You guys have no idea what an awesome blog post I was going to write for you today, recapping my weekend.
On Friday, I was totally going to see "In the Next Room, or, The Vibrator Play" and I was going to be BUZZING all about it. Vee let me read the script over the winter and I was SO EXCITED to see the performance because the premise is fascinating: doctors used to use vibrators on women to cure "hysteria," and the KICKER! The kicker! No one thought it was sexual because sex was defined as MALE PENETRATION. The female orgasm didn't count for shit!
He booked our babysitter (which you have to understand, we LIKE NEVER use a babysitter and it was totally going to be DATE NIGHT OUT).
Well, THAT didn't work out. Vee came home sick from work about 2 hours early on Friday and slept off and on all afternoon and into the evening. He canceled our babysitter and I made myself applesauce muffins and watched "House Hunters International" as a couple bought a 4 million dollar apartment in Paris.
So I was like "Ok, there goes THE VIBRATOR PLAY," but I had another trick up my sleeve. See, this was going to be a DOUBLE-HEADER weekend for us because Saturday night was the fundraiser event night for the Bood's preschool. We forked over A HUNDRED EFFING DOLLARS to go to this BS and we were going to drink our weight in free wine and eat the Bood's weight in free appetizers and people-watch the bourgeois moms and dads who can actually afford to send their kids to our preschool without relying on TAX RETURNS.
Saturday morning, the Bood crawled into bed with us around 8am and slept until 9. Kind of weird, but as I was opening the blinds around the house, getting the day started, I saw a towel covered in puke on her bed. Poor little Boodienne! She'd thrown up and tried to clean it up herself! So I started a load of laundry, resheeted her bed and put her back in it, and the Bood promptly fell asleep. About an hour later, Vee was cleaning the Bones's diaper and loudly fell over, shrieking in pain. I was like WTF? But dude couldn't move, he was in so much pain.
I helped him hobble to the couch, where he laid in the weirdest position, one leg up, one down, half-reclined, and he called the diabetes center, who reassured him that the pain in the kidney-area on his back didn't sound like it was beetus-related. But Vee hurt SO MUCH that I had to haul him off to an urgent care. So I woke up the poor little Bood, strapped her in the car, got the Bones seated, and helped Vee get into the car. I dropped him off at an urgent care up the road from us (YES I DROPPED HIM OFF; I wasn't about to hang out in some dumb urgi-fail with a sick kid) and got everyone home, putting the whimpering Bood back in her bed for her nap.
Within seconds of getting the covers on her and closing the door, guess who called? YEP, IT WAS VEE! Apparently the "extra from Juniper Creek" (Vee's description of his doctor) announced within seconds that "he was just going to send him to the emergency room," so I had to get the Bood back up again, get the girls in the car, and get down to pick up Vee, then drive him 20 minutes south to his ER of choice.
Have I mentioned yet how beautiful Saturday was? It was a GORGEOUS DAY out here on the prairie! It was becoming RAPIDLY CLEAR to me that there was no way in shiz I was going to the fundraiser that night, so Vee called our babysitter to cancel (AGAIN! She will never believe us if we try to book her again). I dropped him off at the ER and got the girls back home. The Bones had fallen asleep in the car (AND NO WONDER--it was like 2 hours past her naptime) and so had the Bood, so I carried them in, one by one, and laid them in their rooms. And then I spent a blissful 20 minutes reading a book before VEE CALLED ME AGAIN to let me know that he'd gotten Vicodin and Percocet and "it just was a pulled muscle" and not THE KIDNEY STONE Vee had thought it was. Cool, but I WASN'T COMING BACK TO GET HIM UNTIL THE GIRLS WOKE UP, so I told him I'd be there by 4.
At 3:30, I heard the Bones stirring, so I opened the door to get her up and get ready to go pick up Vee. Oh, buddy. There was vomit COATING her pillow, the shoulders of her onesie, several stuffed buddies, her blanky, her sheets, the wall, YOU NAME IT. It smelled SO BAD! I whipped the clothes off her, hustled her through a quick bath trying to scrub off most of the vom in her hair, then hurriedly dressed her in some jammies. Then I had to basically scoop up EVERYTHING RELATED TO HER BED and dumped it in the shower, SCRUBBING OUT THE VOMIT so I could do another load of bed-laundry. I gave the Bones some water since she kept begging for it. As I FINALLY got everything done and was coming upstairs to wake up the Bood and get her in the car, I saw the Bones water-vomiting all over the floor and the couch. She vom-spasmed like 5 times, and I was grabbing towels left and right trying to just mop up the disaster. I looked up at the clock. 4pm.
So I called Vee to tell him, tearfully, I WAS FREAKING OUT AND THE BONES WAS THROWING UP EVERYTHING AND I HADN'T EVEN GOTTEN THE BOOD UP YET AND I WAS NOT GOING TO BE THERE FOR ANOTHER HALF AN HOUR AND I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS DAY IS HAPPENING TO ME. I woke the Bood up, again (I FELT SO HORRIBLE! You never wake up a sleeping child!) and got her and Bones into the car, drove down and picked up Vee.
We spent the rest of the evening AT HOME, medicating the poor Bood's 104-degree fever and watching "The Lorax" and "Pontoffel Pock." The Bones couldn't keep down anything except tiny 10mL quantities of water and it was so pathetic, I felt SO HORRIBLE because she kept piteously demanding "Wa wa. Wa wa," and we were under orders not to give her more than 10mL at a go. She was doing fine after about half an hour so I gave her about a quarter cup. 5 minutes later, ALL the water came barreling out of her mouth. My poor babies!
Sunday was only moderately better; the Bones was fine and tolerated food and water with no problems, but the Bood laid on the couch all day, still vacillating between 102 and 104 degrees, drinking little water, eating nothing for the second day in a row, and sleeping off and on. She's better today with only a low-grade fever, but still home since she's got to be fever-free for 24 hours before she can go back to preschool.
So I didn't get $100 worth of chow-chow, I didn't get to watch a doctor use a vibrator on a patient, and I didn't get to do ANYTHING except care for my sicked-out family this weekend.
HOW WAS YOURS?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Will You Remember?
It's such a rainy drainy day out here on the prairie that I had to pull out some Cranberries (Why? Isn't it OBVIOUS? Don't YOU want to listen to Irish music when it's raining because IT'S LIKE YOU'RE CLIMATOLOGICALLY CORRECT) for the preschool drive. The Bood was just glad it was "a girl singing"--she's started being picky about that, like announcing "NO! Put on the one with the GIRL SINGING!" when we're listening to the radio and a male voice DARES to come on. Like, BOOD, I remember being 3 and all and it's totally all GENDER POWER, but you haven't even started the YUCK BOYS phase so just LET THE MAN SING.
So I started thinking about something on the drive home, and maybe you guys can help me. No, like, really, because no amount of "internal searching" is going to get me anywhere with this. So you all remember that I've moved several times, right? If you don't, HAVE YOU READ THIS BLOG EVER?
Here's my question, because I genuinely DON'T KNOW: do YOU remember the names of the kids who showed up in your classes for three years and then vanished back into the night? I'm talking to those of you who stayed in the same school system the whole time. Because I don't know anymore if it's CREEPY or if it's LOGICAL that I remember so many kids from the classes I was in. Like I remember most of the names of everyone I had classes with, from kindergarten through high school. Why SHOULDN'T I remember them? Didn't I see them every day for like MONTHS ON END?
The elementary school ones are the ones I think I'd really freak out--like IT WAS TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO, HOW DO YOU KNOW ME? Dude, I don't know how to break it to you--because I KNEW YOU. I knew you ONCE. I don't know who you are NOW, sure, but I remember your name. And here's the rub: do you remember MINE?
I know I could start randomly trying to friend old friends on Facebook, but all I really want to know is DO YOU REMEMBER ME? Not "how are you doing now" or "how did your life turn out" or "how many kids do you have" but DO YOU RECOGNIZE MY NAME? Did I pass through your life without leaving a trace, not even NAME RECOGNITION?
As I was finishing up Teenage Love and Vee was helping me sift through the emotional wreckage, I found myself realizing simple truths that I wish I'd seen before. BS like I NEED YOU TO RECOGNIZE ME BECAUSE I AM AFRAID NO ONE ELSE WILL REMEMBER SOMETHING ONCE HAPPENED IF YOU DON'T.
The fear of anonymity! Ironic when I'm PSEUDONYMING all over this blog!
But is it CREEPY? Am I a CREEPSTER for remembering the names of girls I was vaguely friends with for two years before I moved? Do YOU remember the names of kids in your old classes? WOULD YOU?
(and BY THE WAY, have you liked my page on Facebook yet? If not, HOP TO, puppy!)
So I started thinking about something on the drive home, and maybe you guys can help me. No, like, really, because no amount of "internal searching" is going to get me anywhere with this. So you all remember that I've moved several times, right? If you don't, HAVE YOU READ THIS BLOG EVER?
Here's my question, because I genuinely DON'T KNOW: do YOU remember the names of the kids who showed up in your classes for three years and then vanished back into the night? I'm talking to those of you who stayed in the same school system the whole time. Because I don't know anymore if it's CREEPY or if it's LOGICAL that I remember so many kids from the classes I was in. Like I remember most of the names of everyone I had classes with, from kindergarten through high school. Why SHOULDN'T I remember them? Didn't I see them every day for like MONTHS ON END?
The elementary school ones are the ones I think I'd really freak out--like IT WAS TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO, HOW DO YOU KNOW ME? Dude, I don't know how to break it to you--because I KNEW YOU. I knew you ONCE. I don't know who you are NOW, sure, but I remember your name. And here's the rub: do you remember MINE?
I know I could start randomly trying to friend old friends on Facebook, but all I really want to know is DO YOU REMEMBER ME? Not "how are you doing now" or "how did your life turn out" or "how many kids do you have" but DO YOU RECOGNIZE MY NAME? Did I pass through your life without leaving a trace, not even NAME RECOGNITION?
As I was finishing up Teenage Love and Vee was helping me sift through the emotional wreckage, I found myself realizing simple truths that I wish I'd seen before. BS like I NEED YOU TO RECOGNIZE ME BECAUSE I AM AFRAID NO ONE ELSE WILL REMEMBER SOMETHING ONCE HAPPENED IF YOU DON'T.
The fear of anonymity! Ironic when I'm PSEUDONYMING all over this blog!
But is it CREEPY? Am I a CREEPSTER for remembering the names of girls I was vaguely friends with for two years before I moved? Do YOU remember the names of kids in your old classes? WOULD YOU?
(and BY THE WAY, have you liked my page on Facebook yet? If not, HOP TO, puppy!)
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
My TV and You
Happy Paczki Day! You think it's Fat Tuesday? Then you need to get your ass to Southeast Michigan because it's PACZKI DAY and the only thing Mardi Gras about it is the FAT CHUNKS OF JELLY stuffed inside a fried doughnut. Miss you Mich!
My in-laws and Vee's grandma were in town visiting us over the weekend and it was great to see them--Kiddo and Nuni (I can't do it; she's just not Nuni either. The truth is that, really, I call her The Bones. And I call Kiddo The Bood. There, you have it: The Bood and The Bones. Do I need to put a link on the side giving away my nicknames? Or are you smart enough to figure out, contextually, who I'm talking about? Come on, people.) were delighted. The Bood even spent the night at the hotel with them on Saturday. It was SO WEIRD being parents to ONLY ONE CHILD IN THE HOUSE that night. Vee and I were like PARTY!
So we partied by watching the series finale of "Big Love." If you're still watching it (which I'm SURE you're not--it ended like A YEAR AGO OR SOMETHING, right? Only our lame asses are still Netflixing it), I'm not giving away anything, other than to say IT ENDED EXACTLY HOW I PREDICTED! I KNEW it was going there! Seriously! I was telling Vee during the whole last half of the season that that was the only way it could end!
MIND READER!
I'm really depressed that there are no new episodes to look forward to, though. It's like how I felt at the end of "Deadwood," although not QUITE like that because I was really underwhelmed by the end of Deadwood. Maybe it was just watching Swearengen lose all his power that made me irritable. FUCKING HEARST! But this is reason 12 why I don't watch many sitcoms or series--I get OVERINVOLVED in them and in the characters.
My friends in college (HELLO T.E.A.N.-ers) always tried to drag me to these horror movie nights my friend Nathan would put on JUST BECAUSE I was a mess during them--like the obnoxious sort of mess that needs to talk out loud the entire time, directing the characters NOT TO GO IN THAT ROOM or asking everyone else WHY DOESN'T SHE JUST JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW? I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY SHE DOESN'T KICK OUT THE WINDOW AND JUMP THROUGH IT BECAUSE EVEN IF SHE GETS ALL RIPPED UP FROM THE GLASS, IT'S BETTER THAN BEING DEAD. RIGHT? RIGHT?!
In the theater, I am also the sort of person who covers my mouth and nose with my hands (fingers pointing up so that, conveniently, if necessary, I can also cover my eyes) when a plot twist is not going the way I want it to. I don't talk about "how good" or "how bad" a movie was when I'm leaving the theater; I talk about WHY THAT CHARACTER DIDN'T DO THE RIGHT THING and WHERE THEY WENT WRONG. Still trying to fix situations that, if they WERE fixed, would have made the movie boring.
I CARE TOO MUCH! OH THE AGONY!
So I don't let myself watch too many shows because I CAN ONLY HANDLE SO MUCH DRAMA. Seriously, Vee and I have been splicing that last season of "Big Love" with the miniseries of "The Forsyte Saga" just because Big Love is SO HARD TO DEAL WITH this last season. My chest was all tight and I was STRESSIN ALL NIGHT after watching an episode, so we had to take a week off between discs and chill out to some Victorian drama.
Forsyte is EFFING ROCKING, by the way. I read the book, as you MIGHT REMEMBER, in December, (and BY THE WAY, I am still REALLY FREAKING OUT because I read all of "The Marriage Plot" AGAIN just to try to find the fucking Forsyte Saga reference and I STILL CAN'T FIND IT! It's like I magicked it into existence, except I WOULD NEVER HAVE MADE UP THE NAMES "Soames" or "Young Jolyon" and the worst part is that I CAN PICTURE EXACTLY WHERE ON THE PAGE I READ IT! IT'S ON THE RIGHT HAND PAGE AND IT'S HALFWAY DOWN THE PAGE! But I CAN'T FIND IT!) and when I looked up the miniseries online to see one of the actor's names, I found out that back in the 1960s when it was produced, Britain was like CRAZYDAYZ over it--like RESCHEDULING CHURCH SERVICES and shit so people wouldn't have to miss it.
So we're still cranking through Forsyte, but since the new disc hasn't arrived yet, I am totally dying about the episode of Glee tonight, y'all, because I need to know WHETHER OR NOT FINN AND RACHEL ARE GOING TO GET MARRIED and QUINN NEEDS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF TELLING RACHEL NOT TO DO IT and IS ANYONE ELSE WONDERING WHY THE FUCK FINN AND RACHEL ARE GETTING MARRIED BEFORE MR. SCHUESTER AND EMMA?
I can't even IMAGINE what drama they're going to haul out for the season finale. OMFG if they make Rachel PREGNANT or something I am going to go insane. Or what if FUCKING SEBASTIAN GETS INTO NYADA?! And also if they DON'T win sectionals, regionals, AND nationals, I am going to be FUCKING PISSED. They teased our asses for two years already! Make them WIN!
If you think I'm giving up TV for Lent, you're crazy.
My in-laws and Vee's grandma were in town visiting us over the weekend and it was great to see them--Kiddo and Nuni (I can't do it; she's just not Nuni either. The truth is that, really, I call her The Bones. And I call Kiddo The Bood. There, you have it: The Bood and The Bones. Do I need to put a link on the side giving away my nicknames? Or are you smart enough to figure out, contextually, who I'm talking about? Come on, people.) were delighted. The Bood even spent the night at the hotel with them on Saturday. It was SO WEIRD being parents to ONLY ONE CHILD IN THE HOUSE that night. Vee and I were like PARTY!
So we partied by watching the series finale of "Big Love." If you're still watching it (which I'm SURE you're not--it ended like A YEAR AGO OR SOMETHING, right? Only our lame asses are still Netflixing it), I'm not giving away anything, other than to say IT ENDED EXACTLY HOW I PREDICTED! I KNEW it was going there! Seriously! I was telling Vee during the whole last half of the season that that was the only way it could end!
MIND READER!
I'm really depressed that there are no new episodes to look forward to, though. It's like how I felt at the end of "Deadwood," although not QUITE like that because I was really underwhelmed by the end of Deadwood. Maybe it was just watching Swearengen lose all his power that made me irritable. FUCKING HEARST! But this is reason 12 why I don't watch many sitcoms or series--I get OVERINVOLVED in them and in the characters.
My friends in college (HELLO T.E.A.N.-ers) always tried to drag me to these horror movie nights my friend Nathan would put on JUST BECAUSE I was a mess during them--like the obnoxious sort of mess that needs to talk out loud the entire time, directing the characters NOT TO GO IN THAT ROOM or asking everyone else WHY DOESN'T SHE JUST JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW? I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY SHE DOESN'T KICK OUT THE WINDOW AND JUMP THROUGH IT BECAUSE EVEN IF SHE GETS ALL RIPPED UP FROM THE GLASS, IT'S BETTER THAN BEING DEAD. RIGHT? RIGHT?!
In the theater, I am also the sort of person who covers my mouth and nose with my hands (fingers pointing up so that, conveniently, if necessary, I can also cover my eyes) when a plot twist is not going the way I want it to. I don't talk about "how good" or "how bad" a movie was when I'm leaving the theater; I talk about WHY THAT CHARACTER DIDN'T DO THE RIGHT THING and WHERE THEY WENT WRONG. Still trying to fix situations that, if they WERE fixed, would have made the movie boring.
I CARE TOO MUCH! OH THE AGONY!
So I don't let myself watch too many shows because I CAN ONLY HANDLE SO MUCH DRAMA. Seriously, Vee and I have been splicing that last season of "Big Love" with the miniseries of "The Forsyte Saga" just because Big Love is SO HARD TO DEAL WITH this last season. My chest was all tight and I was STRESSIN ALL NIGHT after watching an episode, so we had to take a week off between discs and chill out to some Victorian drama.
Forsyte is EFFING ROCKING, by the way. I read the book, as you MIGHT REMEMBER, in December, (and BY THE WAY, I am still REALLY FREAKING OUT because I read all of "The Marriage Plot" AGAIN just to try to find the fucking Forsyte Saga reference and I STILL CAN'T FIND IT! It's like I magicked it into existence, except I WOULD NEVER HAVE MADE UP THE NAMES "Soames" or "Young Jolyon" and the worst part is that I CAN PICTURE EXACTLY WHERE ON THE PAGE I READ IT! IT'S ON THE RIGHT HAND PAGE AND IT'S HALFWAY DOWN THE PAGE! But I CAN'T FIND IT!) and when I looked up the miniseries online to see one of the actor's names, I found out that back in the 1960s when it was produced, Britain was like CRAZYDAYZ over it--like RESCHEDULING CHURCH SERVICES and shit so people wouldn't have to miss it.
So we're still cranking through Forsyte, but since the new disc hasn't arrived yet, I am totally dying about the episode of Glee tonight, y'all, because I need to know WHETHER OR NOT FINN AND RACHEL ARE GOING TO GET MARRIED and QUINN NEEDS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF TELLING RACHEL NOT TO DO IT and IS ANYONE ELSE WONDERING WHY THE FUCK FINN AND RACHEL ARE GETTING MARRIED BEFORE MR. SCHUESTER AND EMMA?
I can't even IMAGINE what drama they're going to haul out for the season finale. OMFG if they make Rachel PREGNANT or something I am going to go insane. Or what if FUCKING SEBASTIAN GETS INTO NYADA?! And also if they DON'T win sectionals, regionals, AND nationals, I am going to be FUCKING PISSED. They teased our asses for two years already! Make them WIN!
If you think I'm giving up TV for Lent, you're crazy.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Tax Season is RELAX Season
I had a pretty rad Valentine's Day. I got some AMAZING zodiac salt shakers and a sugar/creamer set to go with my zodiac serving tray (I LOVE THAT THIS WAS A THING!)
Also, Vee made me huevos rancheros for breakfast, which made us both homesick to visit NM again.
YOU KNOW I HAD IT CHRISTMAS, DOG!
Dude, why is my life structured around masochistically surrounding myself with Southwestern artifacts? I can't stop reading "House of Rain," I'm eating huevos rancheros, and I'm sitting in my basement office right now, which is painted "La Fonda Antique Red" and has framed Edward Curtis prints of San Ildefonso, Walpi, and Canyon de Chelly.
And a thrifted print of Monument Valley painted for United Air Lines, which WTF? Why did UNITED AIR LINES have a painter on staff?
Oh, and a huge landscape of the random desert that I bought for $0.99 at my favorite thrift and always, ALWAYS makes me think of the landscape from "Blood Meridian" (DO YOU SEE THAT SKY???).
And a tile from my first visit to New Mexico that broke 5 years later but I held onto the pieces and glued it back together because TAOS!
Vee dissed me all over the place when I was decorating that room, like "IT'S SO THEME-Y!" I was like UMMM, YEAH, EXACTLY, and I'm the one who LIVES in that room, so CHOW DOWN AND LOVE IT BECAUSE I NEED TO DAYDREAM I AM GOING THERE SOON.
It's not even that I want to MOVE there, because I live it and love it on the prairie, but I want to know when I'm going back. And I want it to be soon. I want to be able to count on the cash to afford regular visits instead of spending all our vacation money on visiting our family (I LOVE YOU GUYS BUT I NEED SOME MIMBRES POTTERY IN THE MIX).
I did our taxes and we're getting $1250 more than we'd counted on. YES, DOGS, we do make serious bank every tax return season. We do that thing that all accountants advise against, which is filling out our exemptions so that the government gets an interest-free loan for a year and we get less money per month so that we can get a KAZAAM! DOLLARS AND CENTS! return once a year. It feels like free money. What the shit would I do with an extra couple hundred bucks a month? Buy more expensive groceries? Instead, I get a DOLLAR DUMP once a year, and that makes me feel RICH RICH RICH!
We count on that tax return to help our bourgeois asses pay for Kiddo's preschool, pay for the constant home reno that I can't stop myself from doing, and to pay for the rest of the fun shit we shouldn't be able to afford otherwise. Like I've said before, we're LIVIN IT ON 50HRS OF WORK CASH PER WEEK. Vee and I shouldn't have a house this nice, or spare money for museum/zoo memberships, or be able to afford half the ridiculous shit we haul into our house (and out, and out--there are always a couple of bags full of gunk we've culled from our belongings waiting on the next thrift store drop-off).
Structured spending, beeyas. We live by a budget, and we die by a budget, but we also LIVE IT DOWN because we save our asses off and we make sure we're always going to have SURPRISE MONEY for the FUNdamentals. We hack off huge chunks of our income every month and toss it in specialized savings accounts with designations like "HOUSE" or "MEDICAL" or "CAR" or 'TRAVEL" so that when we need it, WE'VE GOT IT. No stress outs like WAIT A SECOND, WE CAN'T AFFORD THAT OIL CHANGE THIS MONTH. Dude, we put in the money for that oil change like FIVE MONTHS AGO. In the bag!
So all of this is to say: we got $1250 unplanned dollars coming our way in a few weeks, and MY ASS IS LEANING TOWARDS NEW MEXICO FAMILY VACATION. Or else I'm about to start a new savings account called NEW MEXICO TRAVEL FUND.
Also, Vee made me huevos rancheros for breakfast, which made us both homesick to visit NM again.
YOU KNOW I HAD IT CHRISTMAS, DOG!
Dude, why is my life structured around masochistically surrounding myself with Southwestern artifacts? I can't stop reading "House of Rain," I'm eating huevos rancheros, and I'm sitting in my basement office right now, which is painted "La Fonda Antique Red" and has framed Edward Curtis prints of San Ildefonso, Walpi, and Canyon de Chelly.
And a thrifted print of Monument Valley painted for United Air Lines, which WTF? Why did UNITED AIR LINES have a painter on staff?
Oh, and a huge landscape of the random desert that I bought for $0.99 at my favorite thrift and always, ALWAYS makes me think of the landscape from "Blood Meridian" (DO YOU SEE THAT SKY???).
And a tile from my first visit to New Mexico that broke 5 years later but I held onto the pieces and glued it back together because TAOS!
Vee dissed me all over the place when I was decorating that room, like "IT'S SO THEME-Y!" I was like UMMM, YEAH, EXACTLY, and I'm the one who LIVES in that room, so CHOW DOWN AND LOVE IT BECAUSE I NEED TO DAYDREAM I AM GOING THERE SOON.
It's not even that I want to MOVE there, because I live it and love it on the prairie, but I want to know when I'm going back. And I want it to be soon. I want to be able to count on the cash to afford regular visits instead of spending all our vacation money on visiting our family (I LOVE YOU GUYS BUT I NEED SOME MIMBRES POTTERY IN THE MIX).
I did our taxes and we're getting $1250 more than we'd counted on. YES, DOGS, we do make serious bank every tax return season. We do that thing that all accountants advise against, which is filling out our exemptions so that the government gets an interest-free loan for a year and we get less money per month so that we can get a KAZAAM! DOLLARS AND CENTS! return once a year. It feels like free money. What the shit would I do with an extra couple hundred bucks a month? Buy more expensive groceries? Instead, I get a DOLLAR DUMP once a year, and that makes me feel RICH RICH RICH!
We count on that tax return to help our bourgeois asses pay for Kiddo's preschool, pay for the constant home reno that I can't stop myself from doing, and to pay for the rest of the fun shit we shouldn't be able to afford otherwise. Like I've said before, we're LIVIN IT ON 50HRS OF WORK CASH PER WEEK. Vee and I shouldn't have a house this nice, or spare money for museum/zoo memberships, or be able to afford half the ridiculous shit we haul into our house (and out, and out--there are always a couple of bags full of gunk we've culled from our belongings waiting on the next thrift store drop-off).
Structured spending, beeyas. We live by a budget, and we die by a budget, but we also LIVE IT DOWN because we save our asses off and we make sure we're always going to have SURPRISE MONEY for the FUNdamentals. We hack off huge chunks of our income every month and toss it in specialized savings accounts with designations like "HOUSE" or "MEDICAL" or "CAR" or 'TRAVEL" so that when we need it, WE'VE GOT IT. No stress outs like WAIT A SECOND, WE CAN'T AFFORD THAT OIL CHANGE THIS MONTH. Dude, we put in the money for that oil change like FIVE MONTHS AGO. In the bag!
So all of this is to say: we got $1250 unplanned dollars coming our way in a few weeks, and MY ASS IS LEANING TOWARDS NEW MEXICO FAMILY VACATION. Or else I'm about to start a new savings account called NEW MEXICO TRAVEL FUND.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Gramms (Too Soon?)
So like a lot of people, I dislike Chris Brown.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, he's not the first guy to beat a girlfriend, there are probably tons of celebrities who are currently beating their girlfriends only WE DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT, he "apologized," his artistic merit shouldn't be based on his personal life, yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't really care. I still dislike him for it and I dislike the fact that he was even nominated for a Grammy and I dislike the fact that he was asked to perform TWICE on the Grammys and I dislike myself for liking "I Can Transform Ya."
Sorry, but it's a RAD song. Artist not withstanding.
Vee was like, "You know why they had him perform so early in the show, right? Because if he'd been on later, everyone would have just turned it off."
Then I found out that like three of my friends DID turn it off just during his performance, and I wished I'd done that too. I wonder how many people really did change the channel; is there a way to track that? I like the idea that there was a boycott of Chris Brown without it being an actual official boycott.
Also, does anyone want to talk about the PRAYER at the beginning for Whitney? I haven't seen public prayer by a room full of celebrities in YEARS. Isn't it UNCONSTITUTIONAL?
Kidding.
Kind of.
And dude, I don't even know what to say about Nicki Minaj's routine. Like I think Gaga was PISSED because it was so outre. Did you guys see her LEAVING IN THE MIDDLE OF PAUL MCCARTNEY'S PERFORMANCE at the end? I mean, I know you're GAGA and all, but IT'S A BEATLE. STICK IT OUT.
Vee and I hung on til the bitter end of the whole GD show (where they handed out like 5 awards, right? Why were there like NO AWARDS being given? I mean, I like a show as much as anyone, but I THOUGHT IT WAS AN AWARDS SHOW. Where were the AWARDS?) to see Paul's second performance because I was convinced that the greatest idea EVER would be to have Ringo as the drummer, but the thing is that NO ONE WOULD BE PREPARED for it to be Ringo, like they'd do rehearsals and everything with some other dude and then Ringo would sneak in there right before the actual performance and some camera guy would be like WAIT A SECOND HOLY SHIT RINGO IS DRUMMING FOR PAUL and it would be BEATLES REUNION GOTCHA!
Alas, not to be. So we're watching Dave Grohl shred his guitar next to Paul, but then as the song started winding up and Paul sang, "And, in the end..." OUR FUCKING STUPID-ASS LOCAL CBS STATION CUT HIM OFF AND WENT INTO STUPID PROMOS ABOUT THE NEWSCAST THAT WAS ABOUT TO START AT 10:30.
KISS MY ASS! They cut off Macca as he was ABOUT TO FINISH THE SONG! This wasn't some awards thank-you that went on too long, SIR PAUL WAS IN THE FINALE PIECE and now THE NEXT GENERATION IS NEVER GOING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS "IN THE END."
Our local news is a effing mess, though--in the review piece this morning about one of Adele's thank you speeches, they were like "She said to her mom, 'Gold is good.'" Ummm, I know we're in the middle of America, not Britain, but I was pretty sure she said, "Girl did good."
OPINIONS?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, he's not the first guy to beat a girlfriend, there are probably tons of celebrities who are currently beating their girlfriends only WE DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT, he "apologized," his artistic merit shouldn't be based on his personal life, yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't really care. I still dislike him for it and I dislike the fact that he was even nominated for a Grammy and I dislike the fact that he was asked to perform TWICE on the Grammys and I dislike myself for liking "I Can Transform Ya."
Sorry, but it's a RAD song. Artist not withstanding.
Vee was like, "You know why they had him perform so early in the show, right? Because if he'd been on later, everyone would have just turned it off."
Then I found out that like three of my friends DID turn it off just during his performance, and I wished I'd done that too. I wonder how many people really did change the channel; is there a way to track that? I like the idea that there was a boycott of Chris Brown without it being an actual official boycott.
Also, does anyone want to talk about the PRAYER at the beginning for Whitney? I haven't seen public prayer by a room full of celebrities in YEARS. Isn't it UNCONSTITUTIONAL?
Kidding.
Kind of.
And dude, I don't even know what to say about Nicki Minaj's routine. Like I think Gaga was PISSED because it was so outre. Did you guys see her LEAVING IN THE MIDDLE OF PAUL MCCARTNEY'S PERFORMANCE at the end? I mean, I know you're GAGA and all, but IT'S A BEATLE. STICK IT OUT.
Vee and I hung on til the bitter end of the whole GD show (where they handed out like 5 awards, right? Why were there like NO AWARDS being given? I mean, I like a show as much as anyone, but I THOUGHT IT WAS AN AWARDS SHOW. Where were the AWARDS?) to see Paul's second performance because I was convinced that the greatest idea EVER would be to have Ringo as the drummer, but the thing is that NO ONE WOULD BE PREPARED for it to be Ringo, like they'd do rehearsals and everything with some other dude and then Ringo would sneak in there right before the actual performance and some camera guy would be like WAIT A SECOND HOLY SHIT RINGO IS DRUMMING FOR PAUL and it would be BEATLES REUNION GOTCHA!
Alas, not to be. So we're watching Dave Grohl shred his guitar next to Paul, but then as the song started winding up and Paul sang, "And, in the end..." OUR FUCKING STUPID-ASS LOCAL CBS STATION CUT HIM OFF AND WENT INTO STUPID PROMOS ABOUT THE NEWSCAST THAT WAS ABOUT TO START AT 10:30.
KISS MY ASS! They cut off Macca as he was ABOUT TO FINISH THE SONG! This wasn't some awards thank-you that went on too long, SIR PAUL WAS IN THE FINALE PIECE and now THE NEXT GENERATION IS NEVER GOING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS "IN THE END."
Our local news is a effing mess, though--in the review piece this morning about one of Adele's thank you speeches, they were like "She said to her mom, 'Gold is good.'" Ummm, I know we're in the middle of America, not Britain, but I was pretty sure she said, "Girl did good."
OPINIONS?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
My Heart's At Zero Gravity
I made the girls jam out to "Alright" by Jamiroquai today and they weren't having it. No, like I was sliding all over the living room, rolling my shoulders and snapping them, and Kiddo was staring at me sullenly while Little A ran out of the room to play with Kiddo's doll, abandoned for half a second, which of course turned into screams when Kiddo saw her. Then I had to slide my way into the kitchen and dish up the mac and cheese so they'd quiet down.
You guys probably won't believe this, particularly those of you who knew me in college, but I seriously didn't serve my girls mac and cheese until this last year. No hot dogs either. I was so convinced that I had to keep them from making THE FOOD MISTAKES I still make so it was like HEALTHY FOOD ONLY, GIRLS! No powdered cheese for you! How about some nice CUT-UP APPLES and PEAS?
My homeopath, when I was telling her about my diet, was like "You aren't going to be able to get away with that for much longer AT ALL." I was like "What, EATING LIKE SHIT?" She said "No, KEEPING YOUR DAUGHTERS FROM EATING IT IF YOU ARE." Which is somewhat true, because no matter WHAT I'm eating, I have to triple my portions because if the girls see me with some food object, they magnetize over to me and beg for pieces of it. I need to start carrying around an entire bunch of bananas with me like some chimp hoarding her food because I never get more than the tail end of a banana, which is REALLY GROSS. Why is that? Why does the bottom tenth of a banana always get TOTALLY NASTY and have that little brownish/black part when the TOP of a banana doesn't? Isn't the banana sealed in there the same way, top OR bottom?
And while we're on bananas, does anyone understand WHY a banana peel, which can be TOTALLY YELLOW, turns NASTY brown within TWENTY MINUTES of the peel being opened? Like I DON'T GET IT. Is there some chemical bond holding the banana together that gets busted and DECAYS?
You'd think I would know this shiz after two semesters of "Foods" electives in high school, but DUDE, all we were doing was cooking Thanksgiving dinners (I think my group was assigned mashed potatoes? Does one really need to be taught how to cook potatoes?) and how to make ice cream out of rock salt, ice, milk, and sugar (like we were IN GRADE SCHOOL, not a pack of 16 year olds). We didn't get into food chemical reactions.
THANK YOU, by the way, to those of you who've gotten back to me on my Freshman Obsession with revisions--I feel PRETTY RAD about where I'm at with it now, but I am REALLY feeling rad because, after like A MONTH of really obsessive time-grabs to work on writing it, I finally gave Teenage Love to Vee last night for my first set of revisions. Because Y'ALL BITCHEZ aren't going to get a shot at it until he helps me chop it up and chop some shiz out. If anyone even WANTS it because HOLY CRUD: long, detailed, and almost the definition of VIRTUAL INSANITY. I'll put it this way--if you thought I was obsessive about the Freshman Obsession, HOW DO YOU THINK I WAS ABOUT MY TEENAGE LOVE?
But I'll STFU because most of you guys HAVEN'T EVEN READ the FO so I'm totally doing that obnoxious "giving you enough details to make you want to know more but HO-OH, NOT EVEN FOLLOWING THROUGH!" thing.
Speaking of following through, though, Little A is REALLY GOOD at throwing balls now. Not just balls; ok, she's throwing just about anything that she can hold. I think Vee and I are going to try taking our SPORTO to gym class sometime soon; we've been predicting that she'll REALLY LOVE IT but then again, that was TOTALLY WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT MUSIC CLASS. Little A's just not so LITTLE any more. I feel like she needs a different nickname on here. I've been calling her "Nuni" lately; it's such a ridiculous permutation of her name that I don't have the long paragraph prepared to explain how we got there, but maybe it works after all; this kid is like a weather force. Nuni, El Nino.
She's just a cosmic girl!
You guys probably won't believe this, particularly those of you who knew me in college, but I seriously didn't serve my girls mac and cheese until this last year. No hot dogs either. I was so convinced that I had to keep them from making THE FOOD MISTAKES I still make so it was like HEALTHY FOOD ONLY, GIRLS! No powdered cheese for you! How about some nice CUT-UP APPLES and PEAS?
My homeopath, when I was telling her about my diet, was like "You aren't going to be able to get away with that for much longer AT ALL." I was like "What, EATING LIKE SHIT?" She said "No, KEEPING YOUR DAUGHTERS FROM EATING IT IF YOU ARE." Which is somewhat true, because no matter WHAT I'm eating, I have to triple my portions because if the girls see me with some food object, they magnetize over to me and beg for pieces of it. I need to start carrying around an entire bunch of bananas with me like some chimp hoarding her food because I never get more than the tail end of a banana, which is REALLY GROSS. Why is that? Why does the bottom tenth of a banana always get TOTALLY NASTY and have that little brownish/black part when the TOP of a banana doesn't? Isn't the banana sealed in there the same way, top OR bottom?
And while we're on bananas, does anyone understand WHY a banana peel, which can be TOTALLY YELLOW, turns NASTY brown within TWENTY MINUTES of the peel being opened? Like I DON'T GET IT. Is there some chemical bond holding the banana together that gets busted and DECAYS?
You'd think I would know this shiz after two semesters of "Foods" electives in high school, but DUDE, all we were doing was cooking Thanksgiving dinners (I think my group was assigned mashed potatoes? Does one really need to be taught how to cook potatoes?) and how to make ice cream out of rock salt, ice, milk, and sugar (like we were IN GRADE SCHOOL, not a pack of 16 year olds). We didn't get into food chemical reactions.
THANK YOU, by the way, to those of you who've gotten back to me on my Freshman Obsession with revisions--I feel PRETTY RAD about where I'm at with it now, but I am REALLY feeling rad because, after like A MONTH of really obsessive time-grabs to work on writing it, I finally gave Teenage Love to Vee last night for my first set of revisions. Because Y'ALL BITCHEZ aren't going to get a shot at it until he helps me chop it up and chop some shiz out. If anyone even WANTS it because HOLY CRUD: long, detailed, and almost the definition of VIRTUAL INSANITY. I'll put it this way--if you thought I was obsessive about the Freshman Obsession, HOW DO YOU THINK I WAS ABOUT MY TEENAGE LOVE?
But I'll STFU because most of you guys HAVEN'T EVEN READ the FO so I'm totally doing that obnoxious "giving you enough details to make you want to know more but HO-OH, NOT EVEN FOLLOWING THROUGH!" thing.
Speaking of following through, though, Little A is REALLY GOOD at throwing balls now. Not just balls; ok, she's throwing just about anything that she can hold. I think Vee and I are going to try taking our SPORTO to gym class sometime soon; we've been predicting that she'll REALLY LOVE IT but then again, that was TOTALLY WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT MUSIC CLASS. Little A's just not so LITTLE any more. I feel like she needs a different nickname on here. I've been calling her "Nuni" lately; it's such a ridiculous permutation of her name that I don't have the long paragraph prepared to explain how we got there, but maybe it works after all; this kid is like a weather force. Nuni, El Nino.
She's just a cosmic girl!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
That Bad
A world of karmic payback! Or is it that I have control over the present by simply naming what I DON'T want to happen? Because we're sitting, and the emphasis is def on SITTING since we aren't able to leave the house, on 8" of heavy (and the emphasis is on HEAVY--any of y'all locals been out yet to shovel? Because KISS MY ASS this shit is HEAVY!) wet snow covering the streets and my awful north-facing driveway.
How about if, like the Groundhog, I announce that WINTER IS HERE TO STAY! Does that mean it'll turn into spring soon?
Geez, world. Are my powers of prediction really that bad?
As I was driving Little A home from the preschool drop-off earlier this week, I was singing my face off with Jude on "Prophet." (Yes, that's right, Nathan, and Ben, I swear I've gotten better since a certain "performance" in Terre Haute in winter 2003) So tell me why, as I turned around to see whether or not Little A had started to fall asleep on the ride home, WHICH SHE USUALLY DOES, I found her sitting there WITH HER FINGERS STUCK IN HER EARS, staring at me.
Dude! I'm not THAT BAD!
It's also been two weeks since I sent my Freshman Obsession out for editing; it's been like RADIO STATIC with only ONE response. Like I WONDER IF THE EMAIL EVEN MADE IT TO THE DESIGNATED RECIPIENTS radio static. Really, guys, THAT BAD?
I'm buried under snow this weekend. RESPOND TO ME and give me something to do.
How about if, like the Groundhog, I announce that WINTER IS HERE TO STAY! Does that mean it'll turn into spring soon?
Geez, world. Are my powers of prediction really that bad?
As I was driving Little A home from the preschool drop-off earlier this week, I was singing my face off with Jude on "Prophet." (Yes, that's right, Nathan, and Ben, I swear I've gotten better since a certain "performance" in Terre Haute in winter 2003) So tell me why, as I turned around to see whether or not Little A had started to fall asleep on the ride home, WHICH SHE USUALLY DOES, I found her sitting there WITH HER FINGERS STUCK IN HER EARS, staring at me.
Dude! I'm not THAT BAD!
It's also been two weeks since I sent my Freshman Obsession out for editing; it's been like RADIO STATIC with only ONE response. Like I WONDER IF THE EMAIL EVEN MADE IT TO THE DESIGNATED RECIPIENTS radio static. Really, guys, THAT BAD?
I'm buried under snow this weekend. RESPOND TO ME and give me something to do.
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