video game characters can be quite sexy if you take the time to notice
A few days ago I happened upon my Dearest Love playing his Dearest Love. World Of Warcraft. I don't generally pay much attention when he plays these games. They bore me.
I am so above video games.
Once in a while he asks me to have a look at some impressive bit of business he has going on. On screen. The off screen business he has going on is always impressive.
On this occassion I was looking at snow or something. Some great feat of video making design.
Whatever.
All I noticed was the character. His guy. Oh His Guy.
Hot.
Yeah I know. That's weird. I know. But really.
Hot.
I said as much.
I said, hey, your guy is hot.
Thank you, he said.
I believe he felt the compliment was meant for him. I believe he sees his Guy as an extension of himself. I believe he thought i was propositioning him.
Maybe I was.
The point is, if you will please pay attention and stop concerning yourself with my sex life, video game characters can be quite sexy if you take the time to notice.
I feel no shame in saying that I did take the time to notice. Notice I did indeed.
in mine ipod, he said
Super Boy just found one of the missing pieces from his Magnetic Doodle Thingy. The circle, I think. He raced over and essentially shoved the shape up my nose because as any child knows parents see everything better when it is shoved up their snout.
I Found It, he declared, as though he'd unearthed the Hope Diamond (is that missing? I have no idea).
Good, said I, gently removing the item from my nasal cavity. Where does it go?
In here, mommy, he said, and ran over to the Magnetic Doodle Thingy. In mine ipod, he said.
My materialism is spreading.
Not thirty seconds ago he raced in here as I typed this out to share with You.
Did you hear that loud crash, mommy, did you?
I did, Love, what was it?
Mine ipod! It fell on the floor. I have to go pee!
I don't think he picked his ipod up the way I certainly would have done should mine have crashed to the floor with such a tremendous thud. You know I would have been in a fit of tears, calling for Emergency Apple Services to dash over and rescue my poor mp3 and photo player. Granted, he had to go pee, as you see, so perhaps this is what kept him from properly tending to his own ipod.
It's good to know that despite all other indications Super Boy does hear what I say. That he appears to digest those aspects of what I utter which are less than pure is of little consequence. So he can curse like a drunken sailor and is bent toward fine technological items. As long as he's listening to me what the hell do I care?
excuse me sir, where did you go to medical school anyway
I'm mildly concerned that my doctor may be a quack.
I went to him last month after not seeing him for probably two years. In the past I've felt that maybe he was less than brilliant but my concerns have been of a not so serious nature. You know, I stepped on a nail can I get a tetanus shot kind of stuff. Doesn't take a genius.
This last visit however made me pause, reflect and consider moving on.
Me: Hi Doctor Man. Nice to see you.
Doctor Man: Ya, what?
Me: I've been getting really bad headaches.
Doctor Man: Mmmmmmm.
Me: They're really bad. Migraines. Almost every day. For, like, two years.
Doctor Man: Oh, ya, take one tylenol one advil, you know, make migraine go poof! away.
Me: I've been doing that. It's not helping. I think it's my neck. It feels like my neck is really messed up.
Doctor Man: Mmmmmm.
Me: It's bad.
Doctor Man: You do pilates? You should do pilates, get all better.
Me: I do pilates. And yoga.
Doctor Man: Yoga! Yes, very good!
Me: But it's not helping.
Doctor Man: Mmmm.
Me: I feel rotten a lot of the time.
(this is where the good part comes)
Doctor Man: Do you have insurance for physio? No? Here's what you do. You go to hospital. Where do you live? Go to St George Hospital and wait outside physio department. When a physiotherapist comes out ask them to help you. Tell them what is wrong. They'll help you. You bet.
Me: I can't see, the headaches are so bad. In fact, my left eye fell out last week. The headaches are that bad. It just jumped out to get away from the pain.
Doctor Man: Yep, physio, that's what you need.
Me: I'm going now. You're crazy.
Does any of that seem out of the ordinary to you? He did not so much as glance in the general direction of my neck and certainly laid not one finger on my body by way of assessing my current state of well being. In fact, I think he was reading War and Peace and eating lunch while we talked. Now that I think about it.
Not so much interested in helping me with my headaches, this guy but sign me up for a physical on my way out oh boy. He is all about the physical. He gets paid more for the physical. I wonder what he would do if he ever found anything wrong during someone's physical. Send them to 7/11 for a Slurpee and a bag of Doritos?
Great now I want a Slurpee and Doritos.
So I'm looking for a new doctor. If you know someone good let me know. Really, someone of only average ability would be a vast improvement. I'm looking for someone who actually has a medical degree at this point.
the south asia tsunami disaster
I confess that although I have been kept up to date on what's happening through my husband I have watched very little coverage myself. Without seeing any of the horror first hand I have been able to maintain a sense of detachment. As though I was hearing about a bad snow storm, a couple people died. Bad, but not this bad.
Tonight I gave in and watched Primetime's special on the Tsunami.
My heart, gosh, my heart is broken. Not only is this a tragic event but it is an event that will not end for so many for so long. The magnitude of suffering is so great that it is almost impossible to get my mind around it. So many stories of loss, terror, sadness.
The stories of the children make me turn the TV off. I cannot bear it from the safety of my living room. My heart nearly explodes at the the thought of those who are being forced to live it.
I'm sorry for everyone who has been affected by this disaster. I am just so deeply sorry.
I don't know what to do.
i'm gonna take the guy who invented guilt out back and beat the crap outta him later
Wanna help?
I went to the gym this morning after letting my husband sleep in two point five hours past the hour the children poked their shiney faces into our room. It was dark when they got up, I'll have you know. Dark and cold and dreary.
I let my husband sleep for two point five guilt free hours.
Why is it then that I, completely of my own insane doing, felt rushed at the gym. It was as though a rope, pulled tight between Wiggle Yer Butt Fitness Studio and My House, kept yanking me back. I could feel the hands of my little ones tugging at my legs, begging for more food and someone to play with.
He had his two hours, why did I feel guilty for taking mine?
Don't mistake me. My husband was not and never does do anything to make me feel like I should not go or hurry when I do. He is all fairness and pleasantry. When I call to say that my return is close at hand he does not ever (nearly) sound as though life has been hell since I left and who did I think I was going out of the house anyway.
But I still feel it, that pull, the tight feeling at my chest calling me home.
It's stupid.
After the gym I went to return some shorts (they made me look like a fat teenage boy) and planned to find something else instead. Here I am, alone, by myself, shopping. No one to stress me out with requests to get out and run around, no one demanding a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a sandwich prepared on fresh baked bread. I had all the time in the world (within reason) to wander aimless and find a crapload of stuff I wanted. Stuff for me.
Have you met me? I like stuff.
But I could not relax. I felt so guilty for being there. I should have been home. I should have, in fact, only done the treadmill and not the bike after because these people need me here at home.
H. O. M. E.
It's stupid.
Maybe I should give up sleep too. And eating, don't forget eating. I gave up going to the bathroom alone years ago and haven't done a single thing uninterrupted since May 2001. Why not forfeit the whole kettle of fish. By Kettle Of Fish I, of course, mean to say My Identity.
See, stupid.
So if you see the guy who thought up Mommy Guilt let me know because I'm so gonna take him out back and have at him with a good sound beating. After I'm gonna lay in bed drinking margaritas, eating chocolate, reading a book with thr TV on while I listen to my ipod and I will not be answering the many calls at the bedroom door.
Alright, I might answer one or two calls at the bedroom door but that's it.
No, I changed my mind. I'm not talking to anyone until everyone is in bed sound asleep.
Thank you. Mommy has spoken.
(no one is listening to mommy)
(again)
i will not lose my patience, i will not lose my patience, i will not lose my patience
My children are going through a slightly annoying phase right now. I know, what kid isn't. I'm talking about an exaggerated state of being annoying. This is Big Annoying. Regular Annoying would be a treat compared to this.
Which means Less Than Perfect Mommy has been around. You know the one I mean. She shouts. She says things that she doesn't mean to say like
I am going to run away from home and then you'll see!
Oh Boy. Mommy shouldn't say stuff like that. And the other things she says like - oh I can't even tell you. Well, like
Leave me alone before I curl up in a ball and cry like an infant.
You know.
It's rough for mommy at times like this because although mommy is certainly a very good sort of mommy she is only human. Yes, mommies are human. You didn't know? Neither did my kids. Oh well. You learn something new.
Mommy promises she is going to try harder and harder to be less Human and more Super Human and she will not lose her patience today. Well, she probably will but she means not to and she will say she is sorry when she makes a mistake and that's a good lesson for babies too, right?
Deep Breath Mommy. You can do it.
Deep Breath.
Deeper.
never one to be left out of a cool new trend
I've added a tag board. You can't miss it. It's the elephant in the middle of the room. No, the other elephant. Yes, that's the one. Good eye, you sleuth you.
It's here on a let's-see-if-I-like-it basis so don't be at all surprised if you come back tomorrow and it has been replaced by some other blogging trinket.
Now go tag me or something because you don't want to be left out of a cool new trend either I am sure.
chocolate flavored peanut butter, hello, i'm all over that
In the name of all things not good for reducing the size of one's midesction, I wonder if any of you have heard of this fabulous substance currently being put forth by Kraft. Peanut Butter With Chocolate. It's your basic peanut butter with, you guessed it, chocolate added for good measure.
What's that about?
I'll tell you what. Yummy goodness, that's what.
I just enjoyed three teaspoons of it and although I don't think it's spreadability is all that glorious I can say it's got a yummerific quality that will no doubt come to be a monkey on my back.
Why did i buy it anyway.
I don't know. Now that I've got it though I can't help thinking...hmmm...cookies. Yeah? Think of peanut butter cookies only made with chocolatey peanut butter.
I'm just sayin', might be good.
the undergarment obsession, chapter five
Yes, it's that time. Another installment in the ongoing epic of The Undergarment Obsession. Today please steady yourselves for a discussion on, ahem-hem, thongs.
That's right. I said thongs.
Was a time when I held a firm hand up in defiance against ever sporting a thong. Not without having tried them first. I was an informed objector. I'd attempted wearing a thong more than once before finally saying, and saying with some volume (because when I object I am rarely quiet about it) that I would never again subject my girly bits to such torture. I meant it. No more of that nonsense.
Vanity got the better of me. No surprise. Vanity has a way. It's just that I discovered my bum, which as you know is lovely, appears all the lovelier when not cut and quartered by the line of a more traditional panty. I'm saying if you're wearing something tight. Like a gym short or the gold spandex pants that match your leapord print tank top with shelf bra.
You know.
There are only two choices if you don't want a panty line. No, three. I just thought of a third. One is wear a thong, which as I've said can be a bit annoying when it crawls up your bits and refuses to retreat. Two is panty hose and I don't like saying panty hose so I don't want to talk about it anymore. Three is to go commando. Commando sounds good in theory but the ladies in the audience will back me up when I say that this isn't always the most suitable option for let's just say feminine reasons. Ladies? Yeah?
I finally went with the thong. Bought some expensive ones and lo and behold. They don't suck that bad.
Guys, get over the suck reference and move on. Nothing perverse intended.
When it comes to thongs the 98 cent panty policy cannot be applied. A comfortable thong does not come cheap. But a comfortable thong does make the gold tight pants far prettier on the bottom, if ya know what I mean.
(I do not wear gold tight pants)
That's all I have to say about thongs. Thanks for listening. Here are the links to the other UO chapters. See how nice I am. I'm saving you the trouble of looking for them. Now, that's a decent blog thing to do. Yeah? Don't you think? Come on, it is. I think anyway.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
i laughed so hard a little bit of pee leaked out. really.
Life is so much nicer when everyone gets along. Right now, no one in my family is fighting. This is happy news. Tonight we had chinese food and played Outburst. I laughed and laughed. It makes it easier to breath, laughing like that.
If I had it my way no one would ever fight again. But it's not up to me because I am perfect and never at the center of any familial controversy.
Really.
warning: leaving the house may result in increased workload upon return
I went to the gym at 830 this morning. The house was in a state of general but not serious chaos. Manageable. Small amount of work to return matters to their rightful state.
Gone two hours, how much could have changed.
Everything.
In the span of two hours not only was nothing done to advance our level of tidiness but every attempt was made to dig us deeper into a mess to rival any other mess ever.
Oh Woe Is Mommy.
Good thing I went to the gym (yes with my new ipod photo) and so have built up a store of energy that should get me one third the way through the mountain of stuff I had to climb over to get in the door. Of course, if I'd never gone to the gym to begin with my children, lovely little buggers, would have been better supervised and the disaster they created would never have come to pass.
Not that I am in any way suggesting that daddy did a poor job. Heaven's no! I would never say that. Gosh, what kind of a woman do you take me for. There is nothing wrong with spending mommy's entire absense trying to get Commandos 3 going on the Dell. Nothing at all and anyone who says different is gonna have to answer to me.
Sigh.
I guess I better get to it because that post gym high is beginning to drift away and I'll end up laying on the floor, happy to have two small children climbing all over me with their shoes and or boots on because holy crap it feels good to lay down.
Another sigh.
well then, a new blog of the week, how exciting
When you're done your reading and commenting here I recommend you check out this week's Blog Of The Week. Look over there in the sidebar. Yeah, that's it. Weaving a Magic Web. You're in for a nice time if you do. Sharoni is a new blogger who is full of sunshine and I'd love it if you'd go give her a heya.
You'll note I said after you're done here. Once you've left your comments and whatnot. Because I do encourage comments. If no one talks to me I get very depressed and all aspects of my life suffer. So really. Would commenting be so hard?
Or not. Really, I'm ok either way. I was just kidding, what I said before.
the ipod has landed, i repeat, the ipod has landed
Oh that Santa. He was just being a big silly. He knew, he must have known, that my dearest love, my husband, was planning to get me an ipod all along.
And he did.
And it is loverly.
It's the 40G ipod photo. It has a color screen and I can store photos on it. I can also take it over to someone else's house and do a slide show on their tv. Isn't that cool? Technology. Remember those crap photo albums with the sticky back paper? We've come a damn long way baby. There ain't nothin' sticky about my ipod.
I haven't used it yet. It takes a while to charge and we had to go out all day yesterday. It's sitting here, naked, waiting for the love. Where is the love. Gimme some love.
Oh, the love is coming, don't you worry about that.
We did have a small scuffle, my ipod and I. Nothing serious. Just a little conversation, got a bit heated.
My ipod told me, when we first met: Don't Steal Music. With a sticker on it's face.
I thought, who the hell are you to tell me anyway.
We made up though. Everything is ok. It was a rocky beginning but we weathered the storm and vow to be lifelong friends.
(until the next wave of technology but don't tell her that)
I'd love to stay and chat but you know, I have a life and an ipod so I gotta go. Plus, a toy store barfed in my living room and I gotta mop up the mess.
i made an orifice and blood came out of it
This is not the first time I've shaved my legs. Swear. I was probably rushing. The water was getting cold. No time for fussing. I'm not an idiot.
Stop it, I am not.
the magic santa fireplace
At my book club meeting last month my friend said she and her husband had been talking about what they would tell their kids if they ever asked how Santa got in the house. They don't have a fireplace and as everyone knows Santa comes down the chimney and if there is no fireplace, what? Santa drops down the chimney, plops at the bottom, sits there calling for help, squashed under the weight of xboxes, stuffed animals, barbies and whatnot. Only to expire as mommy and daddy lay there asking...
Do you hear that?
What?
That. Sounds like a cat screeching under a bag of toys.
Oh, Yeah.
What is that?
Beats me. Turn off the light. I'm tired.
My friend said that someone she knows bought a huge picture of a fireplace and taped it to the wall every Christmas. She told her kids it was magic and Santa came through there.
Good idea.
I said my kids would never ask about the santa fireplace thing. I never did. Never even thought about it so why on earth would any child?
Super Boy asked two days later.
So! I bought four sheets of poster board, taped them together, had Artist Husband draw a firepalce with logs (but no fire because we don't wanna burn Santa's ass off) and the kids and I colored it up.
Such Fun!
And now we have, thank god, somewhere for Santa to get in. The Magic Santa Fireplace is ready for action. So Santa, if you're reading, come on down and...if you like...bring me an ipod.
call waiting: if you don't have it, get it
Seriously. What the hell. This is not nineteen hundred and six. I don't care if your gramma doesn't like to be put on hold. If you're reading me on the internet, a modern convenience, you better damn well have call waiting.
Busy signals are for people living in the shrubbery of some far off land and I pity those poor unfortunate souls. Now you stop making me hit redial all damned morning, you hear?
Happy Festivus.
hey santa, it's me, i think i'm ready yo
Hi Santa. I think I finally know what I want. I thought I'd call, what with being so late. Got a pen? Ok, go get one. I'll wait.
(tapping fingers as Santa goes to get a pen, humming happy Christmas song)
Ready? No? What do you mean you ain't got no pen? Pretty unorganised, yeah? No no, I'll wait. Go ahead.
(musical interlude of me softly singing Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer)
Yeah? You back? Ok, here it.... What? Oh Come On. You can't be serious. Now don't go blaming Mrs. Claus. It's not her fault. I'm sure she sets you up with new pens and whatnot every morning. You probably took it to the workshop. Go look. I'll hang out. I'll check my email and be right back. What? Oh, ok, yeah. Ill just sit here.
(tapping toe on floor, unimpressed)
Yeah, I'm here. You ready? Um, finally? Oh, good. Ok, I'd like.... What? Sorry, pardon? Who? Elf Number Fourteen had it? Oh yeah? Right. Well no, I don't think he should be fired really. Guy probably just needed a pen, ya know? It happens.
(Santa goes on a cursing spree about Elf Number Fourteen and other Elf related matters)
Geez, I'm really sorry it's that bad. Wow. I had no idea.
(Santa groans)
I don't know what to say. Maybe we should do this another time? Yeah? You sure? I know you're busy. Crazy time of year for you.
(nervous laughter from me, sobbing sounds at his end, sniffles)
Ahem. Well. Yeah, no, I'm ready. It seems kind of silly now. My list. My wants. With you being all, you know. Messed up or whatever. But ok. If you're sure. I'd like an ipod. Mini. I'm thinking white but surprise me.
(silence)
What? Yeah I know they're not cheap. So? You got a spending limit or something? Oh. Oh. I didn't know. Cutbacks you say? Well then. Gosh, this has gone to hell. I really just wanted the one thing. No, don't worry about it. A transistor radio sounds perfect. ipods are way overrated anyway. Swear. I'm totally fine. Honest.
(awkward silence)
So. Ok. I guess we'll talk next year then.
(nothing)
Ok. So, bye.
(click)
be careful what you wish for (unless you're wishing for chocolate then by all means move ahead with reckless abandon)
My kids, three and one, don't love mommy anymore.
Awww.
Ok, that's not true but mommy is sad. After three and a half years of sleeplessness both of my kids are sleeping through the night. In their own bed. By themselves. Without mommy.
I never meant for this to happen.
Sure, in the past three plus years of cosleeping with the kids there have been times that I or Husband have thought it would be nice to spread out in our King Size bed without little arms and legs and whatnot getting in the way. Yeah, it'd be nice to snuggle up to the one what made the babies with me in the first place. Hell, a full night's sleep has been the dream for oh so long.
I'm just not sure I wished for this, precisely. For them to sleep in their own beds all of the time. I mean, can't they come to my bed some of the time? Can't they, let's say, sleep half of the night in their beds and half in mine? I love their warm bodies snuggled up close and cozy. They belong next to mommy.
They don't appear to think so, mind you.
I think perhaps they both felt, although they haven't said, that things were a little too crowded. I concur yet I think we could have come up with a solution. I mean, Daddy could have gone to the couch...or the basement floor...or the garage.
No, I'm kidding. Calm down. I didn't mean that.
I just miss my babies being next to me at night. I really do. In his heart I know their Daddy does too. Maybe it's just a phase and they'll be back. Could be. They'll probably be snuggled up tight come summer. Perfect timing. It's hot as heck here in summer. Won't that be cozy. Yay. Awesome. Maybe not.
today i feel awesome
See my new moody face? It's in the side bar. Yep, over there. Cute huh? I got that face at unky moods. That face says I feel awesome. It's lying. I don't. I feel bitchy. I didn't want to be negative so I said awesome. Imagine if you came and saw a bitchy face over there. Would you stay? Even if I offered you cheesecake? Didn't think so. What kind of host would I be if I answered the door with a bitchy face on. I'm not my sister, for shit's sake.
So I'm Awesome as far as you're concerned.
Happy Surfing.
does my bum look smaller to you, does it, yeah?
As you know I have been going to the gym again with the hope (intention!) of finally once and for all time losing the post baby weight. I know, how boring. Another woman in her thirties trying to look like she did in her twenties because she just refuses to believe it's all over. I know.
But listen, really. I love the gym. I'm one of those people. I feel better if I go, worse if I don't. I like the competitive feeling at the gym. You know, I can lift more than that guy. The one in the back there with the huge neck and biceps the size of my waist. The only difference between him and me is a few months work.
That's the way I look at it.
Only thing is right now when I go (at 7am) there are mostly old ladies working out. No, silly, OLD ladies, not ladies in their thirties who refuse to say goodbye to their twenties body. Don't be mean now. I'm talking about women in their seventies. Nothing wrong with women in their seventies but Mary Mercy if I am not lifting more than them I need to put the dumbell down and go the hell home. All is lost, shut up, it's over.
Thankfully, I do lift more than (most) of the old ladies so whew.
My point though, getting back to it, is my bum. My bottom. My backus sidicus. The part you admire as I depart. Looks good, no? It's all the squats I do. I highly recommend squats. And dead lift. I love the dead lift. I discovered the dead lift a few years back and it's rock star awesome. Love it. I mean, look. Look at my bum. How can you argue? The squats and dead lift work, yeah? Go ahead, look. Enjoy.
Ok, that's enough. No need to oggle. God. You're making me a little uncomfortable. That look in your eye. Let's just take it back a bit. Up at the eyes now , buddy. The eyes.
There. Good. Thanks. Crisis averted.
note to self
If One is tired, One ought go to bed instead of sitting here talking to all of you out there, nice and lovely as you are. One ought to learn from having been groggy and grumpy all day and One should have dragged her weary butt up to bed at eight o'clock. One did not do that and now it is nearly midnight. One is a silly silly girl and tomorrow when One complains of being too weary to move a muscle please feel free to chastise One for being such a fool.
One promises that tomorrow she will not speak this way. Please attribute this odd methhod of expressing One's thoughts to the aforementioned tired and too stupid to go to bed.
One says good night.
i've decided to take up drinking!
Before you try to talk me out of it, listen. I think it's a really good plan. All the fashionable suburban moms are doing it. A little Bailey's Irish Cream in the morning coffe starts the day just so. Makes life's little squabbles less...vibrant. It dulls them. Or this is what I hypothesize. I don't know for sure yet. I haven't implemented the plan.
Let me tell you why I've cooked up this little coping scheme.
Today Boy Child said the following three hundred and eighty seven times: mommy may I play on your 'puter?
Six thousand four hundred and seven: you play with me?
Three milion forty two...no, make that forty three, forty four...ok, it's a running tally: mommy may I watch TV?
Plllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.
Baby girl squaked and screeched seven out of twelve hours.
She said mama (at varying octaves) three thousand and eight times.
I believe alcohol will make that seem more endearing than is currently the case.
Don't mistake me. I'm happy. I like what I do. Sitting here being poked all day. I'm just thinking that maybe a little booze will make me more of a smiley mom. Instead of this horrid beast who does not let her children watch tv forty hours a day. Think how much fun it would be for the whole entire family!
Ok, I can see your face. You're judging me. Harshly too. That's so not fair. You don't think this is a good plan? You don't think I should become a morning drunk? Well hellfire. I really thought you'd be on board. Thought you'd come by for a cocktail 'round 9am. No?
Sure, I'll admit there are downsides. Like the fact that it'll make me something of a loser. Alright, I'll grant you that. Still, don't you think the upside (happy shiney mommy) is worth the risk of becoming a complete and utter failure as a human being?
No?
Hmmmm.
You're giving me pause. I am beginning to see flaws in the great Becoming a Daytime Drunk Plan. I have to confess, I wasn't all that sure about it to begin with. I just thought. Well, I was only thinking. You know.
But nevermind! You've convinced me. You have a very persuasive way about you, you know that? You pulled me from the brink, you did! How good you must feel. Whew. Thanks!
Better go come up with a new plan. I'm thinking maybe chocolate. You know, all day chocolate. I'll let you know what I decide. You can tell me what you think. I value your thoughts.
can you feel the excitement
I have added a new feature on my site. It's called...wait for it...Site Of The Week! It's over there. In the sidebar. Do you see it? Yes, there. You found it. Excellent. After you're done here please go check out my First Ever Site of the Week! It's a site I have recently come across and enjoy so much.
Wait! What are you doing? You're not leaving yet, are you? I mean, you can still look round here. I wasn't saying you should go. Don't think I was being unhospitable. I'm nothing if I'm not welcoming.
Welcome.
See, welcoming.
Oh, good, you're staying. Can I get you a drink?
you're reading me!
are you? that is so awesome! you must be very very smart. otherwise, you'd have scrolled along, skipped me altogether. horrah for you! you know what you could do? you could leave a comment, say hi, leave your mark. i think that's a really great idea. that way i can come see your site too. don't you want me to come visit you? i'd like to. but i can't if i have no idea who you are. if you're just a blur who ran past. it doesn't take that long to say hi. so say hi. and if you're really stuck for something to do you could go read some other stuff on my site. you could. i won't mind. take a look around, grab some snacks, whatever. i'm not begging. you know, just do whatever you want. really, it's your dime.
my sad little christmas tree
Awww. Can you see it? There in the corner by the door. Sad little old thing. It's only been there a week but has been to hell and back. I held off putting it up because of the Children. My friend C said her kids, exactly the same age and gender as my kids, got over touching it within an hour. Mine have yet to leave ours alone. What follows is a shortlist of what Chrsitmas Tree has been through thus far (with credit is parentheses):
Plush Pooh Bear chair thrown at it (Boy Child)
Touchy Touchy Touchy (Baby Girl, Boy Child)
Elastagirl of The Incredibles lodged sideways among the branches, lost for days (Unknown)
Tinsel yanked on, mucked with and otherwise treated most poorly (Baby Girl)
Lights slowly going away, away, away (Cheapass Bulbs)
Touchy Touchy Touchy (Baby Girl)
Ornaments and Tinsel moved up on tree (Mommy)
Toy thrown randomly in air, red ornament crashes to floor, breaks into millions of pieces (Boy Child)
Ornaments and Tinsel moved higher on tree (Mommy)
Poke Poke Poke (Baby Girl)
Ornaments moved higher on tree (Mommy)
You see where I'm going. The tree is top heavy and frankly not so safe in our house. They're good kids, don't get me wrong. I actually expected them to leave the tree alone. I did. It's probably my fault. I buy such beautiful ornaments, how could they not want to touch them? You can't put something sparkly in front of a child and tell them not to touch. Well yeah you can. Doesn't mean they'll listen. Mine aren't listening. I threatened to take the tree down, call Santa, cancel Christmas but I think they know I don't have that kind of power. They might be small but they get it. Mommy can't cancel Christmas and Mommy would never really call the school and say one of her children isn't coming because he didn't get his shoes on fast enough. School keeps Mommy alive. And Chrsitmas, well Mommy wants to get her presents too so you know she's not gonna cancel Christmas. Come on, Mommy. You gotta do better than that.
Ah, whatever. The tree is fine. It's still standing and they are beginning to ignore it, just like they ignore their toys. It may not look like something out of the window of a department store but it is ours. I think it's the best Christmas treee I ever saw. It's got the mark of my babies on it and nothing in this world or the next makes me happier than my babies. You could take all the beautiful ornaments and toss them into a volcano (because Boy Child is currently obsessed with volcanos) and I wouldn't miss them. I bet the kids could make nicer ones anyway.
In fact, maybe we'll make some ornaments tomorrow. Yeah, we will. Then they can hang them on the tree, at the bottom to even the poor thing out, and we can glow with pride at their handiwork. Because the kids are what it's all about. Not some silly old tree.
i'll call ya later
Actually, I probably won't. Because here's the thing. I suck at phoning people. Suck at it. I currently have 5 people to call, some of them family and some of them have been waiting a long time to hear from me. But I just can't do it. Can't dial the number. Can't make the committment to speak to another human being just now. I feel more and more guilty every day but for some reason I can't bring myself to make a simple phone call.
I hate it.
The kids bug me constantly when I'm on the phone. There is no convenient phone for me to use. I have to look stuff up for the people I'm calling and I can't be bothered. I swear, it just feels like I might as well go to med school, become a surgeon and operate on fifty people. It's that big a deal for me to make a few calls.
It's weird. I know.
So I have a plan. I mean to fix this. It starts with none other than Mr. Santa Claus. As you know, I've been at a loss with regard to what I should request for Christmas. Last night it occurred to me that I might kill two birds with one stone. Get something on my list AND take a step in the direction of being a person who has the power to call people back.
Just think.
Therefore I am to ask Santa (good old Santa) for a white phone, corded, with call display on the exterior. Said phone is to be hung directly to the left of where I sit right this moment. In addition, as a stocking stuffer idea, I am going to ask for a long long long windy cord - you know, that goes from phone proper to base - so I can travel around my kitchen with the thing. Since I know everyone will wonder, I don't want cordless. We have two cordless phones in this house and they are never charged, never available, never to be found. Enough of that malarky.
There it is. My Two Birds One Stone Plan.
I'm sure you can see how this is just short of brilliant. Or not really brilliant so much as a pretty good idea, way to go me. But listen, it means I'll be able to call you back if you leave me a message. Not til after Christmas. Probably not til January, really, because Husband Great Guy will have to run a new line to the kitchen. So better make it February. Or March even. These things take time to implement. We're busy people. But it will happen! I will, some day, be able to return your call fear not!
Not that you have my number and no you can't have it, but you know, I'm just saying.
dear santa
I need your help, Internet. Christmas is fast approaching and I don't think I'll be getting any gifts because each time I have been asked what I want I shake my head, look dumfounded and say the ever brilliant I Dunno. It is this way every year. I never know what I want until twenty four hours before Christmas. Then I have a list a mile ling but it's too late. Great Guy Husband always has a reserve list he shops from, things he has been adding to a mental list all year, but this year he says there's little on it. I am dangerously close to coming down to a tree with nothing for me on Christmas morning. And you know the crying will never end should that happen.
So!
I'm looking for suggestions. What do you think I would want, could use, should ask for? You all know me as well as anyone (sad but unfortunately true) so suggest away! I can't wait to see what I'll be getting through your eyes!
i feel fanbloodytastic
Some of you may recall that a while back I mentioned I was planning to begin lifting heavy things again. In other words, I was going to renew my gym membership. I believe I heard a muffled chuckle roll across The Great Out There. I don't think anyone believed I would actually go. I suspect you all nodded, grinned knowingly and have since been waiting to hear of my not going to the gym after all. Many excuses to follow.
Ha!
I will have you know! I have been going with great regularity and am noticing the benefits, thank you ever so very much, Doubting Thomas You. Not only do I go but I go early (by 7am), in the dark and winter cold. I lift weights, I do cardio, I even throw in a bit of yoga before I return to my family and the rest of my lovely life.
Do you know, I feel great. I have more energy than I've had in eons. My mood is improved, my smile is brighter. I am dancing around my kithcen with the boundless enthusiasm of a child. Not right this second. I'm typing right now, not dancing. I only meant that I am occassionally given to dancing. You knew what I meant.
Now granted, my butt isn't any smaller but that'll take another week or so. For now I am gleeful at feeling alive again and look forward to feeling better and better and better.
Life is good. My internal sun is shining again. There is no stopping me now.
the undergarment obsession, chapter 4
If you've been following so far, we've discussed the 98 cent panties, the idea that bras are over priced and the pantie six pack of joy. Today I would like to offer, for your consideration, the importance of the Granny Pantie.
These items are, the men in the group will no doubt agree, not the prettiest of panties. They are usually bigger than the every day garden variety underthings we wear and are not the sort of thing we haul out for a first date or a visit to the obstetrician. Rather, they're the brand of cat we save for those occassions when - well, to be honest there are a number of occassions for which the Granny is a perfect fit. Let's consider them in some detail.
The most common use of the Granny Pantie is during that time of the month during which, without being too graphic, there can be accidents of n icky nature for which our daintier lovelies are not suited. The Granny Pantie is, by nature, not so desireable an item that should it be ruined - stained, if you will - we would cry at its loss.
Also popular and sometimes related is the Granny Pantie during Bloated Times use of the Granny Pantie. Given that these panties tend to be bigger than all others they fit just right during water retentive days. A good fit is essential when it comes to anything that wraps around one's bottom and although the Grannies may not be a thing of beauty they keep many a gal from going ballistic, myself included.
Not to be forgotten are the days on which you go to your underwear drawer and discover that you've fallen behind on laundry detail and the only thing left to wear are the Grannies. They are your Back Up Panties. They give you a Laundry Buffer. Busy lives appreciate this buffer, don't they girls?
Those are the main occassions on which women will rely on their Granny Panties. Much to the chagrin of men everywhere. Sure the guys in our lives would like to burn every Granny Pantie on the planet, they're going to have to accept them as a necessary part of life because as ugly as they are, and we do know they're ugly as hell, we just can't live without them. They serve a purpose. Several, as I've shown here. Until periods, water retention and the need to wash clothes go away Granny Panties will continue to lurk at the back of otherwise sassy underwear drawers. That's just the way it is.
why we had to sell our house and live in a van down by the river
My kids, three and one, like to eat. They eat, I'm not kidding, constantly. All day long. Especially the little one. The first five hours of every day are spent feeding this child. She sits down to eat breakfast with us. Has her own bowl of cereal, eats the whole thing up. Yum. You'd think, ok, she's gotta be good for what? the next hour, maybe two? No. Ten minutes, if that. Then she wants an orange. Hey, is that a cinnamon bun? I'll take one of those, some milk and a banana if you have any. And when I'm done, I'd like to open the fridge and see what I missed last time I looked. Ah, there, see. Yogurt. I'll take a yogurt now, another in an hour and three more before bed. Thanks.
Before we had kids the grocery bill for this household, then comprised of two adults and one barky dog, was, I swear, less than three hundred dollars a month. Now we're pushing seven to eight hundred and you know that's not all diapers. How can two people, so small in stature and unable to cook, require so much food.
I know, they're growing. I know, I'm lucky they eat. Some kids are so picky they don't eat. Ha! This is a problem I can't even fathom. My children embrace eating. And they like healthy food. Granted, they aren't given the option of unhealthy food very often but still.
Don't mistake me. I am glad they eat. I only mean to remark at how well they eat. At how much they eat. If it's this way now what will I do once they are bigger?
Don't teenage boys tend to eat more than they did when they were three?
So he'll have to get a job. To support this habit he has of eating. The girl too if she keeps up with the pace she's set for herself thus far. Because dang, me and their dad hope to travel some day. Hope to save for our retirement. We can't go around spending every dime on food. Yogurt don't come cheap, girly girl. You want more you better start saving up.
Doctors say that grazing is the best way for children to eat. They get what they need and learn to eat the amount that is right for them. I'm all for that. I want healthy kids. But if you'd told me five years ago that a one year old girl could eat this much...this often, really...I would have thought you mad. Mad Mad Mad.
In the time it took me to type this I have given Baby Girl one apple, a cinnamon bun, three carrots, a banana, scrambled eggs, a box of chocolates, fruit snax, a salad, cheese, a cookie (she gave that back, doesn't like cookies), milk, toast with butter and jelly (grape, she prefers grape), a pancake, three pieces of cheese, another cinnamon bun (gave it back, wasn't to her liking), soup, cottage cheese, a mandarine orange and one small pizza.
I'd like to talk more about this but I need to make a grocery run. It's almost lunch and by god there's nothing left. Nothing.
ok guys, i gotta ask
Men, help me understand. I'm coming to you with a willingness to comprehend and so hope that someone in the great big OUT THERE will be able to shed some light. Show me the way. Make me see.
Why oh Why do grown men play video games?
I live with a grown man right now. He's smart, funny, reads, can carry a tune (no he can't, I was just being nice), earns a sizeable income, has a sizeable -ahem - bank account, has fathered two marvelous children (both with myself) and yet. And yet. There's this one thing.
Vids.
Because they call it Vids, don't they ladies? Gonna go play Vids with Joe. Me an' Joe are just gonna sit around and play Vids.
Why.
Now before you MEN out there get all worked up the way that MEN do over this issue I already know I am lucky OH SO lucky that he's not out drinking or cavorting with loose women. I know it's fucking great that he's not addicted to gambling or shopping on ebay for one of a kind evening bags, his favorites being from the 1930s or 40s. Dammit, People, I know all that.
But Why. Why Vids.
I'm not even saying that I think Video Games are stupid. I do, but I'm not saying that. I'm saying I don't get the appeal. The degree of devotion.
Look, I can see sitting down for thirty minutes once in a while with good old Sonic The Hedgehog (shut up, I know Sonic is so 15 years ago). Where I get lost, chucked aside on the road of understanding, is when a Grown Man with a Woman to Love and Be Loved By cannot function as a regular human being because of a game. I have hobbies, things I like to do. But these things don't render me a blubbering idiot. You can still talk to me while I'm scrapbooking or ironing or collecting stamps and I'll answer you, carry on a witty and engaging conversation. A guy playing a video game is as reposnsive as a corpse. As alert as a drunk passed out in the gutter. They are consumed by these games and I wonder why, is all.
I. Wonder. Why.
Which is what brings me to you now, Internet at Large. I am here to ask if anyone, man or woman, knows what it is about video games that captivates a grown man so thoroughly, so maniacally. I'm not suggesting that grown men SHOULD NOT play video games. I only seek to understand the obsessiveness with which these games are enjoyed. I only seek to understand. Knowledge is my goal. Just a little knowledge.
canadian government to rule on same sex marriage today
Same sex marriage is currently legal in 6 Canadian provinces including the one that I live in. The Federal government is currently seeking to make it legal across the country You can read the details here. To summarize, marital status falls under the jurisdiction of each individual Province but the definition of marriage is a Federal responsibility. The issue being decided upon today is changing the current definition from the "lawful union of one man and one woman" to the "lawful union of two persons to the exclusion of all others."
This change would make same sex union legal in all Provinces and Territories, whereby making Canada one of the first countries to acknowledge same sex marriage.
All specifics I have mentioned here are taken from the above link.
I'm proud to be Canadian and happy that I live in a country that is forward thinking.
warning
If you come over later and go down to the basement be careful. There is a pile of clothes and jackets and shoes at the bottom of the stairs. Don't ask me how they got there. I've never seen them before. And I'm sure as hell not moving them. Ask the maid to do it. The maid quit? She what? Oh God. That's not good. That's not good at all. Who in the hell is gonna clean that shit up? Who? Who?
Now I'm in quite the panic. I had no idea she was quitting. Where did she go?
Bahamas? What! She went to the Bahamas. Well I never. I just never ever.
I guess I'm gonna hafta clean it up. All of it. The shoes too? Where do I put the shoes? The ones that are too small for the kids but are too cute and full of memories to throw away. Did she say what to do with the shoes before she left? And the jackets. The FALL jackets. It's winter now and I can't imagine where I should put the FALL jackets. Fall doesn't come around for at least another year. What am I going to do until then?
Wait, I know. I know what to do. I'll put it all in a box. A see through plastic storage container with a label on the front made with my label maker. It will say Out Of Season Jackets/Vests and Baby Shoes. I will take a photo of one jacket and one pair of shoes and adhere them to the front of the container under the labels. Next I will stack the container with the others just like it.
There are also dirty clohtes heaped in with all that stuff at the bottom of the stairs. I'll wash that. That's easy. There are fifteen...no sixteen...NO seventeen...baskets of laundry waiting for me anyway so I might as well just do it all, right?
And the dishes. And the vacuuming. And Husband says his bathroom is starting to get kind of grungy. She could have cleaned the grungy bathroom before she left on this sudden and ill times escape to The Bahamas, don't you think? Is she ever coming back, by the way?
Oh right. You said she quit. For good? Like forever? As in never coming back?
It's okay. I'll be alright. I can so do this. I can handle it. I'll start with the dishes. There's a pile from dinner next to the sink. Scrape scrape. Run the water. Scrub, scrape. Scrubbbbbbb. Water, soap, soak, scrub, scrape.
You're sure she isn't coming back?
Scrub, scrape.
Absolutely certain?
Scrub scrub scrub.
I mean really really sure?
Scrub Fucking scrub.
Because I'll pay her whatever she wants.
Soap, water, scrub, scrape.
Really. Money is no object.
SCRAPE. SCRAPE.
Because I don't want to do this. SCRAPE SCRAPE. I don't want to clean egg off of a fork. SCRUB SCRUB. Please just call her, tell her we need her. Tell her we will fall apart without her. Beg her. Please.
Can I go with her then?
and so we will institute the 4pm to bed rule
The following has been deemed just and fair by the management and shall be respected by those to whom it applies.
From this day forward all persons living in or near this house who require the assistance of another to eat and or toilet shall go to bed no later than the hour of four o'clock in the afternoon and be expected to remain therein until the following morning.
Further to the above declaration each day shall not begin before eight am and anyone needing assitance prior to that time should either a) bite me or b) speak to that guy on the other side of the bed who sleeps like a log every night all night and does not have to spend his day with people who make him institute the four o'clock to bed rule.
Mommy has said it will be so and so it shall be.
Mommy has spoken.
All Hail Mommy!
Mommy just collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Awww, poor Mommy.
No don't kick Mommy!
I said DON'T kick her!
Stop kicking Mommy.
Bed time is now 3pm.
All Hail. And then shaddap.
whatever gets ya through the day
If one's children are driving one mad it is perfectly appropriate to eat a box of chocolates before noon. Especially if said consumption keeps one from yelling and or saying the word fuck. Next time your one year old pinches you so hard you want to jump out the window to keep from screaming your head off, have a turtle or two instead. Does wonders for the motherly state of mind.
Does nothing for the motherly phsyique but we cannot fight all battles all of the time. It's about survival. That's all. That's it.
theatre recommendation
For those who will be visiting London (England, not Ontario) in the next while I would like to recommend the following Theatrical Experience. Jerry Springer - The Opera is currently playing at London's Cambridge Theatre. Tickets have been reduced to Twenty Five Pounds (that's like dollars only POUNDS) (some restrictions apply) which is a steal given that none other than Mr. David Soul of Starsky and Hutch fame appears as the Man Himself, Jerry Springer!
Special group rates also available.
The Daily Mirror Reports "I have no hesitation in declaring Jerry Springer - The Opera the greatest production on earth."
If you're taking The Tube you'll want to get off at Covent Garden and walk the remaining distance to The Theatre at Earlham Street.
This is certain to be an event you'll not soon forget. Get your tickets today! Jerry Springer is a Well Loved American Icon who has been beautifully captured in this epic theatrical display.
And if you do go, report back, let us know what you thought, and then never (I repeat never) come here again because good god in heaven what kind of an idiot would attend such a show? I may be entirely misled (what are the odds) but this seems to me a silly way to be entertained.
No I've never seen the show.
If I were in England I think my time would be better spent enjoying the rich history and beautiful vistas of that country than it would franterizing with the sort of person who would care to see a desperate American actor portray a demented American talk show host. Seems a bit odd to me, the lot of it.
No?
santa has boobs mom! santa has boobs!
Today my son and his preschool class enjoyed breakfast with Santa at a local department store. They were served two pretty big pancakes, one slice of bacon and peach juice loaded with sugar. I trashed the bacon on my kid's plate because we're vegetarian and then let him have at it. He began, of course, by buttering the cakes, then cutting them, then attempting to shove several huge pieces in his mouth at once. Three year olds, although eager, are not so great with a knife. I asked if he wanted me to help. He said no. Naturally. But I had to ask so I wouldn't look like a neglectful jerk in front of the other moms. You know how it is.
After breakfast the teachers asked that the kids, some of whom were away from their chairs yanking one another around by the scruff of the neck or playing hide and seek or talking about DINOSAURS or MY dad could beat up your dad hey NO WAY he can because my dad is way STRONGER than your dad anyway!, return to their seats. Shortly thereafter we heard the telltale jingling of bells as Santa approached with his entourage. When I say entourage I mean one dumpy middle aged woman wearing an ill fitting pink sweater and gold rimmed glasses. I assume she was holding Santa's cell phone and the keys to the sleigh.
I didn't see Rudolph. I was in the can when he apparantly came in to tell Santa the guys were getting sick of waiting out in the rain. Since when does it rain in December anyway. I'm just sorry I missed my chance to see the red-nosed superstar. I almost saw him when I was ten. He was at my school and just before I was supposed to go in to get his autograph and have a picture taken with him for ten bucks (money grubbing reindeer), Mrs. Beecham pulled me out of line to go clean chalkboard erasers. That's what talking during Spelling will get you.
The other day during Drop Off at my son's school I heard that a few years back and before my son started going there a woman played Santa for the Breakfast With Santa breakfast thingy. The other moms and I laughed and laughed at this, wondering how such a silly scene could ever come to pass. Had the Man intended to play Santa died just before he was to go on? Was the Santa suit a size zero and only Heather Locklear or a seven year old boy could fit in? Who knew!
Imagine our surprise this very morning when we discovered that THIS Santa, OUR Santa was in fact a woman. Not no Heather Locklear Woman but a saggy boobed, sits with her knees together, smells like your gramma WOMAN.
What the!
I can see this happening once. Maybe twice but not even twice and frankly not even once. There's ALWAYS a man around SOMEWHERE. Always. Christ sake even when we girls TRY to get away from the men there's always a straggler. What about the old guy at the park who's always offering the kids candy? Wasn't he available? I mean, he just SITS there all day.
But no. Just a woman and her boobs sitting there hearing that MY BOY wants a Hot Wheels Volcano What Gots Lava Coming Out Of It and a Buzz Lightyear Big (holds out hands to demonstrate size) Rocket Gots Shooters and Needs Batteries and Has Green Buzz Lightyear In It. Click Click goes the camera as mommy captures the event for all eternity.
I don't think any of the kids noticed. This time. Last time they did. I'm glad MY kid didn't because if he had you KNOW he would have sat there calling out to me in his loudest mommy is across the room voice. Mommy! Santa Has Boobs!!!
SANTA. HAS. BOOBS.
I would have been forced to agree that yes, Santa does have boobs. Sometimes Santa has to have helpers because he is so busy and sometimes the old creepy guy at the park is too busy being creepy to come be your Santa Claus. Isn't that selfish of him? Couldn't he make that one little sacrifice for The Children?
I guess not.
Either way, we got through breakfast alive which was the only real goal for the day. No one ended up bleeding from the nose at having been punched for some heinous three year old infraction like She Took My Candy Cane or somesuch. As a mom I was thrilled to get away without having had to utter the words Take That Piece of Candy Out Of Your Mouth And Put It Back On The Floor What Are You Thinking! So it was a good day. A great day. Happy Christmas Santa With Boobs!
Before anyone gets too excited there isn't a creppy old guy giving out candy at the park. I was only kidding. It was a joke. Don't worry. The creepy old guy giving out candy actually lives right next door to me. Way more convenient.
what i've won this week alone
Something happened recently. I got put on the Mailing List Of Joy and Good Fortune. And Brother, this is some exciting business. So far this week I have won the following:
A flat screen tv, another flat screen tv, a big flat screen tv, an ipod, a computer, another computer, three other computers, a degree in forensics from a University in Phoenix, lotion, a ten pound weight loss (woohoo!), 5 cell phones, a fortune teller, mittens, a lint remover, a map to where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, a thirty minute visit with the guy who cleaned the sets on Seinfeld, dog food for one full year, another computer, lint, a dirty fork and someone to take out my garbage for one full year (woohoo!).
I mean, am I lucky or what! I did nothing to deserve this. Don't even know how I got on the list! I've racked my brain trying to figure it out and all I've come up with is that I must be good. I must be a shining example of Peoplehood. Deserving. What other explaination could there be?
None of my winnings have shown up at the house yet but I'm sure they will. The emails said so. Emails never lie. They never ever lie.
I've got my fingers crossed that the lint brush comes today because I'm going out and wanted to wear those black pants that attract every kind of fluff. Come onnnn lint brush! Come on!
it's a nick and jessica christmas!
I but rarely use exclamation marks and to use them in a title like is quite the thing. The cause for this celebration ~ Christmas with my favorite couple Nick and Jessica Simpson. Wait. Oops. Sorry Nick. Nick kept his own name, folks. He's his own man. Make no mistake.
It probably comes as a shock to those of you who know me well (that's no one, by the way) that I do in fact adore Nick and Jessica and am saddened to hear that they will not be doing another year of their much loved televison show. It has been a joy for me to witness Jessica's silliness, Nick's devotion to doing things for himself and saving money wherever he could. Oh how we laughed when Jessica said she didn't know buffalos have wings. My side hurts just thinking about it. And I'm sure everyone remembers Nick carting that video game up the side of the house to get it upstairs, operating the tractor all by himself. Oh my goodness. Laughter ensued.
I am only one percent sarcastic.
I do not enjoy the music of these youngsters but rather the youngsters themselves. They are endearing and frankly if I were ten years younger living in California and in the business of having access to famous people I wouldn't mind hanging out with Jessica Simpson. She's a sweet girl who couldn't help but make me look like a friggin' genius.
I think she is misunderstood. Be nice.
And so I am off to watch them Christmas it up on the Tv tonight. Nothing says HOLIDAYS like a blond girl belting out I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Come watch with me. It'll be nice.
Edited to add: I'm really going to watch The Apprentice. I have no patience for Christmasy shows of any kind, in truth.
why i should not bake
Although I bake well I ought not. The reason is simple. I eat what I bake. I eat it. Not some of it. Not a little bit. A lot. There it is. I eat a lot of it. And if I were here alone I would, don't doubt it, consume every single solitary bite and crumb.
Moo.
You have hit bottom when your spouse comes to you with an empty cookie jar, a jar that was full to the top at dawn, and says:
Do we have mice? The cookies are gone.
Even sadder when you answer:
Rats. Big giant rats. Make the call baby. We need someone to come collect those rats.
I am ashamed of myself. I need to join a group. The kind where people stand up and declare that they are weak and pathetic and beneath contempt because that will make everything better. Admitting it is HALF the battle.
What's the other half?
You know what else is good besides cookies? Cheesecake. I made a cheesecake last week that was Kiss The Cook good. Ate all that too. Came down in the middle of the night, bare assed and humiliated by my behavior. But I ate that cake there by the light of the fridge. Oh woe is me.
Later when I talk about how hard it is to find a good pair of jeans I want you to forget about all of this because one thing has nothing to do with the other. Jeans are stupid. Don't even try to blame the cheesecake.
