.
Confident and cocky, I waited with my friend to go to our seats when the opening band took the stage. She decided to have a hot dog, I checked out the merchandise. Finally, we sauntered over to the ticket-checker-guy and he pointed us the way to the floor. My heart raced a little as we began the descent. At the bottom of the stairs, the entry to Manna, stood another ticket-fellow with a flashlight. I showed him my ticket. He gazed at it, and began to indicate in the direction I'd just come from.
WHAAAAAAA?
"Go back up up around the stairs. That's section 202. Row 5 is on othe other other side."
Denied.
These were not floor seats. I'd told my friend and friends of hers that they were floor seats. Red-faced, I found our seats and then told my friends I was going to call my husband. By all accounts, they were still pretty darn good seats, but they were NOT near the stage. I had to wear my glasses if I really wanted to see anything. As if it wasn't bad enough not to have good seats: Now I was being reminded of my mortality.
As I went back up the stairs I confronted first ticketman. "Aren't these supposed to be floor seats?" I asked him, confusion and utter disbelief sinking in. He looked at me like I was looney.
Well, I was.
I immediately called my husband and complained. As if he could do something.
Strangely enough, as soon as the shock, humiliation, denial and depression wore off and my near tantrum subsided, it struck me that maybe this was never to happen. I was never meant to be close enough for Simon LeBon to encounter me. On a grand scale I hypothesized that this was a sign of some sort: A message from beyond, telling me it was time to let go of my girlish thoughts and embrace my adult self. It had to mean something, right?
During the encore, Simon introduced the band, then went out into the audience to have someone (a lady, DUH) introduce him. Of course he picked a pretty brunette and got real close and told her what to say because she was basically brain dead standing next to him. Upon completing the task, she was rewarded with a lovely kiss that actually lasted about 15 seconds.
I turned to my friend immediately: "I HATE THAT GIRL. I HATE HER! OH I HATE HER SO MUCH RIGHT NOW."
Great show though.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Gnawing At Me
Spencer bit me on the cheek yesterday.
I suppose he thought he was the Easter Bunny and that I was a carrot.
I do feel fairly orange as it were.
I have the Norwalk virus.
Spencer had it last week and gave it to me.
He's just got an arsenal of germs and fangs
I think the last time I was this tired was when I had mono in high school.
I cannot tell you the extreme symptoms I have suffered. It's so gross.
Guy and I were in NYC over the weekend - our first overnight away from Spencer.
We saw Spamalot on Saturday (after going the wrong night and getting to see Jackie Mason for free). I highly recommend it.
I'm too tired to be clever. Today I have eaten Spencers rice cereal, crackers and Gatorade. I feel like I'm really hungry but I can't eat. I've been reading The Dirt - about Motley Crüe - those guys were insane. Something tells me I've mentioned this, but heck, I'll mention it again.
I have a job interview tomorrow. I hope I can keep it together and appear lively.
Ok there's an ad on tv for Downy Wrinkle Releaser. You don't iron. You spray the wrinkled item and pull on it to pull out the wrinkles. Something is wrong with that. What the hell kind of chemicals are in that? The ad says it's not available in stores. Why is this? Creepy.
Anyway, email me if you've tried it and it works. I iron about as often as I sail.
I suppose he thought he was the Easter Bunny and that I was a carrot.
I do feel fairly orange as it were.
I have the Norwalk virus.
Spencer had it last week and gave it to me.
He's just got an arsenal of germs and fangs
I think the last time I was this tired was when I had mono in high school.
I cannot tell you the extreme symptoms I have suffered. It's so gross.
Guy and I were in NYC over the weekend - our first overnight away from Spencer.
We saw Spamalot on Saturday (after going the wrong night and getting to see Jackie Mason for free). I highly recommend it.
I'm too tired to be clever. Today I have eaten Spencers rice cereal, crackers and Gatorade. I feel like I'm really hungry but I can't eat. I've been reading The Dirt - about Motley Crüe - those guys were insane. Something tells me I've mentioned this, but heck, I'll mention it again.
I have a job interview tomorrow. I hope I can keep it together and appear lively.
Ok there's an ad on tv for Downy Wrinkle Releaser. You don't iron. You spray the wrinkled item and pull on it to pull out the wrinkles. Something is wrong with that. What the hell kind of chemicals are in that? The ad says it's not available in stores. Why is this? Creepy.
Anyway, email me if you've tried it and it works. I iron about as often as I sail.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Shut up Monique, I'm trying to think
It's late on Saturday night. SNL is done and Showtime at the Apollo is on NBC.
There were just two tap dancing foolish looking gals on - why they didn't get booed off stage is beyond me. The "plus-size" comedienne, Monique, started things off by yelling at everyone about kids having cell phones, and ring tones. She was yelling, and I was trying to collect my thoughts about an ad I just saw for a Saturn car.
Have you ever noticed a license plate or lack thereof in a car commercial?
Saturn apparently wasn't thinking hard about it or something because an ad was running for some new model, and I immediately noticed that there was a big space on the trunk where the plate is supposed to sit. It really bothered me that it wasn't there. What really made me shake my head is, why have I never noticed this before?
So Monique was screaming screaming screaming and I had to call on the powers of Mute Button to get her to cool it.
Hey, ever been to Marrakesh?
It's worth checking out if you're in Philly.
It's delish. Guy and I got to have dinner out tonight by our adult selves. It seems so unusual to be without our son like that. I am really appreciating that kind of time out.
Oh and hey, if you have a five-year old, KEEP THE CHILD HOME if you have a 9pm dinner reservation. It's just selfish to make the poor kid sit there while you stuff your face.
That's all I have to say about that.
Time to go read more about Motley Crüe.
There were just two tap dancing foolish looking gals on - why they didn't get booed off stage is beyond me. The "plus-size" comedienne, Monique, started things off by yelling at everyone about kids having cell phones, and ring tones. She was yelling, and I was trying to collect my thoughts about an ad I just saw for a Saturn car.
Have you ever noticed a license plate or lack thereof in a car commercial?
Saturn apparently wasn't thinking hard about it or something because an ad was running for some new model, and I immediately noticed that there was a big space on the trunk where the plate is supposed to sit. It really bothered me that it wasn't there. What really made me shake my head is, why have I never noticed this before?
So Monique was screaming screaming screaming and I had to call on the powers of Mute Button to get her to cool it.
Hey, ever been to Marrakesh?
It's worth checking out if you're in Philly.
It's delish. Guy and I got to have dinner out tonight by our adult selves. It seems so unusual to be without our son like that. I am really appreciating that kind of time out.
Oh and hey, if you have a five-year old, KEEP THE CHILD HOME if you have a 9pm dinner reservation. It's just selfish to make the poor kid sit there while you stuff your face.
That's all I have to say about that.
Time to go read more about Motley Crüe.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Boo Who
Some girlfriends and I were emailing back and forth about The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy. It's a great little tome written by a mom who was tired of panic guides and overly clinical parenting manuals. The topic of emotional sensitivity came up, and I suddenly remembered what happened to me a few days ago.
I cried watching the end of Rocky II. All I did was tune in to the station it was playing on - it was almost done - not like I'd watched the whole film all the way through...it was the fight scene where Rocky finally beats Apollo Creed and he's standing there in the ring with the microphone.."...and I just wanna say one thing...Yo Adrienne! I did it!" And I went boo hoo hoo hoo. Infact, I think I literally did that.
A good episode of Sex & The City can do it to me too. Yeah, the show did end, but HBO is smart enough to know that real fans of the show can watch episodes over and over and over. I freaking love that show. I could cry just thinking about the fact that it's over.
Out of Sight is on the Oxygen network right now. I could cry watching this. Clooney (George Clooney, DUH) is SO sexy, and it's such a bummer that his character Jack Foley and J.Lo's character (Karen Sisco) don't get to really be together. So what if he's a repeat offending convicted felon!
That Oxygen network - how silly. I hate that TV people are trying so hard to target programming at women. It seems desperate to me. SpikeTV is the men's version. It's like "Hey you modern, sensitive yet edgy person, here are some shows that will really appeal to you! And while we're at it, we've created some color schemes, graphics and voice-over personalities that will make you feel like you've found just the TV channel you've been looking for your whole life."
It's gotten to the point where entertainment execs are trying to make a tv station synonymous with your lifestyle. Barf.
Ok the sexy scene was just on when Karen Sisco is dreaming about walking in on Clooney in a bathtub and they totally make out and she gets in the tub with him. I don't feel like crying so much right now...
I cried watching the end of Rocky II. All I did was tune in to the station it was playing on - it was almost done - not like I'd watched the whole film all the way through...it was the fight scene where Rocky finally beats Apollo Creed and he's standing there in the ring with the microphone.."...and I just wanna say one thing...Yo Adrienne! I did it!" And I went boo hoo hoo hoo. Infact, I think I literally did that.
A good episode of Sex & The City can do it to me too. Yeah, the show did end, but HBO is smart enough to know that real fans of the show can watch episodes over and over and over. I freaking love that show. I could cry just thinking about the fact that it's over.
Out of Sight is on the Oxygen network right now. I could cry watching this. Clooney (George Clooney, DUH) is SO sexy, and it's such a bummer that his character Jack Foley and J.Lo's character (Karen Sisco) don't get to really be together. So what if he's a repeat offending convicted felon!
That Oxygen network - how silly. I hate that TV people are trying so hard to target programming at women. It seems desperate to me. SpikeTV is the men's version. It's like "Hey you modern, sensitive yet edgy person, here are some shows that will really appeal to you! And while we're at it, we've created some color schemes, graphics and voice-over personalities that will make you feel like you've found just the TV channel you've been looking for your whole life."
It's gotten to the point where entertainment execs are trying to make a tv station synonymous with your lifestyle. Barf.
Ok the sexy scene was just on when Karen Sisco is dreaming about walking in on Clooney in a bathtub and they totally make out and she gets in the tub with him. I don't feel like crying so much right now...
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
"Due to Illness"
Spencer is trying to walk around. He can sort-of climb down off a couch. He can pull himself to standing in his crib. He says "DaDa" a lot. That gets my goat. Language specialists say babies more often form the "d" sounds first. That's justice, isn't it? If there is a God, he really has a seriously mischevious sense of humor. A woman can give life to a child, carries it in her body for 9 months, grows it from her own flesh and blood, and the first word the child says is "DaDa".
Our family has been sick for the last 20 days or so. Spencer had his ear infection come back and had a wicked cold that produced snot the consistency of oatmeal. Guy got it after him, and it turned into the flu and sinusitis. I took Airborne until I couldn't stand it anymore and then it got me. I do recommend Airborne though. I think it kept the germies at bay for awhile. Didn't taste too bad either.
I think I also got some kind of inner ear thing, because days after I finished dosing myself with Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu, I was still loopy like someone had pumped me full of antihistamine.
I went on two job interviews like this. During the last one, I had a coughing fit that must have made my interviewers think I was terminally ill. It was the kind of cough that is mostly an itch, but it's the kind of itch that comes when you stop sucking down lozenges, and comes on intensely to the point that your eyes water and you can't even open your mouth without coughing. Oh thank you Ricola. Thank you.
It happened again in CVS while I waited for prescriptions for Spencer and myself - more antibiotics for both of us -I forgot to keep chewing a Ricola and suddenly near the refrigerated section in the back of the store, the itch came back. If I could have reached down my own throat to scratch, I would have. Instead, I quickly grabbed another lozenge and began coughing like an emphysema patient. I had to sit down in the pharmacy waiting area and huddle over while I coughed. I looked pathetic and was totally debilitated. Customers must have thought I had SARS. It was almost comical. I had to ask the pharmacist for a squirt of antibacterial hand cleaner (the alcohol based crap that eats your skin) so I could hand them money for the prescriptions. Why someone didn't offer me a surgical mask is beyond me. Talk about skulking...I tried to be as small as possible upon my exit. By the time I sat down in my car, I was exhausted.
Now Guy says he's getting sick again. If I get sick again, I'm going to go ballistic. I'm sick of giving all my money to Kleenex, Proctor & Gamble, and doctor co-pays.
This is an ugly shoe. For some reason, I am madly in love with it.
Moccasins are IN right now! So are mocs with a wedge heel. I have been looking for wedge heel shoes forever! Will be buying some very soon.
See what happens when I get tired? I start reverting to shopping fantasies.
Our family has been sick for the last 20 days or so. Spencer had his ear infection come back and had a wicked cold that produced snot the consistency of oatmeal. Guy got it after him, and it turned into the flu and sinusitis. I took Airborne until I couldn't stand it anymore and then it got me. I do recommend Airborne though. I think it kept the germies at bay for awhile. Didn't taste too bad either.
I think I also got some kind of inner ear thing, because days after I finished dosing myself with Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu, I was still loopy like someone had pumped me full of antihistamine.
I went on two job interviews like this. During the last one, I had a coughing fit that must have made my interviewers think I was terminally ill. It was the kind of cough that is mostly an itch, but it's the kind of itch that comes when you stop sucking down lozenges, and comes on intensely to the point that your eyes water and you can't even open your mouth without coughing. Oh thank you Ricola. Thank you.
It happened again in CVS while I waited for prescriptions for Spencer and myself - more antibiotics for both of us -I forgot to keep chewing a Ricola and suddenly near the refrigerated section in the back of the store, the itch came back. If I could have reached down my own throat to scratch, I would have. Instead, I quickly grabbed another lozenge and began coughing like an emphysema patient. I had to sit down in the pharmacy waiting area and huddle over while I coughed. I looked pathetic and was totally debilitated. Customers must have thought I had SARS. It was almost comical. I had to ask the pharmacist for a squirt of antibacterial hand cleaner (the alcohol based crap that eats your skin) so I could hand them money for the prescriptions. Why someone didn't offer me a surgical mask is beyond me. Talk about skulking...I tried to be as small as possible upon my exit. By the time I sat down in my car, I was exhausted.
Now Guy says he's getting sick again. If I get sick again, I'm going to go ballistic. I'm sick of giving all my money to Kleenex, Proctor & Gamble, and doctor co-pays.
Moccasins are IN right now! So are mocs with a wedge heel. I have been looking for wedge heel shoes forever! Will be buying some very soon.
See what happens when I get tired? I start reverting to shopping fantasies.
Monday, February 07, 2005
...may cause irritability...
Contrary to popular belief about the City of Brotherly Love, it is NOT a city that has perfected "The Choke", nor is it a city doomed to defeat for all time. We did well, considering we were facing a "dynasty-in-the-making". Fans didn't erupt into mass rioting, and there were only a few drunken fan-throws-beer-bottle-
at-random-inanimate-object arrests. I guess they were rioting on the inside.
I confess, I'd love to know what the hell my team was doing on the field during those last 4 minutes...what was with the huddling while precious moments slipped away? I'll never know.
What I would also like to know what it is that happens in the human brain when we've "had enough" that makes us feel like we need to suddenly smash something or throw something.
I don't mean a prolongued tantrum or a planned visit to a hall closet for a primal scream. I'm talking more like when you dropped the toothbrush behind the toilet, ran out of hot water midway through your shower, you couldn't find a sock and then finally, when you went to brush your hair, the brush got stuck and kept pulling so you snapped and threw the hairbrush at the wall. You might also yell or cry after doing so.
Tonight it happened while I was trying to wrestle some defrosted salmon out of its plastic wrap and bag to place in a pan. I could envision myself slipping and throwing the salmon right out of the bag onto the floor. Then Guy started talking with me about something - I don't even remember now. I was so focused on trying to get the stupid salmon out of the bag/wrap without making a mess, that when Guy spoke to me, I nearly hissed at him. I was told to go sit down.
It's late and I'm not feeling particularly like smashing anything, but I confess I am really tired and itchy on my arms. I saw on the Real World/Philadelphia that one roomate got Scabies. I hope I don't have scabies! Eeeew yuck.
at-random-inanimate-object arrests. I guess they were rioting on the inside.
I confess, I'd love to know what the hell my team was doing on the field during those last 4 minutes...what was with the huddling while precious moments slipped away? I'll never know.
What I would also like to know what it is that happens in the human brain when we've "had enough" that makes us feel like we need to suddenly smash something or throw something.
I don't mean a prolongued tantrum or a planned visit to a hall closet for a primal scream. I'm talking more like when you dropped the toothbrush behind the toilet, ran out of hot water midway through your shower, you couldn't find a sock and then finally, when you went to brush your hair, the brush got stuck and kept pulling so you snapped and threw the hairbrush at the wall. You might also yell or cry after doing so.
Tonight it happened while I was trying to wrestle some defrosted salmon out of its plastic wrap and bag to place in a pan. I could envision myself slipping and throwing the salmon right out of the bag onto the floor. Then Guy started talking with me about something - I don't even remember now. I was so focused on trying to get the stupid salmon out of the bag/wrap without making a mess, that when Guy spoke to me, I nearly hissed at him. I was told to go sit down.
It's late and I'm not feeling particularly like smashing anything, but I confess I am really tired and itchy on my arms. I saw on the Real World/Philadelphia that one roomate got Scabies. I hope I don't have scabies! Eeeew yuck.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Of Discipline and Madness
It's 1030, Tuesday night.
There's some ridiculous creepy movie on called Secret Window.
Johnny Depp is in it. It's about a writer whose fictional character comes to haunt him and kill people to set him up, only it's really him losing his mind. Some poor bastard sheriff is about to get it...with corn cob holders, I think. Ok, no, just the "crazy writer" showing us he likes sharp things. He kills his wife by first dragging her out of a Saab she can't seem to get in reverse cause the parking break is stuck. I wonder if the screenwriter knows us or has a Saab.
One of the most often repeated nugget of advice I've seen by successful writers is that any aspiring writer must write every day. I have been trying to figure out when I can do it regularly, because that is supposedly the key: Frequency and Regularity. However, I wonder...is it possible that this strict guideline causes aspiring writers to lose it a bit? OR is the writer mostly kooky anyway and it's just a matter of time before the cracks become apparent? Why do writers have such a tendency to write about being victimized by their characters, or about being driven to madness by isolation (isolation they actually prefer in order to create)?
Ok, frankly I'm not really pondering. It just seemed a good place to start tonight since I've been struggling to find time to write and then there's this silly movie on about a writer going nuts.
Mostly I've been conquering fears: Fear of the job market, Fear of motherhood, Fear of coffee & donuts becoming my favorite breakfast, Fear of Spencer crawling, Fear of the ski slope, etc.
This past weekend I skiied for the first time in two years. Ok, the word "skiied" weighs heavy. I don't like the presence of two i's like that anywhere. It's weird.
So I skiied. Crabbing the whole time about my crap skii boots.
OH speaking of crap, I got rid of the Ford Focus and I have my Beetle back. Only problem is, I don't have turn signals. A simple call to the dealer will have that resolved in a week or so.
Anyway, back to skiing.
If you're in a rental situation and they put something like these up on the counter, tell them NO.
I think the damage to my shins from those boots is worse than what happened to my knee when I rammed my Beetle into a streetlight pole. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I'll get a little bill from the city for that little accident. I can't IMAGINE they'd just write it off and replace it.
Ok, it's now 1144pm. Some creepy show called Carnivale is on HBO. It's about God & the Devil and freak shows and dust. Sheesh. What's with the horror theme tonight? I'm scared I'll fall asleep right here.
Ok that was funny.
So is "Giraffe-Cat"
Tootleooooooo
It's 1030, Tuesday night.
There's some ridiculous creepy movie on called Secret Window.
Johnny Depp is in it. It's about a writer whose fictional character comes to haunt him and kill people to set him up, only it's really him losing his mind. Some poor bastard sheriff is about to get it...with corn cob holders, I think. Ok, no, just the "crazy writer" showing us he likes sharp things. He kills his wife by first dragging her out of a Saab she can't seem to get in reverse cause the parking break is stuck. I wonder if the screenwriter knows us or has a Saab.
One of the most often repeated nugget of advice I've seen by successful writers is that any aspiring writer must write every day. I have been trying to figure out when I can do it regularly, because that is supposedly the key: Frequency and Regularity. However, I wonder...is it possible that this strict guideline causes aspiring writers to lose it a bit? OR is the writer mostly kooky anyway and it's just a matter of time before the cracks become apparent? Why do writers have such a tendency to write about being victimized by their characters, or about being driven to madness by isolation (isolation they actually prefer in order to create)?
Ok, frankly I'm not really pondering. It just seemed a good place to start tonight since I've been struggling to find time to write and then there's this silly movie on about a writer going nuts.
Mostly I've been conquering fears: Fear of the job market, Fear of motherhood, Fear of coffee & donuts becoming my favorite breakfast, Fear of Spencer crawling, Fear of the ski slope, etc.
This past weekend I skiied for the first time in two years. Ok, the word "skiied" weighs heavy. I don't like the presence of two i's like that anywhere. It's weird.
So I skiied. Crabbing the whole time about my crap skii boots.
OH speaking of crap, I got rid of the Ford Focus and I have my Beetle back. Only problem is, I don't have turn signals. A simple call to the dealer will have that resolved in a week or so.
Anyway, back to skiing.
| This is almost the exact likeness of the boots I wore last weekend.
|
 |
If you're in a rental situation and they put something like these up on the counter, tell them NO.
I think the damage to my shins from those boots is worse than what happened to my knee when I rammed my Beetle into a streetlight pole. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I'll get a little bill from the city for that little accident. I can't IMAGINE they'd just write it off and replace it.
Ok, it's now 1144pm. Some creepy show called Carnivale is on HBO. It's about God & the Devil and freak shows and dust. Sheesh. What's with the horror theme tonight? I'm scared I'll fall asleep right here.
Ok that was funny.
So is "Giraffe-Cat"
Tootleooooooo
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Hair-brained Schemes
I wanted to post Friday night, but I was exhausted from my travails.
You see, when one highlights one's own hair, one is responsible for reaching areas of the head that require the kind of dexterity reserved for yoga gurus.
I want to show you a picture of how I looked at 10:30 p.m. Friday night.
Here's a sketch of what I had on my head:
I'll tell you what I can't do. I can't do that again. I think I spent 90 minutes just pulling strands of my hair through that cap. I learned how to work using both hands, and backwards in the mirror. It's a lot like crossing your eyes too long and putting one arm over your shoulder and the other up behind and trying to touch fingers behind your back...and then standing that way for 90 minutes. I do believe by the end, I was hallucinating. The most torturous part is knowing that you still have to mix the creme, put it on your hair and sit around like a chemical accident for 30-60 minutes while it strips the color from your follicles.
I took a break after the plucking all these pieces of hair and checked to see what Guy was up to. Also, I had to sit, because I felt like I'd been strapped between two boards for a whole day. It was like I could barely stand anymore. I descended the stairs and when he saw me, he laughed and laughed. Ladies, it was then that I realized how stupid we all are. There I was looking hideous with my little plastic bonnet with my hair sticking out of holes like little seedlings. I spent a decent chunk of precious "me" or "us" time, creating this "look" in order to make myself look prettier. I had to explain to Guy that it was the sacrifice women have to go through...he was still laughing at how I looked in my bonnet.
I got him to help me wrap the rest of my hair in tin foil (more confusion resulted from this. I had to explain why tin foil and not a towel) and then Spencer started his 10:30 crying jag from the crib. Guy went to him, so I finished the whole dye job myself.
It looks great for someone who's no professional. At least, I'm happy with it.
Spencer just smiled alot today, I don't know if he noticed. He did try to grab my hair a little more than usual. I wonder if he was checking for damage.
Oh, for the record, I haven't actually gone anywhere since Friday. We got a good ole' blizzardy storm Saturday into today, so the only time I spent outside today was to finish cleaning off my car. Guy dug out earlier - dug an extra space and put a trash can there. He promptly shooed away some lecherous college students who attempted to usurp the space. Spencer and I will venture out tomorrow when the temperature rises a little. Guy actually took pics of the Xmas lights that are still up outside, so it looks like we had a White Xmas. Silly.
Hats off to the all NFL teams who played in the Northeast today. They should be commended. It is friggin COLD out there. Oh wait, if I was getting paid millions to run around in spandex and shoulder pads and get smacked around a little, I'd probably be willing to do it in the cold too.
Oh, I have a cold. There needs to be a new cold medicine that treats Stuffy Head, Cough, Congestion, Sore Throat, aches and pains and Post Nasal Drip itch. It should also moisturize your lips and nose so you can withstand the effects of tissue erosion.
Final thought:
EAGLES 35, Patriots 24
Superbowl XXXIX
Yeah!
I wanted to post Friday night, but I was exhausted from my travails.
You see, when one highlights one's own hair, one is responsible for reaching areas of the head that require the kind of dexterity reserved for yoga gurus.
I want to show you a picture of how I looked at 10:30 p.m. Friday night.
Here's a sketch of what I had on my head:
|
Nice, eh?
|
I took a break after the plucking all these pieces of hair and checked to see what Guy was up to. Also, I had to sit, because I felt like I'd been strapped between two boards for a whole day. It was like I could barely stand anymore. I descended the stairs and when he saw me, he laughed and laughed. Ladies, it was then that I realized how stupid we all are. There I was looking hideous with my little plastic bonnet with my hair sticking out of holes like little seedlings. I spent a decent chunk of precious "me" or "us" time, creating this "look" in order to make myself look prettier. I had to explain to Guy that it was the sacrifice women have to go through...he was still laughing at how I looked in my bonnet.
I got him to help me wrap the rest of my hair in tin foil (more confusion resulted from this. I had to explain why tin foil and not a towel) and then Spencer started his 10:30 crying jag from the crib. Guy went to him, so I finished the whole dye job myself.
It looks great for someone who's no professional. At least, I'm happy with it.
Spencer just smiled alot today, I don't know if he noticed. He did try to grab my hair a little more than usual. I wonder if he was checking for damage.
Oh, for the record, I haven't actually gone anywhere since Friday. We got a good ole' blizzardy storm Saturday into today, so the only time I spent outside today was to finish cleaning off my car. Guy dug out earlier - dug an extra space and put a trash can there. He promptly shooed away some lecherous college students who attempted to usurp the space. Spencer and I will venture out tomorrow when the temperature rises a little. Guy actually took pics of the Xmas lights that are still up outside, so it looks like we had a White Xmas. Silly.
Hats off to the all NFL teams who played in the Northeast today. They should be commended. It is friggin COLD out there. Oh wait, if I was getting paid millions to run around in spandex and shoulder pads and get smacked around a little, I'd probably be willing to do it in the cold too.
Oh, I have a cold. There needs to be a new cold medicine that treats Stuffy Head, Cough, Congestion, Sore Throat, aches and pains and Post Nasal Drip itch. It should also moisturize your lips and nose so you can withstand the effects of tissue erosion.
Final thought:
EAGLES 35, Patriots 24
Superbowl XXXIX
Yeah!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Thou Shalt Not Worship False Idols
Ok, in my last post, I marvelled at and extolled the virtue of the Ugg Boot.
The messiah had come and it was shearling.
Uh, Melbourne(or wherever they make em down undah), we have a problem.
I believe my very lovely warm and fuzzy boots may have caused me to smash my VW Beetle into a streetlight pole yesterday while trying to dislodge a trashcan lid from beneath.
Because they are so large on my feet(as you may recall, I recommended buying them snug because they stretch. I did not take that advice in the store), it may have been the suede-like, soft shearling that wedged itself between my right foot, the gas pedal and the brake. My most revered Ugg boot caused me to accelerate and crash while trying to turn into a neighbor's driveway.
My knee is banged up a bit, and my car is quite smashed. I have a rental car while the insurance company decides how to fix the car as cheaply as possible.
Now pay attention: DO NOT EVER accept a Ford Focus for a rental. The "basic" options are from like 1994. Manual roll-down windows. Manual locking doors. Yes, you have to lock each door separately. You can't even turn the key in the driver's door just to lock them all. Can you imagine buying that car? YIKES! Oh and they're terrible in snow. I almost got Spencer and me killed trying to stop for a red light while driving only 20 mph in second gear. I had to run the light because I couldn't stop without going into a spin. Stupid car.
Oh, and speaking of worship, the new season of American Idol began last night(Tuesday). The best part is the bad singing. Here's the sad part though: Thousands of hopefuls wait and wait to be seen. They go through a screening process well before they get to see the three top judges (that's Randy, Paula and Simon if you didn't already know), which means at least two rounds of judgement. If you're a stinker, but you're funny or newsworthy in some way, they might just let you keep going until you get to the big three. It's misleading because then the bubble is broken. Someone who might really think he has talent will be encouraged all the way to seeing Randy, Paula and Simon and then his world comes crashing down. That's not really fair.
BUT IT' S GREAT TV.
Now, a little more about idolatry and the like...
There's a presidental inauguration tomorrow.
I believe the "parade" route will be underground in a secured tunnel guarded by big robots with missiles. There's a fear of a terrorist attack. Wouldn't that be intense? What if all the cabinet people got it? Who would be president? Karl Rove, perhaps? He hides behind a curtain anyway.
God Bless America.
God Bless Ugg Boots that fit correctly.
God Bless my Beetle all alone somewhere in some garage.
God Bless the uniqueness of vocal talent(or lack thereof) and it's exploitation for my amusement.
Today's Lesson: Buy Uggs that fit snug, don't accept a Focus in place of your Bug, some people's mics should always be unplugged and the next four years are gonna be hell so start doing drugs.
Thank you and goodnight.
The messiah had come and it was shearling.
Uh, Melbourne(or wherever they make em down undah), we have a problem.
I believe my very lovely warm and fuzzy boots may have caused me to smash my VW Beetle into a streetlight pole yesterday while trying to dislodge a trashcan lid from beneath.
Because they are so large on my feet(as you may recall, I recommended buying them snug because they stretch. I did not take that advice in the store), it may have been the suede-like, soft shearling that wedged itself between my right foot, the gas pedal and the brake. My most revered Ugg boot caused me to accelerate and crash while trying to turn into a neighbor's driveway.
My knee is banged up a bit, and my car is quite smashed. I have a rental car while the insurance company decides how to fix the car as cheaply as possible.
Now pay attention: DO NOT EVER accept a Ford Focus for a rental. The "basic" options are from like 1994. Manual roll-down windows. Manual locking doors. Yes, you have to lock each door separately. You can't even turn the key in the driver's door just to lock them all. Can you imagine buying that car? YIKES! Oh and they're terrible in snow. I almost got Spencer and me killed trying to stop for a red light while driving only 20 mph in second gear. I had to run the light because I couldn't stop without going into a spin. Stupid car.
Oh, and speaking of worship, the new season of American Idol began last night(Tuesday). The best part is the bad singing. Here's the sad part though: Thousands of hopefuls wait and wait to be seen. They go through a screening process well before they get to see the three top judges (that's Randy, Paula and Simon if you didn't already know), which means at least two rounds of judgement. If you're a stinker, but you're funny or newsworthy in some way, they might just let you keep going until you get to the big three. It's misleading because then the bubble is broken. Someone who might really think he has talent will be encouraged all the way to seeing Randy, Paula and Simon and then his world comes crashing down. That's not really fair.
BUT IT' S GREAT TV.
Now, a little more about idolatry and the like...
There's a presidental inauguration tomorrow.
I believe the "parade" route will be underground in a secured tunnel guarded by big robots with missiles. There's a fear of a terrorist attack. Wouldn't that be intense? What if all the cabinet people got it? Who would be president? Karl Rove, perhaps? He hides behind a curtain anyway.
God Bless America.
God Bless Ugg Boots that fit correctly.
God Bless my Beetle all alone somewhere in some garage.
God Bless the uniqueness of vocal talent(or lack thereof) and it's exploitation for my amusement.
Today's Lesson: Buy Uggs that fit snug, don't accept a Focus in place of your Bug, some people's mics should always be unplugged and the next four years are gonna be hell so start doing drugs.
Thank you and goodnight.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Salvation
(the sound of an angelic choir should be playing here)
Ok, guess what? I finally got Ugg boots. The REAL ones, not some fakey fake version like I was gonna settle for. The style I bought is pictured above.
GET THEM NOW. When you do, one hint - get them to fit snug - they will stretch. You must wear them barefoot! That's right, I'm serious. Barefoot.
I wore them all weekend. I felt like I was breaking the law when I went out - it's like wearing slippers in public. I swear to God that's what it's like. I thought everyone knew I was barefoot in my boots. It was like getting to be deviant and comfortable all at the same time. I felt like I had a little secret: Hey world, I'm barefoot in my boots! It was 26 degrees out today, but my feet didn't know it.
I do have a little problemo: I got them too big expecting to wear socks and they look it and I already have big feet to begin with. I'm 5'3 and I'm wearing size 9 in some shoes. I think it's why I've got pretty good balance, now that I think about it.
I am totally sold on these things. Oddly enough the guy in the store (The Walking Company at the Plaza @ King of Prussia by the way) said I should buy more than one pair. He was just trying to sell shoes, but I'm considering buying another pair. I am. They are awesome and I am wearing them until spring.
In case you were wondering, Spencer is better and has learned to play "tug" with his daddy's sock. That boy. We buy him every toy under the sun, and he loves socks, ripping up magazines, wrist watches and plastic water bottles.
Oh, and he needs new pajamas. We have two sleepers that I think were irregulars I bought at Costco - I think he's wearing them backwards, but when you put them on the other way, you can't get them off to change his diaper and the snaps are all down his back. We've debated the issue repeatedly, and have settled with them looking backwards. He's about to outgrow them, so I don't really care. That's another caveat of childrearing: Shopping repeatedly because of growth every month or two. I love it!
Parting message: Go buy your Uggs, people. Go buy them now. Just don't buy all the other accessories - what a joke. I mean really, who needs a shearling purse? Don't answer that, Ms. Hilton you cheeky tart you.
(the sound of an angelic choir should be playing here)
Ok, guess what? I finally got Ugg boots. The REAL ones, not some fakey fake version like I was gonna settle for. The style I bought is pictured above.
GET THEM NOW. When you do, one hint - get them to fit snug - they will stretch. You must wear them barefoot! That's right, I'm serious. Barefoot.
I wore them all weekend. I felt like I was breaking the law when I went out - it's like wearing slippers in public. I swear to God that's what it's like. I thought everyone knew I was barefoot in my boots. It was like getting to be deviant and comfortable all at the same time. I felt like I had a little secret: Hey world, I'm barefoot in my boots! It was 26 degrees out today, but my feet didn't know it.
I do have a little problemo: I got them too big expecting to wear socks and they look it and I already have big feet to begin with. I'm 5'3 and I'm wearing size 9 in some shoes. I think it's why I've got pretty good balance, now that I think about it.
I am totally sold on these things. Oddly enough the guy in the store (The Walking Company at the Plaza @ King of Prussia by the way) said I should buy more than one pair. He was just trying to sell shoes, but I'm considering buying another pair. I am. They are awesome and I am wearing them until spring.
In case you were wondering, Spencer is better and has learned to play "tug" with his daddy's sock. That boy. We buy him every toy under the sun, and he loves socks, ripping up magazines, wrist watches and plastic water bottles.
Oh, and he needs new pajamas. We have two sleepers that I think were irregulars I bought at Costco - I think he's wearing them backwards, but when you put them on the other way, you can't get them off to change his diaper and the snaps are all down his back. We've debated the issue repeatedly, and have settled with them looking backwards. He's about to outgrow them, so I don't really care. That's another caveat of childrearing: Shopping repeatedly because of growth every month or two. I love it!
Parting message: Go buy your Uggs, people. Go buy them now. Just don't buy all the other accessories - what a joke. I mean really, who needs a shearling purse? Don't answer that, Ms. Hilton you cheeky tart you.