A late-20s admin-type with creative aspirations stands at her office’s microwave and fumes silently at the leftovers therein.
“I can’t believe it’s going to take two minutes and thirty fucking seconds for this shit to heat up. Does it not know that I’m BUSY? BitchCurry better RECOGNIZE!”
Whatever, shortly after that it was hot enough to eat. I, too, can command the wind, sir.
I was going to write about how this morning when I woke up the baby he sleepily told me to “put on a talent show,” and how I was like, “I do everything else for you, I’m not fucking tapdancing, too,” and then how later, when I was trying to get him dressed, he simultaneously got a nosebleed, started peeing, farting, and sneezing and then a few minutes later wiped a gigantic booger on the hand towel and how he seems to have grown 3 inches since 7 p.m. last night because his pants are way too short and I’ve been having these really bizarre nightmares that I can’t remember any details of, other than “there were some people.”
But I thought about all of that and I said to myself, “This is all stupid,” so I didn’t post this. So the fact that you’re reading this is truly a feat of science. You should contact the media about your awesome ability to conjure non-existent blog posts.
We caught up with the rest of the country last night and watched Juno, finally. I’m totally smitten with that movie…and Ellen Page and Diablo Cody and Michael Cera and Jason Reitman and Olivia Thirlby and pretty much anyone who had anything to do with it. Angela told me yesterday that she just watched it and had totally cried. I admitted that I had my reservations about it, that maybe it was going to be a pregnant Garden State, which I really didn’t like. But I was completely stunned at how fantastic Juno was. I’m sure it holds more of an emotional punch for people who have gone through an unplanned pregnancy when they were young and how fucked your mind gets because of it and how people say the most hurtful things to you. For people who haven’t, it might just be kind of cute. But I still thought the dialogue and the story were wonderful and Ellen Page was seriously robbed at the Oscars. She is just amazing and I couldn’t believe that she hadn’t gotten pregnant and given the baby up for adoption at 16. She nailed the whole thing.
I think I really started to unravel when Juno drives home after an upsetting visit with the baby’s adoptive parents and she pulls off to the side of the road and just sobs. I had that cry, several times, when I was pregnant. Not for those reasons, but I remember feeling like there was no ground for me to stand on, that I was totally untethered, and worst of all, it was all my doing. I just wanted someone to understand how I felt, but I knew that no one possibly could, not even the people closest to me.
Hmph. Well. This is way deeper than I really wanted to get on a Sunday afternoon.
I think I shall rename this blog fuckihavesomuchshittodo.com because fuck, I have so much shit to do! And it’s all I talk about!
As a special bonus for stressing myself out over crap that I (stupidly) willfully entered into (job, school, motherhood, existence as a functioning member of society), my lip is breaking out into a really sexy cold sore. The upside is that those really disgusting first two days of looking like your local meth addict turning tricks at the Best Western will be spent at home, where I will threaten my family by holding their toothbrushes thisclose to my lip. The downside is that I will look like your local meth addict turning tricks at the Best Western. Also, this shit hurts. Also also, I was kind of hoping for some adult time to alleviate the stress, but nothing says lovin’ HSV 1.
Anyway, we went to see The Roots last night. They were performing for Tech Fair. I’m sad to report that The Roots…kind of suck now, which is unfortunate since I stood around and frantically searched for the other members of my party for nearly two hours and then stood for another two hours while those hip hop darlings did their best impression of a drunken Doors performance circa nineteen-seventy-hell. For awhile I didn’t think it was so bad, but 20 minutes into their psychotic rendition of “Masters of War,” I wanted to choke someone. Granted, I was standing next to a group of young Anna Nicole wannabes and a couple who were making out the whole time, since, you know, “Masters of War” is the classic make-out jam.
I’ve seen these miniaturized pictures before, but for whatever reason I was inspired to try it this morning…probably because I have a ton of work to do and I would like to avoid it.
So, check it out. Here’s the original, a picture I took at the Monster Jam (clicking through to the larger originals might make them easier to see):
And here are the monster trucks miniaturized:
Surely, these aren’t the best examples, but it was so easy and I am completely obsessed with miniaturizing pictures now.
but I’m finally starting to really screw up in my classes. I guess I should be impressed that I managed to keep my head above water for this long.
I suppose I tend to block out how high the demands get at my job this time of year. Now matter how much I think I prepare, I always get blindsided. Now I have 3 major MAJOR things coming up and I don’t know how I’ll have the time to handle all of them plus not fail my classes.
I’m officially completely and totally overwhelmed and panicked.
The baby has been coating everything with snot the past few days and I’m guessing since all three of us are taking turns sniffling, sneezing, and “ugh”ing, that it’s seasonal allergy time in the kdiddy household. I gave the baby a swig of Benadryl this morning to hopefully combat the constant flow of mucous, and only after I had sent him off to school did I notice the “causes excitability in children” notice on the label.
Sweet. The kid’s already on 11 most of the time, which is weird since me, his dad, and even our cat are all
The sister-in-law and I met up with Sara G again last night for some yoga. While trying to coax my foot behind my head with the help of a strap, I gave my ear rope burn. Then the SiL was trying to convince me that we should take up racketball and I told her that that is a guaranteed broken nose for me (or, for that matter, her) as I am not coordinated whatsoever. And you know, I really wonder how I managed to stick with ballet for so long.
Dudes. I have about 3 weeks of this semester left. I am now Lucky in The Three Amigos…”Gonna make it…gonna make it…gonna make it…”
That’s my son in a picture I took a few seconds ago.* He’s wearing his storm trooper costume and has been for the better part of the last 30 hours or so. Yesterday morning he woke me up and told me he was cold and I told him to go put his robe on. A few minutes later, I walked past his room on my way to the bathroom and saw him wearing that.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t find my robe so I put this on instead,” he replied.
Of course.
I just realized that you can also see our cat, Greedo, in that picture and that currently the Star Wars dorkiness factor in this room alone is through the roof.
In really awesome news, our car hoopty died once and for all. We’re trying to come up with creative methods of paying for a new one. So far, we’ve come up with:
1) yard sale
2) ?
Right now, we’re sharing our mother-in-law’s car and obviously that’s no long-term solution. But something has to happen this week, so that’ll be interesting.
Regarding my recent neglect of this area of the internet, I can only point to school and work as the culprit. In fact, my life over the past two weeks and probably for the next three weeks can be best summed up by this video:
I chose to get in the tire that is grad school, but during my descent I quickly realized that I am a total masochist. At the end of this semester, I will emerge dazed and say, “I hate that. I hate it so bad.” Then I will repeat this for at least four more semesters or until I chew my own face off. Whichever comes first.
Anyway, as if I haven’t saturated these internets enough, I finally got some twitter action, which sounds rather dirty. So, if you have a hankering for some stream-of-consciousness diddy, check that space.
*by pointing my laptop at him and snapping the shot with Photobooth. What? The digital camera is in the next room and it’s Sunday and I’m exercising my right to fuse my ass to the couch.
I really like reading the cooking portion of Pioneer Woman’s blog, since I feel she and I share similar culinary challenges: picky eaters and a lack of “fancy” ingredients.
The similarities end there. PW takes very pretty pictures as she cooks and in the background, you can see her gorgeous kitchen, complete with big fancy appliances and stainless steel and, holy shit, counter space.
For serious, every time she posts a new recipe it looks like she’s on the set of a Food Network show.
On the contrary, here’s how I throw down.
Let’s see, we have Wal-Mart rice, some of which has spilled on the cookie tray, peanut butter, salt, salt…a waffle iron.
Of course, there’s a decent amount of evidence as to what I last cooked sprinkled on the stove top. You know, in case I want to recreate something and want to know what the ingredients were.
Ahh, my favorite. The knobs on my stove are organized in such a way that I don’t think is very intuitive. As I alluded before, I don’t have any counters, so one day while I was cooking, I set a Rubbermaid bowl on the stove and then turned what I thought was the front burner on to cook something. Yeah, it wasn’t. So, some of the bowl is still there. Coincidentally, that night was also the night we came to the dramatic realization that the baby had a tree nut allergy. It sucked, too, since I made this really yummy green curry with ground cashews. Not only were the leftovers cold and worthless when we got back from the hospital hours later, they were also deadly. Yay!
Also, this guy comes in and judges me.
For the record, I’m making apple butter pork tonight. Yum.
