I'm now on Twitter as TheSuniverse. I'd link, but can't figure out how to have you follow me.
Because I'm so good at posting on this blog so frequently, I figured I'll hit up another social media outlet and see how quickly I start ignoring that.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Beauty v Brains
Last night, I asked the husband to use some Drano on the upstairs tub. Two women + lots of hair = slow-running drain.
Because he is awesome, he did. It was kind of late, though, so I said I'd clean the tub in the morning when I showered for my job interview [because I am not the kind of gal who goes to an interview all stanky. That's just how I roll.].
This morning, I get up, do my morning stuff [which today, for some reason, included cleaning off my desk. Why not?], then start cleaning the tub so I can get ready.
Well, I sprinkle Comet [old school cleaning, that's right] and start scrubbing. All's going well until I rinse the tub. And the Comet water drains . . . and then stops. With about 1 1/2 inches of blue water in it.
So I am of COURSE freaking out, because I immediately think I've broken the drain by mixing Comet and residual Drano and have also created mustard gas. I dither for a bit, wondering what the fuck I'm supposed to do - Get a hazmat suit? Call Homeland Security? Go fetal?
I finally grab my bath stuff and head down to the other bathroom and take a shower, all the while CONVINCED that I had somehow poisoned myself and, since I had the bathroom window open, was also slowly poisoning the neighborhood.
After showering and somewhat calming myself, I decide to be a grownup and peek into the bathroom to see if maybe, miracle of miracles, the tub has drained and the mustard gas has cleared. I hold my breath [seriously. I did.], open the door and look.
The tub still hasn't drained.
Fuck.
I don't dare take a breath.
So I get ready, scooch past the toxic area, and head out to my interview. I call the husband, explain what happened, listen to him tell my that I am not, in fact, dying, and then he asks me if I'm sure the tub isn't draining.
Me: It's not! I checked it again! Are you sure I'm not poisoned?
E: I already told you. You're fine. You're talking and breathing and driving, right?
Me: Yes, but . . .
E: You're fine. Did you stop up the tub?
Me: No! I was just rinsing the tub!
E: O.k., I'll swing by the house and check on it.
I go to my interview, run some errands, get the girl, run some more errands and then head home. Where the tub has drained and is sparkly clean.
I call E to find out what happened.
Me: Did you get the tub to drain.
E: [Pause] You're so pretty. [This is what we say in our family when someone pulls a COMPLETELY bonehead move.]
Me: Oh my god, I fucking stopped up the tub, didn't I?
E: You're really beautiful. [A bonehead move, like, say, accidentally stopping up the tub and then adamantly swearing that you did NOT stop up the tub.]
Me: GODDAMNIT! I can't believe I did that! I'm so sorry you had to leave work to check on the tub.
E: You're so, so pretty.
Me: I'm so sorry.
E: It's o.k. B and I had a good laugh about it. He also reminded me of the time you thought you broke the printer and couldn't use it and when I asked you if you had it plugged it, you said you did, and it turned out you forgot to plug it in.
Me: Both of you can fuck right off.
Because he is awesome, he did. It was kind of late, though, so I said I'd clean the tub in the morning when I showered for my job interview [because I am not the kind of gal who goes to an interview all stanky. That's just how I roll.].
This morning, I get up, do my morning stuff [which today, for some reason, included cleaning off my desk. Why not?], then start cleaning the tub so I can get ready.
Well, I sprinkle Comet [old school cleaning, that's right] and start scrubbing. All's going well until I rinse the tub. And the Comet water drains . . . and then stops. With about 1 1/2 inches of blue water in it.
So I am of COURSE freaking out, because I immediately think I've broken the drain by mixing Comet and residual Drano and have also created mustard gas. I dither for a bit, wondering what the fuck I'm supposed to do - Get a hazmat suit? Call Homeland Security? Go fetal?
I finally grab my bath stuff and head down to the other bathroom and take a shower, all the while CONVINCED that I had somehow poisoned myself and, since I had the bathroom window open, was also slowly poisoning the neighborhood.
After showering and somewhat calming myself, I decide to be a grownup and peek into the bathroom to see if maybe, miracle of miracles, the tub has drained and the mustard gas has cleared. I hold my breath [seriously. I did.], open the door and look.
The tub still hasn't drained.
Fuck.
I don't dare take a breath.
So I get ready, scooch past the toxic area, and head out to my interview. I call the husband, explain what happened, listen to him tell my that I am not, in fact, dying, and then he asks me if I'm sure the tub isn't draining.
Me: It's not! I checked it again! Are you sure I'm not poisoned?
E: I already told you. You're fine. You're talking and breathing and driving, right?
Me: Yes, but . . .
E: You're fine. Did you stop up the tub?
Me: No! I was just rinsing the tub!
E: O.k., I'll swing by the house and check on it.
I go to my interview, run some errands, get the girl, run some more errands and then head home. Where the tub has drained and is sparkly clean.
I call E to find out what happened.
Me: Did you get the tub to drain.
E: [Pause] You're so pretty. [This is what we say in our family when someone pulls a COMPLETELY bonehead move.]
Me: Oh my god, I fucking stopped up the tub, didn't I?
E: You're really beautiful. [A bonehead move, like, say, accidentally stopping up the tub and then adamantly swearing that you did NOT stop up the tub.]
Me: GODDAMNIT! I can't believe I did that! I'm so sorry you had to leave work to check on the tub.
E: You're so, so pretty.
Me: I'm so sorry.
E: It's o.k. B and I had a good laugh about it. He also reminded me of the time you thought you broke the printer and couldn't use it and when I asked you if you had it plugged it, you said you did, and it turned out you forgot to plug it in.
Me: Both of you can fuck right off.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Downer
I've had a long, boring day.
I did have all sorts of funny blog post ideas. They've disappeared into the ether. I didn't have the wherewithal to make notes or post them as I thought of them.
Instead, I've been feeling meh. Not happy. Not miserable. Not thrilled.
I'm glad I'm not weepy and angsty all the time. I just wish I didn't feel so blah. When I feel that way, I start to worry that I'll get depressed again. I hated that. I can't even say how much. It was a miserable, miserable time. And any deviation from gogogogo makes me worry that I'll be mired in it again.
I've not been sleeping well, and I'm not working out like I had been even last week, and I'm tired of going to bed at midnight or one and getting up at three and then getting up at five and watching a movie and then going back to sleep at seven and then sleeping until nine and then feeling like the day has passed me by.
So I'm trying to be positive. I'm actually better about not freaking out over everything and letting things just happen. That's a big step and I'm pretty proud of that.
I don't know. This post is lame.
I did have all sorts of funny blog post ideas. They've disappeared into the ether. I didn't have the wherewithal to make notes or post them as I thought of them.
Instead, I've been feeling meh. Not happy. Not miserable. Not thrilled.
I'm glad I'm not weepy and angsty all the time. I just wish I didn't feel so blah. When I feel that way, I start to worry that I'll get depressed again. I hated that. I can't even say how much. It was a miserable, miserable time. And any deviation from gogogogo makes me worry that I'll be mired in it again.
I've not been sleeping well, and I'm not working out like I had been even last week, and I'm tired of going to bed at midnight or one and getting up at three and then getting up at five and watching a movie and then going back to sleep at seven and then sleeping until nine and then feeling like the day has passed me by.
So I'm trying to be positive. I'm actually better about not freaking out over everything and letting things just happen. That's a big step and I'm pretty proud of that.
I don't know. This post is lame.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Here's what happened today
Remember when I told you about how, when I go work out, the people next to me seem drawn to talk to me NON-STOP? I'd link to the post, but I'm lazy. So lazy that I almost left a penny in the bottom of the washing machine because I didn't feel like leaning in and picking it out.
Anyway, I went through my little workout circuit [no vertigo on the treadmill today! SCORE!] and ended up on the Nu Step [because if I'm going to step, I'm sitting down while doing it. I'm working out, not training for the Olympics] with an old man next to me. [It's NOT an old person machine. I just seem to end up working out when all the old people are working out. Also, my city is full of old people.] I focused on my book [Carrie Fisher's "Wishful Drinking" - not bad, but not her best], but could see his reflection in the mirror wall in front of us, kind of looking at me.
AND THEN . . .
The iPod wearing-guy on the elliptical machine behind us STARTED SINGING AND CHECKING HIMSELF OUT IN THE MIRROR.
WTF?
Anyway, I went through my little workout circuit [no vertigo on the treadmill today! SCORE!] and ended up on the Nu Step [because if I'm going to step, I'm sitting down while doing it. I'm working out, not training for the Olympics] with an old man next to me. [It's NOT an old person machine. I just seem to end up working out when all the old people are working out. Also, my city is full of old people.] I focused on my book [Carrie Fisher's "Wishful Drinking" - not bad, but not her best], but could see his reflection in the mirror wall in front of us, kind of looking at me.
AND THEN . . .
The iPod wearing-guy on the elliptical machine behind us STARTED SINGING AND CHECKING HIMSELF OUT IN THE MIRROR.
WTF?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
You don't know me
So I just checked my email, and there was one from Barnes & Noble pushing Mother's Day gifts.
WTF, B&N? Do you automatically assume that I, as a mother, will want copies of The Blind Side and Michael Buble's CD and The Postmistress [which I've never even heard of]? Because I used my womb, I am automatically consigned to that marketing demographic? The one with pop standards and feel good movies and books about prim and proper mail ladies [I'm guessing. Who knows?]? The one that assumes that all I think about are loving family crap and easy listening?
I am a woman who has many interests, who is strong and smart and talented and who enjoys stretching her mind and life beyond her comfort zone. Who has a background and life that is NOT cookie-cutter and whose life experiences are not to be stuck in some niche to be peddled to. Who is a feminist and pro-choice and believes in her strengths.
Although, actually, I do kind of want to see The Blind Side [I heart Sandra Bullock, and I can hopefully get past the whole white-family-saves-black-kid thing] and I've liked the one or two Michael Buble songs I've heard. Plus, his last name is fun. And makes me giggle.
STILL. STOP STEREOTYPING ME.
[That 50% off is kind of tempting. Bastards.]
WTF, B&N? Do you automatically assume that I, as a mother, will want copies of The Blind Side and Michael Buble's CD and The Postmistress [which I've never even heard of]? Because I used my womb, I am automatically consigned to that marketing demographic? The one with pop standards and feel good movies and books about prim and proper mail ladies [I'm guessing. Who knows?]? The one that assumes that all I think about are loving family crap and easy listening?
I am a woman who has many interests, who is strong and smart and talented and who enjoys stretching her mind and life beyond her comfort zone. Who has a background and life that is NOT cookie-cutter and whose life experiences are not to be stuck in some niche to be peddled to. Who is a feminist and pro-choice and believes in her strengths.
Although, actually, I do kind of want to see The Blind Side [I heart Sandra Bullock, and I can hopefully get past the whole white-family-saves-black-kid thing] and I've liked the one or two Michael Buble songs I've heard. Plus, his last name is fun. And makes me giggle.
STILL. STOP STEREOTYPING ME.
[That 50% off is kind of tempting. Bastards.]
Monday, April 19, 2010
Breaking News!
OMG,
Watching Cool Hand Luke and there was a bit of music that I SWEAR TO GOD was the one they use on WXYZ Channel 7 Action News. Honest to god. It's the same music.
How does that happen? HOW WEIRD IS THAT?
Watching Cool Hand Luke and there was a bit of music that I SWEAR TO GOD was the one they use on WXYZ Channel 7 Action News. Honest to god. It's the same music.
How does that happen? HOW WEIRD IS THAT?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sunday Bloody Sunday
I'm watching the last three episodes of The Vampire Diaries. Man, I love me some Damon:
The Girl and I watch this sporadically. Meaning, we'll DVR it, and then watch it while we're doing other stuff. And while we're watching it, I'll talk about how fucking awesome Damon is [leaving out the fucking part, obviously; I have some parenting standards. When I remember.], and she'll get on her moral high horse about how he just kills people, but DUH, he's a VAMPIRE, the whole point of his existence is killing people.
He also is way handsomer and cooler than the supposed main guy, his dork-o brother Stefan.
Gah. See? Damon is WAY better. Who cares about Stefan and his holier-than-thou I won't drink human blood superiority complex? He's such an Edward Cullen - type douche.
Wow, I can get invested, can't I?
Anyway, I tell you this to tell you my new favorite phrase that I plan on working into conversation as much as possible:
If I had a good side, this would not be how you get on it.
That, of course, is said by badass Damon, who is AWESOME not only at killing jerkwads but also at delivering killing quips. He's multi-talented!
Today I also had my Donna Reed on:
I made:
The Girl and I watch this sporadically. Meaning, we'll DVR it, and then watch it while we're doing other stuff. And while we're watching it, I'll talk about how fucking awesome Damon is [leaving out the fucking part, obviously; I have some parenting standards. When I remember.], and she'll get on her moral high horse about how he just kills people, but DUH, he's a VAMPIRE, the whole point of his existence is killing people.
He also is way handsomer and cooler than the supposed main guy, his dork-o brother Stefan.
Gah. See? Damon is WAY better. Who cares about Stefan and his holier-than-thou I won't drink human blood superiority complex? He's such an Edward Cullen - type douche.
Wow, I can get invested, can't I?
Anyway, I tell you this to tell you my new favorite phrase that I plan on working into conversation as much as possible:
If I had a good side, this would not be how you get on it.
That, of course, is said by badass Damon, who is AWESOME not only at killing jerkwads but also at delivering killing quips. He's multi-talented!
Today I also had my Donna Reed on:
I made:
- Granola
- Ina Garten's Banana Crunch Muffins
- Blueberry Mini-Muffins
- Veggie Soup
- Chicken sandwiches
- Pot Roast
- Mashed Potatoes
- Corn
- Salad for the week
- Hard-boiled Eggs for the week
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Boring Blog Post Ahead.
I came up with an amazing blog post last night/this morning while I was half-asleep.
I cannot remember a bit of it, so here's this boring one:
Our dishwasher racks had rusted about 5 years ago. The cost to replace them was about $200 per rack + shipping [another $30]. So, being wasteful Americans, we got a new dishwasher.
I miss my old dishwasher.
I could stuff that fucker FULL of dishes, glasses, plastic containers, pots, pans, silverware, the cats, you name it. And, excepting for the rust spots from the racks, they came out clean in a short time. It was so satisfying. Like solving a Rubik's Cube or one of those Tangram puzzles.
This dishwasher? I hadn't quiet gotten the hang of stuffing it yet, which really bugged me. It is adequate for a simple day's worth of dishes for 3 people [small breakfasts for 2, lunch containers, dinner prep, if it's nothing fancy]. But anything more than a 2 pot meal and we are in trouble. This isn't good for a house where, say, one person is a vegetarian, one person loves pork chops, and the other has no interest in going to hell by eating said pork chops [My god DOES look the other way re: bacon and pepperoni. My god is a gourmand.]. When that happens, there are going to be excess dishes. And I didn't want to do any dishes by hand like Cinderella. And E and the girl complain and complain and complain if there are too many dishes. It's like a chain gang assignment for them.
Today, though, I could not be more proud of myself. I crammed that fucker FULL of dishes, etc. FULL, I tell you. Full and ORGANIZED. Plates and bowls and glasses stacked neatly and in pretty rows. Pots and pans and plastic containers all lined up like good soldiers. Even the bacon baking pan fit!
It's my shining moment in the kitchen.
[You can wake up now. Don't say I didn't warn you in the title. Also, you have a little drool. Right there.]
I cannot remember a bit of it, so here's this boring one:
Our dishwasher racks had rusted about 5 years ago. The cost to replace them was about $200 per rack + shipping [another $30]. So, being wasteful Americans, we got a new dishwasher.
I miss my old dishwasher.
I could stuff that fucker FULL of dishes, glasses, plastic containers, pots, pans, silverware, the cats, you name it. And, excepting for the rust spots from the racks, they came out clean in a short time. It was so satisfying. Like solving a Rubik's Cube or one of those Tangram puzzles.
This dishwasher? I hadn't quiet gotten the hang of stuffing it yet, which really bugged me. It is adequate for a simple day's worth of dishes for 3 people [small breakfasts for 2, lunch containers, dinner prep, if it's nothing fancy]. But anything more than a 2 pot meal and we are in trouble. This isn't good for a house where, say, one person is a vegetarian, one person loves pork chops, and the other has no interest in going to hell by eating said pork chops [My god DOES look the other way re: bacon and pepperoni. My god is a gourmand.]. When that happens, there are going to be excess dishes. And I didn't want to do any dishes by hand like Cinderella. And E and the girl complain and complain and complain if there are too many dishes. It's like a chain gang assignment for them.
Today, though, I could not be more proud of myself. I crammed that fucker FULL of dishes, etc. FULL, I tell you. Full and ORGANIZED. Plates and bowls and glasses stacked neatly and in pretty rows. Pots and pans and plastic containers all lined up like good soldiers. Even the bacon baking pan fit!
It's my shining moment in the kitchen.
[You can wake up now. Don't say I didn't warn you in the title. Also, you have a little drool. Right there.]
Friday, April 16, 2010
Nostalgia
So Daryl Gates is dead.
Am I the only one who immediately had Ice Cube's "Wicked" on a loop in my head?
Doin' Daryl Gates but is Willie Williams
Down with the pilgrims?
When E and I first started dating, he made me a few mix tapes and one of them had Ice Cube's The Predator on it. I still get all dreamy-eyed thinking about that time, Stalking . . . Walkin in my big black boots.
Which I know is weird, because that was a shitastic time for this country. As much as I like to think that I am a pessimistic, worldly, smart person, I also somehow expect the best of people. I still cannot believe that things like this [the whole Rodney King/police trial imbroglio] happen with alarming regularity. It disappoints me, and makes me feel bad.
So instead, I'll just listen to Wicked and think of how E made me a mix tape and the googly feelings our new relationship gave me.
Am I the only one who immediately had Ice Cube's "Wicked" on a loop in my head?
Doin' Daryl Gates but is Willie Williams
Down with the pilgrims?
When E and I first started dating, he made me a few mix tapes and one of them had Ice Cube's The Predator on it. I still get all dreamy-eyed thinking about that time, Stalking . . . Walkin in my big black boots.
Which I know is weird, because that was a shitastic time for this country. As much as I like to think that I am a pessimistic, worldly, smart person, I also somehow expect the best of people. I still cannot believe that things like this [the whole Rodney King/police trial imbroglio] happen with alarming regularity. It disappoints me, and makes me feel bad.
So instead, I'll just listen to Wicked and think of how E made me a mix tape and the googly feelings our new relationship gave me.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Trendy
Am I missing something?
The last few times I've been to the Rec Center to work out, I've seen people - grown adults - drinking:
Mountain Dew
Coke
Chocolate Milk
Now, I'm not a big fan of energy drinks, etc., being a pretty devout water drinker myself. I'm just wondering what the jump is:
Water
Gatorade
Coke
Five Hour Energy Drink
Mountain Dew
Chocolate Milk?
Just wondering.
The last few times I've been to the Rec Center to work out, I've seen people - grown adults - drinking:
Mountain Dew
Coke
Chocolate Milk
Now, I'm not a big fan of energy drinks, etc., being a pretty devout water drinker myself. I'm just wondering what the jump is:
Water
Gatorade
Coke
Five Hour Energy Drink
Mountain Dew
Chocolate Milk?
Just wondering.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Update-arino
- So today I took the Girl to the dentist. She has 2 cavities, one on each side of her mouth, and needs to have them filled at 2 separate appointments. These are her first cavities, and I wanted to commemorate the importance of the occasion. So I bought her an ice cream cone after. What? I'm paying for fillings anyway, might as well get my money's worth.
- Every time I go to the rec center to work out, I end up getting chatted up by whomever is on the machine next to me. I try not to be annoyed. I mean, I know how hard it is to strike up a conversation. I know it's not easy to put yourself out there. And that's fine. I'm usually o.k. with a few words of conversation, but then things start getting blah blah blah and really, all I want to do is read my book [just finished Through the Heart, good recommendation for working out from my good friend] but I try and listen and talk and, unfortunately, a lot of the time, I have nothing to add to what turns out to be either a monologue or a series of awkward questions. I'm trying to come up with a nice way to finish a conversation you didn't start and don't want to be a part of. Without sounding like a complete bitch. Because, you know, what with the hard to begin a conversation.
- The Girl's oldest cat [about 10 years old now] was walking around the house yesterday with a wad of poop on her rear flank. I was so disgusted and so pissed because she [the cat, not the Girl; the Girl was over at her friend's (I'm assuming scat-free) house] kept running around the house escaping from me, that I was v. v. close to opening the door and letting her shit up the great outdoors forever. The Girl finally came home and caught the cat and cleaned her and then disinfected the house. I figured this was a double lesson: 1) Your pet, your mess; 2) Good training for when I am old and incontinent and in full-stage Alzheimers and she has to take care of me before putting me in the good nursing home. Yes. I have it picked out already.
- OMG Did you hear that Tiger Woods is playing softball? Or badminton? Or golf or something? WOW.
- My mom has spring cleaned her house. I'm wondering how much I'd have to pay her to clean my house. And then I'm wondering how much I can psychically afford to pay her by listening to how dirty my house is. I'm not sure I can afford it.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Marriage is hard fucking work. Seriously. There is no happily ever after. There are days, weeks, months, even years where you hate your partner with a white hot passion & wonder why you married that person.
This is not one of those moments.
Instead, this is why I love & married E:
(via email)
Me: can you fax those fuckers at citibank a copy of our bank statement to show we paid them?
E: consider it done by the Prophets of Rage!
Awesome.
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