I'm really not that busy

Finding hilarity in the mundane since 2008

Monthly Archives: June 2009

Don’t Do It (my favorite song by The Band)

Oh, I forgot to tell you guys, the kids also won a bunch of candy at Fast Lanes. Not just crappy off brand candy either. Full-sized candy bars. Hershey’s and shit.

Okay, so technically I won it, but I immediately bequeathed it to the big kids.
Okay, so technically I didn’t bequeath it to them ’cause I think then I would have to die before they got the candy. But, I did tell them it was all theirs and made good on this promise by making Huck & Mel divide it up as soon as Worm went down for his nap.
Those candy bars are now mocking me. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower to stay away from the candy. I want to run to the kitchen, fling open the pantry door, move the collection of Wal-Mart sacks, open the random left-over Christmas box…..
Crap, now I have to think up a new candy hiding spot or you blood-suckers will sneak in and clean me out.
Shit, guys, I want to rip into that candy with such force that I eat some of the wrappers and not even notice.
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Outnumbered

Took Huck, Worm, and Mel to Fast Lanes today.

Holy !*(@#$%^&)+#$, what was I thinking? This is not the sort of place you should go when you are outnumbered 3:1 by kids. At one point, the big kids hit a 1000 ticket jackpot. They were giddy. I was nauseated. All I could think was, “Great, instead of 5 plastic trinkets, we get 50.”

Jelly Beans

Worm is cupping a tiny bowl of mixed Jelly Bellies. He’s quite taken with the selection. He spends a few minutes touching each bean and saying all the colors he can name. Speckled isn’t in his repertoire yet, he calls those pink.

Which bean will be first? The choice seems impossible. Finally, he selects a candy. I wait to hear his assessment. It’s instant and definite. He spits it on his shirt. Black licorice.
I wipe his mouth and say, “Sorry, dude, some people like it. Try again.”
Number two elicits cries of terror. Hot cinnamon.
“Oh, baby… I thought it would be cherry. Here drink some of my water. Better now? Wanna try again? No? Okay, I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.”
I settle down with a book thinking an Elmo DVD might buy me twenty minutes to read. I get thirty minutes! That’s the toddler jackpot. The interruption is a sticky little hand on my leg. I look down and see his cheeks loaded with what has to be the remainder of his jelly beans.
He points to his mouth and says, “I like dat one!”

Gum isn’t candy

According to this article, Orbit gum is the number one selling candy in Russia.

Um, the space race is over. You can eat chocolate bars and gummy bears now.
Plus, this same article mentions that Trident was the first gum in space. Shouldn’t Trident be on submarines or something?
Okay, so I have a problem with the whole article… gum isn’t candy.

Dishpan hands

My dishwasher has been broken all week. I have been completely inconvenienced and put upon by the whole hand-washing thing. Tonight I mentioned to Truck that I’ve never lived in a house without a dishwasher. He replied that he didn’t live in a house with a dishwasher until he was eighteen, which means his mom didn’t have one until she was in her forties.

Um, yeah, we’re talking about MY pain here.

Mocking Potatoes

Did I ever write about the time I made mock mashed potatoes using steamed cauliflower? The healthy cookbook said my family wouldn’t even know the difference. Holy Vegans, it was so gross! Clearly the cookbook author’s family is a bunch of ruhtards. It’s still the gold standard for gross things I make Huck try one bite of. Tonight I made smashed potatoes. He got confused about what those were and started to cry and said he didn’t want mocking potatoes.

Vegas, I’m not that busy style

I’ve started and deleted this post three times since Monday night. My original thought was to do a parody of The Hangover using things that actually happened to me & Truck in Vegas. Turns out, that’s a lot of work. I’m nothing if not lazy.

Next, I was going to tell of my Vegas adventure from my hair’s point-of-view. I started out with airplane hair, then I had a great hair night, next my hair was normal, then wavy, then frizzy, then it got really dry, and finally I ended with airplane hair again. Sounds weird, right? It was. And stupid. And not funny. And hard to follow.
My third idea was haikus. However, this proved to be too much work, too hard to follow, and not an original blog format. Lots of bloggers haiku.
So, where does that leave me? Bullet points, of course. For fun, I’m writing them in no particular order. Less work for me and all.
  • On the way to Vegas I sat between Truck and a skinny, sleepy girl with really bad breath. Note to skinny girls: if you eat something, your breath won’t smell so bad. I’m not making that up, not eating enough carbs makes your breath stink. Google it. Anyway, at one point Truck motioned to the ring on her finger and mouthed, “check out the rock.” I mouthed back, “fake.” Here is how I knew: bad skin, too much make-up (spider-leg lashes), inexpensive clothes, all other jewelry was cheap looking. The ring was at least 3 carats. Ladies, are you with me on this one? If someone in your life could afford a real diamond that big wouldn’t you also be getting facials and new clothes out of the deal? And maybe some Listerine.
  • Cabbies:
  1. Greek, told us about people in his family we were never going to meet and a monastery in Arizona. Dude, shut-up!
  2. Really, really large, but mostly in his bottom-half. I can only imagine what the driver’s seat of the cab looked like. Dude, how do you buy suits? Do you get two and just toss one whole jacket and one whole pair of pants?
  3. Grumpy as hell, turned up the song Sensual Seduction. Seriously, dude, that song is so bad it makes my teeth itch. Plus, if you don’t like people getting in and out of your car and asking you to drive them places, don’t be a cab-driver. Just sayin’.
  4. Pleasantly cursed at every other car on the road, generously honked his horn to remind all other drivers that he was more important than them, kindly weaved in and out of traffic to stay out of everyone’s way, dropped me NOWHERE NEAR the American Airlines check-in. Dude, you’re an a-hole.
  • Truck and I enjoyed people-watching at Olives at Bellagio. Most fascinating are the people who look alike but are much too young to already look alike. It’s cute when old people look alike. It’s creepy when newlyweds do. For example, the couple in my direct line of vision were in their early twenties, with short brown hair, gold wire-rimmed glasses and light blue shirts with black pants. Plus they were both soft and doughy, but not fat (Yes, I know. Hello, Kettle. I’m Pot.). It was just sad.
  • Diagonally to my left was a party of four that made up for the sad doughy kids. They, too, were in their early twenties. Best I can figure, they were about to attend an “ironic” dress like it’s your Jr. Prom party. Surely that was it. Please, let that be the case, because they were knocking ’em back in a way that suggested unprotected bathroom sex was immanent. Okay, so now I’m just being mean and judgmental. Stick with me, I’m sure it’ll get worse.
  • In Vegas, everyone checks everyone else out all the time. Well, not everyone. The only people who checked me out were at least twenty-five years older than me. I must look really hot to the the retirees. That’s actually better than the interest I garner at home. Around town I attract men who are missing teeth, speak broken English, or talk aloud to themselves. Give me a sane, English-speaking, sixty-year old with a realistic set of dentures and I might just hit that.
  • Once, in front of the elevators, there was a group of Tibetan monks. They were completely blocking the elevator to my floor, but I had to pee really bad and wanted to do so in my room instead of the casino bathroom, so I just squeezed through them. There was a drunk guy (mid-forties, so way too young for me) who barged through them and got on the elevator with me. When the doors shut he says, “What’s with all the llamas?”
  • I couldn’t sleep late. I was wide awake by 5 a.m. every morning. That’s 7 a.m. here. However, sleeping until 7 a.m. is pretty decadent for me. So I was up and wondering around by six every morning. It was fun to watch the other folks who were also unable to sleep late (I picked up a lot of guy’s numbers during those times. Get it? Old guys wake up early?). It was even more fun to hang around the tables and watch the people who hadn’t been to bed yet. Such exuberance! Also, I saw a guy who looked just like Shane Sparks. Shane Sparks was in line at Starbuck’s in the Mirage at 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning.
  • Speaking of Starbuck’s. How is their coffee so consistently bad? Chains all over the planet and the coffee still tastes like singed ass hair.
  • I overheard this conversation: “Hey, you’re doing sidewalks now? I thought you were on bus-stops.” “I was, but they always smelled like beer and piss.” Okay, now, get your mind out of the gutter, it was maintenance men, not ‘ladies’. My thought was ‘When you took the job, what did you think a bus-stop would smell like?’
  • There’s an adult pool at the Mirage. I asked Truck to stand by the adult pool sign and look scandalized. He refused. He’s the only person who won’t humor me on that shit. That’s probably what’s keeping us together.
  • Truck and I were on the elevator with another couple. A generic soft-rock song was playing and the other dude started grooving along a little. Then he caught me looking at him and got all embarrassed. He probably wouldn’t have cared except that Truck and I were the doughy white couple in this scenario, not them.
  • Have you ever noticed that large crowds of people always smell like curry farts? Do we all become gassy Indians when mashed together?
  • I was outside writing in my notebook one morning, two girls wobbled up on painful looking shoes and sat down just slightly too close to me. Far enough away that I would look weird if I moved down, but close enough that I couldn’t do anything but listen to their conversation. Mostly they texted and talked on their phones. There was much talk of ‘hooking up later’. It was patently uninteresting as far as eavesdropping goes. Then one of them says, “My dad’s on facebook now.” Then the other says, “I know, I accepted a friend request from him the other day.” A few minutes go by, then the first girl jumps up and says, “We have to go remove a bunch of tags NOW!”
  • Vegas is the only places where smokers are still unapologetic. Smokers don’t skulk in Vegas. They wave it around in your ice cream like it’s 1974.
  • I read this in a book while there, “If I stop judging other people, I free myself from being judged.” Patti Digh (Life is a Verb).
  • Sure, Patti, but can it wait until after I get the Vegas post finished?
  • When you sit outside with a notebook, people think you’re going to draw them. Hello, I have a blue pen and a lined composition notebook, are you a moron?
  • I really like cocktails in ice-cold, sugar-rimmed martini glasses. I would rather have several $14 drinks than gamble. Ends up costing less in the long run. I particularly liked the Showgirl at BLT Burger, the Slingback at Olives and the Floating Orchid at Japonais.
  • The Mirage has a Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat. Big cats and dolphins in a mini zoo. It was really cool and all, great for kids. However, you have to walk through a casino to get to it. What do you do? Cover the kid’s eyes just incase? What if you want to take the preschoolers on a field trip? I’m guessing blindfolds.
  • I love the lighting in the bathroom of my room at the Mirage. It’s the most flattering bathroom light ever! I spent an inordinate amount of time admiring myself in that mirror.
  • My pen ran out once when I was taking notes outside. I shook it and it fell in some bushes. Leaned down to get it & changed my mind. It was by far the least offensive thing in that bush.
  • I decided I really like bald dudes. Saw a lot of guys who were hanging on to fewer strands than I have on my chin. The guys who just cut through the pretense make me smile.
  • Ladies, painting your toenails with only a stripe of color at the top looks stupid. Painting your toe nails silver with a black stripe at the top looks gross. Painting your toenails green with a black stripe on top looks like you have a fungus.
  • Why do people who don’t have kids and don’t look good in a swimsuit go to the pool? Is sweating and burning fun? It’s Vegas, you can see scantily clad women inside where there’s A/C.
  • Eavesdropped on a dad talking about his college-aged daughter. He said she was having to study and make financial decisions on her own for the first time. Apparently she flunked two classes and ran out of money. Now, I don’t have kids old enough for independent study or money management, but I think that introducing these concepts BEFORE they are a legal adult is wise, perhaps.
  • “Sell your cleverness and purchase bewilderment” – Rumi. He never went to Vegas or he would have known bewilderment is free.
  • Patricia from Brazil is a blackjack dealer at the Mirage. She’s obsessed with the Duggars. I’m not sure how you would determine that about your blackjack dealer, nonetheless, Truck discovered this and told her we live near them. She then told everyone who came to the table that Truck was Jim Bob Duggar’s brother. She nearly swooned when he told her we live less than a mile from Joshua Duggar’s car lot.
  • I hate not having baby wipes in my bag.
  • Truck and I played blackjack with Hesh from the Sopranos.
  • Walked to the elevator behind a guy with his arms around two very skanky girls in sliver bikinis and plexiglas shoes. The whole time I was thinking “pleasedon’tgetinmyelevator” over and over in my head.
  • If you have an actual song for your ring tone, I will make fun of you.
  • In the airport I heard a guy on the phone say, “… as if you didn’t trust me.” Dude, you’re in Vegas and said the T word in a “wounded” voice. You just bought yourself a month on the couch and couples counseling.
  • I don’t get most man jewelry. Especially gold hoop earrings. Argh, matey?
And here’s where I will end the bullets. Surely you noticed there are no tales of big wins or losses, no gushing reviews of the shows we saw, no tempting descriptions of the meals we ate. That’s just not the “i’m really not that busy” way. I live in the seams of life, not the fabric.

I have returned, I am exhausted

I have 8 notebook pages of scribbles from my Vegas trip. I’ll start sifting through them tomorrow while Worm is napping. It may take me a few days to get anything coherent put together. It’s all just impressions and brief observations, so the post will be disjointed and oddly worded. I don’t see how anything regarding Vegas could ever have a sense of flow or continuity. The whole place is just a snarl of bursting noises, flashing colors, and assaulting smells. Some good, some bad, all jarring.

A small confession

After all my big talk, I only spent $400 of my $500.  I wanted $100 for emergencies.  What happens in Vegas and all….

No, really, what does happen in Vegas?
I’ve never been.
I do know I’m not sleeping on any of my flights.  I have no intention of returning pregnant with another devil-baby.

A rare beast, indeed

This morning, I stopped to get coffee before my big $500 shopping spree and encountered a rare beast: sweaty-from-his-workout-inappropriate-cell-phone-rude-to-service-people-guy. I’ve run across sweaty guy, cell phone guy, and rude guy plenty of times.  They aren’t that rare, know what I’m sayin’? But the cross breed?  It was a truly spectacular sighting.

So dude’s in front of me in line, and he’s not just kinda sweaty.  There are rivulets of sweat running down his legs from parts of his body I really don’t want to be considering.  I actually slipped in a small puddle of jerk sweat when I stepped up in line.
Then his phone rings and he proceeds to have a conversation that forces me to further consider the sweatier parts of his body.  Yup, he went there.  Loudly.  In a lovely little local coffee shop.
When it’s his turn to order, he’s rude in that ‘I was just being funny’ way that’s never actually funny.  After placing his order, he demands the clerk recite it back.  Large vanilla latte.  That’s it. It’s not like he was making sure she understood he needed skim because he’s calorie counting or soy because he’s lactose intolerant.  Large. Vanilla. Lots of milk and foam.  Even I remember, and I’ve been trying to forget all damn day.  With the order confirmed, she asks his name to write on his cup. He tells her it’s Frank.  As she starts to write, he says, “My name’s, not really Frank? Did you think I was serious? Do I look like a Frank?”  The girl just calmly says, “What would you like me to put on your cup, sir?”
Finally, he steps away.  I look at the clerk and say, “I would have just written Dick on his cup.” She picks up his cup, turns it over, and draws a tiny little penis on the bottom.  I gave her a high five and put $3.00 in the tip jar.

Jesus is always good for a laugh

Last Saturday, Truck and I took the kids downtown for some family fun.  Truck hit the bar, I hit the corner and the kids hit the pipe.  Family fun indeed!

I kid.
Actually, we went to check out a new community sponsored event called “Take your Kid to Dickson Street”.  We opted to take both kids because it was just too hot to leave one in the car.
Again with the kidding.
What I really wanted to share with you was an exchange I had with a dad outside one of the event areas.  It was a spot set aside for the kids to draw on the sidewalk with chalk.  I opted to wait with the stroller and Truck waded in with the boys.  The other dad was waiting with his stroller too.  
At first I was minding my own business, wiping some funk off the stroller’s tray and admiring all the little chalk masterpieces.  Then something caught my eye.  I little girl named Mathilda had written of her love for Jesus directly above a spot where a kid named Landry had written his name.  Basically it said “Mathilda loves Jesus Landry”.
I turned to the dad and said, “Hey, Mathilda thinks Jesus’ last name is Landry.”
Let me interrupt this story to clarify that I live in the Bible Belt.  Opening a conversation with a slightly irreverent Jesus remark could lead to unwanted witnessing and/or stoning. 
Stroller dad didn’t miss a beat.  He replied, “Someone should tell her it’s Christ.”
So I said, “Really? I always thought it was Ovnazareth.”
We both started laughing.
Then his wife walked up and gave me the stink eye.

Normal kids make for boring posts

Hurricane Worm

Crouching Colors, Hidden Pillow

Huck’s favorite color has always been yellow. To me, it’s not the most neutral of ‘gender-neutral’ colors. Still, I’ve always let him pick out as many yellow shirts, candies, and cups as his little heart desired. Sissiness be damned.

So this morning, when Huck announced he had new favorite colors, I was more than a little interested. I figured we were finally moving into some more traditionally masculine color schemes around here.

Huck: I have some new favorite colors, but I can’t decide what order I like them in.
Me: Well, just tell them to me in any order.
Huck: Gold, silver, blue, green, red, and I still like yellow.
Me: *choke* Gold? As in gold jewlery?
Huck: Yeah, it’s shiny and nice.
Me: Okay, which of those is first? (pleasedon’tsaygoldpleasedon’tsaygoldpleasedon’tsaygold)
Huck: Gold, of course.
Me: *sigh* What’s next?
Huck: Here’s where I can’t decide between silver, blue, or green. Can they all just crouch together at second.
Me: Sure, they can crouch. What’s third?
Huck: Red.
Me: So yellow is number four?
Huck: Yes. Should I hide my yellow pillow from pre-school?
Me: Why?
Huck: So people won’t see it and think yellow is my favorite color.
Me: If you think that would be best.

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