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