Oh, if only the flakes I had in my life were just happy little corn flakes (these are my favorites, three ingredients, eat that Michael Pollan...no, really, do! I think you'd like them, Mr. Pollan. I'm a big fan of them AND you).
Unfortunately, the flakes mentioned two posts back indeed did as I expected and flaked out on me. Because they are flaky hippies and it is their nature. It wasn't malicious, it was just...lame and very rude. I had a whole dinner done - honey lemon roasted chicken, veggie salad, potato and veg au gratin and black bottom cake - and when 5 pm rolled around, they were nowhere to be found. Nor at 5.15. Nor 7. There was no call, no text, no email. Just a simple no-show. Needless to say, my pregnant ass bawled like a little six year old, and then ate all the roasted honey-crusted chicken skin out of spite.
So today (five days after said dinner was scheduled and bailed on), I get a facebook wall post: "Oh I am so sorry, I'm so horrible, I just couldn't handle going out for a while, I guess I should've at least called, can we hang out". Now... from Sunday night (when Ma and Pa came over for carbonara made out of the roasted chicken and to "help out" with the cake) until today, I thought I was okay with this situation - my friend is a fucking flake, she's always been a wishy washy flake, and she will continue to be as such and there is not a whole lot I can do about it. We're not bff or anything, but we've been pals for about ten years at this point in time. Flakiness was manageable, nay, expected, back then in our high school years, but now.... No. Now it's time to have manners and a capacity to plan. SO. I am mad all over again now, because she apologized.
It's conflicting, I feel like a dick, but I am so mad that I don't care, but then I would like to graciously accept the apology and move on. I know it's not my place to reprimand or lecture her, she's an adult. I don't do passive-aggressive punishments, but OH MAN am I tempted.
So do I wait until I've simmered down to accept, or do I give her a quick "we're cool" and wait until I'm calmer to try to make plans? I understand she is how she is, and so in being her friend and knowing/expecting that, do I even get to be mad here? I don't know how to proceed. I like her a ton, but I am fumed, big time.
Being a gracious adult is tough work, man.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
sand in my asscrack
There are some things in life that annoy me greatly. Clingwrap, dogs sniffing my crotch for far too long or often, useless people, and dog hairs in my bedside water glass, for instance.
A big, big thing with me, that can enrage me on my less tolerant days is wishy-washiness. This will not stand. I do not abide by this at all.
No, the Dude does NOT abide by this aggression, which will not stand. Even though the Dude was pretty flaky. This Dude is not.
One major perpetrator of this crime of inconvenience (and, let's face it, rudeness), unfortunately, are the clump of ladies known as my "hippie girlfriends". My other girlfriends....no, not so much. However, the hippies outnumber the non about 12 to 1. Linz and Ricki, jeebus bless, I love you. You are bastions of organization and orderliness.
I love my other girlfriends, but they are frustrating to peg down for a specific date, time, and activity. It can take over a week of emails and calls to finally chase down the elusive playdate or shopping date or party. It's worth it, and is not so much a statement of our relationships as it is their upbringing (homeschoolers, they had no schedules...), and I get that. I am a planner. I have a framework with sufficient wiggle room built in, and I run with it, improvising when necessary. My ladies...they are not so much this way. The worst is trying to get them ALL in one big group and plan something. POTSMOKING, it addles your brain after a while. There is such a thing as being too laid back and loosey goosey. Luckily, things get done because I have no issue being the "heavy" or subjecting myself to being the leader and all of the potential criticism or lame times that may come with that. Otherwise, all we'd do is sit around, drinking beer, discussing WHAT to do until it was time for everyone to go home.
The biggest thing with me is the awkward situation one finds themselves in when trying to arrange a dinner or get together..."Saturday works for me, call me at the very last minute and let's see how we all feel about it and what to do"...."gimme a call ten minutes before I leave to go do something and we'll try to plan while I get ready"..."yeah! let's see how we all feel about what to do when we get there, depends on everyone's mood"... I'm sorry, what? Do you eat food? Do you like to have someone cook FOR you at their house? Yes? Then why do we need to pussyfoot around and "wait and see" with some indecisive hour-long discussion about WHAT to eat.
If I invite you to dinner or a get together at my house, I am cooking for you. Barring food allergies or specific tastes (oysters are a never, pumpkin mousse is a maybe for most folks I know), you will eat what I cook. There will BE NO DISCUSSION about what I am making. I am inviting you to kneel at the altar known as my dinner table and leave a drool sacrifice to my mighty seasoning and meat-moistening prowess (ohhh dirty). We will not be talking about what everyone is in the mood for, because I planned the fuck out of a meal about a week in advance, bought groceries, make a cheesecake to let sit and set up, defrosted a slab of meat, and stocked up on everyone's favorite beers. You will eat it, you will love it, and you will thank me and sing its praises for months on end. It's not conceit speaking here, it's the truth.
But waiting around, discussing what everyone wants to do (this smacks of too much touchy feely feelings discussing, which is a bad idea when I am hungry and wanting to eat NOW), you end up with mac and cheese in front of the tv in a big heap. Which is cool sometimes. But when I tell you I am making food, you should understand that you have little to no say after voicing concerns on food allergies and specific tastes. NO. Chickens do not magically defrost themselves because we all sat around and decided that's what we felt like eating 10 minutes ago and are now ravenous and cranky. That is not how that works, nor is it how hosting works. There will be no takeout, frozen dinners (I don't buy them), or leftovers. I am inviting you over for a nice meal because none of you cook that well and live on beer and takeout.
I think perhaps I should take my Dad's tack on inviting folks over, I will INFORM them what is being served and when they should show up. In the friendliest way possible. I've really got to figure out how he does that... Maybe I should leave the baseball bat and crowbar in the shed. And use a nice voice? Maybe. Mayyyybeee.
A big, big thing with me, that can enrage me on my less tolerant days is wishy-washiness. This will not stand. I do not abide by this at all.
No, the Dude does NOT abide by this aggression, which will not stand. Even though the Dude was pretty flaky. This Dude is not.
One major perpetrator of this crime of inconvenience (and, let's face it, rudeness), unfortunately, are the clump of ladies known as my "hippie girlfriends". My other girlfriends....no, not so much. However, the hippies outnumber the non about 12 to 1. Linz and Ricki, jeebus bless, I love you. You are bastions of organization and orderliness.
I love my other girlfriends, but they are frustrating to peg down for a specific date, time, and activity. It can take over a week of emails and calls to finally chase down the elusive playdate or shopping date or party. It's worth it, and is not so much a statement of our relationships as it is their upbringing (homeschoolers, they had no schedules...), and I get that. I am a planner. I have a framework with sufficient wiggle room built in, and I run with it, improvising when necessary. My ladies...they are not so much this way. The worst is trying to get them ALL in one big group and plan something. POTSMOKING, it addles your brain after a while. There is such a thing as being too laid back and loosey goosey. Luckily, things get done because I have no issue being the "heavy" or subjecting myself to being the leader and all of the potential criticism or lame times that may come with that. Otherwise, all we'd do is sit around, drinking beer, discussing WHAT to do until it was time for everyone to go home.
The biggest thing with me is the awkward situation one finds themselves in when trying to arrange a dinner or get together..."Saturday works for me, call me at the very last minute and let's see how we all feel about it and what to do"...."gimme a call ten minutes before I leave to go do something and we'll try to plan while I get ready"..."yeah! let's see how we all feel about what to do when we get there, depends on everyone's mood"... I'm sorry, what? Do you eat food? Do you like to have someone cook FOR you at their house? Yes? Then why do we need to pussyfoot around and "wait and see" with some indecisive hour-long discussion about WHAT to eat.
If I invite you to dinner or a get together at my house, I am cooking for you. Barring food allergies or specific tastes (oysters are a never, pumpkin mousse is a maybe for most folks I know), you will eat what I cook. There will BE NO DISCUSSION about what I am making. I am inviting you to kneel at the altar known as my dinner table and leave a drool sacrifice to my mighty seasoning and meat-moistening prowess (ohhh dirty). We will not be talking about what everyone is in the mood for, because I planned the fuck out of a meal about a week in advance, bought groceries, make a cheesecake to let sit and set up, defrosted a slab of meat, and stocked up on everyone's favorite beers. You will eat it, you will love it, and you will thank me and sing its praises for months on end. It's not conceit speaking here, it's the truth.
But waiting around, discussing what everyone wants to do (this smacks of too much touchy feely feelings discussing, which is a bad idea when I am hungry and wanting to eat NOW), you end up with mac and cheese in front of the tv in a big heap. Which is cool sometimes. But when I tell you I am making food, you should understand that you have little to no say after voicing concerns on food allergies and specific tastes. NO. Chickens do not magically defrost themselves because we all sat around and decided that's what we felt like eating 10 minutes ago and are now ravenous and cranky. That is not how that works, nor is it how hosting works. There will be no takeout, frozen dinners (I don't buy them), or leftovers. I am inviting you over for a nice meal because none of you cook that well and live on beer and takeout.
I think perhaps I should take my Dad's tack on inviting folks over, I will INFORM them what is being served and when they should show up. In the friendliest way possible. I've really got to figure out how he does that... Maybe I should leave the baseball bat and crowbar in the shed. And use a nice voice? Maybe. Mayyyybeee.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Shoppin for small ladies
And I don't mean little folk.
My little sister (and by no means my youngest, that one is...3?) has a birthday coming up, her fifth. I was stymied about what to get her until a friend suggested over facebook that stickers were the way to go, or better yet a sticker book...because we've all seen the unfortunate family cars with the rear passenger windows COATED in peely, sticky paper backing of shapes of dinosaurs and butterflies and the like. I can't in good conscience inflict that on *anyone*, even my step mother and her *snicker* audi station wagon *snicker*. So sticker books it is.
And then I remembered the sticker books I had, that ended up mostly on my dresser as oppossed to the family car or in the sticker book. I had everything from dinos to astronauts to large smiling teeth (ikr?) and pretty glittery pixies. And then there was......LISA FRANK.
FTW.
This was THE thing to have back at my grade school, next to RL Stine books and YIKES! pencils (both of which I was the queen of, that and Babysitter's Club books). Yikes pencils were the bomb, you'd get a neon pencil that was a WHOLE DIFFERENT COLOR when you sharpened it and had zaaaaany erasers. It came very close to making cursive practice in 3rd grade interesting.
I was not the hugest Lisa Frank girl, there were far too many puppies and unicorns and shit like that for my taste, but they DID make neon dolphins jumping over rainbow stickers, so how could I refuse? That, and next to those light up LA Gear shoes, you could be no cooler in school than if you had those...until pogs... :( good god, what was wrong with my generation?
Anyhow, enjoy the trip, I read today that "flourescents are making a fashion comeback", let's just hope this time they leave the hypercolor t-shirts out of it!
My little sister (and by no means my youngest, that one is...3?) has a birthday coming up, her fifth. I was stymied about what to get her until a friend suggested over facebook that stickers were the way to go, or better yet a sticker book...because we've all seen the unfortunate family cars with the rear passenger windows COATED in peely, sticky paper backing of shapes of dinosaurs and butterflies and the like. I can't in good conscience inflict that on *anyone*, even my step mother and her *snicker* audi station wagon *snicker*. So sticker books it is.
And then I remembered the sticker books I had, that ended up mostly on my dresser as oppossed to the family car or in the sticker book. I had everything from dinos to astronauts to large smiling teeth (ikr?) and pretty glittery pixies. And then there was......LISA FRANK.
FTW.
This was THE thing to have back at my grade school, next to RL Stine books and YIKES! pencils (both of which I was the queen of, that and Babysitter's Club books). Yikes pencils were the bomb, you'd get a neon pencil that was a WHOLE DIFFERENT COLOR when you sharpened it and had zaaaaany erasers. It came very close to making cursive practice in 3rd grade interesting.
I was not the hugest Lisa Frank girl, there were far too many puppies and unicorns and shit like that for my taste, but they DID make neon dolphins jumping over rainbow stickers, so how could I refuse? That, and next to those light up LA Gear shoes, you could be no cooler in school than if you had those...until pogs... :( good god, what was wrong with my generation?
Anyhow, enjoy the trip, I read today that "flourescents are making a fashion comeback", let's just hope this time they leave the hypercolor t-shirts out of it!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
toooo early for thinkin
Is it February yet? No? Then you mean I DON'T have to hear about Sweetbean's birthday EVERY SINGLE DAY and that it is still like three weeks away and ohmygod am I going nuts discussing cakes and bicycles and knight's shields to play with YES YES I AM. The flip side of that is Manwife's birthday is the day following Sweetbean's, and I have yet to hear one peep out of him about what he wants aside from "yellow cake with vanilla frosting and enchiladas divorciadas". ew, yellow cake and vanilla. Bland! I asked if I could at least draw on it with colored frosting and add a million candles and sprinkles or sugared flowers, but got shot down. Oh well, on my birthday I will make a huge cake filled with candy bars and decorated with flowers and tinsel and sparklers or some shit.
I think I may just do that for Bumblebee's womb-emergence day. Or make someone else do it. Last time I pooped out a kid, I got triple fudge chunk brownies. It was the best thing I have ever put in my mouth, ever, and it even got the taste of puke out. Because...puking, baby crapping out, they tend to go hand in hand. Boo to that.
So, it's early, I'm rambling, and I can't have coffee because baby Bumble will knock around my innards like a giant boney pinball for three hours. Her favorite place to stomp thus far seems to be the join of ligaments and muscle between my lower belly and left hip. And when she gets caffinated...well, she can jump pretty high in there. Lung-high. With smacking them and knocking into my solar plexus. So I have to suffer being brain dead until about 11 am, and missing out on sweet co-op dark roast.
I think I'm just posting to keep in the habit...I actually posted on my craftin' blog, the first entry with pictures and whatnot! And because I got so much shit about it...and it's all people could focus on, I changed the name. See, when you mention you start a craft blog in order to possibly sell shit, the last thing you want to hear is OMG that reminds me of this obnoxious kids' book! No, you want to hear "oh, what do you do?" or "good luck", along those lines.
So now it's another obnoxious name - Mama-llama-rama. Booyakasha.
Mostly I just like llamas. And goats. But I couldn't think of a good goat rhyme, so there you go.
I'd better return to the real world...between the boxes of old Sweetbean baby stuff Manwife dug up for me at Dad's house (which I in no way wanted to go near, unfortunately, so now I miss my Dad more than anybody, boo), the boxes from my girlfriend's 1 year old daughter and a whole boatload of clothes from my stepmom I am swimming in laundry and tiny pink things. Hopefully I can sort things to where they are a good mix of girly and not-girly-at-all (lots of hippie boy stuff from Sweetbean), and then share the rest with my other two friends who are girlier than I and ALSO pregnant with girls. Good lord. So much pink. I really am sick of it. That and this "Princess" or "Spoiled Rotten" type of shirt you see so much in girls' departments of stores...you don't get that with boys so much. It's kind of more than a little appalling. Ick. TOO. MUCH. PINK. And lace. And princess bullshit. PLZ HALP SEND METAL SHRT ASAP SOS - preferably tool or deftones or anthrax kthx.
Off to the pink heap of doom.
I think I may just do that for Bumblebee's womb-emergence day. Or make someone else do it. Last time I pooped out a kid, I got triple fudge chunk brownies. It was the best thing I have ever put in my mouth, ever, and it even got the taste of puke out. Because...puking, baby crapping out, they tend to go hand in hand. Boo to that.
So, it's early, I'm rambling, and I can't have coffee because baby Bumble will knock around my innards like a giant boney pinball for three hours. Her favorite place to stomp thus far seems to be the join of ligaments and muscle between my lower belly and left hip. And when she gets caffinated...well, she can jump pretty high in there. Lung-high. With smacking them and knocking into my solar plexus. So I have to suffer being brain dead until about 11 am, and missing out on sweet co-op dark roast.
I think I'm just posting to keep in the habit...I actually posted on my craftin' blog, the first entry with pictures and whatnot! And because I got so much shit about it...and it's all people could focus on, I changed the name. See, when you mention you start a craft blog in order to possibly sell shit, the last thing you want to hear is OMG that reminds me of this obnoxious kids' book! No, you want to hear "oh, what do you do?" or "good luck", along those lines.
So now it's another obnoxious name - Mama-llama-rama. Booyakasha.
Mostly I just like llamas. And goats. But I couldn't think of a good goat rhyme, so there you go.
I'd better return to the real world...between the boxes of old Sweetbean baby stuff Manwife dug up for me at Dad's house (which I in no way wanted to go near, unfortunately, so now I miss my Dad more than anybody, boo), the boxes from my girlfriend's 1 year old daughter and a whole boatload of clothes from my stepmom I am swimming in laundry and tiny pink things. Hopefully I can sort things to where they are a good mix of girly and not-girly-at-all (lots of hippie boy stuff from Sweetbean), and then share the rest with my other two friends who are girlier than I and ALSO pregnant with girls. Good lord. So much pink. I really am sick of it. That and this "Princess" or "Spoiled Rotten" type of shirt you see so much in girls' departments of stores...you don't get that with boys so much. It's kind of more than a little appalling. Ick. TOO. MUCH. PINK. And lace. And princess bullshit. PLZ HALP SEND METAL SHRT ASAP SOS - preferably tool or deftones or anthrax kthx.
Off to the pink heap of doom.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Blahs are over, January sucks, and I just want it to be May alfreakinready
Wow, I haven't hit the ol blog in a couple of weeks, my bad! I have been trying to get in the habit of blogging more this year - hopefully whenever I get my craft blog going (Dee Bee Sea is defunct until baby having is done with) and someday that big, shiny etsy shop hoppin, I will be awesome about updates and uploading stuff and whatnot. YEAH!
Let's see, what's been going on?
Well, for the past week, the weather here in Acme, WA has been fucking G L O R I O U S. I mean, clear, high, cold blue skies, frost tipped greenery, clean breezes down from the mountains, and best of all, no rain OR snow! MAN I am so done with snow. For serious and true. But the weather has def. made me antsy for spring, I keep looking at Ma's lawn and looking for the little jonquils and crocuses and snowdrops I know should be popping up in a couple of months...hurry UP, flowers. And then there are the plum blossoms and cherry blossoms and (best of all) apple blossoms around here, which are all lovely and smell like sugar-heaven. So I have basically fooled myself into thinking spring is just around the corner. Which means I thing that my house is a dump and that everything needs to be cleaned, polished, painted, and aired out. DID YOU KNOW that if you air linens out on a January day in the the Cascade foothills, no matter how sunny it is, they will come in crackly with a 1/4" of frost? It is TRUUUUE. but they smell lovely.
In related sprucing news, I have been (slowly) painting a large, acrylic mural on the baby's room wall in our loft area. There is a purple sea that will be populated with chubby mermaids, a big silver tree on top of a periwinkle hill, set against a pink, swirly sky. I've never painted on quite that large of a scale before, so it's been...rough...to keep motivated. Especially after my armpits (wtf!) get sore and I get paint up my nose for the millionth time. But I have been keeping motivated by doing three other baby-realted projects (I have to do a lot at once to keep focused, what is wrong with my brain). I am also knitting a wee sweater to go with the pointy elf hat I made, finishing up a baby quilt started last January, and making baby wipes out of old flannel sheets and random pieces in my stash. So it's been good, my fingers and wrists are holding up and not being little bitches about all of the work I force them to do and things are turning out pretty good-looking. Usually my fingers are all "wah, my little girly muscles hurt" and my wrists are all "ohhh I am too limp to knit for hours" but after a year of conditioning them, they are BURLY and I can craft and sew and paint all the live-long-day. At this rate, when I am an old lady, I will look like a body builder from the elbows down. RADNESS!
Related to crafting, I hate Etsy shops. I wanted to like them, but MAN. The all seem to have elected to sell a piss-poor product with unfinished fabric edges and hanging thread ends and and and UGH it drives me nuts. And they always charge far too much for said mediocrity, you know? It's galling, as someone who has been sewing for over ten years, to see such shabby work being proferred for sale to the masses as a quality product worth twenty times the cost of materials and labour. It is such bullshit. I've been at it for a long time, and half the time, I would rather give things away as they are not up to MY standards. Maybe that's why I'm still not making money at it, but I couldn't in good conscience sell something I felt to be a piece of shit, what with it coming from my brain and hands and all. So that was an irritating experience. One of those times I had to keep my mouth shut and smile politely, I know people who sell there but won't look. I hate etsy crafts. there. I said it.
Ummm.
Other than that, I watched the Obama inauguration and decided to attend Unitarian Universalist services (I'm a taoist liker of Jesus the dude, not the bible though, and many other ideas of peace and love and service). Nothing too exciting, right ! HA!
Let's see, what's been going on?
Well, for the past week, the weather here in Acme, WA has been fucking G L O R I O U S. I mean, clear, high, cold blue skies, frost tipped greenery, clean breezes down from the mountains, and best of all, no rain OR snow! MAN I am so done with snow. For serious and true. But the weather has def. made me antsy for spring, I keep looking at Ma's lawn and looking for the little jonquils and crocuses and snowdrops I know should be popping up in a couple of months...hurry UP, flowers. And then there are the plum blossoms and cherry blossoms and (best of all) apple blossoms around here, which are all lovely and smell like sugar-heaven. So I have basically fooled myself into thinking spring is just around the corner. Which means I thing that my house is a dump and that everything needs to be cleaned, polished, painted, and aired out. DID YOU KNOW that if you air linens out on a January day in the the Cascade foothills, no matter how sunny it is, they will come in crackly with a 1/4" of frost? It is TRUUUUE. but they smell lovely.
In related sprucing news, I have been (slowly) painting a large, acrylic mural on the baby's room wall in our loft area. There is a purple sea that will be populated with chubby mermaids, a big silver tree on top of a periwinkle hill, set against a pink, swirly sky. I've never painted on quite that large of a scale before, so it's been...rough...to keep motivated. Especially after my armpits (wtf!) get sore and I get paint up my nose for the millionth time. But I have been keeping motivated by doing three other baby-realted projects (I have to do a lot at once to keep focused, what is wrong with my brain). I am also knitting a wee sweater to go with the pointy elf hat I made, finishing up a baby quilt started last January, and making baby wipes out of old flannel sheets and random pieces in my stash. So it's been good, my fingers and wrists are holding up and not being little bitches about all of the work I force them to do and things are turning out pretty good-looking. Usually my fingers are all "wah, my little girly muscles hurt" and my wrists are all "ohhh I am too limp to knit for hours" but after a year of conditioning them, they are BURLY and I can craft and sew and paint all the live-long-day. At this rate, when I am an old lady, I will look like a body builder from the elbows down. RADNESS!
Related to crafting, I hate Etsy shops. I wanted to like them, but MAN. The all seem to have elected to sell a piss-poor product with unfinished fabric edges and hanging thread ends and and and UGH it drives me nuts. And they always charge far too much for said mediocrity, you know? It's galling, as someone who has been sewing for over ten years, to see such shabby work being proferred for sale to the masses as a quality product worth twenty times the cost of materials and labour. It is such bullshit. I've been at it for a long time, and half the time, I would rather give things away as they are not up to MY standards. Maybe that's why I'm still not making money at it, but I couldn't in good conscience sell something I felt to be a piece of shit, what with it coming from my brain and hands and all. So that was an irritating experience. One of those times I had to keep my mouth shut and smile politely, I know people who sell there but won't look. I hate etsy crafts. there. I said it.
Ummm.
Other than that, I watched the Obama inauguration and decided to attend Unitarian Universalist services (I'm a taoist liker of Jesus the dude, not the bible though, and many other ideas of peace and love and service). Nothing too exciting, right ! HA!
Friday, January 9, 2009
WOOHOO Until about 9 years from now, that is.
baby bumblebee is a GIRL bumblebee, as it turns out.
well dang! slap me with a pair of ruby slippers and give me a tutu....or twenty. with barn boots. and millions of hair doodads. and teeny tiny little tights and pixie wings. OH HECK YES.
sadly, she is a taurus, but there is naught I can do about that except hold it back like a prarie-doggin' poo until after May 22. You KNOW I'll be trying. Those damned Tauruses, they're just plain weird and smelly and stubborn and they take too long in the bathroom but then scream in fear when you knock softly on the door to check if it is occupado. NOT THAT I KNOW ANY TAURES LIKE THAT EH MA
also I am pretty sure I am going to have to ship Bumblebee off in 9 years, what with the hellraiser to the degree I am sure will put my entire family to shame that she will be....yeah. It's just better this way :P Oh man, now I am dreading puberty SO HARD. I am imagining me at that age, times about twenty, and I am just going to start calling talk shows NOW about my rebellious teen who smokes and deals illegal Opies and lutefisk and calls her grandmother's dog a whore. Oy gevalt.
well dang! slap me with a pair of ruby slippers and give me a tutu....or twenty. with barn boots. and millions of hair doodads. and teeny tiny little tights and pixie wings. OH HECK YES.
sadly, she is a taurus, but there is naught I can do about that except hold it back like a prarie-doggin' poo until after May 22. You KNOW I'll be trying. Those damned Tauruses, they're just plain weird and smelly and stubborn and they take too long in the bathroom but then scream in fear when you knock softly on the door to check if it is occupado. NOT THAT I KNOW ANY TAURES LIKE THAT EH MA
also I am pretty sure I am going to have to ship Bumblebee off in 9 years, what with the hellraiser to the degree I am sure will put my entire family to shame that she will be....yeah. It's just better this way :P Oh man, now I am dreading puberty SO HARD. I am imagining me at that age, times about twenty, and I am just going to start calling talk shows NOW about my rebellious teen who smokes and deals illegal Opies and lutefisk and calls her grandmother's dog a whore. Oy gevalt.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
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.
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.
As soon as I'd finished laughing my ass off about the olives, that is.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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.
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.
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