The fun continues

The boiler melted - I don't know what part it was and frankly, I don't care - and we have no heat. Well, TCBIM has no heat. I am at my mother's. Oy. He is at the house, replacing the boiler. Remember the boiler? It sat in my driveway for several months and finally got moved into the cellar, where it's sat for more months.

Being of the "Why do now what you can wait until it explodes to do later" school, TCBIM never worked on said boiler. So, old boiler shit the bed and it's roughly 19 degrees Farenheit outside during the day and colder than a witch's tit inside my house.

It's been ok-ish staying here, although the sleeping arrangements are tight, to say the least. One toddler, one baby and one grown up in a bedroom. A very tiny bedroom. The bed creaks, which wakes Boo. The Bug cries, which wakes Boo. I have a cough (and a sinus infection), which wakes Boo. You get the idea. Everyone is suffering from severe sleep deprivation. It's loads of fun.

I can't believe I'm blogging from my mother's. If she finds this blog, I'm not going to be happy.

And Kerri, I hope I can get my articles to you on time. The computer is, of course, in the room where we're sleeping, so it's difficult to get time on here. I'll do my best.

Heath insurance woe

TCBIM just called to tell me that his company is changing health insurance, effective Jan 1. What the fuck? Five fucking days notice? And guess who's not covered? O's pediatrician AND her diabetes team at Joslin. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck.

I do NOT want to go to Bay State. I've heard horror stories.

I hate health insurance. Hate. It.

O is going to be crushed by this. I may have to go get a full time job just to get some decent health insurance.

I am a lemming

So, I put that Technorati thing over there in my sidebar. What does it do? Is it like Bloglines? I'm confused.

No good drugs yet. I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I'm hoping to get some then. Still coughing up a lung. Both of 'em, sometimes. It really sucks.

I got a baking cookbook from my sister's girlfriend. It's by the pastry chef at Spago. Oh. My. Gawd. The stuff looks delicious, but oh, so complicated. Still. I may have to attempt some of these things. There's a recipe for Banana Chocolate Beignets that sounds delicious. I've never been much of a baker - there's too much measuring and I'm more of a toss some of this and add a dash of that kind of cook. Baking is chemistry and I was never all that good at chemistry. But I'm willing to give it a try. I have this friend, T, who works at this fancy schmancy foodie shop in Cambridge. When he and I get together, we cook. We plan out the menu weeks in advance and we don't usually do dessert, but I think the next time he comes out here, we'll attempt it.

Between this cookbook and the Les Halles one, I am one happy little girl, let me tell you. I love reading a good cookbook. It makes me tingle all over and want to go do, make something, anything. Today, I satisfied that urge with some homemade macaroni and cheese. Yummmmm.... So good.

Three a.m. blogging

Just call me Typhoid Mary. Tuburculosis Tessie. Chronic Cough Cathy. I'm fucking miserable, which is why I'm up at this ridiculour hour instead of sleeping the sleep of the just and fucking tired. Every time I put my head on the pillow, I hack up a lung. I've already woken up the baby three times and while she's always happy to have a little nosh, my boobs can't take too much of that.

So here I am. Now what? Play solitaire. Think about shit. Nothing is going on that needs to be hashed out, which is nice. Unusual, but nice. I can't find anything to complain about. Again, unusual, but nice.

O's untethered right now and I'm not liking it. I don't think she checks her blood sugars as often when she goes untethered. And I know I've been forgetting to log. Gotta start doing that again. She has an appointment at Joslin at the end of the month and I want to take along a nice stack of log sheets this time. Last time, I had a nice stack and left them sitting on the kitchen table.

Boo figured out how to climb out of her crib today. Fantastic. Guess it's time to get her to sleep in the toddler bed. She's getting so big.

My father and his wife gave the Bug some totally inappropriate toys. The stepmonster is a teacher and gets freebie books from school. That's all fine and good, give them as gifts, but jeez, do you think you could maybe NOT give the not-even-four-month-old a book that has MAGNETS in it? They also gave her a doll with itty bitty shoes and hair bows and a brush. And a Leap Frog barn thing. Stuff that is SO beyond her, it's ridiculous. Most of the stuff is even too old for the Boo, never mind a tiny baby. I was confused when I opened the gifts. It's like the thought she was four years old instead of four months. Weird stuff, man.

Oh, great. In addition to the incessant coughing, I've added non-stop sneezing to the mix. I'm SO calling the doctor and getting the good drugs tomorrow. Fuck this for a game of soldiers.

Happy Christmas

Twelve bags of trash
Eleven electronic toys
Ten packs of batteries
Nine nervous breakdowns
Eight boxes of Kleenex
Seven cups of tea
Six lost receipts
Five cozy fleece
Four fighting children
Three tissue sneezes
Two aching boobs
And a rapidly escalating fever.



Dear Santa,
Next year, I don't want mastitis for Christmas. I'd rather get a mop.
Thank you,
Julia

I hope everyone had a healthy, happy Christmas!

Budding Fashionista

Adorable, no? (Well, minus the scary red eye thing - I still can't get those to go away.) She let me put the little pony tail holders in her hair, even looked at herself in the mirror and said "Pretty, mama!" Her hair is at that stage where it's all over the plac and she rather resembles that infamous Nick Nolte* mug shot. I was thrilled that she let me do this because she generally hates this sort of thing.







It didn't last five minutes, though. She'd pulled them out and replaced them with this. No, it's not a sunbonnet and I'm not raising a little Laura Ingalls Wilder. Any guesses as to what it is? G'wan. Take a guess.



* Told you. Minus the whole haggard, drunk, old guy thing, they're identical. Identical, I tell ya.

Christmas Song Meme

A bunch of people have tagged me for this meme, so I guess I'd better get off my butt and do it.

My five favourite Christmas songs:

1. Fairytale Of New York - The Pogues
2. Peanuts Theme (Linus & Lucy) - Vince Guaraldi
3. A Consort Of Choral Christmas Carols - PDQ Bach
4. You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch - Thurl Ravenscroft
5. Marvellous Toy - Tom Paxton

Best Christmas Song Ever.


Is anyone else surprised that Shane McGowan isn't dead yet?

Why I like my mother-in-law

Two posts! In one day! And me all sick and shit. See how much I love you guys?

This is why I like my mother-in-law. She gave me this for Christmas. It arrived today.



I love Anthony Bourdain - seriously, as in if he knocked at my door, TCBIM would be sleeping in the car. If you don't have this cookbook yet, go buy it. The introduction is hysterically funny and it's the only time I've ever, ever seen the words "sweet fuck all" between the covers of a cooking tome.

SIck

• I have such a cold. And so many blogs to read. And so little energy or inclination to do anything. It sucks.

• I finally put up the tree. It took me three hours to get the thing up and get the lights on. I was two strands from being done. Plugged the next string of lights into the ones already on the tree and blew the fuses in three strands. Three strands that I had to hunt for. I fucking HATE putting lights on the tree. Next year, I am buying a pre-lit tree. Just call me Scrooge.
  

• My apostrophe key is bringing up a Find navigation bar on the bottom of this page. I have no idea why, but it is pissing me off. Damed computers.
  

• I cut off most of my hair today. Well, not me, I paid a hairdresser to do it, but it is much shorter now. It was almost to my waist, now it is just below my shoulders.
  

• The company TCBIM works for is having their Christmas party on Thursday. Who has a Christmas party on a Thursday?? I bought some adorable peep toe black satin pumps to wear with my red Chinese tunic - the one I wore when TCBIM and I got married. With my nice new haircut and my pretty new pumps, I may actually look like a person, rather than just a mum. That will be a novelty.
  

All I want for Christmas....

Kerri already posted this on her site, but I'm putting it up, too. I can't say I've completely given up hope that there will be a cure some day, but I have always doubted that I'd see one in my lifetime. This, for some reason, has given me a glimmer of hope. Please, oh please, oh please, don't let it be misplaced.

Now, do I talk to O about this or not? I just don't know....

A Little Travellin' Music, Please

My sister and her girlfriend are moving across the country to join a commune (as you do). They're leaving at the beginning of January and driving (!!) from Massachusetts to northern California. In order to minimize the amount of posessions they're going to have to schlep with them, they've asked to not get Christmas presents this year and instead have requested cds. I'm going to burn them a boxed set of cool travelling tunes.

So what I want from you, dear internets, is a list of your five (or 10) favourite driving songs. The ones that keep you up as you're driving across the prairies. The ones that chill you out when you're stuck in rush hour traffic in an unfamiliar city. The ones that make you roll down your window and let the wind blow....oh, wait. There's one song.

Here's a few I've picked, just to get things started:

1. Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen
2. Song 2 - Blur
3. Running Down A Dream - Tom Petty
4. I Drove All Night - Roy Orbison
5. One Step Beyond - Madness
6. Hit The Road, Jack - Ray Charles
7. Whole Lotta Rosie - AC/DC
8. California Dreamin' - The Mamas and The Papas
9. Are You Gonna Be My Girl? - Jet
10. Peaches - Presidents Of The United States Of America

Poopenheimer

The Bug hadn't pooped in 10 days and although she was peeing like a champ, she was starting to seem a bit uncomfortable; not surprising at all, really. I tried calling the doctor, but they take Friday afternoons off (lucky people). In desperation, I did what most parents do: I Googled.

After checking several reputable websites, I came to the conclusion that the best thing to do would be to give her some diluted prune juice (cue collective cries of "Ewwwwww, pruuuuuune juice!" ). I mixed one ounce of juice with two ounces of water and attempted to get her to drink it.

At first, she was enthusiastic, sucking on the bottle like it was, well, my boob. It must have taken a minute for the juice to register with her taste buds because all of a sudden, she screwed up her face and pushed the bottle right out of her mouth and glared at me. There's nothing like being glared at by a four month-old.

So I broke out the medicine dropper and spent the next couple of hours trying to coax her to drink the juice. She'd lap it up and then let half of it dribble out of her mouth. She wound up sticky, pissed off and very, very tired. I finally gave up. She got maybe an ounce into her, if that. I figured if she hadn't pooped by the morning, I'd call the doctor.

Now this is not usually a child whose poops you fail to notice. They arrive with a fanfare of farts, a gaggle of grunts and a plethora of poops. She was, until recently, a champion pooper. She seems to have morphed, however, into a stealth pooper. She sat in her exersaucer, bouncing around, smiling and happy. I picked her up to feed her and hoo boy. Poopage. Much poopage. From her thighs to the back of her neck. Ick. Of course, I stuck my hands in it when I picked her up - this is what happens when you have a stealth pooper. You're unprepared. She had an unfair advantage in the poop battle.

It's hard to wrangle a poop-covered baby. You don't want to put them against you because, ew. My clothes are already smeared with sticky hands, they don't need to have poop accessories. So I held her straight out in front of me. Poop smeared all over her head as I took the onesie off, so it was straight into the shower with her. Do you know how hard it is to hold a baby under the shower when you are fully dressed? Do you know how hard it is to wash said baby, when you're fully dresssed and the baby is slippery?

You'll be glad to hear that I didn't drop the baby, nor did I get any poop on my clothing. The exersaucer may be out of comission, though.

I feel 100% better now, mama.

The Mushroom Soup Recipe

When I made this, I didn't drain the mushrooms out, I just left them in. I may try a stick blender in it next time, to blend it in. That's if someone gets me the stick blender I want for Christmas.

This is seriously decadent soup.

Portobello & Button Mushroom Creme with Walnuts

Serves 4-6

Ingredients:
1 pound button mushrooms, sliced
3 Portobello mushroom caps, cut into cubes
4 1/4 cups heavy cream
2 cups chicken broth
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup chopped pecans, toasted
2 tablespoons chopped chives
Salt and pepper for seasoning

Directions:
1. In a medium saucepan, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add button mushrooms and cook, stirring occasionally, until beginning to soften. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
2. Add cream and chicken broth to mushrooms and bring to boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes. Cover mixture and continue to simmer for 20 minutes longer. Remove from heat and let stand covered for 20 minutes. Strain mixture, discarding mushrooms and reserving cream mixture.
3. Meanwhile, in a small skillet, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil and butter over medium heat. Add Portobello mushrooms and cook until beginning to soften. Remove from heat.
4. To serve: Warm cream mixture if necessary. Divide between bowls and top with Portobello mushrooms, pecans and chives. Serve immediately.

W. W. E. P. D?

What Would Emily Post Do?

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. Since I'm broker than a broke thing, my gift to her was the meal of her choice. She chose meatloaf. Um, ok. At least it's easy.

I kind of got caught up in this idea of a retro-ish dinner, so in addition to the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, I did creamed spinach and a starter of cream of mushroom soup. This is no ordinary cream of mushroom soup, though. It'd divine, rich, buttery, nutty, yummy soup. I would have licked the bowl, except that's frowned upon.

Here's the thing, though. My friend C was at this little shindig, too. Before even tasting the soup, she poured about a teaspoon full of Tabasco sauce in it. I find this incredibly rude. I didn't make spicy cream of mushroom soup (because, ew), I made regular cream of mushroom soup. If I'd wanted it to be spicy, I would have made it so (except, y'know, ew. Again.).

She also slathered the meatloaf in barbecue sauce and Tabasco.

Am I wrong in finding this kind of offensive? I made the food the way I wanted it to taste. I can understand adding salt and pepper, once you've tasted it, but Tabasco? Barbecue sauce? TCBIM says I'm being petty.

What says you, oh great internets?

If anyone wants said soup recipe, let me know. It is to die for.

Dessert, you ask? Black Forest Cake. Made by moi. Also excellent, even if I do say so myself.

Moronic Talk Show Host

Have you heard this fuckwit?

I'm spitting nails.

And a.....

(For Kerri - Five GOOOOOOOOOOLD RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGSSSS)

Today, I have recieved one Flash meter with 15 strips, one Precision Xtra meter with 300 strips (three hundred! THREE hundred! Amazing), 100 One Touch strips and 50 BD strips. No one wanted me to give their names, but you know who you are and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I have recieved so many offers of help that I find myself getting all teary-eyed about it. I can't even find the words to say thank you, to express how grateful I am, how humbled I feel by this outpouring of support (and test strips). It's overwhelming.

If any of you are ever in western Massachusetts, let me know. I'll make you dinner. And cheesecake. There will be cheesecake. The insulin's on me.

A Thousand Thank Yous Are Not Enough

Not ten minutes after I posted the last post, a woman contacted me, offering to send me test strips for O.

People amaze me. I generally don't like people en masse. I find them stressful to be around. But then some person, unknown to me until a few minutes ago, offers me an incredibly kind, helping hand and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

She asked me not to use her name, but let me say right here, that if we ever get to meet, I shall buy her the dessert of her choice. The insulin's on me.

Six Test Strips

That's how many test strips O has left until Friday, when TCBIM gets paid. I haven't ransacked the entire diabetes cabinet for spares and I hope that I find a stray batch of One Touch or something. Otherwise I'm going to have to borrow money from my mother and I hate doing that. I hate getting lectured, I hate asking. I'm forty fucking years old. I shouldn't be in this situation.

It's amazing how quickly you can sink when you live paycheck to paycheck. We pretty much always have, but it was always two paychecks. Now it's just one, and one that is less than it was a year ago. TCBIM is starting to make more money, but it's a slow process and we're already so far behind that every penny we have is going towards bills. It's a good thing we don't have any credit cards or we'd really be screwed.

Tonight I'm taking the laptop to bed and I'm finding a job. I have to. We can't go on like this, we'll lose our house soon.

FA RA RA RA RA RA RA RA RA

Guess what two keys are missing from my keyboard

Can you figure it out?

I can't punctuate or use certain words

Or sign my name

It is making me itchy

And twitchy

And go a bit cross-eyed

My stupid fucking Mac crashed  Again

For the 87th time

And now it's snowing

Fanfuckingtastic

I need a do over on the day and it's not even 10 a m yet

The Tao of Poo

Oh, the puns.

A shitty day.
She's full of crap.
Poop happens.

Yes, ladies and jellyspoons, the inevitable finally happened. Boo stripped naked and pooped in her crib. First time. I don't think I'll be marking this one down in the old baby book. I got tub duty, TCBIM cleaned up the poopy crib. He gets major points for that one. Bleurgh.

Boo just stood there in her room, after her tub, laughing, pointing and saying "Poops, mama! Poops!"

That's my little girl. So ladylike, so dainty, so...disgusting.

Starting tomorrow, I'm duct taping her diaper on her.

My favourite kind of quiz

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm You're probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people's grammatical mistakes make you insane.
Dedicated Reader
Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
Non-Reader
Fad Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

I don't know why the bar graph doesn't show up, but I'm a dedicated reader, literate good citizen and surprise, surprise, a book snob.

How slutty is it of me to remind people to go vote? Slutty, right?

diabetesoc.blogspot.com

Well, wouldja look at that?

Hey, look! I was nominated for a blog award by the Diabetes OC.
Cool, huh? I've never been nominated for anything before. So, thanksto those who nominated me. I'm all embarrassed over here. Pleased as punch, but also kind of, y'know, hiding behind my hair, blushing, stammering and giggling nervously.

So go vote. I'm up against some terrific competition and, frankly, am surprised to be nominated. I'm not just saying that to be coy or disingenuous - there really are some fantastic writers out there in the OC. I'm a little surprised to be put in the same category as them. I feel like I snuck in to the cool kids' party.

Exist

The December issue of Exist is up. Go. Read. Enjoy.
Tell me I'm a fabulous writer. G'wan.

L is for....

I don't know that I've ever mentioned my deep and abiding love for Edward Gorey. His creepy little vignettes thrill my sick soul. I have a dark and sick sense of humour at times and he fits the bill just perfectly.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?

You will swallow some tacks. You are a little weird, maybe not so much in a good way. Buy a yellow tie and wear it on your head. Take this quiz! Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Fin

Done. Whew. Thank goodness NaBloPoMo is over. It was starting to get tough to think up topics.

Of course, I have a good one now, but I'm going to let it stew for a bit.

Joke, I got the movie today. Thank you so much! Very, very cool. I love that movie. If you haven't seen it yet, go rent it.

If you hadn't nailed it to the perch....

So look. I feel like I've been doing an extraordinary amount of whinging and whining around here lately. I'm not writing anything today - I'll just leave you with this, possibly one of the funniest sketches. Ever.

It's a miracle!

And behold, a light shone down from above.

The hand of God was seen.





And lo, the trash was emptied.

TCBIM waltzed into the bathroom, picked up the trash can (which is a lovely, white, step-on can, not that one above, by the way) and emptied it. He was muttering "Honestly, who lets the trash get like this?" as he did it and I had all I could do to not say "YOU GUYS DO!!" But I restrained myself and just said thank you very much.

Incomplete

My mother will be here tomorrow (technically, today). This means the Great Bathroom Trash Experiment will have to be abandoned if it doesn't get emptied by 3 p.m. Tuesday. Sucks. But never fear, I will resume said experiment after she goes home on Wednesday. This time, with photographs, maybe even arrows and diagrams, too. Aren't you just thrilled at the prospect of viewing the extent of my family's nastiness? I can tell you are.

I have more stuff to post about but it's late, I'm tired and Keith Olberman is on. Mmmm, Keith....I luuuuuuurve him.

Oh. Shit.

Do you remember that movie The Money Pit, with Tom Hanks and Shelly whotsit from Cheers? Not a very good movie, really, but it's come to haunt me these last few days.

When we bought this house, we knew it had a few problems. It needed a new boiler and the cellar was damp. However, we have a whole other set of problems now. I noticed these damp patches over the slider a few weeks ago. I thought maybe it was because the gutters hadn't been cleaned out, so TCBIM went out and pulled all the leaves out and I dried the damp spots. Since then, the spots have become worse and worse and worse. And they're spreading. There are damp spots over the front bay window, some in our bedroom and some in the bathroom.



These are the spots over the living room slider and are by far, the worst of them.

However, this morning, I pulled Boo's toy bin out from the living room wall and noticed a big mildewy patch there, too. I sprayed it with Lysol and as I was cleaning it up, rested my hand on the wall. The wall was wet. Not damp, wet. The wet went about a foot up the wall and covered about an 8" area.

This sent me on a mission, of course. I have now found mildewy, damp spots on the walls in my bedroom and in Boo's bedroom. I'm freaking out. Why are the walls wet? It hasn't rained in days and days. And even if it had been raining, why are the WALLS wet???

I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to be walking away from this house very soon. This seems like a huge problem, an expensive problem. A problem not worth fixing, to be honest.

So, yeah. Commence full-blown freak out. Now.

An experiment, of sorts

I'm currently conducting an experiment here at Casa Bedhead. I'm trying to see just how full the bathroom trashcan can get before someone besides me empties it. The lid is no longer able to close. There are tissues and Q-tips (ewwwwww) about to fall out the side. I'd take a picture, but it's pretty embarassing.

Has anyone tried FlyLady? I signed up and her little task email things are helpful, but some of the testimonial stuff is making me roll my eyes a lot.

Two

Happy Birthday, Boo! My blue-eyed, blonde-headed baby girl. She can drive me to tears and have me shrieking with laughter all within 20 seconds. She runs full-tilt thru her life, bestowing kisses and scowls with equal abandon. She makes my heart smile.

Amazing

So, I was dreading this shopping expedition this morning. I even had this weird dream just before waking where I was being pursued by this guy:



which sucked.

It was with much trepidation that TCBIM and I drove over to Target and Best Buy. The news this morning had reporters at the mall, showing the lines. I, however, was not going to that mall. I was going to the nearly-dead mall. And it was brilliant! I got a parking spot IN THE FRONT ROW. I went in to Best Buy and got the camera I wanted for O, for $50 - for a digital camera! I was in and out in 15 minutes. Then over to Target, where I got her a pair of pyjamas, Yahtzee, Clue, Rook and a couple of shirts. She's done. DONE! I just have to get her a couple of stocking stuffers.

I also got Alex a sweatshirt and a couple of t-shirts. He asked for the newest Roller Coaster Tycoon, so that's his big present. I have to go to Circuit City for that, since I have a gift card from there. I'm not going near that place this weekend, though. It's insane there, by all accounts.

I can't believe that I'm almost done! I have to get Boo something - probably a baby doll, some pyjamas and stuff like socks and tights. And The Bug will just get a stocking with binkies (god, where do those things GO? Is there a binky theif like there's a sock theif?) and maybe a rattle or something like that.

I have no idea what to get TCBIM. He wants poker chips. Um...maybe not.

I survived

I missed the Macy's Day Parade, boo hiss, but the praline sweet potatoes were out of this world. My mother's head didn't explode and nothing got broken. One majorly stressful holiday down, one to go.

I am going to be at Tarjay Booteek tomorrow morning, bright and early, with all the other lunatics. They have some deals that I can't pass up. Wish me luck. I hate crowds - they send me into screaming mimi heebie jeebies - and I don't function well before 10 a.m.. This ought to be a lot of fun.

wotthehell, wotthehell

hey boss.

i had a post typed up and then this goddamned mac crashed, like the piece of shit that it is.

let's see if i can summarise.

i missed a therapy appointment today, boss. she can see me at three today, but it means i get charged two co-pays.

which means that i can't fill my prescription for the crazy pills that the nice doctor gave me until next week. i might be a little nutty until then, boss.

i sent two checks to the mortgage company when i was only supposed to send one. when i called to ask if they could hold the second one, they laughed. money's going to be tight on black friday, boss.

and, boss, the battery cap on o's pump is wrecked. i think she's been tightening it too much when she replaces the battery, because the plastic is all chewed up. they're sending a new one, but of course, it's thanksgiving weekend, so it may get here friday and it may not. thankfully i have levemir for her, but it's going to require mental gymnastics to do the carb calculations. good thing i found my calculator. my mind isn't capable of that thought process right now, boss. i'm a little fried.

boo is still the green booger machine. she's got a bad case of the crankies, too. it's a real joy around these parts, boss. tomorrow out to be a real laugh riot.

Bullets over Bedhead

• Boo is sick. Green boogers running down her face, low grade fever, watery eyes, and Oh. My. God. the whining. I feel bad for her, but I think my ear drums are going to bleed soon.
  

• We tried the toddler bed for the first time last night. She had a fit and conniption about it, screaming and carrying on for a good forty-five minutes. She insisted on going back in her crib and, at that point, I was quite happy to let her. She woke up a couple of hours later, sobbing. When I went in there, she kept saying "Bed bad, mama, bed bad." I'm getting the impression that she doesn't like the bed. It took me forever to get O into a bed, too. I think I just have stubborn children. I don't know who they get that from. *whistles nonchalantly.*

• Boo is addicted to television. If it's on, she's staring at it. I've been limiting it to Sesame Street and Blue's Clues and I generally only let her watch it if I'm trying to clean or fix dinner, but man, I feel guilty about it.
  

• Last week, there were TWO bomb scares at O's school. Both times, the school was emptied out and the kids stood around outside for hours. O, thankfully, had her kit with her, but she had no juice, no crackers, no glucagon. No house keys. They wouldn't let the kids take their backpacks out with them. I understand this, since they want to get the kids out as quickly as possible, but they released the kids early the second day - what if I hadn't been home? O would have been stuck outside the house for over an hour, with no cell phone and no keys. I've decided to hide a housekey outside somewhere. We're going to find a handbag for her, too - something that's big enough to hold her kit, her keys, a couple of juice boxes and some peanut butter crackers. There's an informational meeting at the school tonight about it. I'm hoping I can attend.
  

• Christmas is going to be so tight this year. I've actually picked up stuff off of Freecycle to give to Boo. She's not going to care that she's getting a used play kitchen but it tears me up inside. I don't feel like I have to buy, buy, buy for my kids, but it really sucks when your budget for each kid is about $40. It doesn't give you much to work with, really. TCBIM and I are probably not going to do much of a gift exchange. Little things. Inexpensive things. I wish I were crafty so I could make stuff for people, but all I can do is bake.

• What the hell happened with Michael Richards? Did anyone see his apology on Letterman last night? Bizarre stuff. Have you seen the initial tirade? That's even more fucked up. He's probably just committed career suicide.

A very lousy weekend

Sometimes I wonder if I should be putting these things out there. It's pretty personal, but it's what's going on.

TCBastidIM (thanks, Angela) has put the second to the last nail in the coffin, placed the second to the last straw, has one more strike. Pick your metaphor. I've just about had it.

Saturday night he decided to play poker with the guys. He can never just say "Hey, so-and-so called and invited me to come play poker, do you mind?" He has to couch it in false solicitousness. "What are you doing tonight? How are you feeling?" And if I say "Tired," (and I always say tired), he says "Well, why don't you go to bed early?" Which translates to "I've had a better offer than your sorry ass and I'm going to take it, but I'm going to make you think I actually give a shit about how you're feeling and doing before I race out the door."

He worked all day Saturday, which was fine, we need the money. He said they were going to work until 5:30 or so, so that he wouldn't have to work yesterday and we could spend the day together. Ok, fine. But then we had the speech outlined above and that was that. He was home for about an hour before running back out the door.

He rolled in the house at 3:30 in the morning. Yes, I was up. And it wasn't even so much that he got home so late, it was that he was stinking drunk. He'd managed to consume most of a 750 ml bottle of rum. There was probably 2 inches of booze left in the bottle. To top it off, he decided it would then be a good idea to drive home. Drive home in the COMPANY vehicle.

When he'd somewhat sobered up yesterday morning, I told him that this was it. If it happened again, I was taking the children and leaving. I'd rather go stay in a shelter than live with someone who has that little regard for how his stupidity can impact three kids' lives.

My heart is in bits right now, but I can't keep being put last. I'm tired of it being The Boy's Show, 24/7. I'm tired of feeling this way, like I'm the least important person on the planet, that it's all him, all the time, and to hell with the rest of us.

He claims he's going to change, claims that he loves me, that we are the most important things in the world to him. I really hope that's true. I want this marriage to work.

Dood. Bang a u-ey, we're goin' to the packie.

When your life starts to go down the toilet, hide your head in the sand and post the results of dumb quizzes.

We'll resume your regulalar angst-ridden posts after these messages.

Dude! You're 92% from Massachusetts!

Dude! Me and Sully and Fitzie and Sean are gonna hit Landsdowne tonight after the game, hang out at the Beerworks. I'll pick you up at the Coop at 6.

How Massachusetts are you?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

And, like there was EVER any doubt at all, in anyone's mind, anywhere:

100% TRUE Red Sox Fan, PLAY ON!

Yeah you are a true and dedicated Red Sox fan, ya wicked sweet ma--hole! Kick those Yanks back to New Yawk where they belong! Go Red Sox! Yankees suck, Yankees suck!!

Are You a True Dedicated RED SOX Fan?
Quizzes for MySpace

The Procrastination Meme

Explain what ended your last relationship?
His drinking up the rent money and whoring around.

When was the last time you shaved?
Legs - Monday. Underarms - this morning

What were you doing this morning at 8 a.m.?
Wiping up cereal and milk while gulping down a mostly-cold cup of tea.

What were you doing 15 minutes ago?
Trying to get the Bug to go to sleep (it's 12:20 a.m. here so that sleeping thing I was so smug about? Yeah, fucked that one up, didn't I?)

Are you any good at math?
Um, no.

Your prom night, what do you remember about it?
Harldy any of it, and not because I drank, but just because I'm OLD and I've managed to block out most of my childhood. Huge swathes of my adulthood are blanks, too.

Do you have any famous ancestors?
Well, the scuttlebutt is that Admiral Lord Nelson is a distant relative, but somehow, I doubt that.

Have you had to take a loan out for school?
No

Last thing received in the mail?
Bills and junk

How many different beverages have you had today?
Three different types, many different times. None alcoholic, sadly.

Do you ever leave messages on people’s answering machine?
Of course.

Who did you lose your CONCERT virginity to?
J. Geils Band, at the Gahden, 1982

Do you draw your name in the sand when you go to the beach?
No, because I'm not 7 years old.

What’s the most painful dental procedure you’ve had?
Root Canal

What is out your back door?
The back garden, the grill, two picnic tables, a bench, a soccer net and ball, a Little Tykes car and a small plastic climbing thing for the girls.

Any plans for Friday night?
Oh yeah, it was big fun. Watched Super Size Me while TCBIM snoozed on the couch.

Do you like what the ocean does to your hair?
Yes. It's the only time my hair has any curls.

Have you ever received one of those big tins of 3 different popcorns?
No

Have you ever been to a planetarium?
Yes.

Do you re-use towels after you shower?
Yes.

Some things you are excited about?
Ummmm. Hmmmm. I can't think of anything.

What is your favorite flavor of JELL-O?
I don't do Jell-o

Describe your keychain(s)?
Round metal ring with a NYC subway token and a couple of keys on it

Where do you keep your change?
In a five-gallon water cooler jug.

When was the last time you spoke in front of a large group of people?
I've never spoken to a large group. That's my idea of hell.

What kind of winter coat do you own?
Red wool 3/4 length not-quite-a-pea-coat from LL Bean (via Goodwill)

What was the weather like on your graduation day?
Pissing down rain

Do you sleep with the door to your room open or closed?
Open so I can hear if I get paged

Worst Mother In The World Award

Is there one? If not, there should be and I should get it this month.

Boo was being very quiet in the other part of the living room as I checked email and did my thing. When I turned away from the computer, what was she doing? Drinking a BEER! TCBIM had left a half-empty beer can on a table and I didn't even see it this morning. Boy, she sure did, though. I don't think she had more than a mouthful, but she certainly had poured it all over herself.

My kid. Lush-in-training. Oy.




Also, this may be one of the coolest ads I've ever seen.

Why you shouldn't Google

I've been going for blood tests for the last couple of weeks. I just feel lousy - my finger joints are stiff and sore, my hips, knees and ankles hurt and I have a lot of tingling in my wrists and forarms. I'm also constantly achey and exhausted.

Today I found out they don't think have rhuematoid arthritis, although they're not 100% sure, but they still don't know what's wrong. My liver function is off, so they're doing a few more tests. An antimitochondrial antibody test and an anti-smoioth muscle antibody. Of course, I came home and googled it and these are tests for lupus, as well as cirrhosis, hepatitis and liver obstruction. I don't drink much, so I don't know how I'd have cirrhosis. I've never had a tattoo or blood transfusion - are there other ways to get hepatitis?

There are three other tests being done: Elevated alkaline phosphates, elevated ALT and something I can't decipher - looks like Arthrialgras, but Google didn't give me anything on any variation of that.

I'm going over later this afternoon to have the blood drawn for these. Hopefully I'll know more by Monday.

See? I knew turning 40 would suck ass.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

Have I embedded that song in your head? Goooooood.




My heart is doing a happy dance for my friend Art-Sweet and her partner Pili. Congratulations, ladies. I'm thrilled for you guys.


This man. I'm not a big one for celebrity crushes, but every. single. time I see George Clooney, I give an involuntary little "Fwwwoooaaaar!" and my knees go all wobbly. I luff him. *drool*


More in the November issue of Vanity Fair .


The Bug is sleeping thru the night. Let me repeat that. Sleeping. Thru the night. I thought it was an anomoly. She started doing it about 4 weeks ago, but not every night. And now? Now it's a bit of a whine, pop her into bed with her eyes wide open and 5 minutes later, she's asleep. I don't have to rock her, I don't have to hold her, I don't have to lie down with her. In fact, she hates all those things. When I try them, she hollers. But if I give her a binky and put her in her bassinette, she goes right to sleep. A bit of a fuss, a bit of a gurgle and Robert's your father's brother, sleeping baby. This? Is a miracle.

See? I can be happy, I can see the good things in life. I'm not a total downer.

Call me Eeyore

It's almost as bad as Christmas as Days I'd Rather Not Participate In. And I know, I ended my sentence with a preposition. Shut up.


Thank you for all the lovely birthday wishes. I had this whole woe-is-me post working and then you all were so friggin' nice and shit that I had to give it up.

TCBIM gave me his cold for my birthday present. Thanks, sweetie. Next year, I'd rather have a gift.

And now I'm going to bed. I have a little glass of Maker's Mark and I'm watching some documentary on Everest. I'm going to sip my booze and lie here, wondering what on EARTH posesses people. Rest assured, that is one thing I never, ever, ever, EVER want to attempt. Those people are fucking nuts, man.

In which I am utterly depressed

It's my birthday today. I'm 40. I'm not enjoying it one little bit. I will be doing some serious navel-gazing later, so be warned.

Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude \SHOD-n-froy-duh\, noun:
A malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortunes of others.


"So," she said, smothering a shit-eating grin. "Have you heard? My ex-husband's wife has kicked him out of the house. He's 39 years old and living back at home with his parents. Since he put everything in his wife's name, to avoid paying me any of the $41,160 (yes, you read that right) he owes me in child support, he has nothing. No house, no car, no nothing. "



Karma's a fucking bitch, isn't it, asshole?

A bad weekend to start a diet

My friend Caragh sent me my birthday present, which arrived today. I scored.

Man, I miss that woman. She's so great, and not just because she plys me with chocolate and HobNobs.

One of my all-time favourite cookies. Biscuits, I guess I should call them.

Three different kinds of HobNobs - plain, chocolate and chocolate/orange, which sound yummy.

Two bars of this.

Two HUGE bars of this.

A huge box of these.

Stating the obvious, really.

Has anyone switched to the new version of Blogger? Pros? Cons?

Your Vocabulary Score: A

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

Weekend Meme

I swiped this from someone and now I can't remember whom. I'm getting old. Leave me alone.


If your life were a soundtrack, what would the music be?

Here's how it works:

Open your library (iTunes, winamp, media player, iPod).
Put it on shuffle.
Press play.
For every question, type the song that's playing.
New question - press the next button.
! Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool !

Opening Credits
Melissa - The Allman Brothers (Nice and mellow)

Waking Up
Please Forgive Me - David Gray (I'm not responsible for what I do before I have a shower and major caffeine intake)

First Day of School
Rhapsody In Blue - George Gershwin

Falling in Love
Steppin' Out - Joe Jackson

Breaking Up
Summer Breeze - Seals & Crofts

School formal
Billy Pedal - Great Big Sea (at my school? Not bloody likely!)

Life's Okay
One - Creed (the only decent Creed song)

Mental Breakdown
Just - Radiohead (excellent)

Driving
Why Can't We Be Friends - War

Flashback
Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) - Billy Joel

Getting Back Together
Beautiful Day - U2

Wedding
War On Drugs - BareNaked Ladies (Heh.)

Birth of a Child
Box Of Rain - Grateful Dead

Final Battle
Jane - BareNaked Ladies

Death Scene
Beyond Belief - Elvis Costello

Funeral Song
Dreams - The Cranberries

End Credits
Hyperactive - Thomas Dolby

I'll just tag whoever wants to join in.

Yes, it is all about me. Why?

48 47 Things You Could NOT Care Less About (someone ate #34)

1. FIRST NAME?
Julia

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Nope.

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY?
A couple of weeks ago, when I had a mini-nervous breakdown.

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Depends on the day.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT?
Extra, extra rare roast beef. Or pastrami. Or corned beef on rye with swiss cheese and mustard.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Probably.

7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL?
Uh, yeah.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I do.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Jesus, no.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL?
Cap'n Crunch with Crunchberries.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
No, even my sneakers are slip ons.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically, not on your life. Mentally? Some days, yes. Some days, hell, no.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM FLAVOUR?
Depends on the day. Chocolate marshmallow. Herrell's Carrot Cake. Herrell's Maple Walnut. Pretty much anything that Mt. Tom Ice Cream makes. 'tis divine.

14. SHOE SIZE?
9, 9.5 or 10, depending on the shoe and if I'm pregnant or not.

15. RED OR PINK?
Red wine. Red cars. Pink carnations.

16. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
There are too many to list - my body, my tendency towards depression and self-pity, my propensity to worry far too much.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My friend Caragh, in Dublin, and my Grandma who died in 1983. She rocked.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
No

19. WHAT COLOUR PANTS, SHIRT AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes, stripey Victoria's secret undies and a red Clutch Grabwell t-shirt (hey, I'm blogging in bed, what do you want?)

20. LAST THING YOU ATE?
Terra chips

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Some show on diners on the Food Channel.

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE?
Cobalt blue or Imperial purple

23. FAVOURITE SMELL?
The smell of baking bread. Cut grass. Old-fashioned roses.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
TCBIM.

25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO?
Their vocabulary and sense of humour. First must be vast, second must be dark.

26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON YOU STOLE THIS FROM?
Yes.

27. FAVOURITE DRINK?
non-alcoholic - San Pelligrino mineral water
alcoholic - A good red wine or a Guinness

28. FAVOURITE SPORT?
Baseball

29. EYE COLOUR?
Swamp water brown.

30. HAT SIZE?
No idea, I don't do hats.

31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Not any more.

32. FAVOURITE FOOD?
The short list: Lobster with drawn butter, cheesecake, Reubens, fish and chips, mussels with garlic and chopped tomato, Ipswich fried clams from The Clambox, clam chowdah (are you sensing a theme here?), sushi and (finally) filet mignon, cooked black and blue. And about 87 kinds of cheese. Mmmm, cheese. There's more, but I'll use up the internet if I continue.

33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy endings.

35. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer.

36. HUGS OR KISSES?
Both, please, as long as it's from someone nice.

37. FAVOURITE DESSERT?
Cheesecake. New York style, not that shit you make in the fridge.

38. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Ummm....

39. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Erm....

40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING?
Must Have Been Something I Ate - Jeffrey Steingarten. George III by some guy, Lang, I think, and (still) The Most Of P.G. Wodehouse.

41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
A drawing of a dog that O did a few years ago.

42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV?
Countdown with Keith Olberman

43. FAVOURITE SOUNDS?
Seagulls. Rain on a tin roof. Silence.

44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES?
Bruce Springsteen. I don't like the Beatles at all and I'm sort of meh about the Stones.

45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME?
Yerp.

46. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT?
The ability to diagram a sentence.

47. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Indianer.

48. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
No one, I stole it from Joke.

Diabetes blog day

A Lifetime Of Diabetes

Go read Sarah's story. I defy you not to get emotional about it.




O has had diabetes for nine years. I used to get very upset every year when her anniversary rolled around, but the last few years, I've hardly thought of it. It's just our lives. It's what we do every day. She doesn't complain about it much. Sometimes I think she thinks it's kind of cool to have diabetes because she gets to discuss medical things with her friends. It makes her feel important. (She also thinks it's cool when she gets a cut or gets sick or injures herself in some way. Future Hypochodriac Drama Queen over here. She's going to be a doctor's worst nightmare.) It makes her feel like she's got something over her friends, something that makes her cool.

I like that. That sounds weird, doesn't it? But I like that she thinks that diabetes makes her cool. She doesn't think it makes her weird or less than anyone else. It makes her cool. She gets to wear a pump - she thinks that awesome. Her friends think it's awesome.

I know that there will be times that diabetes will hinder her, or that she will percieve it as a hindrance, real or imagined. We've had those times and I know we'll have them again. But right now, she's just fine with her disease. More than fine. She owns it. She's proud of how she handles her disease, of how she handles life with her disease and I'm proud of her.

She's just living in the now, enjoying her life as it is now, not worrying about the future, not thinking about what might have been or what she might be missing, but just enjoying the now. And right now, that's all that matters.

Hubris, Thy Name Is

Donald Rumsfeld


Did you hear my hoots of joy where you are? My sister called me on my cell phone to tell me the news. I was getting out of the car and I gave a whoop and did a little dance, in the rain, in celebration.

I do believe a celebratory drink is in order this evening.

Letters, I got letters, I got lots and lots of letters

Dear CNN,

The fact that Britney and KFed are finally getting divorced IS NOT NEWS. It's gossip. Therefore, it should NOT be the teaser going into a commercial. It shouldn't be mentioned AT ALL. You are a NEWS station, not E! At least attempt to look serious. Especially on ELECTION day.

Yours in disgust,
Julia


Dear Joe,

I tried to like you, but your perfectly airbrushed face and lack of expression just isn't doing it for me. I don't like your hair and your clothes? Dude. They're about 3 sizes too big, which doesn't flatter you. At all. Bring back Steve and his goofy green rugby shirt. Steve is kind of nerdy and nebbishy, in a Lloyd Dobbler kind of way and if I must suffer thru children's programming, then, by god, I want, nay, I NEED to get a little something out of it.

Besides, I think Blue liked Steve better, too.

It's not you, it's me.

Your in fickleness,
Julia



Dear Avent Sippy Cup People,

Your cups suck. There are far too many pieces to the lid. Four. Four pieces, just for the damned lid. A hard little plastic disk, a soft little plastic disk, the sippy apparatus and the collar that said apparatus clicks into.

Your claim that these cups don't spill is ridiculous. And if it's because I'm doing something wrong, then your cup is too complicated. It shouldn't require a degree in advanced physics to put together a sippy cup!

Take a page out of Playtex's book. Two parts. The lid and the doo-hickey that goes into the lid. Put it in and hey, presto. Milk for a toddler doing the "Miwk, miwk, miwk" dance.

Yours in plasticy puzzlement,
Julia

Dear L.L. Bean,

I like your clothes. Honest. Yes, they’re a bit, um, practical and kind of lacking in zip and pizzazz, but they’re functional and sometimes, that’s what I need. Hell, MOST of the time, that’s what I need. I have babies. They throw up, get their sticky little paws all over me and cover me with grunge on a daily basis. I need clothes that will stand up to their molestations. And I really dig that I can return stuff that falls apart, even if it falls apart years later.

However, why can’t I buy a loden green sweater? Why is this colour reserved for men only? Look at it. It’s lovely. It would look fantastic on me. But no, it only comes in men’s sizes. The same holds true for your marine-blue turtleneck and your charcoal grey long-sleeved tee. Only available for men.

I’m not a man. I have boobs (boy, do I have boobs). I have (somewhat) of a waist and I have hips. I don’t like wearing men’s clothing. It makes me look even boxier than I already look. I’d like things that flatter what little shape I have, not that make me look like a big block.

Also, why can’t I get a sweater in a v-neck? Don’t you watch What Not To Wear? Don’t you know that a v-neck elongates you and makes you look taller and thinner and all those things that I strive for? I think you’re missing a huge opportunity here. Women like v-neck sweaters. Honest, they do.

I’m hardly a fashionista, but I think you’d be well-advised to get someone on your staff that could maybe drag you into the 21^st century. Some men like to wear pink shirts. Some women like to wear charcoal grey. You should work on that. Don't make me start shopping at Land's End. I'd lose my New England cred.

Yours in fashion confusion,
Julia

Dear Leslie and/or Karen, an Inmate At The Hampster County Jail,

My name is not Sandra Provost. I do not know a Sandra Provost. I don't know anyone who knows Sandra Provost. I'm sorry you're in jail and all, but stop calling me collect. You've called me 86 times in the last three days. I won't, on the 87th time, say "Oh my god, I DO know Leslie and/or Karen at the county jail," and accept the charges.

Yours in law-abiding-ness,
Julia

Dear Blogger,

Just fucking WORK, would you?

Yours in pissed off-edness,
Julia

All The Cool Kids Are Doing It

Didja vote? Didja, didja? C'mon, you know you want to. It's fun, man, you're gonna love it. It won't hurt. Everyone else does it.

Besides, if you don't vote, then you can't bitch. I swear, that's the only reason I vote sometimes - so I can bitch about what's going on.

GO VOTE!!!

Behold, The Future Dictator Of The World

Today, IKEA. Tomorrow, the WORLD!!

Yesterday we were one of THOSE people. The people that you glare at in the store, the ones with the screaming toddler. Boo was unfuckingbelievable yesterday. We went to IKEA and she started whining the minute we walked in the door and it just escalated from there. She cried, she threw things, she screamed, she hit. Ugh. She screamed the entire. way. home. It's an hour and fifteen minute drive.

She's taken to growl-screaming at me and she does it until she makes herself cough and gag. The other day, she screamed and screamed and screamed at me, until I finally snapped and screamed back in her face. I'm not very proud of it, but I was about to lose my shit.

I can't believe I would have forgotten if my other two were like this. I really don't think they were. Boo is unreal, though. She's going to do what she wants to do and if she doesn't get to do it, she's going to let the world and its brother know about it. If the Bug is like this when she gets to that age, I'm going to lose my mind. I can't fucking stand this. I don't want to have to spend the next three years stuck in my house because I have children who can't be inflicted upon the general public.

Time outs don't work - she thinks they're funny. I put her in her crib, but she just screams in there, too. And I'm talking half an hour of screaming, until I can't stand it anymore. The neighbours are probably going to call DSS on me any day now. I'm about at my wits end with her.

Do you think I'd get a good price if I sold her for science experiments?

living a life that is almost like suicide

I found my Best Of Elvis Costello cd today. I sometimes forget what a great songwriter he is, until I listen to him again and it hits me all over again. But I still have no clue what this song means:




Weekends are going to be light on content. Thank goodness for memes and youtube.

Five strange things

Tagged by Kerri.

This is what immediately popped into my head upon being tagged:



So, does that qualify as a strange fact? Or just that I have a strange brain?

1. I obsessively chew and pick at the skin around my nails. Not just the cuticles, but the skin, too. I have incredibly dry skin on my hands and in the winter, especially, my fingers crack and peel and itch. So I pick. I pick until it bleeds, sometimes. In spite of all this, my nails themselves still look great. But it's why I don't wear nail polish - I don't want to call attention to my mangled digits.

2. I have an inordinately large collection of books about Henry VIII. I know far too much about him for someone who doesn't have a degree in Tudor history. I'm obsessed. I even have a Henry VIII and his wives coffee mug. I can name the wives in order of appearance. I can name his children. And their spouses. I'm a sad, sad individual.

3. I want to be on What Not To Wear in the worst way. I wish I could nominate myself.

4. When I was in high school, I accidentally stole a pair of earrings from Spencer Gift. I put them in my hand, intending to pay for them, then wandered around the store and walked out with them still in my hand. I realized it 10 minutes later, but I didn't go back to pay for them.

5. I have a huge amount of (useless) trivial knowledge embedded in my brain. It does me no good what so ever, and yet, it's there, just waiting for someone to say "Hey, who sung Undercover Angel?" That'd be Alan O'Day. How often are members of Congress re-elected? Every two years (and GO VOTE, people! Please!).

And now I'm going to go drool over watch Keith Olberman.

Hey, look, even the military media is calling for Rumsfeld's resignation! Whoa.

Don't Drink The Kool-Aid

My sister and her girlfriend are joining a commune. I didn't think those even existed, but apparently they do. In northern California (imagine). It's a green commune. They build environmentally friendly homes - straw bale, wattle-and-daub and straw-clay - and share communal cooking spaces and bathrooms.

That'd be where I drew the line. I want my own bathroom. It's hard enough sharing with the total slobs people I live with now - the hair in the drain (bleeeeeeurgh), the wet washcloths, screwed up into knots, the toothpaste left open and spilling all over the counter. I don't even want to think about what kind of mental case I'd be if I had to put up with 20 other people sharing my bathroom.

What would really send me around the bend, though, is not having my own kitchen. I love to cook and I want to cook what I want, when I want it. Not at the whim of 20 other people. Of course, my sister and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a good meal. She's fine with a container of yoghurt and a granola bar. I think a meal should be a meal, with two or three foods on the plate. She rarely eats meat and I love it. She doesn't eat potatoes or rice or breads too often. She eats a lot of fruits, vegetables, beans and lentils.

She doesn't seem to get much enjoyment out of food. For instance, for the next month, she and her girlfriend are doing this fast thing - no caffeine (gah!), no alcohol (double gah!), no refined sugars, no flour, no meat products, no fats except olive oil and whatever occurs naturally in the foods they are eating. Going by what she was telling me, it won't be much. And they're going to do this for a MONTH. I'd be knocking over the 7-11 for Ring Dings and Slush Puppies after half a day on a diet like that.

For me, food is a sensual pleasure. I love the smells of fresh vegetables and fruits, the aromas of stews or pies as they're cooking, the tang of a lemon, the subtle scent of a cucumber. I love to feel the heft of an apple in my hand or to run my fingers over the smooth skin of an eggplant. I love to watch a loaf of bread as it rises and browns in the oven, to see eggs and oil as they do their magic and become mayonnaise. There's something very satisfying about knowing that I can take these diverse ingredients and make a meal that will please the palate and the stomach.

My sister doesn't feel that way. To her, food is just fuel, something to keep her going as she goes about her day being a crunchy hippie granola girl, fighting hard for her beliefs and ideals. My sister goes out and tries to slay dragons. I stay home and stoke the fires.

Would Mr. Joke please pick up the white courtesy phone?

Apparently, Badger and I live in a parallel universe, because I tried to make Cuban Granny Panties tonight with the exact same results (and the exact same replacement meal) that she had.

'the fuck, man? What did I do wrong?

Weighty matters

I'm re-reading Good In Bed, by Jennifer Weiner, for about the 8th time. I love this book because it's one of the few books - actually, the only book - I've ever read that gets what it's like to weigh too much. All those horrible things that Cannie thinks and says about her body are things that I've thought and said. She talks about her ex-boyfriend buying plus-sized lingerie for her and how she would never wear it because it would make her feel stupid. I can totally relate. TCBIM bought me a little purple, strappy, short little thing once. I tried it on once, for about 30 seconds, arms crossed in agony across my chest, my head hanging and my face flaming red. I tore it off and wrapped myself up in a voluminous, body-concealing bathrobe.

I've talked about this before, but it still holds true: I hate how I look. I know I'm supposed to be proud of the fact that my body shows that I've born children, but I'm not. I loathe my body. I won't look at myself in a mirror. I've perfected how to stand just so in a changing room, so that I can't really see myself as I'm undressing, to lean against the wall so that most of me isn't visible in the mirror . I've learned to just inspect my face, and to inspect that first, before moving down to see how the clothing looks on me. I take it in small bits - first, checking the fit across the shoulders, sliding down to the chest, then to the belly and hips and finally, the butt. I look at each section as clinically and dispassionately as possible. No lingering, no putting the whole package together, just piece by piece, until I can get out of the dressing room and look at the outfit from a distance. Even then, I don't visually attach my head to my body. If I don't, then I won't see myself as I really am, which is the goal.

I always assume that people are judging me on my weight, that they don't see me, they just see a fat chick. It was ok, bearable, when I was pregnant. You're supposed to be round when you're pregnant. It's cute. It's not cute when the baby is three months old and you still look six months pregnant. It's not cute to see that spread of white skin, those flabby thighs and saggy boobs. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting.

I wish I could stop myself from thinking this way. I wish I could at least accept how I look, since I can't seem to lose much weight. But I can't. It affects everything I do. It affects my relationship with TCBIM, with my friends, with my family. I'm always comparing myself to people I know - What are they eating? Are they comparing it to what I'm eating? The Do they think less of me because I weigh too much? Does that person not like me because I'm overweight? Is that waitress judging me because I ordered the steak instead of a salad?

There's a voice always running in my head, like a soundtrack on an endless loop. It tells me that I'm not good enough because I'm fat, that I don't have many friends because I'm fat, that TCBIM couldn't possibly really love me because I'm fat. In spite of repeated assurances by him to the contrary, I still hear that, all the time. Every time we get into an argument, I assume he's going to look at me in disgust and wonder what he's doing with a fat girl. Every time he's late getting home, I wonder if he's met someone thinner who won't embarass him. It's awful.

I'm going to therapy, before anyone suggests it, and I will be bringing it up next time. I just wish I could shut that voice up, before it completely ruins my life.

Perfect Post

All Consuming

I've given Kim, over at All Consuming, a Perfect Post award. I've never done one of these before, but this entry really spoke to me. As the parent of a child with several issues - type 1 diabetes and learning disabilities - I know a little bit about what she's going thru. While O doesn't have the issues her child has, they're still issues that have to be fought for and her wishes for her child are what I want for mine: A happy, loving, caring, content child. This post really resonated with me which is why I've given it the Perfect Post award.

Go check out the other Perfect Post awards at Suburban Turmoil and Mama K.



In a moment of insanity, I decided to do this NaBloPoMo. I don't know what I was thinking. I signed up and my mind immediately went blank. So, yeah, aren't you guys in for a treat this month? Oy.

Random randomness

• My son was supposed to come over last Monday and never did. When I called him to find out what was going on, he said he'd be out on Wednesday. Again, he never showed up, but this time he called. At night, but it was still a call. He then said he'd come out today, but of course, he hasn't. Again. No phone call, either. My feelings are hurt.
  

• I've been obsessively worrying about the Bug lately. I get up to check her three or four times during the night. I'm not getting much sleep, needless to say.

• Manner seem to have gone by the wayside here at Casa Bedhead. TCBIM hollered at me the other night because the Bug was screaming her head off and nothing I was doing was helping. I know it came out of frustration, but he never aplogized. Today, he called to ask me to read some stuff off some work papers that he left here and when I was done, just said "Cool. Bye." No thanks, no nothing. This is not acceptable.
  

• Boo is eating everything. She eats all her food (good) as well as the dog's food (bad) and the cat's food (bad) and the crayons, markers, leaves and dust bunnies that she can find. Why? Am I not feeding her enough? Do all toddlers do this? I don't remember this with O, but that was 10 years ago, too.
  

• I have a flat tire. Actually, both rear tires are bald and need replacing. So, in addition to the mondo-expensive transmission job I need, I also need new tires. Fanfuckingtastic. I hate cars. I told TCBIM this morning that once we had money again, we were getting a brand new vehicle. I don't care. I have such shit luck with cars that it makes more sense to get new and have it be covered under warranty than to get used and pay thru the ass for car repairs.

• In fifteen days, I'm going to be 40. It's freaking me right the fuck out. Seriously. Way worse than 30 did, worse even than 25 did and 25 freaked me out pretty badly.
  

• All I want for my birthday is a pedicure and the new Johnny Lang cd. I luff Johnny Lang.
  

There was an old woman....

I feel so old. My bones ache and creak. My hips hurt. My ankles hurt. My spine constantly feels like it needs to crack, up in the shoulder area. This sucks, man. It's all of a sudden, too - within the last few weeks. I just feel like my bones and joints are not aligned properly.

I wish I could afford a chiropractor. I went to one when I was pregnant with Boo and it was great. My back felt fantastic, which made the rest of me feel great, considering I was hugely pregnant. But we can't afford it. We can't afford our electric bill, nevermind a chiropractor.

I had been walking a couple of times a week, but I can't seem to work it in lately. TCBIM is working crazy hours, coming home at 3 or 4 and then having to go out again around 6 o 7 for an hour or two, on sales calls. So, while it's nice having him home during prime chaos hours, it means I can't squeeze a walk in, what with homework checking and soccer practise picking up and nursing and making dinner and, and, and....

I think I'm going to have to start doing crock pot meals or long-cooking things that can be left for half an hour, forty-five minutes, because the walk was really helping. It made me a bit more relaxed. Plus, I love pounding down the street to Rum, Sodomy And The Lash. It's a great disc for walking.

I also have to find a new doctor. The one I have now is horrid. If I were a hypochondriac (What? I am NOT, so just hush.), she'd be great. She told me that I should be seeing a high risk pregnancy specialist, because I was old (c'mere, lemme slap you, lady), that I should see a cardiologist because my father had angioplasty for clogged arteries, and that I needed an endocrinologist for my thyroid issue. I had to take her advice on the last one, since she flat out refused to prescribe my thyroid meds. I have to find someone else. She's a horror show.



As if I didn't feel bad enough about being broker than a broke thing, O wants to go to the ice cream place tomorrow, with the girls from her soccer team, and I don't think I have $5 to give her. I suck.

A couple of questions

1. What's a meta post? I've seen a few bloggers use this phrase and I can't figure out what it means.

2. How do I get my blog roll into a drop down menu format? It's very unweildy as it is now. Also, how do I get it to tag with new posts? It's linked thru bloglines - I thought that automatically showed which blogs had been updated, but it doesn't seem to be doing that on my list.

3. I'm not insane enough to attempt NaNoWriMo, but I think I'm going to try the November post a day thing that's oozing around the blogosphere. Anyone else doing that?


I guess that was three questions.

We Dress Like Housewives

My father has turned into a sexist jackass. He's always had the jackass part covered, but until Saturday, I didn't realize he was also a 50s throwback.

We were on the phone the other day, discussing TCBIM. I mentioned that TCBIM had been working a lot and my dad said he really admired him because he was such a hard worker (it's true - TCBIM has many faults, but he works like a demon). I agreed and out of the blue, my dad says "You shouldn't be making any demands on him. When he gets home you should have dinner on the table for him. You don't work, so you shouldn't be asking him to do anything."

Can you hold on? I have to go find my ass because I just laughed it off.

Dinner on the TABLE? I don't work???! I don't get paid, but Jesus H. Christ, do I work. Come to my house one of these days, dad. Let me show you how little "work" I do all day.

Sweet suffering mother of fuck. Who says shit like that these days? I work my ass off (when it's not being deluged, of course). And TCBIM isn't home enough for me to make demands on him. He's always working. Which is fine. It's not great, but we need the money and he enjoys his work, which is good. We don't get much time together, but we make the most of it when we do have a free day.

I just don't understand where the comment came from. He was brought up that way, of course, since he was born in 1937, but my mother wasn't like that. She didn't have dinner on the table when my dad walked in the door. She kept the house relatively clean and stayed home with my sister and me until I was about 10, but it was by no means a Father Knows Best kind of house. And his second wife, my stepmonster, certainly makes him fetch and carry. She's got a houseboy, basically, and she orders him around like he's some kind of imbecilic servant.

Perhaps he wants TCBIM to live the life that he would have liked to have lived. It's not going to happen, though. I don't think I should have to be the obedient, subservient wife. I think marriage is a partnership. It's never 50/50, no matter how much I'd like it to be. There's an ebb and flow to it. Right now, I'm doing more around-the-house stuff than he does. Last year, it was pretty much equal. A few years ago, he did more. It works, for the most part, with some hitches and hissy fits on both our parts, but it works.

It won't work if I become this passive, placid little cow, though. I can't do that, I can't become someone I'm not. I'm kind of surprised that my dad even asked me to do that.