Thursday, February 4, 2010

Pink and Blues

God dammit, I smell like curry. I specifically took my shower and blow dried my hair first thing this morning so I wouldn't let it slide another day, and then I made butternut squash soup with curry powder, and now I smell like effing curry. I only used a half a teaspoon! Its better than when I smelled like chili, but still. No one warned me that cooking at home would make me stink. So if you're out there, and you're considering removing take out and Trader Joes frozen food from your life, I hereby warn you, you will stink.

I want to update you on the great boil of 2010. Obviously, its not a boil, its a cyst, but boil is a much better word. Actually, I just looked up the word boil in the magical Mac dictionary, the best invention ever, and what I had on my face could almost accurately be described as a boil. I could go on about what the difference is, but it makes me want to puke just thinking about it, so if you're interested, go look it up yourself. Now, I will give you two pertinent pieces of information: The cyst did rupture as a result of the doctor poking it with a needle. The cyst is now gone, leaving only a bruised and battered looking circle on my face. There is a lot of information that I could add between those two statements, about how the stuff in the cyst got from the inside of my face to the outside, but if my husband is any indication, no one wants to hear about that because it is too gross. He's kind of a candy ass when it comes to this kind of thing. Fortunately, I do have a couple of friends who allowed me to go into great detail about it, so I was able to share the repulsiveness. I couldn't just keep it to myself, I had to tell someone, it was INSANE!

Now on to new business. Tomorrow is the school's variety show, organized by parents with infinite patience and a masochistic need to watch children sing Hannah Montana songs. Leila will be playing the blues on the piano, a spiffed up version of what I posted here a few months ago. This afternoon we have to nail down the outfit she will wear onstage. I proposed she wear this cute little pink sweater, and I was informed by her that, you can't wear pink when you're playing the blues, Mommy. Truer words were never spoken. So now she is putting together pieces of clothing that fit the dark and bluesy persona that she thinks will go with her song, but she looks ridiculous and I, as the mother, cannot allow my child to stand on a stage in front of people and look like we picked her clothing at random from a bin in the back of a dark closet. Of all the unwritten rules about parenting little girls, this is the one I'm choosing to enforce today. So far it looks like a dark brown ruffly skirt white tights, and a green shirt, but this could change at any time. She's sure she wants to wear dark glasses, though. If it was appropriate to put a lit cigarette in an elementary school child's mouth, I would totally do that.

I think my dog has OCD. He is obsessed with those balls that he kept trapping under the sofa. I almost lost an arm trying to get one out because he was scratching at the sofa and crying endlessly. Seriously, I thought I'd have to call out for help because my arm was stuck under the sofa, and I started to panic that the phone was so far away and no one would hear me, and I'd be stuck there all day, and my cats would start to eat me alive. I escaped with a little mark on my arm, phew! and now those stupid balls are in the backyard. But now Perry is crying at the back door because he know they're out there. What is wrong with him? Can't I have normal animals?

I need to have an experience so I have something to write about. Any suggestions?

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