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. 

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.

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'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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

I'm Around

And busy.  More posting later this week.

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.

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.

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!

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!

I Have (Another) Concussion!

I have two kinds of luck:  None or dreadful. 

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!