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Friday, February 27, 2015

just one damn minute, admiral


Tonight I'm going to make my kids watch "City on the Edge of Forever" and they're going to be bored and unappreciative and I'm going to cry about Leonard Nimoy, my second and always great love (Larry Hagman was the first) and it's going to be great.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

no one could make that ram scram, he kept buttin' that dam

My sisters (except the youngest, who is still in Guatemala) and mom and I got pedicures the other day, and the only place that could take all of us was the nail place inside the local Walmart, which I felt conflicted about, but I guess the nail place is independently owned?  Or something like that, and I didn't want to be the douchebag who wouldn't go get her toes done with her family because of her impotent boycott, so I went and was glad I did, because even though it was a total dive they had massage chairs.  The only real drawback, other than indirectly benefiting Walmart's bottom line, was that when I told the lady I wanted a lightning design on my big toenails she made some sort of grassy thing, which is not lightning.  It's pretty in a motorhome-upholstery sort of way, but not what I wanted.  But I certainly wasn't going to complain, because why do I need to throw poop into that lady's day?  I don't.

Crap, I just looked at the clock and realized that I only have a couple more hours before the kids get home, and I haven't showered or anything.  It's so hard to get up the gumption to take a shower when you're already halfway through the day.  Speaking of gumption, I have none, so on Mondays and Wednesdays I just start out the day in exercise clothes, like I just get right into them after my shower, because I have learned to my sorrow that a big barrier in my pursuit of physical fitness is my dislike of basically having to reboot the day--you've already gotten ready once, but then you have to change your clothes, get all sweaty, then go home and shower and get dressed and do your hair all over again, including washing your hair because now it's all sweaty!  Barf!  I try on easily about eleven outfits every Sunday before church in my attempt to strike the proper balance between dressy and comfortable, but during the week I do not want to be putting on and taking off clothes and redoing my hair.  So I just wear exercise clothes all day on Monday and Wednesday, do my sad little physical activity at night, then sleep in my sweat like a grody troll, and shower and wash my hair the next morning.  You may borrow this approach for your own life if you wish.

Monday, February 23, 2015

your new hat looks like something my horse dropped behind him

I was out at the school today doing my reading tutor thing, and I got a new girl who has been coming all year, but to a different tutor.  We went through the sight words and the reading passage, and I was a little taken aback by how many of the words she didn't know--typically they don't have too much trouble, because they're very carefully observed and placed on a level that will help them feel challenged but not overwhelmed.  Then we opened up the book she'd been reading and I was like WHAT.  She made a mistake on almost every word, and I could suddenly understand why it was that she had no idea what was going on in the book when I had asked her to retell what had been happening in the story thus far.  It made me pretty irritated, because what the crap was her last tutor doing?  Had she even been listening?  How are these kids supposed to get better if nobody even does their freaking job?  We only have a brief moment to help these kids, and if we blow it they go through the rest of their lives with a huge handicap.

To make it worse, she was reading a Junie B. Jones book.  I've seen these books before but none of my kids have ever read them and thank goodness for that, because they are garbage.  You know how there's supposedly a study that shows that people are stupider after watching Spongebob?  I would like to do that same study with Junie B. Jones books.  I hate all those Wimpy Kid and Captain Underpants books because they are so beneath any child with a brain or an actual sense of humor, but this Junie B. Jones stuff is in a class by itself.  Just horrific.  I am boiling right now.  So I got her a different book that was closer to where I think she might actually be, and we'll see how she does next time.

Shingles is not so bad, whether because of the herpes meds or the weird potions and ointments I got from the witch doctor.  I just have a little patch of scabby grossness on my neck, and it itches a little bit.  Feeling pretty lucky after the horror stories I've heard.

Friday, February 20, 2015

forever unclean

YOU GUYS I HAVE SHINGLES.

So I'm just taking the same medicine they prescribe for genital herpes, NBD.  What even is happening to my life.  I guess maybe I'm a lot more stressed out than I thought I was--could it be my experiment that I told you about?  It is not VERY stressful, but it is more stressful than some other things like sitting and watching Arrested Development while I drink hot chocolate.

And p.s. my sister is visiting right now with her four kids, two of whom are twin 7-week-old babies, and I HELD THEM ON TUESDAY, AND I ALREADY HAD THE RASH BY THEN BUT DIDN'T KNOW IT BECAUSE JOHN DIDN'T TELL ME BUT HE HAD ALREADY SEEN IT ON SUNDAY OR MONDAY, EVERYONE STEP ASIDE FOR TYPHOID MARY!

What if the babies get my plague?

Boy, if I didn't already have shingles, I'm plenty freaked out now to bring on a raging case.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

what about this, this cannot be cheese

People who justify rudeness as candor or honesty are gross.  I am a rude person, but almost never on purpose.  But sometimes I do want to say something mean on purpose, and thank goodness for John, because he's the only person I trust to gaze upon the chancred tar pit of my soul and still love me.  I think my running stream of mean thoughts shows on my face though, because sometimes when I'm just sitting and thinking my kids will ask me why I'm mad, and when I talked to Grant about Bitchy Resting Face he told me I have it.  I remember my Aunt Pam looking mad all the time.  She was actually a wonderful woman, she was just descended from my Grandpa Max and so she had Wilker face, just like I do.  Undiluted it's not a look that really invites companionship or intimacy.  

The other day I made a sweet potato peanut stew that I saw in Better Homes & Gardens, and I'll give it to you straight:  it was a dog.  You know how delicious peanut sauce is, right, and how you just love to dip your spring rolls in it?  Tasty.  And this stew tastes just like it!  I've often said I could eat peanut sauce by the bowlful, and here was my chance to prove or disprove my claim.  Well, just like I wouldn't want to eat a bowl of mayonnaise or ketchup, it turns out that a bowl of peanut stew is not a good thing.  I will not make it again, and I am ignoring it in the fridge until it either spoils or is old enough that only the chickens will eat it.  John liked it more than I did, so he has taken a bunch of it to work to eat with his coworker Daniel, who is bringing some rice so they can pretend it's some kind of curry-type dish.  Godspeed, brothers.  

Thursday, February 12, 2015

before I DON'T go into the water, because that's gross

I know that in July we will be so sad about how the Earth is burning, but the nice weather/no snow is so nice right now that I guess I'll just whistle and not worry about it.

I watched a cute movie the other day--it's The Sapphires, and it's instant play on Netflix, and it has the delightful Chris O'Dowd in it, and four great Australian actresses and they are not little stick figures, and the story is interesting and if you like music, as I do, then you should watch it.  I highly recommend it.

I look at cracker recipes sometimes and think how delicious they look, but none of them look delicious enough for me to actually make them.  What I want is for people to make homemade cheezit-type crackers and give them to me for free.

There is a cat meowing somewhere in my house and I bet the kids have shut it in the bathroom.  If he poops in there I'm not cleaning it up.

A couple of weeks ago I was at the doctor, and some lady's toddler was FREAKING OUT and throwing a most impressive tantrum, and I was pretty steamed because I go to the doctor to relax, not listen to babies cry, but then I just thought "That is not your baby.  It is that lady's baby, and she has to go home with it," and POOF, attitude fixed.  I have found that many social annoyances can be solved when you remember that you don't have to go home with that person.  It helps you pity them rather than want to stab them in the face with a grapefruit knife.  I mean, when the annoying person is an adult, not a baby.  Ha ha I love babies I promise.

Monday, February 9, 2015

with a love that's true, always

The other day Grant was practicing his trumpet, and it had been a few minutes since he'd emptied his spit valve or whatever that is called, and the trumpet was starting to have that crackly sound that means there's too much spit in it, and it reminded me that in high school I dated a guy who played the trombone, and once when we were at the regional Solo & Ensemble competition I went to watch him perform his piece, and I had never been up close and personal with a trombone, and you guys, did you know that spit just RUNS OUT of a trombone?  It was the grossest thing and so unsettled me that I never really felt the same about him again.  Every time I looked at him I saw great long drops of spit splashing onto the industrial carpet of the music room.  He was a creep, so it's better this way.  Although he did give me a Patsy Cline CD, which I still own because Patsy Cline is the boss.  I started to read a biography of her when I was young, and right out of the gate it started in to talking about how her father sexually abused her and I was like NOPE NOT READY FOR THIS.

Bottom line, make sure before you bring people into your circle of trust that they can handle your disgusting self re: slobbery brass instruments.

P.S. Our vacuum broke again, which is to say that the vacuum we bought after the last vacuum broke has now broken.  So I called my parents and my dad said to buy a Kirby from a pawn shop and then I would be done buying vacuums forever.  I don't know how y'all rich folks do it, but for me a pawn shop Kirby was the only Kirby I was ever going to see.  So I started looking around, found one in the classifieds, bought it, cleaned the dog smell out of it, and used it today for the first time.  I have to say, I had forgotten what good vacuums Kirbys are.  My mom has had one since I was a young'un, so I was ready for the heaviness, but this little buddy is the best, strongest vacuum I have ever used.  I would still NEVER buy a Kirby from a door-to-door salesman because that's creepy and expensive, but I will absolutely buy another used one someday to put downstairs.  Because they are too heavy to carry.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

and it burns, burns, burns

Let's have some more fun with gifs.

Did you hear about the babies at the Chicago-area daycare who have the measles?  Here's me reacting to the news that some babies, who are too young to have been vaccinated, have gotten sick, and, being so young, will likely suffer traumatic consequences as a result of the poor decisions and actions of other people:
funny animated GIF
I really do not understand what is going on out there.

I called the principal at Ike and Willa's school today because Ike came home the other day ready to spit nails because they aren't allowed to play dodge ball anymore.  He says his teacher (who is nice but not a good example of a healthy, active lifestyle) said that dodge ball is dangerous and the worst thing you can do for your body.  Really?  With the school lunches they serve?  In a society that still permits children to play little league football?  And the kids in Ike's class are encouraged to bring brownies on a regular basis to eat in class, and on regular days most of them are eating candy at their desks?

Not to judge, but that sounds like pseudoscientific compartmentalization.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

finally an excuse to wear makeup

I climbed out of my Vonnegut rut for a minute and read The Robber Bridegroom by Eudora Welty, and now I'm like WUT.
What's Going On?
Before today Eudora Welty's file in my brain has been pretty empty--a sticky note that says "a respected American author," and a clip from The Simpsons where a guest-starring Jon Lovitz as his Jay Sherman/The Critic character talks about Eudora Welty being the only other Pulitzer Prize winner who can belch.  But now I guess this story is going in the file, and it is a sack of bobcats!  It's true to traditional, pre-sanitization fairy-tale form, with a stupid father; a wicked stepmother who may also be a witch; a daft but comely girl who falls in love with and marries her rapist and lives with him and his band of robbers in the woods, doing all their cooking and cleaning, until he runs off because she has the audacity to try to find out his true identity; a bandit who drugs and rapes a native girl to death; and other assorted torture and mayhem.  I was a little flummoxed by it, to be honest, because I'm not familiar enough with Welty's style to know if it's always like this--horrible things written about in a very juvenile manner.  Anybody know what's going on here?