Let's Play a Game

This is what I did today:

Pig...

Not a pig.

Pig...

Not a Pig.

Leila has been instructed to clean her room this afternoon, so she's still a pig.

Couple in the next room, is bound to win a prize

Today is my thirteenth wedding anniversary! Thirteen years of wedded bliss, interspersed with tragedy, bickering, chores, house payments, jobs, graduate school, good times, not so good times, dry patches, grey hairs, and two cats and a dog. We're all still standing, I think we might just make it another year.

To celebrate, we Hotwired a hotel room in SF for the night (and Leila asked, "Why would you go to a hotel room for just one night? That doesn't make any sense" She's to young to know about hotel sex) and rode a cable car to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, a little french bistro, and then risked our lives taking a cab back to the hotel.

We sat around like geeks, looking at facebook updates, and watching an episode of My So Called Life on our computer because we couldn't figure out the dang TV. Then at 1:47 a.m. I was awakened by what I thought were kids jumping around upstairs. My second thought was, "What parent is letting their kids jump around a hotel room at 2 in the morning?" and my third thought was, "Hey, those aren't kids..."

The couple in the next room were having all kinds of fun, for AN HOUR! Ah, those were the days. Rob didn't notice a thing, and, this morning when I told him about it, he pointed out that there were a set of ear plugs right there on the nightstand, courtesy of the Hilton. Now, ear plugs were the last thing I needed. I had my ear jammed up against the wall, trying to figure out exactly, y'know, what was going on, and earplugs would definitely have gotten in the way. They turned the TV on at around 2:30 and I thought they were sprawling in the afterglow, but, no, they were just trying to mask the sound. It might have worked , too, if I hadn't had the side of my face flattened to the wall. If I wasn't going to be able to sleep, I might as well be entertained, right? I think they were going for some kind of record.

In the morning, I told Rob all the gory details, and told him, "I kind of want to wait in the hallway until they come out so I can see what they look like, but what if they're ugly? That would spoil the whole thing!" This is the part where Rob looks at me and shakes his head, wondering what on earth is wrong with me, and why he's married to such a sick freak.

I'm not a sick freak, though, right? Please don't tell me that I am the only one who would intently listen to the strangers in the next room doin' it. If I knew the people, or they were, like, my parents, I would have shoved those ear plugs so far into my ears I would never have gotten them out. But these were strangers, and, in my fantasy life, good looking strangers.

So, now, I'm sipping champagne out of my wedding champagne flutes as I do once a year on this date. Doesn't mean there aren't still dinner dishes to do, and laundry to fold, and a lippy kid to put to bed. Happy Anniversary, Rob!

p.s. I will send you warm fuzzies, absolutely FREE, if you can name the song I've quoted in the title.

Its 98 degrees right now. I'm going to the movies to sit in an air conditioned place for two hours. I'm going to have a coke. Fuck it.

Soda-free!

As of today, I have gone eight full days without soda (coke, rootbeer, etc.) and let me tell you something: I don't think I've lost any weight, but I have noticed that I am not having insane cravings like I usually do. Normally, every night is a mystery. I may have all the stuff to make tacos at home, but I feel like I'm going to die if I don't get number 217 from the Vietnamese place, or a pizza, or a big bowl of ice cream. I never know what its going to be, which makes it virtually impossible to plan meals. I also don't like to plan meals or go grocery shopping, and that also makes it virtually impossible to plan meals. But this week, my food cravings have been evened out. I'm no longer staring longingly at butterfinger bars in the grocery aisle, and I haven't taken myself to lunch (also a side effect of my roller coaster cravings) since Monday.

I'm thinking that staying off soda may be the answer to many of my issues; If I don't crave, I wont eat a bunch of garbage, and I'll lose weight. If I don't crave, I wont spend a lot of money on impulsive restaurant purchases, and I'll be able to save up for a sofa. Also I went to the dentist today and had two cavities, so there's another way staying off soda will help me. I'm wondering what I should give up next. I will not give up cocktails, though, no matter what world problems it would solve.

How about a quick Friday Five?

1) How is your tolerance for alcohol? Is this a question of the quality of my drunkenness, or the speediness of my drunkenness? I am a light weight, and a very loving and indiscreet drunk.

2) How's your tolerance for noisy neighbors. Low if its lame adults, high if its kids. I am the noisy neighbor on my street right now, constantly screaming for the dog.

3) How's your tolerance for physical pain? Very, very low. A doctor during my hospital stay was sure I'd passed a gall stone without my knowledge, and I assured her that I start to whimper if I get thirsty. I don't think a gall stone would elude my notice.

4) How's your tolerance for intolerant people: Low, very low. Unless I'm the one having an intolerant moment, then I'm fine with it.

5) How's your tolerance for bad music? Medium. I can hang for a while, depending on how generous I feel at that particular time. There was a woman I used to work with who would commandeer the office stereo first thing in the morning with 5 CDs of all the same type of music, and around CD number 3, I would have to put a stop to whatever it was. She kept telling me to "expand" my musical interest, but after 5 straight hours of Tom Waites, I wanted to "expand" my fist right into her mouth.

Have a good weekend, brothers and sisters!

Sexual Chocolate

Its butt hot today. I don't really know what that means, but its hot. Its 4:43 p.m, I'm sipping wine at my desk, and here is why I am a rock star today:

I spent a few HOURS this morning doing school stuff, and I am not only up to date, but I am ahead of schedule, and everyone will be blown away by my brilliance. I have a class list, I have a manual and a checklist, I have stuff printed out for my meeting tomorrow, and... I guess that's it. It doesn't sound like much, when I write it out. Okay, so maybe I'm not a rock star, maybe I'm a wanna be rock star. Remember that movie Coming to America, where Eddie Murphy played all those parts and one of the parts was the really bad singer of the band Sexual Chocolate, and he sang The Greatest Love of All in a powder blue tux? 'Member that? That's who I am today.

These bursts of organizational prowess make me look like I have it totally together, but the fact is, it is the pure desperation of not wanting to do other things, like clean out the hall closet and blow dry my hair, that push me in the direction of the school stuff. I dick around on the computer for a while, refreshing my email and my facebook and reading all the gossip sites, and then it comes time to either get up from the computer and clean something, or stay at the computer and fiddle around with spread sheets and stuff. I believe that children are our future...

I also scrubbed my stove and ruined my nail polish. Did I tell you about this? Rob is always bugging me to paint my nails a dark color. I hardly ever paint my nails, and when I do, it is usually a really light color that you can't see. So I tells him, "Honey, you go to the store and pick out the color you want me to wear, and I'll try it." And. He. Did. Not only does he never have any issue calling me from the tampon aisle of the grocery store and reading all the boxes out loud, but apparently he has no trouble perusing the nail polish aisle, either.

I also went to Costco. I've been bugging my dad to take me to Costco for two months or so. I don't have my own card, so I have to mooch off other people, and finally - FINALLY! - he took me up there. He said there was something he wanted to get for Leila, and I was convinced it was a Wii. I started to get all excited, but it turned out he wanted to let her pick out a boring old book. Reading: jeez. She's spending the night at his house this Saturday. My mom is out of town and Rob and I are going out, so he's going to take Leila to see my brother and go to the dirt modified car races, whatever the hell that means.

Don't you hate when you go to Costco with a short list of things, and they don't have half of what's on your list? It sucks. Rob will just have to wear his pitted-out undershirts a little bit longer.

Thank you for all your comments! I feel a little calmer now. Keep commenting, I love it!

I Got Nothin'

I'm sitting at my desk, eating pineapple (6 days without a soda, pineapple is my current substitute) contemplating my next move. My next move is decidedly not sitting here and writing this, though. I have phone calls to make, dishes to do, a hall closet to clean out and floors to sweep, but I have no desire whatsoever to do any of those things. You know what's so great about summer vacation? I'm still a little bored, like I am during the school year, but I don't get out of bed until, like, nine a.m. and I don't start making a mess until around 10:30. It makes a difference. The day is long when I'm getting up before 7, and making a mess by 7:15. Know what I did this morning, though? I made dinner for tomorrow. How's that for efficiency? I made pasta a week or two ago (a couple of mild Italian sausages, out of the casing, crumbled into a pan and sauteed, one jar of Bertolli olive oil and garlic pasta sauce, about a cup of red wine, simmer) and it was so much better the next day, after having been refrigerated and microwaved. So I made it this morning, put it in containers along with the pasta, and voila, dinner is served. Tomorrow.

Nothing interesting has happened today, no more booger drama, but I did wash the dog. He is frantically ringing the bell at the back door so he can suss out the grossest thing in the yard and roll in it. No dice, dog. You're staying clean if the sound of that damn bell kills us both.

Here's another thing. I know you're reading this; my google analytics tell me that I get between 40 and 60 visitors a day (God only knows what you see in me) but Where are your comments? I need some comments, people! I need to know you're really out there! You don't have to be witty, you can be anonymous, you can just say, "present" like you did in Bio all those years ago. She's back in school, I'm alone in this house all day,and I need to know that I'm talking to SOMEONE.

Hitting a needy patch, I guess. How many calories are in half a pineapple? And, why is it, when you have cut up a whole pineapple, one piece is delicious and another piece isn't? When you have a tasteless melon, the whole thing is a waste of time, but every bite of pineapple is like a little surprise.

Yeah, I got nothin'. Except to say... Everybody's doin' it, doin' it, doin' it, pickin' it and chewin' it, chewin' it, chewin' it...

The Great Shame

Second day of second grade. Everything was fine, except...

Leila is a nose picker, and... okay, I'll just say it, a booger eater. She doesn't always eat what she hauls out of there, but it happens. She's a little kid, okay? I've tried everything to get her to stop, including encouraging her to pick her nose (not eat it, I am not encouraging her to do that) in private. I told her that when she uses the rest room at school, and she's alone in the stall, pick your little heart out, sister. I know the hygiene police will be all up in my grill about viruses and bacteria getting jammed into her nose, but c'mon people! I'm doing my best! Her hands are always in her face somehow. If her fingers aren't up her nose, they're picking her lip, or she's biting her nails. Its so irritating. I can see it out of the corner of my eye when we're reading bedtime stories, and "Get your fingers away from your face" has become an integrated part of the text of pretty much every book we read. I tried painting her nails this summer to combat the biting, but she still bit her cuticles and when the polish chipped off, her fingers were right back in her mouth. Its a losing battle for a parent, but not necessarily for other second graders...

Today a little girl at her table caught her in the act, and said, "Ewwww! You're picking your nose!" That's the story I got, anyway. When asked if she was caught nibbling on the evidence, Leila was emphatic that it was just the picking. It took her a while to break down and tell me the story in the first place. She was mortified, and decided she didn't like that girl and couldn't be friends with her. In her world, this is a perfectly good reason to freeze someone out of the incessant games of Dog out on the playground. I was a good mom; I told her that I completely understood that she was embarrassed, and that maybe the girl's tone wasn't exactly respectful (that's what she said: that the girl had not been respectful to her. As if the child is supposed to say something like, "I can respect that you are a nose miner, but, ahem, would you mind?") but that she should probably give the girl a second chance. I think she will. But maybe I should send that kid a thank you note.

Leila also gave me a really great physical description of embarrassment: she said this about the girl, but we all know what she really meant, "she makes my brain itchy. She gives me mosquito bites all over my brain." Her brain got a lot of action today. On the way home, she told me that her eyes hurt and her head hurt, and it was because she's working so hard at school that her brain gets squeezed and it hurts. I know exactly how she feels. I use chardonnay and naps to combat that feeling.