Tuesday, November 19, 2013

I wrote an acrostic poem for my dog. Because he brings out the artist in me. Or something like that.

B - Bursitis.  Because he has given me that in my shoulder.

A - Always wants what I'm eating.

N - Neurotic.

D - Difficult.  About everything.

I - Illogical (contrary to the principles of logic).  As in:  Desperately wants me to take him on a run.  Will not sit still so that I can put on the leash.  Cries when I leave him behind.  Cheesus.

T - Tortured.  By all the animals in our creek who have learned precisely the location of his electric fence boundary.  

Friday, November 15, 2013

Is it too late to write my own vows?

Hubby's Real Life Vows (updated because after being with hubby for 12 hours, I thought of three more.).

1.  I promise to not hate you when you put everything in the garbage disposal.  And then blame it on the kids.  And then ask me to "fix it."
In  my defense, he bought four.  There's still two left!!!

2.  I promise to gently remind you about details when you tell me, "I know I haven't seen this movie."

3.  I promise to cover for you in the areas of:  science, politics, religion, and trivia even though you have a master's degree.

4.  I promise to not hate you even when you shrink every single one of my nice shirts and then blame it on the quality of the fabric.

5.  I promise to not be jealous of fictional TV detectives that you fall in love with and virtually stalk.

6.  I promise to be able to find and download every obscure song that you hear on NPR and want on your playlist.  Even though you only give me one word (sung off-key) on which to go by.

7.  I promise to not be offended when you constantly correct my grammar, spelling, and vocabulary.

8.  I promise to take all the photographs of everything.  Everywhere.  For eternity.

9.  I promise to not be too pissed when every photo you take of me is blurry, off-center, or my head is cut off.

10.  I promise to understand when you get lost.  In the city you have lived in for 15 years.  In the mall.  On the way to find the restroom.  On vacation.  In the hospital.

11.  I promise to understand that procrastination is actually a skill that requires high levels of intelligence, self-control, and organization. 

12.  I promise not to laugh when you start to say something Very Important, but cannot remember any of the details or why it was actually Important.

13.  I promise to understand that when you say, "If you don't eat these leftovers today they are going in the trash," it is because you cannot waste food, not because you are trying to give me food poisoning.

14.  I promise to understand that next to breathing, sleeping is your favorite pastime.

15.  I promise to understand that you are physically incapable of making your own coffee.  Even when I buy you a Keurig.

I now pronounce you man and wife.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Would you believe me if I told you it was Netflix's fault?

It's a good thing consistent blogging is not my real job.  And, let's not get into a discussion about:  What is my real job?

So, I've blogged like twice in the last month and a half?

Seriously.  I've considered shutting down my blog a lot during the past few months.  The problem is I cannot figure out how to transfer everything over to my 1991 Commodore without it completely blowing out the hard drive (kidding, but I do lack the technological skills and my laptop is almost that old).

So, here I am.

Netflix decided to release the third (?) season of Damages.  Freakin' finally (after I had completely forgotten what the f*ck happened in season one and two).  And then they released the third season of The Killing.  This is still sucking my time in a sickeningly enriching and enjoyable way.  Just last night I told hubby that when he dies I am totally stalking Holder.  Probably until I am jailed. 

And then Halloween happened somewhere in there.  Then after weeks of being smug about not getting sick like other (weaker) people and having a superior immune system - I got sick.  And, throughout all of this my Boy Child has had a teensy bit of an adjustment period...ahem...two months...ahem...to middle school.  I've had to navigate that complicated road between Helicopter Mom and Delinquent/Meth Mom.  That.  is.  time.  consuming.

What else?  Oh, yeah.  I have four kids and I painted my Yukon Cornelius yellow and threw up a taxi sign on top.


Anyway.  I go to blog and here's what happens:

1.  Instead I clean out my 1044 emails because I am sick and tired of searching for that one email that is offering me a million dollars.  This takes about eight hours because I get distracted with wondering Do I want to improve my sex life?  And:  The fact that I have maybe 10 friends, so who are all these emails from?  Oh, yeah.  Some Russian chick wanting to be friends and that guy in South Africa who says we're related and needs my social security number (note to self:  I could totally have way more than 10 friends).

2.  I decide to make dinner (in which the smoke alarms signals it's ready).  True Story:  The five year old no longer responds at all when the smoke alarm goes off.  She asked me yesterday if it meant that I was cooking.  Thanks.

3.  I decide to clean the five year old's room (which has not been done since the last Saturday in August).  There are brand new clothes (summer clothes?) still in the bags (which my wonderful house cleaner has carefully hung on hangers in her closet).  Um, embarrassing.

4.  I decide to wash the Yukon.  During which time we find:  a half a sandwich (thank God it looked like peanut butter and jelly - which never really goes bad, right?), one apple (at least I think it was an apple?), numerous Craisins (seriously - a lot - I probably could have bagged them up and returned them to Costco - WTF?  - they cost too much to be wandering loose in the Yukon), seven paperclips (next time I'll just go to the Yukon when I need one), a jacket that's been missing since we went on summer vacation, and lots of homework papers.  Um, Boy Child?  Are those yours?

5.  I decide to change the calendar.  Which causes me to ponder the last month and think about how much I love Halloween and hate Christmas, which makes me sad, and guilty, and want to work on the family budget, which makes me sick, which makes me want to write down all the people I will give gifts to, which makes me shorten the list, which makes me really dread Christmas and wish Halloween could be twice, which makes me feel guilty, which makes me want chocolate, which makes me write chocolate down on the list, which makes me remember to update the calendars.

6.  I decide that instead of blogging what I really want to do is read all the blogs I love.  I get through one, laugh a lot, and then decide again to shut down my blog because I am not as good as all the people I love to read. 

7.  I download MayMyRun and MyFitnessPal (apparently "Pal" means Nazi-friend who chides your every bite).  After running for nearly all my life, I finally take the advice of a friend and download an app which virtually runs for me.  But, not quite.  I still have to get up and run.  Damn it.  I quickly became obsessed not with actually working out, but with knowing everything about my working out (mainly the fact that I am not working out).  How is this helpful?  Here's the app I want:  The one that works out and eats right for you while you are um, working and sleeping and catching up on Netflix?

8.  I look over at my enormous pile of prints and feel overwhelmed with guilt.  So, I actually work.  At what I get paid for.  Yeah.  Someone please give me a million dollars.  Wait.  Where's that email?

I'm no NOBLO MOFO (similar to NANOWRIMO, but you don't need to see a doctor for it).  And like the alcoholic I am taking it one day at a time.  I can only say I am sober blogging today

I've missed you blogosphere and I hope to see more of you soon.  Now, for the love of Pete, go do something useful!