Monday, November 30, 2009


Hey guys. I haven't been here for a few days, damn that Thanksgiving, so here I am, and I want to talk a little more about vampires. Only a little, so bare with me.

OK: I think this Bella/Edward thing is really dysfunctional, and not only because he's a vampire and she isn't, but it just smacks of a yucky misogynistic relationship where the guy holds all the cards, and the girl is at the whim of the guy. And his vampire coven. What is in this for her? She loves him, she sacrifices for him, and she gets no satisfaction, not in book one, anyway. She can't even make out with the guy. She has to abandon her home and family for him, she only gets information out of him in dribs and drabs, and he is always faster, stronger, and smarter. She would never be able to win an argument! He does a lot of scowling, and scoffing and snarling at her. He can't have sex with her, because he might kill her, he can't make out with her because he might kill her, and, frankly, he might kill her anyway because he's a blood-thirsty vampire. We're supposed to respect him because he's not killing and maiming his girlfriend. No, I don't like it. If my daughter was in relationship with someone like him, even if he wasn't a vampire, I'd run an intervention.

That's all I have to say about vampires for the day, except to break it to the vampire-loving world that this will be my last Twilight book. I think I'm over it.

Did you all have a nice Thanksgiving? I had three nice Thanksgivings, and here's the thing: my refrigerator is so crammed with leftovers, I could have three more Thanksgivings. I do not want to touch any Thanksgiving food for at least 361 days. I hate to throw food away, but I cannot handle eating this stuff one more time. Is it better to let the edible food rot in the fridge before you throw it out, so that you have no choice but to throw it out, or is it ok to just throw it out now, while someone could still eat it, but no one wants to?

We took our family Christmas picture yesterday, at the beach (that's what living in California is all about.) It came out ok. I didn't set the camera to the best picture quality setting, so people who receive this card might see my multiple chins all pixelated. It might be better that way. My husband insists that we are all in the picture, rather than just the kid and the dog, but I think it just shows people who get the card but don't see us often (or ever) that I have gained yet more weight, and that Rob is yet more bald.


Thursday, November 26, 2009

I Give Thanks for Vampires

Happy Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving and instead of talking about giving thanks and eating and the stuffing I'm going to make (with pomegranate seeds!) I want to talk about... Vampires

Upon the recommendation of several friends, I am now reading Twilight, the first book. Never seen the movie(s) don't know a thing about it except that vampire mania is sweeping the nation and I am very, very behind. I started the book yesterday. I'm now on page 260. I read the first 236 pages yesterday, waiting, very patiently I thought, for a sex scene. I have now been informed that a) there is no sex until book four and b) I'm a dirty old woman for looking for a sex scene in a book written for the young adult market. I may have forgotten for a moment that I am not a young adult and this book was not necessarily written for me and my personal needs.

I want to say that this book is cheesy and bad and lame, and it is. For example, here is one of my favorite parts so far: "His voice was guarded. I noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves." (here it comes) "Again, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body." And then there's no sex. So, yes, its lame, or, rather, perfect for the audience for which it was written, but the thing is, I'm on page 260, and I'm still reading it. I will probably finish it tomorrow (damn Thanksgiving is getting in the way of my finishing it today) and then I will want to read the next book, and the next, so I can finally - FINALLY! - get to the sex part. It better be a good pay off, too, with all the descriptions of high school biology class I've had to endure.

Rob asked me to give him a synopsis of what I'd read so far, so I told him it was a high school romance between a new-in-town girl and a beautiful boy who turns out to be a vampire, and there's a werewolf on the horizon somewhere. He said, "that's it?" Yeah, that's it. And no sex.

Also, I heard a review of the new Twilight movie on Fresh air and it cracked me up. Here's the transcript; "Then two werewolves fight over her. Then werewolves fight two vampires over her. Then a vampire fights a whole slew of other vampires over her. Then a lovesick vampire fights a lovesick werewolf over her. Bella saves Edward, Edward saves Bella, and the Native American werewolf Jacob, tries to save Bella from Edward. Jacob does make it a kinky triangle. Whereas Edward is an aesthete with white-marble skin and the highest brow in movies, Jacob is a dark and hairy biker dude with a very low brow and a trapezius the size of a watermelon." Awesome.

We are dog-sitting Mosely this weekend.
Here are Mose and Perry at the front door,
looking for vampires.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Huff

You know what that little stinker did?

She gets all P.O.ed at me for rushing her in the morning; for rousting her from her beauty sleep, for nagging her to get dressed, for trying to keep her focussed so that she can be on time for school. I reminded her again this morning that I'm not late for anything, and she's the one who will have to go to the office and tell them why she's late. (not that she's ever had to do that, and do you know why? Because I MAKE SURE SHE'S ON TIME!) While she is glaring at me, with a look she is perfecting for the teen age years, I am doing a big load of dishes, turning on the dishwasher, making her lunch, making her breakfast, putting her homework where she can see it and not forget it, letting the dog in and out and in and out, getting dressed, brushing my own damn teeth (forget about my hair) and she is yelling at me because Perry needs a belly rub RIGHT NOW and she can't possible take a break to put on her shoes.

We finally get out the door, and queen bee decides she's going to freeze me out. Can you believe that shit? She walks ten, then fifteen paces ahead while I am dealing with the dog, waiting for him to pee and sniff all the thrilling smells that have appeared since yesterday, and that little daughter of mine is walking on ahead, not looking back. She's in a huff. Oh, she's in a huff? I'LL SHOW HER WHAT A REAL HUFF LOOKS LIKE!

She waits for me to cross the street (her zeal to punish me apparently does not include a deathwish) and then she takes off again. By the time I hook the dog's leash to the tree outside the school, she's no where in sight. I had a mind to just go home and let her sweat it out, but if I did that, then today would be the day that we had a massive earthquake and I couldn't get to her, and there would be flooding and California would drop off into the sea and I'd be so guilty because I didn't hug her goodbye. So I walk to her classroom, without her, without any purpose whatsoever. She's in there taking off her backpack and she gives me a smile, one that starts as "wasn't I so funny this morning?" but quickly turns into, " Oh shit." She says, "Are you mad?" and I say, "What do you think?" and she starts rattling off apologies: "I'm sorry mommy, I'm really sorry, I'm so sorry." blah-didi-blah, and I give her a half hearted hug and kiss and leave in my own huff.

The nerve.

One of these days I'm going to tell her teacher that she is going to be late, and I'm going to let her set the pace in the morning. I will tell her once, maybe twice to get out of bed, and not nag at all the rest of the morning, maybe periodically letting her know what time it is. Then we'll be really late, and I'll walk her to the office and she'll have to face the music. Ungrateful little...

Tuesday, November 24, 2009


I still feel a little drunk, if you can believe that. My friend said that xanax may not be the drug for me, but given this lovely, sleepy, tipsy feeling that I have at 9 in the morning, 21 hours after I took the little pink pill, I think it is EXACTLY the drug for me.

The dental appointment went as well as could be expected, and other than Dr. Adorable having to firmly tell me to keep my hands down, I was well behaved. My jaw is achy this morning, so no BJs for me. Darn it.

Here's another thing, though, something that killed my soul a tiny teeny bit. I was telling Leila about how my mom never walked me to school and got to stay in her bathrobe while I dragged my ass to the school bus, and she said, "Maybe today you could just walk me to the edge of campus and I'll go in by myself." Then she saw the look on my face, the look that said, "My little baby is leaving me!!!!!" and she said, "Tomorrow it will all be back to normal, I promise." That's when I started to feel like a loser. She's in second grade, I think she can make it from the edge of campus to her class room. She could walk all the way to school by herself, with her eyes closed, I'm sure, but this is our special time when we walk the dog and talk and joke around and watch the sun come up and look at the egrets and I give her a hug and a kiss and its all warmy and lovey.

We compromised: I told her that I like to see my friends on the campus in the morning, so I walked her to the lunch tables, and she walked the rest of the way. The minute we were at the very far edge of the lunch tables, she hugged me and said, "Bye, Mommy! Wish me luck!" as if there was a chance that she would become disoriented and lost in the fifty feet that separate her classroom from where we were standing.

This is the beginning. Soon, she'll want me to leave at the edge of campus. Then it will be at the entrance to the park. But that is as far as it will go until at least forth grade. I will not be shoved aside before then! Maybe I should relish this freedom, but I don't. I mean, as long as I have to get up and make her lunch and get dressed anyway, I may as well hang out with her as long as possible until that second grade classroom gobbles her up for the day, right?

I think I'll watch some home movies and lament the passing of days, now...

Monday, November 23, 2009

I can just barely see that I am here...


I am high on xanax right now after my take-two dentist appointment. My cavities are filled, I was a good girl and didn't smack my cute dentist this time. He did call me a spaz, and I like that about him.

Here are two funny things I noticed to day:

1) There was a guy in the line at the grocery store buying 5 quarts of ice cream and seven boxes of frosted flakes. I hope he gets some xanax before they fill his soon-to-be cavities.

2) I forget what the other one was, I'm too loaded.

3) I didn't win the lottery UH-GIN. Why does the universe hate me so?

See you tomorzzzzzzzzzz..........

Friday, November 20, 2009

Warning: Bitchfest Ahead

I'm feeling a little crappy about my house today. Let me start by saying that, yes, I am grateful to have a house, to not be under a sub prime mortgage, to have bought my house when I did, to have the neighbors I have, to live so close to the school, blah blah etc. etc. but I don't come here to express my gratitude, I come here to bitch so that's what I'm going to do.

My house is small. Really small. 925 square feet with a ridiculous, kludged floorplan. You walk in the front door, you see the toilet. Welcome home! 95% of the time, I'm okay with the smallness. My electric bill is low, I save a lot of money not buying books and CDs and other stuff because I have no where to put them, and my family and I are always together, even when we don't want to be. I don't have to wonder what Leila is doing in her room across the house or upstairs because her room is smack in the middle of the house and she can't hide from me. If I have to, I can straighten up the whole house in half an hour. I only have one toilet to clean (okay, I have two, but I can't remember the last time I cleaned the other one, or used it.) The single biggest thing I do for the environment is live in a tiny house. At least that's what I tell myself when I'm feeling righteous. The environmental part is really just an unintended outcome of buying this house when we were young, and then no being able to afford to move.

Last night, Rob and I were sitting around chatting about all the stuff we have to do before Christmas, and he goes, "Where are we going to put the Christmas tree?" We have this new sectional sofa now, and I love it, but there is no longer a natural place for a Christmas tree. I know, those of you who are eco-hounds will tell me that I shouldn't get a Christmas tree anyway because they're evil and a waste and they melt the ice caps and whatever, but I am getting a tree and that's all there is to it. I put all those damn ornaments away every year with tissue and loving care, and I'm not just leaving them in the box. There are rituals to attend to, people! I have stockings! Snow globes!

The only place that it can go is where my office currently is. Calling it an office is really euphemistic. Its the smallest desk I could find, next to a small book shelf and its shoved into a corner of my living room. It works fine for me, its all I really need, but I'm going to have to dismantle the whole thing (desk, printer, files, do dads, post its, chair) and put it all in the garage for three or four weeks during Christmas. Jeez. There is literally no other place in my house that it can go for those weeks, that's how small this place is.

Also, I'm selling the side table and coffee table that were in here before the sofa, but we realized that we use the side table to put the Christmas tree on. We get a smaller tree and put it on a table with a tree skirt around it so we can save a little dough. I don't want to pay for an eight-foot tree. So now I may have to keep that stupid table under the house year 'round, just to be able to put the tree on it for three weeks out of the year. Honestly.

And another thing! We were never going to stay in this house, and our next house was going to have a dining room. I compromised on a dining room when we bought this place, and Rob compromised on a gas stove. Well, he's got is gas stove now, but where's my dining room? I'll tell you where: in my freakin' dreams!!! Of all the second generation grown kids that make up my family who could host Thanksgiving, I'm the only one who wants to, and I'm the only one who can't. These are not the kind of people who will eat off plates perched on their knees, and I can't fit all those people in here unless some of them eat in the bathroom, and the children stay in the yard.

I'm not asking for a lot. We have two ten year-old cars and I love at least one of them. I don't want to buy a new one until I absolutely have to. I only get a bikini wax twice a year (much to the chagrin of the few who are forced to see me without pants) vcb': (Perry the dog just walked across my laptop and typed "vcb':" I thought I'd leave it in. He says hi.) I get my hair cut by a friend, I do my own nails, I am not an extravagant person! Is a dining room too much to ask? Apparently it is, because the only way I'm going to get one is if I completely redo the back two thirds of my house, or move, neither of which I can afford unless I go get a full time job which would totally get in the way of all the on-my-ass sitting I have planned.

I bought another lottery ticket today, like a lemming, like a rube, and I'm not going to win, not now and not ever, and I will never have a dining room, and I will never be able to host Thanksgiving, or Christmas dinner, or any of the dinner parties in between. I should just get rid of all that china I got for my wedding. It just sits there, in the cabinet, taking up space, mocking me. Plus, my back deck is completely useless, and my bedroom is a shit hole. I'm going to be 40 next year. 40! And I still sleep in a room that belongs in, like, a dorm.

So click on those ads, people! I will either save up all my ad-clicking money for my remodel, or I will use it to drown my sorrows about living in the cutest little Kleenex box you ever did see.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

I have Earned my Title Today

Another tough one for Bored Housewife today. A good friend took me out to breakfast for my birthday, we had our eyebrows done, and while I waited for her I told her 600 times not to let me buy any make up, then I bought some make up, then I came home and did Wii fit for 19 minutes, took a shower, and commenced the time-killing portion of the day where I stare at Facebook.

I'm not really into the whole housewife duties thing this week. I can, on occasion, get into it. Don't look at me like that! Its true! I'll get a wild hair to clean the bathroom or do laundry or cook something, but this week is not one of those weeks. I haven't made dinner, I've done one load of laundry that took me three days to fold and its still not put away. I think Rob is going out to play pool tonight, so I'm not cooking again.

Days like this don't give me much to write about, so I'm going to do a Friday Five, even though its Thursday. I'm keeping faith that something interesting will happen tomorrow.

1) What is your favorite sports movie? Bull Durham. Its the only movie I own on DVD, and Rob and I can recite it. Flower goes on the front, big guy. If you can tell me what scene this is, and you're not Rob, you win.)

2) What is your favorite romantic comedy film? Its hard to pick just one. I wish I had some clever answer like some Audrey Hepburn thing or something, but really its probably one of those Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks/ pieces of poo. I just saw the trailer for Its Complicated and it looks really good. I'm a sucker for Meryl Streep.

3) What's your favorite animated Disney movie? Finding Nemo. It is the standard by which all other animated movies are measured.

4) What's your favorite non-Disney musical? Wha? I can tell you one thing: I thought Moulin Rouge was a steaming pile of shit.

5) What's your favorite stranger in a strange land/fish out of water movie? I will admit here to liking Legally Blonde, but I'm not going to commit to that as my favorite... I've just spent five whole minutes on a website that lists fish out of water movies, and there's a lot of crap on there. Like Crocodile Dundee. This is stupid, I don't know what my favorite fish out of water movie is ok?

Sorry I'm so boring today. Bored Housewife is as Bored Housewife does, and Bored Housewife is going to take a little nappy...

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Ikea, Youkea, We all Kea for a Bunch of Crap

Today was a tough one. I went shopping, went out to lunch and took a nap. I've spent the last half hour doing dishes and folding laundry so my husband doesn't start wondering about me, but, frankly, there's no mystery, he knows I'm a lazy slob.

I went to Ikea. I have to stop going there. As part of the redo of the living room, we need a new rug. What we want is simple and easy to find, but I have a hard time spending $400 on something I know my family is going to trash. We have a dog who may well chew it. We do not remove our shoes when we come in the house. We routinely eat and drink things like chocolate ice cream and red wine in the living room. Stuff gets thrown on the floor, like backpacks and purses and shoes and dog toys and grocery bags and all kinds of things that contribute to the trashing of rugs. Also, there's my dog's obsession with woodchips. Any rug we get in here will last three years tops, and that's just not enough return on a $400 investment. Now, you may ask me, Couldn't you change your slovenly ways? And the answer is Are you kidding me? Why don't I just lose 50 lbs. while I'm at it? I know myself; this is who I am. I have enough personal challenges with food and exercise and dental work, and I simply cannot be bothered to tackle being a neater person right now. Or ever. Love me, love my mess. And I know you do.

So, I go to Ikea with the specific plan of finding a rug, a night table for Rob, some pretty holiday candles, and a set of sheets that I already own but love so much I want another set. You wanna know what happened? The same thing that always happens at Ikea; they were out of stock of the rug I wanted, they don't have any pretty holiday candles, and they don't carry my favorite sheets anymore. I did find a night table for Rob, and its still in the back of the car. What will happen now is that we will open the box and find that it is the wrong color/missing pieces/broken.

You'd think I would have saved a lot of money not finding what I was looking for, but I didn't and you know why? I did what everyone who goes to Ikea does, I loaded up on a bunch of shit I don't need. Four rolls of wrapping paper. Four picture frames that I don't actually have pictures for. Two glass votive candle holders. Construction paper for Leila. Some normal, boring candles. Batteries. $161 worth of bullshit. I went there so I could NOT spend too much money on a rug, and look what happens? That's it, I just can't go there anymore.

Then I went to lunch and came home and took a nap. But I watched the Oprah that was all about porn first. She says that one in three people who look at porn are women. Duh. Why is this so shocking? Raise your hand if you ever watch porn... See? Do you know how many people hit this blog while looking for porn? One of my recent search keywords was Bored Housewife Mild Porn. The other one that keeps popping up is Housewife Tori, probably because of my love of Tori Spelling.

Leila is squealing in the bathtub because she has shampoo in her eyes and I find this endlessly annoying. Does that make me a bad mom? What makes you a bad mom, besides your porn?

Thanks to L.SJ for this one...

Monday, November 16, 2009

Way to make me tie one one, kid

I'm reading a really good book right now, but I'll take a break to keep you all up to date.

I threw my foot in my mouth AGAIN today when I asked some moms "Is that kid just extra nutty?" thinking I was being funny and adorable, and then they told me the kid has autism. Wow. I'm such a D. bag.

But here's what happened on Friday, the day that the world stood absolutely still for forty minutes. I am going to try to avoid any identifying characteristics, so don't think I have issues if I refer to a child as "it." I was picking up L and a friend of hers at her classroom for a play date, but her friend, being a kid, and having a brain fart that kids sometimes have, took off for the kindergarten play area. While we were looking in bathrooms and on the big kid playground, and calling the mom, the kid was probably noticing that the kindergarten play area was emptying out, and that Leila and I were nowhere in sight, and decided the best thing to do was walk home.

Now, I used to walk home all the time, and it doesn't seem like it should be a big deal, but, believe me: IT IS. Kids just don't walk home around here. What would the blonde skinny moms do with their enormous cars if they didn't pick up their kids, right? So, anyway, we are frantically looking for this kid, his mom is on the phone completely and rightfully panicked, the police are called in, and they're on their walkee-talkees saying, "was last seen wearing..." and the office is printing out the kid's picture, and I'm like, "Holy effing shitballs."

On top of the panic and craziness, I was wearing high-heeled boots. If you know me at all, readers, you know my trouble with shoes, and that high-heeled boots only come out for special occasions when I know I wont be doing much standing or walking. They're like what Oprah calls her 15-minute shoes. So, I was running the perimeter of the school, ducking into bathrooms, stomping around woodchips on the playground, all in my high-heeled boots, and when I wasn't thinking Holy effing shitballs, I was thinking, Oh, God, my feet hurt!

Here's the other thing I was thinking, that makes me fell kinda bad, but its the truth: I was thinking, I didn't do anything wrong. I was at the door at the end of class, I didn't leave him in a mall parking lot after too many mai tais or something, so if something happened, its not my fault. Isn't that a little douchey? That's what I was thinking when I wasn't using my x-ray scanner kid radar looking for my charge. In my bones, I knew that nothing bad had happened and I knew that there would be a logical explanation for this disappearance, which there was.

The child walked home, probably thinking that was the right thing to do, and for forty minutes, the longest forty minutes of my life, we all went completely apeshit. We were right to go apeshit, though. If you can't see your kid, or the kid you're in charge of, for, like, more than 45 seconds, your heart leaps into your throat and things start happening in slow motion, until you find them in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, or where ever. Poor kid. I felt so bad for the kid when his mom brought it into the office. It looked stricken, scared, pale. I hugged that little blonde head to my bosom and tried to be smiley and happy. I was, too. It was a sight for sore eyes. Such a good kid, too, and I wont stop thinking that just because it took years off my life

I had an epic bucket of wine when I got home, right after Leila pulled off my boots for me. I want to thank the elementary school and the local police for being so on the ball and acting so quickly, I want to thank my town for having bike paths so that at least this child could walk home without the fear of heavy traffic, and I want to thank Clos du Bois for making a fine chardonnay and keeping it moderately priced so I can drink as much of it as I need to in times like these.

If you have a kid and want a great way to talk to them about stranger danger, check out this DVD. Its a good one. They also make one about internet safety, which I don't even want to think about right now...

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Yummy Yummy Foot

Do you see what I see?

Um, so, okay. The other night, a few hours after I wrote the last post, giving Oprah what for, I was watching a movie on TV, and I happened to glance down at the little shelf under the side table where we keep, um, magazines. I saw exactly what is pictured above. Inside the circle is the familiar font that is found on the cover of, um, O Magazine. I reached over and picked it up and, um, it was the November issue that I had just finished ranting about.

It gets worse.

I showed it to Rob, I felt like a moron, and when the movie was over, I thumbed through it. Not only did I receive the November issue, probably on time, but I'd already read it. I hadn't just given it a cursory glance, either. I had read everything that I was interested in reading, so I'm done with it and can pass it on to another reader.

Then you know what happened today? November 12th? I got the December issue, right when Oprah said I would.

So, its time to eat a little shit, and apologize to Oprah and her circulation department, who were a few days away from getting a bitchy call from me. Sorry, guys, I'm a loser.

But! In my defense! My furniture is all jumbled up because of the new sofa! I was overwhelmed by decorating projects and my impending trip and my birthday, and I was, y'know, confused!!!

No, I'm just a loser. I'm tired from all this apologizing, so I'm now going to put my feet up on my new sofa, and read the December issue of O magazine, and a month from now I will probably be in a huff because I will think I never got it.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Oprah, You're on my List (But not Really)

I have a bone to pick with Oprah. Oprah Winfrey. You heard right, I'm not afraid to pick bones with her majesty, I've got some balls.

Here's the thing. I used to have a subscription to O magazine. No, it did not come free with my subscription to the Utne Reader or Atlantic Monthly, or the New Yorker, I ordered it of my own free will, and I enjoy it. I even read Dr. Phil and Oprah's what I know for sure, and it helps me kill time while I'm not cooking dinner. Anyhoo, I started to get real irritated like, because, I believe that, as a subscriber, someone who keeps circulation numbers up and helps sell advertising so Oprah can buy more dogs and chenille throws, that I should receive the magazine at least one day before it hits the news stands, and never one day later. But that didn't happen with O. I would go to the grocery store, and longingly look at the issue in the magazine rack, wanting desperately to read what nuggets Suze Orman had for me, and I would have to wait, sometimes very impatiently, for my issue to come in the mail. I even called the 800 number for the circulation department a few times to complain, and all they could tell me was that it isn't considered late until the last day of the month of the issue, or some B.S. like that.

I let my subscription lapse for this reason. I thought, "to hell with this." and I started to buy it at the grocery store along with tampons and instant oatmeal. But the cover price is so much more than the subscription price, and I love getting anything in the mail that isn't junk or bills, and Oprah herself kept sending me letters and offers for 50% of the newstand price, and finally I succumbed to her wooing, and ordered a two- year subscription.

Yesterday, I watched the Oprah episode with Ellen Degeneres and Portia DeRossi talking about their love (I let Leila watch it too, I thought it was a good teachable moment) and Oprah and Ellen went on and on about how they shot the cover for the December issue ON NEWS STANDS NOVEMBER 12! They were on Michigan Avenue in Chicago giving away free autographed copies, and you know what? I DONT HAVE MY NOVEMBER ISSUE YET! Don't tease me with December when I haven't even seen the Thanksgiving recipes that I will never make in the November issue!

As I write this, I am worried that I did get the November issue, and on of my rare cleaning jags, I put it away in the designated magazine place in my bedroom and forgot about it. Hold on a sec' I'm gonna go check...

No! Ha! I was right! October is in there, and November is nowhere! My subscription just started a few months ago so I have, like, a year and a half of this bullshit left.

I'm calling you out, Oprah! (or Ms. Winfrey if you're nasty) I want my November issue in the mail TODAY and I want the December issue in the mail TOMORROW, one day before I see it in the grocery store, or else! Or else I will, um, not watch your favorite things episode? Nah, can't do that, I love that episode. I know! I will NOT read your book club selection! So there!!!

(Here's the other thing, though: if, like in my fantasy land where I'm thin and my feet are two sizes smaller, I am ever on the Oprah show, or if she showed up at my door with a camera crew to hand me my November issue in person, I would totally recant and blubber and be all, "Oh, Oprah, I didn't really mean it! Your magazine is always worth the wait! Ha ha ha!" So really, I don't have any balls at all.)

***ADDENDUM*** Just got my mail, and my magazine did not come today. Oh, its ON!

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Ambien in Seattle

Here I am, in Seattle! Its raining, and cold, and there was great thunder and lightning. Yay! Its sunny and 63 degrees at home; eff that noise!

I have a little bit of the blues over the old birthday. I don't care about the age thing, whatever, but I just can't seem to have a happy birthday. I even left the state this year to minimize my yearly birthday disappointment, and it followed me. I'm not sure if the external factors are exactly what I think they are and I'm not crazy for feeling blue, or if I'm just one of those people who is destined to be impossible to please. I just don't think the latter is true. And I can be really freakin' good at other people's birthdays; not every person, every year, without fail, but I can really pull out the stops when I am inspired, which I often am. Sometimes I don't even send a card, but sometimes I'm a damn birthday genius. And you know what? Its not that hard. Its not a stretch. It doesn't cause me stress or tax my faculties. It brings me joy.

I've considered canceling future birthdays and just taking myself to a movie and buying myself a present and getting my eyebrows waxed or something, but I'm afraid people would think I was eschewing my forties or being a drama queen, and neither of those things are accurate. So, I guess I'll just keep having stupid birthdays and smiling and saying thank you when I'd really rather forget the whole thing.

In other news, its crab night tonight. CRAB! My favorite ritualistic meal. You sit, you pick, you drink, you lick your fingers. Some people eat as they go, some make a pile (that would be me.) East coasters eat it warm, west coasters eat it cold. Some people eat it as is, some people dip it in butter, but I make a delicious mix of mayonnaise and curry powder that I dip my fork into and then spear some crab and create the perfect bite. It takes forever, you have plenty of time to get wasted, and the more you drink the sillier you get, and you laugh, and drool a little and go to bed full and happy. Crab is love. Crab is joy. Crab would probably be a disgusting insect if you turned the ocean and the land inside out, and people wouldn't eat it any more than they would eat - actually, I can't think of a gross insect that someone on the earth wont eat - but you know what I mean.

So, even though my birthday is Monday, I'm officially changing it to tonight. Crab and best friends make everything better. And ambien. Ambien is pretty good.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Swine Flu-haha

I have a bone to pick. Swine flu hysteria is sweeping the nation, and its pissing me off. I know no one wants to get sick, I get it. I get it probably better than anyone. And I know its hitting kids more than adults because they don't have antibodies to fight it. Swine flu is not new, its been around a while, so older people have already had it and wont get it again. And I understand that the flu has broken out prior to the vaccine being available, and everyone is freaking out. But here's the thing: Its a flu. Flu is always dangerous to a certain segment of the population, and sometimes some people get sicker than other people, and no one knows why. No one can explain why most people who are getting the flu have mild flu-like symptoms, but some are getting super duper sick and ending up in the hospital. I almost died from what started as a simple strep infection, for chrissakes, and to this day no one can explain to me why, just as no one can explain to me why I was felled by another strep infection from a variety of strep that all of us have all the time, but is normally asymptomatic. Its a mystery!

If you're sick from the flu and it sucks and you're miserable, I feel for you, I really do. Being sick in bed, especially when you have kids around and your husband goes to work regardless of your needs, is awful. But barring any unforeseen and random haywire super flu bug that lands you in the hospital, you'll be okay. Your kids will be okay. Its a flu. It sucks. You'll get over it. My family once had something that will always be known as Sick February, a three-week period a few years ago where all three of us had something terrible. We were all puking and dehydrated, and had fevers and aches and pains, and it SUCKED. I was so sick, that when Leila went into the back bathroom (where we keep the cat box) to throw up, I went in there to rub her back and noticed she was kneeling on cat litter with bare knees. Mother of the year! It was the first time Leila ever had diarrhea, and I had to try not to laugh at her on the toilet: she just kept yelling, "Its so STINKY!!!" I asked her if given a choice between diarrhea and puking what she would prefer, and she reluctantly chose diarrhea. Wouldn't you?

Am I being overly harsh? Maybe. Maybe I'll get angry comments, but I just can't seem to get worked up about this. I have only gotten two flu shots in my life, and only because they were available at my workplace and I wanted other people to get them so I had to, too. If I have access to a swine flu vaccine, I'll probably get one because I have asthma and a history of mutant angry bugs that want to kill me. We may have actually had swine flu last week; Leila had all the symptoms, but it honestly didn't occur to me that it might be the dreaded H1N1.

So, get your vaccines, stock up on Tamiflu, do whatever you need to do to feel secure. I'm just gonna chill. Boy, wont I be eating my hat if I come down with the flu...

In other news, I'm getting on a germ infested plane tomorrow for my extended birthday weekend with my BFFS in Seattle Washington. If you're a reader from that area and are dying to meet me, let me know, I'll try to squeeze you in to my party-my-ass-off-eat-and-drink-too-much weekend. You know what they have up there in Seattle? Rain!!! La la LA! I'll try to post from there, but it might mean putting down my wine.

Oh, and also, I had two requests for pictures of the sofa, so here you go. The rest of the room is not finished yet, so don't judge me.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Too. Many. Decisions!

Sorry, readers, I've been busy.

We got our sofa! It is beautiful! It makes everything else in my house look like garbage! So I have been on a mission, trying to find a rug and a coffee table that suit my particular needs, (smallish, round, glass - the table not the rug) and here is what I have learned:

1) I could never EVER be an interior decorator.

2) Rugs are WAY more expensive than they should be.

Also, I have become completely overwhelmed by the decorateur balls I am juggling. Last night, two strong men and Rob were wiggling the big part of the new sofa through the front door. It never occurred to me that the thing wouldn't fit, but, there they were, taking the door off the hinges and discussing the respective merits of either ripping out the door frame, or sawing the legs of my new sofa and then reattaching them. I couldn't watch. I stayed in the kitchen and thought about dinner. Why I didn't swill wine, I have no idea. Oh! I know! All my wine is in the wine rack in the coat closet, the door to which was blocked by the old sofa. Can you believe that I went through this without wine? My friend was here with her three kids and just stayed calm and kept the children happy, and thank goodness. I was at my wit's end, and I wasn't even doing anything.

Miraculously, the too-big sofa made it through the too-small door, both unscathed, I went to In 'n Out burger to get everyone dinner, and later, I got to my wine.

Here's the thing: I stupidly took on redecorating the living room at the same time as I took on Leila's shit hole of a room, so let's go back to that for a second.

I have now completed the purging part of the project. I have taken ten bags - yes, you read correctly, TEN BAGS - of stuff out of her room. Plus, I made her try on all her clothes, and took another two bags of clothes out of there. All the little pieces of things that I found behind the dresser and the bed etc. have been reunited with their kin, and the rest has been tossed. And you know what? LEILA HASN'T NOTICED A THING! Ten bags! No noticing! Then, I told her that Daddy and I thought it would be a good idea to create a room that reflected a bigger kid, and she was all excited. We ordered some new sheets, and we rearranged the furniture. She loves it, keeps calling it her "new room" but I'm less sure. I am stuck on whether to put the desk away for a while, or get new book shelves and a keyboard stand, and I just can't get my arms around it. I know, I'm a big whiny gasbag with an embarrassment of riches, blah blah blah, but this is hard! The living room! The kid's room! Its too much for me, especially since it requires parting with pieces of furniture which is very difficult for a person whose parents are sleeping on the same mattress and driving the same car that they bought 46 years ago (That is not a jokey joke, its completely true.)

I really want to finish the little movie I'm making about her room, but I can't until these decisions are made. Stay tuned, though, it'll happen. I also told her that Daddy and I (really mostly I) organized her room in such a way as to make it easier to clean up. I didn't tell her that that meant getting rid of half the stuff in there, but last night was the true test, and it was crazy easier to clean. Mission accomplished! Meaning exactly what it meant when W used it; We're not nearly done in there.