Monday, January 30, 2006


What can I say.
I woke up this morning, same as yesterday, probably will do it again tomorrow.
I should be thankful that nothing majorly horrible is happening.
I'm just kinda delusional that way.
Not so sure that if something tremendously wonderful occurred I'd even recognize it anymore.
I'm just kinda emotionally numb that way.
But enough about me.
Let's talk about The Boy.
The Boy is having a bad run of luck, lately.
Normally, I'd be thrilled to deflect some of life's crap - off of me - onto someone else.
When the shit hits his fan, however, I'm right there to deal with the skid marks.
So he's dating this girl. Pretty, smart, rich, cheerleader... "high-maintenance", he calls her.
Dad and I know where this is going. Please remain seated. This ride is equipped with side impact airbags for your safety. Do not try this at home.
Through a series of dysfortunate events, suffice it to say they have since parted ways.
I think I just made up a new word again. Yay, me.
It is difficult to re-live those horrible teenage years. It is odd, as well, to be on the other side. To see things from the female perspective, a more mature view, while attempting to parent effectively and simultaneously experience what it is like to be a 16 year old boy.
I'm almost glad I'm old.
Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.
How'd my buns get so big?
I craved fresh-baked bread. I had little time to spare. I adore shortcuts. I buy frozen dough.
I went to the basement and opened the freezer door. Nestled among the seldom used but necessary goods I keep for moments such as this was a bag of little doughballs just waiting to rise to the occasion. The bag was just the right size to fit in one of the handy-dandy door shelves. It would not budge. I noted that some of the rolls had wedged themselves under the little bar keeping them from sliding off the shelf. Hmmmm, I thought. I tried to push them back under. These rolls seem to be a bit, larger, somehow...? I noted the bag wasn't as loose, either. Hmmmm...
It was at that moment I noticed the frozen goo spattered all over the lower shelves and walls.
Long story short - the fridge had been left unplugged for DAYS, after The Boy used the outlet to run the shop vac (cleaning up another mess I won't even get into now). Desiring a frozen treat of his own, he found that the icecream bars had melted, and wondered why the light hadn't come on. Oh yeah. Maybe I'll just plug it back in and nobody will notice.
I have now discarded turkey breast, roasts, hamburger, porkchops, fish, chicken, frenchfries, hotpockets, coolwhip, icecream, pierogies, vegetables, and over 25 lbs of deer meat (which really pissed off The Dad).
Another lesson learned.
Compliments will get you nowhere
What do you get when you cross a hamster with a monkey?
I am my own breed.
I went shopping again. Pants and shoes, my favorite. NOT. Lest I remind you, I am not built very well. Sturdy, yes; functional, not so much. I finally found my perfect pants. Sure, they were too long in the rise, but I can fix that by pulling them up a wee bit and folding over the waistband. With my stellar 27 1/2" inseam, of course I need "petite". I found the shoes with little difficulty, effectively hiding my hideous Fred Fl!nstone feet. I needed a new blouse to complete the outfit. This one was too long, this one was too short, this one was juuuuuust right. As if the whole experience was that easy. Humph. Hours and hours of shopping, a grumpy husband when I return, and what looked good at the store didn't seem so wonderful once I got it home. Go figure.
You know what your problem is?
No, but I'm sure you'll tell me.
You just aren't built right.
We always joke about my little T-Rex arms. I sensed more good-natured fun coming on.
Josh, tell her what you told me...
Oh shit. Here it comes.
"You're built like a monkey".
More like, you've got a monkey body with little hamster arms and legs.
What ARE you talking about?
Just picture it.
You're comparing me to a rodent AND a primate in the same breath? How charming.
No, what I mean is you have this little round chimp body with teeny arms and legs.
Let's keep small appendages out of the conversation. ::shooting a look to the hubster::
I don't mean it in a bad way... dad thinks it's kinda cute.
What you're describing sounds more like an oompa loompa, dear, and I rather take offense to such reference.
(Side-splitting laughter ensues).
The rest of the day was accentuated with the song each time I waddled through the room.
I can't get no respect.

Friday, January 13, 2006

It was a dark and stormy night

The full moon sighed drearily as the clouds and drizzle dampened her luminesence. Pulling into the drive, I felt a certain stillness about the house, a quiet that disturbed me in a curious manner. Turning the key in the lock, my pulse quickened as a solitary dog wagged to greet me. Grinning with excitement, she danced in happy circles, dizzying herself with the joy that Mama was home. But that joy soon turned to concern...
The long rug that runs from the front door to the kitchen was scrunched up in an unsightly pile. On the floor lay scattered bits of rubbish, carefully chosen for the morsels that remained. A butter dish that once held two softened sticks of rich, creamy goo was licked clean, as was the knife that once graced its edge.
"Ahem," I cleared my throat, ready to scream. Little dawg was still smiling nervously as I quickly scanned the room for the guilty party. Big dawg had hid himself well. He was not in the basement, nor out back. I ascended the stairway with a gentle stride, humming a little tune, hands full of the evidence. I heard a bit of a scurry from my room. Alas, he was not on the bed, in the closet, the bathroom, or anywhere within sight. "Hmmm....", I thought out loud. "If I were a bad dog, where would I be hiding?" Under the bed, perhaps?
He hit his head on the box spring as he tried to find a quick escape. I sat on the floor, taunting him with my gentle tapping of the now-empty butter dish and rattling the paper from the garbage. He lay down in a guilty defeat, eyeing me with a sorrowful pout. I went downstairs to clean up the mess.
Fifteen minutes later, and the pathetic mongrel had slinked his way to my side, begging for forgiveness. Little dawg desperately wanted me to send him away, but I told her he was just a big dumb boy, and we had to overlook things sometimes. She sighed, shot him a look, and wagged her little tail on out of the room.
His greasy kisses were enough to let me know he was sorry. He promised to never do it again. I conceeded that the temptation must have been too great, and I would try to avoid that in the future. He gets no treat tonight, and will be sleeping downstairs, alone.
Like sands through the hourglass, so go the days of our lives.
How is it I managed to go until now without realizing it's Friday the 13th?


Strangest email subject header to date:

"it's Stanley cornbread"

A method to my madness

A Reading from the Book of Armaments, Chapter 4, Verses 16 to 20:
Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals ... Now did the Lord say, "First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it."
Wash hair, rinse.
Wash face.
Condition hair.
Wash body.
Wash body again.
Rinse hair.
Wash face again.
Same routine, day after day after day. Can't mix it up, makes the day go bad. Well, worse than usual. One time I was running out of warm water before I could condition the hair. I think I left the house without my cellphone that morning. Bad mojo, I'm telling you.
For being as scatterbrained as I really am, I must have a certain amount of orderliness in my life. Control, if you will. I can't control the shit that really matters, so I have to control what I can. Have to. Are you listening to me? I HAVE TO.
Someone else* blogged about their OCD recently, and I wish I would have bookmarked that particular entry. I have visited everybody on my list and have yet to run across it. Ten bucks says I will find it before I'm done with this post, because, you know, I tend to obsess and shit.
I don't think I go overboard with the handwashing, checking the stove and turning off swtiches, not any more than the usual person might. My thing is counting. Ordering, categorizing, odd numbers, that sort of thing. It really isn't all that intrusive, or at least, I didn't think so.
I told Catherine about my M&M ritual, and I'm sure she thought I was just shy of nuts. :)
Have to have just the right number of certain colors, in a specific sequence, or it ruins the whole experience. Now, I ask you, how can someone take something as innocent and pleasureable as eating fucking M&Ms and turn it into a task? Such is my life.
Washing hands in a public restroom? Five pushes on the paper-towel dispenser handle.
Eating french fries? One thin and crunchy to every wide and soft one. Must be every other one sequence. Chex mix really fucks me up. Usually get rid of the pretzels first, they're just a distraction.
I have two sets of dinnerware in my cupboard. Of course they don't match. This means I have to layer my plates and bowls in an every-other design. Or else. Don't ask me or else what, because I really have no clue. Nothing bad has happened to me yet. One time, I went two whole days before I noticed one was out of sequence. I had to fix it.
Generally, it has been ignored, or if noticed, a bit of an amusement for my family. It really doesn't interfere with day-to-day life, and it keeps me occupied. Just little minor things here and there, and there are more than I have mentioned, believe me. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that I noticed I may have a problem.
My biggest "thing" is digital electronics. Oh, how I simply adore the volume control! Must be on 5, 7, 9 or 11. Sometimes 13 or 15 if I'm on the highway. At home, the TV is somewhere between 17-25, odd numbers only. I SAID ODD NUMBERS ONLY. Turn it back.
The Boy, it seems, has picked up on this quirk. I never really advertised it verbally; only a really astute observer would notice my preferences. He would belong in that category, I now presume. We had an unspoken agreement that the driver has control of the radio. Read: Mom. It is mom's car, mom's radio, mom's music choices. Now that the little darling has his driver's permit, and is allowed to sit behind the wheel on occasion, he is under the assumption somehow that he can control the radio. Of all the nerve! Imagine my delight when he insists the radio be set to volume level 6, 8, 10 or 12. I shrewdly try to switch up or down one level, and he tells me, Oh-No... it's my turn now.
At first it was kind of funny. Until I noticed it really wasn't. To me. I started becoming slowly annoyed, and just a wee bit antsy about it. I allow him to listen to his country music, when I'd rather be crankin' the Zepplin. And really, what is one notch of volume, the NUMBER, that is, when I could be more concerned over it being "too loud"...
I convinced myself that the black cat, the idiot who pulled out in front of us, the traffic jam, the running out of washer fluid - was all because the stupid radio was on "8" instead of "9". I was slowly becoming unglued. Quietly, to myself, that is. I mean, why imerse the poor child in my idiosyncrasy? Until the day I noticed I was, indeed, suffering some anxiety about this. Notable anxiety, akin to the begining of a panic attack, which I have managed to avoid for months. Because I'm not crazy or anything. Heh heh. Bleh.
So, I'm letting go of the control of the radio, and turning my organizing skills to something a little more constructive. My closet! And the bathroom cabinets. And the counters. And my desk. Next up: the attic. Maybe the basement, but I'm not going off the deep end, or anything. Yet. The basement may just have to wait. I'll be there soon enough.
So. Share with me. What weird little habits do you have? Admit it, you have something to divulge. Lie down on Julie's little couch of confession. I'm listening.

*(Edited - Found it! Hi, Rach!) :)

Saturday, January 07, 2006

These eyes

Were you praying, earlier?
No, I was crying.
I thought I heard you talking. Why were you crying?
Because I'm sad.
I love you, mom.
I love you too, honey. It's time for bed.
You want something to drink or anything?
No, thank you though. Sleep well.
Can I have ten bucks tomorrow?

Occasionally, when my husband is out of town, I will sleep on 'his' side of the bed. 'His' side has the lamp and alarm clock, and affords me quicker access to the bathroom. When I was pregnant with Nicholas, it was my mainstay, so that I could comfortably lie on my left side. I have this thing about facing outward on the mattress. I remember how nice it was, being able to gaze out into the hallway, into a portion of the nursery, and see the work in progress. The complete transformation from an oversized storage room into a lush, comfortable suite fit for a prince. I had found the perfect shade of carpet to complement the paint we decided on. Josh had helped his father build the radiator box cover, painted a brilliant white, to match the trim on the new walls and ceiling. Finding mini-blinds and curtains to fit the new windows was a bit of a chore; did I want plain, or character, to match the Pooh decor? Short on space, we opted for a crib with an attached changing table and dresser - we would worry about a closet or cabinet later. Babies don't need a closet. I remember laying in bed, smelling the sawdust and paint, thrilled at the newness of it all yet concerned the aromas may not yet be departed prior to his arrival. Although it was winter, I opened his windows a crack during the day, to let fresh air in. We did not paint the door. The door was the last thing to do. For now, we thought, we'll leave it off of it's hinges, since we need to see and hear inside. We'll use the gate to keep the dogs out. I wished we had a gate to my womb. I wanted to keep him safely inside, but still be able to know what is going on in there. As I peered out into the hall, I gulped back a moan as the tears began to pour. Eleven months. Eleven long, torturous months ago, I was in a panic to get everything done in time. Now, the unpainted door firmly shut in defiance kept me from viewing our hard work. Oh, the time spent in anticipation, preparation, worry, and joy. Time well wasted. Hope deferred. Nothing to be done.

Friday, January 06, 2006

I don't FEEL tardy

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Fooled ya!
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Fooled ya again!
Knock Knock
(ignoring the disruption)
(lalalala I can't hear you...)
Ding Dong
Who's there?
Spot who?
Let me in, I'll show you.
Fine, come on... dammit where'd you go?
Knock Knock
Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock
Quit goofing around.
Tag, you're it!

Have a Happy Period .


Thursday, January 05, 2006

A shit list

~This-ism, that-ism, -ism, -ism, -ism~

Taoism: Shit happens.
Confucianism: Confucious say, "Shit happens."
Buddhism: If shit happens, it isn't really shit.
Zen Buddihsm: Shit is, and shit is not.
Zen Buddhism #2: What is the sound of shit happening?
Hinduism: This shit has happened before.
Islam: If shit happens, it is the will of Allah.
Islam #2: If shit happens, kill the person responsible.
Islam #3: If shit happens, blame Israel.
Catholicism: If shit happens, you deserve it.
Protestantism: Let shit happen to someone else.
Presbyterianism: This shit was bound to happen.
Episcopalian: It's not so bad that shit happens, as long as you serve the right wine with it.
Methodist: It's not so bad shit happens, as long as you serve grape juice with it.
Congregationalist: Shit that happens to one person is just as good as shit that happens to another.
Unitarianism: Shit that happens to one person is just as bad as shit that happens to another.
Unitarianism #2: Come let us reason together about this shit.
Lutheran: If shit happens, don't talk about it.
Fundamentalism: If shit happens, you will go to hell, unless you are born again, Amen!
Judaism: Why does this shit always happen to us?
Seventh Day Adventism: No shit shall happen on Saturday.
Creationism: God made all shit.
Secular Humanism: Shit evolves.
Christian Science: Shit happening is all in your mind.
Christian Science #2: When shit happens, don't call a doctor - Pray!
Quakers: Let us not fight over this shit.
Utopianism: This shit does not stink.
Darwinism: This shit was once food.
Capitalism: This is MY shit.
Communism: It's everybody's shit.
Feminism: Men are shit.
Chauvinism: We may be shit, but you can't live without us.
Commercialism: Let's package this shit.
Impressionism: From a distance, shit looks like a garden.
Existentialism: Shit doesn't happen; shit IS.
Existentialism #2: What is shit, anyway?
Stocism: This shit is good for me.
Hedonism: There is nothing like a good shit happening.
Mormonism: God sent us this shit.
Wiccan: An it harm none, let shit happen.
Scientology: If shit happens, see "Dianetics", p. 157.
Jehovah's Witnesses: >knock<>knock< Shit happens.
Jehovah's Witnesses #2: May we have a moment of your time to show you some of our shit?
Jehovah's Witnesses #3: Shit has been prophesied and is imminent; only the righteous shall survive its happening.
Moonies: Only really happy shit happens.
Hare Krishna: Shit happens, rama rama.
Rastafarianism: Let's smoke this shit.
Practicalism: Deal with shit one day at a time.
Agnosticism: Shit might have happened; then again, maybe not.
Agnotic #2: Did someone shit?
Agnostic #3: What is this shit?
Atheism: What shit?
Atheism #2: I can't believe this shit!
Nihilism: No shit.

My sincerest gratitude to whomever created this list, which I thusly borrowed without shame, because... well, you know.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Thanks to Catherine for the idea. ;-)

My New Year's Resolutions

1) Get a pet rat

2) Eat more escargot

3) Travel to Costa Rica

4) Study Latin

5) Get in shape with water skiing