Is there anything cuter than your puppy curled up next to you on the couch, sleeping, dreaming puppy dreams and kicking her paws and letting out little itty bitty barks? I think not.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Dreamy
Is there anything cuter than your puppy curled up next to you on the couch, sleeping, dreaming puppy dreams and kicking her paws and letting out little itty bitty barks? I think not.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Good Times
Happy Fourth of July! Well to the Americans. And maybe to the Brits, since you know, they got rid of us which, considering the high level of idiocy amongst my countrymen, is a valid reason for the Brits to celebrate our Independence Day. Everyone who doesn't celebrate, well you can suck it.
And speaking of sucking, yesterday, for the first, and how I totally hope last, time, LB puked. It was a somewhat surreal experience, which I probably shouldn't share, but I will anyway. I had spent the day curled up on the floor with stomach ailments of my own, using my prone position to block LB into the play area and prevent her from escaping while at the same time, allowing myself to doze. When she tried to escape, it woke me up. Also, getting hit with a book because some unsympathetic little wench wanted attention, that woke me up too. I am a considerate sick parent so I had the television on and LB watched Horton Hears a Who. Which was a bit of luck - I had lowered my girth to the floor and then thought the television might be a great distraction. Not wanting to actually get up, I manually (heh) turned on the tube, which meant I had no channel control unless I got up. Apparently Boo had been watching HBO the night before and fortunately Horton, and not say Natural Born Killers, was what was on. After Horton, I did manage to move and get the kid some Sesame Street and Barney. I am not proud of my parenting, but I am somewhat feeling better and figure the rest did me well.
So I felt crappy and LB felt fine. Those were the reports I was sending to Boo when I was asking him if he was sure he couldn't get home from work at you know, now. Later in the afternoon, all seemed well, or at least status quo as I just wanted to lay down and LB wanted to play or eat. LB asked for a snack so I brought her some crackers and Cheerios. I returned to the couch, and LB ate a cracker. Then she coughed. Then she burped. And then she opened the vomit flood gates. Honestly, it was insane. First I saw the crackers come up and thought, huh, isn't she a little old for spit up? Then I saw lunch come up and thought, uh oh. Then I saw her pre-lunch snack come up and thought, hell. Then I saw breakfast come up and though, HOLY FUCK! Seriously, you could watch each course come up. And for the records, shouldn't breakfast have been digested by late afternoon? I mean, really.
The entire time I watched the puke-movieathon of her meals, she just stood there, puking down her front and on the floor without seeming the least bit upset. When she was done she wiped her hand across her face, smearing puke into her hair and eyebrows, and smiled. It was ... the opposite of awesome.
Now I am not down with the puke, or rather the clean up of puke, as every time I puke, it is in the toilet or garbage or sink, you know, someplace where I don't have to scrub it up. I don't really like kids, and I was never the babysitting type, and even if I had been, you bet your butt that if some kid I was babysitting started puking, I would have been on the phone with the parents STAT. Ten bucks an hour soooo does not cover that type of hazardous duty. In any event, I am unfamiliar with the clean up of the puke and I had no idea that puke it somewhat slimy and a general fuking menace. Holy crap, cleaning up puke stinks (bad pun totally intended, though apologized for). I have scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and my nostrils have been singed by the smell of stomach bile and toxic chemicals. It has been delightful. I see a date with Stanley Steamer in my future.
And did I mention BiL5 was showing up about two hours after LB's pukefest? Yah. I had forgotten he was coming and the house was trashed and Boo called to remind me about three hours before BiL5 was arriving. Had I been feeling good, I could have cleaned but I wasn't and so I didn't. LB just solidified the frat house atmosphere by adding the scents to go along with the dirty laundry and pet fur.
And speaking of sucking, yesterday, for the first, and how I totally hope last, time, LB puked. It was a somewhat surreal experience, which I probably shouldn't share, but I will anyway. I had spent the day curled up on the floor with stomach ailments of my own, using my prone position to block LB into the play area and prevent her from escaping while at the same time, allowing myself to doze. When she tried to escape, it woke me up. Also, getting hit with a book because some unsympathetic little wench wanted attention, that woke me up too. I am a considerate sick parent so I had the television on and LB watched Horton Hears a Who. Which was a bit of luck - I had lowered my girth to the floor and then thought the television might be a great distraction. Not wanting to actually get up, I manually (heh) turned on the tube, which meant I had no channel control unless I got up. Apparently Boo had been watching HBO the night before and fortunately Horton, and not say Natural Born Killers, was what was on. After Horton, I did manage to move and get the kid some Sesame Street and Barney. I am not proud of my parenting, but I am somewhat feeling better and figure the rest did me well.
So I felt crappy and LB felt fine. Those were the reports I was sending to Boo when I was asking him if he was sure he couldn't get home from work at you know, now. Later in the afternoon, all seemed well, or at least status quo as I just wanted to lay down and LB wanted to play or eat. LB asked for a snack so I brought her some crackers and Cheerios. I returned to the couch, and LB ate a cracker. Then she coughed. Then she burped. And then she opened the vomit flood gates. Honestly, it was insane. First I saw the crackers come up and thought, huh, isn't she a little old for spit up? Then I saw lunch come up and thought, uh oh. Then I saw her pre-lunch snack come up and thought, hell. Then I saw breakfast come up and though, HOLY FUCK! Seriously, you could watch each course come up. And for the records, shouldn't breakfast have been digested by late afternoon? I mean, really.
The entire time I watched the puke-movieathon of her meals, she just stood there, puking down her front and on the floor without seeming the least bit upset. When she was done she wiped her hand across her face, smearing puke into her hair and eyebrows, and smiled. It was ... the opposite of awesome.
Now I am not down with the puke, or rather the clean up of puke, as every time I puke, it is in the toilet or garbage or sink, you know, someplace where I don't have to scrub it up. I don't really like kids, and I was never the babysitting type, and even if I had been, you bet your butt that if some kid I was babysitting started puking, I would have been on the phone with the parents STAT. Ten bucks an hour soooo does not cover that type of hazardous duty. In any event, I am unfamiliar with the clean up of the puke and I had no idea that puke it somewhat slimy and a general fuking menace. Holy crap, cleaning up puke stinks (bad pun totally intended, though apologized for). I have scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and my nostrils have been singed by the smell of stomach bile and toxic chemicals. It has been delightful. I see a date with Stanley Steamer in my future.
And did I mention BiL5 was showing up about two hours after LB's pukefest? Yah. I had forgotten he was coming and the house was trashed and Boo called to remind me about three hours before BiL5 was arriving. Had I been feeling good, I could have cleaned but I wasn't and so I didn't. LB just solidified the frat house atmosphere by adding the scents to go along with the dirty laundry and pet fur.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Inane
Recent song lyrics that made me say, WHAT?
Things I've said that made the me think, WHAT?
Facebook status updates I've thought but not published.
sub-category: scatological
sub-category: I'm a bitch
- I wanna take a ride on your disco stick.
- Birthday sex ... Birthday sex ... It feels like, feels like... lemme hit that...g-spot g-spot.
Things I've said that made the me think, WHAT?
- Please don't pet the cat on his butthole.
- Spit out the dog food. Now!
- Don't put the plug in your mouth.
- Oh, I thought it was because you smelled like a stripper.
Facebook status updates I've thought but not published.
sub-category: scatological
- I smell poop.
- I need to poop.
- My kid is trying to kill me with the smell of her poop.
- A diet of 100% blueberries will give you navy/violet poop.
sub-category: I'm a bitch
- People who post scripture as their status are unoriginal sheep.
- I don't give a fuck about your weather.
- You are not half as funny as you think you are.
- I still don't give a fuck about your weather.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Bling I
I know you've been waiting with baited breath for a photo essay on my sparkly socksand annoyed with each delay. Or not. First, aliens got the camera, then I was lazy, then I was sad, and then, then I sat down for a photo shoot and realized that it is really hard to photograph your own feet. Or I should say, the socks on your feet. Well really, the socks on your feet in a way in which you look like you have legs and not logs attached to your ankles.
I love my sparkly peds, so I took about twenty-five pictures of them on my feet. Sometimes I was standing, sometimes I was sitting, sometimes I was in action, all times? All times I was either missing a foot, picking up pet hair, or photographing my ass, which though large, should not be so big as to block out my feet. I mean, really. I seem to have lost my knack for self-foot photography. Also, my floors are extremely furry, despite being cleaned two days ago.
When the pictures turned out to be dudly, I asked Dogbert to get in on the action. I mean, if there is fur on the sock, then you could at least presume it was from her and not poor housekeeping on my part, right? She was, how you say, not thrilled. I even formed the socks into a heart as a I♥U gesture, but she was still underwhelmed.
Not only was it hard to photograph the socks in a way that showed them off in their pretty form, it was also hard to photograph them in a way that showed off their bling.
The actual knitting of the socks was a lot more fun than the photographing. The yarn was pleasant to knit with and the sparkle factor tickled me the entire time I was working on them. I am simple, I s'pose, but still, knitting blingish yarn = fun!
Yarn: Berroco Sox Metallic in Curacao, #1350.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Standard toe-up ped, using this cast on and toe and this heel.
Time: Three(ish) weeks.
Care: Machine wash warm water. No bleach. Lay flat to dry.
I love my sparkly peds, so I took about twenty-five pictures of them on my feet. Sometimes I was standing, sometimes I was sitting, sometimes I was in action, all times? All times I was either missing a foot, picking up pet hair, or photographing my ass, which though large, should not be so big as to block out my feet. I mean, really. I seem to have lost my knack for self-foot photography. Also, my floors are extremely furry, despite being cleaned two days ago.
When the pictures turned out to be dudly, I asked Dogbert to get in on the action. I mean, if there is fur on the sock, then you could at least presume it was from her and not poor housekeeping on my part, right? She was, how you say, not thrilled. I even formed the socks into a heart as a I♥U gesture, but she was still underwhelmed.
Not only was it hard to photograph the socks in a way that showed them off in their pretty form, it was also hard to photograph them in a way that showed off their bling.
The actual knitting of the socks was a lot more fun than the photographing. The yarn was pleasant to knit with and the sparkle factor tickled me the entire time I was working on them. I am simple, I s'pose, but still, knitting blingish yarn = fun!
Yarn: Berroco Sox Metallic in Curacao, #1350.
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Standard toe-up ped, using this cast on and toe and this heel.
Time: Three(ish) weeks.
Care: Machine wash warm water. No bleach. Lay flat to dry.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Arboris
So I am posting a plant update. Lame. I know. But. But, dudes, they are STILL ALIVE! The little herbs and tomatoes were all on their deathbeds, but then I went away for Girls Weekend and they made a comeback!
Look at that! They are all perky. Even the dead ass dill weed is somewhat perked up! The topsy turvy tomato doesn't look so hot, but if you look in the background, which you can't since my computer just mysteriously are the picture of the topsy turvy, WTF?, you'd see a turkey feather. A. TURKEY. FEATHER. Enough said. Anyway, I am amazed and awed! I am staying the hell away from them! And yes, I am using a lot of exclamation points, I am trying to convey excitement, and also to make myself feel excitement. You see, one of the other ladies that I bought these with, bought the EXACT SAME plants as me. Identical. In fact, we shared a cart and so it was random on who got what. Nonetheless, her plants? They are like a thousand feet taller. Unbelievable! Yes, I am ignoring the fact that my plants are even alive and instead being a big ole jealous baby.
Look at that! They are all perky. Even the dead ass dill weed is somewhat perked up! The topsy turvy tomato doesn't look so hot, but if you look in the background, which you can't since my computer just mysteriously are the picture of the topsy turvy, WTF?, you'd see a turkey feather. A. TURKEY. FEATHER. Enough said. Anyway, I am amazed and awed! I am staying the hell away from them! And yes, I am using a lot of exclamation points, I am trying to convey excitement, and also to make myself feel excitement. You see, one of the other ladies that I bought these with, bought the EXACT SAME plants as me. Identical. In fact, we shared a cart and so it was random on who got what. Nonetheless, her plants? They are like a thousand feet taller. Unbelievable! Yes, I am ignoring the fact that my plants are even alive and instead being a big ole jealous baby.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Capo dei capi
You know, I have complained repeatedly about Mother Nature coming to get me. Of course, part of that is because I like to complain BUT part of it is because she really is out to get me. And, for what it is worth, I really think she is stepped up her game. To wit:
I suppose in the picture it looks some what harmless, that big ole turkey feather strategically placed in front of LB's car door. But it is not. Oh no. This is like a mob warning. From the head of the turkey mafia. Cross us again, and the kid gets it! Seriously. They are letting me know they can get us at anytime ... being that the feather somehow appeared in our locked, with no turkey-sized cracks or holes, garage.
And these aren't any regular turkeys coming after us. No, these are the 'roided up enforcers. That feather is huge. It is a good eight inches. Here it is with my foot, my ten inch foot, for perspective.
I use to semi-joke that Crazy was going to kill me and take my baby. Now, the turkeys are my main threat. If they find my body somewhere, you can bet it was my feathered "friends."
I suppose in the picture it looks some what harmless, that big ole turkey feather strategically placed in front of LB's car door. But it is not. Oh no. This is like a mob warning. From the head of the turkey mafia. Cross us again, and the kid gets it! Seriously. They are letting me know they can get us at anytime ... being that the feather somehow appeared in our locked, with no turkey-sized cracks or holes, garage.
And these aren't any regular turkeys coming after us. No, these are the 'roided up enforcers. That feather is huge. It is a good eight inches. Here it is with my foot, my ten inch foot, for perspective.
I use to semi-joke that Crazy was going to kill me and take my baby. Now, the turkeys are my main threat. If they find my body somewhere, you can bet it was my feathered "friends."
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sad
On Thursday we had to euthanize our poor sweet kitty and it is fucking killing me.
I don't really like cats. Nonetheless, when we took my mom's dog to the vet fifteen years ago and the vet asked if we wanted a cat and we said no and then he brought out a pot-bellied, jumbo pawed, mini-tail and mini-head, kitten named Ugh. A. Lee, we fell in love. Turns out Ugh became Ernest, and we became smitten. For the last fifteen years Ern would greet my husband at the door and jump into his arms when he came home. He would sit on my lap while I knit or watched t.v. and he would fall asleep in my hair and migrate to my feet as the night progressed. He fell in love with LB and would let her pet him, smack him, kiss him, hug him, sit on him, and ride him like a horse. I thought that with the dog and the baby, he didn't get as much of our time, that he was a bit marginalized. But now that he's not around, I realize how much he was part of our day to day lives.
It turns out, mourning a pet is similar to mourning a human family member in that the little things creep up on you. You're lying in bed and you hear a thump thump, you think, oh, it is Ernest coming up the stairs. Cue tears. You're at the store and checking out, all of a sudden you realize, you don't need plastic bags anymore since you don't have a litter box to change anymore. Cue tears. You go into the basement and leave the door open. You think SHIT as you turn around to shut the door because you don't want the cat to come down and get caught up in a mouse trap. Cue tears. When you've had your furbaby for fifteen years, they become people. They become your children. They become integral parts of your lives that you miss them like hell when they are gone.
I've been exalting his virtues, and though they were many and he was a sweet, sweet boy, he also would bite. Me. He would bite me an only me. Preferably when I was sound asleep. I like to think he was having kitty dreams and my ankle or foot or whatever, was some great menace he was chasing. This is somewhat more pleasant than thinking he was a sadistic bastard to me, and only me. Either way, I loved him lots and miss him lots.
I don't really like cats. Nonetheless, when we took my mom's dog to the vet fifteen years ago and the vet asked if we wanted a cat and we said no and then he brought out a pot-bellied, jumbo pawed, mini-tail and mini-head, kitten named Ugh. A. Lee, we fell in love. Turns out Ugh became Ernest, and we became smitten. For the last fifteen years Ern would greet my husband at the door and jump into his arms when he came home. He would sit on my lap while I knit or watched t.v. and he would fall asleep in my hair and migrate to my feet as the night progressed. He fell in love with LB and would let her pet him, smack him, kiss him, hug him, sit on him, and ride him like a horse. I thought that with the dog and the baby, he didn't get as much of our time, that he was a bit marginalized. But now that he's not around, I realize how much he was part of our day to day lives.
It turns out, mourning a pet is similar to mourning a human family member in that the little things creep up on you. You're lying in bed and you hear a thump thump, you think, oh, it is Ernest coming up the stairs. Cue tears. You're at the store and checking out, all of a sudden you realize, you don't need plastic bags anymore since you don't have a litter box to change anymore. Cue tears. You go into the basement and leave the door open. You think SHIT as you turn around to shut the door because you don't want the cat to come down and get caught up in a mouse trap. Cue tears. When you've had your furbaby for fifteen years, they become people. They become your children. They become integral parts of your lives that you miss them like hell when they are gone.
I've been exalting his virtues, and though they were many and he was a sweet, sweet boy, he also would bite. Me. He would bite me an only me. Preferably when I was sound asleep. I like to think he was having kitty dreams and my ankle or foot or whatever, was some great menace he was chasing. This is somewhat more pleasant than thinking he was a sadistic bastard to me, and only me. Either way, I loved him lots and miss him lots.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Girls Weekend
Another year, another awesome Girls Weekend in Cape Cod.
Best quote: "I'm Sweden and you're out of here!" The weekend started with an apparently sober twenty-something man, saying this to his lover, while making a rock and roll hand gesture. I don't know what this means. None of us know what this means. And yet, it was appropriate at all times.
Best Text Message: justleaveheralonewerebusy
Dirtiest activity: Being a "Dirty Monkey"?? Nope! Strawberry picking. There was strawberry picking in which I picked one strawberry and was very pleased.
I then picked a second one which was dirty AND had a bug on it and I pretty much freaked the hell out. I also slightly freaked because I was getting dirt in between my toes because I wore flip flops. Note to self: Don't wear flip flops when walking in dirt. Nonetheless, because my cohorts were diligently picking away, and because a little girl of about two was diligently picking away next to us, and because I didn't want to be a pansy, I was shamed into picking some more. Eleven more total. Well, I guess twelve more total as I picked one, started to eat it ...
Second Best Quote: "You're stealing!" Someone IN OUR GROUP yelled at me while I was tasting the merchandise because to eat a strawberry prior to paying for said strawberry was stealing. Note, there was no sign, no warning, no nothing telling you to keep your greedy lips to yourself and DO NOT EAT THE STRAWBERRIES. No, there wasn't. Also, the little girl next to me was eating each one she picked and not a one went into her basket but did she get yelled at for stealing? No! Anyway, even though the strawberry wasn't very good, I finished eating it because if I am gonna be a thief, them dammit, I am gonna rip off as much as I can. Which, I guess, turned out to be one mediocre strawberry. I am no mastermind criminal. In any event, once I was away from the dirt and bugs and you know, NATURE, the picking was quite amusing to me as I had the largest box and the smallest haul.
Worst Question Asked to a Stranger: "Do you know what a head shop is?" Our waitress thought head shops dealt with a different type of head, as in giving ... well, never mind, you get the point, we didn't get kicked out and the food was delish, so the tea shoppe was a success despite the fact that no one, other than me, knew what a head shop was. For the record, a head shop is real and not something I made up. It is a place where you go to buy drug paraphernalia.
Moment of Redemption: After last year's resounding pottery disaster, which I pawned off as a hostess gift, I was determined to redeem myself at the paint your own pottery place. And, actually, I think I may have. I gooped on three layers of the paint so unbelievably thick that the mug was about a pound heavier than when it started. I hoped to avoid streakage, but with paint that thick and goopy you never know what will happen, so, fingers crossed.
There was a slight mishap when someone (KAY!!!!) got purple paint on my dry, perfect, piece of art, not when we were at the table and painting but when we were putting them up for glazing. I did an emergency repair, but you never know. So, in conclusion, if the mug sucks, it is all Kay's fault.
EXCEPT, HOLY FUK I SPELLED SWEDEN WRONG ON MY MUG AND NO ONE TOLD ME! I just saw that RIGHT NOW, as I was proof reading this post. Maybe I should have proof read my mug. DAMMIT. Now I am gonna have to give this away too.
Worst Spelling Error: Sweden. On my commemorative mug. Suck.
Common Photographic Theme: My boobs can't be contained.
Seriously. In every group shot, and some alone ones, at least one of my boobs is making a run for it. Ridiculous.
Weirdest "Best Piece of Advice You've Ever Received" per the game Loaded Questions: Just pick something to go with it.
Most unique "Place you'd like to be born" per the game Loaded Questions: Mars.
Number of random animals we saw up close and personal: Two!
Most Overprice Food: Gourmet cupcakes. Don't get me wrong. They taste good. But no matter how good they taste, $17+ for 6 cupcakes is robbery.
Shopkeeper: That will be $17.85. Me: What? Oh no, I only got the half dozen on the left, the ones on the right are hers. Shopkeeper: Yes, I know. Yours are $17.85. For reals? Even better is that when I sent a picture of the oreo one to my husband telling him I had gotten him a very special treat, he replied, "It looks like dog poop." Great. $3 dog poop. Awesome. Since I had paid a small fortune for the cupcakes, and because I had heard that everyone who bought the fru fru cupcakes had mushed them on their way home, I treated mine like royalty and packed them in my bag in a way guaranteed to prevent smushage. And it worked. The dog poop cupcake and his five pals made it home safely.
Number of times I forgot to knit in public on KIP day: All but two. Twenty gazillion places and I forgot to knit at all of them but two.
Proclamation: No matter what (like say moving to Kentucky), we are doing a girls weekend at the Cape every year.
Best quote: "I'm Sweden and you're out of here!" The weekend started with an apparently sober twenty-something man, saying this to his lover, while making a rock and roll hand gesture. I don't know what this means. None of us know what this means. And yet, it was appropriate at all times.
Best Text Message: justleaveheralonewerebusy
Dirtiest activity: Being a "Dirty Monkey"?? Nope! Strawberry picking. There was strawberry picking in which I picked one strawberry and was very pleased.
I then picked a second one which was dirty AND had a bug on it and I pretty much freaked the hell out. I also slightly freaked because I was getting dirt in between my toes because I wore flip flops. Note to self: Don't wear flip flops when walking in dirt. Nonetheless, because my cohorts were diligently picking away, and because a little girl of about two was diligently picking away next to us, and because I didn't want to be a pansy, I was shamed into picking some more. Eleven more total. Well, I guess twelve more total as I picked one, started to eat it ...
Second Best Quote: "You're stealing!" Someone IN OUR GROUP yelled at me while I was tasting the merchandise because to eat a strawberry prior to paying for said strawberry was stealing. Note, there was no sign, no warning, no nothing telling you to keep your greedy lips to yourself and DO NOT EAT THE STRAWBERRIES. No, there wasn't. Also, the little girl next to me was eating each one she picked and not a one went into her basket but did she get yelled at for stealing? No! Anyway, even though the strawberry wasn't very good, I finished eating it because if I am gonna be a thief, them dammit, I am gonna rip off as much as I can. Which, I guess, turned out to be one mediocre strawberry. I am no mastermind criminal. In any event, once I was away from the dirt and bugs and you know, NATURE, the picking was quite amusing to me as I had the largest box and the smallest haul.
Worst Question Asked to a Stranger: "Do you know what a head shop is?" Our waitress thought head shops dealt with a different type of head, as in giving ... well, never mind, you get the point, we didn't get kicked out and the food was delish, so the tea shoppe was a success despite the fact that no one, other than me, knew what a head shop was. For the record, a head shop is real and not something I made up. It is a place where you go to buy drug paraphernalia.
Moment of Redemption: After last year's resounding pottery disaster, which I pawned off as a hostess gift, I was determined to redeem myself at the paint your own pottery place. And, actually, I think I may have. I gooped on three layers of the paint so unbelievably thick that the mug was about a pound heavier than when it started. I hoped to avoid streakage, but with paint that thick and goopy you never know what will happen, so, fingers crossed.
There was a slight mishap when someone (KAY!!!!) got purple paint on my dry, perfect, piece of art, not when we were at the table and painting but when we were putting them up for glazing. I did an emergency repair, but you never know. So, in conclusion, if the mug sucks, it is all Kay's fault.
EXCEPT, HOLY FUK I SPELLED SWEDEN WRONG ON MY MUG AND NO ONE TOLD ME! I just saw that RIGHT NOW, as I was proof reading this post. Maybe I should have proof read my mug. DAMMIT. Now I am gonna have to give this away too.
Worst Spelling Error: Sweden. On my commemorative mug. Suck.
Common Photographic Theme: My boobs can't be contained.
Seriously. In every group shot, and some alone ones, at least one of my boobs is making a run for it. Ridiculous.
Weirdest "Best Piece of Advice You've Ever Received" per the game Loaded Questions: Just pick something to go with it.
Most unique "Place you'd like to be born" per the game Loaded Questions: Mars.
Number of random animals we saw up close and personal: Two!
Most Overprice Food: Gourmet cupcakes. Don't get me wrong. They taste good. But no matter how good they taste, $17+ for 6 cupcakes is robbery.
Shopkeeper: That will be $17.85. Me: What? Oh no, I only got the half dozen on the left, the ones on the right are hers. Shopkeeper: Yes, I know. Yours are $17.85. For reals? Even better is that when I sent a picture of the oreo one to my husband telling him I had gotten him a very special treat, he replied, "It looks like dog poop." Great. $3 dog poop. Awesome. Since I had paid a small fortune for the cupcakes, and because I had heard that everyone who bought the fru fru cupcakes had mushed them on their way home, I treated mine like royalty and packed them in my bag in a way guaranteed to prevent smushage. And it worked. The dog poop cupcake and his five pals made it home safely.
Number of times I forgot to knit in public on KIP day: All but two. Twenty gazillion places and I forgot to knit at all of them but two.
Proclamation: No matter what (like say moving to Kentucky), we are doing a girls weekend at the Cape every year.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Happy Dance
Praise Zeus! The camera has been found. A tithing was due the finder which I paid gladly because DUDE, MY CAMERA IS BACK (and its anus seems fine, thank you sweet gentle aliens). Before I photograph my two pairs of socks of sparkle, I want to get rid of the stuff already on the camera. In no particular order ...
First, I knit these socks. Rather I started them. Both of them. I got them both to this point:
Then I decided that I didn't like them. Or rather, I found the chart to be a pain in the ass and the socks were a little too big and so I started to rip. But then I remembered how put out I was when I saw that I ditched these guys so close to being done, that I stopped ripping, shoved them in a bag, and tucked them away. There is still a slight chance that I will finish them. Well, smaller than slight. Minuscule. But it is a chance.
*************************************
Lady Bean likes playing under my desk while I am on the computer.
She doesn't seem to mind that she is taller than the space provided. It hurts my back just looking at her. It hurts my pride to see a big wad of dog hair next to her under there. We are dirty, dirty people.
*************************************
We had more turkeys.
I hate turkeys.
*************************************
LB was sick. As in brains (or infection, why must I be so DQ?) leaking out of her ear, only able to sleep sitting up on my chest, miserable sick. So for the twenty-four hours that it took for the miracle drugs to kick in, I was a glorified pillow.
A glorified pillow that knit (and had some massively frizzy hair, though that could be from the fact that I went from the shower to the Emergency Pediatrician's office in like two minutes and used not one single iota of hair product. Or make-up. Apparently I had a back up plan of scaring the doctor into treating her immediately).
*************************************
Last, I planted herbs. This is from the day they were planted.
Proof that they were in fact alive at the outset, even if they aren't anymore.
First, I knit these socks. Rather I started them. Both of them. I got them both to this point:
Then I decided that I didn't like them. Or rather, I found the chart to be a pain in the ass and the socks were a little too big and so I started to rip. But then I remembered how put out I was when I saw that I ditched these guys so close to being done, that I stopped ripping, shoved them in a bag, and tucked them away. There is still a slight chance that I will finish them. Well, smaller than slight. Minuscule. But it is a chance.
Lady Bean likes playing under my desk while I am on the computer.
She doesn't seem to mind that she is taller than the space provided. It hurts my back just looking at her. It hurts my pride to see a big wad of dog hair next to her under there. We are dirty, dirty people.
We had more turkeys.
I hate turkeys.
LB was sick. As in brains (or infection, why must I be so DQ?) leaking out of her ear, only able to sleep sitting up on my chest, miserable sick. So for the twenty-four hours that it took for the miracle drugs to kick in, I was a glorified pillow.
A glorified pillow that knit (and had some massively frizzy hair, though that could be from the fact that I went from the shower to the Emergency Pediatrician's office in like two minutes and used not one single iota of hair product. Or make-up. Apparently I had a back up plan of scaring the doctor into treating her immediately).
Last, I planted herbs. This is from the day they were planted.
Proof that they were in fact alive at the outset, even if they aren't anymore.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Enough Already
This whole camera abduction is bordering on the ridiculous. Seriously. I finished yet another pair of sparkly peds of which I cannot blog about since I STILL don't have my camera! I also cannot show you that yes, herbs can be killed in a matter of days, even herbs that are "unkillable weeds." Dill weed I am talking to you, you dying piece of crap! Do I really need to buy another camera, again? This would camera number four. In like, less than four years. The only person I know with less luck with cameras is Joan. And her luck only runs bad when she is drinking. I haven't been drinking. Hell, I lost the damn thing in my own house it was abducted by aliens in my own house. And it's not like I don't have a million other things I would like to buy ... various articles of clothing, several cute pairs of shoes, a fancy schmancy stroller, which, with the extra seat attachment and all the accoutrements, costs as much as a cheap used car, a private yoga instructor, and a not-so-cheap used car. Obviously being 'retired' makes buying non-essential things impossible, or at least fiscally stupid, so I've restrained myself thus far. But the camera thing, it isn't an issue of desire, a camera is a need. But then it becomes, do I need another crappy point and shoot, or do I need a nice camera? Being that the camera lasts about six minutes in these parts, crappy point and shoot is the smart, though very boring, thing to get.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Crunchberries
I feel like my brain is slowly turning to Swiss cheese. It used to be a nice blue cheese, moldy in places, but still solid. Now the mold has given way to big ole holes. I thought about recounting a funny tale so that I could show myself that my brain does in fact fire on all six cylinders, okay, who are we kidding, all four. But I can't think of a funny thing. I mean, yes, Lady Bean does funny things but they are only funny to me. The lie down game, which sounds suspiciously pervy, is hysterical, to me and her, but you, you would sit there scratching your head, going uh, okay. So, that leaves me here. Jamming out to Lionel Ritchie. When is the last time you jammed out to Lionel Ritchie? Exactly. Swiss fucking cheese I tell you.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Abduction
Oh Internet, I have knit the mostly lovely sparkly blue socks. Rumor has it the Yarn Harlot also knit sparkly blue socks that are scrumptious and probably a gazillion times nicer than my stockinette peds, but I care not! My socks are fabu and I want to hold them and kiss them and love them forever. I love this yarn and its sparkly glory to the point that I want to buy it in every color. Mind you that this is something I would totally do, if I had, you know, a job, or disposable income. I am the girl who goes to Webs for X and can't find it. I also can't find Y or Z, but I can find one of my favorite sock yarns. So I buy it, and by it, I mean the exact same yarn, in the exact same color (and probably dyelot) that I have already used to make socks because, oh, how those socks make me smile and one day they will die and I will need to replace them so I must have the yarn. Me = idiosyncratic (so sayeth the polite people, others might just say I am a nutjob).
Anywho, this blue sparkly yarn is like that other yarn. Instant love. I have worn my sparkle peds once and enjoyed them thoroughly. I suspect that my love runs so deep because of the bling factor. I love me some bling. And, I can honestly (as if I would lie, pushaw) say that I have not had blinged out socks before. I cannot, however, photograph them because my camera has been abducted by aliens. I hope its anus is okay. When ever it returns, I will take pictures and share the sparkly love. Normally I would wait to tell you about a finished object, even one as lovely as The Sparkletastics, until I could provide you with photographic evidence. I am changing my own policy though because I still have not blogged about Ellie. Who? I KNOW. Lady Eleanor. The shawl that goes on forever and I could actually use as a horse blanket. The shawl that is so bulky on, it adds about 30lbs. The shawl that my husband has used as a blanket. The shawl that was finished in February, or was it January, and has yet to be mentioned on this here blog o' mine. Mind you, Ellie won't be blogged about anytime soon as it is about three gazillion degrees too warm out to put her on. Also, she makes me look huge. I am thinking that I will wait until it is cooler, and I have a HUGE pregnant belly for which to blame the additional girth, to blog about her. Assuming the aliens return my camera.
Anywho, this blue sparkly yarn is like that other yarn. Instant love. I have worn my sparkle peds once and enjoyed them thoroughly. I suspect that my love runs so deep because of the bling factor. I love me some bling. And, I can honestly (as if I would lie, pushaw) say that I have not had blinged out socks before. I cannot, however, photograph them because my camera has been abducted by aliens. I hope its anus is okay. When ever it returns, I will take pictures and share the sparkly love. Normally I would wait to tell you about a finished object, even one as lovely as The Sparkletastics, until I could provide you with photographic evidence. I am changing my own policy though because I still have not blogged about Ellie. Who? I KNOW. Lady Eleanor. The shawl that goes on forever and I could actually use as a horse blanket. The shawl that is so bulky on, it adds about 30lbs. The shawl that my husband has used as a blanket. The shawl that was finished in February, or was it January, and has yet to be mentioned on this here blog o' mine. Mind you, Ellie won't be blogged about anytime soon as it is about three gazillion degrees too warm out to put her on. Also, she makes me look huge. I am thinking that I will wait until it is cooler, and I have a HUGE pregnant belly for which to blame the additional girth, to blog about her. Assuming the aliens return my camera.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Posh
When we bought our house we knew it was a fixer. We also knew that the kitchen was one of the top five worst kitchens in the state and in the top twenty-five for the country. Nevertheless, we loved the neighborhood and so we bought the ugly duckling with grand plans of a new kitchen, new bathrooms and an addition. Unfortunately, it turns out that the ugly duckling isn't just ugly, but she also has osteoporosis. Which is my flowery way of saying that she doesn't have good bones. Every single project we have taken on from changing the mirror in the bathroom (and finding a John Malkovich hole behind the old mirror) to swapping out an outdoor light fixture (and learning that none of the wiring was up to current code, or even the 1960's code from when the house was built) has cost us 1000% more than we thought it would, or had budgeted for, and means that we that we won't be redoing our kitchen anytime soon. But is also makes us pragmatic. Not a dime is going into a kitchen that one day (oh please one day) is getting the ole heave ho. For example, when the shelves inside a cabinet came crashing down (bam, bam, bam), did I decide to get new cabinets? Nope, I just stacked my pans in higher stacks and called it a day (well a mutherfuking shitty day, but a day nonetheless). That being said, I believe my pragmatism has rounded the corner and landed squarely in the middle of white-trashville. To wit:
When a drawer pull fell the hell off for no apparent reason, and then wouldn't screw back on because it is apparently stripped (which, seriously, what the fuk? How often was this thing screwed and unscrewed so that it could even have gotten stripped in the first place??), I found a hook in our workbench and voila! Drawer pull. The sad part is, no matter how trashy the hook is, it is almost more attractive than our original drawer pull.
When a drawer pull fell the hell off for no apparent reason, and then wouldn't screw back on because it is apparently stripped (which, seriously, what the fuk? How often was this thing screwed and unscrewed so that it could even have gotten stripped in the first place??), I found a hook in our workbench and voila! Drawer pull. The sad part is, no matter how trashy the hook is, it is almost more attractive than our original drawer pull.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Dead Bunny
Yes, I am pregnant! And yes, I failed to write a glorious and flowery post exalting the joys of new life growing in my womb. And yes, as Joan said, "Just checked your blog to see if there were any photos, ultrasounds, etc. And instead, what did I find? You decided to break the exciting news to the interwebs by burying it in a story about peeing in the woods?!" But really, excessive peeing, that about summarizes my pregnancy experience. Not much more to say ... I am pregnant, I must pee. Though, I expect Joan is a little bitter at my c'est la vie announcement since she and The Deuce may share the same birthday if The Deuce is actually born on her due date. And yes, I said her and no, I don't "know" that it is a girl, but dude, I know. Anywho, in my defense, I will say that The Deuce is perhaps one of the least photogenic fetuses of all time. We have had a couple of ultrasounds at this point and they all look more like Rorschach Tests. What, you don't believe me? Think I am using bad ultrasoundography as an excuse? Exhibit A, which incidentally I scanned into the 'puter with an actual scanner, none of the picture of a picture thing, so all craptastic imagery is due to um, I dunno, belly flub? Old equipment? The Deuce herself?
Anyway, exhibit A, the most recent picture:
Do you see a baby's profile? Or, do you see a storm coming our way on the Doppler 6000? I mean really. Thanks for the picture, but um, what exactly is it a picture of? A weather front?
Exhibit B:
Here we have a line diagramming the the length of the baby. I know this because they told me so. Without this knowledge, I see a coconut on the beach.
So, no lovely post with pictures because the pictures tell another story, a story of storms and beaches, which might be quite interesting, but are not related to my insides and also may have been made into a major motion picture starring Tom Hanks, and hello, copyright infringement. I've also been lax in my announcement as I've been dealing with a sick kid. Lady Bean has a cold and is channeling Sybil. She has also perfected the art of throwing herself on the ground and having a temper tantrum. Usually she hits a wall or door or pet on her way to the ground and injures herself, thus having an actual reason to cry. Good times over here at Chez Insanity. It was um, non-blissful enough that I decided I was going to invent a drinking game wherein you do a shot every time your kid throws a tantrum. It was a great idea until I realized I would have been shitfaced by 10am, oh, and that whole no drinking cause I'm pregnant thing was a hindrance too.
Speaking of LB, she just walked into the office with a ten dollar bill and the phone. The phone was ringing. I'm not sure who she was calling (pizza?) but she forgot to dial one plus the area code when calling that number. I figure this is my queue to exit stage right.
Anyway, exhibit A, the most recent picture:
Do you see a baby's profile? Or, do you see a storm coming our way on the Doppler 6000? I mean really. Thanks for the picture, but um, what exactly is it a picture of? A weather front?
Exhibit B:
Here we have a line diagramming the the length of the baby. I know this because they told me so. Without this knowledge, I see a coconut on the beach.
So, no lovely post with pictures because the pictures tell another story, a story of storms and beaches, which might be quite interesting, but are not related to my insides and also may have been made into a major motion picture starring Tom Hanks, and hello, copyright infringement. I've also been lax in my announcement as I've been dealing with a sick kid. Lady Bean has a cold and is channeling Sybil. She has also perfected the art of throwing herself on the ground and having a temper tantrum. Usually she hits a wall or door or pet on her way to the ground and injures herself, thus having an actual reason to cry. Good times over here at Chez Insanity. It was um, non-blissful enough that I decided I was going to invent a drinking game wherein you do a shot every time your kid throws a tantrum. It was a great idea until I realized I would have been shitfaced by 10am, oh, and that whole no drinking cause I'm pregnant thing was a hindrance too.
Speaking of LB, she just walked into the office with a ten dollar bill and the phone. The phone was ringing. I'm not sure who she was calling (pizza?) but she forgot to dial one plus the area code when calling that number. I figure this is my queue to exit stage right.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Enough
Apparently mother nature, or is it Mother Nature, is not through with me yet. This morning I was awoken by the most horrible noise. A kind of gargling, waddling, whiny, yodel. I also had a cat sitting above my head on the windowsill beating me in the face with his furiously twitching tail. Further inspection revealed what had cause the noise and riled Cat.
I WON'T PEE IN THE WOODS ANYMORE! JUST MAKE IT STOP!
I WON'T PEE IN THE WOODS ANYMORE! JUST MAKE IT STOP!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I'm Not a Bear
Today I went for a walk with the kid and the dog. It was a lovely day for a walk and all was well until I had to pee. And I mean, I HAD TO PEE. Well, when push came to shove, I decided to pee in the woods. But I wasn't really sure where to go. I mean, I couldn't exactly pee right there on the trail, but I also had a dog and a kid in a stroller so I couldn't really go off-roading either. Which is how I decided to pee here ...
My cellphone camera photo quality is kinda shitty; it is empty state wildlife restoration area with a short path into the woods. Now I am not exactly sure what "wildlife restoration area" means as there were signs all over the place about needing your hunting license and what kind of stuff you could kill, and to me, that seems like the opposite of "restoration" but then, what the hell do I know. Me, I like wildlife, behind bars or really thick sheets of glass. So if you some how are restoring it by killing it, well, more power to ya. In any event, being that you could kill stuff, I figured a little pee wouldn't be too objectionable. And, really, the local was perfect. I was able to squat behind the stroller and view the path while at the same time shielding myself. I mean, as far as imprompto outdoor pees, I thought I was doing okay. And I think this totally sounds reasonable. Well, until you realize that there was a porta-potty about 10 yards away.
Now it could have been a spotless porta-potty, I have no idea. I chose to bypass the porta-potty because I had a kid and a dog and though I could have tied the dog to a tree, I don't think I could have done that with my kid. And I most absolutely, positively was not bringing her in there. Not gonna happen. There is no way that I could have held her and done what I had to do without one of us touching something bad. And, now, that you know why I bypassed the porta-loo, this all still seems reasonable, yes? Nothing bad had happened. Nothing evil or demented. Peeing in the woods, logical and a-okay.
So why is it that not twenty yards further down the path, I stepped on a dead field mouse? Why did mother nature feel the need to seek revenge? It was just a little pee. Heck, I haven't even had asparagus in weeks. And yet, there in the middle of the path, unknown to me, was a dead mouse (presumably) the size of a large marble. A dead mouse which was the color of asphalt. A dead mouse which was in my path. A dead mouse which I squished deader. While wearing flip flops no less. I can't begin to tell you how mentally scarred I am. I mean, I am the woman that can not step on a roach because, Holy fuckadiddle, the squish and the crunch and no! I don't step on shit. It just isn't me, I scream and I run and I sometimes jump up an down while screaming and running. So mother nature, she really picked a great revenge. I could have taken a picture of the carnage with my cell phone, but honestly, I never want to see that shit again. I mean just knowing that such an image could be stumbled upon in my phone, well, no. I have such vivid sensory memory of the feel and sound of the crunchy squish, that a picture, so not necessary.
So, the moral of my tale of woe is that you should not pee in the woods. No matter how bad you have to go, even if you're pregnant, you just have to hold it.
My cellphone camera photo quality is kinda shitty; it is empty state wildlife restoration area with a short path into the woods. Now I am not exactly sure what "wildlife restoration area" means as there were signs all over the place about needing your hunting license and what kind of stuff you could kill, and to me, that seems like the opposite of "restoration" but then, what the hell do I know. Me, I like wildlife, behind bars or really thick sheets of glass. So if you some how are restoring it by killing it, well, more power to ya. In any event, being that you could kill stuff, I figured a little pee wouldn't be too objectionable. And, really, the local was perfect. I was able to squat behind the stroller and view the path while at the same time shielding myself. I mean, as far as imprompto outdoor pees, I thought I was doing okay. And I think this totally sounds reasonable. Well, until you realize that there was a porta-potty about 10 yards away.
Now it could have been a spotless porta-potty, I have no idea. I chose to bypass the porta-potty because I had a kid and a dog and though I could have tied the dog to a tree, I don't think I could have done that with my kid. And I most absolutely, positively was not bringing her in there. Not gonna happen. There is no way that I could have held her and done what I had to do without one of us touching something bad. And, now, that you know why I bypassed the porta-loo, this all still seems reasonable, yes? Nothing bad had happened. Nothing evil or demented. Peeing in the woods, logical and a-okay.
So why is it that not twenty yards further down the path, I stepped on a dead field mouse? Why did mother nature feel the need to seek revenge? It was just a little pee. Heck, I haven't even had asparagus in weeks. And yet, there in the middle of the path, unknown to me, was a dead mouse (presumably) the size of a large marble. A dead mouse which was the color of asphalt. A dead mouse which was in my path. A dead mouse which I squished deader. While wearing flip flops no less. I can't begin to tell you how mentally scarred I am. I mean, I am the woman that can not step on a roach because, Holy fuckadiddle, the squish and the crunch and no! I don't step on shit. It just isn't me, I scream and I run and I sometimes jump up an down while screaming and running. So mother nature, she really picked a great revenge. I could have taken a picture of the carnage with my cell phone, but honestly, I never want to see that shit again. I mean just knowing that such an image could be stumbled upon in my phone, well, no. I have such vivid sensory memory of the feel and sound of the crunchy squish, that a picture, so not necessary.
So, the moral of my tale of woe is that you should not pee in the woods. No matter how bad you have to go, even if you're pregnant, you just have to hold it.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Who Knew
I had no idea that diapers expire. And, I'm not sure what exactly happens if you use one after it expires. But I am sure that I returned these bad boys. Because whatever it is that does happen when you use an expired diaper, it can't be good.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Replacements
Several months ago my husband threw my handknit socks in the dryer, though most survived, my most favoritest did not. They shrunk and felted and were basically reduce to midget size.
Back to our regularly scheduled post ... As I was saying, favorite chevron socks + dryer = midget socks ∴ Jenna sad. So sad, that I knit another pair. Sort of. Though I still have the pattern, I didn't have any more of that yarn left. I ended up using some really Spring-ish yarn that I received in trade. I can tell you nothing of this yarn as it came to me in a ball and with absolutely no identifying information. I can tell you that it will be avoiding the dryer ... just to be safe.
Ain't they purty? I have to say that I like the originals better, but these aren't bad. If you look closely, you can see that the stripes even match up. That was intentional. It is also a sign of my crumbling mental state. It's not like this was real striped yarn that needed to match up. No, it was pseudo striped yarn and I am bonkers.
Back to the socks, yet again. So. Pretty yarn. Pretty socks. Matching stripes. I like the socks just fine, but they leave me short of orgasm. Nothing too awesome. No need to write home.
Though I won't write home, I will wear them. I will also note that I knitted these at the same time (a la Jenna which means not at the EXACT same time but rather, toe, toe, foot, foot, gusset, gusset, heel, heel, leg, leg, cuff, cuff) and from one ball of yarn which means I pulled from the middle. Those who know me know that this was nothing short of a miracle because even when I don't pull from the middle of the ball, my yarns tend to do this. So there you have it.
Yarn: Je ne sais pas!
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Chevron Socks, Sensational Knitted Socks. Modified to be toe-up with a gusset and heel that I learned in the Gazillion Dollar Sock Class.
Time: A month.
Care: Hand wash cold, dry flat because I don't know what this yarn is.
Unrelated Tangent I: While searching for my finished object/picture post of the now-midget socks, I came across this post. Look how much I had knit. That is damn near an entire pair of socks. I look at them and love the color of the yarn and the pattern and yet I ripped them out and gave the yarn away. I see over there on my sidebar area under Bad Knitting Karma that I said, "No matter how much I knit them, I didn't like them." Query: WHAT THE FUCK WAS I SMOKING?
Back to our regularly scheduled post ... As I was saying, favorite chevron socks + dryer = midget socks ∴ Jenna sad. So sad, that I knit another pair. Sort of. Though I still have the pattern, I didn't have any more of that yarn left. I ended up using some really Spring-ish yarn that I received in trade. I can tell you nothing of this yarn as it came to me in a ball and with absolutely no identifying information. I can tell you that it will be avoiding the dryer ... just to be safe.
Ain't they purty? I have to say that I like the originals better, but these aren't bad. If you look closely, you can see that the stripes even match up. That was intentional. It is also a sign of my crumbling mental state. It's not like this was real striped yarn that needed to match up. No, it was pseudo striped yarn and I am bonkers.
Unrelated Tangent II: When was the last time you used the word bonkers? Seriously. It is a great word. I vote we all try to use once a day. All in favor say, "Aye!" Right, and the crickets chirped. Bitches.
Back to the socks, yet again. So. Pretty yarn. Pretty socks. Matching stripes. I like the socks just fine, but they leave me short of orgasm. Nothing too awesome. No need to write home.
Though I won't write home, I will wear them. I will also note that I knitted these at the same time (a la Jenna which means not at the EXACT same time but rather, toe, toe, foot, foot, gusset, gusset, heel, heel, leg, leg, cuff, cuff) and from one ball of yarn which means I pulled from the middle. Those who know me know that this was nothing short of a miracle because even when I don't pull from the middle of the ball, my yarns tend to do this. So there you have it.
Yarn: Je ne sais pas!
Needles: Addi Circs, size 2.5 mm (US 1)
Pattern: Chevron Socks, Sensational Knitted Socks. Modified to be toe-up with a gusset and heel that I learned in the Gazillion Dollar Sock Class.
Time: A month.
Care: Hand wash cold, dry flat because I don't know what this yarn is.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Count the Ways
#15,874th way to freak out your husband:
Start to organize your nail polish 'stash' but don't finish before he gets home.
Start to organize your nail polish 'stash' but don't finish before he gets home.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Duet
My MiL is here for a visit with her favorite (and obviously best) granddaughter which is quite nice. Said granddaughter is turning one this Friday and having a party to celebrate same on Saturday. Also, quite nice. The house (mine, as in where the party is being held, not say, the house that Ruth built) is not ready for a party, and this, this is not quite nice. In other words, Holy Shit my house is a mess and twenty-five people are going to come over for LB's birthday and find out we live like pigs. Instead of bitching about our sty-like conditions, I should be cleaning them. After all, my child has a playmate which relieves me of that duty (duty ... doodie ... heh, I am seven) and I have time to remove the hairballs gathering under the buffet. Instead of doing this, I am hiding in the office, checking my e-mail (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) and doing everything possible BUT clean. Which is not to say I have not cleaned. For I have. A lot. For example, I removed the nobs from the stove and cleaned underneath them. Now that, THAT is cleaning. Which, I guess is not "a lot" of cleaning. But still. It doesn't explain why I am sitting here, overwhelmed by the wafting stench of the stinkiest cat poop ever (which was really mean of the cat - he saw me in here and was like, Sooooo what? I gotta pooh and this is where my box is suckah). Nothing could explain it. Sheer laziness? I know not. What I do know is that I have killed five whole minutes with this drivel despite the need for gas mask. Go me. And, so as to kill five more minutes, let me tell you about my BRILLIANT anniversary gifts.
As I have mentioned before, we try to do the gift thing in accordance with official guidelines. Which, yah, not so official. But whatever. So this year the things were wood and silverware. In case you were wondering, these things SUCK. I've been married five years and THIS is what the universe deems appropriate. Suck it universe! But, being a sheep, and incapable of developing a thought of my own, I went with the guidelines. Wood? Easy. Toothpicks and matches. Done. Silverware? Now that is hard. Well, I suppose if we didn't have twelve place settings of perfectly fine silverware, then it would not have been hard as I would have just bought silverware. But we do have silverware, fancy and plain, and the last time I checked my husband was a "man's man" and had absolutely no interest in acquiring a new silver pattern, which meant that silverware was hard. I say was because, DUDES, I rock. Drum roll please ... For our fifth wedding anniversary gift, I got Boo some silverunderware. I KNOW. Brilliant. So long as you whisper "under" it is all good! In case you are curious, Boo was much more 'in the box' getting me a nice wooden picture frame and a cheese knife set. He did get creative and gave me a cheap wooden picture frame, with a picture of his friend in it, a friend who's last name is Wood. But I have to say if you put his Wood against my silverunderware, I get the vote for most creative. Granted silverunderware was his "real" gift, so I also get the vote for "cheap ass" and "least exciting anniversary gift ever." But hey, you win some and you lose some. And on that note, I shall shimmy out of here and clean because HOLY FUCK, WHAT DID THE CAT EAT?
As I have mentioned before, we try to do the gift thing in accordance with official guidelines. Which, yah, not so official. But whatever. So this year the things were wood and silverware. In case you were wondering, these things SUCK. I've been married five years and THIS is what the universe deems appropriate. Suck it universe! But, being a sheep, and incapable of developing a thought of my own, I went with the guidelines. Wood? Easy. Toothpicks and matches. Done. Silverware? Now that is hard. Well, I suppose if we didn't have twelve place settings of perfectly fine silverware, then it would not have been hard as I would have just bought silverware. But we do have silverware, fancy and plain, and the last time I checked my husband was a "man's man" and had absolutely no interest in acquiring a new silver pattern, which meant that silverware was hard. I say was because, DUDES, I rock. Drum roll please ... For our fifth wedding anniversary gift, I got Boo some silverunderware. I KNOW. Brilliant. So long as you whisper "under" it is all good! In case you are curious, Boo was much more 'in the box' getting me a nice wooden picture frame and a cheese knife set. He did get creative and gave me a cheap wooden picture frame, with a picture of his friend in it, a friend who's last name is Wood. But I have to say if you put his Wood against my silverunderware, I get the vote for most creative. Granted silverunderware was his "real" gift, so I also get the vote for "cheap ass" and "least exciting anniversary gift ever." But hey, you win some and you lose some. And on that note, I shall shimmy out of here and clean because HOLY FUCK, WHAT DID THE CAT EAT?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Grub
It has been awhile since I have been to a McDonald's. Ever since it farted around with the fry recipe I've been less enthusiastic about clogging my arteries with its offerings, its tasty tasty offerings. Which sounds kind of high brow ... or maybe it doesn't, but it's true. In times past I have eaten two large fries, with a side of bar-b-que sauce si vous plait, for dinner. But now, eh. Which, in reality, has not much to do with the following, but give me a break, it has been awhile since I've dipped my toes into the blogging pool.
So. McDonald's. I ask, WTF?
This is some really disturbing packaging. I mean, honestly, am I suppose to eat a nugget now? You've drawn me this sweet little chicken picture that practically screams, "Don't eat me!" and then you have an arrow to a bag of flour ... the proverbial casket of the cute but soon-to-be dead chicken. THIS is appetizing?
So. McDonald's. I ask, WTF?
This is some really disturbing packaging. I mean, honestly, am I suppose to eat a nugget now? You've drawn me this sweet little chicken picture that practically screams, "Don't eat me!" and then you have an arrow to a bag of flour ... the proverbial casket of the cute but soon-to-be dead chicken. THIS is appetizing?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Um ... ?
Remember THE Christmas stocking? The stocking that I truly had a love/hate relationship with? And do you remember the designer of the stocking? The designer who thought I was a moron for wet blocking the stocking? The designer who was going to send me a replacement kit as an act of goodwill despite my supposed dimness? 'Member that? Well, last night as I was lying laying lounging in bed, I realized ... FUCK GOOD WILL! She never sent me the stocking kit.
Also, and totally unrelated to the above, I think I may be stuck in the 90's.
Since when did $1.69 become a "GREAT PRICE" for a two liter jug of Coke? $1.69 is great? Really? That seems like a rip-off gas station/convenience store price to me. 99¢? Now that is a GREAT PRICE.
And also unrelated to both of the above, but lingering in my subconscious because of the use of the word "great" ...
Check out my baby's hair do!?! Now that is Grrreeeaaatt! I took that picture with my CrackBerry and didn't think the quality would be all that great (which it's not, obviously, no duh, I KNOW), so I busted out the "real camera." And yes, I use "scare quotes" because my camera is only real in the sense that it takes pictures. It is a point and click and not anything like the real deals that Stalkarazzi use and that I covet. But I digress, I busted out the camera that is only a camera and not a phone and yet, the pictures, still pretty phone like in quality ...
Anyway, I liked the hair do. It made me smiled but LB screamed her lungs empty when I made? crafted? concocted? placed? (what does one do to a ponytail?) the ponytail, and thus, it was loose and was undone before we left the house.
Also, and totally unrelated to the above, I think I may be stuck in the 90's.
Since when did $1.69 become a "GREAT PRICE" for a two liter jug of Coke? $1.69 is great? Really? That seems like a rip-off gas station/convenience store price to me. 99¢? Now that is a GREAT PRICE.
And also unrelated to both of the above, but lingering in my subconscious because of the use of the word "great" ...
Check out my baby's hair do!?! Now that is Grrreeeaaatt! I took that picture with my CrackBerry and didn't think the quality would be all that great (which it's not, obviously, no duh, I KNOW), so I busted out the "real camera." And yes, I use "scare quotes" because my camera is only real in the sense that it takes pictures. It is a point and click and not anything like the real deals that Stalkarazzi use and that I covet. But I digress, I busted out the camera that is only a camera and not a phone and yet, the pictures, still pretty phone like in quality ...
Anyway, I liked the hair do. It made me smiled but LB screamed her lungs empty when I made? crafted? concocted? placed? (what does one do to a ponytail?) the ponytail, and thus, it was loose and was undone before we left the house.
Monday, February 23, 2009
A (bad) Poem
Nose, congested to the umpteenth degree. Air does not pass.
Daughter, napping finally. Screamed herself to sleep.
Husband, feverish and working. Needs to feel better soon.
Ceiling, being painted. It better not suck.
Knitting, a possibility this eve. If I live that long.
Daughter, napping finally. Screamed herself to sleep.
Husband, feverish and working. Needs to feel better soon.
Ceiling, being painted. It better not suck.
Knitting, a possibility this eve. If I live that long.
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