Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Black Jeans and White Pants

I had the most wonderfully girlie, suburban, indulgent day today. I haven't had one of these in a long time, and it felt great!

It all started when I split my pants yesterday. I have written before about the search for jeans, and far from the elusive "perfect" jeans, but just jeans that fit, don't fall down or go up my ass, and look reasonable. I found some a year or so ago in an outlet mall about a half hour from my house, and they were cheap and did the trick just fine until yesterday, when I glanced down at my crotch while I was driving and saw a swath of inner thigh bulging out of a new rip. This is where my pants always rip. Doesn't matter what I paid for them, or how much I weigh, my pants always wear out in the same spot.

In the past, I've hated looking for jeans so much that I've patched the holes with pieces taken from other ripped jeans, but I just end up looking like a lame-o.

So today, I went back to that outlet mall and got myself the exact same jeans, and a pair in black, and a black belt. Then I went to the Banana Republic outlet store and got myself two cute sweaters. I even remembered that I had a Banana Republic gift credit, and I even had it in my purse!

Then, WP and I had a most delicious lunch, then some fruity frozen yogurt, and then we went to Target where, luckily for my bank account, I didn't find anything that looked good.

I really don't want to spend money on clothes right now because I have to buy four rugs, and a dining table, and stuff like that. But no one wants to see my inner thigh flashing them while I walk, so measures had to be taken.

I would post a picture of my new jeans for you, but I'm under the covers in my bed right now, waking up from a little nappy. Good day, people, good day!

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

A Big Feat

I don't know how much I've told you about my feet. My feet have the unique distinction of being both enormous and tiny. They are the skinniest thing about me. They are two different sizes; not enough to have to buy two differently sized shoes, but enough to ensure that I always try on both shoes, and not just one. My feet and toes are very, very, very, very long. I wear a women's size 11, and sometimes that is too short. I used to wear a 10, then I had that baby and she messed with my bod'.

Shopping for shoes is about the most depressing thing I can do to myself. Scratch that: looking at myself naked in a full length mirror is the number one most depressing thing I can do to myself, but shoe shopping is a close second. People who have gone shoe shopping with me just shrug their shoulders and grin uncomfortably because what they're really thinking is "Good God, I'm glad that's not me!"

Most stores don't carry size 11; the go up to 10, and then they have to "special order" because apparently I have "special" feet. There is a joke about long feet and a short bus in here somewhere. The shoes that they bother to manufacture in my size all look like tanks, and even if I find a shoe in my size, I have to concern myself with whether or not the shoe makes my foot look big. The obvious answer that my husband never fails to say out loud is, "your feet make your feet look big." True though that may be, some shoes make a bigger foot that others.

Add to this hopelessness that my knees make it impossible for me to wear heels for more than 15 minutes, and what I am left with is clown shoes.

I have been wearing these for a long time:

They were comfortable, on sale, and I hate shoe shopping too much to go further than those two criteria. They have hung in there and done the job but -sorry Keen - they are ugly as hell, and when I look down at my feet, they make me sad. I feed like I'm waddling around on platypus bills.

It was my new years resolution to find a pair of comfortable shoes that were good looking enough that I could wear my long sweaters and not look like two people, one from the knee down, and one from the knee up. I would spare no expense. I would have a glass of wine, and go shoe shopping, and just be prepared to be frustrated and furious, and come home empty handed until I didn't.

People have been raving about Dansko clogs forever, but when I tried to buy some, - surprise! - the largest women's size was too short for my feet, and the mens sizes were too big around (remember, my feet are rather dainty in spite of their length.) So I gave up on and didn't look back.

A decade has now passed, and someone recently told me that Dansko changed their sizing and that I should try them again, and I had noticed that they've come up with some cuter styles than just the plain old clog. So I tried some on, and you know what?


Now I have these!

They are comfortable. They make a small foot. They look kind of high heelsish even though they're not, and they make my clothes look better. When I look down, I don't feel like plucking out my own eyes. My toe is a little jammed up in the left shoe, but I'm told that will correct itself because of the fine corinthian leather or whatever. They were expensive; I don't care.

Keens, you are going in the camping box because that is all you're good for now. Thank you for your years of service, you ugly fucking shoes, now bug off.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Water Heater Woes

I don't even want to go into it. Except to say that my two year old water heater is causing nothing but problems during this remodel, and I may have to choose between hot water, and a table to eat food at. I could so never ever flip houses for a living. I just want the house to be done, painted, livable, preferably with hot water, and then I want to elsewhere on vacation and take a long nap.

On the plus side, my new kitchen is drop dead gorgeous, and I am going to cook up a storm when I get in there. This weekend we are working on the doors, patching them, sanding them, priming them. Here's a word to the wise: if you ever embark on a remodel of a 90 year old house, do not try to reuse your old doors. It seems like a nice idea: solid wood doors, original to the home, charming. There has been nothing charming at all about reusing these stupid doors, and I wish I could go back in time and clamp a hand over my mouth and just get new doors. All this work and money, just so I can say the wood the doors are made out of is probably 150 years old. See? I've said it, and its worthless. Too late to change my mind, though, so I am going to become one with my sander this weekend. Just kill me.

On the plus side, my new kitchen is drop dead gorgeous...

Have a lovely, football filled weekend. Go Niners. Not that I care, but I have a little home town pride.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Jive Turkey

So, there is a turkey loitering around my neighborhood. Actually, I can hardly call it "my neighborhood" anymore, considering I haven't spent a night there in four months, but you know what I mean.

Long ago, someone thought it would be a great idea to have these turkeys on their farm and brought them in from somewhere else without realizing - or caring - that turkeys don't care about the fences you put up, and now there are roving gangs of wild turkeys all over this county. They normally stick to open space and rural areas, and you'll see a group of them crossing your path while you hike. They also usually travel in groups.

This guy has clearly been separated from his pack, or maybe they kicked him out for being such a moron, and he's been roaming around the neighborhood, chortling, for a few months. I saw him on the roof of my garage quite a while ago, and it was a strange occurrence, but now he's just moved in. My neighbors tell me you can hear him waddling down the street muttering to himself at four in the morning.

He is as stupid as they come. Cars slow down for him, and he walks in front of them and stops and stands there, gobbling. I have taken to accelerating slowly, like how you see people just walk through chickens on TV, and he does move out of the way eventually, but now he has taken to attacking my tires.

I think he is attracted to the shiny wheels. How they spin. So pretty. He is so effing stupid. He was dangling around the post office yesterday, and went after my wheels again. I decided to ignore him. Survival of the fittest; if I run over him, he asked for it. So I just accelerated through him, and he seemed a little annoyed that the pretty shiny wheels were going too fast and showed me all his tail feathers and gobble-gobbled at me through the window.

He has a pretty blue head, though, so he's got that going for him. Dumb turkey.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Have Mercy!

Oh, when oh when will it end!?!?

Okay, now that MLK day is over, I will rant and rail about my house project, and the only pangs of guilt I will feel are the same pangs of guilt I get whenever I whine about my first world problems.

I will go on record here and say that I think my contractor is doing a solid job. He's a nice guy and the finished product will be perfect in every possible way. I also feel confident that he is working as fast as he can, but, people, I can't wait any more!!!

When I look around the house, I see so many little things that still need to be done! Things that haven't even been started yet! Little persnickety things! And then there is the painting that we still have to do, and doors that need to be sanded, and the floor that needs to be finished one more time, and I start to wonder if I'll ever get to move in.

I'm sure I could move in before its completely done, but I really don't want to. Rob goes to work all day, so it wouldn't bother him, but I would have guys around me, and hammering, and dust and leftover painting, and I really don't want to live like that. The plan was not to move in until everything is done, but I don't know now.

I need to get out of my mom's house. I think she needs to get us out of here too. At first when we moved in, I would overhear her tell her friends on the phone how great things were going with us and how easy it was and she was so enthusiastic. The other day I overheard her tell her friend, in a very neutral tone, "Its fine, I'm sure they're ready to move, but its fine."

We're all on edge here, and there's no amount of cocktails or Piers Morgan that's going to change it.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Dr. King

I was just about to go into a rant about living at my mom's and the fact that my house project is never ever going to be finished, and then I remembered that its MLK day, and now I feel like a douche bag in the face of the great Dr. King.

So, instead of ranting, I will pause and reflect and feel grateful and pet my cat.

Friday, January 13, 2012


Can I just be whiny for a minute? Just a minute and then I'll go back to being by stoic self.

I WANNA GO HOME!!! I'm tired of being smiley and supportive and patient and the perfect client and the perfect patient, I just want to be growly and pressure people and get back into my house now, okay?

Okay, I'm done. I mean, I'm not nearly done, but I'm done writing about it.

I went to the coolest book store the other day. I went to see the author of the book Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, Jennifer Reese, and the event was held in a one room specialty book store that sells nothing but cookbooks and books about food! Its in a former butcher shop, so its one of those cool, San Francisco buildings that used to be something else, and they sell not only the new, shiny cook books that you can find at any Barnes and Noble, but also antique cookbooks, and sometimes they're not even cookbooks; I found a recipe collection from the Seattle Women's group, with copied handwritten recipes that was dated 1935. So fun. I think I could spend hours in there. Its called Omnivore Books if you want to check it out.

The book I mentioned is also very good. Not just a cook book, but a collection of essays that are smart and funny.

So there you have it! Enjoy your weekend!

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Status Update

Its January 10th, and I thought I'd give you a status update on my new, mature self. Remember how I was going to start being healthier? Remember in the movie Airplane! when the guy keeps saying "I picked the wrong week to... (quit drinking, quit sniffing glue, etc.)? Well, that's how I feel. There's still Christmas candy lying around, and Leila's birthday party was last weekend and there was cake, and I just discovered a bakery with the best croissants in the world, and I'm getting my period, which is preceded by a week-long adventure in How Much can Bored Housewife Stuff into her Pie Hole. So, I picked the wrong week to be more mature, okay? GET OFF MY NECK!

I am winding down my job, though, so that's one thing, and I'm formulating a plan for how I'm going to take my next steps. Of course, everything is on hold while we wait to move in to our house. All my ideas begin with, "As soon as we're settled in to our house..." and who knows how long that will take? Getting the house ready to move in is one thing, but then I have to find rugs. And window coverings. And learn how to use the appliances. I know, spoiled first world problems, but somebody's got to figure out how to replace the water filter in the refrigerator!

In the mean time, I'm stuck here at my mom's, floored in neutral, killing time. I just finished a delicious croissant, I'm contemplating drinking a coke, and considering going to Barnes and Noble.

Consider yourself updated!

p.s. Thanks for all the Best-of suggestions so far! Keep them coming!!!

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Thank you for your Participation

I have a job for you. I need to compile 15 to 25 posts into a sort of "best of" collection. This isn't for a book or anything, don't get excited. I don't think my measly 36 followers and I are going to score a book deal any time soon. But back to your job and what you're going to do for me: I do not believe that I am a good judge of what posts are funny. There are things that crack me up, but make saner people look at me like I'm nuts. My favorite joke ever involves dead monkeys falling out of trees, and I've been telling it for 25 years.

Sometimes, at night when there's nothing left on TV, I go back through the archives of this blog and reread posts, and sometimes I crack myself up, and sometimes, most of the time, I shake my head and wonder why on earth I bothered to click the "publish" button.

This is where you come in: I would like you to tell me what your favorites have been, if you have any. Maybe you read this blog as a way to self flagellate, punish yourself for wasting too much time on Facebook, and you think I'm a dull hack. Its fine if you do, but you do not need to apply for the job that I am asking readers to do for free, for me.

There are a number of ways you can do this:
1) Maybe you are a savant of some kind and you can remember the precise dates of your favorite posts.
2) Maybe you have some kind of shrine to me in your home, and tacked to it are printed copies of your faves.
3) Or, maybe you have nothing better to do right now, and you could pick a time period, on the right hand side of this page and read through a bunch of my bullshit and see if you think anything you read belongs in the "best of" category.

So, if you are interested in helping me out, please leave a comment to tell me what your favorites were (see how I'm assuming there was more than one? My ego is out of control) or what time period you would like to cover. And just remember that I write all this stuff for your, FOR FREE, and I've been doing it for over three years, and I've never asked you for ANYTHING (except that time I asked you to click on my google ads, and google kicked me out of their ad program. I was so close to that hundred bucks, too.)

Sunday, January 1, 2012

2012: The Year I Grow Up?

This is year is going to be different. I'm going to make some changes. At the end of the year, I'll take stock and see if I was actually able to commit. This year will be the year of Me. I know what you're thinking: Isn't it always the year of you? Aren't we always reading about what you want to eat and your naps and your feelings? The answer is: That appears to be the case.

But here's what I mean: If I continue on my current path, my mother will easily outlive me. This is a sobering thought, made only more so by the image of my hundred year-old mother shaking her fist at my grave yelling, "I told you not to eat that garbage!" so something has to change. I turned 40, and I was all, ha ha! 40! Look at me losing my memory and getting achy! But now I've turned 41 and it turns out I will really and truly not get any younger, so no more jokey jokes. I don't have a plan. I'll come up with one, but, for now, I'll just watch my mom and try to be inspired instead of rebellious.

I have a part-time job I do not love (to say the least) so I'm going to unload it. I am lucky to be in the position to do that. I have a friend who has three jobs, and I recently embarrassed myself by whining that I didn't like my job, and I didn't really want to work, so admit that I am very lucky to be able to not work, and pursue my passion, whatever that might be. I have never been a person who wanted to be something when I grew up. I have had very few life goals, and now that I have a dining room, I have achieved them all (Kid: check. Husband: check. Home: check. End of list.) I have to make some new long term goals starting with figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I'm open to suggestions.

My other non-paying part-time job is volunteering, and this year I will quit that, too. I will fulfill my current commitments, and then say no the next time anyone asks me to be on the board of something or run a variety show or do lice checks. Okay, maybe I'll do lice checks; I have an hour to devote to lice. So if you're reading this and you're thinking of asking me to help with some fabulous volunteer "opportunity" don't waste your breath. In the last 7 years, I have served on three boards, participated in a co-op nursery school, PTA stuff, fund raising, the infamous variety show, and lots of little things in between, and I am now done. I'll take it up again, I'm sure, unless I figure out what I want to be when I grow up and spend my time doing that thing.

Then there's my house. I have made an identity out of being a horrible housewife, and I'm sure I will continue to be a horrible housewife, but now that I have spent a king's ransom renovating my house, it would be a shame if it turns out to be the same old mess. Or so my mother tells me. When I picture my completed house, it looks like something from a magazine, but my propensity toward clutter and dirty dishes and pet hair and unsightly base boards will change that magazine from Elle Decor to Hoarder's Quarterly. My daughter and I have sworn an oath to each other that, this year, we will make our best efforts to put our clothes away properly at the end of the day. I know this is a small thing, but we have to start somewhere.

I think that's it. So, 2012, here's to ordering the side of salad instead of the side of fries. Here's to getting my eliptical machine set up in the garage and actually using it. Here's to quitting my job and finding an occupation. Here's to single-handedly bringing back the dinner party. Here's to a clean house and a dirty mind. Here's to YOU!