This rough stuff that I mentioned the other day? My dad has a malignant, golf-ball-sized tumor on his small intestine. He’s in surgery right now. I’ve been hanging out at the hospital today. Prognosis is good so far.
Cancer can suck a dick.
Oregon Trail owns. As an adult, I can say that one of my mottoes has always been, “Caulk the wagon. Ford the river.”
So, I got a really irritating letter from the bank. Not quite as panic-inducing as some of their previous correspondence, but it means that some time next week I have to take time out of my day YET AGAIN to deal with those fools. And don’t THINK I’m not going to make some snide remarks about how glad I am to help THEM through this difficult time, what with the financial crisis hitting our rich people so hard. In fact, I might ask if I can have the honor of putting the $30 that they’re asking for now right in the hands of the CEO and be like, “Oh, I was just going to use this for something silly, like my water bill. Here you go. Have a retreat or something!”
Anyway, I had to go to CVS a little bit ago to get some pain relievers because…well, PNC picked a really bad time of the month to act like this if you know what I mean. While I was walking back, the nail shop pulled me in.
The manicurist called me “hon,” and spoke at lightning speed to her mom on the phone and the next thing I knew I had a perfectly corny full set of nails.
Typing is difficult, but I figure folks at the bank will know not to mess with me. I will scratch a bitch.
I would like to state publicly and for the record that PNC Bank is the worst bank ever and I deeply regret ever getting involved with them. If you work for PNC or know anyone who works for PNC, you should consider finding new employment rather then be associated with crooked thieves who have the brass balls to harass a working mother for months on end. For shame. Seriously.
My CSA subscription continues to be awesome. However, I am failing one important piece of produce. They keep sending beautiful bunches of green leaf lettuce. And I guess once summer is over, I am just done with salad for the year. The lettuce sits in the fridge while I go, “Uuggghhh, I really need to wash that lettuce and eat it but graaarrraghhhghhhg it’s October! Don’t wanna!” And the husband and the baby aren’t really lettuce eaters, period.
I’m ashamed to tell you that I’ve thrown out at least 4 heads of lettuce. I’m determined to use this one because letting veggies rot in a landfill is sort of antithetical to some of the reasons I subscribed to the CSA in the first place.
But if I can find some preserving agent, I can just convert this week’s lettuce into some sort of mantle decoration.
Isn’t it fancy? I don’t know why it’s so spread out like that, but I had a hell of a time stuffing it into a bag for the fridge.
Also, these:
Oh, man. I’ve had three since I’ve been home and I’m sure I’ll have at least one more before the night is over. I’m going to have to start going to meetings for these shits.
It’s been awhile since I mentioned any of my cooking adventures, no? Last night ended up being all about pumpkin. For dinner, I made Pumpkin Pasta. Really yummy. I added an extra teaspoon of hot sauce and some curry powder just for an extra flavor. Also, I didn’t have sage so I just used some dried rosemary instead.
I told the sister-in-law that I would make pumpkin cookies to take to D.C. with her today. So I made those last night which spared me from watching most of the debates.
(By the way, my favorite Twitterers are the fake people that I follow, which now includes most of the characters from Mad Men. Case in point: this nugget of awesome from Betty Draper.)
Anyway, those cookies are so, SO good. I make them at least two or three times every fall, a fact which Frank used to mock me about and yes, Frank, I used the special pumpkin-shaped spatula last night because I am just that rad.
I made them for a party a couple of years ago, and near the end of the night, Jwan and I were collapsed on a couch, somewhat, er, incapacitated. We ate cookie after cookie and Jwan kept turning to me and very solemnly saying, “Thank you so much for making these cookies. I love them.”
I considered bringing one or two with me to work today so I could snack on them later, but decided against it and now that’s all I can think about. Like, “Okay, only 7 more hours until I am in the same building as the cookies. I can do this.”
Sometimes I think me and my family are being directed by some omnipotent force with a seriously sick sense of humor. God? I don’t know. Maybe if god is a drunken Woody Allen, then his direction for last night’s comedy of errors would be something like this:
Okay, Greedo (cat). You haven’t knocked anything off of any surface in months. Now stare deviously at the cactus on the mantle in the baby’s room. Lick your lips and jump onto the mantle. Tiptoe to the cactus. Now touch…touch…push! Now hide! They’re going to be pissed!
Kelly, grab Greedo, call him an asshole and give him to the husband, then carefully pick up the cactus with an oven mitt.
Cactus, stare up at Kelly with a “What did I do?” look. Great!
Husband, start your futile attempts to re-pot the cactus with the dry-ass soil. Wiggle the cactus to see if it will stay put. Once it starts to fall, grab it with your bare hand! Perfect! Now swear! Keep swearing! Tell the cat you’re going to kill him. Amazing. This is great stuff, guys.
Enter neighbors across the street! Alright, 3-year-old daughter, start screaming and crying! Keep going! Parents! Don’t make any attempts to comfort her. Repeat this process for the next two hours.
Okay, now we’re at the bar. Kelly, order a gimlet and some potstickers. Order another gimlet. Burn the roof of your mouth on the potstickers. Order another gimlet….aaaaaand one more. Great! Talk to Jwan about some stuff. Talk to Karen about vegetables. Show Maria your iPhone and then slur to her about graduate school.
Alright, let’s go home. Husband, curl up next to Kelly and attempt to make some moves. Kelly, be waaaaayyy too tired and breathe vodka breath into the husband’s face.
Oh, it’s 4:50 a.m.! Kelly, it’s time for your sneezing attack. And the baby, it’s time for you to get up and need some help turning the light on in the bathroom. Yeah, you guys do this every night. You know the drill.
Kelly, it’s 6 a.m. Your alarm is going off. Press the snooze button. Repeat this action 15 times. Alright, now it’s 7:15 and you really need to get out of bed. Note that your hangover seems to reside solely in your knees. Check the weather on your phone and wonder why you were reading the Wikipedia page for William F. Buckley, Jr.
We’re heading to Kelly’s in a little bit to wish the sister-in-law bon voyage. She’s being TOTALLY ORIGINAL and moving out of Pittsburgh now that she’s done with college. Gee, no one’s ever done that before. Yes, jump right into my diaspora, the water’s warm.
I just wanted to pop up really quick and let you all know that The Search for the World’s Most Useless Hospital Gown is now over. I found it at Magee. It features 9 straps, none of which are able to meet and tie at any point. Four of these straps are, bafflingly, around the neck and the rest dangle like undercooked fringe around the waist. I also wowed the nurse with my prowess when I backed into and nearly knocked over that flashlight that they shine in your vag. See, if they had just let me have my appointment yesterday none of this would have happened.
Later.
…now I just need testicles, a wallet, and a watch and I’ll be able to make the sign of the cross! Also, bonus stuff for you lucky ducks: post-Wal-Mart stringy hair and pimples! Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.
I’m still getting used to them, but I think I’m pretty happy.
With my 30th birthday quickly approaching (17 days!), I find myself in some sort of nesting mode. Sure, 30 is just a number but if all things go according to the loose plans that we have for life, this next year is going to be a pretty big one. So, in a way, I’m preparing to give birth to a new phase in life…to be all corny and new age about it.
I’m taking baby steps in getting our house in order. I’m taking care of long-overdue tasks, like getting new glasses (which I’m going to go pick up in a little bit eeee!). I’m trying to dig myself out of a stress and depression induced slump in which I totally let myself look like I was stressed and depressed. I bought some new clothes and shrugged my shoulders at the larger size and am also subscribing to the philosophy that a little lipstick can make you feel a lot better. I’m still no big fan of makeup but I’ll indulge it more often.
Am I sounding like a Cosmopolitan issue yet?
Anyway, another big thing is that I’m actually keeping a calendar. I have a pile of abandoned day planners and good intentions. But the calendar on my iPhone is actually the right tool for me. I make note of any event that I need to remember, thereby lessening the strain on my poor brain.
I knew that I had my annual gyno appointment today at 9 a.m. and got myself all prepared. The baby slept at the mother-in-law’s house last night since he is off school today, making our departure much more streamlined. I got to the doctor’s office a good five minutes before my appointment and went to check in, but the receptionist couldn’t find me on the books. That’s because my appointment is TOMORROW at 9 a.m.
I really, really had to restrain myself from asking if I could just have my appointment then anyway, since I was there and ready to face the stirrups. But I guess they don’t cushion the schedule for nitwits who show up 24 hours early.
No matter. I went to CVS and bought Claritin in the hopes of reclaiming my head from the depths of these horrendous allergies. I keep hoping that they’ll just go away but I’ve been hoping that since, like, February.
By the way, if you’re in Pittsburgh and looking for a haunted house to visit, you can go ahead and skip ScareHouse. The wait to get in ranges between 1 and 4 hours and it really is not that scary or even very interesting. There were some parts that were alright, but I really don’t know how it got all of the accolades it did. Tom Savini’s various haunted houses were much better and you’re probably better off going to whatever cheap local thing you have near you.
