Friday, February 26, 2010

Note to Self: I am A Big Girl

Okay, so I am cleaning the kitchen from dinner (yes, I realize it is 9:30 in the morning and this meal happened last night and that my Monkeys had a picnic breakfast because of this) and preparing for a weekend scrapbooking trip (yes, scrapbooking- but my intense dislike of this hobby is a whole other post). We did the whole"'breakfast for dinner" thing. Not my favorite, and requires some intense scrubbing of dried up pancake batter from the countertop (I know, I know....if I had just done this last night....blah blah blah...). On the upside though: bacon. I love bacon. Love. Bacon. Once I even got it for my birthday. True story.

So I am cleaning up last night's laziness and attempting to figure out where and when I will be meeting the friend I am going on this trip with. It is a lot of back and forth with times and places, as I am being delivered via Husband UPS to our meeting point and said Husband must then race back in time to get the eldest Monkey from school. We have it down to a half an hour difference in possible times for the exchange of me from one vehicle to the other. Damn. This just isn't gonna work. And it just hit me. I am a grown-ass woman. Guess what I am allowed to do? That's right- sit in a restaurant and have a cup of coffee and wait. All by myself.


There is no need for direct vehicle-to-vehicle delivery.

Does anyone know if it is safe to eat day-old floor bacon?

Too late.....

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Oh Thou Holy Hershey Bar

So here's a thought that has been rolling around in my head for a few days now. I don't get Lent. And not in the "What's it all about?" technical sense of Lent (I grew up Catholic for god's sake- I get Lent). I understand wanting to show a little solidarity with the J-man, but the idea of giving up pop or candy or swearing to do it is beyond ridiculous to me. I'm thinking you don't get to the Pearly Gates (which in my head are not Pearly Gates at all, but more like the turnstiles at the entrance to an amusememnt park where you can see the top of the first hill of the best roller coaster.... or maybe like opening the door into the noisy quiet of your favorite coffee shop...but I am getting parenthetically long-winded here...) and get a ton of credit for not shoving your face full of candy bars for a few weeks out of the year. I'm thinking there is no way that Jesus looks at any of that and goes "Oh! You didn't suck down a case of Coke back there in Lent of 2010? Dude, we're even." And then he gives you a high five. But not a regular high five. One of those bro ones. The up-high-down-low-behind-the-back-fist-bump kinds.

Just a thought....

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Blow Out the Candles and Make a Wish

I am 35 today. I have been toying with the idea all day about posting something because, really, its not that big of a deal. But now I am laying around in my way-too-big-for-me jammie pants and 18-year-old BGSU sweatshirt (though I use the term "sweatshirt" loosely, as all of the fuzzy material that would make this garment classify as a sweatshirt is long gone) and have decided that I should commemorate this day in some way. So here's what I'm thinking:

I am seriously considering forcing the issue of a mid-life crisis. I don't feel all crisis-y, but there could be some Fun in this. I wonder what women do for a mid-life crisis. Maybe get myself a bunch of Botox? Start dressing like a slut? Find myself a young Italian Boy Toy (preferably one who doesn't speak much English- though this is not a hard and fast requirement)? Or maybe I could borrow from the men and get some hairplugs and buy myself a fancy red sports car (hmmm.... Italian?). I don't know. Something to think about....

OR... (and this might be an even better idea!)

A party! But not a boring adult birthday party with cocktails and stuffy conversation and demure appetizers and a cake decorated with those big frosting roses. I want a Birthday Party! I want pizza and chips and ice cream. I want a huge gooey lopsided homemade chocolate cake with my name on it in shaky letters done with that disgusting gel icing stuff. I want balloons and streamers and birthday hats and those little goodie bags filled with cheap plastic cars and candy. I want to eat my cake from a Little Mermaid plate and blow out candles shaped like a "3" and a "5".

This is my 35th year and it deserves a Celebration!

You're all invited! Be watching- I sent out Princess invitations to everyone!

Friday, February 19, 2010

This Is Normal Around Here

I live with a four-year-old. (Well, actually, I live with three Monkeys who are 7, 5, and 4) And yes, I mean that I live with them, not the other way around. Because let's face it- I am not in charge here. I am lucky they let me have a place to sleep and a few morsels of food from time to time.

I am standing in the kitchen this morning sipping (okay- chugging, but that is so much less ladylike) my forty-second cup of coffee and watching the intent work of the four-year-old. He has interrupted my contemplations about getting adult braces...

....I missed out on braces as a pre-teen. All of my friends had them. I soooo wanted to live in the glory of fluorescent rubber bands adorning my teeth and restrictions on eating such things as popcorn and fruit roll ups. I begged for braces, but sadly, was left behind at the retainer and headgear stage.....

But I digress...So, the littlest Monkey has interrupted my dreams of orthodontia to ask for a magnet that is just out of his reach on the fridge. He is standing in front of me holding a piece of bread in one hand and innocently pointing at the strongest magnet gracing our fridge. I must admit- I am curious. I must see what his little offbeat brain has dreamed up. I hand him the magnet and lean back against the counter to continue my chugging and watch. He sits on the floor and very deliberately rips the crust from his slice of bread. And then, in one swift movement, he slams the denuded bread to the front of the fridge and captures it with the magnet. And there it hangs like a bizarre little piece of edible artwork while he laughs hysterically.


I don't stand a chance in this house.

I wonder if I should go with Invisalign........

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Personal 911

In a conversation today the idea came up that someone could act as an oxygen mask for your soul. I immediately fell in love with that idea. I like the image of being an oxygen mask for someone. I like that a person would have someone in his life who could fulfill that vital role. I like it a lot better than the saying that someone "is a breath of fresh air" because that seems so fleeting and unable to be contained or sustained.

This idea make me think though. Maybe we keep a whole batillion of medical machines in the friends we surround ourselves with. Our own personal ER of sorts....

You have your Oxygen Mask Friend who fills your lungs with breath and relieves the suffocating that can happen just by living a daily life.

There are IV Friends. These friends provide steady nutrition and flow thorough your veins and feed your cells and your soul. They are always there, attached to you and part of you. These are the friends you learn to dance with and move with and work around and live in union with every day.

 Everyone has a Defibrillator Friend. The friend who shocks you back to life. They jump-start your heart with the things that they say and do. They momentarily take your breath away and jolt you back into being. They are perfect for pulling you out of the fog and snapping your eyes open wide again.

And unfortunately, everyone has an Enema Friend, the worst kind of friend (well, at least they are my most hated kind). She is the friend that crawls up into your personal spaces and really only makes you feel better once you expell her from your life.

Wouldn't it be super cool if you could find all of these Friends wrapped up in one person? (Well, not Enema. We can totally go AMA with the Enema thing.)

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

This Is It

Okay. So here's the thing. I have been staring at this screen for weeks now with the vague idea that I should introduce myself at the beginning of this blog, and it's just not really happening. Instead in my mind I have compiled a list of things about myself that wouldn't serve as introductions, but are things that I would really like people to remember about me after I die. So here goes:

  1. I like cake. A lot. If your party includes cake, I'm there. And sneaking a piece home in my pocket. Or just licking cake directly from your serving plate, depending on how well I know you.
  2. I reeeeeaaaallly wanna win the lottery. And I totally think sheer desire should play a part in determining the winners.
  3. I can fit my whole fist in my mouth. Both disgusting and amazing, but sadly does not translate into any prowess in the childhood camp "Chubby Bunny" marshmallow game.
  4. I once yelled the sentence "Line 'em up!" when ordering shots at a bar. I'm not sure what this says about me, but it makes me laugh.
  5. I am a lover and a fighter and I don't think one should have to choose between them. I'm not sure how true this statement is, but I really like how it sounds.
  6. I want to be an Olympic figure skater. And even though I am staring down my 35th birthday (and don't know how to ice skate), a part of me still thinks this can happen with enough dedication and the right coach. I want to do this, not for Glory or America, but because that shit looks like Fun.
  7. I don't like my food to touch on my plate. At all. I hate food touching so much that china versions of those three-sectioned paper picnic plates have been purchased for me. I have an image in my head of letting this little demon loose and actually taking them to other people's parties and events.
  8. I make a mean margarita, can pour a beer faster than anyone I know, can remember multiple complicated food orders in my head (but not the location of my car keys), and am fluent in "Sweetie" and other restaurant lingo. Thank you to all of the various eating establishments and bars I have worked in over the years.
  9. I have fat thumbs. And I am self-conscious about it.
  10. I am never on time, am addicted to coffee, and often speak without thinking and think without speaking. I don't look good in hot pink, can't fold a fitted sheet to save my life, and I hold on to the hope that this thread I am hanging by will someday magically weave itself into a rope.
Maybe someday I will change the way this site looks. Maybe someday I will even post a picture of myself. Or maybe I will just leave it up to the collective imagination. Unless you know me. Then you are at an advantage of sorts (or not). And I like that a lot.