I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: May 2009

I didn’t do that cliche thing involving vomit

I just said “Bath time!”  Worm replied, “No. Hot.”  To the untrained ear, this may sound as if Worm is requesting a cool bath.  He isn’t.  He’s requesting chicken nuggets or a hot dog.  If you spent a few days with him it would make sense to you, I swear.

Anyway, I clarified, and it turns out he wanted a turkey dog.  Dinner was less than an hour ago, but I knew there was no way to talk him out of it.  He is single-minded, to put it politely.  I’m an ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ kinda girl, so I asked Huck if he wanted a turkey dog too.  He did, but “Only if it’s frozen.”
Holy Mary Mother of God! 
My regular readers know I HATE the phrase ‘I just threw up in my mouth’, so I will not tell you that’s what happened to me.
Instead I will refer you back to this funny post I linked to a few months back.  Pick any option on this list, or off the comments.  It’s all funny and it all pretty much sums up how I felt about the frozen hot dog request.

Um, ha, ha?

Huck just made up a joke.  It’s not bad for a joke made up by a 6-year-old.  However, it’s not good either.  I’m posting it mainly to document the fact that he truly grasps the concept of wordplay. I’m really proud of that achievement.  

Drum roll please…..

How do cows learn to dance?
They just MOOOOOOOVE around.
bada bing
Um, okay, that’s all.  Just wanted to get it posted before I forgot.  Stay tuned for a post introducing you to more of my family….

So this is my last title starting with so

When I started the blog in October, using the word ‘so’ to start all my titles didn’t seem like a big deal.  To me, it went with the blog title ‘I’m really not that busy…. So I write a silly blog.’

But now it just feels confining.  Sometimes I think of a great title and then I can’t make it work with the word so.  That sucks.  I hate giving up something funny.

I also hate using nicknames for everyone, but I’ll keep those for continuity purposes.  If I ever write another blog I am dropping all anonymity, it’s a pain in the ass.
I have some posts started in my head.  Hopefully they will make it to the screen before I forget them.  This is the end of the school year, so I have some loose ends to tie up before I can get back to being not that busy.

So my birthday is in 63 days


Will someone please make this cake for me? 

I am not normally a fan of cake, but I would fork my own children in the hand if they tried to get a bite of this off my plate.

So I’m a winner!

I won a $50 Sephora gift card!  

An awesome blogger, Metalia, ran a contest last week.  All I had to do was go to youtube, look at these cool Motion Comics based on the comic strip ZITS, and then comment on her blog about the one I liked best.
When I saw it I was like “Hey, I like comics! Hey, I have opinions! I am so winning this!”
The comics were definitely worth seeing, even without the lure of a prize.  You should go check them out (however I will not be sharing my prize with you for doing it)! Click here to see the comics.
Thanks again, Metalia!

So I feel hungover, which inevitably results in my singing show tunes at breakfast

I purposefully didn’t read the side effects of my new pills before I took one.  I didn’t want to ‘know what to look for’ and then obsess over every little twinge. If I know the side effects, I’ll spend my day thinking the pills are damaging me worse than the hypertension is damaging me. Luckily I do not require medication for my tenuous grip on reality.  I would totally be the crazy, unwashed lady in the Walgreen’s parking lot who yells at the building and won’t take her meds because ‘they are trying to control me with them’. 

Being sick or pregnant or otherwise not in my normal state of health is tedious for me because of all the self-analysis that comes with it.  I like to ignore my feelings like a good little lapsed Catholic.  Basically, I want to take the pill and forget all my worries.  Unfortunately, blissful ignorance is not a side-effect of any HBP medications I know of.  I think I would have to develop Glaucoma for that particular side-effect.

So this morning I woke with a headache, nausea, and great thirst.  My first thought was, “Whoa, what’d I drink?”  Then I remembered that the kids did not drive me to drink yesterday I hadn’t had anything to drink since Friday.  My next thought was, “Crap, I have swine flu.”  Then I remembered the pills.
So I busted out the internet and took a google around.  The side-effects of my pills are blessedly few and unremarkable.  Headache, dizziness and nausea were on the list, however, that’s the holy trinity of side effects so I wasn’t surprised.
At breakfast I told Huck I wasn’t feeling that great.  He said, “You’ll feel better tomorrow, Mama.” I replied, “Tomorrow feels really far away right now.” Then he said “It’s only one day away.”
Of course I began to sing “Tommorow” from Annie.  How could I not?
When I finished, I looked expectantly at Huck.  I thought I might get a round of applause or at least a giggle. He avoided eye contact for a second, then looked at me and said, “Never do that in front of anyone.”

So I have hypertension

I just spent hours at the doctor’s office. Fun!

He took my blood pressure about 4,00 times. It was elevated every time. Such fun!
Then he sent the devil phlebotomist in to draw some blood.  Did I mention I was having fun!?
Anyway, I have hypertension.  I’m tense & hyper?  Did I need to go to the doctor to figure that out?  Maybe I did because I totally knew the tense thing, but hyper?  Really?  But I’m so lazy and unambitious? Hyper? Me?
But seriously, I have high blood pressure and I have to take some pills & go back in two weeks to check my BP & talk about the results of my blood work. 
He assured me that I was “unlikely to have a stroke”.  You notice he did not say, “You silly girl, you are much to young, and, may I respectfully add, beautiful to have a stroke.” He just said it was unlikely.  Hmm, not feeling reassured.
I’m going to go take my pill and do some yoga now.  I think hitting my system with Western & Eastern healing styles at the same time might confuse it into submission.

So I’m not the only one who is cracked

I have proof that I’m not the only person who thinks CAT TURDS when she sees Tootsie Rolls. Click here to read a post from a very talented writer who has taken the cat turd/tootsie roll thing slightly too far in a very funny way.

If you don’t remember my tootsie roll post, you can read it here.  It is not the visual treat that Marinka at Motherhood in NYC has offered, but still worth a look if you like things written by women who are just a bit off.

So I owe Jo this post

I went to Dallas this weekend to help Jo settle into her new place. However, it wasn’t all work. Friday night we went out for Sushi, drinks, and pool.  
Pool?  
Really?  
You didn’t take me for a pool player, did you?  
You would be correct. I suck at pool. Really, really, really suck.  The beers and jello shot did not help my game.  Yes, I said jello shot. No, I am not 19 years-old.  I’m sure there was a reason for the jello shot. That reason has long since escaped me.
Anyway, the point of this post is not to describe my pathetic attempt to play pool.  The reason for this post is to share with you a charming little quip I spied in the bathroom of the fine establishment where I learned that hitting the white ball in the hole is bad.
Some lovely girl wrote this pleasant little passage on the left side of the middle stall in the Back Yard Beach Club in Dallas, TX:
“You want to park your beff bus in my terd town – Ha Ha!”
I was going to add [sic] at the end of that quote, but then I decided my readers probably know I can spell the words beef and turd correctly.
I wish I had a marker with me at the time.  I so wanted to leave my own note for the author of that delightful witticism.  It was after the many beers and mysterious jello shot that I read it, however I feel that I might have invited the author to continue offering this type of sexual favor because she needs to avoid actual procreation at all costs.  
Then again, I might simply have suggested that she limit all sexual activity to solo ventures.  
I’m not sure what my mind frame was at the time.  
Did I mention I had a jello shot?

So I might have a stroke

I have a lot on my mind today. A well-written, organized post isn’t gonna happen.  In fact, I’m resorting to bullet points…

  • Sunday, I decided to start eating better, drinking more water, getting some exercise, and sleeping more than 6 hours a night.  I’ve been feeling like dog doo-doo and I know my lifestyle is the cause.
  • Today I checked my blood pressure at Wal-Mart.  It was 148/105.  That’s. Not. Good. Worm wasn’t even being a brat or anything, so it was probably accurate.
  • I now have a doctor’s appointment Wednesday morning.  Good thing I already decided on the lifestyle changes because now I’m going to get an earful about that plus some Beta Blockers. Aging is fun!
  • I am telling you all of this so that I have some accountability.

So we ate dinner at The Club

Kids eat free on Tuesday nights at The Club.  It’s not really a money saving deal for me or anything. There are plenty of places the kids and I can eat a cheap healthy meal (like our own kitchen).  But I promised Huck we would do it, and I try very hard to keep my promises to my kids. So, off to The Club we went.  Just me, the boys and twenty pounds of books, markers, and activity pads.

Things started out great and only got better.  Did you catch the sarcasm?  No? You really thought a story about an uneventful meal at The Club would make the blog?  You must be new here, welcome.  A story about a lovely meal at The Club with my two adorable and well-mannered sons would never be featured here (not that they aren’t adorable and well-mannered ((mostly)).  First, because there would be no humor in it. Second, because it would never happen.
Let’s begin, shall we? 
Worm had a runny poo on the way into The Club.  He stopped in the middle of the lobby, got a panicked look on his face, and then yelled “POO POO, MAMA!” 
This story should just end here.  If I were a more intelligent person it would.  I should have just packed it up right then.  But no, a promise is a promise.
The women’s locker room was deserted and I had a ziplock full of markers in my ammo diaper bag.  I dealt with the poo, dumped the markers loose in my bag, put the diaper in the ziplock (so the smell would be somewhat contained until the trash was emptied), washed up, and headed to the dining room.  I figured that was my disaster for the night.  I am, apparently, quite naive.
When we got to the table, Worm climbed right up into a chair before I could get him in a highchair.  This meant he would have a freak-out if I took him out of the big boy chair and put him in a highchair.  My goal for this evening was to leave the club fed and without embarrassing myself.  A Worm freak-out would completely shatter that goal, so I opted for a booster seat. It’s not ideal because he can get out of it if determined enough, but a booster seat is novel to him, so he allowed me to put him in it. I then pushed him so close to the table that he might have some slight bruising on his ribs tomorrow.  I stopped pushing when he let out a little grunt. Then I congratulated myself on another disaster averted.  Oh, I am so ignorant.  The grunt may not have been due to the overzealous pushing, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Waiting for the food went well.  The service there is impeccable, so the milks arrived quickly, the crackers were free flowing, and they turned in the kids’ portion of my order as soon as we were seated to keep the wait short.  Plus I had that half a gazillion pounds of kid entertainment with me.  Although, you’ll remember the markers are now loose in my bag.  Let’s go ahead and change that to spilled under the table.  It’s not like you couldn’t see it coming. “A minor blip”, I thought to myself.  So, so stupid.
Their food came quickly and the general business of children eating commenced.  Then I smelled a familiar smell.  I looked at Worm and asked, “Did you poo?”  He very enthusiastically replied, “UH-HUH!”  It was another runny poo.  That earlier grunt was now flashing through my mind. If I were I smart woman, I would have investigated that grunt more closely.  I believe we have established that I am not a smart woman.
Huck wanted to stay at the table alone while I ran down to change Worm.  It is not like him to want to be alone in an unfamiliar place, but I was taking any bone thrown to me at this point, so I let him.  Have we established my ignorance yet?
While I was downstairs with Worm, a thunderstorm rolled in, and my food arrived.  By the time I got back to the table, Huck was curled up sideways in his chair crying in that sad, silent way boys cry when they can’t hold back the tears but don’t want anyone to see them.  I thought he was afraid of the storm, so I hugged him and told him it would blow over soon.  He replied, “Yeah, the thunder will stop soon, but the rain won’t, and then I’ll get wet going to the car.”  I replied, “Seriously?  Your brother has filled his pants with liquid crap twice in twenty minutes, I haven’t eaten a mouthful of food, and you’re worried about getting rained on?”  Okay, so I didn’t say that to him, but I wanted to.  Instead I told him I would pull up the car for him.
This set off another round of tears!  The boy who happily stayed behind a moment ago while I went to another floor, was now balking about watching me run to the car in the rain while he stayed dry.  I told him I would find someone to wait in the lobby with him and Worm while I went to get the car.  He asked about one million and seven questions about who this person would be.  My dinner began to get cold.
Just when I was about to scream Oh my God, shut the hell up and let me eat loose my patience, Worm figured out that the whole booster seat pushed into the table was a scam.  He began to very deliberately slide down in his seat.  I grabbed him with one hand and signaled for a waitress with the other.
I asked for some to-go boxes as I put on my coat.  Worm took this opportunity to lean as far sideways as he could.  Luckily the family next to us was completely mesmerized by our chaos paying attention, and the daughter jumped up and righted Worm before gravity kicked in. 
She then knelt down between the boys, introduced herself as Elizabeth, and began talking to them as if she had known them forever.  She talked to Worm about the drawing he had scribbled and complemented Huck on his cool hoodie.  She ended up hanging out with the kids while I pulled up the car so my little princess Huck wouldn’t get wet.  
When we got home, I was soaked and starving.  The boys settled in front of the TV with some fruit and yogurt (because they hadn’t just EATEN A FULL MEAL OR ANYTHING) and I contemplated heating up my food.  Instead I started the nightly straighten-up, get kids ready for bed routine.  
I finally got Huck into bed at 7:35.  Thirty-five minutes late, but it still felt like a triumph.  As I kissed him good-night he said, “Dinner at the club was great!” I was incredulous and asked him for clarification. He responded, “The jelly on my sandwich was really good, it was neat watching the rain on the golf course, and we got to meet Elizabeth.”
I promised him we would go back for dinner very soon.  I am now officially the dumbest person on the planet.

So just call me Cleo

Worm’s second birthday party is this Saturday.  My week has been a flurry of birthday errands and chores. One of my errands was to get a number candle for his cake.
I purchased two different candles on two different days from two different stores.  
Why two candles?  To be sure the candle doesn’t clash with the cake.
Why the number one?  Because I am Queen of Denial.

So have you ever been hit in the face with a swarm of ants?

So how did I get to be the freak in this scenario?

I’ve been on a quest for cheeseballs this week.  They are surprisingly elusive.  

Worm will be two-years-old on Thursday. His birthday party is Saturday afternoon. I want to have cheeseballs as a snack at his party because he loves the scene in Alvin and the Chipmunks where Alvin dives into a bowl of cheeseballs.  He has never eaten them, but I feel certain he will be delighted with them.
Wal-Mart does not have cheeseballs.  Target does not have cheeseballs.  A local grocery chain called Harps does not have cheeseballs.  What happened to the cheeseballs?  Has there been a cheeseball recall I am ignorant of?
Today I tried Dollar General.  This is not the type of store I usually choose for my food purchases. The atmosphere in your typical Dollar General wavers between and eerily bright and cheerlessly dank.  There are lots of colorful items and toys and candy, but the overall quality of the offerings just makes me sad.  However, I felt the likelihood of finding second rate snack foods there was high.
I only found a bag of those new Giant Cheetos Cheeseballs.  The idea of giving kids cheeseballs the size of  golf balls and then turning them loose on my furniture didn’t appeal to me.  Plus the jokes I would be forced to make about the size of Chester Cheetah’s balls would be inappropriate for a child’s party.  I did find some party decorations though, so it wasn’t a wasted trip.  
It was when I got to the register, that the cheeseball quest took a turn I hadn’t foreseen.  I mentioned to the cashier that I was having a hard time finding anyone who carried cheeseballs. She said they did have cheeseballs on the bottom shelf of the chip section.  I explained those were giant cheeseballs.  She had no idea what I meant by giant, so I grabbed a bag for her to feel how big they are (I’m really not that busy, remember?).  She took the bag from me and began to palpate the enormous balls (yes, I purposefully left out the word cheese to make that sentence dirty).  It was then that I noticed her fingernails were at least three inches long.  
I was disgusted, yet fascinated.  Of course I asked if they were real.  I knew they were, but forcing her to claim them felt vital to me at that moment.  I said, “I bet you get asked that a lot.” She said she did and then added that for one week she charged 25 cents to everyone who wanted to ask about her nails and then donated the money to the March of Dimes.  I asked, “How much did you make?”  She said, “$15.50, I must have answered 100 questions that week.” I said, “62.”
She looked at me like I was Rainman and said, “Really, seems like it should be more?” Then the guy behind me pulled up the calculator on his phone and confirmed that 62 was correct.  He chimed in, “Wow, you did that in your head, are you some kind of math freak?”
How is knowing third grade math weirder than having fingernails that look like this?
By the way, someone told me Sam’s carries cheeseballs.  Stay tuned for a Worm goes to Sam’s story tomorrow.

So I owe you an apology

Apparently when I changed my layout, it did not carryover my sitemeter HTML.  That means nothing to you.  It means everything to me.  Basically, it looked as if no one had visited my blog in four days.  I’ve been vehemently cursing all of you for abandoning me. 

Then I considered that I had gotten some comments on the blog, some personal emails that related to the blog and a comment on facebook.  That’s when I realized something was amiss, or, more specifically, missing.

Um, sorry for calling you a whore-dog mother effer ugly names.  I really hope you don’t develop ugly growths on your privates like I wished for hold it against me (okay, can’t resist – I REALLY hope you don’t hold it against me if you do develop those growths).  It’s not that I obsessively watch my traffic numbers and desperately try to figure out who is reading my stuff really care if you take a day or two off.  It’s just that four days left my anxiety ridden and slightly nauseated was a bit long.
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