Oh, you will not believe how cool this is!

Hey all!


The past couple of weeks I've been working with Andygirl [and by working with, I mean me saying, "Hey, we should do this! But I don't know how! Do you? You do? Great! Let's do this!"] on a super cool project.  Something that's way exciting and we're both really thrilled about.

What is it?

Why, it's the Raw Photos Contest!

What's the Raw Photos Contest?

Well, click on the badge over there --------->
and find out.

Too lazy?  O.k., here it is:

You know how you take really cool photos and you think they're great as they are, without mucking around in Photoshop? And you think, hey, I bet I could win a prize for this photo?  Well, here's your opportunity!

Andygirl and I are hosting a super cool Raw Photos contest each month on Flickr.  Each month has a different theme, and you get to enter up to two [2] photos during the week the contest is open.  The only limitations are that the photos have to be yours and you CANNOT Photoshop your photo.  Play around all you want while you are taking the picture, but don't mess around after.  The complete rules are on the Flickr page.

This month's theme is Last Days of Summer.

So what are you waiting for?  Get out there, take a photo, click on the badge and enter to win a great prize!  What's the prize?  You'll get a kick ass badge that you can put on your blog to show the world that you have stellar photography skills.

We can't wait to see your photos!

Good things coming! A blog post in several acts

So for the past week or so, I've been working with Andygirl on something super cool.  It's going to launch in a bit - later tonight, I think - and we can't wait!  It's awesome!  Look for a later post with all the details!

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Is there anything more annoying than having your mouse's battery die and not having a stupid AA battery anywhere in the house?  You know what? No.  There is nothing more annoying.  Not even splinters or hangnails or even Jesse on Burn Notice.  Wait. I stand corrected.  Jesse on Burn Notice is way more annoying.  I hate him.  Truly.  He is ruining the show.

**********

On the positive side, I spent about an hour drawing with the girl.  We haven't done that in a while, which is weird, because as soon as she could clutch a crayon in her fist, we were ALL ABOUT coloring and writing and drawing.  So much so that pretty much all my books have weird stick figures in them courtesy of the girl.  Or there are pages where she's colored in the text.  It's kind of nice, like an archaeological dig through her artistic evolution.

**********

The husband and I have been watching Northern Exposure, and we realized that the show was originally on in 1990. Which we remember distinctly.  We are old.  Also, our wedding song came from that show - Etta James's At Last.  Joel and Maggie danced to it.  So romantic.  Joel and Maggie, I mean.  The husband and I are not super romantic.  We tend to show affection through mockery. It's worked so far.

**********

Oh, you know what else is more annoying than a dead mouse battery? Julia Roberts.  She is a wretched actress and I am waiting for people to finally realize this.  Thanks for wasting an issue of Entertainment Weekly, assholes.  Maybe next week we can read more about Twilight.  Jesus.  I'm not renewing that subscription.

Down with OCD

Sometimes my anxiety and OCD exhaust me.  And sometimes they are funny.  And sometimes I become very, very sad when I see my daughter presenting these same symptoms.  I try to be super calm about what's going on and explain why things are o.k. or why she doesn't have to spend hours thinking through how to plan something for optimal performance.  But it fucking breaks my heart.

Recently, we went to a big family party, and a lot of times I get anxiety about these things.  Part of the problem is that I'm not the woman I once was - I've gained a ton of weight, my hair hair has become even more curly and less tameable, and I don't dress as delightfully as I once did [because I used to dress very punk rock girl, and frankly, that's not a look I feel I can rock in my 40s.  I am not Kim Gordon.].  And there are many members of my extended family who will not hesitate to mention any and all of these things. Mostly that I'm fat.  That's always a good time.

But I was o.k. at the party.  For the most part.  I decided to go for comfort [not a t-shirt and shorts or anything, but pants instead of a skirt - I actually prefer skirts because I'm short, but my skirts were all bindy] and I kind of finagled my hair into prettiness and I wore my talisman [a really pretty rose quartz crystal necklace my husband bought me when we first started dating].  I felt o.k.  And even though I don't have a summer purse and ended up shlepping my giant brown scuffed up leather bag [it was 8,000 degrees and I was bringing my DSLR camera and a water bottle in addition to the other stuff] I felt o.k.  Even though I was one of only 3 women wearing pants, and a lot of the women were wearing cocktail dresses.  Still o.k.

That is, I felt o.k. until one of my aunts poked my belly and said something about how big it was and I kind of laughed it off and it turned out that she thought I was pregnant and TOLD people that I was pregnant which I found out about because some other random relative shouts at me across a few tables, asking me if it's true that I'm pregnant.  Wow.  Awesome.

And until my daughter started obsessing about not having worn heels instead of flats, and all the other girls were wearing heels and I wish I had worn heels and . . . then I reminded her [gently, I hoped] that she needed to let go of what she couldn't control and just enjoy what was going on, otherwise she'd end up spending the entire evening lamenting what was wrong rather than enjoying herself [and I gently pointed out a NUMBER of other occasions where I had listened to her lament about how she wished she had done B instead of A, and did she want to relive that again? No? I didn't think so.].

But it made me die a little, inside.  That anxiety and obsessiveness.  I hate when I get caught up in it and it kills me when she gets caught up in it.  When she runs through so many, many options and methods and what about this and what about that and why didn't I do that?  And I just want to hug her and make her brain stop whirring.

It's exhausting.

Marriage

Last night the girl went to a friend's house for the evening.  The husband and I enjoyed our dinner of leftovers and watched the first episode of Six Feet Under.  Which wasn't bad, actually.  Neither of us cared for the constant fantasy with the dead father, but it was engaging and the characters seem to spring fully formed, which is always nice.

Anyway, the husband was going to pick up the girl, and I decided to do our dinner dishes, because although the dishes are the girl's responsibility, she had already done a load that day and I thought it kind of unfair that she'd have to do our dishes when she wasn't even part of the mess-making.

So I went into the darkened kitchen and reached over a pile of dishes and the husband's glass from dinner to turn on the light.  And I knocked the husband's glass onto the floor where it shattered and sprayed glass shards all over the fucking place.

I was pissed, obviously.

I was tempted to leave the mess for the husband to clean up, because we are married and that should be/is his job.  Also, you know, it was his glass.

Except those stupid cats would probably walk into the kitchen and impale their stupid paws on the stupid glass, and then it would be $$$ at the vet or else homestyle amputation, neither of which seemed like something I wanted to deal with at the time.

So I swept up the glass and swept up the glass and SWEPT UP THE GLASS and then I did the dishes.  I was about to wipe the floor with a bleach wipe [because the husband's glass of course had a bit of Coke in it, and the floor was a bit sticky] when the husband and the girl came in.

I asked the husband to wipe up the floor, which, to his credit, he did.

But he did it while complaining about how he had to wipe up the floor.

At which point this took place:

Me:  "Well, none of this would have happened if you hadn't put your glass in the wrong spot."
Husband: "On the counter?  That wrong spot?"
Me:  "Yes.  The counter was the WRONG place for that.  Nice work.  It's totally your fault."
Husband:  "Ah ha!  See!  I knew it!  I knew it would somehow be my fault."
The Girl:  "Why do you always blame Dad?"
Me:  "What the hell else is the point of being married?"

Amityville

Did you ever watch the Amityville Horror movie? Or read the book?  I went on a tear when I was a kid, reading that book and The Exorcist and Jaws and all those super scary books.

I think the Amityville one scared me most, though.

 Seriously.  Look at that house.  How creepy is that?








The house is for sale - or it was as of May, anyway.  How fucking creepy would that be, to live in that house?  Even if the haunting was all a hoax? Some really bad business there, what with the murdering.

You know what else is bad business? The fact that we have had flies in our house. 




Sometimes several at a time.  I don't know where they are coming from, but I'm starting to get that Amityville feeling and I don't care for it.




 The cats, of course, are of no assistance.

My Greatest Sin

The husband and I were talking before bed last night, and we didn't finish this conversation, and I haven't quite worked this out in my own head, but I wanted to get this out:

My greatest sin is Envy.

[Here I'm going by the Se7en sins because that's what most people are familiar with. I'm sure other religions, including the one I was raised in, have their own definitions of sins, but that's a whole other topic and I'm too thirsty to write about that - my water is in the other room and I am too lazy to get it.] [Also, how hilarious was Ari on Entourage where he said putting Gwenyth's head in a box in Se7en was his idea?  TOTALLY hilarious, that's how hilarious.]

It has plagued me all my life.  I know part of the reason is inside me, how I am made.  And part of it is having been raised to compete and compare.  It's so ingrained that it's like breathing - I see or hear of someone else's good fortune and that bile shoots through me and I envy them whatever - their house, their car, their vacation, their non-nappy hair.  I can generally talk myself down from this.  I just don't like that it happens in the first place.  I'd love to be all zen about my life and how things happen for a reason and blah de blah, but I can't.  I really can't.  Instead, my initial reaction is envy.  Want.  I want desperately to have that thing that someone else has.  And then happiness at their good fortune.  Because I am happy for them.  Generally.  If it's someone I like.  If it's someone I don't like, I'm not happy for them.  If it's someone I don't like, I want their lives to be full of despair and ashes.  I am not a forgiving person.  I am kind of mean-spirited in that way.

The husband said that Pride is his sin and contends that all sins are sins of Pride.  I envy because I am proud - because I deserve what that other person has.  I'm not sure if that's the case.  Of course, I'm not sure if I'm disagreeing with him just because it's what I do [wow, is our relationship fun or what?] or because I actually disagree.  I can see his point, but I think that my envy is not a byproduct.  It's a visceral reaction of its own.  My pride is pricked, but I think that's the byproduct of my envy.

Anyway, my other greatest sin is rifling through people's medicine cabinets.  I'm nosy.

Lesson Learned

A long time ago, back in March or April, I said I would be president of my kid's school PTA. 

What the fuck was I thinking? I have no idea.

I have a tendency to agree to do things that I'm not really that into, just because I feel bad or guilty or think that maybe there is the off chance that it will be fun.

I'm still waiting for that to be true.

My problem, besides chronic volunteeritis, is that if I'm going to do a job, I want to do it perfectly.  Not just well, but THE BEST EVER BAR NONE PERFECT. 

Well, I am not doing this job perfectly or even just well, because I don't care.  I mean, I'm not going to quit, but it's not that important to me.  I think I am finally reaching that point in my life where I can do something, but I'm not going to go crazy about it.

Well, that's what I'm telling myself.  I think I may just be trying to rationalize away doing a half-assed job.  Which is one half ass more than most people do with the PTA, so I win?

*********

I'm down to my last 1/2 dose of antibiotics for Sickfest 2010.  It's a 1/2 dose because I dropped a pill and it landed on my dirty, filthy floor, and say what you will about the 5 second rule, there are some days where it just does not apply.

I'm still using my inhaler, though not as often.  I feel like a complete nerd and will start carrying it in my pocket protector- perhaps you recognize me from every 1980s movie?

I'm also using my ear drops because I still cannot hear out of my right ear.  Although this morning I did hear a knock knocking on what I thought was the window.  It took me a while to check, because I'm still not over having watched The Strangers.

Luckily, it was daylight and when I looked there wasn't anyone there.  I'm telling myself it was a squirrel.  Trying to borrow a cup of sugar.  Our squirrels are very neighborly.

It definitely wasn't that guy.  Definitely.

*******


I started reading Where the Girls Are by Susan J. Douglas, and while I LOVED Enlightened Sexism, I'm not that into this book.  It's very Baby Boomer-centric, and I just can't get behind that.

On the plus side of reading, I was so sick last week that I couldn't go to book club, and thus avoided the whole how do I tell you that your book choice sucked ass situation.

********

If I had a million dollars, I would buy you a house.  And I would also buy me a condo, because I hate yard work.

This is what panic is:

I had a doctor appointment today.  I've been sick, as I noted, since about Friday.  I wasn't going to go to the dr., but the husband rightly noted that we spend a big bag of cash for health insurance, so I should get our money's worth.

So I called for an appointment, but my regular dr. isn't in this week.  I ended up making an appointment with another dr. I've seen before and one who I like, but...  BUT.

But the last time I saw this other dr., I had an ear infection and he had me come back to get it drained [gross, I know], which turned into me having a nice bout of vertigo in his office, where I lay on the exam table for 45 minutes trying not to vomit and pray that I can see straight at some point.

So already, I'm a little nervous, since my last experience with this guy wasn't the greatest.  I mean, he was kind, and he even came out of the building to wait with me while I waited for my sister to come pick me up and take me home.  Really nice guy.

But still, a little nervous.

I get checked out, and mention that my ear hurts and that's why I'm there.  Oh, and I've developed a burning cough in the past couple of days.

Well, the nurse checks my oxygen level, and at that point things kind of fall of the rails.  It turns out that not only do I have an ear infection [YES! I CAN self-diagnose!] but I also have bronchitis and I'm not getting enough oxygen.  Not like I'm going to pass out and die, but it's at that level where steps need to be taken to rectify matters.

The dr. tells me I need to do a breathing treatment in the office and that he'll give me a bunch of meds to take to help me breath and actually get some oxygen.

I am, at that point, ready to walk out of the door and take my chances.  But . . .

But I am a grown ass person, and I know that if I do, I'm not going to amazingly get better.  I need to do this.

But I really, really, REALLY don't want to do this.  I mean, I honest to god was doing a cost benefit analysis of skipping out on a treatment to help me breathe and get enough oxygen into my system.

Cost:
I wasn't dying, but I would definitely feel like I was dying once I agreed to this treatment and I hate that feeling.
Having to explain to the dr. and the staff that I was afraid of this treatment.
Having to explain to the dr. and the staff that I have crippling anxiety.
Feeling like a moron.
Actually taking the treatment.
Worrying about side effects.


Benefit:
Continuing to obtain that delicious oxygen.

So I explained to the dr. my fears and he offered to sit with me while I did the treatment. Which I did.  And I didn't die.  And I managed to not have a horrible panic attack, although I did cry the whole time. 

So that was panic.  But also progress.

A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma Shrouded in Tupperware

****Please be advised that I just snorted what I hope was the recommended dosage of Robitussin straight from the bottle shortly before writing this.  In my defense, I'm the only one who uses that particular bottle of Robitussin, and I was too lazy to find the dosage cup.  Or a spoon.  And yes, it did take me 38 seconds to remember what a spoon was.  What's it to you?


I am many things.  I am the multitudes.  I am a woman who is bright and fun and giving.

I am also a latent hoarder.

Not big time.  Not all the time.  Not for all things.  But it is there.  It's in my genes [thanks, Mom! and Dad's side of the family!] and I see it pop up in the most unexpected of places.

For example:

I save all kinds of little bits of food.  Bravo, right?  Way to stay ecologically and environmentally and monetarily sound.  Saving every bit of food is just smart, right? Right.

Except.

Except I have a tendency to save even those things that no one, not even me, is going to use or eat again.  I know I should, and I know I could, and I know it's not like the food is bad, but sometimes it wasn't delicious, but I feel bad getting rid of it.  Even though we barely managed to choke it down the first time. 

So I put it in the fridge, all of it.  In tiny little storage containers - which they wouldn't make unless you needed to save tiny little bits of food, right?  I don't know who I think is going to eat this food, but I save it anyway.  I save it for weeks, sometimes, to the point where it has adhered to the storage container through cold fusion and I have to throw both of them away.

It's like I'm waiting for a spot inspection to be a winner in the Savings Race; or maybe tiny hobos are going to show up and I'll need to feed them [why I'd feed them something gross is beyond me]; or I need to keep the fridge full at all times, and inedible leftovers work just as well as actual food.

Also:

I'm a Piler.  I pile.  I pile up magazines; mail that I need to sort through; paperwork that I need to take care of; coupons; glasses; notebooks; and, inexplicably, random bits of flotsam that were in my purse and I haven't quite had the energy to put into the trash.

I'll sort through stuff, periodically.  And I'll get rid of things.  Some things.  But mostly what I do is re-organize.  I'll get file folders and manila folders and designate areas of bookshelves as magazine spots.  But I seldom throw stuff away, because I may need it later.  Actually, mainly because I don't have the energy to figure out what to do with it and I'm afraid that if I say fuck it, and toss it, it'll be that vitally important thing that we needed and how dumb was I to get rid of it?  DUMBIEST DUMB, that's how dumb.

I tell you this to ask your help.  No, not to get on some t.v. show or for the name of a good, free therapist.  But to explain how, when I have not left the house in 2.5 days, and I barely left the bed in that time, did I lose $85 from my desk.  The husband gave me $300 for food purchasing for the next few weeks.  Plus another $100 from his parents for a special dinner [v. generous, yes?  I should birth out another grandchild for that.].  $315 is accounted for.  $85? NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE IT IS.  None.

I haven't gone anywhere.  The desk didn't go anywhere.  The cats aren't walking around with new fur coats or diamond collars.  I'm at a loss.

I blame the tiny hobos.  I knew saving that nasty food was a bad idea.

I Have a Head Cold, and It Is Also Kicking My Ass

I am on day 3 or 4 of sickness.  I'll say Day 3, because I was functioning on Friday, even though I felt like shit.  Although I was also functioning on Saturday, so maybe it's Day 2.  But then that means I'll be sick longer, so I really want it to be Day 4.  Or Day 100, because then I'd be a medical miracle or something, and I need some validation in my life right now.

Whatever, I've been sick and have had a river of snot rolling from my nose for the past several days.  The truly delightful part is that I can't take decongestants because they make my heart all racy and my body all buzzy, so I try and decongest the old fashioned way, with salt water and humidifiers and crying in the shower, because I CAN'T BREATHE THROUGH MY NOSE and my mouth is getting kind of dry.  And that, my friends, is annoying.

But, it has also given me a nice patina of delirium, as I cannot sleep.  I slept about 2 hours last night, total, and about 45-50 minutes this morning.  So I find everything FUCKING HILARIOUS, but also really hard to do.  Like, standing up and not falling over is kind of hard, but then I laugh and laugh about it, because, seriously? WHO CAN'T STAND UP WHEN SOBER? Besides babies and old people and me.  Two of these groups wear diapers.  But in a very non-David Vitter way. [Again, HOW DOES that guy get RE-elected after his constituency finds out he's a diaper-wearing prostitute frequenter?  How shitty is the person who lost to him?]  I don't know why that came up - probably because of the whole lack of sleep thing, and it was funny in my head.  Not funny funny.  More, what the hell? funny. 

The husband and I watched Brian Regan after dinner, and I just about died laughing.  True story:  When I was pregnant we watched him on the Comedy Channel and I swear it kicked me into labor.

Seriously.  He is hilarious.  Girth units, is all I'm going to say.  Wait, also: I'm imploding.  Check him out.  YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED.













Other stuff on my random, fractured mind right now is that the girl is on vacation with my in-laws this week, and she's been a clingy, home-body mess lately, and she keeps saying she really misses us, which makes me sad, but then also makes me wonder if she's going to last the week, even though she is doted on non-stop by the grandparents, and who wouldn't want to stretch that out for as long as possible?  But then I miss her and worry about her being sad and missing us, and then I wonder why she wants to be at home, since I NEVER wanted to be at home, ever, when I was a kid.  It's kind of hard to wrap my mind around the idea that a kid would want to be at home, because to me, home was where you couldn't be yourself.

Also, randomly, what the fuck is the deal with Facebook and people oversharing?  I mean, I get that people do and say stupid things, but on Facebook? Where your whole FAMILY can see what you are saying?  Are people really that dumb? I ask rhetorically because obviously they are, but I'm feeling kind of judge-y [also kind of space-y] so I needed to get that out.

Finally, I need some good, fun, trashy but not stupid book recommendations.  Also, more tissues.

I Have a Gossip Hangover

We got together with some friends last night. It was a TON of fun, as it usually is, but we spent a LOT of time talking about people, and now I have a gossip hangover.

I am not much of a gossip.

I think that, but I know in my heart that it's not true.

I don't WANT to be much of a gossip.

When I was in high school, and then again in college, I accidentally [?] spread some false gossip. [Evidently I am a slow learner, and didn't get the lesson the first time.]  And got busted for it. And felt like shit about it.  I still do, honestly. Not 12 steps, ask for forgiveness shitty, but shitty nonetheless.

I still remember that smug, delicious feeling I had when I was spreading the gossip, which, in my [sort of] defense, I hadn't made up, was just repeating with the assurance that oh, yes, OF COURSE, this was fact. 

And I really remember the sick feeling when I got called out on it.  That inability to even say anything, because what could I say? I believed that about you? And I repeated it? The first person was sad and forgiving. The second was angry. I didn't deserve the first person's compassion; I deserved both of their anger.

Being busted like that didn't necessarily cure me of gossiping, but my gossiping now is very, very narrowly confined.  I don't gossip very often in public - perhaps with my immediate family [which, is that even gossip?]; one of my best friends; the good friends we were with last night.

And, for a long time, it didn't seem like a big deal.  I was just passing along information to people who weren't going to say anything to anyone [hopefully].  And who weren't going to sell me out [hopefully].  And I was only discussing things that I had first hand knowledge about, not spreading stuff that wasn't true.  And I would tell myself that it's not like it was a SECRET.  I mean, I knew, right? 

But this morning I woke up, once again, feeling queasy about how much I talked.

I think the problem is that I have something of a reputation for being very open and accepting and, funnily enough, NOT a gossip, and people tend to tell me things.  LOTS of things. And sometimes I share those things.  And then, when I feel like I've shared them for icky reasons [to seem in the know; to seem cooler; to have something to add to the conversation], I wake up feeling anxious and nauseous.

So I've decided I'm going to stop.  I'm pretty good at quitting things [smoking comes to mind, but DAMN do I miss it], even though I'm kind of a miserable person while doing so.  But I don't like how I feel and I think there has to be a better way to stay part of the group, part of the conversation, than to share information about other people. 

I hope this works.

Please Explain

Please explain to me why, after having looked for over a year for a job, I get an interview for my dream job in a tiny podunk town 3 hours from where I live, which, if I even get the job [who knows, right?] would mean that I would have to move BY MYSELF to tiny town and leave the husband and the girl here. 

Why, universe? Why?  Is there a reason that I am being shit on and teased?

Because did I also mention that I have panic attacks when I drive on the freeway and thus have not actually driven on the freeway in 7 years?  Except for those occasions when I try and drive on the freeway and get on and the immediately off, screaming and crying the entire time because I am convinced I am going to do.  Stone cold die. 

Those are fun times. 

UPDATED: to make sense. WTF, Blogger Texting? WTF?

I just finished reading A Reliable Wife for my book club [No. I'm not going to link.  It was that shitty.]. The woman who picked it could not stop telling me how much she LOVED this book and what a page turner it was.

I thought it was crappy and frankly skimmed a few (several) (a lot) of the lengthier blah blah blah pretending to be literary passages.

My dilemmas is thus: How honest can I be about how lame I found this book? In my old book club, I had no qualms. This one? New group and I'm trying to be nice.  Just for funsies.  We'll see how long that lasts.

PS - the best thing was that as soon as I texted my post, I went on Twitter to find that both Heidi from Heidi's Notes and Suzy from Where Hot Comes to Die were tweeting about how shitty that book was.  It's unanimous.  That book sucked ass.  Thank you, Twitter, for helping me find my people.

ALSO, FUCK YOU COCKING STUPID BLOGGER. Why could I previously text entries and have them work but NOW? I end up with crazy time?  Screw you, technology.

There. I Said It.

So I'm an Eminem fan.

I know. I know.  I KNOW.

He looks like I'm his target demographic, doesn't he?









But his tunes are catchy.

His lyrics can be very funny and wry [and misogynistic and hateful and mean, yes, sure].

Oh, the richness of teaming with Rihanna for a song where the lyrics include:


Just gonna stand there
And watch me burn
But that's alright
Because I like
The way it hurts
 
We are both from the 313.

His videos are entertaining.

He's buddies with Dr. Dre.

I wonder if Dre, Snoop Dogg and Eminem hang out.  And I wonder if I could join them.  But not if they are getting high.  I don't care for that.  Just to hang out and drop rhymes.  Not that I have any rhymes.  But I could make them up.  Maybe.





He had this giant billboard in Detroit as an homage/headstone to his buddy Proof after Proof was fatally shot outside a nightclub.  That's a nice thing to do, don't you think?

Also, his music is just FUN.  I like it.  I really do. 

And when I hear Lose Yourself, I get pumped to do stuff.  You know, life stuff.

O.k., spill.  Who are you secretly a fan of?

And You Thought the Raisin Post Was Lame

When we bought our fridge 11 years ago, we didn’t spend the extra whatever $ for the ice maker.  Because it was our first fridge and neither of us had ever had an ice maker growing up [back in the dark ages] and neither of us really thought about how important an icemaker could be.  Make ice? Use trays.  How fucking lazy are you?

Well, I am evidently extremely fucking lazy because it is a huge bone of contention that I am the only one who fills the ice cube trays.  There are arguments put forth that it’s because I’m the one who uses the most ice, but I think that’s just a bullshit excuse for people being too lazy to empty the trays into the ice bin and fill them up so that the ice bin never gets below half-full. [I am looking right at you, husband and daughter. But mostly husband, because, you know, you are my husband and should get blamed.]

I am filled with jealousy when I go visit friends and family who have upgraded their refrigerators in the past 10 or so years.  Upgrades that naturally include an ice maker.  It is grossly unfair.  A crime against humanity that these people are so cavalier about having a non-stop ice supply while I have to make ice like a hobo. [If a hobo had a means of making ice.  You know. At the hobo camp.  Maybe they plugged in an abandoned refrigerator in an abandoned building where they hacked the electrical to the neighbor’s house or a nearby electric pole.  It could happen.  Hobos are wily.]

I am conversely stunned when I go to people’s houses and they only have a couple of trays that are half-full and there is no ice cube bin.  How are theses people enjoying their beverages? What is wrong with them? Are they all drinking lukewarm water and soda?  Are they European? And on a completely different note, how do you put an ice cube tray BACK into the freezer when there are only 3 cubes left?  HOW DOES THAT HELP ANYONE?

Anyway, I have a bunch of crap to do today and the list just got longer because I had to add “MAKE ICE!” to it.  It’s like I have nothing else to do. 

It's Too Hot to Make Sense.

Am I the only person who falls asleep on the toilet? Now, lest you think I'm on there forever, that is not the case.  Well, I'm going to the bathroom all the time, so it seems like I'm on there forever, but mainly it's a matter of quantity rather than duration.

For example, I'm usually up at least twice a night going to the bathroom - I don't sleep well, so when I wake up, I get up and go because I'm up anyway and I'd probably have to go and I need to do SOMETHING, because I'm awake, and I don't want to be obnoxious and turn on the t.v., even though my husband sleeps like the damned [or, as he says, with a clean conscience, same thing, right?] and wouldn't hear it and I can't find the book I lost in the bedcovers when I drifted off [unless it's a giant hardcover, then the odds are good it fell on my husband or is wedged underneath him - true story: I was reading one of the Harry Potter books (one of the later ones, a big one) and I fell asleep while holding it and it somehow got wedged under my husband's back and he had a sore back for 2 days] where was I? OH! - so occasionally I'll be so tired that I'll get up, go to the bathroom, pee and I'll hit a wall of drowsiness and doze off, only to wake up sometimes 20 minutes later, still on the toilet wondering what the hell is going on and enjoying the imprint of the toilet seat on my person. 

Just wondering if I'm the only one. 

*******
I'm also wondering if I'm the only person with a laptop who DOES NOT take it into the bathroom with her. Because that is just so weird. And gross. And disgusting. Read a magazine - you'll save someone's job, and avoid germing up office equipment.  Even if it is your own personal home computer.  I mean someone, at some point, is going to touch it besides you, right?  Be kind.

[As a parenthetical - is there anything grosser than being at work and seeing someone come out of the bathroom with a file or packet of paperwork?  I don't care how much you protest that you just popped in on your way to do something else and set it on the counter, that's nasty.]

*******
I'm doing laundry [I know! Can you believe it?] and I tossed in the swimming stuff from the weekend and I saw a spider crawling around on one of the towels after I put it in the washer and I thought, "I should do something about that," but I was certainly not going to touch it, so I closed the lid and let the water, soap and agitator do its work.  I also did a second rinse because I don't want spider parts in my bathing suit.  Evidently my laundry room has become a haven for spiders. You'd think the cats would do something about it. You'd be mistaken.

*******
Fucking Twitter is being a bullshit fucking cock and not letting me one because I've exceeded my magical mystical requests or some bullshit something or other when CLEARLY I did not because I was UNABLE to get on the fucking Twitter for like 9 hours.  I didn't think I'd ever care about that, but there it is.  There it is.

*******
It's 8billion degrees here this week. I hate the heat with a bitter, cold fury. If the two connected, I'd cause a thunderstorm.  That would be fucking awesome.

So THAT'S Why.

I was at the kind-of-spendy market and I usually buy my raisins in the store bulk packaging [does that make sense? Do you know what I mean? Where they have bulk stuff but they've already put it in the plastic containers and weighed it, because while I want to be all environmentally conscious and do the whole bulk buying thing, I'm pretty fucking lazy and need someone else to do my packaging?]





 See what I'm getting at, here?  Bulk stuff, but my store has the stuff packaged, too.  Because we are evidently VERY VERY lazy.





because they have these great Flame Raisins, which I don't know what they are [Gay raisins? (Sorry, been watching Will & Grace again) Fire raisins? Caliente raisins?] but these bastards are plump and delicious.

 How awesome is Sean Hayes?  I love Love LOVE him.  He's a great actor and kinda dreamy.

Not plump or delicious, though.  At least as far as I know.  Maybe.  Who's to say?






Anyway, the raisins used to be about $2something/pound, and I'd get a pound or so, and it would be a nice cheap addition to my morning oatmeal and random cookies. 

Then the last time I bought them I ended up paying almost $7 for the raisins and I was flipping out.  I checked the receipt and the label and was like, "Oh, HELL NO, they did not charge me organic raisin prices for regular raisins, because that is FUCKING BULLSHIT and I will burn them to the ground and salt the earth . . . " and all kinds of crazy cakes.

[Because again, while I admire the whole bulk food/organic thing, there is a limit.  And my limit is evidently paying more than $2something for raisins.]

I don't want to pay this much for raisins.  I just don't.






So I go to the store and I have to get raisins again [not the next day or anything, it was at least a couple of weeks and a batch of cookies later, I'm not ADDICTED] and I check the prices and THEY ARE ALL like $5 a pound. WHAT THE HELL?  These are basically dessicated fruit, shit that you would throw away, right?  OLD FOOD.  $5 a pound!

So I scrounge around the pile of plastic containers and find a package from the end of May that was labeled to sell at $2something/pound.  I take those and the other SUPER EXPENSIVE package and ask the cashier why the price is doubled, and she said that they probably got a new distributor or something.  "But they are the same raisins, right?" I ask.  "Yes, the same raisins." Sign me up for the cheapos, please.

Well, it turns out that they are a bit different in that the $5/pound raisins are a LOT less stemmy.  Markedly so.

Which is probably why they cost more.  That whole quality control thing.

And I bet you can't believe you just read a whole fucking blog post about raisins.  Me neither.

Deep Thoughts About Books. Well, One Book.

I just finished reading Enlightened Sexism: The Seductive Message That Feminism's Work is Done by Susan J. Douglas.  This book has served a two-fold purpose: It was excellent reading and it has served as an excellent conversation / harangue starter for this family.  [I hectored the husband into reading it - the girl just picked it up and is almost done with it.]  It also served as an excellent way to pass the time at the gym - super engrossing.

I am a feminist.  I have been ever since I can remember. This has caused some chafing with my family of origin since a woman is pretty much a shit sandwich who defers defers defers in their scheme of things.  I still get the "You better treat your husband better or he'll leave you" spiel since the husband is also a feminist and believes in stuff like doing his share and wanting me to be the person I want to be. 

Anyway, I loved the book.  Loved it.  Ms. Douglas has a fantastic writing style - smart and biting - and makes cogent arguments and really does an excellent job supporting her hypothesis that society has co-opted the idea of feminism and turned it around to use as an excuse for things like slutty clothes and Hooters [If women weren't equal, then we wouldn't be able to expect them to act like this! is my very quick paraphrase.].

Plus, she talks about 90210 [the original flavor, thank you] and that just takes me back.  Brenda!  Brandon! DYLAN!!!

I don't know who the guy on the end is that Steve has his arm around.  Is he David's friend who killed himself with his dad's gun?  PS - please please please make a 90210 reunion show.  THAT WOULD BE AWESOME.





However, I also have a hard time with the book because reading it just reminds me that oh, my god, society is so full of shit.  Truly.  And it's so pervasive that I don't know how to fix it.  It's disheartening particularly because I have a 13 year old [who proudly identifies as a feminist] and I know she's going to have a difficult time navigating a world that has become so sexualized and hateful toward the very idea that women are equal.

The best idea so far is that the girl and I want to start up a magazine like Sassy used to be.  Now, I didn't subscribe to magazines until I was in my 30s [and now I LOVE THEM!  I am a whore for shiny reading material. And evidently someone who is an adherent to a dying medium.], so I wasn't an ardent Sassy reader, but I remember it being good and now that I have, for some reason, been given a subscription to Glamour [I swear, I still have no idea why I get this magazine], I want there to be something for women - particularly young women - that celebrates them and highlights the damaging expectations of society.  [As an aside, I still kind of like Marie Claire - but even that is so full of garbage about how to please your man and you need this to look better that I skip through most of it.]

So, I think if you want summer reading that is entertaining but will also make you want to punch things, this is your book.

And now I'm off to the gym to read Susan Faludi's Terror Dream: Myth and Misogyny in an Insecure America.  Because evidently I like to make myself angry.