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.

A Rainy Day Fashion Tip

When it's raining, don't wear jeans that are too big for you, especially those that gap at the waist. While you're bending over, strapping chidren into car seats, the rain drops will go right down the crack of your ass, causing you to shriek, thus scaring said children. In your hurry to stop the ass-crack-deluge, you will whack the top of your head on the door frame of the car. This will cause you to stagger back, stepping into a 4" deep puddle, the bottom of which is full of leaves. Wet leaves. Slippery wet leaves that will make your feet, in their oh-so-cute-but-oh-so-impractical-in-the-rain Liz Claiborne slip on sneaker-y things, fly out from underneath you and sending you ass first - the same ass that was already insulted (?) with ass-crack-deluge - into the 4" deep puddle. The dog, curious about all the swearing, shrieking and splashing going on, comes out of her dog house and shakes herself all over, thereby drenching the top half of you, which wasn't really that wet yet, and giving you a lovely layer of dog hair. Wet dog hair.

You will now drag the children back out of the car and into the house. The two year-old will protest mightily because it's story time and she wants to go to the library. The two month-old will add her cries to the mix, just because. You yell "Hang on, hang on, I just need to change my pants," knowing full well that they don't care, they just want to GO already, and hoping that your jacket will hide your wet and dog-hair-covered t-shirt. Back into the car, avoiding the ass-crack-deluge this time (because this is what happens when jeans fit) and down to the library, where your friend comments "Goodness, you look harried." Y'think?

You've got to be kidding.

Jeffrey? Fucking JEFFREY?

Heidi Klum said she'd wear every single piece that Uli made. Nina Garcia said that people were asking her on her way out the door how to contact Uli. All the judges told Laura that her collection looked like it cost $30,000 to make, not $8,000. And Jeffrey won?

What
The
Fuck?

A rotten mother

• If you are reading this post on a site other than Major Bedhead or with Bitacle.org in the address, you are reading scraped and stolen content and you should knock it off immediately. It's stolen and it's WRONG.

I can't hack this. Boo is so difficult lately. She's defiant, she has screaming mimi temper tantrums and she hits me and I just don't know what to do with her. I don't know what to do with myself, either. I get SO angry with her when she's been doing this for hours, so angry that I scare myself. So angry that I have to leave the room so I don't do anything I'll regret. I regret enough as it is - it's mortifying to admit this, but I have sworn at her, which makes me feel horribly guilty and makes me cry.

I hate this. I hate this black rage that envelopes me when I've been listening to the whining, shrieking, screaming and crying for hours. I hate that she acts that way. I hate that nothing I do seems to help. I hate feeling like I have no control over her or over myself.

I've tried putting her in the corner. She stays there, but I don't think she sees it as a punishment. I've tried putting her in her playpen and putting her in her bed. It just transfers the screaming to another location. I've tried talking to her. I tell her not to hit/scream/have a fit. She nods and hugs and then 30 seconds later, she's doing it again. She goes from sweet and biddable to psycho and then back again in a matter of minutes. I never know how she's going to react to anything. Will she laugh? Will she scream? Will she do what she's told? Will she throw herself on the floor and start yelling? It's unbelievably frusrating.

I feel awful. I shouldn't lose my cool with her - I try and try and try and then, finally, something snaps in me and I yell. I try so hard not to. And when I do yell, I feel so guilty and scared and helpless. I usually wind up putting her in her bed and sitting in the bathroom, sobbing.

I've sat on the couch, holding her or the Bug and wondering if I shouldn't just give them up, find someone who's better at this than I am, who won't lose her shit every single day, who won't fuck them up for life. I'm terrified of what I'm doing to them, of what I'm doing to myself. I hate this angry, wound up person that I've become. I hate that I dread her waking up from her nap. I hate that her bedtime is my favourite time of day because it means that I won't have to deal with her for 12 hours. I hate that I feel this way about my daughter. It's so wrong.

I love her to pieces, even though this post doesn't sound that way. I do. I don't want to mess up my kids. I don't want to be angry all the time. I don't enjoy it. But I'm not enjoying any of this right now, either. It seems endless, like it's always going to be this way, like there's nothing to look forward to and it's never going to change. I'm just plodding along a never-ending trail, watching my happiness, my enthusiasm, my self just slipping away, listening to her pitch fits and feeling like a complete and utter failure as a mother.

I need help.

Always look on the bright side of life

• If you are reading this post on a site other than Major Bedhead or with Bitacle.org in the address, you are reading scraped and stolen content and you should knock it off immediately. It's stolen and it's WRONG.

Fuck off, Bitacle

Inspired by a post over on Bub and Pie, but going off on a tangent, as is my wont.

TCBIM is what I consider a cock-eyed optimist. He never, ever, ever thinks that anything bad will happen. He refuses to even consider the thought. He always looks on the bright side. I find this unbelievably annoying.

I get called a pessimist, although I think I'm more of a realist. I always prepare for the worst possible scenario - I expect the present not to appear, the vacation to be a failure, the car to break down at the most inopportune time. That way, when those things happen, I'm not surprised. If the opposite occurs and everything goes swimmingly, I'm as pleased as Punch.

TCBIM tells me that it makes for a depressing situation, that because I constantly expect things to go wrong, I can't enjoy myself. I think I enjoy things - probably not with the headlong enthusiasm of a child, but I do enjoy them. He thinks I spend all my time worrying. He's not totally wrong there - I do worry a lot. It's not paralyzing worry, but I envision bad things happening on a regular basis. Things rarely go as awfully as I can picture in my head - and believe me, I can picture some total doozies. Doozies that would probably get me locked into a little padded room if I actually spoke them aloud.

I think years of being disappointed have done their work on me. The first one that stands out in my mind involves a dress. It was at Sears and I wanted it in the worst way. It was light blue dotted swiss, very Little House On The Prairie meets Little Women. I lusted after this dress. I dreamed about it. I begged my mother for it. I dragged her thru Sears just so I could go pat it. I even asked Santa for it for Christmas that year. Lo and behold, under the tree on Christmas morning was a long, dress-sized box. I ripped it open frantically and there, in the box, was a dress pattern and some fabric. Not the same fabric, not the same dress pattern. I vividly remember the disappointment crashing over me. I had to leave the room and go have a cry in the bathroom.

I knew, even then, that my parents didn't have the money to buy me that dress. It was around $50 - $60 and this was back in 1974 or so. I thought, though, that if I only asked for that and nothing else, they'd get it for me. I'd crossed my fingers and wished on stars and hoped and hoped so much and to see that box under the tree - well, I was just giddy at the thought of it. Even today, I can still feel a bit of the sadness I felt back then.

So many other disappointments have followed (my father leaving, my college experience, my first marriage), that I learned, eventually, not to expect anything. To wall off my heart and feelings towards high expectations and to accept that, most of the time, things will be fine, but they sure won't be the fantastic-ness I wanted them to be.

Now I don't anticipate anything. I don't look forward, I just try to enjoy the day, the moment I'm in. I don't wait for the next good thing to happen. TCBIM does. He constantly talks about when the girls are older, when we have more money, when, when, when. He doesn't really seem to appreciate the now, he's always too busy waiting for The Next Big Thing. I don't know what's worse: Expecting the worst, but enjoying the now or expecting the best, but only in the future.

He also has a very annoying tendency to tell me to cheer up or to stop thinking like that. Sometimes I wonder if he really knows me. I mean, we've been together almost 7 years - you'd think he'd GET it by now - I'm not a glass half full person. I'm just happy there's a glass.

A whole bullet list of bitching

• If you are reading this post on a site other than Major Bedhead or with Bitacle.org in the address, you are reading scraped and stolen content.

• Go over to Little Bald Doctors and read her posts about Bitacle. Fuckers. They're stealing blog content, including mine, and posting it as their original. I've added a spiffy new copyright button and I've made my feeds length short - apparently this helps, although I'm more than a little clueless about all of this.
  

• So, if you're reading this on Bitacle, they're theiving fuckers and you should stop it right now.
  

• I'm going to rent The Boo out as an air raid siren. She would certainly be heard all over town. "MiiiIIIIIine, miiiIIIIIiine, miiiIIIIIIiiine!" The plus side? She now knows to put herself in the corner. "No hit mama," she says, as she stands there. *sigh*

• I put on lip gloss today, for the first time in, oh, forever and I noticed that I'm starting to get little lines around my lips. And? I have a crinkle in the middle of my brow. What. The. Fuck. When did this shit happen and why wasn't I consulted??! This getting older thing is for the birds.

• My fucking car broke down. Really broke down, like, transmission-fell-out-of-it, broke down. This is not a good time for this to happen. At all. It's only got 100K miles on it and it's a HONDA. That's not supposed to happen. Once again, my bad car karma rears its ugly head.

• I'm constantly hungry lately. I never, ever feel full. It sucks. I have to force myself not to hoover up the kitchen every day and I've completely stopped buying snacks, because I'll eat them all. It's not my thyroid - I just had that checked not too long ago. Maybe it's because I'm nursing, but I'm not happy. I've put on 7 of the 27 lbs I'd lost after having The Bug. In a month. Not good. Not good at all. Need to start walking. Maybe even running.
  

• I don't know why, but all the bones in my body hurt. Feet, ankles, hips, fingers, wrists, shoulders. Everything. It's very uncomfortable and I'm sucking back Advil like there's no tomorrow. I don't want to have to go to the doctor's again. I'm sick of the doctor.
  

• The dog has fleas. I hope I can buy some sort of flea treatment for not a lot of money at the local pet supply place. I feel bad - I can't afford the dog at all, but O and The Boo love her. And she is a very good dog - very obedient and really great with the kids. And I do like her, even if she does annoy the piss out of me sometimes.
  

• And finally: Congratulations to the Detroit Tigers. Goin' to the World Series. I'll be cheering for them, since they beat the *spit* friggin' Yankees. For that, they earn my undying gratitude.
  

File under: Duh

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well. An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly. You are also good at remembering information and convicing someone of your point of view. A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary. You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

Kick ASS!

O's A1c came today. 7.7%. That's down from 8.8%. Doods. We so fucking ROCK right now.

I'm so psyched. I was feeling like I wasn't doing enough, like I was missing something with this because we just worked and worked and worked at it and for the last 9 months, her A1c has been atrocious. 9.2%, 8.7% and 8.8%.

I guess we're doing something right. For now, anyway.

Persistance pays off

TCBIM worked from home today, which meant he mostly sat on the couch and chatted with me while I caught up on the eleventy-million emails I had (Freecycle. It's great, but god, it generates so much email).

Anyway, while he was sitting there, a commercial came on for DirecTV and their DVR doo-hickey. We've both said we wanted to get this, when we have the money. I went online to see how much it costs. It's free if you're a new customer, but if you're an existing customer, it's $100 for the box. Um, what? Great customer service there, penalizing your existing customers.

TCBIM called them up and politely harangued them. This went on for about 45 minutes. He kept getting kicked up to higher and higher manager-type people. Finally, I think out of shear exhaustion, the final guy agreed to give us the DVR for free AND to lower our payment to $39.99. So for what we were paying for satellite before, we're now also getting 100 hours of DVR. Joy! Score!

Sometimes he is useful.

*Twitch Twitch*

I was netless for a week. It kind of sucked.

I didn't kill my mother while she was here, which is good.

I survived (barely) TCBIM being gone for a week.

O went to the endo's and to her father's. She's seen the endo more frequently in the last three months than she has her father.

The Bug is now sleeping from 10-ish p.m. until 5-ish a.m.. I am amazed and quite, quite happy. Now if only I could stay asleep. *sigh*

I have SO much blog-reading to do that it will probably take me a year to get thru them all.

More to come...sometime...hopefully.

When you have no time, you do bullet lists

• My mother is here. We haven't killed each other yet. This is progress.
• The Bug is somewhat better, although she was up at 3 fucking 50 this morning. Ugh.
• The public library here in town has kicked out The Boo's playgroup. I guess 6 toddlers are just more than they can handle. My eyes won't roll that far up into my head, I'm so fucking disgusted. Their excuse? We use up too many library resources. Mind you, we meet once a week, on Tuesdays, from 1 - 2 p.m. and we bring our own toys.
  
• I have to write an article on the school shootings. I don't even know where to begin. It makes me ache just thinking about it. This one is going to be tough.
• TCBIM is in Philladelphia. It sucks. I don't like sleeping by myself. I keep hearing things go bump in the night.
• The Boo is on another nap strike. This also sucks.
• I don't have time to write proper posts, so I'm reduced to doing these stupid bullet point things. I'm hoping regular service will resume shortly.
  

More useless information

Sandra posted this meme. Thank goodness she did, otherwise this would be another bitch-fest post. I can hear your sighs of relief from up here.


1. Do you still have tonsils?

Yep. And my appendix, too.


2. Would you bungee jump?

Not on your life.


3. If You Could Do Anything In The World For A Living What Would It Be?

Professional student and published writer.


4. How many tattoos do you have?

None. Yet. But I want to get a Jizo tattoo at some point. I love the symbolism of him.


5. Your favorite fictional animal?

Hedwig.


6. One person that never fails to make you laugh?

My friend Caragh. Who lives in Ireland, dammit.
And Eddie Izzard. Sadly, I don't actually know him.


7. Do you consider yourself well organized?

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Um, no.


8. Any Addictions?

Coffee. Dark chocolate, especially if it's from these guys.


9. From what news source do you receive the bulk of your news?

CNN (I have the hots for Anderson Cooper), NPR and The New Yorker.


10. Would you rather go to a carnival or circus?

Carnival. Circuses are smelly, I always feel bad for the animals and there are clowns there. I re-e-e-e-e-eally don't like clowns.


11. When you were twelve years old, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Elizabeth I.
Second choice: veterinarian.


12. Best Movie You've Seen This Year?

Ummmm... I have no idea. I don't watch that many movies and none of them have stuck with me enough to say they were the best. I am highly (ha! highly) enjoying season one of Weeds, though.


13.Favorite alcoholic drink

Good red wine
Guinness
Gin & Tonic


14. What is the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning?

Nurse the baby.


15. Siblings?

One hippy dippy, earthy crunchy sister.


16. What is the best thing about your job?

The spontaneous hugs and kisses.


17. Have you ever gone to therapy?

Oh yes. I should probably start going again.


18. If you could have one super power what would it be?

That one the chick on Bewitched had - how cool would it be to just wiggle your nose and have shit be done? Really fucking cool, that's how cool.


19. Do you own any furniture from Ikea?

I do - my bed is from IKEA. It's the only place we could find an affordable platform bed. I luuuuurve IKEA.


20. Have you ever gone camping?

Yes. And I never will again. I hated everything about it.


21. Gas prices! First thought?

Hey, they're coming down.


22. Your favorite cartoon character?

Bugs Bunny. He never fails to make me laugh.


23. What was your first car?

1980 (I think) Subaru GL coupe. Brown. Five speed. I loved that car and abused it mercilessly.


24. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?

No.


25. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons?

Neither. I think I'm the only person in America who doesn't like The Simpsons.


26. Do you go to church?

Nope.


27. What famous person would you like to have dinner with?

Henry VIII. I have a bit of an obsession with him.


28. What errand/chore do you despise?

I hate all of them equally. First thing I'd do if I hit the lottery is hire a cleaning service to come in every day. I HATE doing chores. Hate it.


29. First thought when the alarm went off this morning?

Ugh, I have definitely not had enough sleep. Again.


30. Last time you puked from drinking?

College, probably.


31. What is your heritage?

Peruvian, German, English, Scottish and a tiny bit Irish. Mostly Peruvian.


32. Favorite flower?

Old-fashioned roses, the kind that smell divine and get all blowsy when they open. Lily-of-the-valley. Lilac. Johnny Jump Ups and violets.


33. Disney or Warner Bros?

Warner Brothers, hands down.


34. What is your best childhood memory?

We used to live in England. My father taught at a college in Leicestershire and he had to go to this very small castle (they really are all over the place there) to meet with someone. I was left to wander the grounds. It was a very misty day, typically English, and I walked thru the ruins of this castle, waiting and hoping that a rift in the fabric of time would open up and let me through. I used to hope for that on a regular basis. I had an over-active imagination as a child. I was always wandering off, hoping to get taken back in time.

Hmm. That's not too cheerful, is it?


35. Your favorite potato chip?

Ketchup chips. I can't find them anywhere down here.
Terra Chips. Mmmm. Good stuff.


36. What is your favorite candy?

Besides those chocolates referenced above, I'm very partial to sour candy - chewy Sweet Tarts, Lik-m-Aid, Pixie Stix, that sort of thing.


37. Do you burn or tan?

Tan. It's the Peruvian thing.


38. Astrological sign?

Scorpio


39. Do you own a gun?

Nope.


40. What do you think of hot dogs?

Sometimes you just have to eat one.

Um, hello?

Hi.
Remember me?
Name's julia. I used to post here regularly.
Now? Not so much.
Why?
Well, there's this baby, the Bug. She cries a lot. And there's her big sister, the Boo. She's on a nap strike. And O (who just turned 12 on the 25th), who has lots of homework and soccer practises and games and, and, and.... And then TCBIM is working a lot - good, because we need the money. Bad, because I feel like a single parent.

So, yeah.

I'm still around. Just kind of overwhelmed.

And next week? When TCBIM is gone? My mother will be here. I'm glad she's coming because I'll definitely need the help, but oh. my. god. I haven't spent this much time with my mother since...1988.

The most interesting news, though, is that my sister and her girlfriend are seriously thinking about joining a commune. More on that one later....

This post contains Too Much Information

The Bug has thrush. Rather, had thrush. I took acidophilus like it was going out of style and it seems to have cleared up. I think she has a yeast infection on her little butt, though, because she has a rash from hell and the Desitin isn't touching it.

I also have a whopper of an infection. It's disgusting. I got the tube o' stuff and have been using it, but now I'm bleeding. Which is decidely Not Right, since I'm breastfeeding exclusively and the baby is only 6.5 weeks old.

I called the midwife today, thinking the bleeding and yeast infection were one and the same and she insists they're not. So, what the fuck? She claims it's residual post-partum bleeding, but that seems really odd.

I've had four babies and this is the first time this has happened.




And the Bug? Still crying like a son of a bitch. I tried the baby burrito thing that someone suggested. Tonight, I'm leaving. TCBIM will be home in half an hour and I'm going out. I don't give a shit where I go, but if I don't leave, someone's going to get hurt. I don't know what to do for her. She just screams and screams and screams and I'm about to lose my fucking mind. Last night, she screamed from 2 a.m. until almost 4 a.m..

To make my life even better, I found out that TCBIM has to go to Philadelphia for a week, on October 2nd. Fanfuckingtastic. Can't hardly wait.

Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!

It's International Talk Like A Pirate Day.




Edited to add:

My pirate name is:

Black Jenny Rackham

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

When in doubt, meme.

Stolen from Badger.


1. If you make sweet tea, or your favorite style, do you use Luzianne, Lipton or something else?
I use Barry's Gold from Ireland or Twinings Lady Grey for hot tea.
Iced is usually Rose's and I sweeten it with simple syrup because I'm a bit OCD and I don't like grains of sugar sitting in the bottom of my glass. And it's definitely not sweet enough to qualify as sweet tea.

2. What brand of toilet paper do you buy and is it the larger rolls or regular?
Scott. 1000 sheets per roll.

3. Which brand of bath soap do you use? Body wash or bar?
Dove Sensitive Skin bar soap. Because, goddammit, I am a sensitive, fragile flower.

4. What cereal do you buy for yourself?
Steel cut oatmeal (seriously) or Grape Nuts. Once in a while, I'll sneak a box of Captain Crunch with Crunchberries. My tastebuds love it, but the roof of the mouth? Not so much.

5. What brand of dishwasher detergent do you use? Liquid or tablets?
I use Joy or Dawn. I AM the dishwasher - I don't need no steenkin' tablets.

6. What’s your favorite fruit?
Summer? Plums, peaches, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, canteloupes.
Fall/Winter? MacIntosh, Gala, Cameo, Pink Lady, Fuji or Granny Smith apples. Forelle pears. Cranberries.

7. Which brand of laundry detergent do you use?
Liquid All HE.

8. Do you like chocolate?
Does a bear shit in the woods? Is the Pope Catholic?

9. Are you right or left-handed?
Right. The things I can do with my left hand shouldn't be repeated on a family blog.

10. Do you still write checks or use a debit card?
Both. Debit card more than checks, though.


I'm tagging whoever wants to play along.

Sleep Strike

I don't know who's child this is (and I'll take the picture down if I need to) but holy SHIT, I need this t-shirt.

The Boo is no longer napping. At all. This does not mean that she doesn't NEED a nap, because, boy howdy, does she ever. Come 2:30 in the afternoon and she is on full-out crank mode. I'm thinking of renting her out to the fire department or maybe the local Air Force Base as an air raid siren.

The Bug isn't any better. For the last two days, she hasn't slept more than 20 minutes at a stretch. Between this and the continuing projectile pooping, I'm a jangling bundle of rapidly fraying nerves.

I can't get anything done. I felt like I really accomplished something today because I washed the dishes. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. Someone is always crying here (half the time, it's me). I snapped this afternoon and put the girls in the car and went for an hour drive. The Boo was fine, ate some crackers, looked out the window and babbled away. The Bug slept. For 30 whole minutes. The remaining 30 were spent screaming her head off as I tried to get back home.

Is it illegal to dope them up with Benedryl?

Bloglines

I know some of you are more experienced with Bloglines than I am so I'm hoping one of you can tell me what the hell is going on with mine. I have little exclamation points next to 90% of the blogs I'm subscribed to, telling me that bloglines can't find the feed.

If blogger has switched me to fucking beta automatically, I'm going to be pissed off. Is there a way to tell that?

I'm really starting to dislike blogger.

Nine Years

A couple of weeks ago, Sandra Miller wrote a post about her son, Joseph and their fairly unshakeable belief that there will be a cure for diabetes soon. I didn't comment at the time because I just don't share those beliefs.

Nine years ago today, O was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. The details of that time are horrific and still make me cry, all these years later. For over 8 months, I knew something was wrong. She wasn't talking much. I couldn't get her toilet trained at all. She slept all the time - very unusual for a kid a little over 2 years old.

I kept going to the doctor's with her. They said she probably had some learning delays, so they put her in Early Intervention. They said she probably had an immature bladder and to not push the toilet training too hard. They said she probably just needed more sleep than most kids.

And then she stopped walking. She'd sit on the floor at my feet and beg to be picked up. When we went outside, she'd walk for a few steps and then turn to me, put her arms up in the air and cry to be carried. She cried a lot those last few weeks before she was diagnosed. I cried a lot, too. I cried because she just wasn't herself. I cried because I was terrified. I cried because I looked at my gorgeous little girl and realized that she was nearly see-through. I cried because, at almost three years old, she only weighed 23 pounds.

After weeks of pushing the doctors to do something, ANYthing, to figure out what was wrong with her, someone at the practise finally listened to me. They did a urine test and sent me home, thinking, I'm sure, that I was just another paranoid mother, overreacting. I had no more walked in the door from the appointment than they were on the phone, telling me to get back there immediately.

And so began our lives. A new life of shots and log books and blood sugar tests. A life alien to the one I expected for my child, but still, a life. A life full of soccer and friends and sleepovers and makeup and clothes and crushes on boys. A life lived in spite of diabetes. A life lived TO spite diabetes.

For the first year after her diagnosis, she saw Dr. Craig Alter. He's a fantastic endocrinologist who has since gone on to head pediatric endocrinology at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. At the time, he told me that he firmly believed that there would be a cure within 5 years. We've almost doubled that time span and there is still no cure. When those five years had passed and there was no talk of a cure, I was furious. Furious that there was no cure but even more furious that the doctors had gotten my hopes up.

That, to me, is the cruelest thing. Why would you tell someone that you think there will be a cure for this disease when you don't know? Why would you get a parent's hopes up, only to have them dashed again and again? Why would you tell a CHILD that you believe that there will be a cure in X number of years? It's inexcusable.

I'm not saying that there shouldn't be a hope for a cure - of course there should be. But there shouldn't be a timeline. Sooner is better, but saying it will definitely happen in five, ten, fifteen years is unbelievably cruel.

This is why I've never talked of when there will be a cure with O. We keep up to date on the latest research and we talk about what it will mean for her and other people with diabetes. We talk about all the famous people who have diabetes - at camp this year, she met Will Cross, the man with type 1 who climbed Mt. Everest and she thought he was just about the coolest guy ever. She cheered on Jason Johnson, a pitcher (briefly) for the Red Sox, who has type 1. She's a big fan of Gary Hall, Jr., the Olympic swimmer. I want her to see what she can do, in spite of her diabetes. I want her to see how far she can go, how she doesn't have to let this disease shape her life.

But I will not hold out false hope for a cure. I don't want to do that to my daughter.

Because getting WIC isn't embarassing enough

Because we're broker than a broke thing at the Brokedown Palace, I checked into WIC. We qualified. I'm not thrilled about this, but we certainly could use the assistance. I hate taking handouts, but I'd also hate to starve and/or lose my house. So I swallowed my pride and went to the WIC office today.

While I was there, answering questions about our eating habits and getting information on CSAs and food share programs, The Bug decided to have a nice, wet-sounding poop - the kind that breastfed babies are notorious for having. Loud, Tiajuana two-step type poops. I got out the little mat and laid her on the table and took off her diaper. Naturally, she decided she wasn't done and she pooped again. And again. And again. And then one more time, only this time, she added a fancy, projectile-poop finish, christening her (white - naturally) outfit, the mat, the table and my leg. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

The Boo is standing next to me during all of this saying "Ewww. Baby pooped, mama. Pie pooped." I'm dying. The WIC counselor was laughing her head off. I was, too, but in more of an if-I-don't-laugh-I'm-going-to-cry kind of way. A whole packet of baby wipes, a two-inch stack of paper towels and half a container of Clorox wipes later and I'm on my red-faced way. *sigh*

We're going to be getting 12 gallons of milk a month. Twelve. That's a shitload of milk. Do you know if you can freeze milk? We'll never drink that much.

Did you know that you don't get any fresh fruits, vegetables or meats on WIC? You get canned carrots and canned tuna and that's it. You get cereal, a shitload of milk, eggs, cheese and peanut butter, but no meat, no fruit and no veggies. Maybe the thought process is that by providing those things, it frees up a bit of money in order for you to buy meats, fruits and veggies. I think it would be better to pay for that, though. Then you'd be sure that kids were eating it.

I hate that I'm on WIC. Really hate it. It's embarassing. It makes me feel poor. Really poor, bordering on destitute. There's something debasing about taking public assistance that makes me feel beaten down, like I need to avert my eyes from everyone when I go to the market, like the cashiers and people behind me in line are judging me because I'm on WIC. I wish there was a way to make it a bit more discreet, but you have these big checks that you have to sign in front of the cashier. At least food stamps are on a card that looks like a debit card now. Most people would never know that you were using food stamps, but WIC is painfully obvious.

So, yeah. Another body blow to my self-esteem. Just what I need.

The Ex-hole, part whatever in a continuing series

O's father called her tonight. He hasn't called her in over a month but now he wants to see her this weekend. She didn't want to talk to him and when she said she had to go, he got angry with her. "Oh, you don't want to talk to me now?" She doesn't want to go there this weekend, either. I don't think she has any desire to see him at all any more.

She started crying when she hung up the phone. She said he was going to call back tonight to talk to her and she's freaking out a bit over it. I told her that she at least has to tell him that she doesn't want to come over this weekend but that she'd write him a letter to tell him why. Hopefully that will be easier for her. She can't say it over the phone for some reason. I think she's afraid he'll start yelling at her.

I don't really know what to do. I'm not going to make her go if she doesn't want to, but I'm also going to have her tell him that she doesn't want to go and why. I think she should.

I just wish the fucker would stay gone instead of pulling this re-appearing act every now and again. It drives me crazy, but it really sends O into an emotional spiral. It sucks and I can't make it better for her. I hate that.

Cruel and Inhuman

So, I'm not a big hockey fan, but TCBIM is (surprise, surprise, he's Canadian - I think it's a law up there). He frequently checks the Boston Bruins website and today, he informs me that the Bruins have signed a new player. His name?

Wacey Rabbit.

I'm not kidding.

Can you imagine going thru life with that name? I think I'd kill my parents if they'd given me that name.

It's a good thing he's a big boy. He can beat the snot out of anyone who mocks him. And I'd imagine there was some mocking going on.



Wacey Rabbit. At least he's not from Walla Walla, Washington.

I'm an INFJ

You Are An INFJ

The Protector You live your life with integrity, originality, vision, and creativity. Independent and stubborn, you rarely stray from your vision - no matter what it is. You are an excellent listener, with almost infinite patience. You have complex, deep feelings, and you take great care to express them. You would make a great photographer, alternative medicine guru, or teacher.

What's Your Personality Type?

God Bless The Great Indoors

(Name that tune.)


This is why I don't take the girls outside more often.

• Gather up The Bug and The Boo.
• Get stroller out of trunk.
• Chase The Boo, who has run into the yard.
• Get sling out of back seat.
• Get Bug into sling.
• Chase The Boo, who has run into the yard.
• Try to get The Boo to climb into the stroller.
• Fail.
• Heave The Boo into the stroller while trying not to drop The Bug out of the sling.
• Sweat.
• Find pony tail holder in car and pull hair back.
• Adjust The Bug, who has squirmed her head out of the sling.
• Start down the driveway.
• Get barked at by the dog, who wants to come with us.
• Get pelted by acorns as we walk under the neighbour's oak tree.
• Sweat some more.
• Fix hair, which has come out of the pony tail holder.
• Cross road.
• Brush bugs out of my face.
• Brush mosquito off The Bug.
• Brush more gnats out of my face.
• Breath in a couple of gnats.
• Cough profusely.
• Sweat.
• Get grass blown on me by Mr. Oblivious on his ride-on mower.
• Lawn mower wakes The Bug, who starts shrieking.
• Curse.
• Fail to notice huge puddle, walk thru it, soaking shoes and feet.
• Curse.
• More gnats up my nose.
• Get barked out by a big, scary dog, thankfully fenced in.
• Big dog wakes up The Bug, who starts shrieking.
• More acorn peltage.
• Realize halfway thru walk that I reallyreallyreally have to pee.
• Speed walk home.
• More gnats.
• More acorns.
• Narrowly avoid stepping in dog shit.
• Push stroller up driveway.
• Get The Boo out of the stroller.
• Chase her as she makes a break for the yard again.
• Get into the house.
• Get The Bug out of the sling.
• Pray she stays asleep.
• Pee with an audience.
• Remove sweat-soaked shirt.
• Put on clean shirt.
• Collapse on couch until someone needs something - time elapsed: 27 seconds.

This is why animals eat their young

Oh
My
God

I'm going insane. The Bug has taken to shrieking and nursing, staring at about 7 p.m. and continuing until midnight or so. She'll eat, then pull away and scream. She'll fall asleep for 20 minutes and then eat again, pull away and scream. Sometimes she'll just scream for half an hour at a stretch. The binky doesn't help, the gas drops don't do jack and jiggling her up and down while I walk around the house doesn't do a thing, either. She doesn't like to be put down but holding her doesn't seem to appease her, either. She won't go in the swing and putting her in her car seat just provokes her.

When she does nurse, she'll suck and suck and suck, then practically choke on the milk. She latches back on, but then starts to pull away. With my boob clamped in her hard little gums. I? Am not Stretch Armstrong. And that? Fucking hurts.

I don't know what to do. Has anyone tried Gripe Water? My friends in England and Ireland say it's fantastic, but at $11 a bottle, it would be a pricey plastic bottle if it doesn't. If all else fails, I'm buying her this:





The Boo has also take to waking up several times a night and shrieking her head off until TCBIM goes in there and gives her back her binky. I don't know if she's having bad dreams or if she just wakes up without her binky, but it's driving both of us insane.

Like I wasn't suffering from enough sleep deprivation as it was, O threw me a blood sugar reading of 501 at midnight last night. No ketones, thank goodness, but still. Oy.

I'm so fucking tired. *whimper*

The Book Meme

Something to do on Labour Day.

One book that changed your life:
The Daughter Of Time by Josephine Tey. It got me started on a serious obsession with all things Tudor (I know it's about Richard III, the last Plantagenet). I know now more about Henry VIII than anyone outside of academia should know. And I love it.

2. One book that you've read more than once:
I've read a ton of books more than once. My favourite to read again and again is Little Women. I love Jo March.

3. One book you would want on a desert island:
How To Get Off A Desert Island by S.H.I. Precked.

4. One book that made you laugh:
Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams. If you've only seen the movie (my apologies), go read the book. It's seriously funny shit.

5. One book that made you cry:
The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell. Sobbed like a baby.

6. One book that you wish had been written:
How To Avoid Marrying The Guy Who's Just Like Your Dad

7. One book that you wish had never been written:
The fucking DaVinci Code. Jesus, I hated that book.

8. The book that you are currently reading:
I'm always reading more than one.
Shoulder The Sky - Anne Perry
The Most Of P.G. Wodehouse

9. One book that you have been meaning to read:
Just one?? Good grief.
An Instance Of The Fingerpost - Iain Pears. It's been on my shelf for years and I just can't get into it and it sits there, making me feel guilty.

Exist

www.existmag.com

Go. Read. Enjoy.

You can even tell us what you think of us now, which scares me a little.

Jon Lester

I was going to write a really pithy post about the Red Sox and their ever-growing list of injured players, but last night, NESN reported that John Lester, the 22 year-old pitcher, was diagnosed with anaplastic large cell lymphoma.

He's got great doctors and it's supposed to be a very treatable form of cancer, but it's still cancer. And he's his parents' only child. And just starting his baseball career. And only 22 years old.

Here's to hoping the doctors can get rid of it and that he recovers completely and that it never, ever comes back again. If we see him at spring training next year, even better.