I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: February 2009

So I need some help again (no, not professional help – well, maybe, but not for this particular problem)

Saturday afternoon I noticed an odd, yet familiar odor in my front yard.  

So I braced myself and peeked in the bushes.  New bunny bits.  Plus, the bones of the previous bunny are still there.  
Banana (This is your first blog appearance, but you know who you are.  Jo, Coco & Truck can probably figure it out as well), will you please remove the rabbit fragments before they get smellier?  I will let you laugh at me.  I will provide gloves and Wal-Mart sacks.  Our trash runs on Tuesday, so could you do it fairly quickly?  How does it not give you the shivers just thinking about it?
Yes, Truck is currently home.  However, he has a HUGE meeting in Orlando next week and is beyond stressed about it.  I wouldn’t ask him to clean up the hacked-up hare if it were on the front steps.

So my musical taste is rubbing off on the whole fam

I am internetting (This is a made up word and I really debated if it should have one t or two t’s. This is how I am spending my kid-free evening.  I am the second lamest person I know.  I went with two t’s because netting has two t’s, in case you care).  The tunes are still blasting, but now Truck is home.  He is working in his office, because he is the only person on the planet who is lamer than me.

We are getting take-out later, Thai, in case you care.  Does that make us cooler or lamer? I say cooler because fast food or left over spaghetti would be pathetic.  Going out to eat would be appropriate, but he is swamped with work right now, in case you care.
Anyway, I have a point to make…
That’s Not My Name just played & when it was over Truck yelled,  “What’s that song?”  Then he asked who sings it.  Then he said, “I like it.”
I’m keeping the tunes going.  Maybe Dead Milkmen will rub off on him next.
I looked through his playlist the other day and found a gem.  I’m not telling you what it is, just click here to find out. I had forgotten about this song!  If you can listen to this and not laugh then you need an x-ray because your funny bone is effen broke!

So I don’t know what to do with myself

After school Huck wanted to go see Coco at work.  Actually, going to see Coco was his fourth choice, but it is the only one I was willing to comply with.  His first, second and third choices were going to Fun City, Lokomotion or Chuck E. Cheese.  I would rather eat toenails than go to any of these places on a Friday night (My own toenails, of course.  If it were Saturday afternoon then I would up the ante to Worm’s toenails).

Of course Worm only had to hear the word Coco & it was all over for him.  He said coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, coco, until I thought I might go insane.  
Did I ever mention that there is a lot of candy at Coco’s office?
Long story short, Coco unexpectedly offered to keep both boys tonight!
As soon as Truck left to take the kids to her house, I opened a beer, turned up the music and… folded laundry.

So I am suddenly suspicious of the convenient connection

You don’t think my neighbor set up a wireless connection that I could use in the hopes of someday controlling my mind through my computer, do you?  

Should I buy a new corn zipper just in case?  
I really love blogging in bed, please don’t ruin this for me, crazy conspiracy theory lady in my brain.

So I’m writing this from bed

Our wireless has been iffy for months now and no amount of random wire jiggling and general cursing seemed to fix it.  I thought all hope was lost because jiggling and cursing are the best tools in my belt.  Then a few weeks ago, my iPhone started offering me some random connection, but only in my bedroom.  I am not sure why I didn’t put it together until now.  I blame 6 & 1/2 years of sleep deprivation (more like 7 years if you count pregnancy).  Anyway, I just realized that I can totally piggyback my neighbor’s wireless when I am in bed.  

Wow, that last sentence is really dirty.

This is the greatest thing to happen to me in years.  Sorry kids, your entrances into the world were cool and all, but I can blog IN BED now.  I love to hang out in bed.  I love it so much that Truck bought me a giant flat screen for Christmas and installed it across from the bed.  I know that sounds terribly unromantic, but look at it this way: a man bought a top of the line TV and then installed it in the room where only his wife watches TV.  Pretty nice, huh?
Anyway, if I lived, alone I would live in one of these, happily, but only if the neighbors had wireless internet.

So I met a lady with apricot hair today

The weather is beautiful today.  At 8:30 it was already 55 degrees and not a cloud in the sky.  I decided it would be nice to go for a walk with Worm.

Since he is not yet two, I didn’t actually want HIM to walk.  Have you ever let a child this age walk around the neighborhood?  Try cat herding, it’s more productive.
I walked, he sat on his Lightening McQueen tricycle.  It has a long handle so I can push him.  He doesn’t know he can propel it himself with the pedals.  I’d like to keep it that way for a bit.  See the above statement regarding cat herding.
Most of the walk was not blog worthy.  I listened to tunes on the iPhone.  Worm hit everything we passed with a big stick.  I occasionally said appropriate mom things like “don’t poke that trash bag” and “don’t hit that cat.” Really, poking at garbage and small animals was fine by me, but it felt right to say those things.
Then, on the last leg of our journey, I glanced up to see a lady holding a dog and waving her arms at me.  Her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear her over the tunes.  So I politely removed my earbuds and stopped walking.   
She bustled across the street to us and asked if I have a cell phone.  She explained that got locked out of her house while taking her dog to pee and needed to call a friend to let her in.  Of course I loaned her my phone, she looked like she might cry.  I don’t do well with criers.  I get embarrassed and exasperated.  Also, I usually say something that makes them cry more.
While she was on the phone, Worm finally looked up at her (he is in the “pretend strangers are speaking a foreign language and smell really bad” phase of toddlerhood) and saw her dog. He said DOG!  So asked him if he wanted to pet the dog and he said “NO! NO!”
Worm doesn’t want to pet the dog?  He LOVES dogs. This is the kid that wants to pet the dogs on TV.  He wants to pet dogs that are viscously growling at him from the back of pick-up trucks. He sticks his fingers through our fence and cries “pet, pet, pet” when our neighbor’s dog is in the yard.  He constantly wants to watch videos of himself petting Coco’s dogs. Why does he not want to pet this dog?
So I really looked at the dog and I saw why.  I didn’t even want to be standing next to this dog. It was the ugliest thing I have ever seen.  This dog should have been in a shoebox in the backyard a decade ago.  
It was a toy poodle, but with a huge bloated belly.  Its tiny poodle head and skinny poodle legs looked like they were sticking out of a bowling ball covered with tannish/pinkish mashed potatoes. The dog’s skin was beige, but its fur was a weird peachy color.  The dog’s belly was so swollen that you could see more skin than fur.  It also had those gross doggie eye boogers.  I wouldn’t pet this dog on a bet.
Then the lady handed back my phone and noticed we were both staring at her dog with our mouths open.  She misread our disbelief as interest and held the dog out toward me saying “This is Ginger. She is 16 years old and a diabetic.”  I actually took a step backward before I could catch myself. I usually have better control over my body language, but the repulsive dog was really throwing me.
The lady was clearly not big on social cues, so she kept talking about the dog.  She told me how she came to be Ginger’s owner.  This was not an interesting story.  She told me all of Ginger’s medical history.  This was slightly more interesting than the doggie adoption story, but only because at one point Ginger died on the vet’s table and he “brought her back from the other side.”  Yes that is the exact phrase she used.  I had trouble controlling my body language at this point too, I think the “I’m trying not to laugh at you” look crossed my face briefly.  She saw the look on my face and said “Everyone is always so touched by that story.” 
Then she said, “You know Ginger is what they call an apricot poodle.  I love her color so much that I took a sample of her fur to my beautician so she could cover my gray with the same color.”
Here is what happened in the next two seconds.
My brain screamed: HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD!  Did she really just say that she dyes her hair to match her disgusting little dog?!!!???!!?
My mouth said: “It was nice to meet you.  I’m sorry we can’t wait until your friend arrives, but I am afraid the baby’s head will sunburn without a hat.”
I was so desperate to get away from her before I said or did something offensive, that the best excuse I could think of was a sunburn on my child’s head.
How the hell did I come off looking like the weird one?

So I am not the only one who thinks Huck is brilliant

I took copies of his story to his teachers this morning and thanked them for giving an assignment that really spoke to him.  If he turns out to be a gifted writer I will be so proud!  Lord knows he isn’t going to be an athlete or artist, maybe writing will be his outlet too.

Then, on a whim, I gave a copy to the principal.  She thought it was so good that she is going to share it with the school board.  They are lunching/touring/meeting at Huck’s school today. 
Pretty cool, huh?

So Huck is brilliant

This week in school, Huck is learning about the author Laura Numeroff.  She writes the “If You Give” books.  Pretty much anyone with children under 12 has read “If You Give A Mouse a Cookie.”  

After school he was telling me about one of his assignments.  It was to come up with his own start for an “If You Give” story.  His idea was: “If you give a whale seaweed, he’s going to want to give a seaweed massage to an electric eel.”  He was very proud of this idea and particularly pleased that Miss J thought it was funny.  
I was shocked by his chattiness.  On school days, my super sweet mama’s boy is not usually his super sweet self until close to bedtime.  On the weekends, super sweet boy doesn’t show up until noon on Saturday.  So I decided to take advantage of the moment and oh so casually (I used my – I don’t really care, please don’t let the salivating fool you – voice so that he wouldn’t get suspicious and lapse back into shrugging and grunting at me) asked if he would finish the story for me.
He happily obliged and I came home and wrote it right down.
If You Give a Whale Seaweed – By Jackson Collins
If you give a whale seaweed, he’s going to want to give an electric eel a seaweed massage.  The shock from the electric eel will remind him of lightening bolts, so he’ll want you to take him outside in the rain.  The splattering of the rain will remind him of The Goop Zone, so he will want to go play paintball.  The paintball guns will remind him of a western movie, so he’ll want to go see a western.  The loud noise from the movie will remind him of a thunderstorm, so he will want you to take him outside in the rain.  The lightening bolts will remind him of an electric eel, so he’ll want to give an electric eel a seaweed massage.  So he is going to need some seaweed.

So this is what it has come to

I was actually trying to write a post from my iPhone in the Wal-Mart parking lot this morning. For some reason, I could only type in the title box, so it didn’t happen.  Huck is currently at Tae Kwon Do with Grandpa and Worm is eating, so I am stealing a few minutes to complete my thoughts from 8:20 a.m.  They will not be as sharp as they would have been this morning.  At 8:20 this morning I thought of some funny stuff, but now the funny has worn off.  I am, without a doubt, a morning person.  In fact 3-6 p.m. is my worst time of day. I’m just warning you in case this post is lame.  

I just re-read that paragraph, it’s already lame.  If you quit reading now I won’t get my feelings hurt.

Still with me?  Brave soul.  Or possibly you are a masochist?  Whatever butters your muffin.
So my hair dryer decided to break this morning.  It seems I have bad hair dryer juju.  Years ago it was bad blender juju.  More recently it has been bad coffee maker juju.  In case you are wondering, I define bad appliance juju as having an appliance and its replacement break within a few months of each other.  For blenders it was 3 blenders in a year.  The coffee pot juju spanned a couple of years.  I am guessing 7 coffee pots in 2& 1/2 years.  I am actually glad to be rid of the bad coffee pot juju.  If I had to choose getting through my day with bad hair or getting through my day without coffee, I would go with bad hair.
Because of the broken hair dryer, I was running about 10 minutes early this morning. Normally I would hang out at the school and see what events might need my assistance this week. However, I promised Huck that I would never go into his school looking really bad, and my hair looked really bad.  So I dropped him off.
Dropping him off only made me more early.
Are you wondering what a stay at home mom with no life outside her kids could possibly be early for?  Thought so.
The popcorn chicken, duh.
If we get to Wal-Mart before 8:30, we have to wait on the chicken and then it is too hot to eat. Worm is a toddler.  ‘Nough said.
So how did I resolve this?  We sat in the Wal-Mart parking lot and watched an Elmo DVD until 8:35.
This is what has become of my life.

So I wasn’t going to actually moon you

Disclaimer: I am using the word bottom in this post to discourage any pervy googlers who are looking for free stuff that rhymes with corn.  If I were telling you this story in person I would use more colorful language.

I was going to post a picture of my bottom today.  Half of you are really happy I didn’t, the other half are disappointed.  Trust me, I know which category you fall into.

Here’s the deal.  I got up at the crack (bottom pun intended) of dawn, as usual.  I showered, did the make-up & blow-dryer thing, as usual.  I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, as usual.  Then I glanced in the mirror and saw something unusual.
HEY!  My rearview is particularly nice today!  
I was so excited to be having a good bottom day that I tried to take a picture of myself from the back (fully dressed, back-off google pervs).  I gave up after five minutes of failure.  Five minutes is my threshold for most annoying or uncomfortable things.  This is why I don’t go to the gym. By the time I get up the stairs at the gym, I am annoyed and uncomfortable, so I’m out. 
That explains my shock at the pleasant rearview, right?
Anyway, all the extra thought about my bottom dialed up a memory for me.
Several years ago, Truck, Huck and I went out to lunch with some friends who had a new baby. At one point the new mom went to the restroom.  While she was gone, her husband asked us to make a big deal about how great she looked.  It seems she was really unhappy with her post-baby body and he didn’t know how to soothe those particular feelings.
Truck jumped right in and told him that MY body didn’t look like it used to and that they should both accept that this is the way it is after you have kids.
I screamed “WTF?” In my head.
Luckily I am a compartmentalizer.  By the time the meal was over I had processed the comment and was fine.
Truck wasn’t saying that I was a fatty fatty fatso.  ‘Cause I’m not.  But I don’t weigh a buck-o-five anymore either.  He wasn’t insulting me, he was advising his friend.
So, back to my a… um…. bottom.  After you have kids, you look different, that’s a fact. But for a brief moment, I was looking pretty awesome for a 35 year old mother of two who freely admits her love for junk food and aversion to the gym.
However, I just checked a minute ago.  The rearview is not looking so hot anymore.  Must have been those pancakes we ate for lunch.

So I can’t find my corn zipper

I was going to take a picture of my corn zipper and put it up for those of you who don’t have weird unused kitchen gadgets.  

Do you think this means my neighbor is a spy instead of a terrorist?  
Holy nibblets! Is he a terrorist spy?
Big E, do you think the H/A militia is closing in on me?
I am going to go set the alarm and sit on the couch with a bag of tootsie rolls now.  I want to show good faith when they come to get me…

So I never thought I would need a mortar and pestle

I am not much of a cook.  It’s not that I’m lacking in skill.  I just don’t want to put the time and effort into it.  That is pretty much the story of my life: the talent is there but I have no ambition.  Hmm, should I consider this further?  Nah, don’t wanna.

The point is, kitchen gadgets are wasted on me.  I have a drawer full of little items that will only be used if I go insane.  Insane as in: I become convinced my neighbors are terrorists, kidnap one of them and use the kitchen gadgets as tiny instruments of torture.  I will probably never go insane enough to use something like a corn zipper for actually removing corn from the cob.  Note to people who use a corn zipper – The freezer section of your store provides giant bags of corn already removed from the cob!  I know, science and technology are wonderful. You can even get it in a can if you don’t mind the weird canny taste.
Wow, this post has taken an odd turn.
Back to the titular mortar and pestle.  I have been wishing for one since last Wednesday when I began the Crushing of the Chewable Antibiotics torment.
I was all set to call the doctor on Thursday and tell them exactly what I thought about the hiding the chewables in pudding suggestion.  But then my guilt-o-meter hit level ten and I had to follow through with the crushing to diminish the guilt.  
Oh you don’t have a built in guilt-o-meter?  Mine was obviously implanted by a sadistic OB/GYN during one of the early prenatal visits while I was pregnant with Huck.  Basically I can only endure so many hits of “feeling guilty” before I must perform some self-sacrificing act for my children.  After I have worked off my feelings of guilt and inadequacy, the meter resets to zero and I have a few more days of ignoring the nibbles of guilt.  I think the meter might keep me from imploding (or possibly it keeps my neighbors safe from the corn zipper – I’m not sure on this).
Here is how my guilt meter filled up to the point that I had to continue with the pain in the ass antibiotic crushing.
  1. I failed to believe that my child was truly sick for the first 24 hours of his illness. Two points.
  2. I sent sick child to his room for being whiny. One point.
  3. I took my child to the doctor where he was diagnosed with a real illness.  This gets one point on the guilt-o-meter for Huck (Three if Worm is sick because he is home with me all day so the exposure to illness is more directly my fault.)
  4. I allowed the child to play video games until he was exhausted and teary because it made him forget his sore throat. Two points.
  5. I drug the sick child to Target although he was dead on his feet and quite nauseated. Two points.  In my defense, I had to get his medicine filled.
  6. I bought the sick child junk food for lunch hoping to make up for my impatience with him before the illness was diagnosed. One point.
  7. I did not diligently push liquids to keep sick child hydrated. One point.
So I had to suck it up and crush the damn pills into dust and carefully stir them into pudding and then monitor every bite of the pudding to ensure maximum medicinal consumption.  If I had called back for liquid antibiotics the police would currently be searching for my neighbor.
They never would have found him, my corn zipper is deadly.

So here are my Tuesday tunes

I was too tired to pick a specific song today.  I just let it shuffle through one of my playlists.  It turned out to be a pretty comical mix.  Here are the songs I listened to between Grandpa’s house and my house

So I have decided to stick with Dead Milkmen today.  It makes me feel like I’m in eighth grade. I seriously just typed the word eighth like six times before I got it right.  Did I mention I am tired?  
Are you bored?  Click here and print out this Punk Rock Girl paper doll.

So I didn’t sit down to write about this, but it is what came out

Several weeks ago I located an old friend.  I googled him and he popped right up.  It was disarmingly easy.
I sent him an email.  The email was abrupt and strangely worded, but I don’t know how to do things any other way.  I can be a little intense. Shocking revelation, huh?  But he wasn’t phased by having me jump into his inbox after 18 years.
So now we have an email friendship.  It’s not a real friendship because we don’t really know each other anymore.  I can’t imagine any scenario where we would ever catch up over coffee or meet at the park to watch our kids play together. But it has meaning for me anyway. It has been comforting for me to have contact with this person from my former life (read:youth). It allows me to think about myself as a sentimental person, whereas before I would have described myself as purposefully unsentimental. 
I have always been able to let people walk out of my life when we were finished with each other.  I don’t give in to the “what ifs”.  My life has been one big “what if” from the moment I was born.  I adopted a no speculation policy at a young age and it has served me well.
But for some reason this person was always there in a rusty file drawer in my hippocampus. Yes, I picture my brain like a file cabinet.  I am very good at compartmentalizing my feelings.  I actually file them away to be dealt with when I am ready.  You should see me in a tough meeting.  When everyone else is upset or angry I just stick it all in a drawer and keep things moving.  I have a fabulous “meeting face” which is much like a poker face, but involves slight smirking which is probably not good during poker.  Anyway, he was there, the one person I still occasionally wondered about.  Not in a “what if we were together” kind of way more like a “what would this person think about this” kind of way.

So, I didn’t sit down to write about this, but I read an email from him right as I logged on and he said something about the blog that really struck me:

“It’s important to have something that’s yours, to mark the time and focus your thinking about the things that are happening.”
Before the blog, I had nothing that was just mine.  I was feeling lost and unfocused.  It is amazing how much more attention I pay to my life now that I have this blog.  Everything has blog potential which makes me consider the moments I was letting pass me by.  Even if something doesn’t make it in a post, I still lived it more fully because it had potential at the time. I am not doing this for attention or money or really even for sentimentality.  I am doing this because it is the first creative outlet I have ever found that fit for me.
I have said this before and I will say it again – THANK YOU JO FOR SUGGESTING I START A BLOG.  I had no idea how much I needed to do this.

So I am never using that pediatrician again

I have to keep this short because I AM NOT STAYING UP LATE TONIGHT.  

Truck is in New Jersey this week.  He called me last night to inform me that one of his co-worker’s homes was damaged in a tornado and said tornado was headed toward me.  I watched the news and we seemed to be getting storms and winds, but all our local weathermen said the rain was keeping the tornado activity at bay.
I was still all freaked out.  I stayed up until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer and then I woke up every half hour because the wind was so loud.
However, despite my sleep deprivation, I still have a small rant in me.
Huck is taking antibiotics for his strep throat.  He wanted to try the chewable kind this time rather than liquid.  Huge mistake.  Apparently they are completely disgusting.
I went to Target today to see if I could turn in the chewables and get a refill in liquid form.  I fully intended to pay for them, or rather allow my insurance to pay for most of them and I would chip in $10.
This could be a very detailed story.  I was in Target twice today, so you know some funny shit happened.  I am too tired for that so I will cut to the chase: the pediatrician (again NOT my regular pediatrician) did not want to call in a new prescription.
WTF did she think I was going to do with two antibiotic prescriptions?  This isn’t percocet here people, its a child’s dose of amoxicillin or something (I’m not getting up to look at the bottle at this point).  Plus I was willing to surrender the original pills to the pharmacist.
Her suggestion was that I crush up the chewables and put them in pudding.  Clearly she does not have children.  Or possibly she thinks I deserve punishment for allowing my child to play video games in her presence.
Here is how the crushing of the chewables went down.
I had to think really hard about the best way to crush the pills to ensure maximum crushiness with minimum medicinal loss.  I settled on a ziplock bag and meat tenderizer mallet (flat side, not pointy or that would puncture the bag).  It worked fine except I couldn’t get all of the powdered medicine out of the bag.  Isn’t the idea behind antibiotics that you have to take to whole prescription?  Crushing chewables pretty much guarantees loss at every dose.
Then I have to stir the powder into the pudding.  Note to self, do not use original pudding cup for this.  The pudding cup is too small and more medicine is lost.
Then Worm sees the pudding so I have to get him some too.  Great, now both my children will be eating pudding twice a day.  Healthy.
Now comes the fun part.  I have to stand over Huck like the pudding police to ensure all the pudding goes in his mouth.  One big glob hit the floor so that is more medicine that didn’t make it into his body.  I literally made him lick the bowl to make sure he got as much as possible.  He complained the whole time that it tasted funny.  This is a step up from the crying, gagging and general drama that came with eating them plain, but it was still annoying to have him comment about every bite.
Then I realized I have to do this twice. a. day. every. day. until. next. Wednesday.  
I am calling back tomorrow and telling them that crushing chewables is a terrible suggestion and they can either call me in some liquid or come to my house twice a day to deal with the administration of the antibiotics.  
I’m fine with either.
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