When I was little, my mom got this idea that I needed a pen pal. I'm not entirely sure what the point of this exercise was--all of my pen pals came from slightly distant towns in other parts of Ohio, so it wasn't a cultural experience. My writing skills were already on par for my age level, so it wasn't an attempt at improvement. I think it was a sneaky way to try to make me make friends. I didn't particularly want a pen pal, but it beat the push-me-into-activities-I-didn't-want-to-be-in phase, so I went with it.
My pen pals hated me. They tried, they really did. I'd get frequent and lengthy letters on brightly colored Lisa Frank stationary, detailing life on the other side of the state. I didn't try as hard. Most of the time, I really did mean to write back, I just never got around to it and when I did, I was never sure what I was supposed share and what I wasn't. I'd end up returning short, awkward little blurbs on whatever scrap of paper I could find. I had nice paper and stickers and all that, but I was saving for something special. I'm not sure what, but when the time came, I would know. Most of my pen pals got sick of me pretty quickly and my mom would set off on the arduous task of finding someone in the neighborhood with a niece or grandchild who was willing to be my friend.
As much as I didn't really care about having a pen pal, I still remember every single one of them and while I don't necessarily wonder what any of them are up to, I do like to make up weird little where they're at stories in my head from time to time. That's probably one of those creepy things I should keep to myself, but what's this blog for if not oversharing? (And neglecting.) Also, nothing special ever happened and I think my mom eventually gave my box of stickers to her daycare kids. It's okay. I have new stickers and they're better anyway.
And while my intentions are always good, I'm still terrible about mailing things.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Kitties!
I've actually been meaning to write about this for a month but I'm lazy or busy or just not in the mood. Take your pick.
A long, long time ago (before Pie was born) I had a cat. I found him on my porch and named him Maurice. George said we couldn't keep him, but I could get him medical attention and foster him until we found a home. The vet said he was going to die. Both George and the vet lied because he didn't die and he never left our home.
Maurice was awesome. He hated everyone who wasn't me or my one friend. Actually, I think he just hated George and I made that assumption based on the fact that George and Friend were the only people I (and Maurice by extension) had contact with. He may have loved other people for all I know.
Anyway, when Pie was born, he got insanely jealous. He didn't pee in crib or bite her like a normal cat, instead he waited until I was trying to get her stupid carrier through the door with an armful of grocery bags and disappeared. I was heartbroken.
We posted signs and left food outside and the lady at the pound yelled at me for calling too much. The problem is that people in my neighborhood are irresponsible and let their unaltered cats roam free and screw like, well, cats. Maurice was solid black with no distinguishable markings and looked like any number of the neighborhood strays. And the food drew them in droves. And the pound is too busy with stray dogs to worry much about the cats. Eventually, everyone but me gave up hope.
Despite his deeply rooted dislike of animals, George offered to get me a new cat. Touching as that was, I was still waiting for Maurice to come home.
Two years (and three days) later, he did. He just showed up in all his feline arrogance like nothing ever happened. Everyone was shocked. Aside from a raging case of fleas and one oozing wound, he was no worse for wear. I have no idea what he did for two years, but apparently he took care of himself quite well. Even the vet (the one who told me he was going to die) was impressed.
He stuck around long enough to heal, eat twenty pounds of cat food, and decide he still didn't like Pie. Then, just like before, he bolted. This time, he hasn't come back.
But people in my neighborhood are still irresponsible.
Sometime near the end of June the result of said irresponsibility ended up in the bushes in front of my house. Pie's been asking for a cat and it's not like we don't have enough mouths to feed, so George and I decided if we could catch one, she could keep it. The only problem was that there were two. Oh no!
I ended up catching both.
We told Pie she could choose one, then we'd have to find a home for the other. Pie was having none that and decided we were keeping both cats. George is a sucker who has no problem letting a three year old dictate our household. I'm a sucker who couldn't stand seeing how distressed the cats became when separated for any amount of time. It took forty-five minutes for us to accept we had two kittens.
Pie named them Hiccup and Astrid and decided that when Maurice comes home, we'll change his name to Toothless. I share her optimism that he'll come home, although I have my doubts that a seven year old cat will be very accepting of a name change. She can try. Maybe after all his years of roaming, he's forgotten he has one altogether. The darker one is Hiccup and the lighter one is Astrid. Astrid is actually a boy and Hiccup is a girl, but Pie gets really upset about that, so we don't acknowledge it.
Anyway, they're not that little anymore, but all my newer pictures are on the other computer. They're awesome and healthy and so much fun! I'm really glad we kept them both because not only do they entertain each other, they entertain me. Mostly, they just play and attack each other and do generally amusing cat things, but they get really agitated when it comes to treats. I have to put them in separate rooms for fear of one of them losing an eye. They also hate the dog. Porthos couldn't be any less interested in them. Astrid just runs away whenever she comes near, but Hiccup one puffs up and spits. I knew cats can spit, but I'd never actually seen it happen. And they like me best!
I'm allergic to cats. Which is why I'm sitting in the car, blogging at four in the morning.
A long, long time ago (before Pie was born) I had a cat. I found him on my porch and named him Maurice. George said we couldn't keep him, but I could get him medical attention and foster him until we found a home. The vet said he was going to die. Both George and the vet lied because he didn't die and he never left our home.
Maurice was awesome. He hated everyone who wasn't me or my one friend. Actually, I think he just hated George and I made that assumption based on the fact that George and Friend were the only people I (and Maurice by extension) had contact with. He may have loved other people for all I know.
Anyway, when Pie was born, he got insanely jealous. He didn't pee in crib or bite her like a normal cat, instead he waited until I was trying to get her stupid carrier through the door with an armful of grocery bags and disappeared. I was heartbroken.
We posted signs and left food outside and the lady at the pound yelled at me for calling too much. The problem is that people in my neighborhood are irresponsible and let their unaltered cats roam free and screw like, well, cats. Maurice was solid black with no distinguishable markings and looked like any number of the neighborhood strays. And the food drew them in droves. And the pound is too busy with stray dogs to worry much about the cats. Eventually, everyone but me gave up hope.
Despite his deeply rooted dislike of animals, George offered to get me a new cat. Touching as that was, I was still waiting for Maurice to come home.
Two years (and three days) later, he did. He just showed up in all his feline arrogance like nothing ever happened. Everyone was shocked. Aside from a raging case of fleas and one oozing wound, he was no worse for wear. I have no idea what he did for two years, but apparently he took care of himself quite well. Even the vet (the one who told me he was going to die) was impressed.
He stuck around long enough to heal, eat twenty pounds of cat food, and decide he still didn't like Pie. Then, just like before, he bolted. This time, he hasn't come back.
But people in my neighborhood are still irresponsible.
Sometime near the end of June the result of said irresponsibility ended up in the bushes in front of my house. Pie's been asking for a cat and it's not like we don't have enough mouths to feed, so George and I decided if we could catch one, she could keep it. The only problem was that there were two. Oh no!
I ended up catching both.
We told Pie she could choose one, then we'd have to find a home for the other. Pie was having none that and decided we were keeping both cats. George is a sucker who has no problem letting a three year old dictate our household. I'm a sucker who couldn't stand seeing how distressed the cats became when separated for any amount of time. It took forty-five minutes for us to accept we had two kittens.
Pie named them Hiccup and Astrid and decided that when Maurice comes home, we'll change his name to Toothless. I share her optimism that he'll come home, although I have my doubts that a seven year old cat will be very accepting of a name change. She can try. Maybe after all his years of roaming, he's forgotten he has one altogether. The darker one is Hiccup and the lighter one is Astrid. Astrid is actually a boy and Hiccup is a girl, but Pie gets really upset about that, so we don't acknowledge it.
Anyway, they're not that little anymore, but all my newer pictures are on the other computer. They're awesome and healthy and so much fun! I'm really glad we kept them both because not only do they entertain each other, they entertain me. Mostly, they just play and attack each other and do generally amusing cat things, but they get really agitated when it comes to treats. I have to put them in separate rooms for fear of one of them losing an eye. They also hate the dog. Porthos couldn't be any less interested in them. Astrid just runs away whenever she comes near, but Hiccup one puffs up and spits. I knew cats can spit, but I'd never actually seen it happen. And they like me best!
I'm allergic to cats. Which is why I'm sitting in the car, blogging at four in the morning.
In other news, Pie cut off her hair. It looks great, but she's devastated. Cutting off your hair is an awfully silly way to express that you don't want short hair, but then, I don't know that I'll ever understand how Pie's mind works. I have pictures of that too, but I'll save them (along with the full story) for the next time I can't stand being in the house.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
It's Been a Good Week
It's been miserably hot lately. Like, 90's hot, and the only break in the godawful heat comes in the form of ridiculous downpours. Someone's car was stuck in front of my house for almost an hour yesterday morning because the street was so flooded.
With it being so disgustingly hot and wet and sticky, there's not much to do. We tried going to the park, but I'm pretty sure Pie would have walked away from the slide with second degree burns on her legs. We tried the pool, but unfortunately everyone else did too. I'm still feeling rather antisocial and that was a bit much for me to deal with. Last week, we alternated between the library, the mall, and the McDonald's playland, but the library is the only one of those places that I'm fond of, so finding alternative entertainment in an air conditioned environment became a bit of a mission for me.
I found it in the form of $1 movies! Apparently, lots movie theaters offer family films for $1 in the summer. How neat! I vaguely remember something like this from my own childhood, but when it comes to my childhood memories, it's sometimes hard to tell what really happened and what I've just convinced myself happened.
Anyway, the movies are pretty early in the day, but that's almost a good thing because it forces me to be awake and out of bed and dressed before 10. I should probably keep that up. There are a ton of choices, too. If the local theater is playing something I don't want to see, it's almost guaranteed that there's another one within a reasonable driving distance that's playing something better. I also love to drive, which means my husband and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a "reasonable driving distance".
This week we saw How to Train Your Dragon (twice, because I absolutely love that movie!) and MegaMind. We saw three movies for less than the regular cost of one! I can't even wrap my mind around it. That has to be the most awesome thing ever.
We also went to the drive-in (which, unfortunately, is not $1) on Monday. I love the drive-in and we try to go at least twice a month. We also buy snacks because they play this depressing commercial before the movie about how all the drive-in's are closing and if we want to keep ours we need to patronize the concession stand. It's hard to make me feel guilt, but man, that commercial does it every time!
Anyway, we saw X-Men: First Class, which I really enjoyed, and George saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which he didn't care for. I was exhausted from getting up early and fell asleep before it started, so I don't really have any further commentary on that. Pie pretty much slept through both movies, but she got a Tangled bucket (from the popcorn) so she was happy.
So basically, I've spent the whole week at the movies, in the car, or both. It's been awesome! I almost hope it stays hot.
With it being so disgustingly hot and wet and sticky, there's not much to do. We tried going to the park, but I'm pretty sure Pie would have walked away from the slide with second degree burns on her legs. We tried the pool, but unfortunately everyone else did too. I'm still feeling rather antisocial and that was a bit much for me to deal with. Last week, we alternated between the library, the mall, and the McDonald's playland, but the library is the only one of those places that I'm fond of, so finding alternative entertainment in an air conditioned environment became a bit of a mission for me.
I found it in the form of $1 movies! Apparently, lots movie theaters offer family films for $1 in the summer. How neat! I vaguely remember something like this from my own childhood, but when it comes to my childhood memories, it's sometimes hard to tell what really happened and what I've just convinced myself happened.
Anyway, the movies are pretty early in the day, but that's almost a good thing because it forces me to be awake and out of bed and dressed before 10. I should probably keep that up. There are a ton of choices, too. If the local theater is playing something I don't want to see, it's almost guaranteed that there's another one within a reasonable driving distance that's playing something better. I also love to drive, which means my husband and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a "reasonable driving distance".
This week we saw How to Train Your Dragon (twice, because I absolutely love that movie!) and MegaMind. We saw three movies for less than the regular cost of one! I can't even wrap my mind around it. That has to be the most awesome thing ever.
We also went to the drive-in (which, unfortunately, is not $1) on Monday. I love the drive-in and we try to go at least twice a month. We also buy snacks because they play this depressing commercial before the movie about how all the drive-in's are closing and if we want to keep ours we need to patronize the concession stand. It's hard to make me feel guilt, but man, that commercial does it every time!
Anyway, we saw X-Men: First Class, which I really enjoyed, and George saw Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which he didn't care for. I was exhausted from getting up early and fell asleep before it started, so I don't really have any further commentary on that. Pie pretty much slept through both movies, but she got a Tangled bucket (from the popcorn) so she was happy.
So basically, I've spent the whole week at the movies, in the car, or both. It's been awesome! I almost hope it stays hot.
Friday, May 20, 2011
My Can Opener is a Piece of Shit
It doesn't work properly, so the can always ends up with little skipped sections in varying spots so that the lid is still attached. I need to buy a new one, but I'm dumb forgetful, so instead I end up taking a fork or butter knife or whatever to wedge the lid the rest of the way off.
That didn't work out so well today. I hurt myself!
That didn't work out so well today. I hurt myself!
Ouch!
I'm not really sure how it happened, but as I was prying the lid up, the can slipped and the part of the lid that I'd succeeded in detaching attacked me. It didn't really hurt (that came later) but it freaked me the hell out and I ran around my kitchen shaking my hand and spewing obscenities.
Then, the pain kicked in. Yes, it's as painful as it looks. But I'm a champ and pictures needed to be taken!
After that, I figured I should probably clean it or something. I'm not very prepared, so the best I could do was dish detergent and rubbing alcohol. It was horrible. We didn't have any bandaids either, but it was still bleeding pretty badly, so I got creative!
Hooray!
Yep. I wrapped it with toilet paper. I was going to tape it in place, but I'm even less prepared than I thought, because I don't have any tape, either. So, I wrapped it tightly with a piece of ribbon (I chose red, because it's pretty) and tied it all in place. That actually turned out to be a great idea because the tighter I pulled the ribbon, the better it felt.
Unfortunately, I didn't have too much time to be proud of myself because almost immediately after, George came home and wanted to know why there was blood all over the kitchen. I showed him my innovative bandaid alternative, but he insisted on seeing the wound to make sure my thumb wasn't going to fall off or anything. He was not nearly as impressed as I was, but he decided it would probably be fine.
At one point, I wrapped the whole thing in a condom so it would stay dry while I showered. I wish I'd have taken pictures of that, but I didn't think of it.
My goal for tomorrow is to go to the store and buy a new can opener. A good one that will work for longer than two days. I have a feeling I won't forget this time.
Friday, April 29, 2011
House-sitting Sucks
I'm home. Finally. And I slept in my bed and I can get online without wanting to throw the computer at the wall and I'm in a relatively good mood. So, that's good news.
This is why I hate house-sitting:
1. I was attacked by spiders.
I don't mean one or two, I mean those menacing little fuckers were everywhere. That's unusual. My parents have never had a spider problem, so I'm going to assume it's because I was there. I guess it could have been the flooding rain that happened the night before, but I doubt it. I think they just knew it was a good time to strike.
Almost immediately after arrival, I spotted one in the garage. A huge, furry black thing. Panic inducing, yes, but I didn't think a whole lot of it, as it is a garage and we did get all that rain. George offered to kill it. I tried to talk him into catching it and releasing it somewhere far away, but not at home, but he refused. (I guess this is a good time to mention, I can't kill things. It's because I'm batshit crazy and have watched too many kids' movies. I want the spiders to live, I just want them to do it somewhere I never have to see them.) He didn't kill it, either. While we werearguing about discussing the matter, the beastly little thing slipped down a crack in the floor. Okay, great. Got the big scare out of the way before I was alone, with only Pie for protection.
Except not. Not even an hour after my parents left, there was another one, running across the kitchen floor. Ew. Mental note not to open the cupboard it ran into. Shit, it's the cereal cupboard! My parents don't keep a lot of food in the house, and cereal is one of the few items that's always on hand. Mental note to go buy new cereal.
Ten minutes after that, there was another one. This one stopped and looked at me with its horrible spider eyes. I grabbed the phone book. I couldn't get too close, but I was fairly certain I could toss the phone book onto it before it could escape. It kept looking at me. It pulled in all its gross little legs. I raised my arms. It looked at me some more. I prepared to throw. Ugh! The beady little eyes! I called Pie downstairs and had her put a glass over it.
Similar things kept happening. At one point, I was walking up the stairs to take a shower, and stopped just in time to avoid walking face first into one that was just hanging. Just hanging, taunting me. More beady little eyes, mocking and laughing. I could attack you if I felt like it. Fuck you, spider! I needed a breather after that.
I didn't sleep much. I'd drift off, only to feel all those awful little legs all over me. I tried to call George, but he just told me I was being paranoid and to go to bed. That wasn't very helpful.
2. I was forced to deal with adult responsibilities.
As if the spiders weren't enough, all the rain caused some sort house problem I was not prepared to deal with. Before they left, my dad realized there was something wrong with their sump pump. Uh huh. I don't even know what a sump pump is. My dad, while awesome, is outrageously cheap. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know how to fix it, he's going to try. (I can't really say anything, I seem to have inherited the same trait.) Only, it didn't work. And no one knew it didn't work until sometime after Pie's bath, when water backed up all over the laundry room. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I tried calling my dad, but they were in a remote cabin somewhere with no phone reception. I couldn't run the water at all or it started backing up again. There's no drain in the laundry room, so that just meant gross standing water all over the floor. Pie found that idea highly appealing.
"Look, Mumma! Puddles!"
I called a plumber. I figured my dad would be pissed, but my mom would be rational about it. Luckily, I'd taken the coffee can I've been saving my cruise money in to my parents' house last week. I meant to deposit the money in the bank, but time got away from me and it was still there, and I had enough to pay the plumber without having to leave. The plumber got the problem fixed, and my dad (begrudgingly) admitted that the plumber was necessary. I was really going to be pissed if I spent my cruise fund on my parents' plumber.
3. My parents' animals are distressing.
Then, there was the cat ordeal. My parents' cat is awesome. He started as my brother's cat, but wound up becoming my parents' when my brother's first apartment didn't allow pets. He can have pets now, but the cat is a seasoned killer and tries to take out my brother's girlfriend's dog every chance it gets. That's at least half of why he's awesome. My brother's girlfriend's dog is a real asshole.
Hoodrat (yeah, my brother named it Hoodrat) likes to hang out outside. And kill things. And bring them home. It's usually just mice, but once he dragged a goose back. That was impressive. Another time, he took out a raccoon. Oh, and the day of my brother's graduation party, half the guests had already arrived before we realized they were being greeted by a decapitated rabbit head. That's nice.
Finding his little gifts is no longer much of a surprise. Finding them alive is. I was completely unprepared to open the door only to have him chase a flash of brown past me. What the...? Then, the dog joined in. The dog, Jazzie, is super sweet, but dumb beyond reason. In her quest to find out what was going on, she knocked me down. I'm me, so that means I hit my head on something (a cupboard, in this instance) but I was able to determine the source of the commotion. Hoodrat found a baby rabbit and chased it into the house. Spectacular! I caught him, first. The rabbit had run into the laundry room (which was, thankfully, dry at this point) and the dog would more or less leave it alone if the cat wasn't egging her on. I put the cat in the spare room, and set about finding the rabbit.
My mom is a preschool teacher, and the laundry room doubles as storage for her walls upon walls of teaching materials. I had to pull all that shit out just to find the thing. In the midst of all of this, Pie is having a field day.
"Mumma, Mumma, Mumma! There's a tiny rabbit! A tiny little rabbit! Can I see it? Can I see it? Pleeease!!! Oh! Puppets! Books! Can I play with Gramma's things? Please? Please! Why? Whywhywhy? WHY? But I NEEEEED it!"
Pie really knows how to be the ray of sunshine when I'm already annoyed.
Once I found the rabbit, it was pretty uneventful. He didn't have any noticeable wounds, but was too terrified to move, so I sort of scooped him into a shoe box and put him in the woods out back. I hope he lives.
4. I had horrifically limited internet access.
I won't even get too far into the horrible computer situation, but something wasn't right.
My dad refuses to let anyone who isn't him use his computer. To be fair, I wouldn't either. His computer is a shining example of pure badassery. But he takes it super seriously, and it won't respond to my thumbprint. Yeah. He normally makes sure there's a spare set up for me, but he just sold the spare, and informed me (the night before they left) I was out of luck. What? I refuse to be out of luck, so I made George drag my big, bulky spare to their house. I'd need to find a network card, but my dad has enough spare parts that that wasn't a huge issue.
It took two attempts before I found one that worked, and things began to look up. Except later that night, something went awry with the internet. Most pages wouldn't load, and even if they did, there was a good chance I couldn't comment. On that note, I'd like to say a belated happy birthday to my lovely friend J-Pan. I didn't forget, my comment wouldn't stick. (Unfortunately, my dog ate the fondant Tom Selleck I made you. I plan to try again, but I feel terrible that it wasn't there for your birthday.) It wasn't just the computer, either. I couldn't connect to Netflix on the TV. I reset everything, but to no avail. Something was just determined to fuck with me. I was busy enough with Pie and all the freaking animals not to notice (much) during the day time, but at night, when I couldn't sleep and really needed entertainment, it was awful.
5. My parents' animals continued to be distressing.
Then, on the last day, the fish died. It was alive when I went to bed, and when I woke up, it was just dead. Seriously? It was just a goldfish, but it's death brought down a rain of tears from Pie. Plus, it wasn't a family pet, it was the fish from my mom's classroom. The only reason it was even there is because the center is closed this week (hence the mid-week getaway) and she was charged with keeping it alive. That's a fail.
The fish was old, and this was probably coming anyway, but did it have to happen on my watch? Now I feel responsible for the disappointment of a room full of three year olds when my mom goes back to work on Monday without a fish. Or, I guess she could replace it. You know what? I'm over it. I'm over all of this.
So basically, it's been a few shitty days, but I'm home and my husband is awesome and I plan to spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing.
I'm also feeling a bit more social lately, and I realize I've been awful at keeping up with people. I'll work on that. Plus, my dad has promised me a spare laptop while we wait for Samsung to send us a new DC adapter for mine. Wondering why I couldn't use that while I was there? Yeah, me too.
Oh, and again, to my fantastic friend J-Pan, hope your birthday was the happiest!
Ooh! I almost forgot! As I was falling asleep last night, my dad called. He wanted to know why there were glasses with spiders under them all over the house. It was the most satisfying part of the last three days.
This is why I hate house-sitting:
1. I was attacked by spiders.
I don't mean one or two, I mean those menacing little fuckers were everywhere. That's unusual. My parents have never had a spider problem, so I'm going to assume it's because I was there. I guess it could have been the flooding rain that happened the night before, but I doubt it. I think they just knew it was a good time to strike.
Almost immediately after arrival, I spotted one in the garage. A huge, furry black thing. Panic inducing, yes, but I didn't think a whole lot of it, as it is a garage and we did get all that rain. George offered to kill it. I tried to talk him into catching it and releasing it somewhere far away, but not at home, but he refused. (I guess this is a good time to mention, I can't kill things. It's because I'm batshit crazy and have watched too many kids' movies. I want the spiders to live, I just want them to do it somewhere I never have to see them.) He didn't kill it, either. While we were
Except not. Not even an hour after my parents left, there was another one, running across the kitchen floor. Ew. Mental note not to open the cupboard it ran into. Shit, it's the cereal cupboard! My parents don't keep a lot of food in the house, and cereal is one of the few items that's always on hand. Mental note to go buy new cereal.
Ten minutes after that, there was another one. This one stopped and looked at me with its horrible spider eyes. I grabbed the phone book. I couldn't get too close, but I was fairly certain I could toss the phone book onto it before it could escape. It kept looking at me. It pulled in all its gross little legs. I raised my arms. It looked at me some more. I prepared to throw. Ugh! The beady little eyes! I called Pie downstairs and had her put a glass over it.
Similar things kept happening. At one point, I was walking up the stairs to take a shower, and stopped just in time to avoid walking face first into one that was just hanging. Just hanging, taunting me. More beady little eyes, mocking and laughing. I could attack you if I felt like it. Fuck you, spider! I needed a breather after that.
I didn't sleep much. I'd drift off, only to feel all those awful little legs all over me. I tried to call George, but he just told me I was being paranoid and to go to bed. That wasn't very helpful.
2. I was forced to deal with adult responsibilities.
As if the spiders weren't enough, all the rain caused some sort house problem I was not prepared to deal with. Before they left, my dad realized there was something wrong with their sump pump. Uh huh. I don't even know what a sump pump is. My dad, while awesome, is outrageously cheap. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know how to fix it, he's going to try. (I can't really say anything, I seem to have inherited the same trait.) Only, it didn't work. And no one knew it didn't work until sometime after Pie's bath, when water backed up all over the laundry room. Well, shit. What do I do now?
I tried calling my dad, but they were in a remote cabin somewhere with no phone reception. I couldn't run the water at all or it started backing up again. There's no drain in the laundry room, so that just meant gross standing water all over the floor. Pie found that idea highly appealing.
"Look, Mumma! Puddles!"
I called a plumber. I figured my dad would be pissed, but my mom would be rational about it. Luckily, I'd taken the coffee can I've been saving my cruise money in to my parents' house last week. I meant to deposit the money in the bank, but time got away from me and it was still there, and I had enough to pay the plumber without having to leave. The plumber got the problem fixed, and my dad (begrudgingly) admitted that the plumber was necessary. I was really going to be pissed if I spent my cruise fund on my parents' plumber.
3. My parents' animals are distressing.
Then, there was the cat ordeal. My parents' cat is awesome. He started as my brother's cat, but wound up becoming my parents' when my brother's first apartment didn't allow pets. He can have pets now, but the cat is a seasoned killer and tries to take out my brother's girlfriend's dog every chance it gets. That's at least half of why he's awesome. My brother's girlfriend's dog is a real asshole.
Hoodrat (yeah, my brother named it Hoodrat) likes to hang out outside. And kill things. And bring them home. It's usually just mice, but once he dragged a goose back. That was impressive. Another time, he took out a raccoon. Oh, and the day of my brother's graduation party, half the guests had already arrived before we realized they were being greeted by a decapitated rabbit head. That's nice.
Finding his little gifts is no longer much of a surprise. Finding them alive is. I was completely unprepared to open the door only to have him chase a flash of brown past me. What the...? Then, the dog joined in. The dog, Jazzie, is super sweet, but dumb beyond reason. In her quest to find out what was going on, she knocked me down. I'm me, so that means I hit my head on something (a cupboard, in this instance) but I was able to determine the source of the commotion. Hoodrat found a baby rabbit and chased it into the house. Spectacular! I caught him, first. The rabbit had run into the laundry room (which was, thankfully, dry at this point) and the dog would more or less leave it alone if the cat wasn't egging her on. I put the cat in the spare room, and set about finding the rabbit.
My mom is a preschool teacher, and the laundry room doubles as storage for her walls upon walls of teaching materials. I had to pull all that shit out just to find the thing. In the midst of all of this, Pie is having a field day.
"Mumma, Mumma, Mumma! There's a tiny rabbit! A tiny little rabbit! Can I see it? Can I see it? Pleeease!!! Oh! Puppets! Books! Can I play with Gramma's things? Please? Please! Why? Whywhywhy? WHY? But I NEEEEED it!"
Pie really knows how to be the ray of sunshine when I'm already annoyed.
Once I found the rabbit, it was pretty uneventful. He didn't have any noticeable wounds, but was too terrified to move, so I sort of scooped him into a shoe box and put him in the woods out back. I hope he lives.
4. I had horrifically limited internet access.
I won't even get too far into the horrible computer situation, but something wasn't right.
My dad refuses to let anyone who isn't him use his computer. To be fair, I wouldn't either. His computer is a shining example of pure badassery. But he takes it super seriously, and it won't respond to my thumbprint. Yeah. He normally makes sure there's a spare set up for me, but he just sold the spare, and informed me (the night before they left) I was out of luck. What? I refuse to be out of luck, so I made George drag my big, bulky spare to their house. I'd need to find a network card, but my dad has enough spare parts that that wasn't a huge issue.
It took two attempts before I found one that worked, and things began to look up. Except later that night, something went awry with the internet. Most pages wouldn't load, and even if they did, there was a good chance I couldn't comment. On that note, I'd like to say a belated happy birthday to my lovely friend J-Pan. I didn't forget, my comment wouldn't stick. (Unfortunately, my dog ate the fondant Tom Selleck I made you. I plan to try again, but I feel terrible that it wasn't there for your birthday.) It wasn't just the computer, either. I couldn't connect to Netflix on the TV. I reset everything, but to no avail. Something was just determined to fuck with me. I was busy enough with Pie and all the freaking animals not to notice (much) during the day time, but at night, when I couldn't sleep and really needed entertainment, it was awful.
5. My parents' animals continued to be distressing.
Then, on the last day, the fish died. It was alive when I went to bed, and when I woke up, it was just dead. Seriously? It was just a goldfish, but it's death brought down a rain of tears from Pie. Plus, it wasn't a family pet, it was the fish from my mom's classroom. The only reason it was even there is because the center is closed this week (hence the mid-week getaway) and she was charged with keeping it alive. That's a fail.
The fish was old, and this was probably coming anyway, but did it have to happen on my watch? Now I feel responsible for the disappointment of a room full of three year olds when my mom goes back to work on Monday without a fish. Or, I guess she could replace it. You know what? I'm over it. I'm over all of this.
So basically, it's been a few shitty days, but I'm home and my husband is awesome and I plan to spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing.
I'm also feeling a bit more social lately, and I realize I've been awful at keeping up with people. I'll work on that. Plus, my dad has promised me a spare laptop while we wait for Samsung to send us a new DC adapter for mine. Wondering why I couldn't use that while I was there? Yeah, me too.
Oh, and again, to my fantastic friend J-Pan, hope your birthday was the happiest!
Ooh! I almost forgot! As I was falling asleep last night, my dad called. He wanted to know why there were glasses with spiders under them all over the house. It was the most satisfying part of the last three days.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I Miss My Bird
When I was a toddler, my parents got a bird. A parrot, actually. I searched Google images to try to figure out what kind it was, but I can't remember what it looked liked, so that didn't really help. Anyway, my parrot's name was Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper was awesome and made me happy.
Then, when I was about to turn four, my brother was born. My brother did not make Dr. Pepper happy, so he tried to kill my brother by taking nosedives at his tender infant head. My parents got rid of him. The bird, not my brother. I was heartbroken and convinced they made the wrong choice. Sometimes I still am.
Then, when I was about to turn four, my brother was born. My brother did not make Dr. Pepper happy, so he tried to kill my brother by taking nosedives at his tender infant head. My parents got rid of him. The bird, not my brother. I was heartbroken and convinced they made the wrong choice. Sometimes I still am.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Expectations Lead to Disappointment
I'd do well to remember that. Then again, I suppose I should have known better than to expect much from a day that begins with electrocution. Ouch.
I won't bore you lovely folks with the depressing details of my shitty day, but the electrocution part is slightly amusing. I've learned (the hard way) that I can't run the George Foreman grill at the same time as the coffee maker. If I do, it blows a fuse and we all know what happens when I blow fuses.
So, I reached out to unplug the coffee maker, and I'm not really sure where I went wrong here, but I got electrocuted. I realized what was happening immediately, but I couldn't let go. I guess it made a noise because George came running in to see if I was okay. I was fine, it didn't hurt so much as scare the ever living shit out of me, and the whole thing probably only lasted a few seconds.
But the real bitch of it? The fucking fuse blew anyway. At that point, any expectations should have gone straight out the window. Not for me, though. I held out hope. And bit by bit, that hope was crushed. What a shitty day.
I won't bore you lovely folks with the depressing details of my shitty day, but the electrocution part is slightly amusing. I've learned (the hard way) that I can't run the George Foreman grill at the same time as the coffee maker. If I do, it blows a fuse and we all know what happens when I blow fuses.
So, I reached out to unplug the coffee maker, and I'm not really sure where I went wrong here, but I got electrocuted. I realized what was happening immediately, but I couldn't let go. I guess it made a noise because George came running in to see if I was okay. I was fine, it didn't hurt so much as scare the ever living shit out of me, and the whole thing probably only lasted a few seconds.
But the real bitch of it? The fucking fuse blew anyway. At that point, any expectations should have gone straight out the window. Not for me, though. I held out hope. And bit by bit, that hope was crushed. What a shitty day.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Catching Up
So, I guess I really haven't been around. I don't have any particular reason, just haven't really felt like it. But, it's Blog Tuesday (which is part of a new plan, and regardless of anything else, I will update on Tuesdays) so, I suppose I have to come up with something.
Pie's been an absolute terrorist the last two weeks. She pulled my laptop (yes, the new one) off the table. It broke. With any luck, it just needs a new DC jack, unfortunately, that's still unavailable. Then we'll be able to tell if anything else is broken. Super lame. Since I decided to be a nice person and give a friend the network card from the computer I was using before I got the new laptop, I now have to share a computer with George. Lesson learned. I will never be a nice person again.
She also poked holes in the drywall in our (still unfinished) bathroom, dumped a whole container of baby powder on my living room furniture, put peanut butter in George's shoes, and asked me to buy her a person to do all the things she doesn't like to do. I'm really starting to question my parenting.
George has started pissing me off, too. He has this friend. The friend is a Grade-A Asshole, but they've been friends since they were 15, and I guess I just have to deal with it. I probably shouldn't drag the blog down pissing and moaning about how much of a douche this guy is, but I really can't stand him. One of these days (next Tuesday, perhaps) I'll get into the story about the time we tried to be roommates with him and his strange girlfriend who came from Canada to visit and never went home. That's fun times.
Anyway, he and this friend fight for months at a time. Then, out of no where, they're BFF's again and I have to rearrange everything to suit his crappy friend schedule. It's really annoying. He also feels some overwhelming sense of compassion about his friend's lack of ability to pay his bills. It's not an economy thing, it's laziness thing, and it's always been this way. I mention that, then out comes the "You don't work, either" card.
Hell. No. I definitely do work, and besides, he is the one who initially suggested I stay home. I ask if I should be looking for a job. No. No, he still wants me to stay home, he just wants to be douchy about it every time I say something he doesn't like about his stupid friend. (I should add that I usually keep my opinion to myself, but no, we are not "loaning" him any more money.)
Anyway, all of this irritation has led me to one conclusion: I need a vacation. I've decided to take a cruise for my 29th birthday. While there are a multitude of reasons this is my vacation of choice, the second is that only I can go. It's going to be awesome.
I haven't shared this plan with George yet, but I have started working on it. I dug all the change out of the sofas. I went through the pockets of clothing we don't wear anymore. I fixed someone's computer. Tomorrow, I'll clean the car, and that should get me about $20. Once I've accumulated the necessary funds, then I'll spring it on George that it's just him and Pie for a whole week.
This is probably bad, but George has never been alone with Pie for more than a couple hours. It just hasn't come up. Should be interesting. I suppose their upcoming camping trip is a good start. Bonus points for George getting to see what I do when I'm "not working".
Anyway, yeah, boring entry, but there's not much of interest going on right now. The roommate story next week (or possibly sooner if I decide not to be lazy) is good, though.
Pie's been an absolute terrorist the last two weeks. She pulled my laptop (yes, the new one) off the table. It broke. With any luck, it just needs a new DC jack, unfortunately, that's still unavailable. Then we'll be able to tell if anything else is broken. Super lame. Since I decided to be a nice person and give a friend the network card from the computer I was using before I got the new laptop, I now have to share a computer with George. Lesson learned. I will never be a nice person again.
She also poked holes in the drywall in our (still unfinished) bathroom, dumped a whole container of baby powder on my living room furniture, put peanut butter in George's shoes, and asked me to buy her a person to do all the things she doesn't like to do. I'm really starting to question my parenting.
George has started pissing me off, too. He has this friend. The friend is a Grade-A Asshole, but they've been friends since they were 15, and I guess I just have to deal with it. I probably shouldn't drag the blog down pissing and moaning about how much of a douche this guy is, but I really can't stand him. One of these days (next Tuesday, perhaps) I'll get into the story about the time we tried to be roommates with him and his strange girlfriend who came from Canada to visit and never went home. That's fun times.
Anyway, he and this friend fight for months at a time. Then, out of no where, they're BFF's again and I have to rearrange everything to suit his crappy friend schedule. It's really annoying. He also feels some overwhelming sense of compassion about his friend's lack of ability to pay his bills. It's not an economy thing, it's laziness thing, and it's always been this way. I mention that, then out comes the "You don't work, either" card.
Hell. No. I definitely do work, and besides, he is the one who initially suggested I stay home. I ask if I should be looking for a job. No. No, he still wants me to stay home, he just wants to be douchy about it every time I say something he doesn't like about his stupid friend. (I should add that I usually keep my opinion to myself, but no, we are not "loaning" him any more money.)
Anyway, all of this irritation has led me to one conclusion: I need a vacation. I've decided to take a cruise for my 29th birthday. While there are a multitude of reasons this is my vacation of choice, the second is that only I can go. It's going to be awesome.
I haven't shared this plan with George yet, but I have started working on it. I dug all the change out of the sofas. I went through the pockets of clothing we don't wear anymore. I fixed someone's computer. Tomorrow, I'll clean the car, and that should get me about $20. Once I've accumulated the necessary funds, then I'll spring it on George that it's just him and Pie for a whole week.
This is probably bad, but George has never been alone with Pie for more than a couple hours. It just hasn't come up. Should be interesting. I suppose their upcoming camping trip is a good start. Bonus points for George getting to see what I do when I'm "not working".
Anyway, yeah, boring entry, but there's not much of interest going on right now. The roommate story next week (or possibly sooner if I decide not to be lazy) is good, though.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Really Trying Not to be a Bitch
I hate confrontation. I'm not good at it. I plan out everything I'm going to say, but once I start talking, most of what I planned goes right out the window. Not all of it, just the important bits, and only enough to make it completely obvious that at least half of what I am saying was completely rehearsed. Unfortunately, if something doesn't happen with the bathroom guys, I think I'm going to flip the fuck out.
The good news is, they chose to show up today. It's the first time in a few days, and I was beginning to worry. No explanation, and when George asked where they've been, they just said they were busy. Umm...? I'll be honest, they're cheap. That's why we continue putting up with this. That said, we're talking cheap as far as home renovations go, which really isn't cheap at all. Even if their prices are substantially lower than everyone else, it's still a chunk and for all of that, I really expect them to show up. Or at least call.
Then, when they do show up, they've taken to only staying two or three hours, so nothing is getting done. I get that some of the things (tile, for example) require time to set, but most of the time, that's not the case. It's my understanding that this project should have taken a week or so. They've been "working" on it for the better part of the month, and it's not even halfway finished. Last week, they told us it would be done Friday. We assumed (incorrectly) that meant it would be done last Friday. I don't even think it'll be halfway done this Friday. In fact, I'm wondering if they had any specific Friday in mind or if they just meant some nondescript Friday of the future. I'm sort of thinking the latter.
Also, I'm sick of them drinking all of my coffee. I probably wouldn't care about that if I wasn't already pissed off, but I like a particular coffee and it's one of the few things I splurge on for myself. It's not like they're having a couple cups, I'm making at least two extra pots a day, which, again, wouldn't be a big deal if I didn't already want to punch them. Since I'm nitpicking, I'll also throw in that they're careless about making sure the door is shut and my dog has gotten out twice. If I'm home, I make sure to check it every time they go or out, but I can't just sit at home for the next six months, waiting to see if the door is shut properly. But, I can't let my dog get out, either. My dog is really dumb and if she didn't get hit by a car, she'd probably fall off the cliff or get lost or some other horrible fate. I love my stupid dog, so that would be really sad.
Anyway, I'm over the whole thing. I think if they don't show up tomorrow, they're done and I'll finish the stupid thing myself. In a week.
The good news is, they chose to show up today. It's the first time in a few days, and I was beginning to worry. No explanation, and when George asked where they've been, they just said they were busy. Umm...? I'll be honest, they're cheap. That's why we continue putting up with this. That said, we're talking cheap as far as home renovations go, which really isn't cheap at all. Even if their prices are substantially lower than everyone else, it's still a chunk and for all of that, I really expect them to show up. Or at least call.
Then, when they do show up, they've taken to only staying two or three hours, so nothing is getting done. I get that some of the things (tile, for example) require time to set, but most of the time, that's not the case. It's my understanding that this project should have taken a week or so. They've been "working" on it for the better part of the month, and it's not even halfway finished. Last week, they told us it would be done Friday. We assumed (incorrectly) that meant it would be done last Friday. I don't even think it'll be halfway done this Friday. In fact, I'm wondering if they had any specific Friday in mind or if they just meant some nondescript Friday of the future. I'm sort of thinking the latter.
Also, I'm sick of them drinking all of my coffee. I probably wouldn't care about that if I wasn't already pissed off, but I like a particular coffee and it's one of the few things I splurge on for myself. It's not like they're having a couple cups, I'm making at least two extra pots a day, which, again, wouldn't be a big deal if I didn't already want to punch them. Since I'm nitpicking, I'll also throw in that they're careless about making sure the door is shut and my dog has gotten out twice. If I'm home, I make sure to check it every time they go or out, but I can't just sit at home for the next six months, waiting to see if the door is shut properly. But, I can't let my dog get out, either. My dog is really dumb and if she didn't get hit by a car, she'd probably fall off the cliff or get lost or some other horrible fate. I love my stupid dog, so that would be really sad.
Anyway, I'm over the whole thing. I think if they don't show up tomorrow, they're done and I'll finish the stupid thing myself. In a week.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Hooray!
I'm violently ill, but that did not stop me from going to The Disney Store today!
That's all I got today. I am a trooper, and now I'm going to watch my movie. Yes, my movie, not Pie's movie.
That's all I got today. I am a trooper, and now I'm going to watch my movie. Yes, my movie, not Pie's movie.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Things I Can't Do Anymore
I moved out when I was 18. I went straight from living with my parents to living with George. While we were saving for our house, George and I tried having roommates, which was an absolute nightmare, but I guess my loss is your gain as it's a spectacular story. For a different day, though. The point today is that I've never lived alone. And every now and then, it hits me that I never will. Which is mostly fine, and I wouldn't give up my family for anything and all of that, but I do wish I'd tried it before they came along.
I used to do things that really freaked George out. Like get in my car and just leave for a few days. I didn't have a phone, and if I did, I probably wouldn't have answered it, so I totally get why this bothered him, but it was something I needed to do. For me. I always left a note that I wasn't upset or angry or leaving him, I was just going on vacation. I did this quite often, and to be honest, I think it would pissed me off if the shoe was on the other foot. George, as always, was nonplussed by my behavior, but he just accepted it as one of those things. He didn't like it, but he didn't get mad at me over it, either. George is a saint.
I never really knew where I was going, either, I just went. I had this game, where I'd assign a fairly common word to each direction, turn the radio on and whichever word I heard first was the way I went. I'd find small, but interesting towns and eat in their local restaurants and stay in their cheap motels. Sometimes I'd chat with the locals and others, I'd just keep to myself. Sometimes I was me, and others I'd make up whole new personalities to try out on people I'd never see again.
Another time, I moved into a hotel for three weeks and didn't talk to anyone other than the lady at the front desk and the guy who occasionally brought my food. I mostly ate stuff I packed, though, so that was infrequent and the desk lady was just me calling down to extend my stay. George and my mom were both convinced someone was going to find me dead in there, but they were wrong. I just felt like being antisocial. Really antisocial.
Anyway, I don't get to do these things anymore. I won't get to for many, many more years. Gone are the days of subsisting on nothing but caffeinated beverages and nicotine. There's actually food in my fridge, rather than just condiments and booze. I socialize on a daily basis. My mother no longer worries that I'm stuck in some sort of heart wrenching depression (even though I've never been depressed in my life.) I don't sit around in my undergarments, listening to bad music and fighting with people on the internet anymore. Sometimes I find these things a little sad, but then neat little things happen, like George letting me pick the movie or Pie learning to draw people (better than I can, I should add) and it's all okay.
Still, there's only one month until George takes Pie on her first camping trip. They're going for four days. I can't wait.
I used to do things that really freaked George out. Like get in my car and just leave for a few days. I didn't have a phone, and if I did, I probably wouldn't have answered it, so I totally get why this bothered him, but it was something I needed to do. For me. I always left a note that I wasn't upset or angry or leaving him, I was just going on vacation. I did this quite often, and to be honest, I think it would pissed me off if the shoe was on the other foot. George, as always, was nonplussed by my behavior, but he just accepted it as one of those things. He didn't like it, but he didn't get mad at me over it, either. George is a saint.
I never really knew where I was going, either, I just went. I had this game, where I'd assign a fairly common word to each direction, turn the radio on and whichever word I heard first was the way I went. I'd find small, but interesting towns and eat in their local restaurants and stay in their cheap motels. Sometimes I'd chat with the locals and others, I'd just keep to myself. Sometimes I was me, and others I'd make up whole new personalities to try out on people I'd never see again.
Another time, I moved into a hotel for three weeks and didn't talk to anyone other than the lady at the front desk and the guy who occasionally brought my food. I mostly ate stuff I packed, though, so that was infrequent and the desk lady was just me calling down to extend my stay. George and my mom were both convinced someone was going to find me dead in there, but they were wrong. I just felt like being antisocial. Really antisocial.
Anyway, I don't get to do these things anymore. I won't get to for many, many more years. Gone are the days of subsisting on nothing but caffeinated beverages and nicotine. There's actually food in my fridge, rather than just condiments and booze. I socialize on a daily basis. My mother no longer worries that I'm stuck in some sort of heart wrenching depression (even though I've never been depressed in my life.) I don't sit around in my undergarments, listening to bad music and fighting with people on the internet anymore. Sometimes I find these things a little sad, but then neat little things happen, like George letting me pick the movie or Pie learning to draw people (better than I can, I should add) and it's all okay.
Still, there's only one month until George takes Pie on her first camping trip. They're going for four days. I can't wait.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
I'm Supposed to be Drunk Right Now.
I'm not, which is dreadfully unfortunate, but the marital unit got called into work, and we have a general agreement that there will be at least one sober adult in the house at all times until the little is capable of getting herself outside in the event of a fire. I don't remember making that agreement, but it probably is a good idea.
So, I'm not drunk, I can't sleep, and it's 3 in the morning. I know, I can blog! I know a few people have been worried that I died or something, so this seems like a great time to clear that up. I didn't. I've just been lazy. No... I really haven't even been lazy. I've just been really antisocial lately, even for me. It's a combination of other projects (which my husband made fun of me for, so I won't talk about them right now) and the bathroom guys.
The bathroom guys are at least two hours late every day, and twice they neglected to show up at all. There's no call, no "Hey, we'll be late tomorrow," they just don't show up. It's really irritating because it means Pie and I are stuck here waiting. Too much time at home is negatively impacting her behavior and by the time they do get here, I'm ready to punch someone. Supposedly, the bathroom will be done on Friday. George is hopeful, and I don't have the heart to tell him I'm pretty sure they mean next Friday. Or two Fridays from now. They did get the floor tiles put down, though. No grout, just the tiles. It's also become increasingly apparent that George and I have very different visions of the end result.
Pie has this Disney Princess CD player. I keep it in the kitchen, since I usually just listen to music on one of the computers, but I don't have a computer in the kitchen. (Yes, I do have a computer in every other room I routinely spend time in. In my defense, they're mostly spare parts computers.) Anyway, it has a microphone and everything! I'm too lazy to go take a picture, but that's what Google images are for, right?
Since my parents bought it for her two Christmases ago, this thing has been nothing more than a source of humiliating moments for me. I love to sing. This would be an excellent time to mention that my singing is both godawful and ear shatteringly loud. After a decade, George is used to it, but I really feel for Pie, especially in the car. Surprisingly, she actually seems to like it. I can't wait to hear her opinion when she's a teenager! If all my restraint goes out the car window, the kitchen is at least ten times worse. There's something about a pink CD player and a microphone that makes it impossible for me NOT to sing. It also compels me to sing the cheesiest stuff I can find!
The guy in my attic still won't let me live down the time he had to come down stairs to ask me to bring my countertop karaoke to a more reasonable level. That's fine, I deserve it, but I also feel the need to point out that he was the creeper who stood there watching for at least two songs before saying something. If he's going to keep calling me Fieval, I'm going to start calling him Peeping Tom. It doesn't really help that George thinks this is awesome and encourages him.
Anyway, the bathroom guys were supposed to be here at noon. When I started dinner (at quarter after four) I'd simply assumed they weren't coming for the day. I didn't give it a second thought when I popped in a CD full of cheesy 80's music and started the chicken. I was belting lyrics out at an excruciating volume when something caught in my peripheral vision. Hey! It was the bathroom guys! They decided to show up after all! Since I can't imagine standing at someone's backdoor and just watching them, I figured they'd just got there. I just turned it down, holstered the microphone (along with my raging disappointment) and went on making the salad. I didn't think anything else of it until they packed up for the evening.
"See you tomorrow, Tonsils!"
George looked at me, looked at them, looked back at me and started cracking up. The other guy starting singing. I just rolled my eyes. Seriously? It's not like this hasn't happened before. They can try all they want, my chops are unbustable! It was only after they left that George told me they've been calling me that all week. Nice.
So, I'm not drunk, I can't sleep, and it's 3 in the morning. I know, I can blog! I know a few people have been worried that I died or something, so this seems like a great time to clear that up. I didn't. I've just been lazy. No... I really haven't even been lazy. I've just been really antisocial lately, even for me. It's a combination of other projects (which my husband made fun of me for, so I won't talk about them right now) and the bathroom guys.
The bathroom guys are at least two hours late every day, and twice they neglected to show up at all. There's no call, no "Hey, we'll be late tomorrow," they just don't show up. It's really irritating because it means Pie and I are stuck here waiting. Too much time at home is negatively impacting her behavior and by the time they do get here, I'm ready to punch someone. Supposedly, the bathroom will be done on Friday. George is hopeful, and I don't have the heart to tell him I'm pretty sure they mean next Friday. Or two Fridays from now. They did get the floor tiles put down, though. No grout, just the tiles. It's also become increasingly apparent that George and I have very different visions of the end result.
Pie has this Disney Princess CD player. I keep it in the kitchen, since I usually just listen to music on one of the computers, but I don't have a computer in the kitchen. (Yes, I do have a computer in every other room I routinely spend time in. In my defense, they're mostly spare parts computers.) Anyway, it has a microphone and everything! I'm too lazy to go take a picture, but that's what Google images are for, right?
Since my parents bought it for her two Christmases ago, this thing has been nothing more than a source of humiliating moments for me. I love to sing. This would be an excellent time to mention that my singing is both godawful and ear shatteringly loud. After a decade, George is used to it, but I really feel for Pie, especially in the car. Surprisingly, she actually seems to like it. I can't wait to hear her opinion when she's a teenager! If all my restraint goes out the car window, the kitchen is at least ten times worse. There's something about a pink CD player and a microphone that makes it impossible for me NOT to sing. It also compels me to sing the cheesiest stuff I can find!
The guy in my attic still won't let me live down the time he had to come down stairs to ask me to bring my countertop karaoke to a more reasonable level. That's fine, I deserve it, but I also feel the need to point out that he was the creeper who stood there watching for at least two songs before saying something. If he's going to keep calling me Fieval, I'm going to start calling him Peeping Tom. It doesn't really help that George thinks this is awesome and encourages him.
Anyway, the bathroom guys were supposed to be here at noon. When I started dinner (at quarter after four) I'd simply assumed they weren't coming for the day. I didn't give it a second thought when I popped in a CD full of cheesy 80's music and started the chicken. I was belting lyrics out at an excruciating volume when something caught in my peripheral vision. Hey! It was the bathroom guys! They decided to show up after all! Since I can't imagine standing at someone's backdoor and just watching them, I figured they'd just got there. I just turned it down, holstered the microphone (along with my raging disappointment) and went on making the salad. I didn't think anything else of it until they packed up for the evening.
"See you tomorrow, Tonsils!"
George looked at me, looked at them, looked back at me and started cracking up. The other guy starting singing. I just rolled my eyes. Seriously? It's not like this hasn't happened before. They can try all they want, my chops are unbustable! It was only after they left that George told me they've been calling me that all week. Nice.
Friday, March 18, 2011
I'm a Crazy Person Magnet
I swear this shit only happens to me.
A couple months ago, we decided to try out this once a week home preschool program for Pie. We don't want to put her in a traditional preschool (no need, no point) but this was at home, she'd gain another education influence, and I might learn some new things to do with her. Fantastic! This was absolutely ideal. Only, shortly after we started, we realized the teacher is an asshole. She's an over-sharer. I'm an over-sharer, so I really don't have a ton of room to criticize, except I do have a basic grasp on discretion and when to use it. She does not, and apparently considers her drug and bedroom habits appropriate discussion points. In front of my three year old.
I really don't care what she (or, aside from my husband, any other adult) does in her free time, but the time she is at my house is not her free time. That's her paid time assisting in the educational experience of my child. Not only that, but my not caring means exactly that--I don't care. Do what you want, keep it to yourself. I'm not a foam pad parent, but I think it's reasonable not to want the tiny human I'm raising to hear about someone's visit to the free clinic or hear the detailed version of that bloody nose not being caused by the dry winter. True stories, my friends.
George hates her. Hates. He's been on me to quit for the majority of the time we've been doing it, but I've stuck it out because Pie really enjoys it. Honestly, the lessons she brings aren't anything new, and for the most part, I've been doing the same activities with Pie for years. Still, it's a change of pace and that's been good. I don't know. We've discussed keeping personal affairs personal, and she'll back off for a week, but overall, it hasn't done much good. We always end up back at square one shortly after. We're not even close. I mean, I guess it would be easier to understand if we were, say, friends or something, but casual acquaintances would be a better description.
She really enjoys sending extremely graphic text messages to her boyfriend. That's cool. Not my business, except every now and then, a message makes it to my inbox instead, making it my business. That's cool, too. George and I get a giggle and move on. Except today, instead of a stray text, I got a rather... um... colorful picture message. Okay...
I texted her that I had received a message that was clearly not meant for me. She called me, freaking out and insisting that sometimes people get messages that show up from her phone even though they're from someone unknown. (Yeah, it confused me, too.) Except, for not sending it, she sure seemed to know what was sent. Just for shits and giggles (read: because George was pissed off) I called Verizon to see if that was, in fact, a possibility.
If anyone is new here, I loathe phone calls, so that was bad enough, but it seems someone at Verizon is omniscient and decided to make it extra difficult by having their strangest phone agent take my call. His name was Cory. I gave Cory the gist of the situation, and asked if it was possible these texts were from a stranger, but showing up under her number anyway. And if it was possible, how likely. Cory, weird or not, was very pleasant and helpful and placed me on hold to go look into it.
When he returned, he informed me the probability of what she said happened actually happening is more or less zero. He didn't, however, think it was malicious. Neither did I, so that wasn't really important, but that didn't stop him from going into a barrage of rather senseless and difficult to follow stories to back it up, anyway.
One time, Cory from Verizon took a picture of his butt. He meant to text it to his wife, but sent it to his mother-in-law instead. That's pretty cool, plus it was relevant, and made me laugh, but it all went downhill from there as he launched into some story about how teenagers are assholes and when he was a teenager he was an asshole and he did things that weren't nice and he knew they weren't nice but he did them anyway and now he feels bad but he didn't when he was an asshole teenager. Yeah, it didn't make sense to me, either. I have no idea what he did, and even less of an idea what the hell he was talking about or how it relates to pictures of Pie's home preschool teacher's taco, but I guess he was an asshole as a teenager. I also guess you're allowed to use the word "asshole" to customers if you work for Verizon. I'll keep that in mind if I ever need a job.
Then, he started talking about movies. At this point, I started transcribing the conversation, because I'd figured out it was probably blog worthy.
"Did you see that new movie? It has that guy in it and he's a politician. He was also a general in that war movie." He was talking really fast, and I like to imagine, throwing his arms about wildly.
"Umm... No..." I actually know this is true, even with Cory's nondescript description. That's because the only movies I've seen this year have been children's movies. The word "new" was all I needed.
"You should see it! It was good. But yeah that guy had a problem like this. Are you sure you didn't see that movie?"
"Was it animated?"
"No, but it's new. With that actor guy..." Clearly, Cory enjoyed this movie enough to remember all the finest details!
"That helps. If it wasn't animated, I haven't seen it."
"Oh. Okay." He sounded really disappointed, and now I feel like maybe I should Google "movie about a politician who appears to be sending obscene picture messages even though he really isn't and is played by the same actor who played a general in that war movie". If anything comes up, I can watch it and give Cory a call back to discuss our thoughts on the film and how it relates to my personal situation.
A couple months ago, we decided to try out this once a week home preschool program for Pie. We don't want to put her in a traditional preschool (no need, no point) but this was at home, she'd gain another education influence, and I might learn some new things to do with her. Fantastic! This was absolutely ideal. Only, shortly after we started, we realized the teacher is an asshole. She's an over-sharer. I'm an over-sharer, so I really don't have a ton of room to criticize, except I do have a basic grasp on discretion and when to use it. She does not, and apparently considers her drug and bedroom habits appropriate discussion points. In front of my three year old.
I really don't care what she (or, aside from my husband, any other adult) does in her free time, but the time she is at my house is not her free time. That's her paid time assisting in the educational experience of my child. Not only that, but my not caring means exactly that--I don't care. Do what you want, keep it to yourself. I'm not a foam pad parent, but I think it's reasonable not to want the tiny human I'm raising to hear about someone's visit to the free clinic or hear the detailed version of that bloody nose not being caused by the dry winter. True stories, my friends.
George hates her. Hates. He's been on me to quit for the majority of the time we've been doing it, but I've stuck it out because Pie really enjoys it. Honestly, the lessons she brings aren't anything new, and for the most part, I've been doing the same activities with Pie for years. Still, it's a change of pace and that's been good. I don't know. We've discussed keeping personal affairs personal, and she'll back off for a week, but overall, it hasn't done much good. We always end up back at square one shortly after. We're not even close. I mean, I guess it would be easier to understand if we were, say, friends or something, but casual acquaintances would be a better description.
She really enjoys sending extremely graphic text messages to her boyfriend. That's cool. Not my business, except every now and then, a message makes it to my inbox instead, making it my business. That's cool, too. George and I get a giggle and move on. Except today, instead of a stray text, I got a rather... um... colorful picture message. Okay...
I texted her that I had received a message that was clearly not meant for me. She called me, freaking out and insisting that sometimes people get messages that show up from her phone even though they're from someone unknown. (Yeah, it confused me, too.) Except, for not sending it, she sure seemed to know what was sent. Just for shits and giggles (read: because George was pissed off) I called Verizon to see if that was, in fact, a possibility.
If anyone is new here, I loathe phone calls, so that was bad enough, but it seems someone at Verizon is omniscient and decided to make it extra difficult by having their strangest phone agent take my call. His name was Cory. I gave Cory the gist of the situation, and asked if it was possible these texts were from a stranger, but showing up under her number anyway. And if it was possible, how likely. Cory, weird or not, was very pleasant and helpful and placed me on hold to go look into it.
When he returned, he informed me the probability of what she said happened actually happening is more or less zero. He didn't, however, think it was malicious. Neither did I, so that wasn't really important, but that didn't stop him from going into a barrage of rather senseless and difficult to follow stories to back it up, anyway.
One time, Cory from Verizon took a picture of his butt. He meant to text it to his wife, but sent it to his mother-in-law instead. That's pretty cool, plus it was relevant, and made me laugh, but it all went downhill from there as he launched into some story about how teenagers are assholes and when he was a teenager he was an asshole and he did things that weren't nice and he knew they weren't nice but he did them anyway and now he feels bad but he didn't when he was an asshole teenager. Yeah, it didn't make sense to me, either. I have no idea what he did, and even less of an idea what the hell he was talking about or how it relates to pictures of Pie's home preschool teacher's taco, but I guess he was an asshole as a teenager. I also guess you're allowed to use the word "asshole" to customers if you work for Verizon. I'll keep that in mind if I ever need a job.
Then, he started talking about movies. At this point, I started transcribing the conversation, because I'd figured out it was probably blog worthy.
"Did you see that new movie? It has that guy in it and he's a politician. He was also a general in that war movie." He was talking really fast, and I like to imagine, throwing his arms about wildly.
"Umm... No..." I actually know this is true, even with Cory's nondescript description. That's because the only movies I've seen this year have been children's movies. The word "new" was all I needed.
"You should see it! It was good. But yeah that guy had a problem like this. Are you sure you didn't see that movie?"
"Was it animated?"
"No, but it's new. With that actor guy..." Clearly, Cory enjoyed this movie enough to remember all the finest details!
"That helps. If it wasn't animated, I haven't seen it."
"Oh. Okay." He sounded really disappointed, and now I feel like maybe I should Google "movie about a politician who appears to be sending obscene picture messages even though he really isn't and is played by the same actor who played a general in that war movie". If anything comes up, I can watch it and give Cory a call back to discuss our thoughts on the film and how it relates to my personal situation.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Proud Mom Moment!
I've avoided using Pie's real name or picture here. It's not really out of fear of creepy stalkers or anything. For one thing, I think I've already given out enough information that if someone wanted to stalk me, they could. For another, I think any stalker I did pick up would be bored witless after about 15 minutes.
The thing about Pie is that she's only three right now. In ten years, she'll be thirteen, and while I thoroughly look forward to embarrassing her teenage self, I think it's only fair to do it on a level playing field. The possibility of some future person using something against her that I posted here doesn't seem right. Besides, my husband is afraid of creepy stalkers, so we've stuck to using a nickname and MS Paint drawings of her.
But, this was too cool to not post!
In other news, Happy Ides of March!
The thing about Pie is that she's only three right now. In ten years, she'll be thirteen, and while I thoroughly look forward to embarrassing her teenage self, I think it's only fair to do it on a level playing field. The possibility of some future person using something against her that I posted here doesn't seem right. Besides, my husband is afraid of creepy stalkers, so we've stuck to using a nickname and MS Paint drawings of her.
But, this was too cool to not post!
Ihra-Pie!
I was making dinner, when she ran into the kitchen waving this paper in my face. She's known how to spell her name (and a few other simple words) for a while, but lately she's really been interested in reading and writing and letters. So, for the past few weeks, we've really been working at it. I'd write things lightly in pencil, she'd trace them. She'd tirelessly ask about the letter magnets (which no longer stick to the fridge) as I did the dishes. We went through an entire pack of bath crayons this month.
And tonight, as I was slicing the meat for the fajitas, it apparently clicked. She picked up a blue crayon and wrote her name.
I didn't even want to be a parent. I knew any child of mine would be doomed based solely on the fact that I gave birth to it, and that's before considering that I'd be raising it, too! The facts that a tiny human being can write her name when she couldn't yesterday, and that I'm the one who taught her are things I can't wrap my mind around. I'm so insanely proud of both of us, and this is one of those few moments when I feel like maybe I'm not fucking it all up. Like, despite me, she may turn out okay. Maybe even because of me.
And, although I never thought I'd be this person, I'll admit it: I teared up a bit.
In other news, Happy Ides of March!
Monday, March 14, 2011
I Drank Too Much Coffee (Again)
And for some reason, I have decided this merits a blog entry. I don't mean "too much" as in a I had a couple cups and now I can't sleep--I mean too much as in I had several pots and now my vision is a bit spotty, my hands are shaky, and I'm narrating this out loud, way faster than my piss-poor typing skills can keep up with. Also, seeing as there isn't a responsible adult around to stop me (my husband is asleep, like a normal person) I went ahead and started another pot. I'm on a roll tonight.
Sorry. I got distracted and I can't remember where I was going with that. It'll come back to me, but for now I'll talk about my bathroom. Talk, because yes, I'm still talking. To myself, only different because it's sort of like I'm talking to you fine folks. Except I'm the only person answering. Never mind. Bathroom.
We're completely redoing it. It's going to be awesome, but right now it's just a huge pain in my ass, keeping me stuck in the house all day as strange people come in and out. This is what it looked like yesterday:
With the lack of floor, I can finally show off my scary basement without actually having to go down there. I'm pretty sure it's full of dead people and spiders the size of dogs. Small dogs, but still. Next year's home improvement project is to wall-in an area and create a home theater. Also, we're going to turn the secret room into a speakeasy! Hopefully, that will happen next year, too.
Sorry. I got distracted and I can't remember where I was going with that. It'll come back to me, but for now I'll talk about my bathroom. Talk, because yes, I'm still talking. To myself, only different because it's sort of like I'm talking to you fine folks. Except I'm the only person answering. Never mind. Bathroom.
We're completely redoing it. It's going to be awesome, but right now it's just a huge pain in my ass, keeping me stuck in the house all day as strange people come in and out. This is what it looked like yesterday:
With the lack of floor, I can finally show off my scary basement without actually having to go down there. I'm pretty sure it's full of dead people and spiders the size of dogs. Small dogs, but still. Next year's home improvement project is to wall-in an area and create a home theater. Also, we're going to turn the secret room into a speakeasy! Hopefully, that will happen next year, too.
Anyway, the bathroom now has a floor and a toilet, which is good. George was fairly sure I'd forget and fall through the gaping hole in the middle of the night and, unable to move, the spiders would eat me. (Okay, the last part was mine. But he really was worried about the first part.) I don't know if that means he doesn't give me enough credit or he just knows me too well. I'd take a picture of the bathroom now, but I don't know where my camera is and I don't feel like looking for it. Just picture that room with a floor and toilet. Not actual flooring (that's stacked up in the kitchen) just a sub-floor. That's it. Tomorrow we're getting new pipes and drywall!
Oh yeah, half way through that, I remembered what I was talking (still talking) about earlier. I've discovered that in addition to my coffee problem, I might have an internet problem. It's nothing major, and it's not affecting my family or home, but if I'm at the computer, I don't last 10 minutes before ending up online. I guess it's only a problem because it takes away from other interests and hobbies. Tonight I solved this by taking my laptop to a restaurant where I was fairly certain I would not get a signal. It worked! I sat there and drank coffee and wrote. For over five hours. I can drink a lot of coffee in five hours, especially if I don't have to get up and get it myself. I'm a terrible writer, so I still question my productivity here, but at least I wasn't on the internet. I'm also wondering if I narrated myself at the restaurant. Boy, I hope not because that would have been really unfortunate for the people behind me.
I have no idea where I'm going with this, and to be honest, sitting down is killing me. I had very high hopes when I started, but I keep losing my focus so it's just all over the place and awful. I think I'm going to go eat some buffalo wings, pace around my house, and probably delete this in the morning. In the mean time, here's a picture of my new crayons!
The red thing is a sharpener. It doesn't work, which is disappointing, but it was a nice thought.
On a final note, I really can't wait for Cedar Point to open. It's that time of year that I start to get really excited about it.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Why Didn't I Do This Sooner?
There are two things I really wanted as a kid, but never got. Well, there are more than two things, but as far as things my parents had a reasonable level of control over, there are only two. One is a surprise party. I still haven't gotten one and it makes me sad. I'm not even subtle about anymore. Every year after my birthday, I inform my husband and mother that next year, I want a surprise party. Then, I wait. And hope. And when no one mentions any special plans, I get so excited because I know--I just know--that this is it! This is the year, and they haven't said anything because they think they're sneaky and later on, everyone will jump out and throw cake at me! And every year, I am let down, once again. My birthdays are still great, but they just aren't what they could be.
Fortunately, the second thing was something I could do for myself: The big box of crayons! Growing up, my parents just didn't see the need for me to have 48, then 64, then 96 (!) crayons. Every year, I showed up to the first day of school with the same 24 colors I had the year before. The other kids would have all the shades they needed, while I had to layer color after color, desperately hoping to achieve the same result. It was all very disheartening. I changed that, though. Yesterday, I went out and bought myself the biggest box of Crayola crayons I could find. I have 120 colors to choose from, and it looks like all I'm missing are the Metallic FX. I'll be buying those later this week.
George was irritated that I spent $10 on a box of crayons. 1. George doesn't get it. 2. George just bought a new grill, when the less than two year old grill we had was perfectly fine.
George: Babe! Look at this! We should buy it!
Me: Okay. Next time we get a grill, we'll get that one.
George: No, I mean we should buy it now.
Me: (Confused, as we have a perfectly good grill already) Why? Is something wrong with our grill?
George: Not really. But this one has the capacity for 43 1/2 pound burgers. Ours is only good for 25.
Me: Umm... There are only 3 people in our family. And Pie doesn't even eat burgers.
George: But then we can have people over!
Me: You hate having people over. Besides, we don't know 43 people. Do we even know 25 people?
George: You have all those friends on the internet.
Me: Yeah, because all my friends on the internet are going to come to your delusional fantasy cookout... Never mind that you think we're all a bunch of weirdos.
George: Well, you can cook a whole week's worth of dinner in an hour, then I can just reheat it later.
Me: You don't eat leftovers.
I'm not sure how, but he managed to get me to agree to the grill. Then, we had the unfortunate task of figuring out how to fit it into our tiny Saturn. That involved taking all the pieces out of the box and cramming them wherever they would fit. It took nearly a half hour, in the cold and snow and slush, with people staring at us like we'd lost our minds. After that, we went home and I got to put the stupid thing together. It is a really nice grill, though.
So, George can bite me. Twice. These crayons are more than just tools to compliment the coloring books I steal from Pie, they are fulfillment of a childhood dream!
They're also surprisingly overwhelming. It took me two hours to color one page yesterday. Most of that time was spent hunting down the crayon best suited to match. No matter, though--that pictured turned out amazing! It makes me sad that magnets don't stick to the new fridge. But, they do stick to the bottom half of the grill.
Fortunately, the second thing was something I could do for myself: The big box of crayons! Growing up, my parents just didn't see the need for me to have 48, then 64, then 96 (!) crayons. Every year, I showed up to the first day of school with the same 24 colors I had the year before. The other kids would have all the shades they needed, while I had to layer color after color, desperately hoping to achieve the same result. It was all very disheartening. I changed that, though. Yesterday, I went out and bought myself the biggest box of Crayola crayons I could find. I have 120 colors to choose from, and it looks like all I'm missing are the Metallic FX. I'll be buying those later this week.
George was irritated that I spent $10 on a box of crayons. 1. George doesn't get it. 2. George just bought a new grill, when the less than two year old grill we had was perfectly fine.
George: Babe! Look at this! We should buy it!
Me: Okay. Next time we get a grill, we'll get that one.
George: No, I mean we should buy it now.
Me: (Confused, as we have a perfectly good grill already) Why? Is something wrong with our grill?
George: Not really. But this one has the capacity for 43 1/2 pound burgers. Ours is only good for 25.
Me: Umm... There are only 3 people in our family. And Pie doesn't even eat burgers.
George: But then we can have people over!
Me: You hate having people over. Besides, we don't know 43 people. Do we even know 25 people?
George: You have all those friends on the internet.
Me: Yeah, because all my friends on the internet are going to come to your delusional fantasy cookout... Never mind that you think we're all a bunch of weirdos.
George: Well, you can cook a whole week's worth of dinner in an hour, then I can just reheat it later.
Me: You don't eat leftovers.
I'm not sure how, but he managed to get me to agree to the grill. Then, we had the unfortunate task of figuring out how to fit it into our tiny Saturn. That involved taking all the pieces out of the box and cramming them wherever they would fit. It took nearly a half hour, in the cold and snow and slush, with people staring at us like we'd lost our minds. After that, we went home and I got to put the stupid thing together. It is a really nice grill, though.
So, George can bite me. Twice. These crayons are more than just tools to compliment the coloring books I steal from Pie, they are fulfillment of a childhood dream!
They're also surprisingly overwhelming. It took me two hours to color one page yesterday. Most of that time was spent hunting down the crayon best suited to match. No matter, though--that pictured turned out amazing! It makes me sad that magnets don't stick to the new fridge. But, they do stick to the bottom half of the grill.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Oh Lord, You Got a Snake Head in the Green Beans!
So, when I started this, I meant to update daily. It was one of my New Year's resolutions, actually. I'm pretty bummed about how awful I've been about it this week. First, some good stuff happened. Then, some neutral stuff happened, followed immediately by some bad stuff, then some more good stuff. Basically, just a bunch of stuff, and unfortunately, it's all either embarrassing, boring, or simply does not belong on the blog. In any case, I'm great, life is happy, and I hope to be back to blogging daily.
Since I really don't have any particular direction in my life at the moment, I like to keep myself sharp by setting little goals for the day. Sometimes they're real goals, but they're usually nonsense, created for no other reason than to trick myself into thinking I've accomplished something. Today's goal fell into the latter category.
I should probably explain the back story behind this, but it's almost more fun to let everyone take it where they wish. My goal today was to slip the phrase, "Oh Lord, you got a snake head in the green beans!" into as many conversations as possible. I had an incredibly successful day today!
First, George came home this morning, ranting about a co-worker. Could I get it in before 9AM? Yes. Yes, I could!
Me: Oh Lord! You got a snake head in the green beans, don't you?
George: (irritated look) So anyway, rantrantrantrantrant....
Yes! One down! Even if it did earn me George's patented stop-being-dumb look.
We had an appointment with Pie's nutritionist today. After 3.5 years of people asking me what's wrong with her, I feel the need to be proactive here. Pie's underweight. A lot. There's nothing wrong with her, she's just really petite. Her first pediatrician accused me of starving her and more or less threatened me with children's services. It was really scary, and I cried for a week, then I decided to do something about it. I switched pediatricians and we began seeing a nutritionist. Both the new pediatrician and the nutritionist (as well as the lactation consultant I was seeing at that time) worked together to assure me nothing was wrong and I was doing great. The nutritionist really gave me a lot of good ideas, and Pie's still really underweight, so we still see her. She's fantastic, covered in awesome sauce and loaded with spectacular sprinkles. Seriously. Anyway, that's not really relevant, just me being defensive. And probably over-sharing again.
So, on the way there, I thought it would be a good idea to try it on Pie.
Me: Oh Lord, you got a snake head in the green beans!
Pie: Snake head? Whatsa snake head?
Me: A snake head. Like the head of a snake.
Pie: Does it have a pointy tongue?
Me: Yes.
Pie: What?
Me: The snake head.
Pie: What snake head?
In retrospect, targeting Pie was a stupid idea. She forgot about it halfway through the conversation, but somehow remembered enough to bring it up at random and irritating intervals throughout the day. I guess I now know how George feels.
Our visit with the nutritionist went fairly well. Pie hasn't gained any weight in four months, but she hasn't lost any, either. I also got a third one in.
Awesome Nutritionist: Well, she's still just over 26 pounds.
Me: Oh Lord! That's truly a snake head in the green beans.
Awesome Nutritionist: Well, I wou-- Wait, what?
Me: A snake head. In the green beans.
Awesome Nutritionist: Okay. You don't need to worry, though.
I could tell she was trying not to laugh, which made me really happy. If the rest of the day sucked, at least I had that!
After the nutritionist appointment, I took Pie to McDonald's. Now that I think about it, I probably should have taken her home and made a fresh and healthy meal, but McDonald's is one of those win-win places. She can enjoy the company of other children in that grime covered cesspool known as the play place, and I can neglect her in favor of the free WiFi. Super!
I ordered our food, looking for an opportunity the whole time. Then, I got one!
Me: Ooh! And a shamrock shake!
McDonald's Lady: I'm sorry, the shake machine isn't working.
Me: Oh Lord! If that isn't a snake head in the green beans! Oh... I guess just a coffee then.
While enjoying my little internet break, strange people joined us in the kiddie area. One of them kept trying to see what I was doing on the computer, which was annoying as hell, mostly because I was doing something that may be construed as inappropriate. Or at least embarrassing. I managed to shake her off, but then I was further violated by a crazy person. And coming from me, the term "crazy person" means something.
Crazy Person: How's it goin'?
Me: (I didn't realize he was crazy at this point.) Outstanding. You?
Crazy Person: Outstanding? Really? That's good.
There was a little more small talk, then the crazy part came out.
Crazy Person: You know I died once?
Me: Umm...
Crazy Person: I spent four days in heaven, then I went to hell for four days. Hell was really bad.
Me: ... Yeah, I'd imagine it would be...
Crazy Person: Next time I die, I only want to go to heaven.
Me: Well, I hope you do. Hey, Pie... Get your boots on.
Crazy Person: I'm not sure I will.
Me: (Suddenly remembering my goal) Yeah, that would really be a snake head in the green beans...
Then, I silently kicked myself. Baiting the crazy guy was probably not a good idea. But you know what? He stopped telling me about hell and looked at me like I was the weirdo! What!? As we left, I also realized that between the "How ya doin?" and dying and coming back to life thing, I missed out on what will very likely be the best opportunity I'll ever have to make a bunch of Tangled references. I'm still disappointed in myself. I mean, I guess the complete lack of sanity is a reasonable excuse, but still... How did I miss that?
Of course, no day is complete without a call from my mom.
Mom: Did you go to church yesterday?
Me: No, I forgot. What a snake head in the green beans, eh?
Mom: How did you forget? It's pretty important, you know...
At this point, my mom has figured out just to ignore me. Go mom!
And just to round out the day, I got one more in with George before he left.
Me: You go take care of that snake head in the green beans!
That's why he loves me. I'm always thinking of him.
All in all, I count today as an incredible success! And yes, before anyone points it out, I am aware that I don't exactly have the highest expectations for myself. It's cool. Someone great once told me that expectations only lead to disappointment. And now that I've worked that phrase into my blog entry, I have accomplished my second goal for the day. That is no snake head in the green beans!
It's good to be back.
ETA: Every speck of credit for this entry goes to my lovely friend, J-Pan and her amazing early morning Google skills!
Since I really don't have any particular direction in my life at the moment, I like to keep myself sharp by setting little goals for the day. Sometimes they're real goals, but they're usually nonsense, created for no other reason than to trick myself into thinking I've accomplished something. Today's goal fell into the latter category.
I should probably explain the back story behind this, but it's almost more fun to let everyone take it where they wish. My goal today was to slip the phrase, "Oh Lord, you got a snake head in the green beans!" into as many conversations as possible. I had an incredibly successful day today!
First, George came home this morning, ranting about a co-worker. Could I get it in before 9AM? Yes. Yes, I could!
Me: Oh Lord! You got a snake head in the green beans, don't you?
George: (irritated look) So anyway, rantrantrantrantrant....
Yes! One down! Even if it did earn me George's patented stop-being-dumb look.
We had an appointment with Pie's nutritionist today. After 3.5 years of people asking me what's wrong with her, I feel the need to be proactive here. Pie's underweight. A lot. There's nothing wrong with her, she's just really petite. Her first pediatrician accused me of starving her and more or less threatened me with children's services. It was really scary, and I cried for a week, then I decided to do something about it. I switched pediatricians and we began seeing a nutritionist. Both the new pediatrician and the nutritionist (as well as the lactation consultant I was seeing at that time) worked together to assure me nothing was wrong and I was doing great. The nutritionist really gave me a lot of good ideas, and Pie's still really underweight, so we still see her. She's fantastic, covered in awesome sauce and loaded with spectacular sprinkles. Seriously. Anyway, that's not really relevant, just me being defensive. And probably over-sharing again.
So, on the way there, I thought it would be a good idea to try it on Pie.
Me: Oh Lord, you got a snake head in the green beans!
Pie: Snake head? Whatsa snake head?
Me: A snake head. Like the head of a snake.
Pie: Does it have a pointy tongue?
Me: Yes.
Pie: What?
Me: The snake head.
Pie: What snake head?
In retrospect, targeting Pie was a stupid idea. She forgot about it halfway through the conversation, but somehow remembered enough to bring it up at random and irritating intervals throughout the day. I guess I now know how George feels.
Our visit with the nutritionist went fairly well. Pie hasn't gained any weight in four months, but she hasn't lost any, either. I also got a third one in.
Awesome Nutritionist: Well, she's still just over 26 pounds.
Me: Oh Lord! That's truly a snake head in the green beans.
Awesome Nutritionist: Well, I wou-- Wait, what?
Me: A snake head. In the green beans.
Awesome Nutritionist: Okay. You don't need to worry, though.
I could tell she was trying not to laugh, which made me really happy. If the rest of the day sucked, at least I had that!
After the nutritionist appointment, I took Pie to McDonald's. Now that I think about it, I probably should have taken her home and made a fresh and healthy meal, but McDonald's is one of those win-win places. She can enjoy the company of other children in that grime covered cesspool known as the play place, and I can neglect her in favor of the free WiFi. Super!
I ordered our food, looking for an opportunity the whole time. Then, I got one!
Me: Ooh! And a shamrock shake!
McDonald's Lady: I'm sorry, the shake machine isn't working.
Me: Oh Lord! If that isn't a snake head in the green beans! Oh... I guess just a coffee then.
While enjoying my little internet break, strange people joined us in the kiddie area. One of them kept trying to see what I was doing on the computer, which was annoying as hell, mostly because I was doing something that may be construed as inappropriate. Or at least embarrassing. I managed to shake her off, but then I was further violated by a crazy person. And coming from me, the term "crazy person" means something.
Crazy Person: How's it goin'?
Me: (I didn't realize he was crazy at this point.) Outstanding. You?
Crazy Person: Outstanding? Really? That's good.
There was a little more small talk, then the crazy part came out.
Crazy Person: You know I died once?
Me: Umm...
Crazy Person: I spent four days in heaven, then I went to hell for four days. Hell was really bad.
Me: ... Yeah, I'd imagine it would be...
Crazy Person: Next time I die, I only want to go to heaven.
Me: Well, I hope you do. Hey, Pie... Get your boots on.
Crazy Person: I'm not sure I will.
Me: (Suddenly remembering my goal) Yeah, that would really be a snake head in the green beans...
Then, I silently kicked myself. Baiting the crazy guy was probably not a good idea. But you know what? He stopped telling me about hell and looked at me like I was the weirdo! What!? As we left, I also realized that between the "How ya doin?" and dying and coming back to life thing, I missed out on what will very likely be the best opportunity I'll ever have to make a bunch of Tangled references. I'm still disappointed in myself. I mean, I guess the complete lack of sanity is a reasonable excuse, but still... How did I miss that?
Of course, no day is complete without a call from my mom.
Mom: Did you go to church yesterday?
Me: No, I forgot. What a snake head in the green beans, eh?
Mom: How did you forget? It's pretty important, you know...
At this point, my mom has figured out just to ignore me. Go mom!
And just to round out the day, I got one more in with George before he left.
Me: You go take care of that snake head in the green beans!
That's why he loves me. I'm always thinking of him.
All in all, I count today as an incredible success! And yes, before anyone points it out, I am aware that I don't exactly have the highest expectations for myself. It's cool. Someone great once told me that expectations only lead to disappointment. And now that I've worked that phrase into my blog entry, I have accomplished my second goal for the day. That is no snake head in the green beans!
It's good to be back.
ETA: Every speck of credit for this entry goes to my lovely friend, J-Pan and her amazing early morning Google skills!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Dolls Scare Me
Baby dolls scare the shit out of me. It's not a phobia like the spider thing, but still enough for me to be eternally thankful that Pie prefers non-threatening Barbie type dolls.
Once, when I was 22 or so, my friend's mom went on a cruise and brought back a bottle of Caribbean Cave Rum. We drank the whole thing in about an hour, and in all honesty, that night deserves an entry all of it's own, but the important part right now happened after I had fallen asleep on the sofa. My friend's sister, six at the time, lined up a bunch of dolls on the coffee table so that I woke up, still drunk, to their beady eyes and synthetic eyelashes staring right at me. It was awful.
The first Christmas George and I spent together, his mom gave me a porcelain doll. She was beautiful, but her cold, glassy gaze, and the accusing way she pointed at me were absolutely terror inducing. I tucked her safely into the back of a seldom used closet, where I left her when we bought our house. It's been years, but in the back of my mind, there's always that fear she'll pop up in some unexpected corner of our house, still staring and sporting that unending point.
Pie hasn't really had much interest in dolls (other than Barbies, which she can't have enough of) but they're a big thing with my in-laws, so every now and then, one enters our home. They usually end up at the back of her built-in cupboards or the bottom of a toy bin, and I only notice them when I thoroughly clean her room. I generally donate anything she hasn't played with in a while, but for whatever reason (most likely to terrorize me) she refuses to part with this one.
It's quite possibly the creepiest thing I've ever laid eyes on. It's a crushed velvet stuffed bear, except instead of a cuddly bear face, it has a plastic baby face with eyes that open and close and everything. I can't stand this thing. I can't even describe it. I'm too lazy to go find my camera right now and I couldn't find a Google image, but I'll post pictures of it tomorrow.
Pie found it today, while we cleaned her room, and it's now her favorite toy ever. Of course it is. Pie hates me. Still, it might be just the thing to get her sleeping in her own room. It's where she'll have to sleep if she wants that as her good night toy. Hell will be an awfully cold the day it sleeps in my room.
Once, when I was 22 or so, my friend's mom went on a cruise and brought back a bottle of Caribbean Cave Rum. We drank the whole thing in about an hour, and in all honesty, that night deserves an entry all of it's own, but the important part right now happened after I had fallen asleep on the sofa. My friend's sister, six at the time, lined up a bunch of dolls on the coffee table so that I woke up, still drunk, to their beady eyes and synthetic eyelashes staring right at me. It was awful.
The first Christmas George and I spent together, his mom gave me a porcelain doll. She was beautiful, but her cold, glassy gaze, and the accusing way she pointed at me were absolutely terror inducing. I tucked her safely into the back of a seldom used closet, where I left her when we bought our house. It's been years, but in the back of my mind, there's always that fear she'll pop up in some unexpected corner of our house, still staring and sporting that unending point.
Pie hasn't really had much interest in dolls (other than Barbies, which she can't have enough of) but they're a big thing with my in-laws, so every now and then, one enters our home. They usually end up at the back of her built-in cupboards or the bottom of a toy bin, and I only notice them when I thoroughly clean her room. I generally donate anything she hasn't played with in a while, but for whatever reason (most likely to terrorize me) she refuses to part with this one.
It's quite possibly the creepiest thing I've ever laid eyes on. It's a crushed velvet stuffed bear, except instead of a cuddly bear face, it has a plastic baby face with eyes that open and close and everything. I can't stand this thing. I can't even describe it. I'm too lazy to go find my camera right now and I couldn't find a Google image, but I'll post pictures of it tomorrow.
Pie found it today, while we cleaned her room, and it's now her favorite toy ever. Of course it is. Pie hates me. Still, it might be just the thing to get her sleeping in her own room. It's where she'll have to sleep if she wants that as her good night toy. Hell will be an awfully cold the day it sleeps in my room.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Mail!
I got two things in the mail today. One of them was my new computer, which I'm configuring right now. I've never bought a laptop before (the one I had was free if I could get it to work) and having a computer come in one piece with half the software installed is a completely foreign concept to me. I'm not sure that I like it. Putting the system together and doing the install the way I like it is one of my favorite things. I also love the smell of new computer parts. Don't bother commenting about how dorky I am, I already know. Still, I'm very impressed with the actual system and I'm really looking forward to seeing what it can do! Next up, the fun of transferring everything from here to there. Yay.
The other thing was a delightful book from the lovely akpeach! That was so exciting I almost peed my pants! I can't wait for Pie to go to bed so I can get to reading it. Thank you, my fabulous friend! That was completely unexpected and really made my day.
Other than that, I'm exhausted and while I had things planned to write about, I'm just not into it right now. Maybe I'll wake up in the middle of the night.
The other thing was a delightful book from the lovely akpeach! That was so exciting I almost peed my pants! I can't wait for Pie to go to bed so I can get to reading it. Thank you, my fabulous friend! That was completely unexpected and really made my day.
Other than that, I'm exhausted and while I had things planned to write about, I'm just not into it right now. Maybe I'll wake up in the middle of the night.
Buttercream Hell
I bake almost daily. It's something I'm reasonably good at, it's interesting to Pie, and, most importantly, it distracts me. I generally don't eat the things I bake (unless it's bread!) It's not because they aren't good, but after looking at them for so long, I'm just ready for them to go away. I'm weird, I know. It's okay though, because my neighbors and husband's coworkers love me.
Other than bread, cakes are probably my favorite thing to make. There are so many fun things you can do with cake. I mean, there's the batter, then any fillings or mix-ins, and finally, all the different decorating options. I love baking cakes! Pie's birthday is in September, and we've already decided on a cake! I won't spoil it yet (since, you know, anyone other than me actually cares or anything) but it's going to be the most fantastic cake I've ever made. It's also going to be the most complex cake I've ever made, so I'll probably do a couple trial runs starting in June. I can't wait, and I'd start now, but that's a lot of cake. Aw, hell, I'm on a tangent. But since I'm already there, here's her cake from last year:
And because I tend to go overboard, there were cupcakes, too!
Anyway, I love cakes, but every now and then, I get one that is such a bitch it makes me want never bake anything again. It's usually something really simple, too. Like this:
Other than bread, cakes are probably my favorite thing to make. There are so many fun things you can do with cake. I mean, there's the batter, then any fillings or mix-ins, and finally, all the different decorating options. I love baking cakes! Pie's birthday is in September, and we've already decided on a cake! I won't spoil it yet (since, you know, anyone other than me actually cares or anything) but it's going to be the most fantastic cake I've ever made. It's also going to be the most complex cake I've ever made, so I'll probably do a couple trial runs starting in June. I can't wait, and I'd start now, but that's a lot of cake. Aw, hell, I'm on a tangent. But since I'm already there, here's her cake from last year:
And because I tend to go overboard, there were cupcakes, too!
Very fun, but nowhere near the amount of awesome I have in store for this year!
Anyway, I love cakes, but every now and then, I get one that is such a bitch it makes me want never bake anything again. It's usually something really simple, too. Like this:
This cake makes me want to kill someone.
I didn't want to make this cake. I got a phone call from some strange woman yesterday, informing me that my mom said I would make the cake for their boss's birthday. I usually don't even take paid cakes with less than 48 hour notice, and to be honest, I prefer a week. That gives me plenty of time to find out exactly what they want and if it's something I can do, and make sure I have all the ingredients and implements necessary. It also allows me to make my icing or fondant two days before, instead of scrambling to do it all while the cake bakes (which is done the night before.) Since it was my mom, and it's for her work, I couldn't really say no. Plus, the lady was pretty easy going about what they wanted, specifically asking for a 9" round with white roses. The rest was up to me. Simple enough.
Except not, because I forgot something. I loathe making roses. I'm terrible at it, so any cake I make them for ends up looking shit and then I just feel bad about myself. It's pretty depressing. I can make decent fondant roses. I can make almost any other flower with buttercream. Hell, I can make a whole buttercream forest as long as roses don't grow there. But this is one thing I'm just not good at. I made about fifty of them before ending up with about ten I was happy with.
Finally!
I'm also horrible at writing on cakes, so if it needs to be done, I tend to start there and decorate around it. It was a major set back when the lady called me at 11:45 tonight to tell me I'd need to add "Eileen" to the cake as well. I had already finished the writing and was starting on the rest. I probably should have scraped it off and started over, but it's a free cake, I have a concussion, and I didn't want to. Now I feel bad about how obvious it is that Eileen was squeezed in and how bad that makes the cake look. Still, not bad enough to start over.
It's finally done! My head hurts and I'm tired and I have to be up really early, but I can't sleep because I'm just pissed off about this cake. It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to and it bugs me, but I just can't make myself go back and fix it. Part of me thinks it's because I know if I mess with it, I'll make it worse, but the other part thinks I'm just lazy. I don't plan to bake anything for the next week. I wish I'd bought the boxes without the windows, though.
Goodbye, cake from hell!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I Have (Another) Concussion!
I have two kinds of luck: None or dreadful.
You know those over the toilet bathroom organizer things? Like this:
Yeah, last night while bathing Pie, mine broke free and fell. On my head. It was put together correctly, anchored to the wall, and all the screws were tight, so I'm not really sure what happened. One minute, I was sitting there, splashing water at the child, and the next she was in hysterics and all I knew was that my head hurt like, well, like a cabinet had fallen on it. I was a little dizzy, but tried to shake it off. At some point, after throwing up, I was a little concerned for Pie's safety and called George to come home. He insisted on taking me to the ER. I hope they can tell the difference between domestic violence and random or clumsiness induced household injuries, because this isn't the first time I've had a concussion and I'm worried that George might be starting to look like a bad guy. Holy hell, my head still hurts.
On the way home, we noticed the car was running rough. A lot rough. This morning, after George gave me the approval to drive, I took it to the mechanic's. No, that's not true, I had to stop to clean it first, so I wouldn't be embarrassed to take it to the mechanic's. The car has somehow warped into a third room for Pie and all of her shit. That was actually good, though, as I was able to drop most of it off at Goodwill without her even noticing since it was already in the car. (And no, I didn't get weepy over it.)
Anyway, it's the wheel bearings. That would suck all on it's own, but it's worse because they just went bad last year. We're eleven days past warranty on the parts. Fuck. That. The good news is that wheel bearings are reasonably affordable and the better news is that our mechanic is awesome and said he'd cut us a little break on the labor. He couldn't get over how calm I was about it. I don't know if I was actually calm, or it was just the concussion, but I just kept that to myself. This stuff happens to us all of the time, and there's really no sense in getting worked up over it.
The bad news--and this is really bad--is that George has two back to back long days and he's going to need to sleep in the morning. This means I can't leave Pie at home, and that means I have the responsibility of keeping her occupied at the garage for the better part of the day tomorrow. There isn't really anything within walking distance, so that sucks. I'm hoping my dad will come and get us, but I know he won't be up at 8, when I get there. My family isn't exactly made up of morning people. And just to kick me while I'm already down, my computer is scheduled for delivery tomorrow and I won't be there to tear open the box the minute it gets there. Boo.
In the midst of all of this, my mom volunteered me (without asking) to bake her boss's birthday cake. I really don't want to, but it's my mom, so I guess I'd better get to it. Oh, and with the concussion and all, I just didn't feel up to posting yesterday, but the big news was that we got Pie her first bike! Very exciting! I wanted to post a picture of her on it, but George is hesitant about me using real pictures. This is the bike she chose:
You know those over the toilet bathroom organizer things? Like this:
Heavier than it looks!
Yeah, last night while bathing Pie, mine broke free and fell. On my head. It was put together correctly, anchored to the wall, and all the screws were tight, so I'm not really sure what happened. One minute, I was sitting there, splashing water at the child, and the next she was in hysterics and all I knew was that my head hurt like, well, like a cabinet had fallen on it. I was a little dizzy, but tried to shake it off. At some point, after throwing up, I was a little concerned for Pie's safety and called George to come home. He insisted on taking me to the ER. I hope they can tell the difference between domestic violence and random or clumsiness induced household injuries, because this isn't the first time I've had a concussion and I'm worried that George might be starting to look like a bad guy. Holy hell, my head still hurts.
On the way home, we noticed the car was running rough. A lot rough. This morning, after George gave me the approval to drive, I took it to the mechanic's. No, that's not true, I had to stop to clean it first, so I wouldn't be embarrassed to take it to the mechanic's. The car has somehow warped into a third room for Pie and all of her shit. That was actually good, though, as I was able to drop most of it off at Goodwill without her even noticing since it was already in the car. (And no, I didn't get weepy over it.)
Anyway, it's the wheel bearings. That would suck all on it's own, but it's worse because they just went bad last year. We're eleven days past warranty on the parts. Fuck. That. The good news is that wheel bearings are reasonably affordable and the better news is that our mechanic is awesome and said he'd cut us a little break on the labor. He couldn't get over how calm I was about it. I don't know if I was actually calm, or it was just the concussion, but I just kept that to myself. This stuff happens to us all of the time, and there's really no sense in getting worked up over it.
The bad news--and this is really bad--is that George has two back to back long days and he's going to need to sleep in the morning. This means I can't leave Pie at home, and that means I have the responsibility of keeping her occupied at the garage for the better part of the day tomorrow. There isn't really anything within walking distance, so that sucks. I'm hoping my dad will come and get us, but I know he won't be up at 8, when I get there. My family isn't exactly made up of morning people. And just to kick me while I'm already down, my computer is scheduled for delivery tomorrow and I won't be there to tear open the box the minute it gets there. Boo.
In the midst of all of this, my mom volunteered me (without asking) to bake her boss's birthday cake. I really don't want to, but it's my mom, so I guess I'd better get to it. Oh, and with the concussion and all, I just didn't feel up to posting yesterday, but the big news was that we got Pie her first bike! Very exciting! I wanted to post a picture of her on it, but George is hesitant about me using real pictures. This is the bike she chose:
I bet no one saw that coming!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Toy Story 3 was mediocre. At best.
Maybe, I missed something. Maybe, I wasn't paying attention and walked into the wrong theater altogether. Or perhaps, I'm just heartless, but I simply don't get all the Toy Story 3 love. It wasn't the worst animated movie I've ever seen, but it certainly isn't anywhere near the best. "Mediocre" would be the word I'd most likely use to describe it. Or maybe "kind of boring". Oh, and "overrated". Ridiculously overrated.
I made the mistake of mentioning this at one of my parenting groups, and they were on me like a pack of rabid shrews in heat.
"How could you say that?"
"But it was so poignant! You just didn't understand it."
"That stupid dragon movie was too violent for kids. I can't believe you even let her watch it!"
And my favorite, "That's like spitting on my childhood!"
Ironically, the group happened to be the anti-plastic toy bitches. While plastic toys themselves are clearly the work of Satan, movies about plastic toys are undying praise worthy, and woe to she who disagrees! Spitting on her childhood? That is truly all shades of awesome. I mean, I know I have a tendency to get a little too involved in movies I took my kid to see, but that's a whole new level. I'm already the black sheep of that group (who are we kidding, I'm the black sheep of almost all of our groups) so rather than debate this further, I just wandered over to the calorie free, all organic snack table. Did you know some groups offer donuts? Yeah, I just learned that.
Anyway, the movie didn't grab me. I didn't feel any sort of attachment to the characters, which is the difference between me liking a movie and loving a movie. The kid grew up. So what? Pie's only 3 1/2 and I already donate at least a bag of her shit every month. I can't say I've ever gotten teary eyed over it. Even Pie didn't really get into the movie. It was hard to keep her still, and one could argue that it's her age, but it's not. If she likes the movie, she's perfectly still, face painted with amazement right until the end credits. The only movie that made her more fidgety was Yogi Bear. Yeah. I ended up leaving $8 poorer and a couple hours older with nothing else to show for it. Not even an excited kidlet.
The movie seemed like it was designed with one goal: Using nostalgia to make it seem better and more interesting than it was. And it looks like it worked. Not for me, but in general. To be fair, I haven't seen Toy Story 1 since I was kid, and I've never seen Toy Story 2. That could be why I didn't care about the characters and didn't have the investment in their fate that I was supposed to. Still, an excellent movie should be an excellent movie on it's own, not relying on 15 years of back story support beams to hold it up. Especially, if we're throwing the label of "best" at it. Toy Story 3 was not that movie.
I guess it's possible that it is just me, especially since almost everyone else seems to have seen something entirely different. I'm just going to say it, How to Train Your Dragon should have won. That's a fantastic movie. I didn't see the third movie, so I guess I can't really say, but I'm willing to bet it would fall in the middle.
And while I'm bitching, can I also add that I didn't even remember Toy Story 3 having a song? I don't care enough to go back and watch it again, so I'll just assume it simply wasn't all that memorable. I didn't leave Tangled (the first time) singing that song either, but I at least remembered there was one and that it was really cute. I haven't heard the other two songs, so I'll just assume that should have won, too.
Okay, I'm glad to have gotten that all out. Please let me know if I've spit on your childhood. It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one putting way too much thought into this.
I made the mistake of mentioning this at one of my parenting groups, and they were on me like a pack of rabid shrews in heat.
"How could you say that?"
"But it was so poignant! You just didn't understand it."
"That stupid dragon movie was too violent for kids. I can't believe you even let her watch it!"
And my favorite, "That's like spitting on my childhood!"
Ironically, the group happened to be the anti-plastic toy bitches. While plastic toys themselves are clearly the work of Satan, movies about plastic toys are undying praise worthy, and woe to she who disagrees! Spitting on her childhood? That is truly all shades of awesome. I mean, I know I have a tendency to get a little too involved in movies I took my kid to see, but that's a whole new level. I'm already the black sheep of that group (who are we kidding, I'm the black sheep of almost all of our groups) so rather than debate this further, I just wandered over to the calorie free, all organic snack table. Did you know some groups offer donuts? Yeah, I just learned that.
Anyway, the movie didn't grab me. I didn't feel any sort of attachment to the characters, which is the difference between me liking a movie and loving a movie. The kid grew up. So what? Pie's only 3 1/2 and I already donate at least a bag of her shit every month. I can't say I've ever gotten teary eyed over it. Even Pie didn't really get into the movie. It was hard to keep her still, and one could argue that it's her age, but it's not. If she likes the movie, she's perfectly still, face painted with amazement right until the end credits. The only movie that made her more fidgety was Yogi Bear. Yeah. I ended up leaving $8 poorer and a couple hours older with nothing else to show for it. Not even an excited kidlet.
The movie seemed like it was designed with one goal: Using nostalgia to make it seem better and more interesting than it was. And it looks like it worked. Not for me, but in general. To be fair, I haven't seen Toy Story 1 since I was kid, and I've never seen Toy Story 2. That could be why I didn't care about the characters and didn't have the investment in their fate that I was supposed to. Still, an excellent movie should be an excellent movie on it's own, not relying on 15 years of back story support beams to hold it up. Especially, if we're throwing the label of "best" at it. Toy Story 3 was not that movie.
I guess it's possible that it is just me, especially since almost everyone else seems to have seen something entirely different. I'm just going to say it, How to Train Your Dragon should have won. That's a fantastic movie. I didn't see the third movie, so I guess I can't really say, but I'm willing to bet it would fall in the middle.
And while I'm bitching, can I also add that I didn't even remember Toy Story 3 having a song? I don't care enough to go back and watch it again, so I'll just assume it simply wasn't all that memorable. I didn't leave Tangled (the first time) singing that song either, but I at least remembered there was one and that it was really cute. I haven't heard the other two songs, so I'll just assume that should have won, too.
Okay, I'm glad to have gotten that all out. Please let me know if I've spit on your childhood. It makes me feel better to know I'm not the only one putting way too much thought into this.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Walk of Doom
I'm in a funk today. In an unusual, but nice, change, I know exactly why I'm not myself, but I can't find a way to put it into words without making myself sound like a crazy person. No matter, I'm not writing about that, anyway. Instead, we're going to try to snap me out of it.
When I was 22, I used to do this stupid thing where I'd be out somewhere with friends, and out of nowhere, I'd just be over it and not want to be there anymore. So, I'd leave. I didn't tell anyone, I'd just gather whatever things I happened to have, and walk home. I don't mean I'd walk home a block or two, I mean I'd walk miles.
This would have been fine, great exercise in fact, except I was drunk whenever I did this, and it was always in the middle of the night. Sometimes my location forced me to walk through the bad part of town. Others, I ended up on a major highway. Sometimes I didn't have a coat, sometimes I was dressed slutty, and once I even lost a pair of shoes because at some point I decided I simply could not wear them any longer and abandoned them altogether. My friends would eventually notice my absence and go looking for me, but I guess I took really strange routes, because they were never able to find me. I didn't have a phone, so no one could call. One time, I even got lost and didn't get home until almost 7 AM.
I'm really not sure what the purpose of doing that was. There were people who would have given me a safe ride home, and if not, I could have called George. Probably, anyway. He was going through some things, too, but I don't think those things involved wanting me to die walking home. More than likely, he'd have been pissed off, but he would have come. But, for whatever reason, whenever I got the wild idea that I just couldn't be there one second longer, I walked home. I was a really self destructive 22 year old.
And now, I have no idea why I chose to write about this. It didn't help my mood any. I do, however, think I'll take a walk. That sounds like just the thing I need.
When I was 22, I used to do this stupid thing where I'd be out somewhere with friends, and out of nowhere, I'd just be over it and not want to be there anymore. So, I'd leave. I didn't tell anyone, I'd just gather whatever things I happened to have, and walk home. I don't mean I'd walk home a block or two, I mean I'd walk miles.
This would have been fine, great exercise in fact, except I was drunk whenever I did this, and it was always in the middle of the night. Sometimes my location forced me to walk through the bad part of town. Others, I ended up on a major highway. Sometimes I didn't have a coat, sometimes I was dressed slutty, and once I even lost a pair of shoes because at some point I decided I simply could not wear them any longer and abandoned them altogether. My friends would eventually notice my absence and go looking for me, but I guess I took really strange routes, because they were never able to find me. I didn't have a phone, so no one could call. One time, I even got lost and didn't get home until almost 7 AM.
I'm really not sure what the purpose of doing that was. There were people who would have given me a safe ride home, and if not, I could have called George. Probably, anyway. He was going through some things, too, but I don't think those things involved wanting me to die walking home. More than likely, he'd have been pissed off, but he would have come. But, for whatever reason, whenever I got the wild idea that I just couldn't be there one second longer, I walked home. I was a really self destructive 22 year old.
And now, I have no idea why I chose to write about this. It didn't help my mood any. I do, however, think I'll take a walk. That sounds like just the thing I need.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Tonight Will be a Lucky Night!
Not for me, of course. That was George's. My fortune said: The greatest ownership is embracement of emptiness. Fantastic! Thanks, fortune cookie! At least you tasted good. I do hope George enjoys his luck filled night.
We bought a new refrigerator. There was nothing wrong with our old refrigerator, but the person in our attic needs a new one, so we decided we'd get the new one and move ours upstairs. This thing is beastly. If George ever snaps and decides to take Pie and I out, both bodies could easily fit without even removing the groceries first. It also has a really neat digital display on the water dispenser that should keep him happy enough not to snap. That's a plus.
I also ordered my new laptop. It should be here next week. Anyway, while we were Best Buy looking at refrigerators, I went over to check out their laptops. I knew I wasn't going to buy anything, partly out of loyalty to Newegg (who has treated me very well over the years) and partly because it was almost certain I would not be getting the best buy. I actually wanted to see if they had the one I was getting so I could get a feel for it before deciding for sure. There weren't a lot of shoppers while we were out, so the sales guys (all four of them) swarmed me. Mostly, they were just really nice and trying to be helpful, but one was determined to make a sale.
I don't exactly play fair. Whenever I look at anything computer related, I neglect to mention that that's what I do. Or did in my former life. No, sometimes I still do a quick build or repair on the side. Anyway, I know what I'm doing, and it's fun to leave the sales people in the dark about that and find out how honest they really are. This guy was nice enough, but I did get a giggle over asking him questions he wasn't prepared to answer. He didn't see that coming. What can I say, I'm a jerk. I made up for it by emailing the store about how friendly everyone was. Also, the model he tried to sell me was two tiers below the one I bought and cost $100 more. I did like the feel of it, though. I think I did pretty good.
In other news, I think the blog is due for a redesign. I went into it rather lazily. I've tried to keep a blog before, and it always ended up with an entry here or there, usually months apart. This was sort of a New Year's Resolution, but then, I've never kept those, either. So, I'm actually pretty impressed with myself. I shouldn't be. I should be impressed with you lovely folks. I'm still shocked that people read this, so thanks! I had no idea I had so much to say and even less of an idea that someone else wanted to hear it. You people really are awesome.
Anyway, when I started it, I just grabbed the first template that didn't give me a headache and slapped a generic title on it. Since it looks like I'm sticking with it, I suppose I should start working on a template. It'll happen, probably sometime in the next month. I'm lazy and I have about eight different unfinished projects going on right now. But yeah, it'll happen sooner or later.
Right now, though, I'm going to go embrace the emptiness that is my house. Guess tonight's lucky, after all!
We bought a new refrigerator. There was nothing wrong with our old refrigerator, but the person in our attic needs a new one, so we decided we'd get the new one and move ours upstairs. This thing is beastly. If George ever snaps and decides to take Pie and I out, both bodies could easily fit without even removing the groceries first. It also has a really neat digital display on the water dispenser that should keep him happy enough not to snap. That's a plus.
I also ordered my new laptop. It should be here next week. Anyway, while we were Best Buy looking at refrigerators, I went over to check out their laptops. I knew I wasn't going to buy anything, partly out of loyalty to Newegg (who has treated me very well over the years) and partly because it was almost certain I would not be getting the best buy. I actually wanted to see if they had the one I was getting so I could get a feel for it before deciding for sure. There weren't a lot of shoppers while we were out, so the sales guys (all four of them) swarmed me. Mostly, they were just really nice and trying to be helpful, but one was determined to make a sale.
I don't exactly play fair. Whenever I look at anything computer related, I neglect to mention that that's what I do. Or did in my former life. No, sometimes I still do a quick build or repair on the side. Anyway, I know what I'm doing, and it's fun to leave the sales people in the dark about that and find out how honest they really are. This guy was nice enough, but I did get a giggle over asking him questions he wasn't prepared to answer. He didn't see that coming. What can I say, I'm a jerk. I made up for it by emailing the store about how friendly everyone was. Also, the model he tried to sell me was two tiers below the one I bought and cost $100 more. I did like the feel of it, though. I think I did pretty good.
In other news, I think the blog is due for a redesign. I went into it rather lazily. I've tried to keep a blog before, and it always ended up with an entry here or there, usually months apart. This was sort of a New Year's Resolution, but then, I've never kept those, either. So, I'm actually pretty impressed with myself. I shouldn't be. I should be impressed with you lovely folks. I'm still shocked that people read this, so thanks! I had no idea I had so much to say and even less of an idea that someone else wanted to hear it. You people really are awesome.
Anyway, when I started it, I just grabbed the first template that didn't give me a headache and slapped a generic title on it. Since it looks like I'm sticking with it, I suppose I should start working on a template. It'll happen, probably sometime in the next month. I'm lazy and I have about eight different unfinished projects going on right now. But yeah, it'll happen sooner or later.
Right now, though, I'm going to go embrace the emptiness that is my house. Guess tonight's lucky, after all!
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