My New Best Friend

I bought a Butterfinger the other day. I went into a 7/11 to buy some peanut butter m&ms, and a Butterfinger wormed its way into my heart. I put it in the refrigerator and ate it a third at a time over two days. I ate the last of it this morning in my bed while I was avoiding getting up and starting my day. (Still in my pjs, actually, but don't tell anyone.) God, Butterfingers are delicious. Honestly. They are truly dangerous, though, like crack. Now that I've had one, they're all I'm going to think about. One hit, and I'm hooked. I want another one right now. A whole one, not a third of one, cold from the fridge so I can chip off the chocolaty coating and then eat the weirdly orange center in little bites to make it last. Oh my God. I've got it bad. There's a monkey on my back, and its name is Butterfinger.

The only antidote may be gazpacho soup. I made a batch yesterday, the flavors have been melding all night, and I'm the only one in my family who likes it so its all mine. I don't know if it will quell the Butterfinger fire in my belly, but I have 2 quarts of it and I'm willing to give it a try. Why is it that all the stuff I love is bad for me? Like candy and cokes and the Kardashians? In the afterlife I have constructed for myself, I can eat whatever I want, as much as I want and its all free and healthy and guilt free. I could eat 14 Butterfingers and then go admire my butt in the mirror. If I could be guaranteed an afterlife like that, I would totally go to church.

Addendum: 7:30 p.m.  Gazpacho soup?  Gone.  Delish.

Ass Cheese

I made a kick-ass spaghetti alla carbonara last night. It was a kind of last minute experiment, I've never made it before, and it was GREAT! I made it to cheer Rob up after having his hat handed to him at the board meeting the other night, but he insists that it wasn't necessary because he feels just fine. He loves carbonara, though, so he was pretty psyched.

We took Perry to the dog park this morning where he was mugged. He was happily walking over to me with a gnarly old tennis ball, when a bigger dog named Ollie stole it right out of his mouth. Perry has a pretty small mouth, so most of the ball sticks out, and I suspect that the only real hold he gets on a tennis ball is to thread his teeth through the green fibers. It was pretty pitiful. He was not deterred, though. He chased balls for about an hour, sometimes getting distracted by something smelly and forgetting about the ball altogether. Then he got a bath at the dog washing place and he is now asleep on the couch smelling like mango-tango dog wash. Its a rough life.

Here's something totally else. Leila and I are enjoying her discovery of the phrase, "cut the cheese." Unrelated, I have lamented the fact that I'm a very inelegant cheese cutter, meaning, literally, that whenever I try to cut slices from a block of cheese, they are either too thick or too thin, they're crooked, the knife slips, I drop things, its just ugly. One afternoon last week I made Leila a sandwich with gouda cheese that I cut from a big wedge, and she says, in her patronizing way that is meant to be encouraging, "You did an excellent job cutting this cheese, mommy!" Of course, I can't just let that go, right? So I say "Are you telling me I'm really great at cutting the cheese?" and she's all, "Mommy, please." and I'm all, "Are you telling me I have mad cheese-cutting skills?" and she says, "Mommy, I meant the gouda cheese, not ass cheese." Honestly, I don't know where she gets this language...

I'll see you all next week. I have some big secret spy plans this weekend that I'll tell you about next week. Asta!

Ugh

So, he didn't win. Dammit people, can't something go our way for a minute? I am buying some lottery tickets today; we have to get a thumbs up from the universe eventually, right? RIGHT?!

Y'know, I totally understand why people, who seem to have no money to spend on cigarettes and booze, smoke and drink. The only way I can think of consoling myself over the deluge of shit that is raining down on our lives lately is to start smoking again and get drunk more often. And maybe do some recreational drugs. I wish I were kidding. I did indulge in a wine-soaked pity party, with a side of melted cheese, after Rob's defeat last night, but I think the key is not get out of the pool of chardonnay, because this morning I'm right back where I started.

Those wood-slat blinds I told you about? The ones I cleaned recently? They're like prison bars. And I should be excited that its harvest time in my garden and I can actually go out there and collect green beans and zucchinis, but there's only so much happiness green beans can bring to a person who doesn't really like vegetable in the first place.

Maybe I'll make Leila watch Pee Wee Herman's Big Adventure with me. I love the part when he is having the meeting with all his friends and associates, and he's on the edge, and he screams, "Is that something you can share with the rest of us, Amazing Larry??!"

Local Edition of Bored Housewife

Lots of my faithful readers are other parents from L's school, so this is for them:

Hear ye, hear ye!

Tomorrow night at 6:00, in the Hall Middle School library, there will be a meeting of the school board of trustees during which they will publicly interview and select a new trustee to fill a mid-term vacancy! My husband, Rob, has applied, along with two other applicants. Apparently, all three of them think that reading miles of dry documentation, having lots of meetings, and availing themselves to public scrutiny and ridicule would be a lot of laughs, so off they go to duke it out for the position.

Obviously, I think my husband, my man, my provider, would be the best choice. He has the rare ability to not fall asleep during endless discussions of minutia. He even LIKES it. He doesn't take short cuts, he is methodical, he's deliberate, he has a good heart and a good brain, and his butt looks good in jeans. He's a good listener, he doesn't jump to conclusions, he likes information and analysis, and he thinks he is very very funny.

If you have a child in one of the district's schools and can come to the meeting, that would be awesome. If can't come to the meeting, but would like to support Rob, you can send an email to the trustees, letting them know that you think Rob would be a great choice. (Their email is on the districts website)

He has been given official endorsements by the following people and organizations:

Me
My mom
His mom
His step mom
Our daughter
The Organization of our friends who we have plied with liquor
Our dog, and one of our cats. (The other cat is abstaining.)

Go Team Rob!

That Porsche can Suck It

I'm not feeling very well these days. Not sick, just, not well. I'm in a mood. A funk. I'm so bored I could kill myself. I have a very short temper. Today, a porsche wouldn't let me into the lane I wanted, in spite of my turn signal and abundant charm, and I missed my exit. I think I called the driver a fuckity fuck-ass fuck face, and flipped him off while he was speeding away. No, Leila was not in the car. When my hair falls into my face, I feel like screaming. My jeans keep falling down, and I want to shred them in the food processor, except I don't actually have a food processor because my house is too damned effing small, and I want to move. See?

There's a Calvin and Hobbes pic of Calvin and he's angry which is indicated not only by the expression on his face, but also the black scribble above his head. I did a brief internet search for the pic, but I couldn't find it. Anyway, that's how I feel.

Littlest Petshop can Suck It

Okay, summer vacation has gotten old. OLD! Since Leila has no camps or any kind of lessons this summer, and we have no vacation plans besides camping, we are together EVERY DAY. This child is just like I was/am; she has an impressive ability to stay in the house and fart around for days on end. Meaning that I am also farting around the house for days, and I am SICK OF IT!

I'm feeling isolated and BORED! I told her we should go to the farmers market this morning, and she acts as if I'm asking her to dig a latrine in the backyard. How much time have I spent in the last two days making stop animation movies with her? and she wont even happily consent to go to the market with me. Kids today, jeez.

I need to break out of here. I need to go outside, smell fresh air, eat at a restaurant, chat with a girlfriend, GET MY LIFE BACK!

Just wait, though. A week before school starts, I'll probably be bitching and moaning that I don't want school to start, and I'm going to miss my baby, and wah wah wah. But right now, I'm going to drag this little brat to the farmers market by her hair, if I have to. I will get some little gem lettuce today, I WILL!

Maybe later, I'll make her walk the dog with me, too. See how you like that, warden!

Here's one of her movies...

The Talk

See this sketch? Let me splain:

The other day, Leila says to me, There's something in the toilet that, I think, shouldn't be there. Seems a cardboard tampon applicator hadn't flushed all the way down, and was unfurling in the toilet bowl. I said it was no problem, and flushed it. Then the questions started. What is it? What's a tampon? How do you use a tampon? Why do you use a tampon? What's a period? etc. etc.

So, I sat on the edge of the bathtub in my robe, and Leila sat on the floor in her pajamas, and we had The Talk. I've been mentally preparing for this talk since before she was born. I've been plotting out how I would explain things. I promised myself I would not talk about ovaries and fallopian tubes, but, as it turns out, you can't really explain menstruation (ew) without a discussion of ovaries and fallopian tubes (see sketch.) I think I did a pretty good job. 

When I said I could explain it easier with a piece of paper and pencil, she went to her room and got both, and sat back down on the bathroom floor while I sketched labia and uteruses on the toilet seat cover. I had her total, undivided attention.

She was none too thrilled with the idea of having to have a period. She was a little appalled, actually. She wanted to know, if she wasn't planning on having any babies, did she still have to have one? Sorry, kid. She wanted to know if you have leave the tampon in there, or do you take it out right away, and when I told her you left it in there for a few hours, she was shocked that a period lasted for hours. You should have seen her face when I told her it lasted for days. She was relieved to know that this was something that would happen to her when she was a grown up, a time so far in the future to her that it is not worth worrying about. I hated to break it to her that she is only a few years away from the magical world of shark week, and she was all, Oh, God...

She asked me if there was any way to avoid having a baby, and we dipped unexpectedly into a brief discussion about birth control. I didn't want to discuss anything that had to do with penises or sperm or anything, because she hadn't actually asked for that information, so I told her she could take a pill that would prevent her from having a baby. Then she completely stressed out because she can't take pills, not even chewables, she still has to take the liquid tylenol. I assured her that there would come a time when the fear of becoming pregnant would outweigh the fear of swallowing a pill, and that she didn't have to worry about it for a long time. A long LONG time.

As we were following the egg down the fallopian tube, and I was explaining that if the egg isn't fertilized, that's when you get a period, I braced myself for the next logical question. I was a little surprised to be having the period conversation on a random weekday, in the bathroom. I had kind of envisioned something a little more, I don't know, like a meadow, or the car, or a slumber party where all her friends think I am so cool because I answer all their questions and don't confuse them with talk about fallopian tubes. I was definitely not prepared to discuss any of the other baby making apparatus. But instead of asking How does an egg get fertilized? She asked, Do cats have a period? God, I love this kid.

We went on to have a debate about spaying and neutering pets. I'm pro, she's con. I told her we wouldn't be able to find homes for all the kittens our cat would have had had she not been spayed, and I explained the simple math of multiple litters, but she insisted we could keep them all. This was the most tense part of the conversation, and we had to agree to disagree, and then we went into the kitchen and I made frozen waffles.

I offered to buy her a book about all this stuff, so she can read it whenever she feels like it. She said she was interested, but I've kind of chickened out. The book I have in mind also talks about boobs and armpit hair and erections, and I think I'll put that off for a tiny bit longer.

So, there it was. The Talk. All my plans and scripts went right out the window, but it all worked out. My mom gave me a very brief explanation, like, its something you get once a month that means you can have a baby. Her mother had simply told her, Now you watch out for boys. I think the women in my family are getting better at this. I know what the next Talk will be, and I'd better start getting ready. How about, When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, and they're married... Think it will work?