Hello you guys! I finally came out of my Thanksgiving coma! Just kidding. I wasn't really in a coma. I was fixing my computer after my "computer-expert," teenage son downloaded a virus onto it. It took days and days, but everything is in fine working order now. These computers are complex!
When we came home from our Thanksgiving trip, I discovered that Mitch had been extremely productive here at home. We are making our house more energy efficient so earlier this fall he insulated the walls and attic. Not that it wasn't insulated before, but like everything else in our house, it was done half-assed. Wind would blow right into the house through the walls and it was hard to get the temperature out of the fifties. Over the weekend Mitch put in a new thermostat that can be programmed with a touch screen. Fancy! I still don't know how to use it so I just poked it until the heat went up yesterday.
He also got us a new bed! To say our old bed was lumpy would be a gross understatement. We would both wake up crippled on a pretty regular basis. The new bed is memory foam and it is the first queen-sized bed we've ever had. Oh my god, the luxury!
The third thing he did that is a major improvement is that he fixed our plumbing because before when the shower ran, the hot water would trickle out of the shower head, but most of it would rush out the tub faucet and go right down the drain. We would run out of hot water in about ten minutes. It was a pain.
I was so happy and in love with him when I saw all these projects finished, but now I'm starting to see through the haze of love and I'm noticing something alarming. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but all of these little projects he did take away some level of the forced intimacy that is what makes our marriage so magical. The insulation and thermostat make our heat more cozy and efficient, taking away the necessity to snuggle to preserve body heat.
The bigger bed gives us more room to spread out. Whereas before we couldn't both lay on our backs at the same time or else our outside arms would fall of the edges, making it necessary for at least one of us to lay on our side, usually facing the other one in an intimate position that doesn't allow for any "I'm mad at you but you don't even notice me" attitudes even if we were mad at each other, because if you lay with your back to your partner because you're mad at him and you fart on his leg while you're sleeping, and it makes him simultaneously jump, do a full spin, and say, "JESUS!" which wakes you up too, it gives you something to think/talk/fight about other than what you were mad about before you went to bed (and totally steals your anger-thunder). Now my alleged sleep farts go totally unnoticed. I might as well not even be farting.
The plumbing also has taken away a huge measure of forced intimacy. Like I said, the water would run out in ten minutes and not warm up again for at least an hour. This caused us to have to take showers together. Not that it was so hot and sexy, it was more a practice in washing efficiency in order to not have to rinse sensitive areas in cold water; but still, standing naked and wet with your eyes shut tight to keep soap out ties the marriage bonds a little tighter. Now that is gone too. I can take long showers all by myself with nobody there to remind me to shave my pits or to ridicule me for not ever washing my legs. (As I've painstakingly explained to Mitch many times; much like trickle-down economics, when I wash my hair the soap trickles down and washes my legs for me, hence the need to never actively scrub them myself.)
I appreciate all his hard work, but I wonder if we will be like strangers a year from now. From now on we will have to put some effort into intimacy, and if I do something sweet and intimate that doesn't directly benefit me, he'll know I like like him. I'm still playing hard-to-get (want).
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Live blogging Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving! I'm sitting here with my sisters and dad talking about Dolph Lundgren and his relative hotness (I think he's not, my sisters think he is, my dad says "he doesn't really think about that.") and discussing whether my dad has ADHD. (We all think he does) I don't really know where my kids are. I think they are outside somewhere probably buried in 40 feet of snow. I hope they are okay. I will be very thankful if they are okay. We are having a late dinner because of work schedules and I haven't eaten anything all day long (except for a giant breakfast) and I am getting HUNGRY. I also think I might be having a heart attack. Or heart burn. But how could I have heart burn if I haven't even eaten anything? (except a giant breakfast) I bet beer will help. Also, my foot is asleep and it's annoying me. It's my left foot. Isn't that a sign of a heart attack? Uh oh. I have to go to Webmd.com. BRB.
Good news, according to Webmd, a sleeping left foot is not a sign of a heart attack, so I am free to sit around and eat my weight in stuffing with no life-threatening consequences! Yay! Kira just asked me, "Do you think if I threw Amy's dog in the fire, it would stink?" I think maybe I have to look into some counseling for my sweet little angel. Between her potential horrifying animal abuse and her milk farts ("Oh my god! I farted and smells just like milk!") she's both getting on my nerves, and causing some serious worry. Be back after dinner.
***************************************
Good news, according to Webmd, a sleeping left foot is not a sign of a heart attack, so I am free to sit around and eat my weight in stuffing with no life-threatening consequences! Yay! Kira just asked me, "Do you think if I threw Amy's dog in the fire, it would stink?" I think maybe I have to look into some counseling for my sweet little angel. Between her potential horrifying animal abuse and her milk farts ("Oh my god! I farted and smells just like milk!") she's both getting on my nerves, and causing some serious worry. Be back after dinner.
**************************************
Okay, dinner is over. Everything was delicious, as usual; and the company was great. We had champagne and Beth (who is six months pregnant) wanted a glass and wavered on whether to have a small one or not. My mom and her friend said, "No! You can't! What about FAS?" and were indignant until they were reminded about how much they smoked and drank during pregnancy in the 60s and 70s. They said, "Well, we didn't know about it back then!" and then looked at all of us like they were seeing us for the first time, inspecting us for small head size and short attention spans. To their relief we all have enormous heads so whew, that's one bullet dodged! Score one for drinking during pregnancy! Beth decided that a few sips of wine would be okay considering all the mouthwash she "accidentally" ingests.
Then we got in an argument about why the Kardashian's are famous. Amy said it's because their father was one of O.J. Simpson's lawyers and the rest of us were all, "Yeah, right! Bruce Jenner was not O.J. Simpson's lawyer!" and she tried to tell us that he's not really their father, but please, we've seen the show! How dumb does she think we are? Whether Bruce Jenner is a world-class athlete as well as a cracker-jack defense lawyer still does not answer the question about why the Kardashian's are so famous.
And then Beth told us a delightful story about how she had to go to the bathroom really bad while she was on the road with her toddler and she couldn't hold it so she had to stop at a gas station. She, of course, had to bring the baby in the bathroom stall with her because leaving toddlers in running vehicles right next to the highway is a no-no (apparently). She tried her best not to let the baby touch anything because gas station bathrooms = blech. She was pretty successful until she flushed and it was one of those super loud powerful flushers and it scared the crap out of the baby who jumped, screamed, and fell; smearing herself against every gas-station-bathroom surface she could on her way down and the whole catastrophe culminated with the poor scared baby spitting her binky out and it skittered across the disgusting floor, and then she screamed even more when Beth wouldn't let her put the gross binky back in her mouth. Fun times! I also watched Beth change a diaper that made her gag THREE TIMES. I thought she was going to puke on her baby. Oh my god! I want to get pregnant again RIGHT NOW!
But seriously, I'm thankful I'm not pregnant, and that my kids are old enough to leave alone while I use the bathroom by myself. Really, super thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! I'm going into a tryptophan/wine coma now for the next 24 hours or so!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I have impressive Facebook Friends
My Facebook friend, Tiffany, who I went to high school with just finished her second Ironman race. I knew she was training for it and I knew Ironman races included swimming, biking and running a marathon, but I had no idea it was all done on the same day. (No, YOU shut up!) Seriously, that's brutal. She wrote about her experience here.
The first part of the race is swimming 2.4 MILES. Do you know how far that is to swim? It would take me the better part of a day to do it alone in a pool, much less outside, in some lake with a bunch of other athletes pushing and shoving. Tiff said she ingested a bunch of water. Then after they swim, they get out and immediately get on a bike and ride it for, get this, 112 MILES. One-hundred and twelve miles! Why not just a hundred? Why tack on the extra twelve? I thought maybe the swimming was done on a Friday, the biking on Saturday, and then the running on Sunday, but no, it's all one day. After the bike ride they get off and run a marathon. 26 miles. Tiff said she was having GI problems she thinks from ingesting all the water during the swim so toward the end of the marathon she was stopping in port-a-potties about every mile. Hello, Worst Nightmare! How you doing? She finished the race in 12 hours. Twelve hours of solid, non-stop exercise. Needless to say, I would die. I feel like an Ironman when I do a one hour workout video from start to finish without stopping it for rest breaks. I would have drowned during the swim. Probably within the first quarter-mile. And even though she was sick she finished in 39th place. That is amazing. Congratulations, Tiff!
My sister Amy thinks I should train for a 5K running race and write a training blog like Tiffany did. It would be such a sad, sad little blog. I'm guessing there would be a lot of entries that were titled with some variation of the following: "Why I didn't exercise today" and "Running Sucks ASS!"
My other impressive Facebook friend is Maria Bamford. She is a comedian from Duluth who I've been a fan of for years. She is HILARIOUS. She is the blond lady on the Target holiday commercials.
I could watch her do crunches on the Target parking-lot balls, and run in her red track-suit and high heels all day long. I love her! Here's her website. If you happen to listen to one of her albums and hear her do the impression of her mother, know this: It is spot-on perfect. I talked to her mom on the phone once for about an hour and it is ridiculous how perfectly Maria can copy her. Watch this video to see. I've never actually met Maria in person, but my friend Dana went to high school with her and has promised to introduce me to her. I bet Maria is coming home for the holidays, Dana! Hint hint!
Those are my impressive Facebook friends. Both of them. The rest of you, get off your asses and do something impressive!*
*just kidding!!!!**
** not really, get out there and do something blog-worthy.
The first part of the race is swimming 2.4 MILES. Do you know how far that is to swim? It would take me the better part of a day to do it alone in a pool, much less outside, in some lake with a bunch of other athletes pushing and shoving. Tiff said she ingested a bunch of water. Then after they swim, they get out and immediately get on a bike and ride it for, get this, 112 MILES. One-hundred and twelve miles! Why not just a hundred? Why tack on the extra twelve? I thought maybe the swimming was done on a Friday, the biking on Saturday, and then the running on Sunday, but no, it's all one day. After the bike ride they get off and run a marathon. 26 miles. Tiff said she was having GI problems she thinks from ingesting all the water during the swim so toward the end of the marathon she was stopping in port-a-potties about every mile. Hello, Worst Nightmare! How you doing? She finished the race in 12 hours. Twelve hours of solid, non-stop exercise. Needless to say, I would die. I feel like an Ironman when I do a one hour workout video from start to finish without stopping it for rest breaks. I would have drowned during the swim. Probably within the first quarter-mile. And even though she was sick she finished in 39th place. That is amazing. Congratulations, Tiff!
My sister Amy thinks I should train for a 5K running race and write a training blog like Tiffany did. It would be such a sad, sad little blog. I'm guessing there would be a lot of entries that were titled with some variation of the following: "Why I didn't exercise today" and "Running Sucks ASS!"
My other impressive Facebook friend is Maria Bamford. She is a comedian from Duluth who I've been a fan of for years. She is HILARIOUS. She is the blond lady on the Target holiday commercials.
I could watch her do crunches on the Target parking-lot balls, and run in her red track-suit and high heels all day long. I love her! Here's her website. If you happen to listen to one of her albums and hear her do the impression of her mother, know this: It is spot-on perfect. I talked to her mom on the phone once for about an hour and it is ridiculous how perfectly Maria can copy her. Watch this video to see. I've never actually met Maria in person, but my friend Dana went to high school with her and has promised to introduce me to her. I bet Maria is coming home for the holidays, Dana! Hint hint!
Those are my impressive Facebook friends. Both of them. The rest of you, get off your asses and do something impressive!*
*just kidding!!!!**
** not really, get out there and do something blog-worthy.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Movies, laundry, and chin-hair plucking: My weekend
It's been a cleaning/movie-watching weekend for me. Mitch and the kids are gone to a hockey tournament. I kind of wanted to go because they were going to the zoo today, but I couldn't go because I have a dog and a bird here that I failed to make arrangements for. Isn't it ironic that I had to miss going to the zoo because of animals here at home? Is that irony? Not real sure. Probably not.
I rented some movies and watched them last night and today.
The first one was The Girl Who Played with Fire which is the sequel to The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It was excellent. I watched it in Swedish (with subtitles) last night and then played it while I was cleaning today with the English dubbing. I think I like subtitles better. I like hearing their language. The movie followed the book very closely and was fantastic.
The second movie I watched was Date Night with Tina Fey and Steve Carell. It was okay, Tina Fey is hilarious, but it was kind of a tired, predictable movie overall.
The last one I got was Sex in the City 2. I watched it this afternoon while plucking my chin hairs. I thought it was awful. And I was a fan of the show. I have all the seasons on DVD and everything, but this movie was so bad, I thought I might have to curl up in the fetal position and die from embarrassment when the four women started singing "I am Woman Hear Me Roar" at the karaoke club in Abu Dabi. No I'm not kidding. They really did that. When the actresses read the script and got to that part why didn't they say, "No fucking way I'm doing that. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of." Of course, they were paid lots of money to make the movie, but still. I don't think there is enough money in the world that would justify making that scene. And Carrie Bradshaw has to be the most fucked up character ever in the history of movies/tv that wasn't supposed to be completely fucked up. What is wrong with her? It's like she's perpetually 15 years old. I realize the movie is supposed to be some kind of fantasy for middle-aged women but please, how many 40-something women are fantasizing about having totally fabricated marital drama? None. That's who. If I was her husband I would have dumped her in this movie for being an enormous pain in the ass.
Other than movie watching, I've been pretty productive. I got most of my Christmas shopping done, laundry done, groceries bought, and I swept about a metric ton of clothes, garbage and toys out from underneath Kira's bed. Add to that; I probably lost a pound in toenail and chin-hair weight, so overall the weekend has been a success!
I rented some movies and watched them last night and today.
The first one was The Girl Who Played with Fire which is the sequel to The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It was excellent. I watched it in Swedish (with subtitles) last night and then played it while I was cleaning today with the English dubbing. I think I like subtitles better. I like hearing their language. The movie followed the book very closely and was fantastic.
The second movie I watched was Date Night with Tina Fey and Steve Carell. It was okay, Tina Fey is hilarious, but it was kind of a tired, predictable movie overall.
The last one I got was Sex in the City 2. I watched it this afternoon while plucking my chin hairs. I thought it was awful. And I was a fan of the show. I have all the seasons on DVD and everything, but this movie was so bad, I thought I might have to curl up in the fetal position and die from embarrassment when the four women started singing "I am Woman Hear Me Roar" at the karaoke club in Abu Dabi. No I'm not kidding. They really did that. When the actresses read the script and got to that part why didn't they say, "No fucking way I'm doing that. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of." Of course, they were paid lots of money to make the movie, but still. I don't think there is enough money in the world that would justify making that scene. And Carrie Bradshaw has to be the most fucked up character ever in the history of movies/tv that wasn't supposed to be completely fucked up. What is wrong with her? It's like she's perpetually 15 years old. I realize the movie is supposed to be some kind of fantasy for middle-aged women but please, how many 40-something women are fantasizing about having totally fabricated marital drama? None. That's who. If I was her husband I would have dumped her in this movie for being an enormous pain in the ass.
Other than movie watching, I've been pretty productive. I got most of my Christmas shopping done, laundry done, groceries bought, and I swept about a metric ton of clothes, garbage and toys out from underneath Kira's bed. Add to that; I probably lost a pound in toenail and chin-hair weight, so overall the weekend has been a success!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Pumpkin Bread
I think I'm being blackballed at work because I haven't been called for a job in a while. Actually I've been called but just for the shittiest of jobs, like the one where the teacher left a note that said, "I have ten middle-school boys in my class and they all have severe behavior problems." Um, no thanks. Being a sub is enough of a target for behavior problems in a regular class, much less than one with ten behavior problems so severe that she feels she has to write a disclaimer note. I also got called for a kindergarten job at a rural school that is the on the opposite side of the school district from my rural home. No sub job is worth a two hour commute, much less a kindergarten job. There's not enough wine...
I brought the phone into the bedroom with me to take morning calls today and there was not a peep. Nobody needs a sub. So I thought maybe I somehow got taken off the call list, so I looked online to see what jobs were available. None. Nobody needed a sub. What is going on???? I am working tomorrow for a job I lined up in September. Finally. Mama needs some walkin' around money!
So instead of being productive member of society today, I am contributing to the growing problem of obesity by turning a nutritious vegetable into delicious desserts.
I made pumpkin cookies (last pan is in the oven right now) and pumpkin bread. The recipe for pumpkin bread is the best in the world, and my mom gives it to me every year because I always lose it right after I make it. I'll attach it on the bottom, that way you can have it too, and next year I can look under the label "pumpkin bread" and find it right away. Oh my god, I'm so clever.
I found the cookie recipe online and they are alright. Not the best, not the worst. I have to make some sugar glaze and then they'll be better. Whatever. I used up two cans of pumpkin and killed about four hours so, mission accomplished? I also forgot that we own a mixer so instead I used the hand mixer my grandma gave me about ten years ago that was at her cabin for about 50 years. It works but it's splattery and emits ozone which smells great, but I don't know if it's good for me, or for the environment. You'd think it would be great for the environment by helping patch up the giant hole in the ozone layer, but apparently it's a greenhouse gas, so it's bad? Dammit, Science, stop being so contrary!
That's the environmental-hazard, million year old hand mixer just sitting there, being messy and hazardous; and look what it's sitting in front of: the Kitchen Aid mixer I forgot we have because it sits on the counter all the time and I don't even see it anymore. Now I have to decide if I'm going to go to the gym tonight, or sit home and watch tv and stuff my face full of pumpkin bread. WWJD? (I think we all know what I'm going to do.)
Here's the pumpkin bread recipe as written in an email from my mom earlier today:
I brought the phone into the bedroom with me to take morning calls today and there was not a peep. Nobody needs a sub. So I thought maybe I somehow got taken off the call list, so I looked online to see what jobs were available. None. Nobody needed a sub. What is going on???? I am working tomorrow for a job I lined up in September. Finally. Mama needs some walkin' around money!
So instead of being productive member of society today, I am contributing to the growing problem of obesity by turning a nutritious vegetable into delicious desserts.
I made pumpkin cookies (last pan is in the oven right now) and pumpkin bread. The recipe for pumpkin bread is the best in the world, and my mom gives it to me every year because I always lose it right after I make it. I'll attach it on the bottom, that way you can have it too, and next year I can look under the label "pumpkin bread" and find it right away. Oh my god, I'm so clever.
I found the cookie recipe online and they are alright. Not the best, not the worst. I have to make some sugar glaze and then they'll be better. Whatever. I used up two cans of pumpkin and killed about four hours so, mission accomplished? I also forgot that we own a mixer so instead I used the hand mixer my grandma gave me about ten years ago that was at her cabin for about 50 years. It works but it's splattery and emits ozone which smells great, but I don't know if it's good for me, or for the environment. You'd think it would be great for the environment by helping patch up the giant hole in the ozone layer, but apparently it's a greenhouse gas, so it's bad? Dammit, Science, stop being so contrary!
That's the environmental-hazard, million year old hand mixer just sitting there, being messy and hazardous; and look what it's sitting in front of: the Kitchen Aid mixer I forgot we have because it sits on the counter all the time and I don't even see it anymore. Now I have to decide if I'm going to go to the gym tonight, or sit home and watch tv and stuff my face full of pumpkin bread. WWJD? (I think we all know what I'm going to do.)
Here's the pumpkin bread recipe as written in an email from my mom earlier today:
BECKY'S PUMPKIN BREAD
1 1/2 C. sugar
1/2 C veg oil
2 eggs
1 C pumpkin
1 3/4 C flour
1/4 t baking powder
1 t soda
1 t salt
1/2 t cloves
1/2 t cinnamon
1/2 t allspice
1/3 C water
1/2 C raisins or nuts (optional)
Mix all together and put in large greased loaf pan. Bake at 350 1 hour or until done when toothpick comes out clean.
I will be expecting your email next year for the recipe again. Love, Mom
**********************************
Well, you won't get it, Mom because the recipe will be RIGHT HERE! HA HA!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Point of View
Mother Nature dumped a shitload of snow on us last weekend.
Wait, wait... you see, that sentence right there is indicative of my attitude on winter, and it needs to change because I live in Northern Minnesota where it is winter for about 5 months out of the year and unless I want to go bananas I have to change something, and I can't move, and I can't make it warmer, so the only thing I can change is my attitude. Instead of saying "dumped a shitload of snow on us," I should say something like, "The yard is covered with a beautiful blanket of fresh snow! It's so wonderful! I love it!" but clearly, that would be a lie. And if I said that you would just think I was being a smartass and you'd avoid me because who wants to be around a sarcastic smartass? Nobody.
So if I can't be excited about spending the next 5 months shivering, sliding, falling, and avoiding the outdoors at all costs, at least I can be neutral. So I will start this post again, and I will try not to be negative.
Winter has begun.
A huge bullshit load of wet sticky Snow fell last weekend!
My socks got wet just looking outside at the white shit stuff. 
What a beautiful picture of our yard, that I won't be able to enjoy unless I spend 15 minutes putting on ugly snowpants, boots, an itchy stupid hat and then when I come back in I have to change pants and socks anyway because the snow ALWAYS gets in no matter what. I can't wait to get out and enjoy it! (that's just a lie.)
I wonder which one of those big beautiful pine trees will get bogged with so much snow that it falls and crashes a giant hole in our house in the middle of the night?
Goddammit, Winter is here!
Wait, wait... you see, that sentence right there is indicative of my attitude on winter, and it needs to change because I live in Northern Minnesota where it is winter for about 5 months out of the year and unless I want to go bananas I have to change something, and I can't move, and I can't make it warmer, so the only thing I can change is my attitude. Instead of saying "dumped a shitload of snow on us," I should say something like, "The yard is covered with a beautiful blanket of fresh snow! It's so wonderful! I love it!" but clearly, that would be a lie. And if I said that you would just think I was being a smartass and you'd avoid me because who wants to be around a sarcastic smartass? Nobody.
So if I can't be excited about spending the next 5 months shivering, sliding, falling, and avoiding the outdoors at all costs, at least I can be neutral. So I will start this post again, and I will try not to be negative.
Winter has begun.
Driving on the wet, slippery roads SUCKS MAJOR ASS proves to be a challenge, but what a view! I can just picture that loaded tree falling on our powerline and being without electricity for a week a horse-drawn sleigh, warm blankets, horse farts, and hot cocoa!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Hell
The Sassy Curmudgeon has a feature on her blog called Curmudgeon of the Week. One of the questions she asks her curmudgeons is this:
You are Dante. What, in order from least to most excruciating, are your nine circles of hell?
I am not the curmudgeon of the week, but I thought long and hard about this question and I do have an answer. Here it is:
You are Dante. What, in order from least to most excruciating, are your nine circles of hell?
I am not the curmudgeon of the week, but I thought long and hard about this question and I do have an answer. Here it is:
1. I discover I am riding in an elevator with Mario Lopez.
2. The elevator I'm in with Mario Lopez shudders to a halt and we are stuck.
2. The elevator I'm in with Mario Lopez shudders to a halt and we are stuck.
 |
| Mario Lopez |
3. After being stuck in an elevator with Mario Lopez for an hour that seems like a hundred years, we (thank-the-lord) start moving again. We reach a floor that is not the floor I want. It is a gym class and I'm supposed to teach it.
4. In the gym class I'm supposed to teach on the floor I don't want to be on, with Mario Lopez, I discover that we are supposed to be playing Dodgeball and Mario gets things going by rifling a ball at my head, and then smiles his irritating, tongue-displaying smile and laughs at me.
5. Now I'm in court for murdering Mario Lopez with my bare hands in front of a classroom full of children, and what I thought was a fool-proof defense (it was a public service), doesn't pan out because my jury is comprised of a bunch of eighties teen girls with Saved By The Bell t-shirts and lisps.
6. My punishment for murder is to take the Saved By The Bell (SBTB) girls on a series of plane trips during wind storms and when we board we discover that SURPRISE! Mario Lopez isn't really dead, he's the flight attendant. Must endure horrifying take-offs and landings in hurricane-like winds, listening to the SBTB girls scream with lispy excitement about having Mario Lopez as their flight attendant.
7. Mario Lopez is pushing the drink cart down the aisle and I have to pee super bad but I can't because the fucking drink cart is in the way. When Mario and the drink cart finally get to my seat there is no Diet Coke. In fact, no one has ever heard of Diet Coke!!!!!!!
8. The plane I'm on with Mario Lopez and the SBTB girls crashes in a horrific LOST-like scenario, but we are not in the tropics, we are on the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and it's cold and THOSE TOYS ARE FREAKING ME OUT!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
9. While the freaky toy-rejects and the SBTB girls are all fawning over Mario Lopez and making him their leader, we hear an obnoxious voice shouting through a bull-horn. It's Ty Pennington. He lives there too and he tells us we are the only survivors of the entire human race and it's up to me and Mario and Ty to keep humanity alive by reproducing because all the SBTB girls are sterile. Must listen to SBTB girls lispy sobs while Ty Pennington screams through the bullhorn “Let's get it on!”
Friday, November 12, 2010
The best part of sleeping in late
Hi Everybody! I'm featured on LOL today, so go over there and check it out and give me a comment. DO IT!
I realized this morning that I will never be a thin person. I came to this conclusion because I slept in late because I was really tired, and then I ate breakfast and was really happy with myself because I can eat lunch about an hour after I eat breakfast. And then I thought to myself, "This is sweet, I should sleep in late more often." And then I thought to myself. "Oh crap, this is why I'm so chubby."
I realized this morning that I will never be a thin person. I came to this conclusion because I slept in late because I was really tired, and then I ate breakfast and was really happy with myself because I can eat lunch about an hour after I eat breakfast. And then I thought to myself, "This is sweet, I should sleep in late more often." And then I thought to myself. "Oh crap, this is why I'm so chubby."
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Happy Veteran's Day
Kira's school had a Veteran's Day program and the fifth graders were the hosts, so I went to it. I love elementary school so much. All those kids were gathered in the gym, sitting on the floor with their classes, being adorable. There was a guest singer invited to sing the national anthem. She was a teenager with a beautiful voice and the idea was for her to sing a moving rendition of the song a capella, but the kids all sing that song every morning so they joined in, even though their teachers were shushing them. The singer was a high soprano, so the song was being sung higher than I've ever heard it and the kids that were relentlessly joining in really had to strain to keep up, but they did. It was just about the cutest thing I ever heard.
Okay, this was supposed to be a reverent Veteran's Day post, but I'm sitting here next to Mitch who is in the process of making a homemade pantomime horse costume and it's very distracting. There's a lot of thinking-out-loud going on about the facial expression it should have, and perhaps maybe the face should be velcro-able so the expression can be changed to match its mood. That way it would be a much more versatile pantomime horse, which is a better value any way you look at it!
In case you didn't know this already, Mitch is obsessed with pantomime horses, and he and Kira want to be one in the worst way. When I was gone on my trip he bought a bunch of fleece and made most of the costume. Right now there is the better part of a pantomime horse sitting on the couch in the basement and Mitch is talking to me about whether or not the horse should have eyelids, or if they will just blend in too much with the rest of the "hide," and maybe he could make eyelashes out of yarn! Now he just said, "You better not be live blogging this." Oh, I'm live blogging this. Now he's wondering if the panto-horse should have reins, a harness and a saddle blanket, and Hey! Maybe some blinders! He realizes a saddle wouldn't be very practical for a panto-horse because come on, nobody is going to ride it! That would be ridiculous! But the quality of a panto-horse is almost totally dependent on the tiny details. He realizes that his sewing isn't the best so he wants to draw the eye away from the puckered seams with fantastic facial features. Now he just tried the eyes on it and said, "Oh yeah, the eyes really make it come alive. I'm sure glad I didn't go with the googly eyes!"
So happy Veteran's Day, Veterans! You fight to keep our panto-horse dreams alive! Thank you!
Okay, this was supposed to be a reverent Veteran's Day post, but I'm sitting here next to Mitch who is in the process of making a homemade pantomime horse costume and it's very distracting. There's a lot of thinking-out-loud going on about the facial expression it should have, and perhaps maybe the face should be velcro-able so the expression can be changed to match its mood. That way it would be a much more versatile pantomime horse, which is a better value any way you look at it!
This is NOT Mitch's pantomime horse.
I am under strict instructions not to take any pictures of it until it is finished and is running around our yard.
I am under strict instructions not to take any pictures of it until it is finished and is running around our yard.
In case you didn't know this already, Mitch is obsessed with pantomime horses, and he and Kira want to be one in the worst way. When I was gone on my trip he bought a bunch of fleece and made most of the costume. Right now there is the better part of a pantomime horse sitting on the couch in the basement and Mitch is talking to me about whether or not the horse should have eyelids, or if they will just blend in too much with the rest of the "hide," and maybe he could make eyelashes out of yarn! Now he just said, "You better not be live blogging this." Oh, I'm live blogging this. Now he's wondering if the panto-horse should have reins, a harness and a saddle blanket, and Hey! Maybe some blinders! He realizes a saddle wouldn't be very practical for a panto-horse because come on, nobody is going to ride it! That would be ridiculous! But the quality of a panto-horse is almost totally dependent on the tiny details. He realizes that his sewing isn't the best so he wants to draw the eye away from the puckered seams with fantastic facial features. Now he just tried the eyes on it and said, "Oh yeah, the eyes really make it come alive. I'm sure glad I didn't go with the googly eyes!"
So happy Veteran's Day, Veterans! You fight to keep our panto-horse dreams alive! Thank you!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Mary Roach
Blogger hasn't been working for me lately but I'm still here! I just have to jump through some hoops to post. I'm not too big on jumping through any kind of hoops, so I hope Blogger starts working better soon or I'm in trouble, blogwise.
I've been reading books by Mary Roach recently. The first one I read was called Bonk, all about the science of sex. She's really funny. Now I'm reading Stiff, all about what happens to our corpses after we die. Wow. It is so morbid and so interesting. The whole book is like a horrible car accident that you can't tear your eyes away from. I'm on a chapter right now about the future potential of whole-body transplants. If your body is all gross and diseased and dying, but your head is okay, in the future you could get a whole body transplant! Some doctor in France did it with some monkeys and the poor little monkeys lived anywhere from a few hours to three days. The monkeys weren't too happy about it because whenever the doctor got near them, they would bite him. They don't call it a head transplant, they call it a body transplant because medical science has pretty much decided that we are our brains. There has been some anecdotal evidence that some personality traits or thoughts of the donor show up in the recipients of heart transplants. Like this one man who told his doctor that heknew he got his heart from a young black woman and that she died in a car accident and she was not too happy about having her heart ripped out. He said sometimes when he looked in the mirror he saw her instead of himself and she was all bloody. His doctor was kind of freaked out so he did a little digging to find out if the donor actually was a young black woman who died in a car accident and it wasn't. It was a middle aged man. And then that doctor looked into the donors of other people who said they thought they knew who their donors were. They were wrong every time. We live in our heads, and like I was saying, you could potentially get a body transplant someday, but since medical science still can't fix severed nerves, your new body would be paralyzed from the neck down. Bummer for you.
Some scientists in France during the heyday of the guillotine tried to figure out how long a head lived after it is removed from it's body, and they decided it is as long as ten minutes. TEN MINUTES. They did this by looking at the head right after it was chopped, and studying the eyes and the expression. When after a minute or so the head got tired and the eyes drooped, the doctor would yell out the head's name and he would open his eyes and focus on the doctor like, "What?" and look at him for a while and then doze off again. The doctor did this to the head three times and every time the head woke up and focused on the doctor. Oh my god, just let the poor head go to sleep already!
I don't think you really will get the chance to get a body transplant someday because of the expense and the ethics of it. Insurance would never cover it and instead of tacking that paralyzed body onto you, those organs could go to save the lives of several people, so the only people getting body transplants in the future will be filthy rich paraplegics. So you still need to exercise and take your vitamins and take care of your gross ingrown toenails!
The next book by Mary Roach that I'm going to read is called Spook, and it is about the science of the afterlife and the soul. She talked to some people who said the soul has mass. They measured it by putting a dying person on a super sensitive scale and at the precise time of death they weigh slightly less! Weird! I can't wait to read what she has to say about that.
I've been reading books by Mary Roach recently. The first one I read was called Bonk, all about the science of sex. She's really funny. Now I'm reading Stiff, all about what happens to our corpses after we die. Wow. It is so morbid and so interesting. The whole book is like a horrible car accident that you can't tear your eyes away from. I'm on a chapter right now about the future potential of whole-body transplants. If your body is all gross and diseased and dying, but your head is okay, in the future you could get a whole body transplant! Some doctor in France did it with some monkeys and the poor little monkeys lived anywhere from a few hours to three days. The monkeys weren't too happy about it because whenever the doctor got near them, they would bite him. They don't call it a head transplant, they call it a body transplant because medical science has pretty much decided that we are our brains. There has been some anecdotal evidence that some personality traits or thoughts of the donor show up in the recipients of heart transplants. Like this one man who told his doctor that heknew he got his heart from a young black woman and that she died in a car accident and she was not too happy about having her heart ripped out. He said sometimes when he looked in the mirror he saw her instead of himself and she was all bloody. His doctor was kind of freaked out so he did a little digging to find out if the donor actually was a young black woman who died in a car accident and it wasn't. It was a middle aged man. And then that doctor looked into the donors of other people who said they thought they knew who their donors were. They were wrong every time. We live in our heads, and like I was saying, you could potentially get a body transplant someday, but since medical science still can't fix severed nerves, your new body would be paralyzed from the neck down. Bummer for you.
Some scientists in France during the heyday of the guillotine tried to figure out how long a head lived after it is removed from it's body, and they decided it is as long as ten minutes. TEN MINUTES. They did this by looking at the head right after it was chopped, and studying the eyes and the expression. When after a minute or so the head got tired and the eyes drooped, the doctor would yell out the head's name and he would open his eyes and focus on the doctor like, "What?" and look at him for a while and then doze off again. The doctor did this to the head three times and every time the head woke up and focused on the doctor. Oh my god, just let the poor head go to sleep already!
I don't think you really will get the chance to get a body transplant someday because of the expense and the ethics of it. Insurance would never cover it and instead of tacking that paralyzed body onto you, those organs could go to save the lives of several people, so the only people getting body transplants in the future will be filthy rich paraplegics. So you still need to exercise and take your vitamins and take care of your gross ingrown toenails!
The next book by Mary Roach that I'm going to read is called Spook, and it is about the science of the afterlife and the soul. She talked to some people who said the soul has mass. They measured it by putting a dying person on a super sensitive scale and at the precise time of death they weigh slightly less! Weird! I can't wait to read what she has to say about that.
Monday, November 8, 2010
PMS
PMS is horrible. I don't get it very often, certainly not every month (thank god), but on occasion it hits me like a ton of bricks and it's pretty tough to live with. For everybody. I know lots of jokes are made of it, but when you are in the middle of a significant bout of it, it's not very funny because you know what? When you're in the middle of a bout of PMS nothing is fucking funny. To say I feel a bit touchy is understating. It's more than cranky or touchy, it's mental, psychotic-feeling, impotent rage.
PMS used to be put forth as a reason not to elect women to leadership positions because every month they would "go nuts." I think that not only do we not go nuts when we feel like this, but we do a pretty darn good job of compensating for the true feelings of utter, mindless rage. Like at the grocery store when the man ahead of me who was buying one loaf of bread challenged the clerk on the price which made her call back for a price check. Did I feel like ramming my cart into his ankles and screaming, "JUST PAAAAAAAYYYYYY HEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!" in a demon voice? Yes. Did I do it? Of course not, that would be crazy. When I was emptying my cart on the belt and got uncomfortably hot, did I rip my clothes off, jump on the belt and scream, "WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HOT IN HERE!!!!!!" and scratch out the eyes of the nearest person? No. I calmly removed my jacket and continued emptying my cart even though I felt like I was on fire. Did I smile and make some mindless banter with the clerk like I usually do? No. I couldn't manage it because I was too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.
Usually I'm a nice, easygoing, good humored person, and if every six months or so I feel mentally horrible, would it be so hard to give me a little sympathy and understanding? Because although I know I'm not the easiest to be around at that time:
if someone says something even a tiny bit snarky or nasty, it just makes things so much worse:
It would be like if you ran over your foot with the lawn mower and made a mess of your big toe, and not only was I not sympathetic to your ailment, but every day I stepped on your foot and made it a little worse. Who is the bad guy in that situation? The person who didn't want to run over his toe, but did because that was what that bitch, Mother Nature, made him do; or the person who steps on the sore toe every day to make a point that your sore toe is no excuse for limping. (What? That doesn't even make sense, you say? Tell me about it!) I'd say that the person who steps on the sore toe is the jerk, and is risking his life because the person with the sore toe is feeling awful and is developing a craving for hearing you make that choking sound you make when she pokes you in the throat.
PMS used to be put forth as a reason not to elect women to leadership positions because every month they would "go nuts." I think that not only do we not go nuts when we feel like this, but we do a pretty darn good job of compensating for the true feelings of utter, mindless rage. Like at the grocery store when the man ahead of me who was buying one loaf of bread challenged the clerk on the price which made her call back for a price check. Did I feel like ramming my cart into his ankles and screaming, "JUST PAAAAAAAYYYYYY HEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!" in a demon voice? Yes. Did I do it? Of course not, that would be crazy. When I was emptying my cart on the belt and got uncomfortably hot, did I rip my clothes off, jump on the belt and scream, "WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HOT IN HERE!!!!!!" and scratch out the eyes of the nearest person? No. I calmly removed my jacket and continued emptying my cart even though I felt like I was on fire. Did I smile and make some mindless banter with the clerk like I usually do? No. I couldn't manage it because I was too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.
Usually I'm a nice, easygoing, good humored person, and if every six months or so I feel mentally horrible, would it be so hard to give me a little sympathy and understanding? Because although I know I'm not the easiest to be around at that time:
if someone says something even a tiny bit snarky or nasty, it just makes things so much worse:
It would be like if you ran over your foot with the lawn mower and made a mess of your big toe, and not only was I not sympathetic to your ailment, but every day I stepped on your foot and made it a little worse. Who is the bad guy in that situation? The person who didn't want to run over his toe, but did because that was what that bitch, Mother Nature, made him do; or the person who steps on the sore toe every day to make a point that your sore toe is no excuse for limping. (What? That doesn't even make sense, you say? Tell me about it!) I'd say that the person who steps on the sore toe is the jerk, and is risking his life because the person with the sore toe is feeling awful and is developing a craving for hearing you make that choking sound you make when she pokes you in the throat.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Roommates (thanks for the idea, Anne)
Since I can't think of anything to write on my own, I'm shamelessly piggybacking on other people's ideas. Today I'm stealing Anne's idea. She wrote about roommate quirks and how important it is to live with people you aren't related to and don't necessarily like before you get married and try to live with someone you love that you're not related to for the rest of your life.
The only time I had roommates was in college, like most people. Freshman year I lived with Becky who annoyed the crap out of me because most people annoy the crap out of me. She was adorable and petite, played on the tennis team, and had a boyfriend named Chris who she called, "Chwith" in what she thought was endearing lovey-dovey babytalk, but actually probably got her closer to being murdered than she's ever been; and got me closer to being a murderer than I've ever been (up to that point.)
She got up at the buttcrack of dawn every day and proceeded to open the drawers (which were on noisy rollers) on her desk and her dresser more often than you'd think drawers could possibly need to be opened. I counted one morning and from the time she got up at asscrack o'clock, and the time I got up at around 8:00, she opened a drawer 109 times. She almost died that day too. We had our beds bunked because I had to get as far away from her as I possibly could get so I'd come home and climb up to the top bunk and ignore her. That didn't stop her from grabbing the bed post and shaking it and yelling, "Come down from there! Let's do something!" and "I'm SO HYPER!" and "I'm tho exthited, CHWITH ith coming!" which made me fantasize about swinging my leg in a giant arc and kicking her in the face. Towards the end of that year I was in a real conundrum because although I could barely stand to look at her face, she got a car and I desperately needed to be driven around. It was a yellow Bronco and she named it "Toto." (cringe cringe shudder) Also, her go-to phrase for any situation that was less-than desirable was "Oh. That sucks donkey cocks," which made me visualize human-on-donkey fellatio every time she said it, no matter what I did to try to avoid it.
We got along for the most part because I realize that I'm probably equally annoying to live with and I really held it in and was civil. So was she. We don't keep in touch.
The next year I lived with Michelle, who drove me nuts, but I couldn't help but love her despite her stupid boyfriend, and the fact that she never once changed her sheets, and that everything in the room was shellacked to their surfaces with her hairspray, including every single sunflower seed shell she opened, (which were tens of thousands.) We had fun. She only lasted one semester and then she moved out. I thought I was going to have my room to myself, but Nicole moved in. She was in the army reserves and was pretty cool, but I wanted to live alone so bad that when the first Gulf War happened a couple weeks after she moved in, I found myself shamefully wishing she'd be called to active duty. I know I'm a horrible person, but I really really wanted the room to myself. The only things Nicole did that were annoying was 1. Make me race home at lunchtime every day so I could watch All My Children before she could get home and turn the tv on to watch Days of Our Lives, and 2. Although she was a sophomore in college, she was dating a high school loser who came to visit her one weekend. They went out somewhere and I stayed home and was doing laundry. I went down to switch loads over and they came back. I was obviously somewhere close by because our room light was on, the door was open, my shoes were there, and the tv was on. When I came back up to the room about 15 minutes after I left, the door was shut and the lights were off and before I knew what I was seeing (which was pasty highschooler ass humping my roommate in MY ROOM) I was in an uncomfortable situation with a couple of naked strangers. I hated college then.
We lived in suites so we shared a bathroom with another room. My suitemates bugged me too. One was Weird Michelle and the other was ... I don't even remember. I called her Goose (to myself) because she looked like a goose. Goose was pretty nice, but Michelle was super weird (hence the nickname "Weird Michelle"). She liked to come in my room and tell me long drawn out stories about riding in the wake of her brother's apparent coolness and the whole time she was talking she'd be methodically circling her hands into gestures of repeated downward points. It was mesmerizing. I think Goose must have had a boyfriend with an apartment because she wasn't there much. Sometimes I'd have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, and I had to walk past their door to get to the bathroom. No matter what time of night it was, Weirdo Michelle was up with all the lights on and she was usually standing in the middle of the room watching TV. Sit down, for god's sake. When she spotted me she would startle and jump like I was coming after her with a chain saw. (I wasn't)
After that I switched schools (but none of my credits did) and I lived with friends for a while instead of random strangers, and then with a boyfriend who I was engaged to but he broke up with me, and my friends told me it was because he was gay. Like actually homosexual, which they said was blatantly obvious to everyone but me. I believed them and didn't feel so bad for being dumped. I ran into him a few years ago and he's married with three kids. I wonder if his poor wife knows he's gay. But that's another post for another day.
The only time I had roommates was in college, like most people. Freshman year I lived with Becky who annoyed the crap out of me because most people annoy the crap out of me. She was adorable and petite, played on the tennis team, and had a boyfriend named Chris who she called, "Chwith" in what she thought was endearing lovey-dovey babytalk, but actually probably got her closer to being murdered than she's ever been; and got me closer to being a murderer than I've ever been (up to that point.)
She got up at the buttcrack of dawn every day and proceeded to open the drawers (which were on noisy rollers) on her desk and her dresser more often than you'd think drawers could possibly need to be opened. I counted one morning and from the time she got up at asscrack o'clock, and the time I got up at around 8:00, she opened a drawer 109 times. She almost died that day too. We had our beds bunked because I had to get as far away from her as I possibly could get so I'd come home and climb up to the top bunk and ignore her. That didn't stop her from grabbing the bed post and shaking it and yelling, "Come down from there! Let's do something!" and "I'm SO HYPER!" and "I'm tho exthited, CHWITH ith coming!" which made me fantasize about swinging my leg in a giant arc and kicking her in the face. Towards the end of that year I was in a real conundrum because although I could barely stand to look at her face, she got a car and I desperately needed to be driven around. It was a yellow Bronco and she named it "Toto." (cringe cringe shudder) Also, her go-to phrase for any situation that was less-than desirable was "Oh. That sucks donkey cocks," which made me visualize human-on-donkey fellatio every time she said it, no matter what I did to try to avoid it.
We got along for the most part because I realize that I'm probably equally annoying to live with and I really held it in and was civil. So was she. We don't keep in touch.
The next year I lived with Michelle, who drove me nuts, but I couldn't help but love her despite her stupid boyfriend, and the fact that she never once changed her sheets, and that everything in the room was shellacked to their surfaces with her hairspray, including every single sunflower seed shell she opened, (which were tens of thousands.) We had fun. She only lasted one semester and then she moved out. I thought I was going to have my room to myself, but Nicole moved in. She was in the army reserves and was pretty cool, but I wanted to live alone so bad that when the first Gulf War happened a couple weeks after she moved in, I found myself shamefully wishing she'd be called to active duty. I know I'm a horrible person, but I really really wanted the room to myself. The only things Nicole did that were annoying was 1. Make me race home at lunchtime every day so I could watch All My Children before she could get home and turn the tv on to watch Days of Our Lives, and 2. Although she was a sophomore in college, she was dating a high school loser who came to visit her one weekend. They went out somewhere and I stayed home and was doing laundry. I went down to switch loads over and they came back. I was obviously somewhere close by because our room light was on, the door was open, my shoes were there, and the tv was on. When I came back up to the room about 15 minutes after I left, the door was shut and the lights were off and before I knew what I was seeing (which was pasty highschooler ass humping my roommate in MY ROOM) I was in an uncomfortable situation with a couple of naked strangers. I hated college then.
Suitemates: Weirdo Michelle, Goose, Nicole the Peder and me, the cool one in the acid washed jeans.
We lived in suites so we shared a bathroom with another room. My suitemates bugged me too. One was Weird Michelle and the other was ... I don't even remember. I called her Goose (to myself) because she looked like a goose. Goose was pretty nice, but Michelle was super weird (hence the nickname "Weird Michelle"). She liked to come in my room and tell me long drawn out stories about riding in the wake of her brother's apparent coolness and the whole time she was talking she'd be methodically circling her hands into gestures of repeated downward points. It was mesmerizing. I think Goose must have had a boyfriend with an apartment because she wasn't there much. Sometimes I'd have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, and I had to walk past their door to get to the bathroom. No matter what time of night it was, Weirdo Michelle was up with all the lights on and she was usually standing in the middle of the room watching TV. Sit down, for god's sake. When she spotted me she would startle and jump like I was coming after her with a chain saw. (I wasn't)
After that I switched schools (but none of my credits did) and I lived with friends for a while instead of random strangers, and then with a boyfriend who I was engaged to but he broke up with me, and my friends told me it was because he was gay. Like actually homosexual, which they said was blatantly obvious to everyone but me. I believed them and didn't feel so bad for being dumped. I ran into him a few years ago and he's married with three kids. I wonder if his poor wife knows he's gay. But that's another post for another day.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Letter to my 16 year-old self
I've read a few blogs with this as the title today, so I decided to get in on the action. That, and I can't think of anything else to write about. I'm feeling booooooorrrrriiiiiiiinnnnggggg. The last thing you want to read is a post by a blogger who can't even stand to be in the same room with herself because she's so boring. I need to do something exciting, like getting arrested, or intravenous drug use. At least one of those things would be good for blogging. I don't know if I'd blab too much about using heroin because then you'd all be like, "Hey! Where can I get some heroin? I want to try heroin! Why didn't you ask me to try heroin with you!" and that would totally harsh my buzz. Actually, as great as I think heroin might be (because what is there that comes out of Afghanistan that isn't great, am I right?) I've seen movies where people do it and then throw up. I'd rather not do heroin if it means throwing up. And I hate shots so, strike one and strike two, Heroin! I almost throw up just by having blood drawn so I would be a terrible intravenous drug user. See what I mean? I'm boring.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
Dear 16 year-old Sarah,
Stop looking at me with such disdain. I'm you 24 years into the future. What's that? No, I'm not sixty. It's a relatively simple math problem and either you're really that bad at math, or you're just a little bitch. (it's both) Leave me alone and listen for five minutes! I've come to make your life easier. Geez.
On the topic of personal grooming, first and foremost - stop getting perms. They aren't cool. You look foolish and years from now when people look at the pictures of you from these times, they will laugh and laugh. I'm sorry, but that's true. Your hair is the butt of many a joke, past and present. It will never be thick and full and Fawcett-ish so give it up and save yourself some heartache.
Secondly, blue eyeliner is a mistake. So is green or any other color that isn't dark brown or black. I don't care if all the other girls are wearing it. It looks bad on them too. Especially the pink. Who wants to look like an albino rabbit? You know what? Forget eyeliner altogether. You don't really need it. Seriously. And rethink the green contact lenses. You're not fooling anyone. Nobody has eyes that color.
Nextly, stop pegging the pants.
You are short with short legs. Face the facts. Pegging your pants accentuates your shortness and your skininess of ankle (which will be prone to spraining.) It's not a good look. It makes you look like a diamond (in shape, not in radiance), or an ice cream cone. For that matter, take a good look at your body and learn to love it because for the most part, you won't be able to change it. (And it looks as good as it will ever get right now.) You will never be willowy, or tall, or long-of-leg, or breathtakingly beautiful. Stop worrying about it. You're not hideous, you're average and that's just fine. It could be worse; think about that girl at school nicknamed Blueberry and be thankful that isn't you.
On the topic of relationships, DUMP YOUR BOYFRIEND LES! He's a psycho and you can do better. Soon he will tell you his big dreams of being a professional wrestler and you will be in too deep to get out gracefully. Get out now. TODAY! And while we are on the topic, destroy all pictures of the two of you together because for years to come your sisters and parents will laugh hysterically at the one of him sweeping you into his arms and kissing you on the lips in front of the cameras when you go to Snoball with him. Also, by dumping him now you will avoid having his psycho future girlfriend/wife stalk you when you are in college, and instead of doing a private investigation to bust her (And a damn good private investigation at that. Thank you very much, answering-machine tape.) as your stalker, you can spend your precious time studying. Or whatever.
You know that guy, Mat, who is new at school? Well, he has a brother who lives in the Cities, and you will marry him. No, You shut up! (I'm sorry, you will not ever marry Joe Elliot from Def Leppard. Let that dream die.) It's a pretty good marriage except for one thing. The first time you meet him is during junior year at a New Year's Eve party. Here's a tip, don't go out on New Year's of your junior year. You will eventually meet your future hubby anyway, and it would be nice to be able to tell your future children the story of your first encounter that doesn't go: "We met at a party where I was incredibly drunk and got into a fistfight."
You won't marry him until your late 20s and you will have lots of boyfriends in the meantime. I'm not going to tell you all about them, but I will tell you this: Don't fall for it when a guy says to you, "How about just the tip?" or "Let's just put it in once." Those are ubiquitous phrases on the landscape of teen/twenties dating and if you have to be cajoled, it's not worth worrying about birth control and pregnancy and disease. And plus, anyone who uses those phrases is a lame-o. He's probably also the one who tells you about "blue balls." FYI - that's not real.
Be nicer to your friends. Especially Jackie. And your parents aren't nearly as stupid as they seem right now (but how could they possibly be, right?)
On the topic of academics. Lose the "fuck this" attitude when it comes to computer class. I know it sucks to try to write a program to make a line drawing of Santa say "ho ho ho" on a Commodore 128, and it doesn't seem like it's worth even one hour of your time, much less the hundreds of hours you unsuccessfully spent on it. Try harder. Computers figure prominently in the future. Take more math classes and don't revel in being bad at math. It's not funny to be so incredibly stupid. I know it sucks, but power through! Someday your seventh grade son (no, you shut up!) will totally humiliate you when he asks for help with his homework and you don't have a clue how to do it. Avoid that. It's uncomfortable and humbling. Take a chemistry class, even though it's really stinky in that room. You might learn something!
Get a lot more education when you go to college. Being a teacher is fun and all, but for the most part, it's a shitty job. The pay sucks, the administrators don't care about you, the parents are mostly nice but that fact is overshadowed by the crazies, and the field never "breaks wide open!" like your college teachers say it will. The economy goes in the shitter so teachers hang on to their jobs like grim death, even in the face of being the societal scapegoats for all that goes wrong in the world. Go into something computer related. You'll like it, I promise! Learn about "social networking" via the "internet." If you get on the ground floor of that, you will be rich rich rich! Don't ever work for Lehman Brothers, but AIG would be okay. Get one of those jobs with the sweet bonus packages.
Those are the highlights of what I have to tell you. I'm sure there is more, but I can't have you avoiding all your mistakes, that would just make you more boring than you already are. Oh, sorry, when you're 40 you get boring. Try to avoid that. But don't do heroin.
And stay away from Cheez-its and pita chips. They are like heroin to you and they make for uncomfortable and tight, surprisingly gas-producing pants. Yeah, you're forty and farty. Prepare yourself. I have to rush off right now to catch the rocket to my vacation home in the moon colony. Be good! Have Fun!
Love,
Your 2010 Self
Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
Dear 16 year-old Sarah,
Stop looking at me with such disdain. I'm you 24 years into the future. What's that? No, I'm not sixty. It's a relatively simple math problem and either you're really that bad at math, or you're just a little bitch. (it's both) Leave me alone and listen for five minutes! I've come to make your life easier. Geez.
On the topic of personal grooming, first and foremost - stop getting perms. They aren't cool. You look foolish and years from now when people look at the pictures of you from these times, they will laugh and laugh. I'm sorry, but that's true. Your hair is the butt of many a joke, past and present. It will never be thick and full and Fawcett-ish so give it up and save yourself some heartache.
Secondly, blue eyeliner is a mistake. So is green or any other color that isn't dark brown or black. I don't care if all the other girls are wearing it. It looks bad on them too. Especially the pink. Who wants to look like an albino rabbit? You know what? Forget eyeliner altogether. You don't really need it. Seriously. And rethink the green contact lenses. You're not fooling anyone. Nobody has eyes that color.
Nextly, stop pegging the pants.
a pegged pant
You are short with short legs. Face the facts. Pegging your pants accentuates your shortness and your skininess of ankle (which will be prone to spraining.) It's not a good look. It makes you look like a diamond (in shape, not in radiance), or an ice cream cone. For that matter, take a good look at your body and learn to love it because for the most part, you won't be able to change it. (And it looks as good as it will ever get right now.) You will never be willowy, or tall, or long-of-leg, or breathtakingly beautiful. Stop worrying about it. You're not hideous, you're average and that's just fine. It could be worse; think about that girl at school nicknamed Blueberry and be thankful that isn't you.
On the topic of relationships, DUMP YOUR BOYFRIEND LES! He's a psycho and you can do better. Soon he will tell you his big dreams of being a professional wrestler and you will be in too deep to get out gracefully. Get out now. TODAY! And while we are on the topic, destroy all pictures of the two of you together because for years to come your sisters and parents will laugh hysterically at the one of him sweeping you into his arms and kissing you on the lips in front of the cameras when you go to Snoball with him. Also, by dumping him now you will avoid having his psycho future girlfriend/wife stalk you when you are in college, and instead of doing a private investigation to bust her (And a damn good private investigation at that. Thank you very much, answering-machine tape.) as your stalker, you can spend your precious time studying. Or whatever.
You know that guy, Mat, who is new at school? Well, he has a brother who lives in the Cities, and you will marry him. No, You shut up! (I'm sorry, you will not ever marry Joe Elliot from Def Leppard. Let that dream die.) It's a pretty good marriage except for one thing. The first time you meet him is during junior year at a New Year's Eve party. Here's a tip, don't go out on New Year's of your junior year. You will eventually meet your future hubby anyway, and it would be nice to be able to tell your future children the story of your first encounter that doesn't go: "We met at a party where I was incredibly drunk and got into a fistfight."
You won't marry him until your late 20s and you will have lots of boyfriends in the meantime. I'm not going to tell you all about them, but I will tell you this: Don't fall for it when a guy says to you, "How about just the tip?" or "Let's just put it in once." Those are ubiquitous phrases on the landscape of teen/twenties dating and if you have to be cajoled, it's not worth worrying about birth control and pregnancy and disease. And plus, anyone who uses those phrases is a lame-o. He's probably also the one who tells you about "blue balls." FYI - that's not real.
Be nicer to your friends. Especially Jackie. And your parents aren't nearly as stupid as they seem right now (but how could they possibly be, right?)
On the topic of academics. Lose the "fuck this" attitude when it comes to computer class. I know it sucks to try to write a program to make a line drawing of Santa say "ho ho ho" on a Commodore 128, and it doesn't seem like it's worth even one hour of your time, much less the hundreds of hours you unsuccessfully spent on it. Try harder. Computers figure prominently in the future. Take more math classes and don't revel in being bad at math. It's not funny to be so incredibly stupid. I know it sucks, but power through! Someday your seventh grade son (no, you shut up!) will totally humiliate you when he asks for help with his homework and you don't have a clue how to do it. Avoid that. It's uncomfortable and humbling. Take a chemistry class, even though it's really stinky in that room. You might learn something!
Get a lot more education when you go to college. Being a teacher is fun and all, but for the most part, it's a shitty job. The pay sucks, the administrators don't care about you, the parents are mostly nice but that fact is overshadowed by the crazies, and the field never "breaks wide open!" like your college teachers say it will. The economy goes in the shitter so teachers hang on to their jobs like grim death, even in the face of being the societal scapegoats for all that goes wrong in the world. Go into something computer related. You'll like it, I promise! Learn about "social networking" via the "internet." If you get on the ground floor of that, you will be rich rich rich! Don't ever work for Lehman Brothers, but AIG would be okay. Get one of those jobs with the sweet bonus packages.
Those are the highlights of what I have to tell you. I'm sure there is more, but I can't have you avoiding all your mistakes, that would just make you more boring than you already are. Oh, sorry, when you're 40 you get boring. Try to avoid that. But don't do heroin.
And stay away from Cheez-its and pita chips. They are like heroin to you and they make for uncomfortable and tight, surprisingly gas-producing pants. Yeah, you're forty and farty. Prepare yourself. I have to rush off right now to catch the rocket to my vacation home in the moon colony. Be good! Have Fun!
Love,
Your 2010 Self
p.s. Your parents know about Jonelle's and your wine-cooler hiding spot behind the shed. Just a head's up.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Down
I'm feeling a bit blue because I'm coming down from such a fantastic trip to Washington D.C. You know how that is, you look forward to something for so long and once it's over it's like "Oh crap, it's over." I really love Washington. I think I could live there.
I'm also a little bit depressed about the election. I hate politics so much. I'm depressed because our representative, Jim Oberstar, a POWERFUL Democrat with lots of seniority got beat by a guy who seems pretty normal (in his commercials), but I listened to a debate and he told lies about how Oberstar was trying to "federalize" every field that has water on it at any time during the year by calling it a wetland, and taking it out of state control and putting it in federal control under the umbrella of the Clean Water Act. Just a bald-faced lie/scare tactic and that depresses the shit out of me.
And I shoveled a bunch of bullshit snow off the deck today. SNOW!!!
Now nothing is on TV so Mitch and I are watching a weird show with Kirk Cameron telling the secrets to more effective street-evangelizing. Like giving people million dollar bills with the Lord's message on the back. He says to give them to waiters. Then the waiters are all, "Hey, thanks! Wait a minute, what the fuck is this bullshit million dollar bill? I'm totally spitting in your food if you ever come here again." Kirk didn't say that's what the waiters would do, but I've been a waiter(ess) and that's what I'd do if someone gave me an evangelizing fake-million-dollar-bill instead of an actual tip.
That's about it for now, Peeps. The rest of the week I'll be in a third grade class. That should be fun.
I'm also a little bit depressed about the election. I hate politics so much. I'm depressed because our representative, Jim Oberstar, a POWERFUL Democrat with lots of seniority got beat by a guy who seems pretty normal (in his commercials), but I listened to a debate and he told lies about how Oberstar was trying to "federalize" every field that has water on it at any time during the year by calling it a wetland, and taking it out of state control and putting it in federal control under the umbrella of the Clean Water Act. Just a bald-faced lie/scare tactic and that depresses the shit out of me.
And I shoveled a bunch of bullshit snow off the deck today. SNOW!!!
Now nothing is on TV so Mitch and I are watching a weird show with Kirk Cameron telling the secrets to more effective street-evangelizing. Like giving people million dollar bills with the Lord's message on the back. He says to give them to waiters. Then the waiters are all, "Hey, thanks! Wait a minute, what the fuck is this bullshit million dollar bill? I'm totally spitting in your food if you ever come here again." Kirk didn't say that's what the waiters would do, but I've been a waiter(ess) and that's what I'd do if someone gave me an evangelizing fake-million-dollar-bill instead of an actual tip.
That's about it for now, Peeps. The rest of the week I'll be in a third grade class. That should be fun.
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