My cat breaks into bread bags and eats half the loaf, including the plastic bag.

Alright, so this is a real update, and not a snotty one where I remind you (aka Myself) that I indeed have a life....really...and am much too busy for this silliness. But in reality, this is the downtime between entirely-too-chaotic holidays this year. And after those times? I just kinda hang out and sew or knit or cook a lot or talk on IM and play legos. I shouldn't front like I'm busy just because I'm the size of a sea cow and sleep too much and eat lots of meat lately.

Thanksgiving was a whole clusterfuck of Alaskans who either talk out their asses about things they don't understand (politics, religion, humanity, how to cook sweet potatoes properly) or drink profusely. That said, it was pretty nice and I had a good - stressful, but good - time. Others in my posse (Me, BikerPa, Manwife and Squidge)...not so much. Mostly I was happy I didn't have to fuckin' cook and that my child was the best-behaved and most well-mannered one present. That's always good revenge on those bitchy family members who thought you'd gone and done fucked your life up! Not that I have many of those, but the ones that do...chap not only my ass, but that bend behind the knees, the inner thigh area, and the under-tit region.
But it was alright, and I got to see a lot of family I hadn't seen since I was in Jr High or younger. I think I did ok on the manners side of things, and no one had to call the cops. Bonus!

Anyhow.

It's pre-Xmas here, and I hafta kinda do things differently this year, what with the Brosef and SIL and their mini-mite-posse coming up. More...traditional...? I never grew up with many traditions this time of year except for when things are opened and Mom's Xmas eve nosh buffet extravaganza open house of deliciousity. I was aware from the start - age 3 or so - that santa was a marketing tool based on a dude who lived a long time ago...kinda like Jesus. Poor Jesus. But yeah. We opened stockings when we got stuffed and lazy on Mama's olives and dips and cookies and Daddy's kickyoass salmon dip on Xmas Eve, then we went to sleep in a chubby stupor, woke up, had a big breakfast, opened presents (and could never remember who had to be "Santa" and pass gifts out), and then lazed about watching terrible trashy TV and movies until the big dinner - which was sometimes italian food, or chinese-ish, or even mexican. Some years there was ham and yorkshire pudding. Not much for staunchly-held, starched shirt tradition, us.
Usually Manwife and I just kind of open presents whenever, one or two at a time throughout mid-December. That way, when we go to a dinner or something on Xmas, it isn't so much about the gifts and it's more about the company and the eats. Sweet Bean (aka Squidge, Gooneybird, etc. We're making the name change permanent now) is very good about EVERY gift he gets, he's just SO SO SO elated that someone got him a gift, you know? He is a sweet little man, and hopefully our lack of emphasis on presents and "getting" helps keep him like that. To be fair and honest, since I know Ma will call me on it, I just plain fucking suck at waiting to open gifts and now I'm the grown-up so I get to open them NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH. I am a chronic gift shaker and fondler and occasional gift-wrap-lifting sneak. I'm not greedy, I just don't like surprises very much. If I need to put my game face on, I'd like to know what I'm up against, at least it's shape and if it sounds like another gawd-horrid pair of magenta plaid Bermuda shorts from Gramma (I shit you not, I got this when I was about 9 or 11 or so).
But taking all that bs into account, this year is a little intimidating for me. I mean, the brother-having is still a pretty new thing. It'll be a year come January, and we're all still getting adjusted and better acquainted. We've all done really well this year, we've seen them most months out of the past year and I am very good friends with my SIL. But Brosef def. grew up much more traditional and much less loose and sane hippie than I did. So...like...their kids believe in Santa, and I think they do a pretty traditional Xmas thing with Brosef's adopted mom and dad. My SIL is a big ol hippie chick, so I think she'll be relieved at the informality. I'm mostly worried about the nephews and niece hating the way the new branch of the family does the holidays. One in particular is a sneaky little monst...kid... about candy and sweets and kinda goes batshit about gifts, sucks at sharing and has a real bad mean streak. If there was any kid I'd want to have a warm palm-to-rump with, it's that one. That's where I'm concerned, stirred up kids, and I can only spank or put the one that's mine in time out. They're good kids, my nephews and niece, but it's other people's kids, you know? So sometimes it's hard to hide the horror inside when they backtalk or act like snots and don't get so much as a reprimand for it. We are pretty strict parents, so it's hard for Manwife and I to put the spanking hand away when someone else's kids pulls some shit that'd get our kid a red bum and a time out.
But...yeah. Family and the holidays. I grew up with just me, Ma, Dad, and sometimes Coondog and the Kansas Superhero of Carnie's Kids (my kid's godparents and parents' buddies, one is a ragin' Cajun who does an angry dance and the other is a foul-mouthed southern sassy-britches who works for CPS) on the holidays. That's it. There was no drama, because there was a concerted effort to avoid any potential drama, and that meant no extended family or what have you. Now our family is large, and it's an odd adjustment from 3 to 10, especially given the circumstances. Which is not to say I'm not happy for the new additions, it's just weird to not be the only kid or *have* the only kid. I mean, if I catch my kid trying to shove olives up the dog's butt, I can put him in time-out and lecture him until he cries, but I can't do that as an aunt! Though I deeply and sincerely wish I could.

Olives don't go here! They go on your fingertips, barbarian!




As soon as I'd finished laughing my ass off about the olives, that is.

ZYGOTE

...it's what's for dinner.


or, in other words, we are not infertile and I am with parasitic alien organism thingy. tiny icky looking thing. it is in the belly. or wooooommmb (that word is just gross), if you will.
yes.

new house, fuck yeah.

An Ode To Manwife and Dudes everywhere

So somehow Manwife is becoming One of Them. Or, er, us.












Manwife before "the Change"

Manwife's future, complete with freaky beard and armhair. Actually...Dick, is that you?

Now, don't be fooled by the silly pictures, this bothers me not in the slightest. It's simply amazing. My husband is the one that turns out to be the only person I've dated who shows an interest in turning a few wrenches, and isn't too bad at it. He can do manly things that I always had to do like haul appliances and fix them and cook omlettes. He shows an interest in things of a mechanical and dudely nature, like motorcycles, monster trucks, demo derbies, and tattoos. Yes. Unlike the former geeky wet blankets I dated, he shows more interest in things I like aside from proper bong cleaning and the best RPG to play for gore factor.
This is probably one thing that clued me into the huge, neon sign with an arrow pointing at him that hovered about that read KEEPER DO NOT FUCK THIS UP LADY.
The Manwife is a Dude. With a capital D, yes. Beer drinkin, cigar smokin', snowboardin', video game whuppin, lawn mowin', speed-lovin', grill-masterin', stand up guy and daddy-man-ing Dude. He is, as many of my former co-workers (which would be his present co-workers, we met at work, awwwwz) would say, A Guy's Guy. Not like a guy kept by guys, he is probably the straightest guy I've met, with no questionable sexuality issues - which were, btw not MY issues, but the formers. I'm pretty ok with cute boy kissy cute boy, even if it is my cute boy. Anyhow. Not Manwife. He is a Coloradoan almost to the core...I don't believe he fucked any bison in his day though, as many do. or is that Montana....

So it should be no surprise to me that this Dude of Dudes aspires to be a mini-Y. Biker (aka Dear ol Dad and Dude of First nations). I can think of worse role models for a fellow. Shit, I can think of worse role models for a lady, too! I wanted to be my Dad when I was growing up, and I have the facial shaving scars from when I was 6 to prove it. I was even going to be in construction like Dad, and drive hot rods and muscle cars. Then as I got older, I realized I'd end up being like his crusty ol obstinate ass whether I wanted to or not, so here I am, crusty and obstinate before my time.
But for Manwife, Dad is an important fellow Dude to have around. He is a Mentor Dude of sorts. Manwife's dad was a judge back in the tiny town he grew up in in CO (let's just say the TV show South Park is very close to reality...and geography... in that town and leave it at that), and didn't have much to do with the common folk out there, what with everyone hating him for throwing them in lockup for DUIs and posession charges. No car shows or demolition derbies or football games for MW, except for the football games he was IN. A shame, really. His dad I think was a bit distant and distracted with my crazy MIL and being the law and whatnot.
So now MW has me, and along with me comes the flock of black sheep. Mom and dad both, plus assorted "family" we've acquired, plus big bro and SIL...we're a big group of outcasts and folks that people scratch their heads and wonder what the fuck to do with, so Manwife fits in well, being the former rotten delinquent should-be-felon of significant intellect he is. It's nice MW has Dad around to remind him what being a Dude is, and that step-dads are relevant and important (yes, Dad is technically Step dad, but I am not a huge fan of Bio Dad and Dad is a bigger man in that dept so there we are), and that bike building is a good way to channel those former delinquent tendencies in adulthood.

Bike parts stripped and sanded by MW, painted by daddy-o

So here's to you, Manwife, Dude of Dudes and husband of awesomeness. Way to not be a douche and be a great goddamned Dad. Congratulations on your bike endorsement!

San juan Island, what the fuck is wrong with the culinary part of your collective hive brain thing? Fucking islanders.

Dear San Juan Island,
Your restaurants FUCKING SUCK.

The italian place made marinara by dumping a can of stewed tomatoes in a pot and heating them up. No spices, no mushing of said whole stewed matoes, just tomatoes. your chicken was ok, but serving it on SPAGHETTI noodles is pretty goddamned ghetto. This is not dinner at aunt mary's house, this is a restaurant. pay the 20 cents more for some fucking fettuccini. And next time, try not to serve me stewed BEES in my food. That would be awesome. But on the off chance it does happen again, don't have your twatty bartender laugh and throw the food away (no apology, no nada), and don't have the waitress practically ream us out for asking that the dish be taken off of our bill. Grow the fuck up and learn how to be a business.

The weird place that had sandwiches across from the market...why is your restaurant in a warehouse? a carpeted one? i felt like i was in a ups depot. it had office carpeting, ugly and low-pile, with puke green walls and institutional grey accents. also, you do not know what the fuck lava cake is. THE CHOCOLATE IS SUPPOSED TO SPEW OUT OF THE CAKE, YOU DO NOT JUST HEAT UP A DAMN CUPCAKE AND CALL IT THAT. And $2.25 is too fucking much for ONE cup of lousy coffee, I do not care that you are on an island and water costs more out there. i don't. suck it the fuck up. And a tiny slice of pie ala mode should not be ten dollars, who do you think you are, applebees?! That place is redneck chic at least. You are like office depot chic.

And finally, dear ale house. What the hell are you thinking, putting bacon in beer? or peppers? what the flying fuck is wrong with you that you can't make a decent enough beer without resorting to novelties to draw people in?! I came in wanting a beer, saw the paltry non-gimmick offerings, and had water instead (which i was also charged for(!)). Your salad looked like it had been run over, then tossed in a tub of mayo with italian seasoning dumped on it, and your dinner rolls were literally hard enough to knock on. And then shatter into mouth-stabbing shards. And the manicotti...well, i should have known better than to order that at a damned pub. but everything else was dead cow with extra lard on top. I don't eat dead cow, you need to learn about the wonders of chicken and pulled pork. Seriously. Also, hubby's mushroom swiss burger tasted like a big fried egg, how the fuck did you pull that off? Wash your damned dishes once in a while, perhaps!

And to all of these places, your waitstaff fucking sucks! they are either too dumb and slow to remember two coffees and pie in a dead slow restaurant, too bitchy to function, or too weirdly hostile to make you not want to bolt out of the place and go take a shower to wash the creepy off.
waaaaaaaay to be a tourist spot. go to lynden, ignore the religion, and learn from the tourism masters. or even anacortes. or even la conner, for fuck's sake.
TOURIZM INDUSTREE - UR DOIN IT RONG

Let's talk about body mod, defining ourselves, finding tribes, and judgemental folk.

Before we start, let's read this:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lindsay-mannering/tattoos-the-need-to-stand_b_115521.html

I'll wait.

Read the comments, too.




Ok. Done? Meeeeeee toooo. I am SO done. Wow. That was an amazing pit of hate, no? That's ok, that's what huffpo DOES is hatehatehate and be snotty upper middleclass east coast folk.
So. Tattoos.
A need to stand out?
Sure, for some.
Just like grandma with her bleach job and hip huggers and surfer girl (and i mean GIRL) sweatshirt.
Just like the dude over there with the horrible combover.
Just like the asshole in the jacked up pickup covered in redneck/"calvin" peeing/confededrate flag stickers.
yes. We all like to DEFINE ourselves by calling attention to our interests, our tribes, if you will.
Do we do it purely for the sake of making people LOOK at us? Maybe, but usually with the intent of seeing if we can identify kindreds or opposition. It's how we know where we stand.
It's why some women deck out in full make up and high heels to go by groceries, and others schlep in wearing sweats and hangover hair and even others still just wear jeans and sandals and no makeup. Don't forget hairy pits in the summer. That's attention grabbing. Just like that guy over there in the day glo short shorts and mesh tank top. Or the dude with the mohawk. Or the guy in the ferrari.
Now.
Don't get me wrong. I understand tattoos are permanent identifiers.
Just like plastic surgery.
Or laser hair removal.
Or scars (which are a badge of pride in many circles...is that just an american thing...?).
Or high heel use - permanant foot deformities, there.
Huh. Do I judge anyone and claim to know as some of the HuffPo commentors do that 'women look trashy in high heels' or that 'people who drive that car/wear those clothes/color their hair that way are idiots and therefore beneath my notice or respect'...????

ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NOT.

Well, why not, you ask?
Because. I am an adult, and I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck what you look like, how you dress (or don't....nudists are ok too), or what car you drive. Most people have shitty taste, and that ain't their fault, they were just raised too far away from art and nature or were taught to believe that the more you spend the hotter/better it looks. I'd much rather judge you by the tv shows you watch, the books you DON'T read (coz most don't read AT ALL), the choices in life you've made (cult member, oooo, bad call, BioDad), and how you treat me and mine.
Other than that, it's none of my damned business, and I have my own life. I don't need to worry about you and your silly tasmanian devil tattoo. It ain't my taste, but it ain't my skin. I don't care.
Manwife is in posession of a tattoo I personally find a silly silly thing...dragon, skull, etc. Oh my. BUT. It isn't my skin. I will not be wearing it to the grave, and it is not mine to attach meaning to. No. So I am cool with it, not that it matters one iota. Again, it is not my skin or life or choice. As far as bad choices go, I'd prefer someone with a bad tat over someone with a felony assault rap. Fo sho, my friends.
I should disclose and mention the only ones in my fam (ma, pa, bro, sis in law, cousins, husband, self, uncles, even some aunts) who do not posess tats are all under 18. Even my dorky uncle has one. Some of us maybe got them to fit in, some got them to be rebelious, or badass, or to commemorate sobriety, or to mark milestones. Mostly we like the way they look, just like that lady with the bad frost-dye job likes her hair, or the dude in the jacked up toyota likes the way his truck looks.
I personally got the tats because in my fam, they are a marking of the tribe - we are the black sheep tribe, the amassing of hippies and freaks and grease monkeys and brainiac rednecks from about four or five different places. My parents have tats. My husband. My cousins. My bro. And we are middle class, some of the extended folks are even what you'd call "upper middle class WASPS" except they are not anglo saxon OR protestants, despite our DAR memberships.
So it isn't an issue of class. It's a method of communicating to your people, the style and content further identify one thus. Do i get down with the crew sporting rockabilly icons? Not really. More the kids with the psychedellic buddhas and picasso pictures and ancestral art and japanese fresco-y thingies.

So, basically, if you don't like them, cool. There are things people don't like about your social/cultural identifiers, too. That's why we don't all wear the same grey shirts and pants, we want to find our matches out there in the crowds and express who we think we are and what we feel a part of or where we want to or do belong. It's not a signifier of personality, or content of character, or intellect, just like the lady with the bad knock off fendi is maybe a sucessful doctor who doesn't like to pay designer prices, OR a poor student lady with fashionista tastes. who the fuck knows, and who the fuck are you or I or anyone to judge that? C'mon now. Grow up, y'all.

Excuses, excuses...bite me crank, matey!

Sooooooooooooooo yes. we're moving NOWNOWNOWNOW, it appears. My house is filled with teetering stacks of cardboard boxes, all of my fun crafty and arty stuff is stowed, i have only three books to read, and my house is a fucking mess with nothing for me to do about it except wait. Fuck this, it sucks. I am not someone who handles a shitty looking house very well, I get a good deal depressed, actually!
Well, and moving depresses me enormously, what with the stuff being packed and the looking for new places and being made to compete with other potential tenants at open houses, like a charisma-deathmatch. Fuck this action so hard. I hate landlords pitting people against each other and making you dance like a little dancing monkey thing for their amusement and shit. Also I dislike having my records and stuff being peered at by strangers, not that I have anything to hide but still. I know, it seems like I should have a few arrests or debts, but no! I have good credit and owe nada to no one, and have only been arrested when I was 14 for shoplifting. I am lucky.
STILL.
Feeling a bit like my bubble's being ass-raped at the moment. Especially since our CURRENT landlords are scofflaws who wander over to our house with NO 24 hour notice a lot lately...and then there are the contractors working on the house that I am pretty sure can hear me pee and yell at my kid and judge my furniture choices and and and and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH


phew.



Hopefully all will be settled by the last week or so of August...just in time for a birthday (mine)! An orderly, clean home with lots of things to do (not just stare at boxes and things left to sort and toss out and pack and then weeeeeeep) will be a superb birthday gift to meself. That, and a pony. Just kidding. Screw ponies. Not literally. We have laws against that in WA now.

New Post, New Post, Newwwww Pooosssst

Well, it's been a busy month and a half around here. Last month, Manwife, Squidge and I packed up and headed to Brosef's down in Oregon, then continued with our combined clannage to Yosemite and Kings Canyon. Well, we stayed like right in between, right next to Madera out at an army corp lake. Very fuckin' pretty, and I felt the healthiest I have been all sunny season long. Mostly that is due to the lack of humidity, certain trees, and green grass down in the central valley. I was seriously tempted to stay forever. I found out while we were there, the temps were in the upper 90's the entire time, and I never noticed. see...because up here in the PNW, you notice heat. Because it descends upon you like a heavy hot wet wooly komondor dog and sits on your chest.
And then there are the afforementioned allergies. Which blow. I fucking hate Western Washington about mid November through late July. Which is a long time to hate a place, it's really taxing.
Needless to say, I came home pouty and ready to move far, far away from my near-bed-ridden allergic hell of humid suckiness up here.
Which was fortunate, I suppose, since our landlords decided they're selling the house we're in by next March. Oh joyous day. That only means we need to get out by fall or so. Gooood. So any plans we had to move to, say, Oregon, for Manwife's degree completion, are fucked. Hooray! I just get to move us across the county to an even wetter - but far less putridly yuppified (in a horrible hippie-new-agey-yuppie way) - area with MORE allergens. Oh I am excited. And I get to do it in October, which is...oh yeah. Good times. Lemme tell ya.

That's enough sarcasm for now.

Anyhow. Let's see, what else. We're STILL trying to get knocked up, and I SWEAR, if one more person makes some smartass comment about "all the fun practicing making babies hur hur hur" I am going to scream like Xena and skullfuck them until their eyeballs turn to snotty puddles and their tongues fall out of their jaws.SERIOUSLY. We've been at this for seven damn months and I am pretty sure something is wrong, so it's not silly or exciting, it's fucking frustrating and sad. I am tired of crying every month when I hop on the cotton pony. I hate it, and I just want to know what's wrong...we're both under 30 (24 and 28), don't smoke (anymore), don't do drugs (some things I do not consider drugs, ok?), don't eat horrible food, don't drink heavily at all, DO get a good amount of outdoorsy exercise, DO eat our fruit/veggies, DO eat meat and DO know that I am not having ovulation issues. Maybe his swimmers are tired. Who the fuck knows.
Maybe our bad attitudes aren't helping, like some What The Bleep Do We Know quantum Secret shit. Who knows.

Let's see what else. Been spending lots of time with the fam, the 4th was good, my Dad (YB to Nationites, ew) grilled up about two cow, a pig, and 5 chickens' worth of meat. That actually worked out ok, Manwife eats lots, and then Ayd's goddad Coondog and godma SuperCPS Lady were there too. And of course all the males sacrificed some plants to the debauchery gods, so they were plenty hungry. Fireworks are better when one's a bit loopy, don'tyaknow.
OH! Kitty is still around. His name is James, and he has the dangliest dang balls you've ever seen on a cat, it's fucking amazing. they hit his little kitty knees.
He is pretty young still, even has some baby teeth and tries to nurse on our fluffy chenille blankets, so we'll let him keep em a wee bit longer. Animals get strange if you clip em too young, just ask Mom's Girldog. Whoooooeee.

More later, I plan on bloggin more...trying to fight off the depression that comes with being a SAHM and in my mid-twenties (shouldn't I be taking a year off from school to find myself in an ashram right about now...?! in my alternate life, I mean) and unemployed and uninspired craftyness wise. Though i did just get some new fabric.
Anywhoooo. See y'all soon, even though...you know...I've totally been lurking. So I've seeeeeeen you...heh heh heh.

bloggin' II

So no, there has not been much by way of blog. Lately, all the interwubs have been for would be comix and buffy the vampire slayer episodes. Seriously. I'm on the last season. Next is Battlestar Gallactica. The mini series movie of that KICKED ASS.
Other than intarwub shunning, I've been doing fambly stuffs, planning my Yosemite/Fresno vacay with my SIL, which is in a week or so and looks to be a bitchin time for all. Anything to get out of this damned rain! We haven't had blue sky and warm weather here in about a week and I am goin' nutty. Some June this is so far! So escaping to kaleeefornya I will go. I am trying to figure out where to go that won't be horribly crammed with people (if you know of good secret spots, lemme know).
Other than that, my life's pretty boring.
No zygote news, I think we have some fertility issues or whatever, but then Manwife DID just quit smoking after ten years or so, maybe his soldiers have gone retarded from the tabbaccy. So to make up for lack of smelly poopy pants babies, we got a kitty. More like kitty picked us and decided he would move in, but whatever. At least he's magically housebroken.
Ummmm ok. Off to make bohemian pork chop noodley things! huzzah!

Where I yank the stick out of dark unmentionable orifices.

Ahhhh. There is nothing like waking up to....birds. The smell of coffee. And nothing else. No husband lecturing the kiddo, no kiddo falling off the potty across the hall from my bedroom, no neighbors running a table saw at some ungodly hour for the second year straight, no shitty crotchrockets revving for twenty damn minutes at 5 am across the street, no NADA ZIP ZILCH.

Why am I blessed with silence and good smells of roasty caffinated delciousity?

Because there is SWIM CLASS. *cue choir of angels descending and yodelling their little wings off*

Swim class (or tee ball, or gymnastics, or really anything that gets the kid out of the house, including grafitti on overpasses and playing craps in a dark alley) is a godsend. It is at 9 am, which means Manwife and Squidge have hopped the bus or putted down in Old Blue at about quarter til, much earlier than SSAs like myself are even expected to function properly or are *able* to wake at all. Except perhaps to wee.

So while those two creep out, I have my large bed and all the pillows and quilts TO MYSELF. I can sprawl without being kicked, I can roam about in my sleep without getting too close to the swampy sleeper (manwife!) and getting sticky and damp and basted in Manwife sweat. I can kick half the covers off. I can sleep right in the very middle of the bed, where the pillows form a sort of massive pillow-crack (cleavage?) and I can bury myself to hide from the blinding light coming in through our twin skylights over the bed. Whoever thought skylights in bedrooms was a good idea needs to be slapped repeatedly.
Another good thing, I don't have to deal with the Backyardigans, or Blue's Clues, or Spongebob, or any asinine kid's show, or whining about not being able to watch said asinine kid's shows. No. Why?

THEY ARE GONE! It is quiet. There is coffee, a deep lack of responsibility (including pants-wearing), and I am glad.

JEEBUS BLESS YOU, YMCA SWIM CLASSES. Now please be two hours long instead of a 1/2.

Bakin a pie of lost souls

So it's monday, and I have a kid update.
He's eating. He's not puking. We've had a few break days ("fuckit, let's have macaroni for dinner", etc) but other than that, he's eating much better. Dunno. Maybe the toy deprevation and a week of early bed with no dinner or desert worked for now? We're still fighting the fight.
But the puke....the puke has blessedly ended.

Here's my thank you gift to you, fellow blog friends:

Sweet For Brak



"Sweet for Brak"


That's all for now.

this is why I should not post.

Here's one for ya.

I have a four year old. Good kid, robust, healthy, chipper, etc etc. Adolph woulda loved him (horrible to say, but true) - rosy cheeks, blonder than blonde hair, blue eyes, great lungs, and very strong.
And stubborn.
Did I mention that?
Yes. Ohhh yes. here we shall see JUST how stubborn this kid is, and perhaps y'all can help me.

He only likes to eat the following:
cereal
berries
some fruits
cheese
plain noodles
pb & j
eggs with cheese and ketchup
and burritos (beans and cheese ONLY)

and that is IT.

sometimes the occasional scrap of meat - bacon, hot dogs - will pass his lips, but not fucking often. Fine. he eats alright, I guess.
And normally, this would be okay. We'd have us a little tussle over a new food or a vegetable or meat or something that's a funny color (i.e. - not white, brown, or yellow).
But now, for the past six months, it is most definitely NOT okay.
Why?
Because when faced with foreign food, young Squidge will lean over the table/plate and force the entire contents of his tiny poofy belly all over. Ohhh yes. not just a wee bit of bile, or a smidge of spew. An entire meal's worth of harf, all over his current meal, the table, and occasionally Us.
Fucking excellent.

And so, while this is an amazing talent, to whimper and cry a bit and then gag until vast torrents of ABC food and belly ick come surging forth in quantities that would leave Mr Creosote applauding, I am a bit sick of it. And disgusted. I mean...I've lost about ten pounds at this point, partly due to the nastiness and sheer dreading of mealtimes. Luckily this act was not performed at my brother's house on our recent trek south, or at gramma's house. But restaurants? yes. Home? Oh shit yes, son. This is the puke palace (let's hope my poor SIL NEVER EVER finds this blog and reads it...puking is not her pal).

Any ideas on how to make this stop???? I am beyond desperation. We've tried time outs, we've tried spankings, we've tried taking away every single toy and book he owns until he can eat properly (worked for a week), we've tried bargaining, we've tried tempting with sweets and deserts, I mean....even up to ignoring it and setting aside the same meal for later when he's (of course) hungry. My mother in law insists we just give him whatever we have at each meal, and if he eats it, fine. If he doesn't, fine. Which would be great if Squidge was one to go quietly and non-pukingly about anything that disagreed with Squidge Law. Unfortunately, that is NOT how it goes.

I am miserable here, folks. Help!

It is 1 am

And I have a mouth full of fried eggs, melty cheddar, papas, and garlic sausage from Hempler's. I also have toast with jam and butter from some Nooksack dairy. It is kind of heavenly.
Also it is a bit weird, given everyone else is asleep and I am exhausted.
Perhaps I have worms.
Hopefully not the kind that poke out your butthole while you sleep. That's just creepy.

Probably a dang good plan.

I wish there were a way to read my mother's blog with the shitty or weird or creepy-ass comments turn off (would that include mine? occasionally I bet yes). Seriously. Nothing gets my ire up like someone acting a fool...a creepy, creepy fool...or assholish...or...you get the idea...on my mom's blog comments. I think it's like when I used to chase kids down at school who said "well your mom's a ______ ". Ok, anger issues, noted. STILL. That's my fuckin' mum. You don't say SHIT to my mom, or I will do the equivalent or chasing you down the school hallway/playground and knock you out.

Don't mind me, just guardin' the ol' homestead. Or somethin'.

And then that makes me think, well, a lot of ladies are someone's mom. Or spouse. Or kid. And I bet if their family is the slightest bit loving and functional, they'd feel the same if someone came off like that to their family member. So I get that. Kinda makes me want to be nicer, but then I don't run around acting like an asshole on OTHER people's blogs, just my own. Also, I omit names on my own blog, so no one can prove nada, I s'pose.

I guess my point...for the millionth fucking time....is Don't Act Like A Dick. It's just really not necessary. I do not give two flying fucks and a shit that this is the internets and is make believe. Not everyone has their daughter patrolling their blog to jump on the backs of weirdo commentors to yank their virtual hair out and hold them down to hock virtual loogies in their virtual faces. But they fuckin' should. So treat everyone like they've got a mildly antisocial family member just lurking....waiting for a chance to attack....

Bloggin'

Bloggin - don't wanna.
Rain's stopped, there's baby stuff to be crafted up, and two more seasons of Law and Order, SVU to watch.
Add to that, a kid that needs to learn to draw his shapes and write letters, a husband who is going back to school again, and a brain that needs constant stimuli...

Well, I just don't have the patience or will, yo.

Will post pix of goings on in craftyland later.

xoxoxoxo

Oh Precious Few Months of Sanity...

Yesterday: slept in til 10 am, got dressed and picked up my bus pass and caught a ride downtown 20 minutes later, leaving Manwife and Squidge to head to the local pool for a Dad-Son day. I can't wear my bikini top without getting cited for indecent exposure, so I take a sanity day to myself.
Went from the downtown depot to the Newstand, and bought three by three's compilation book of award winning illustration from '07.
Went to the Old Town Cafe and had a farmer's skillet with Breadfarm toast (dense homemade hippy bread mmmm) and a pancake on the side, with lots of jasmine green tea.
Bummed around downtown, got snotty looks from scrawny hipster college girls at the Buffalo Exchange consignment shop, and grumpily stomped out. More hipsters made scoffing noises at me, so I made my way to the hippy-friendly Cornwall St area.
Went to my favorite import shop, found a nepalese embroidered hoodie I liked, but refused to pay $60 for it. Found nice buffalo bone earrings, the swirly fish hook sort with pretty carvings, but didn't want to pay $20 for them. Maybe next week.
Went to the local handspun yarn store and bought two skeins of grey and chocolatey merino, and a too-large set of circular needles. BS'd with the nice lady who runs the shop about spinning and dyeing classes and knitting circle, and petted the store kitty. I might go to knitting circle, I don't know, I am shy about that sort of thing kind of. I hope I decide to.
Wandered innocently towards the general vicinity of the art supply store, then stealthily ducked in and bought the largest jug of matte Mod Podge available, and also a brown pigment pen (i like to sketch with these a lot, they never bleed or smear and roll nicely along the papers I use).
Laden down with gifts to myself, I stumble tiredly back on to the bus and listen to my music while trying to ignore the drunk bum talking to me. Disgruntled, I get off the bus at the Falls/park about two miles from my house and take the trail around the pond and falls home. It's great! And really cold.
Fall in the door as manwife and squidge are leaving, and read James Kochalka's American Elf strip until they return. We go out to our favorite mexican restaurant and stuff ourselves silly, then go home and watch Stardust.

Today: I sent Jett dog back home to Ma and Pa, and Ayd went too! HUZZAH! Manwife returned from work around lunch, bearing gifts of peppermint mochas and eggs florentine sammiches!!! We knit and drink coffee and nosh in bed, watching Transformers and Bourne Supremacy, then we tried for the fourth day in a row to say good riddance to prophylactics while I am dropping eggs like a hen and make a bebe. It's very hard work. Please pity me. Heheheheheh! No don't! It's great! I will cuss it in about 7 months though. Oh well.
We drink more coffee, then decide to FINALLY use our Xmas gift cards and grab dinner.
First on the list is the bookstore, and Manwife takes FOREVER to find two books. I wandered around the bargain areas, then head back to the knitting and sewing section. I pick out a kid stuff knit book, and a weird Japanese felt craft book with a How-To for a stuffed felt Robot Panda (how could I resist that?!?!) Then I read some graphic novels I had no intention of buying and waited for manwife to look at every book in the store.
Then, we head up to the icky mall. But it was ok, because we get to wander slowly around the mall! Slowly! No whining! No potty breaks! No bitching! YAY!
We started at target, marveling at the bathing suits *already* on display. We look at baby bouncy chairs and exer-saucers and I am disgusted at the overwhelming amount of STUFF on them. It'd overwhelm ME, so how is a baby supposed to be into all the whoozits and whatzits they put on stuff? Good gravy marie. Manwife gets disgusted with me when I get girly and mushy and gross over tiny baby girl shoes, so we look at dishes and board games instead.
Then we wander to all of the girly shops with bath and shower goodies and smelly soaps and lotions. I buy a gel eyemask and nothing else (too stinky!).
Then it's off to Daiso Japan, where I got a lovely hankie and a couple of gifts for certain people. Just. You know. Certain people. WINK WINK MOM. This store is so bizarre, but only because they have EVERYTHING there, and it's cheap, and much of the packaging has strange cartoon characters on it. Even on dowel pins. There are cartoon guys on the package, being really excited about carpentry or something. The kids area smells like pee...all over...so we leave.
I go back to target and buy nick and nora monkey house slippers that are too big so I can slide around in them properly. They are hell of excellent.
After a few more stores, we decide Manwife is ridiculously hungry and I am kind of dizzy, so we run down to the Southside of town and go to our favorite Thai restaurant to stuff ourselves silly. I chow down on crab and cream cheese filled won ton things with spicy plum sauce, potstickers and garlic chicken and peanut chicken satay, and am bummed they made my pork KeeMao too spicy. I get drunk off of one glass of wine and then we go home in the cold frosty fog. I put my eyemask on my head, and my monkey slippers on my hands and sing songs about babies and baby making while eating m&m's (see, I have talents! they are many!)
Now we are going to go knit and read books in bed more, all without any whiny kiddos who just want to eat cereal and ice cream and watch spongebob (which is actually not so bad to do, it's just the whining that sucks).
THANK YOU MOM AND DAD YOU ARE SUPER HELLA AWESOME GRANDPARENTS THANK YOU OH DEAR CHRIST THANK YOU

Tha Intarnet Is Surrrrius Biznaz!

WOW. I get to be on the periphery of ridiculous high school poo and fucktardery on the internets, which I guess (?) is being perpetuated by people in their thirties and above.
And I am being chivvied to Take Up Arms and Play Along with the meaningless shite.

Ok, here it is.
THE INTARWUBS ARE MOSTLY MAKE BELIEVE. Internet people are essentially IMAGINARY FRIENDS. No offense, I intellectually know there are real people typing, but this a giant fucking masquerade ball, don't kid yourselves. It's a slightly less entertaining MMORPG, the whole blogging and posting world.
Do note, I was always polite to my imaginary friends, especailly Punky Brewster because she was so rad and we had awesome adventures and whatnot. I was an only child from the sticks, I couldn't risk being a dick to my imaginary friends - I needed them to stick around!

My advice to sufferers of blog "stalkers" and "vandilizers":
DO grow up. Seriously. There is a little trash can icon on commentor's posts, use it. If it's on someone else's blog or board, hope they like you enough to trash it, or IGNORE IT. Or don't. Get a grip though.

Everyone has a piddly, meaningless, jokey blog for the most part. Don't like what someone's commented? DELETE IT. Or reply back and start a flame war, but do remember the saying about fighting on the internet being much like the special olympics. Do.
Also, blocking people, comment verification and privacy filters are fantastic tools for dealing with creeps! They are! Any fucktarded 12 year old with a myspace account knows this...why doesn't anyone I encounter? I understand that sometimes the way of the web are lost on anyone who remembers the 70's and 60's, but my oh my. If you're posting on a decent enough site, you CAN and SHOULD block assholes if that is your wont. This goes back to Personal Responsibility, which I am a gigantic fan of. I really am.

However, it does seem like people have such dull fucking lives that they need to spam people and send gossipy consiprational emails around their little circles of Imaginary Intarwub Friends creating maaaaaaaaaad drama. If that is your thing, cool. I was not that kid in high school, despite being a drama and art geek. I was an ANGRY drama and art geek but also a redneck metalhead stoner kid (I realize that must be hard to imagine), and beat up kids who did that sort of thing when my name was involved in it. I did. Please don't tell my mom. This is retarded. Get cable, or a vibrator, or a good book and maybe something constructive to do whilst you're bored off your ass at work.

And that has been another exciting installment of She Who Does Not Suffer Fucktardery Ever At All Whatsoever (TM).

Phone etiquette

I have had this really weird thing happen lately on my phone.
My phone rings, it is a number I do not recognize or that isn't stored in my mobile's little memory chip. I answer the phone, "hello?"
"yes May I speak to D please?"
...."May I ask who's calling, please?" (I get loads of telemarketers and survey people calling me, even though it is illegal to do this to someone's mobile phone.)
In response to my query, however, I get silence, surliness, or just plain confounded asshole behaviour.
Such as:
"well, who's this? *chortle*"
"who am I speaking to?"
"um, *excuse* me...?"
"I'm sorry, what? Who is this?"

Woah. Woah. Woah.
Okay.
For starters, dear reader, this is not how one calls another person. At all. I am certain you know this, though, being the lovely bunch you all are. Har.
Unless you are intimately acquainted with the person you are calling, the appropriate response after they pick up their phone and say "Hello" is
"Hello/Hi/Hola/Bonjour/etc, this is/it's _______(state your name)". If you are calling on behalf of a company you follow your name with the company you are calling for. Is so easy, as Vlad would say.
Very simple. I do it all the time. I like to eliminate awkwardness like that, crazy me. Also I am wary of phone solicitors, and assume everyone else is, so I I say who I am right away because I do not want to get cussed at and hung up on.

You would think people like HR leads and secretaries and other such professionals would know this shit, but no. And they are extremely rude 9 times out of 10. Even when they are calling to give me a job interview (which I am politely declining, being home is fine, thanks, especially if the company hired someone so crappy at their job. I am not working for someone like my ex employer again thx).

For fuck's sake, did no one else's mommy give them etiquette lessons or teach them any damn manners? And why would I want to work for someone's company who let their HR people talk to *anyone* like that? Ugh.

Ok so what the hell, here.

Here is the deal.
If you don't like the way I write, or the slang I use, or the voice in which I choose to address the world, fuck off and don't come here. It is exactly that simple.
No, I do not hesitate at rejecting comments that are posted with the sole purpose of being twatty and heinous. Not at all, since this is my fucking brain puking and what the hell's it to you, any how?

(Other than that BS, Hi! I feel a bit better, just irritated that I am apparently still in Jr High...?)

WTF, mates. If you're here to be a twat to me because you're disgruntled with my ma, well...fuck off then, eh? I am not going to hold your hand and assure you she is horrifically unfair or be hurt on her behalf. Please be somewhat of an adult about conducting your affairs in blogland. Poo jokes are great, but weird hate-by-proxy is not.

Thanks much,

The Management

blog-o numer-o un-o (of 2008-o)

Ok, so I have been harassed for updates. See, I was going to, but then I was fucking around on the intarwubs - mostly looking for embarrassing pictures of people I know - and found...a thing. This thing was an adoptee-seeking-birthmama/dad thing. And it was this dude, born when my mom had her first kid, in Oregon, looking FOR my mama. AMAZING. I hyperventilated. I cried and got shaky and felt like my chest was going to swing open. So I did the logical thing and called Ma, flapping and squeeing and crying and freaking. I think I scared her.
So, she and I both shoot off emails to the address the site had provided. I am a horrifically impatient person, so I search myspace, friendster, facebook, your mom's house and tibet for this guy. Nooooo luck. Ok, well, still pretty neat. I stay up late playing Neverwinternights and bashing goblins until I stop shaking enough to go to bed ( I am sure four cups of coffee helped there... ).
Next morning, I am back on line, looking up phone numbers and people searches and gps locations. I get crazy impatient. Example: If Manwife misses calling me on his walk home, I cry into his voice mail about how I think hobos have flayed him and are wearing pretty Manwife suits around downtown. Then he comes home and eyes me oddly while beating me away from him to go hide for a while. I have a wild imagination. With hobos. And buffalo bill.

where was I?

oh, ok. so I get the bright idea to type in the email address i had into myspace's email finder thing. I figure, dude is pretty much in my generation, he MUST have something. I mean, come on.
And he does.
Well, his wifelady does. I feel a little voyeuristic, and peek in her pictures. OMFG. Dude has my mom's eyes, nose, chin, smile, WOW. No question. I see they have three kids, and omg, their daughter has the same pretty hazel almond shaped eyes as Ma and Bro. Amazing and wonderful.
I tap out a tentative and polite email asking if I could please get a hold of the guy. Pretty quickly, my sister-in-law (oh that is so cool to say!) replies and says, oh wow, we were trying to get a hold of you but gmail doesn't like verizon mail and keeps spitting the letters we send out! Agh, technology. Well, ok. Shortly thereafter I get an email from my big brother and I am still beyond the moon. I think he and Ma have talked more, but I have talked a good deal with SIL, who is so lovely and sweet. They both are, and I really am very relieved. I think everyone will get along nicely, which is kind of secondary...or tertiary...or entirely besides the point at the moment..! What an amazing couple of days!

Otherwise, I am still married, still hanging out at home - collaging, cooking, teaching Squidge to draw shapes and letters - still being a pain in the ass. Manwife and I have been playing NWN online with our buddy Joop (I am brynito, hit me up if you play and wanna go kill some shit and quest). It's a lot of fun, better than sitting around arguing with Squidge or having Manwife play one game while I'm on another. We are having intarweb issues, we see each other as offline when we play at the same time, which is hella lame. I say lots of cusses about it. Trying to figure out how to do a network connection or something. This may be easier if I get a laptop and do wireless networking, mayhap. My antiquated piece of shit has issues keeping up with the boys, que bummer.
Let's see...not much else to report, just connecting with old friends who are nice and not mean drunks to me, and others that are misguided but still nice, and doing brunch. I DO BRUNCH, it's a kick in the pants. Of course, we brunch at the crunchiest place around - local eggs and bacon and snausages and tatoes and java, mostly nice organic stuff and tahini and home fries with black beans and tarragon and salsa. Yum! And the local coffee roasters around here can't be beat - go find moka joe's and buy some!!

I am mostly just hanging out being flabbergasted and elated and grateful. I think if anyone deserved the cosmos aligning in their favor and heaping karmic rewards on them, it is my mother. I mean, the nice life with YB and having Squidge/Gooneybird around is great, and having a new son-in-law who is awesome and loved by all is nice too, but I was always worried this would never come to any sort of...resolution...?...I don't know the right word. But whatever it is, it's turned out in the best, most joyful and fabulous way possible. If I could meet my brother's adopted mom and dad, I would kiss them right on the mouth for keeping him safe and happy and letting him know my mom was out there and she loved him still. I really could.

The world is very strange and wonderful, I think you just have to look for it and choose it to be so.