Wednesday, March 27, 2013


God I feel like such a loser right now.

It is now 1:31 and I have completely wasted my day.

I still need to make the beds and do the dishes. There is a load of laundry in the basket and one in the dryer. The last time I checked, they had not magically folded themselves.

The laundry elves never came.

I'm going to blame it all on V's birthday party, having to dye Easter Eggs last night and the fact that for the first time in about a month, I got more than 8 hours of sleep.

I am a zombie today.

Yes, speaking of zombies, I blame my lack of writing motivation yesterday on having to catch up on stupid Walking Dead.

Ok, I'm all caught up and now totally distracted by visions of certain characters naked flitting through my brain.

Moving on.

I realized yesterday that I have in fact married my father. It was a brutal moment for me. But as plain as the nose on my face.

I mentioned something to B about someone saying something on Facebook.

B's response was, "You should write something really obscene and offensive, just to get a rise out of people. That's what I would do if I had a Facebook account. I'd drive people crazy."

Just know that the above was not verbatim-it was a summarization-I won't repeat exactly what B said-it was pretty bad.

This is also not the first time I have heard the "If I was on Facebook" bit.

It suddenly occurred to me that this was essentially the same thing as Horst's "Stick It to The Telemarketers" bit.


Horst likes to screen all of his calls using his 3 telephones. 1 phone has caller ID, 1 phone has an answering machine, 1 of those are cordless. and I think he had a phone that doesn't require batteries.

He likes to listen for bill collectors and telemarketers and not answer. In Horst's mind, the people on the other line hang up, clench their fists and scream, "HORST!!!"

Horst got them again. As he says when he gives me the "Stick It To The Telemarketers" bit, it "fixes their wagon".

I have stopped even bothering to remind him that they probably don't care if he picks up or not. It's no good and it only encourages him.

Once I had the realization that B's "If I Was On Facebook" bit was the same as Horst's bit, I put my head in my hands and wailed, "I married my father! I'll never be able to do it with you again!"

B said I was ridiculous-his bit was nothing like Horst's bit. I said it was as plain as the hand in front of his face (I then waved my hand in his face)

In B's mind the other person reading whatever status would read the horrid thing that B wrote just to rile them up, clench their fists over their keyboard and then just have to retort.

Be would then just reply by calling them a loser for having Facebook in the first place.

I never said that this made any sense. He is just like Horst-God help me.

Next time I get that "If I Was on Facebook" bit. I plan to respond with an, "Ok Horst, you'll fix their wagon"

In fact I can't wait!

In other news, V had his birthday party and the Hobos left him a gift!

No pie, but then again, we already had cake.

V also got the best birthday card in the world. It was made by a little girl who lives down the street.  I call her Molly-wood because whenever the kids play at the playground she somehow finds these big branches and drags them around as part of the game.  Actually they are more like logs that she carries around.

I told her father once that she should seek a career in forestry. I'm on the look out for a red plaid wool lumberjack coat for her birthday. 

Here is the card. We hung it up on the wall across where V sits for dinner so that he can see it all the time.

When I told her that it was the best birthday card that I have ever seen, she just gave me an impish look and nodded, as if to say, "Yeah, I know."

I love that kid. 

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Mass Musings

At this moment, I am high as a kite on sugar, caffeine and lack of a full night's sleep.

We are back to our Sunday morning routine. It's almost Easter, so I am finished with my giving up organized religion for Lent.

We went to 8:00 mass today. We were on time for us, which means we got there at 8:10.

I actually have missed going with my kids. They are young enough to appreciate my inappropriate comments at church and old enough to kind of get them.

Today, being Palm Sunday, we listened to the priest and 2 parishioners read from the Gospel about Jesus's trial and crucifixion.

Sadly, one of the readers was the woman I call "Slow Reader". She makes every word count and pauses for exactly 5 seconds at each period.

By the end of whatever she is reading, you are gripping the edge of the pew and writhing in pain, begging God to end it all.

I leaned over to G and pointed out that I call the woman "Slow Reader". She totally agreed with me.

In the middle of it, she nudged me, pointed her thumb at Slow Reader and rolled her eyes.

G also got a kick out of my very solemn "God bless you" when she sneezed. Love that kid.

I always feel extremely guilty feeling annoyed with Slow Reader. She definitely looks like a model Christian. I feel like with every negative thought about her, I am surely tacking on extra days in Purgatory.

I once was in the ER with a client and saw her walking out of the cancer center. I am assuming that she, or someone she loves, has cancer. Or she volunteers there.

Either way, it makes me feel like I suck when I inwardly groan in dread whenever I see her waiting to get up and read.

Then I say in my head to God-"Shit, I shouldn't have though that..Sorry." and then "Sorry I said shit"

Then I think about something I saw on the news, or the fact that I should buy more clothes in jewel tones.

Then I silently apologize again and try to concentrate on the Mass.

Then I do and I get annoyed by Slow Reader and my thoughts drift and then I have to apologize in my head, to God, again.

But interestingly, I often see the same thing going on with my favorite priest-most of the time it looks like he is thinking bad thoughts and apologizing in his head too. I like him.

Do I sound nuts? I blame the sugar, caffeine and lack of sleep.

I'd like to also mention that I was very happy today to see a young child pick their nose and eat it during the Mass.

 I thought that my kids were the only ones who have booger problems in church. It's always right before everyone has to shake hands too. It never fails to crack me up.

I had to take some time to pray today. It was the day of V's birthday party. We invited the kids form the neighborhood.

Whenever we have a kids party, right before, I always think of Mad Max Beyond The Thunderdome.

I think it is because the boys always end up attacking the girls with plastic weaponry.

So I took a moment, after apologizing for not concentrating on the Mass, for my impatience with Slow Talker and for being a pig headed individual who refuses to completely buy into the entire Catholic experience, to pray that the party would be fun for the kids and that nobody would leave in tears.

The party turned out good, so I guess my prayer was heard. 

Walking back from Communion, I chewed on the rather stale wafer and whispered to B, "I think I have the body of Christ stuck in my braces."

Sticky Notes and Suggestion Boxes

B took the kids to confession yesterday. He decided that they had to do it right before Easter because you know, that's what you have to do.

After he did that and took the kids to dinner, he picked me up so that I could take the car to work for he rest of the day.

He mentioned that Father Augustine had to tell people to move away from the confessional booths so they wouldn't hear what other people were confessing. This wasn't the first time.

B said that they should have some sort of special place to sit before confession instead of letting people sit where they want, which is right by the confessionals.

He said it gets competitive. Everyone wants to get in next. The elderly are especially vicious.

I told him that he should put that in the suggestion box at church.

He said that there wasn't a suggestion box.

I said that he should put a sticky note on the wall where there should be a suggestion box that says that a suggestion box should be out there because you have a suggestion to put in.

B said I could just call Father Augustine and make the suggestion.

"No. I like my idea better."

Back at home, B began to complain about the local frozen yoghurt place. I can't remember what it was.

I do remember my response to his complaint was to tell him to get a sticky note.

My new solution to life's problems.

Personally, I would suggest to that church that they should switch their 8:00 mass to 8:30, because I am really fucking tired right now and could've used the extra half hour.

Friday, March 22, 2013

They Grow Up So Fast

Before I begin, I need whomever to read this to solemnly swear that if one of their children spies the pictures below, you must say to them, 

"Why no, that it is certainly NOT V. It is the French diplomat's lovely daughter, Vonessa.

You can't tell Von I did this. I need these photos for when he is older.

 So I can blackmail him.
But I was looking the other day, at my fine, growing bigger every day, son. I thought wistfully back to those days when he went through his "other gender" phase. When he was under the influence of his older sisters and what they liked. 

This came shortly after that Blue Velvet phase. Instead of saying, "Don't look at me!" It was more like, "Get a load of this!"

His languid days of playing the guitar in the nude.

And wearing girl's panties on his head. 

Who knows what'll happen. Maybe those days will come again. Although, I am quite sure that he will never come under the direct influence of his big sisters again. He certainly has a mind of his own

I have said from the beginning that poor V has to suffer the rest of us idiots.

And here is he suffering away. My big guy who turns 8 on Monday. My baby. God where does the time go?
Happy Birthday V!!
Oh the humanity.

Remember, my safety counts on your silence. He would probably kill me in my sleep if it got out that I posted those pictures. But I couldn't resist. Poor impulse control I guess.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Beef Stew and Hobo Pie

I love to lie to my children. I can't help it. I absolutely love to do it.

In my defense, I never lie about the serious stuff, like where babies come from or death.  Or even religion for that matter.

My lies are of the fun ridiculous sort. Like telling them that the red pepper flakes at the pizza joint are actually candy flakes. I suspect I already told you that one. Let me know if I didn't.

Yesterday, on the way to V's allergy shot, the steadfast little trooper gets 4 shots every other week, I told V that his doctor had called today and told me that he could no longer get shots in the arm, that it would have to be in the buttocks.

I went on to say that when he goes in the room to get it, he would have to drop his pants in front of all the nurses. I then exclaimed loudly, "Drop your drawers! Time for a shot in the ass!"

V, who is used to my stories, calmly asked, "Seriously?"

To which I responded, "Yeah, 2 shots in each cheek!"


"No, no, just kidding."

Later that night we were talking about his birthday party, which would be a simple neighborhood party,  the kids who live near us.

He asked, "Even the stranger kids?"

I replied, "No, not the stranger kids, but I did invite the Winos and Hobos who live in the woods down the street. They are excited to come. They said they would bring you cans of beef stew and Hobo pie, whatever that is."


"Alright, alright. Just kidding"

Von walked away chuckling about getting a can of beef stew for his birthday.

Little does he know.

Monday, March 18, 2013

Sobering Moments

I have been reading the book "Empire Falls"-I had to return it to the library before I was finished, but as soon as i am done here, I am going to reserve it again.

One of the last scenes that I read before returning the book was extremely disturbing.. Especially in light of the incident in Ohio with the poor girl and those very stupid boys.

One of the characters thinks back to the time he showed up at a friends frat party. The door was answered by a guy with a passed out, naked girl slung over one shoulder. He was offering people at the party a chance to smell her you know where. While the character was talking to the man with the drunk girl, another frat boy comes up to take him up on the offer.

It was very graphic and disturbing. I don't say this here to turn you off of the book, because I like it very much. It was just one of those scenes that stays with you. Listening to the news from the kitchen yesterday as they talked about the sentencing for those boys who raped that girl, made me think of that scene. It made me think that how that probably used to happen all the time in the past. Probably still happens.

The understatement of the year of course is shit like that is not Ok. I think of some sort of sexual violence happening to my own children and my mind goes into a red haze of fury.

Lyd goes to a special school for teens with disabilities. She told me at Sunday dinner one of her classmates is pregnant. She is 20, the father's 16. They are both students and so young. And disabled. It blew my mind.

On the back of that, I was at the doctor's office with Lyd today. She is 18, so she needed to update her records on a form, which she did herself. (This made me quite proud)

I noticed a little addendum on the bottom of the paper that stated that by law, the medical center does not have to release the following information to the guardian of a minor without the minor's permission. It included STD and family planning counseling or exams, abortion services or drug/alcohol counseling. I think that was all-it included a section where the minor could write their cellphone # in case the center had to contact the child for permission. The age that the child signed and added their phone # was between 11 and 18.

I visibly deflated. I knew that at some point I have to counsel my children about sex, drugs and disease. I didn't think that it would have to be so soon.

G is going to be signing a paper like that in a year and a half.

I just hope that I can weather the storms of adolescence and keep communicating with them.

God I am scared right now.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Ladies Only! An Actual Product Review

The title speaks for itself-be forewarned-

Horst came up this morning as usual to bring me the Sunday paper. Often he will insist on placing the paper in my hands.

I could be doing anything. I don't know how to explain it, but having one of the first things in the morning be Horst, unable to just put a newspaper on the counter is really annoying.

This is followed by his lingering around until I strike up a conversation. He will then jump right in, talking and laughing. He has been happily awake and ready since probably 4.

In fairness to my bitchiness, I had just gotten up, it's very obvious. I have had maybe a sip from my first cup of coffee.

This mornings topic was the "They decided that there are things in coffee and green tea that protect you from cancer. They just can't make up their mind if coffee's good or bad."

I have yet to figure out exactly who "They" are.

I was actually up and in a good mood this morning. I was cheerful to Horst and even laughing a bit.

You see, he just missed me, not 5 minutes before, taking pictures of maxi pads on the kitchen table. (For Christ's sake they were clean!!! Obviously).

I was laughing because it would have been really weird to be caught doing that.

When he came up, I was attaching my camera to load the pictures up to my computer. He comes over and says, "What do you got there?" Thinking I had pictures of kids or something.

I told him I was writing and I would show him pictures of the grandkids later.

It would have been funny. "I'm putting pictures of feminine products on my blog Horst! Wanna see?"

So the other day, I called B and asked him to pick me up some maxi pads. I said simply-Kotex, not the store brand and the ones that are for overnight.

B walked in with a sleek black box and placed it in my hands. For a brief moment, I thought he had brought me a surprise birthday gift.

No, it was the pads. They were Kotex and they were labeled in fancy cursive script-  AllNighter

I said, "You have got to be fucking kidding me"

I reassured B that yes, indeed, this was exactly what I wanted. I then opened the box to investigate further.

Good God that's fancy!

Can you see that? My camera sucks, but there are designs on the goddamn pad! I didn't want to use it. It was too pretty to mess up and then throw away. 

I discovered soon after that there is a variety of designs that you uncover each time you open one up!

 What the hell is this world coming to that we have to have pretty designer sanitary napkins? Seriously?

I am utterly fascinated by these pads. I think that they are meant for young women. I will admit to some worry that they are somehow designed for the younger crowd and I was breaking some sort of taboo by using them for my aging vagina. 

Call me a yokel, but Wow!

The things they think of these days. 

They are actually kind of nice. It's a little uplifting to open a pretty colorful package and see a nice flowery design. 

I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's changed my whole period for the better for this month, but I like having a pretty thing to look at in the bathroom. 

Maybe I'll stick some to the walls for the in-between times. Or keep one to the side to look at when I feel like it. 

Call me a yokel, but they are pretty! And they work well and are comfortable. 

I guess this is a product endorsement? 

Now I have to go delete these pictures off my computer before B finds them and gives me shit for taking pictures of maxi pads.

Saturday, March 16, 2013


Yes, you guessed it. I have to work in 45 minutes and I am popping on to bitch about Saturday.

I don't mind working on Saturdays during the dead of Winter, but once Spring is just around the corner, it seems like everyone wants to do something special on a Saturday.


Off to work now.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

The Gus Project

When I was about G's age, I used to read my brother's copies of Mad Magazine. He had a lot of them.

There were a few that stuck with me, particularly this one about a bum, who gets a complete make over by a fairy godmother sort of person. Maybe it was a genie in a lamp. Not too sure.

This bum was still unhappy and dissatisfied with his life. The genie said that he should go out and find another down and out person just like he used to be and transform their life into something better.

So he does, he searches and finds this mess of a bum in an alley. The guy swings the bum up into a big bear hug, happily exclaiming that he found his person to fix.

The bum promptly shoots him dead.

I have social anxiety. I have worked hard to overcome it. It will never go away. Those horrid awkward, God this person thinks I am a complete asshole feeling I always get whenever I go anywhere.  With  the exception of fluffy pants shopping at Job Lot with Kevin of course:

My ease and comfort is evident by the look on my face. I love cheap fluffy pants. I have a pair. I got them for 4 bucks at Benny's. 

B hates my fluffy pants. He made me promise that I will never wear them in public. Seeing as how they have a big hole in the butt that I have yet to sew, I have acquiesced. 

He hates most of all the bad imitation of Sean Connery voice I use whenever we talk about my fluffy pants. I do it out of a sound sleep. B will get into bed and ask me if I am warm enough, I will respond in my bad Sean Connery voice, "Yes, I got the fluffy pants on." 

B usually will roll to the far side of the bed and state that I am either and asshole or douchebag. 

Then I giggle about it for the entire next day.

At BJ's I also got a fire axe and a yoga mat. For my arson yoga (hot yoga) class on Thursday with Heth and Jess. In case the place goes up, we'll be able to get out.

I had a big social anxiety breakthrough at Hot Yoga that other week. Heth was on the phone in her car, so I actually walked into the building myself. I saw a sign that said new students should go into the studio and introduce themselves. So I did.

I never do that. But I did. The sky didn't fall. The studio didn't go up in flames. The entire class didn't point their finger at me and laugh at what an asshole I was. 

Progress. I'm getting better. Next I may conquer another beekeepers meeting.

I was walking Gus today. We are working on walking appropriately and not pulling out my shoulder joint, especially when other dogs or people walk by. 

He is doing better. 

When he starts to flip out and bark, whine and pull at another dog, I have started making him sit and stay while the other dog passes. Not an east task. He is 75 pounds of mindless energy when he sees another dog. 

I realize that he has serious social issues. He needs to get out more.  

Just like the remaining hermit crab we have, who was lonely after partially eating his tank mate. (We got the crab a new tank buddy. A younger, smaller "woman" as we like to say. It worked too, it really has been bringing him out of his shell..Get it? I inadvertently made that comment to B one day and smacked my leg while laughing and repeating it for a good 10 minutes. B watched me with a slightly pained expression..) We helped him. He is happier for it.

Looking at that dumb asshole dog, I know that I need to work with him. I failed him. I didn't get him out as much when he was a puppy. Now he is a social mess.

I empathize. I used to be a social mess. The path is clear to me now. 

So begins "The Gus Project" 

I will take the damn dog out more in social situations. We will see other dogs, we will go to Petco together. We will go to the dog park. GOD HELP US. 

God help me I'm going to do it. It may be helpful to me to.

I just hope I don't get shot because of that dumb ass.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

FU Kevin!

This is my best friend Kevin. As you can see from this photo, he is a studley gay man. 

We call him Brian's gay understudy. He will often make up for whatever B is lacking in. Without having to ever worry about that whole sex/adultery thing. 

Last year, when B forgot my birthday, Kevin got me a present.  This year, Kevin took the day off of work on my birthday without telling me. 

I was at breakfast with 3 of my other closest friends when Kevin came running into the restaurant with a balloon and flowers. Totally embarrassing and wonderful at the same time. 

On a side note, B has been completely absolved of all crimes in the great "Birthday Fuck Up of 2012" He went to get me the outrageously overpriced dress I asked for, but they were out of my size, so I went in and ordered it myself the next day. Here is last years post about it if you are interested

I love Kevin. Kevin is also a lot like my husband in that they both always tell me what I need to hear and not what I want to hear. 

All the time. 


But in the long run, it is a very good thing. Take my new haircut for instance. 

Last year, Kevin and I went to see the last Resident Evil movie. Afterlife? 

The entire movie I was completely obsessed with Milla Jovovitch's hair

Here is a so so picture of it

I turned to Kevin excitedly after the movie and said "I'm totally going to grow my bangs out and get my hair cut like that!"

Kevin said, "No you won't"

It was decided. I grew my bangs out for the entire painful year. 

Firstly, because I wanted that particular hair do. 

Second, I desired the anti-climactic moment that occured yesterday at breakfast when I shook my hair out and flipped Kevin the double bird and said, "See! I grew my hair out just like Milla's!"

The bitch didn't even remember. I knew it was going to happen like that anyways. 

I then said to my friend, "Kevin, I need you to work that magic again. I want desperately to finish writing this book I'm working on. Tell me I can't do it so that I can do it."

He smiled and said, "Give up Cindy, you'll never finish it."

It is done. That book will be dedicated as follows:

To my friend Kevin: Fuck you

It's just like Milla's you bitch!

These friend's here are part of the same group of friend's I have had since I was 13. Every day I am infinitely grateful for them and the belly laughs that are soon to follow whenever you get at least 2 of us together-I love them.

And thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes! I am over the moon thrilled by all the love.

Tomorrows preview! Come back for an essay about fluffy pants and fire axes

Now to work and finish so I can tell Kevin to go fuck himself.

Friday, March 08, 2013

B Dearest

I am happily married.

I can say that I fully expect to stay in my marriage for the long haul. Rest of our lives, the whole shebang.

I don't want to say that I hope I end up like my Aunt Eli, who is 83. She is widowed, still drives and works once in awhile. She travels and does things like spends Christmas up in Vermont with friends at quaint bed and breakfast joints.

She also goes back to Germany once in awhile.

She buried her husband and now does whatever she wants. She is an amazing cook. I make her German macaroni salad and pork chops for damn near every holiday besides Thanksgiving.

She doesn't cook for her family on holidays anymore. She basically told them all to screw, because she was going to Vermont.

I love her.

 I love B, so I would never wish for his untimely demise. I only wish that his demise is timed so that I can have a few years of leisure and fun before I have to go too.

Is that bad?

He is going to be a hell of an old man. I told him this the other day.

I was doing the dishes. I could feel his eyes burning into my back, because as always, I was doing it wrong.

I told him that I could see it now. He was going to be this doddering old man, bent and shuffling, with a wooden cane.

I would be a plump, grey old lady in a house dress and slippers, at the sink.

He would come in and lightning quick, with a speed that didn't match up to his years, strike me across the back with his cane and scream in an old man's voice,

"You're doing it wrong!"

Of course in my imagination, he gets dementia before I do.

And then of course, because he's crazy and abusive, it's off to the nursing home. Barry, the surly CNA with chapped hands, will change his diaper. Not his loving wife.

I tell B often that he better watch his step. He has the choice now. Me or Barry. What's it going to be?

The other day, B was putting his laundry away. He stopped me from whatever it was I was doing to give me a short tutorial on the proper way to tri-fold boxer shorts.

My response, after a long moment in befuddled silence.

 "I married Joan Crawford."

"Are you going to ask me to switch from wire hangers next?"

"Are you going to hit me with wire hangers when I don't fold your panties correctly?"

He sneered at me and then said that it would just be a waste of time for me to fold the underpants, only to have to re-fold them.

Solution-I place them on his dresser for him to fold.

Yesterday,  I forgot to take out the recycling during the day, it was all rinsed and neatly lined up by the sink ready to go out.

 I just forgot.  I always forget to take out the recycling.

B pointed out that he enables me by always taking the recyclables out right away, so I never remember to do it.

My response was to put my arm up to shield my face and yell


**Of course I have to add that if you call my husband Crawford or make remarks to him about his tri-folded underwear, you will know pain..Thanks!**

I find it quite humorous when I  think of how much I actually enable him on any given day, while he has to point out the most minor infraction on my part as gross negligence of my wifely duties.

But it's not like anyone's keeping score or anything.

Thursday, March 07, 2013

Miss Elizabitch and the Dreaded Earworm

I woke up to snow.

I was a bit disappointed because today was supposed to be Hot Yoga Day. But alas..

I could have gotten it together and maybe gotten ready earlier and such, but having to bring B into work late because Lyd's bus is always late on days of crappy weather Kind of screwed things up. I can't leave until she gets on the bus when it snows because I worry about her falling down the stairs out front. They can be a bit treacherous. There is actually a story there.

A few years back, during that Winter of 2010 or 11? If you live in New England you will remember. It was the one Winter where we had a snowstorm twice a week for 2 months.

One day, we had a short period of melting and then it froze up again.  I had been out sanding and chipping at ice in the front for a good 45 minutes before Lyd got home from school. We did not have any ice melt at the time because B was against it. He had just completed patching up the eroding steps that Fall and wanted them to stay in their "pristine" shape for as long as possible. Pristine or even passable as a decent step is still up for debate.

I'll just say that B chose well when he decided not to pursue masonry as a profession.

I heard a yell from outside just at the time Lyd was supposed to arrive home. I rushed out and saw that Lyd had slipped and fallen on her ass at the bottom of the steps. The woman who at the time was referred to as Miss Elizabeth (Lyd's bus monitor) glared at me and looked as if she was puffing herself up to yell at me. I walked down the steps and pointed at her and said bluntly, "Don't you yell at me."

I then proceeded to deal with Lyd and her dramatic portrayal of a mortally injured person. She is very dramatic to say the least. Dramatic and unhurt. It was quite a scene. Screamed bloody murder and refused to get up off the ground for what felt like 50 years.

I was frustrated because of all the work I had put in to make sure what happened did not happen and it did. I probably could have handled it much better. But I didn't.

Miss Elizabitch and I despised each other. We would give each other dirty looks at first and then as things started to be more in the past, we would just ignore each other.

Just this year, we started to be friendly and wave to each other as Lyd gets off the bus and we now wish each other a happy whatever holiday it is or to have a nice weekend.

Infinitely better than what it was like before.

So, when it is icy, I always make sure I am around to make sure Lyd gets up or down the steps OK and I always have some ice melt on hand.

Obviously so Lyd will be safe, but also so Miss Elizabitch will be happy.

 I can't stop saying Elizabitch. It's just too awesome of a name for me to abandon it. I just say it now with warmth and affection, so it's OK.

 I was late getting B to work, meaning I was late to get home to get the kids ready to go to school. This meant that I couldn't get my shit together in time for Hot Yoga Day.

I was really bummed. I wanted to go. I will say that there is something about snow that makes me not want to do anything except sit in the warmth and watch the flakes fall.

So here I am. I came home, made the beds and straightened the kitchen. I put my 4 dollar fluffy pants back on along with my special red acrylic cardigan that came from a dead guy (another day). I am on my couch with a cup of coffee, the 3 books I'm reading, the phone, my laptop, and every remote control that I could possibly need within arms reach.

 I can also see the snowflakes fall from where I am sitting.

If I just had an adult diaper, then I wouldn't have to get up for the rest of the day!

So aside from bathroom runs, I plan on sitting here until 1pm. At that time, I have to hoist myself up to throw tomatoes in the crock pot and make meatballs.

Hot Yoga Day has become Sit on My Ass Day.

But I will say that I really need this. I am exhausted and I definitely need at least 1 day like this every few weeks. The snow gave me the perfect excuse.

But before you feel too jealous and decide that you hate me because I am not cursing the snow or doing anything today, know that despite my extreme physical comfort, I also caught a very nasty ear worm by the name of Carly Rae Jepson.

It snuck in my ear at the bakery and her awful song is twisting and squirming through my head at top volume.

I may have to resort to drastic measures.

Look here's an ice pick! Home lobotomy maybe?

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Hot Cross Buns and 3G

The bun I am about to eat looks WAY better than the ones pictured here.

I love hot cross bun season. Unfortunately, my favorite bakery has been lacking them as of late.

The nice counter boy explained that people aren't buying them and they end up being thrown out. "You could have fucking called me!" I exclaimed in exasperation.

Of course I didn't say that. But I learned that in order for me to get some, I'd need to order half a dozen. So I did.

I gave a few away. I am now sitting down to my second bun of the day. Along with some extra strong coffee, so I don't pass out from the inevitable blood sugar spike and drop.

But I also had a big omelette a few minutes ago too, so I think I'm Ok. I may puke, but I won't pass out.

I got to thinking about my days. I am incredibly lucky.

Long ago, B and I decided that we wanted to raise our children ourselves and not send them to daycare all day, so we worked opposite shifts in order to make that happen.

Now that the kids are in school, I could go and get a day job, but I don't want the stress of worrying about sick days, snow days and holidays that I would have to take off.

So second shift is where I stay.

On most days, like today, I sometimes got to the gym, do some housework, make myself awesome breakfasts or sometimes meet a friend for coffee or breakfast. I also write as much as my rotten, procrastinating self will allow.

As I write this, I am actually procrastinating. I should be working on that really long story instead of writing here. I say to myself that this is my warm up to get limber for the big stuff.

Yeah right.

I think that the run down of my leisurely day to B as I dropped him off this morning put him in a crappy mood. (He forgets that I work tonight)

It's understandable. Most of the year, I have a lot of time to myself. He doesn't get it nearly as often.

But I pay for it in the end. I fucking pay.

I am with the kids non-stop all summer, on-call for any sickness. I hold the bowl all night for whomever is puking. I also do all the bills, banking, doctor visits and coordination of all activities, not to mention I trim everyone's nails.

I am also mostly responsible for Horst. You got to keep an eye on him. If you read this, you know that he has some spectacularly bad ideas.

All the time. Some you can stop, some you can't.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions they say.

My favorite recent bad idea was right after my sister in law's beloved dog passed away. I went to the basement to discuss plans for a package for her coming birthday.

I was thinking along the lines of some Alex and Ani bracelets with charms on them that have to do with dogs or the first letter of her dog's name. That sort of thing.

My father was going to put money in an envelope and also enclose a note telling her to buy herself another dog.

I just kept saying, "No" repeatedly until it sunk in that doing something like that is an incredibly bad idea. We went with the bracelets.

He got a new phone when he got his tax money back. It has wireless and a touch screen and he keeps saying it has "3G".

He claims that this is why the phone's battery is constantly draining, so when you try to call him, he never picks up because the phone is always dead.

His justification for buying a new phone was so that more people can get in touch with him. You know, the 3G and all..

So far I have called him several times, he never picks up, doesn't have a mailbox set up and it's pretty much the same thing as with his old phone, except that I think he pays more for this one.

The other day, as I was going into the basement to do laundry, he popped up out of nowhere. I think he has figured out when someone is coming down based on the sound of our footsteps above. He then lurks about waiting for you to come down.

I am ashamed to admit that sometimes, I don't acknowledge him right away, especially when it's obvious he's dying to tell me something. I make him sweat.

In my defense, it's usually about a new product he bought or something painful like that.

This Sunday he popped out and declared that I will never ever have to wash my dog's bed again. His new vacuum has a special pet hair attachment.

I didn't immediately go up and fetch my dog's bed to wash it out of spite, but I admit that it was tempting.

The mental drain of poor Horst. If you ever get sick of hearing about him, just tell me. In the meantime, I'm going to drink my coffee, eat my bun and do whatever until it's time to get the kids from school.

I'm going to enjoy my well-earned solitude and quiet.,

Tuesday, March 05, 2013

Uncle Kevin Always Sends the Best Diarrhea Pictures

I am supposed to be getting some writing in before I go to work for a few hours.

Surprise, surprise instead, I am here at my computer watching a You Tube video of Gilbert Gottfried reading "50 Shades of Grey".

I am also partially in my pajamas and not wearing a bra.

Gus started barking at the front door and I jumped up to answer it.

There wasn't anyone there, but if there was, I would have opened the door looking like holy hell, with Gilbert in the background yelling, "Vagina!" in that special voice of his.

I might have been embarrassed.

I shall take it as a sign from the Universe to get back to work.

In the meantime, here is what I was watching. I laughed so hard I almost soiled myself.

Speaking of soiling. This morning I got up to do my usual "burn my brain out on Facebook" while I enjoy my morning cuppa. I found that my friend Kevin left me this:

I am ashamed to say that my tactic this morning, to get the kids out of bed, was to tell them that Uncle Kevin sent me a diarrhea picture. 

I told them that Uncle Kevin always sends the best diarrhea pictures. 

They shot right out of bed. 

I am gross and immature.

Monday, March 04, 2013

I was supposed to

I was supposed to write about my friend's mother who passed away in February. At her wake I asked him if I could write something about her here. He said i could.

I haven't written anything. I meant to write about how, among all the other parents in my neighborhood, she stood out as one of the ones who actually liked me.

She gave me a Raggedy Ann book once, that I took home and scribbled my name all over in huge, lopsided craggy letters.  I still have that book on my bookshelf.

I remember her as an excellent cook, an excellent gardener, who used to leave pie plates of beer in her garden to catch slugs.

I remember her impatience and exasperation at us the time that we decided to cast fishing lines in the field across the street and my friends little brother got a fish hook caught in the seat of his jeans.

I remember that she kept an incredibly cozy house. When I am reading a book and imagining in my head a home, my friends old house is one of the settings I picture in my head. It's usually a toss up between that house or my cousin Jean's house.

That woman kept a magical home, I can't describe it really, but there was something about it that was infinitely warm and safe. Especially for a child who felt insecure for a majority of the time.

That house is long gone, every time I drive past where it used to be, at the bottom of the hill next to my old elementary school, I get sad.

Diane is gone now too. The last time I saw her was at my own mother's wake 10 years ago. She read it in the paper and told my friend to come to it with her. I was surprised and grateful for that gesture.

She passed on too soon. She was lovely and I wish that I could have bumped into her again after that wake.

(Sighing and hanging my head)- That's all I got for today. Nothing funny here today folks.