Vacuous

Silence has reigned supreme over here. I think because I am out of the blogging habit. Also, because I have had nothing of import to report, or rather, nothing funny. LB has started talking in her sleep which sends me into fits of giggles, but is not funny to the casual observer. I did have a mole removed on my knee that is "abnormal" and now a bigger chunk is going to be removed, which is totally hysterical, no? No? Oh, um, well. Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time. Let's see, a while back we had a girls' weekend in Boston and went wedding dress shopping for Kay. It was a good time but I can't remember making an ass of myself in such way that would be worthy of blogging. Uh, I went to Florida to see Depeche Mode in concert. It was fun and I found out that I am attracted to rock stars who are gay and dance like gay men channeling Buffalo Bill (check out his dance around 2:17 and then 2:30, somehow it is hot on Dave Gahan and not so creepy, or maybe I am twisted, or both). Right. You don't want to hear me gush about Dave and his hot gay serial killer vibe like a thirteen year old girl rhapsodizing about ... Zac Efron? Who do thirteen year old girls rhapsodize about?

Despite the lack of funny, I have had some crazy. Well not Crazy, actually that is not true, I did get a note from Crazy. She forwarded me some junk mail with a note pointing out that Office Manager had failed to mail the stuff to me and congratulating me on The Deuce. I never mentioned that to OM, or even Kay, because I have decided not to share stuff that serves no purpose other than to hurt someone's feelings. Which sounds virtuous, but is not. Recently someone opined that I was "ripped off" on some repair work and I was really ticked. Why would you say that to someone? Let's assume that I did get ripped off, it's too late to do anything about it now. Do you honestly think that telling me that I was bent over is somehow constructive or going to benefit me in any way? No, you're telling me that to make yourself look good. You apparently know so much more that I do and would not have been ripped off. You are awesome and I am a schmuck. That is what you are saying. As it happens, I did not, in fact, get ripped off, I did get pissed though and have decided that I am better than this other person and so shall no longer say stuff that serves no purpose other than to make someone else feel like an assheel. So you see, this prohibition on sharing certain information is rather self-serving, and not virtuous. Also, for what it's worth, there is a good chance that someone at some point is going to piss me off and I am going to say something mean just to be mean because I am not virtuous and that is how I roll. Anyway, I digress. A lot. Though I got a letter from Crazy, it was sans gift, and not like the crazy I was going to share. Crazy, as in my own personal and not the person, has been visiting me in the late night hours and THAT is where I was intending to go.

You see, lately I have had the urge to spend. Or rather to buy. Stuff. Stuff I don't need, but I like and I want. Being 'retired' means that we are on a budget and I can't buy frivolous fun things a la Louis Vuitton. Well I could, but I'd be fiscally stupid, so I've restrained myself thus far. Also, I don't think I could sneak a purse, let alone a new car, by my husband without him noticing something was up and then I would have to explain and well, just no. So I've been good and not gone on a spending spree. That being said, from 4:00 a.m. to 6:30 a.m., when I am awaken with an urge to pee and am the unable to fall back asleep (DAMN YOU PREGNANCY INSOMNIA!), I try to plead with Lottery Karma. This is the part where I dance with crazy, not there part where I want to buy pretty things because really, that's not crazy. Anyway, at this queer time of the day ... morning ... night ... whatever, I explain to the voice in my head (a sign crazy could be in play), which I think that Lottery Karma (like Santa Claus? come on! crazy!) can hear, that I don't need to win hundreds of millions of dollars. No, I only need a few hundred thousand - after taxes of course - so that I can pay off our student loans, and mortgage, and car. It all seems so logical in the moment. I'm not being greedy. Just asking for a nugget to pay off our debt so that I can live a lifestyle that I'd like to live. Basically I am negotiating with my own inner monologue regarding a fictional influx of a large amount of money. Obviously this is crazy and I know it. This, however, will not stop my silent conversation tonight.

I likey

You know Barney? The purple dinosaur with green spots? An awful song that make your head explode? Well, it turns out he has two redeeming qualities: saddle bags AND cellulite!

The End of Summer

I suspect that we won't get any more pool time in before well, next year. Well, outdoor pool time. Outdoor pool time in our kiddie pool that was suppose to be the dog's pool but that it a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother time. So, I have Lady Bean and her final pool picture of the season!



Now if my tomatoes could just ripen, PRONTO!

Blah

I have three (one, two, three) ongoing knitting projects, which is frankly two too many. Unfortunately, I do not like any of them. Which means I am pondering starting yet another project. This is not a good idea. But it is probably a better idea than hitting the Louis Vuitton store or shopping for bras.

I am gestating fetus who never stops moving. She is constantly fussing around in there and this has caused me some angst over just how active she is going to be once she is no longer confined my the limits of my insides. I am trying to ignore this thought process.

I no longer have to figure out what to do about my one pompom socks. A trip through the washing machine took care of the remaining pompom. Actually, I guess I still need a plan. I can wear them, have my shoes eat them, and get pissed. Or, I can buy another ball of the yarn to make two new pompoms. Or, I can give them to a smaller footed person in the hopes that her shoes won't eat them.

I am craving pumpkin bread but am trying to be good and watch my sugar and carbs (emphasis on trying). Being that pumpkin bread is all sugar and carb, I really shouldn't make any. I did search the internet for a lo carb recipe and found two. Both sound ... interesting? But I suspect that if I make them and they suck, well then, what? The world will come to an end? Probably not. But still. Traditionally the stuff I make from scratch is better than the pre-mixed boxed stuff, so that would lead one to think, hope, suspect, delude one's self into believing, that the lo carb from scratch recipe won't be too bad. We'll have to see.

I am no longer wearing my gimp shoe and had grand plans of celebrating the gimp shoe's life span with a photographic tour of all of the hand knit socks I wore with it. Mind you I wore that shoe for almost six weeks and only have six sock pictures to show for it. Not exactly good follow through on my part. And NO, I DID NOT ONLY WEAR ONE PAIR OF SOCKS PER WEEK! I am not THAT dirty. Anyway, I have the six pictures sitting in the computer, so I am gonna post them. Forgive me.




My cherry (or grape, I can't remember) tomato plants turned out not to be total duds. The one I planted months after buying it gave me four tomatoes. Not bad considering the neglect. The other one, the topsy turvy one, gave me ten thus far. I have another five sitting on it that are green. I'm not sure if I should leave them on the vine and hope they ripen despite the colder weather. I don't think they would ripen if I plucked them and brought them in, which is I why I am leaning toward letting them sit on the vine. In any event, I have a grand total of fifteen tomatoes which is better than nothing I suppose. LB ate fourteen of them so that is kind of cool. Unless she develops a third arm. In which case, I am a terrible parent!

My basil rocked this season and I still have a tiny bit left I can harvest, if I get off my butt. I must have somehow redeemed myself in the Basil JuJu department.

The dill weed? Total fucking dud. Enough said.

Fifty-seven

There are many reasons I love my husband, but every now and then he does something that causes me to add a new reason to the list. To wit:



I was gone for the weekend and he taught the Bean how to put her cup in the cup holder in the car. Do you realize how much of my life I have spent searching for a random cup that she has dropped while trying to drive? Well NO MORE! I'd like to say that if I knew the back seat had a cup holder, I would have taught her this neat trick, but yah, probably not.