Gah, four days since my last post and I feel all rusty. I’m not sure how to start one of these things.
Anyway, even though it’s somewhat after the fact, I want to thank the fine gals at Cupcakes Take the Cake for featuring my little cups of sin on their site and wave hello to all of the folks who wandered over here. I also need to acknowledge the sister-in-law, who was kind enough to procure many of the ingredients and also frosted the cupcakes, which is a step that I just don’t enjoy.
Thanks, bitch.
So, dudes. I need two things from you. I’m in the market for a new (biggish) purse/tote bag and would love some recommendations for handmade types. I’m also wanting to expand my food blog reading and could use some guidance there.
I have some more substantive posts floating around in my head but I’m still all disjointed.
I’m mostly recovered from yesterday’s nonsense, though my feet still resemble raw meat loaf and are therefore still tender. It helps that it is absolutely gorgeous outside today. I walked over to the little La Prima stand on campus to buy a latte as a Friday treat and took my time getting back to the office so that I could enjoy the morning a little.
* * *
Jive Turkey commented on one of my wedding photos on flickr, and I just noticed two years after the fact that my eyes appear to be looking in two different directions. I’m looking a little “touched.”
And actually that might explain why I watched not one, but TWO episodes of My Big Redneck Wedding on fucking Country Music Television last night. I’m not sure what came over me. I guess I was just so pissy that I needed to gawk at some people who are too stupid to realize when they’re being mocked and Tom Arnold is quite possibly the most useless human being ever, so it worked out pretty well.
However, I’m still traumatized from seeing the “kiss” that this couple exchanged in which I saw two tongues flapping wildly at each other before disappearing into a sucking motion that could give my Dyson a run for its money. Ah, to be 18 and terrible at kissing.
But the bride was truly a model for thrifty weddings, since she decorated the reception venue entirely with quilts and bought all of the wedding party’s clothes in the hunting section of Wal-Mart. Hey, whatever, so long as those two crazy kids are married and happy at the end of the day that’s all that matters.
Ahem. Anyway. The sister-in-law is having her graduation party tomorrow and she and I came up with the idea of having a cupcake potluck. Her friends are making somewhere in the neighborhood of four dozen cupcakes and she and I are going to make about four dozen, as well. That equals…an assload of cupcakes.
…because it’s been ONE OF THOSE DAYS OH MY EFFING HELL.
Here we have: party socks (complete with hole [KLASS]), gaucho pants from like five years ago (elastic waistband and not fashion is key here), and some hairy legs.
What you can’t see in this picture are the five or six blisters that I got this morning traipsing through downtown after an appointment that was meh.
I passed a bread line. I’m not even kidding. There were some broke people in line and they were getting bread from some volunteers. So that was distressing.
Almost as distressing was standing at the bus stop for an hour and some change and watching every 71 ever roll past me while I muttered, “Can I get a 61? Can I GET a 61? NO? NO? WHY CAN’T I GET A 61?”
I finally called the husband and PAT’s site was down, so I decided to try that “stand on the corner and scream obscenities” thing that’s all the rage with the crazies. It was cathartic, certainly, but it didn’t procure a 61.
The husband called me back with the awesome news that PAT had discontinued 61 service to my particular stop but had never noted that on the bus stop sign. NYYYAAARRRGGGHHH. The husband and I shouted at each other for a few minutes before he declared that he would just drive me to work since it was like 11:45 at that point. I continued to steam and decided to call PAT and let them know that, hi, I’m no doctor or anything, but indicating exactly which buses do or not stop at any given point is kind of important, especially when you’re eleventy billion hours late for work and wearing heels and your feet are leaking.
I called 411 and asked for the number for Port Authority Transit. They texted me the number for Sports Authority. Thanks.
But now there is Annie Hall and beer and talk of cupcakes.
Thanks for all of the happy anniversary wishes yesterday. We didn’t do anything “special.” Just went home, ate dinner, and watched Ocean’s 13. Before going to bed, I convinced the husband to dance in the dining room with me to our song. About halfway through, full of glowiness and mush and la-di-da, I sweetly whispered in his ear, “Is this hurting your back?”
“Ugh, yes. It is.”
“Here, I’ll get on my tip toes.”
“Why do you have to be so short?”
Very romantic.
Anyway, I’m not sure how much love this space is going to get from me in the next few days. I have some important crap coming up and I will certainly be having nervous breakdowns in addition to my already existing nervous breakdowns. What can I say? I’m a busy woman and am feeling the head-in-the-sand urge.
That’s us, just married, two years ago today. I don’t think we’re planning on doing anything special today, but since cotton is the traditional gift for the second anniversary, I refilled the container in the bathroom with Q-tips. I’m all about the romance. The traditional gift for the third anniversary is leather! Wooo!
We watched Funny Games last night, which turned out to be a really interesting choice as the clock ticked past midnight and it became Father’s Day. Funny Games is a shot-for-shot remake of the Austrian original from 1997.
Another interesting thing about Funny Games is that it is quite possibly the must fucked up movie ever. I felt completely disturbed when it was over and am contemplating never leaving the city ever again.
What made our viewing even weirder was that the husband happened to look out the window and notice that this intense fog had descended on our neighborhood. But not like nice misty fog, dense soggy fog. Like The Fog. I tried to take some pictures of it but my camera isn’t really made for taking very low light pictures. You can kind of get the idea, though.
The husband ran his fingers up and down the screen to show that it was completely soaked.
I did not take this picture through the screen. Those are droplets of fog all around me. Check out the glow from the streetlight.
Dark and creepy street view.
Anyway, Happy Father’s Day to those of who are of the paternal persuasion. The baby and I gave the husband some fancy facial scrub and lotion hoping to remedy his dry, flaky skin situation. I’ll make a metrosexual out of him yet!
The baby told us a few times over the last couple of weeks that he wanted a mohawk, so we told him that once school was done we would give him one. That was on the husband’s to-do list today.
Husband: ah mohawk failed. the baby just has a very short buzz
me: weak
Husband: yeah i tried to trim what would end up being the “long part” down to a slightly more manageable level and it was too short.
so i cut it all off
me: good job
Husband: just emailed you a photo
me: he’s bald
Husband: close
it is just very short
it looks better in real life
If you are a kdiddy.org reader, I would anticipate many machine-gun-style posts today, because I’m wired and I have a lot on mind. I realize that’s what they make things like twitter for, but whatever.
First up: I officially hate the term “muffin top.” HATE IT. I thought it was funny when I first heard it, now it just makes me want to rampage.
