Posts from — February 2009

Maybe we should ease up on that Miracle-Gro baby wash




Like a weed

February 26, 2009   6 Comments

Chances of this making sense: slim to crackers

Hi, and welcome to Life Version 2.0: There Is No Time.

Holy skunk on a dog, I feel like a wind up toy turned to the clicking point and set loose on a hardwood floor. I realized today that I am on the fast track to Bonkersville after I set out on an errand to Use Our Coupons to Get V. Important Things for Cheap and came home with a 12 pack of Cokes and two Take 5 bars.  This was after standing for five minutes in the drug store aisle trying to decipher what kind of damn tuna fish I was supposed to be buying with my dollar off coupon before realizing that I’ve been eating tuna fish for a solid week and would rather send money to Chicken of the Sea NOT to have to eat it than walk out of the store with one more can of that shit.

I forgot just what life is like when your baby stops sleeping.  But now I remember: IT SUCKS.  Especially when that baby is one of two dependents in your care.  From the moment you wake up in the morning until you flop down for your first hour to two hours of sleep in the night there is no rest. Someone always needs you to feed them or bathe them or wipe their bottom or tell them what time it is in China and meanwhile you, like the bonehead that you are, have decided that hey, I know the baby is only four months and still getting the hang of this sleeping thing, but why don’t I run a 5K?  FOR FUNZIES?

I know all of this new life juggling stuff is kind of like Rosie and her sleep schedule – it will be rough for a while and there will be some growing pains, but then I’ll get the hang of it eventually.  Until it changes again and it will be hard again for a while and then I’ll get the hang of that. But BWUH is it kicking my ass in the interim.

And I look longingly at the computer every day and think of all the writing I’m not doing and I send telepathic messages to you (O Fair Internets, do not forsake me.  I pine for you.  I will return some day, etc.) and maybe I even sit down for a second when there is a magical quiet moment, but then I remember: Great Jiminy Cricket, there’s a mound of clothes soaked in poop on the floor of our room that I forgot all about.  And I try hard to block it out, to pretend it’s not there taunting me with its turdiness, but it is no use, I must go to it.  Because it’s shit. On my floor.  And in a contest of blog vs. shit on the floor, the shit wins every time.

So Internets, I beg.  Don’t quit me. Because mound of poop clothes or not, I can’t quit you.

February 25, 2009   4 Comments

Reflections after running two consecutive miles for the first time


2.  There is now a whole chapter in Emily Post’s etiquette book called “Only The Vulgarist of Whore-Ladies Would Ever Dream of Hocking a Loogey” and the first page has a giant blown up portrait of me on it. To which I say: IT IS GROSS TO SWALLOW YOUR SLIMY RUNNER MOUTH GOOP, EMILY.

3.  If you passed me in the first five minutes of my run, I’d probably wave and maybe even say hey.  After that, any attempt to engage me in a friendly exchange will only result in my giving you the finger.

4.   My head contains an image of my running self that is slightly akin to an Olympic marathoner, muscles taut, body relaxed into an easy stride.  My shadow tells me that my head is full of utter and complete shit.

5.  The tunes on my iPod are the only thing keeping me from flinging myself onto the windshield of every approaching car and weeping for the driver to transport my sweaty heaving carcass back home to where the couches live.

6.  I had no idea I could sweat there.  Or there.

7.  After I’ve cooled down post-run, I feel kind of giddy from all the cardiotasticness of it all, and I think “Hey!  I kind of like this running thing!” But the next day when I start out again, back at regular endorphin levels, I think “I hate running. Running is stupid.  This is stupid. Life is stupid.  I AM GOING TO DIE.”

And then when I’m done with my route, I’m back to #1 and life goes on.

February 23, 2009   7 Comments

You may want to turn your volume down

I know I don’t normally post on Saturday, but I thought maybe if I was going to listen to this all weekend, you should at least get a taste of it, too.  Also, it’s 7 AM in this video. A. M. As in ante meridiem.  BECAUSE WE ARE LIVING WITH OUR OWN PERSONAL ROOSTER.

February 21, 2009   5 Comments

Ask me if I give a flip about verb tenses

Monday I strapped on baby Chunky McChubberstein, grabbed a wonky-wheeled cart and Noah’s hand and embarked on the weekly grocery run.  This was President’s Day, a “holiday” where we sit around and look at Honest Abe’s face on pennies and five dollar bills and reminisce about past leaders.  What, is that not right?  Well hell if I know what President’s Day is for. This year apparently it was about stealing my precious Day Off.  Presidents are bastards.

The list was shorter than usual, because L and I have gotten V. Serious about the monthly budget.  We had some extra expenses in January that made our bank account start to circle the drain and so the creative caps went on and we decided to use every possible item in our cabinets to make whatever haphazard meals we could out of what we already had.  It was kind of crazy to see how little we needed to make several rather large dishes that we could eat off of all week.  And that is why tomorrow I will be enjoying my fourth tuna sandwich since Monday.

Excuse my while I slip into my Bragging Pants and say that my kids are pretty awesome at the grocery store.  Noah has always been fairly well behaved out in public, and he is a good helper when it comes to reaching things on low shelves when I have 14 pounds of drooly cheeks and ham hocks hanging in the baby carrier on my chest.  Plus Rosie just maxes out the cute as usual, which makes people nicer when you’re trying to shove your ramen-noodle laden, left-veering grocery cart past their neatly stacked handbasket.  Even so, L and I had decided that if we could scrounge up enough change around the house, that I was deserving of a Starbucks Anything With Caffeine to carry around with me while I completed the task at hand with two children.

We enter the grocery store and I purchase my small coffee and we’re on to the first item (bread).  Noah peruses the aisle, making sure that I know that there are DOUGHNUTS MOM, DID YOU SEE THEM THEY’RE RIGHT HERE IF YOU NEED SOME and I am calculating the per slice cost of whole wheat when I notice that there is a man standing rather close to me, turned as if he knows me and is about to speak, so I look up.

I definitely do not know this man.

“You’re really pretty,” he says in a breathy, Lifetime movie murderer kind of way.

I don’t think I even uttered a syllable back to him because I was 1. in Instant Skeeved Out Mode and 2. I was mesmerized by the tattoos he had just under his eyes.  Were those tears? Lightning bolts? Swastikas?  And then I came out of my reverie and realized OMG WHO CARES CREEPY DUDE IS MACKING ON ME.

Luckily he was a non-issue, because he instantly disappeared and I never saw him again for the rest of the trip.

But that was just Aisle 1.

Aisle 2 (canned soups, dried fruit, beans) seemed more promising, or at least less seedy for its lack of glassy-eyed close talkers.  But as I round the corner to Aisle 3, I am accosted by a woman who doesn’t seem to be quite all there (for one thing, she had no groceries.  No cart, no basket, nothing. Hey! Just hanging out on Aisle 2 for kicks!) who starts a friendly enough conversation about how cute my kids are and aren’t I lucky to have two and then quickly descends like a harpy on me after that about how I’m so lucky to be able to dress my baby in such expensive clothes (she was in 100% hand-me-downs) and the fact that I’m out on a Monday morning because I don’t have to work because my man takes care of me and oooh, look at you with your STARBUCKS, your man must be RICH, must be nice to be so RICH and have no job and drink STARBUCKS and I’m thinking am I being pranked?  Did the kooky bus stop here and let off a load to buy a gallon of milk?  Am I being attacked for my coffee that I bought entirely with quarters and dimes and nickels covered in unidentifiable sticky substances and dust balls from under my couch while I try to stick to our meager food budget and take care of two kids?  And I’m realizing, no, this lady is serious.  She has serious issue with me shopping for my groceries with a coffee on a Monday morning.  And it’s a good thing that Noah was with me because in my head that lady was getting a Piece of My Mind and it was not rated G.

All of this occurred in the first 10 minutes of the shopping trip that I took Monday morning, and the week has not gotten any better since then.

But hey, at least I’m pretty, right?


Next up! Tuesday!

February 19, 2009   5 Comments